Tiffany was still asleep when a coach with six horses clappered loudly across the castle’s courtyard.

The baker had only barely left with his fragrant cart full of fresh loaves of bread and the birds had only just started their song when Prince Eugene stepped out of his coach with help from his servant. His green eyes and blond hair glittered in the morning sun and his tip-tilted nose was stuck high in the air.

*

Eugene was visiting again. This, of course, could only mean one thing: anguish, discomfort and general torment at the hands of her chambermaids.

Don’t get it wrong. Having the prince around wasn’t problematic in itself, however, the prince’s proximity meant that Tiffany and her staff had to redouble their efforts to make sure the princess was as presentable as possible. After all, she and the prince hadn’t been married yet, and the king and queen of Supricia were well-known for their high expectations of the fiancés and fiancées of their children.

“Ladies, really. I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself,” Tiffany whined, until she was interrupted by a chambermaid who laced her corset tightly.

“Pardon, your highness,” the chambermaid sait monotonously.

“Oof. It’s alright. It’s not as if I have to breathe, or anything,” she grumbled as her unruly hair was violently brushed and bound tightly backward into a bun. “Or have to blink my eyes.”

Ella, lady-in-waiting and head of Tiffany’s personal staff, hoisted Tiffany’s formal dress — one with a large, lace collar, bows, ribbons and other frills — over the princess’ head. “Arms up please, your highness.”

Tiffany obediently raised her arms into the air, and as the dress was draped over her, she sighed and stuck her arms into the sleeves, after which her face was immediately assaulted with a powder cushion.

“Can we maybe tone it down a little?” Tiffany asked Ella, who was occupied with buttoning up the back of the dress.

“I’m afraid not,” Ella said. “Just like last time. And the time before that. And before that…” she trailed off.

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.”

“I understand that this may be unpleasant to you, your highness, but we have strict orders from the queen to make sure you look your best for your fiancé.”

“Typical,” the princess murmured. “One day you’re mother’s perfect little angel, the next day you have to go through this kind of, of… agony to be made ‘presentable’.” Tears sprang into her eyes when the chambermaid in charge of her hair wrestled a hairpiece into her bun. That monstrous furball made her almost a head taller.

The lady-in-waiting laughed. “Oh your highness, for what it’s worth, sooner or later every girl has to go through this. To you, it’s only happening a bit sooner due to your title.”

“I honestly doubt that—” Tiffany tried before she was crudely interrupted by the chambermaid with the lipstick.

Ella took this opportunity to change the subject. “So, how about this new bodyguard of yours, then?” she asked. “I haven’t spoken to him yet but he seems like a fine young lad.”

“Who? Noah? Noah’s not a fine young lad at all,” the princess said, mocking offense before grinning widely and, much to the frustration of the chambermaid with the gloves, put her hands on her hips. “Noah is a girl,” she said, smiling proudly.

“A girl?” Ella asked indignantly.

“With hair that short?” asked the chambermaid occupied with Tiffany’s hair.

“And those trousers?” asked the chambermaid with the gloves.

“And that tooth?” asked the chambermaid with the makeup. “Or, well, lack thereof.”

“Absolutely” Tiffany said, now crossing her arms over her chest.

The chambermaid with the gloves let out a low grumble.

“And she’s amazing. She’s incredibly strong and I can tell her everything and she’s been teaching me all sorts of new things, like fighting with swords— I mean, fencing and in return I get to teach her all sorts of new things, like the big words I have to learn for my lessons. Oh, and she has these beautiful eyes you could just get lost in…” the princess trailed off.

But what she didn’t see, was the look Ella and the other chambermaids exchanged.

*

Noah had stood outside Tiffany’s bedroom door for half an hour before she let herself lean against the wall. She folded her arms over one another and absently tapped her foot against the marble floor, though she quickly fell out of her own rhythm. It couldn’t take much longer.

Another half hour later, she had slid down the wall and sat down on the floor. Elbows leaned against her knees and her head rested in her hands as her train of thought slowly derailed.

Why hadn’t the chambermaids let her in? Wasn’t she girly enough? Were they convinced Noah wasn’t a girl at all? Or perhaps they’d shut her out to be able to gossip about her around her back?

Another half hour later, the door finally opened. Noah leapt to her feet as if the floor had burned her buttocks, greeted the ladies that left Tiffany’s bedroom and glanced in through the open door. The princess was nowhere to be found.

With her face as white as a sheet and a sheen of sweat on her forehead, Noah sprinted after the ladies and tapped on the shoulder of the shortest one.

“Excuse me, but have any of you perhaps seen Princess Tiffany?”

The girl turned around and frowned.

“You’re speaking to her, Noah,” she said, none too patient.

Noah’s face turned from deathly pale to beet red.

Tiffany’s complexion was many shades lighter than it had been the day before, while her cheeks were painted bright red. And her hair. Her hair. No word came to Noah’s mind other than ‘big’. It was like someone had pinned a dead possum to her head. The only thing about her appearance that was even larger, was the crinoline under her skirts and the umbrage she radiated.

The princess motioned for her chambermaids and lady-in-waiting to go on ahead.

“Oh dear,” was all that Noah could utter.

“You can say that again,” Tiffany shrugged.

The two looked at one another in silence. Noah pressed her lips together with all the force she had, even though every muscle in her face vibrated to part. In the end, she couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst out in a fit of laughter.

“Noah, this isn’t funny!” Tiffany called, despite the smile on her meticulously coloured lips.

It was kind of funny.

“My sincerest apologies, your highness,” Noah chuckled as she still tried to gain control over her laughter. “May I escort you and your taxidermied marsupial to your fiancé?”

“Of course, Lady Noah,” Tiffany joked as she linked arms with her bodyguard and got as close to her as her petticoats and crinoline would allow.

Suddenly, the squire’s face wasn’t just red from laughter anymore.

*

“Ah, Tiffany. There you are,” Prince Eugene said as he stood up from the floral embroidered smoking chair he occupied in the drawing room and greeted Tiffany with a kiss on her cheek.

Noah let go of the princess and stayed behind.

“And you are?” Eugene asked with little interest.

The squire bowed deeply. “Noah, Prince Eugene. I’m substituting for Sir Lance until he returns from his mission,” she said when she straightened her back.

“Hm.” The prince nodded in what seemed to be approval. “Blonde hair, blue eyes… You’re from Supricia as well, aren’t you?”

“Yes, your highness. Sir Lance was adamant about keeping with the tradition of a citizen of the same nationality as the princess’ fiancé near at all times.”

Eugene nodded again, this time in what seemed more in boredom than approval. He snapped his fingers and a boy about their age appeared at his side almost instantaneously. His hair was black and unruly, like Tiffany’s, and darker of complexion, like Tiffany was underneath the layers of powder.

“Noah, this is James, my footman. He does not, never has and never will form a threat to the princess, so kindly let him do his job. You will be seeing a lot of him in the near future, after all.”

Tiffany looked up at him. “What do you mean ‘Gene?”

“I’ll be staying here until after the ball next week,” he told her with an amicable smile.

“The ball?” Noah asked.

“The ball!” Tiffany exclaimed. “I forgot all about it!”

“Pardon, your highnesses, but what ball?” Noah butted in.

“There’s going to be a ball on my birthday, organized by my parents. Every aristocrat from far and wide has been invited,” Tiffany explained.

“Ah, of course, in honour of your birthday.”

“In honour of our engagement,” Eugene corrected.

Noah glanced towards Tiffany. The princess looked away and tried her very best to not bite on her lips.

“I, uh, I have to go. Nose to powder, lips to… lipstick,” Tiffany said with a lump in her throat. She took Noah’s hand and stormed out of the room.