Monica had already reached the castle and fled all the way back up to her room when she recovered a bit of her common sense. The first thing her brain suggested to her was that she had hallucinated it all. It seemed rather unlikely, perhaps, but she decided she would go with that one until she hit on a better explanation.

One thing was certain, very certain. Dragons did not exist anymore, if they ever had. What she had seen could not be a dragon. It simply could not be. She shook her head to clear the possibility from her mind. It had seemed so real, though.

No, she thought firmly. I was so torn up with the rejection of my story, and my hopes, and my future that I hallucinated a dragon. Her story. The loss hit her anew, and she was tempted to begin crying again. But tears right then would be pointless, so she swallowed hard a few times and tried to wrap her mind around the newly discovered inhabitant of the Crevasse. Or well, the product of her imagination.

At that propitious moment, she heard footsteps coming uncertainly up her stairs. Monica ran to her mirror, for she looked a mess, and hurriedly straightened her hair. She had no idea who it could be. A tiny, hopeful thought suggested it might be the king, coming to apologize for his note, and to admit that it WAS a good story after all. So she curled her droopy, wet eyelashes with a finger and wiped her face. She could not hide her red eyes, but if it was her father, that may have been for the best. Let him see the pain he had caused her.

A firm knock sounded on the door, and she opened it with alacrity. A surge of disappointment swept over her when she saw Luther's narrow face.

"My lady," the steward said with a deep, deep bow. He looked with apparent distress at her tear-stained visage. "He rejected your story? I am so sorry."

Monica fought to keep the tears from her eyes, turning half-away. "It's all right," she said. It was not.

He shot a glance around her room. "Where are your servants? You do not have a fire?"

"Is there a point to your visit, Luther?" she asked, her patience gone. His attention to others' neglect would have delighted her days ago, but right now all she wanted was to be alone.

The steward took a step back. His face and posture stiffened at her cold tone, and he bowed again. "Forgive me for taking liberties with your time, m'lady. I only came to give you my condolences on the rejection of your story. I heard rumors of it drifting around the castle." He turned to go, but Monica regretted her impatience and laid a white hand on his broad shoulder.

"Thank you for your thoughtfulness," she said with a gentle smile. "Please don't take offense. I've...I've had a hard day."

Luther looked uncomfortably at her hand. "I am sorry to hear that, miss. I...this is the second time this week you have touched me, m'lady, and your father would not appreciate that."

Monica snorted. She could not help it. She wanted absolutely nothing to do with the king after he had broken her heart in such an uncaring manner. Living under his roof was bad enough, but she would not respect his silly rules. If he wanted to stop her from touching servants, he would have to come see her, and that was apparently out of the question. Luther grimaced at her unladylike sound, but quickly twisted his expression back to neutral. 

"Forget the rules for a second. What do YOU want?" she asked, still smiling.

Luther eyed her hand like it was a viper. "Respectfully, m'lady, I want to keep my job. If your father happened to see me like this, my reputation and job would be gone in a heartbeat."

"Fair enough." She sighed, releasing him and running her hand through her hair instead. 

She expected the steward to flee, but he peered around her at her room inquisitively. Monica was glad that she was naturally an orderly person, and even her anguish of mind had not made much of an impact on her room. Her books were neatly in their bookcase, her dresses were hung neatly in her wardrobe, and she had made her bed, neatly, if mechanically.

Luther looked unaccountably disturbed, however. "Today is very chilly, m'lady. You choose to go without a fire?"

"It's not a matter of choice."

"A matter of what, then, if I may ask, m'lady?" the steward continued patiently.

"Don't you know?" Monica said, surprised.

Luther massaged his forehead for a moment. His tone grew a bit sarcastic. "No, I do not. That is why I persist in asking m'lady."

"My father said I couldn't," the princess admitted, shrugging her shoulders violently in an attempt to show indifference.

Luther frowned darkly until his blue eyes looked like storm clouds. He looked up, blurting out, "Thank you for your time. I repeat my sympathy for you and distress at your situation. Good day." He ran down the stairs so fast she had no time to call him back.

Monica slowly closed her door. She was unsure how to feel anymore. Her mind was a whirl of emotions. It had been kind of him to come all that way to sympathize with her. For a moment, she wanted desperately to tell him about the dragon and get his opinion on it. He was sensible, irritatingly so, as she heard the servants claim. 

Monica's own sensible stomach growled slightly, suggesting it was time for lunch. She sighed. Maybe there was something other than fish, for once. She would think about everything later.