The princess’s name was Aurum, and she was having a very bad week.

She hadn’t eaten for days, ever since she’d run away from the palace. When she saw the smoke rising from the small cottage’s chimney, she felt a desperate relief. If she were any less hungry, or any less certain that she could not keep on staying alone in the woods without seriously hurting herself or wasting away, she might have avoided the cottage. But its inviting glow and the warmth and the food it promised overrode her sense of caution. She had never been so cold, so hungry, or so tired. It was starve or risk being recognized, and as miserable as she was, she was willing to gamble that whoever lived this far away from literally anyone else might not be able to tell who she was just by looking at her.

She was scared and had been avoiding any contact with people the entire time she had been on the run, but she needed to eat soon. Foraging for food had proven hopeless – she knew enough to be wary of strange berries and mushrooms, but not enough to be certain of what wild food was safe to eat. She wished she had been more attentive when she’d gone on the nature walks with the palace rangers, but she’d always found it boring and pointless. Luckily, she had recalled them saying never to drink stagnant water, so she had avoided getting horribly sick, but beyond those basic facts she was lost in the wilderness. She didn’t dare return to the busier streets and towns, knowing the witch could easily find her there, even disguised as she was in a simple peasant’s pants and shirt. Her pale blond hair and clear gold eyes were far too recognizable.

And so she walked up the cottage’s little path to its humble wooden door, and knocked, drawing on her royal poise to pretend a confidence she did not truly feel. At the last moment, she realized that maybe being overly confident was actually a mistake – she was pretending not to be a royal, and she was here to beg for help, so maybe it was better to seem pitiful. As a result, when the door opened, all she managed to do was look flustered and confused, which seemed to work well enough.

“Oh.” The woman who opened the door was a little shorter than Aurum, with thick, frizzy auburn hair and eyes so dark brown they looked almost black in the shadow of the doorway. The warm golden light from inside the cottage that backlit her made her hair look like a halo and illuminated the freckles that dusted the pale skin across her snub nose. She looked resigned and almost sad until she seemed to remember something, and her face went blank.

“Uhh – hello – “ Aurum’s voice was rusty from disuse. She cleared her throat, suddenly terrified that she would be turned away. “I – I’m Aurum.”

What a stupid thing to say. Everyone knew the princess was named Aurum. Stupid, stupid stupid stupid stupid–

“Okay. I’m Alice,” the woman said, calm, but with a strange expression on her face, like Aurum was confusing her.

A long pause. “That’s – that’s an odd name.” What is wrong with me?! Aurum felt her face flush. What on earth was she doing? Announcing who she was, insulting the person she needed help from? She was dazed with hunger and exhaustion and so dizzy she was worried she might pass out at any moment, but that was really no excuse. Aurum had been trained in etiquette and manners her entire life, to the point that she could navigate tricky diplomatic social settings without blinking an eye, and here she was insulting someone who might well be her last hope for survival.

Lost in a misery of self-recrimination, Aurum didn’t hear Alice’s response the first time. When Alice cleared her throat, Aurum looked up, startled and even more embarrassed and scared.

“Please come in,” repeated Alice, politely ignoring Aurum’s faux pas, and stepping back to leave room for her to enter.

“Ah, right, yes, okay. I mean, thank – thank you. Ma’am. Miss. Uh, Lady.” And so, stammering like a fool, Aurum entered the cottage.

It was so warm inside the cottage. As she stepped inside, it felt like walking into one of her mom’s hugs, gentle and safe and oh so missed. She could almost smell the lavender perfume her mother was wearing the last time they had talked before –

“Oh dear. Oh. Umm, sit down. Would you like some tea?” Alice seemed panicked, and Aurum didn’t really know why until she felt the tears streaming down her face. Well. This entire interaction was a complete failure.

But somehow, despite how badly Aurum had messed up, Alice simply shepherded her over to an armchair by a small stone fireplace. Aurum followed obediently, watching carefully, with a sort of shattered alertness, as Alice bustled about a tiny kitchen, setting water to boil, taking out something dry and dark to soak in hot water – right, tea, she was making tea. And so Aurum ended up with a cup of tea in her hands, watching Alice prepare a pot of porridge. Soon it was bubbling merrily on the stove, the smell of the simple dish overwhelmingly delicious to Aurum’s famished nose. Her stomach growled, but she didn’t even blush. She was all out of embarrassment.

The woman – Alice – sat down on a stool across from her, a wooden spoon in her hand she was using to stir the porridge intermittently. She looked at Aurum intently, as though trying to solve some sort of puzzle. Aurum looked back, staring openly, too tired to be polite.

She really is quite nice to look at, she thought absently, gazing at the thick lashes that framed Alice’s eyes.  And she hasn’t laughed at me. I would laugh. She glanced down at her dirty, scraped-up hands. She probably looked terribly pitiful. And she was acting deranged. Maybe not.

“Here.” Alice was suddenly in front of Aurum, taking the tea from her hands and replacing it with a bowl of porridge and a spoon. “Eat.”

“A woman of few words, huh?” Alice just looked at her, eyebrows furrowed, until Aurum started to eat. Her scowl eased, and the fire flickered happily as Alice sat back down.

“So.” Alice was done with silence, apparently. “So. You need a place to stay, right?” Alice frowned, looking annoyed, and Aurum’s heart lurched. Maybe she didn’t want Aurum to stay here. Maybe she was about to be kicked out.

“You can stay here. But, are you hurt? I should have asked you that first,” Alice’s frown grew deeper. Ahh. She’s mad at herself, Aurum realized. Not me. She really should be mad at me.

Suddenly, Aurum relaxed. The cottage felt secure, and this woman was odd and kind. Even better, she seemed not to recognize Aurum as the princess. She could stay here and think of a plan. A small part of her worried and wondered if this might be some sort of magic at play, lulling her into a false sense of security, but she dismissed the thought. If the witch were here, trying to entrap her hardly made any sense. Aurum was as weak as a newborn fawn right now, hardly someone who needed to be tricked into compliance.

“Are you hurt?” Alice asked again, sounding more concerned than before. Right. Come on, Aurum. Just some basic manners. You can do this.

“I’m – I’m not hurt,” she lied. She was hurt, but there was nothing that this kind woman could do about it. Aurum was heartbroken and alone. Everyone she knew and loved had forgotten her, and she did not know how to save them and herself. Her mother and father and brother had all forgotten her. Her bodyguard had died protecting her. And the witch was hunting her. Aurum had no idea why the witch was doing any of this, only that she was completely alone now, and unprepared to fight an enemy who was this powerful.

“I see,” said Alice, looking uncertain. “I’ll – I’ll leave you to eat. I’ll draw you a bath. And then you should sleep.” She hesitated, leaning forward on the stool, then stood up. “Alright.”

As Alice walked away, Aurum watched her, dazed. Just an hour ago she had thought she would die within a day or two. Now she felt like a kitten brought in from the rain, feeble but safe. The fire flickered again, and Aurum shook her head, trying to wake herself up a bit. She managed to stay awake just long enough to eat all of the porridge, and then a second bowl that Alice forced into her hands. Eventually, she found herself in a bed, covered in worn quilts and with only the vaguest memory of warm, dark eyes and gentle hands guiding her across the cottage as she stumbled. Thank goodness, she thought, falling into a heavy sleep. Thank goodness.