The maid said that the butler said, that the guard said, that the stableboy said, that the cook said, that the footman said that the princess and the squire had built up a rather affectionate bond between one another, that some among them might call an ‘affair’.

The cook even swore that he’d seen the two of them hold hands, but when his apprentice gathered all her courage to ask the princess what was going on, she simply answered:

“Me? An ‘affair’ with Noah? Oh dear no, I don’t know who told you, but that’s not true. It wouldn’t be fair to my fiancé and my people. Everything I have and am is because of them, so I owe them an heir.”

And that could have been the end of it, if it weren’t for Noah, the squire herself, asked Tiffany on one of their now regular escapades to the cabin in the woods:

“Why?”

“Why what?” Tiffany asked, looking up from the dusty book that had grown mildewy over the many years it had spent in a moist, barely sealed room.

“Stop me if I go to far or start bending the truth, but as I understand it, you’ve been putting everyone’s needs over your own. You study what your parents want and when they want it, you’ll marry an incompetent prince you don’t even love so that he can become king, and the only reason you’ve given me that you might ever want children, is because you want to give your people the security of an heir. Am I seeing this wrong, or has nobody ever asked you what you want in life?”

Tiffany’s eyes widened with the realization before her face crumpled into a deep grimace. She played Noah’s words over in her head once more — twice, thrice, even — before she looked the squire in the eyes again. “You know, I really can’t remember if anyone ever asked me that…”

*

“Happy birthday to you,” Tiffany heard from her seat at her vanity. The ball in honour of her engagement would be tonight, and her maids busied themselves with zhuzhing her up. One bound her hair back into a tight bun, while the other covered her face in make up and Ella buttoned up her ballgown. They were at it for at least an hour and Tiffany was bored to death. Where was Noah when you really needed her?

“Happy birthday to you.” There it was again. The voice was soft, sweet, a little off-key, but that didn’t matter at all. What mattered, was that the voice kept coming closer.

“Happy birthday, dear Tiffany.” Tiffany struggled to turn around. The maids were not about to assist her in the movement; one yelped when a lock of Tiffany’s hair escaped from her hands and the other turned Tiffany’s face back to her in order to colour in her eyebrows. But from the corner of her eye, she saw Noah push open the door of her bedroom with her shoulder. What was that in her hands?

“Happy birthday to you.” Noah turned around and let the door fall closed behind her. She carefully approached the vanity. In her hands, she carried a saucer with a strawberry tart. It even had a candle on it.

Tiffany glanced up at Noah as the squire placed the strawberry tart on the vanity in front of her. She grinned widely as she elbowed Ella in her side.

“Hip hip!” the lady in waiting called, followed by a ‘hooray!’ from the maids and Noah.

Tiffany giggled, took a deep breath and made a wish before blowing out the candle.

“Happy birthday, Princess Tiffany,” Noah said as she placed a hand on the princess’ shoulder.

Tiffany threw her arms around Noah’s waist. “Thank you, Noah,” she said as she ruined her make up on Noah’s tunic, leaving an exact print of her face on the piece of clothing.

“You’re welcome.”

*

Noah expected a great variety of things in her life. Being sent out of a princess’ bedroom by a lady in waiting with a bundle of clothes and the order to ‘spruce herself up a little’ wasn’t one of those things.

With a roll of clothes under her arm, she slumped back to her room, not far from Tiffany’s. It was about ten times smaller than the princess’ suite. Instead of a balcony, Noah’s room had a small window that let in a narrow sliver of light.

The heavy door closed behind her. She sighed, leaning back against it, and looked at the clothes under her arm with some nervousness. Noah placed the parcel on her bed and unrolled it. The items were similar enough to the clothes she usually wore: trousers, a tunic, a pair of boots and a belt with a sword on it. There was just one important difference. These clothes were much more luxurious than what she usually dared to, or even could, wear. The tunic was made of light blue satin, like the dress Tiffany would wear tonight, but with golden embroidered details instead of the darker blue the princess would wear.

And then there was the sword. It was light in her hand and moderate in size, like her own sword was. However, the size was just about the only thing moderate about it. The metal of the blade reflected what little sunlight fell into Noah’s room, and the gold coloured handle glittered with encrusted gemstones she didn’t even know the names of.

Noah stared at it for a while, before with some uncertainty in her heart, she changed into the clothes and bound her short hair into a small ponytail, and that was about every trick she knew about ‘sprucing herself up a little’.

She put the sword into its sheath, took a deep breath and stepped out of her room to go look for Tiffany. After all, it was her job to stay close to the princess.