After the evening in the South Stables, Katarina did her utmost to avoid the corridors and guard rotations of Sir Daniel, desperate for a quiet interlude to collect her fractured thoughts. The memory of the stables left her profoundly unsettled; the situation had slipped dangerously beyond her carefully maintained control.

And while a traitorous rush of delight warmed her blood whenever she remembered the way he looked at her, the stark reality of what this meant for an Aurelian princess—the most likely heir to the throne—unnerved her. Seeking sanctuary from her own mind, she threw herself into her duties at the Scriptor’s Hall, welcoming the grueling distraction.

Within the damp, vinegar-scented vaults of the Scriptor’s Hall, the attachments Katarina had forged under its heavy demands possessed a tempered strength markedly unlike the more formal friendships of the royal court.

After four winters of rigorous preparation, her cohort was finally standing on the precipice of the grand Anatomist’s Examinations. Success would elevate them to the rank of Practicing Anatomists, yielding the coveted seal of the Scriptor’s Hall—the legal right to draw the knife, open the flesh, and study the dead without the supervision of a presiding Master.

By and large, the apprentices aiming for the license were a practical, ambitious crowd. Apart from Katarina, none belonged to the high nobility; they were the sons of prosperous silversmiths, wealthy tanners, and the heirs of spice-merchants.

Though the solemn oath they would soon take demanded they tend the ailing of every station, the unvarnished truth sat openly between them over their study slates. Tending a dock-worker might earn you a basket of winter turnips, but curing a Duke could earn a new carriage. Half of them walked this macabre path to climb the social ladder; all of them craved the respect that came with the physician’s black robes.

At this very juncture, Katarina recognized that she, too, had to decide the trajectory of her scholarship.

In the quiet privacy of the King’s solar, surrounded by the scent of burning birchwood and old parchment, King Alisander looked up from his ledgers, considering his eldest daughter.

“Father, I would very much like to sit for the upcoming examinations myself,” Katarina said, her voice steady and resolute. “I intend to qualify as a practicing anatomist.”

Alisander leaned back, a slow frown creasing his brow. “Katarina, the purpose of your assignment within the Scriptor’s Hall is to familiarize yourself with the commonfolk and the machinery of the realm, not to become a literal dissector of the dead.”

“I do not intend to hold the knife for all eternity, Father,” Kat reasoned smoothly, crossing her hands before her gown. “But if I am to continue my work within the halls for a while longer, it would be unseemly to remain a mere apprentice while the rest of my cohort advances to independent practice. Furthermore, I desire the formal recognition.”

She purposefully neglected to mention the deeper truth: having matched her peers step for step in blood and sweat, she simply wished to command the unassailable respect that accompanied the title.

Alisander sighed, tapping a heavy finger against the table. “Very well. But I expect this pursuit to occupy no more of your hours than it already does.”

He, too, withheld a critical truth: the noble houses of the realm had already begun a quiet, persistent clamor for the Princess’s hand, and it was fast approaching the time when she would need to dedicate her attention to choosing a politically advantageous match.

With the King’s reluctant blessing, Kat returned to the midnight study sessions, joining a set comprised entirely of young men, save for two exceptions: Julia, an exceptionally bright daughter of a wealthy city perfumer, and Tessa, a vivacious apothecary’s daughter whose fingers were perpetually stained with ink and sulfur.

Both girls were a winter older than Kat, and across dozens of grueling practical trials, the three had grown remarkably close. Because they were not as unattainable as a royal princess, they received an immense amount of flattery and lingering glances from the young men of their set. Toward Kat, however, the apprentices maintained a protective, respectful reverence.

Tonight, the study room was a battlefield of ink-stained fingers and crumpled charts of the vascular system.

“It is remarkably inconsiderate of you to arrive so late to the benches,” Kat muttered, nudging her friend the moment a sudden draft of lavender and clove oil signaled Julia’s arrival. “Half of these young men are only lingering by the tallow lamps in the vain hope of studying you.”

Julia offered a low, breathless laugh, unhooking her dark mantle. “These boys are simply too full of their own vital humors at this age, Kat. You would do well to ignore them altogether; they have very little occupying their minds.”

At the mention of young men and wayward humors, a sudden, vivid image of Sir Daniel flashed in Kat’s mind, and a bright crimson blush crept furiously up her neck. Julia’s sharp eyes caught the shift instantly, her dark brows furrowing in immediate suspicion.

“What is this, then?” Julia whispered, leaning in so close her curls brushed Kat’s shoulder. “Are we to prepare our finest kirtles for a Royal Wedding by next winter?”

Kat shook her head vigorously, praying the motion would rattle Sir Daniel out of her thoughts. “Do not be absurd. I was merely reflecting upon the structural illustrations within The Great Map of the Human Body.”

Tessa snorted, biting back a wicked smile. “You are such an innocent, Kat. Those anatomical illustrations are famously meticulous. Though I dare say, one requires the flexibility of a marketplace acrobat to attempt half of those configurations—and quite a few of them won’t result in children at all.”

Kat blinked, her academic curiosity instantly piqued. “Acrobatic flexibility? How could you possibly know the nature of such things, Tessa?”

“If you draw breath in the lower circles of this city, my princess, you do not need a dusty tome to tell you how to make a babe,” Tessa laughed, dipping her quill into the inkwell.

“Are you suggesting people perform such intimate acts out in the open?” Kat asked, her voice dropping to a genuinely shocked whisper.

“Not precisely in the public squares, no,” Julia chuckled, thoroughly enjoying the Princess’s naivete. “However, when one lives in close quarters with walls as thin as parchment, the mysteries of the flesh quickly become public knowledge. My father’s house is comfortably elevated, but the tenement blocks are a stone’s throw from our balconies. From the terrace alone, I have received a fairly vivid education regarding the grand art of baby-making.”

Kat pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a sudden giggle. These were precious, stolen moments of ordinary girlhood—the sort of scandalous, lighthearted banter she would never dare breach with the noble ladies of the court, and certainly not with her younger sisters.

Yet, a brief pang of worry struck her; someone would eventually need to provide her sisters with solemn guidance on such matters. Malin was far too detached to offer it, and Lady Valiya had spent her entire life wrapped in pristine, unmarried decorum.

Julia’s smile softened, turning more serious as she leaned across the shared text. “In all earnestness, Kat… has the King brought forward any formal suitors for your consideration? Most expect that the hour is fast approaching.”

“He raised the matter briefly,” Kat admitted, staring down at her ink-stained fingers. “But I have negotiated a short reprieve to focus on my trials. What of your own prospects? Every apprentice in this under-croft eyes you as though you were a candied peach on a feast platter.”

“Several have given voice to sentiments—to both of us, in fact.” Julia laughed and looked at Tessa, then shook her head. “But I intend to hedge my wagers carefully. I shall only favor the one who proves himself firmly on the path to becoming an Archanatomist.”

“Ah, you are a shrewd creature, Julia.”

“We must think of elevating our station in this world, Your Highness,” Tessa said softly, nodding along. “You, too, must strengthen your claim and secure your footing, if you are truly to rule over us one day.”

Weighed down by the looming shadow of the examinations and the intricate, chess-like demands of a well-planned future, Kat sank back into the comforting sanctuary of her lessons, finding strength beside her friends and the scratching of quills in the dark.

◆ ◆ ◆ ◆

Before the turning of a single moon, Sir Daniel brought long-awaited tidings from the Westlands: the provisions and royal coin Katarina had secretly dispatched had sufficed, and Mili’s mother had safely completed the arduous journey to the capital, permitted to bide within the outer rings for a full week.

When the woman was finally smuggled into the castle precinct, young Mili was so overcome by a torrent of joy and gratitude that she flew directly to Katarina’s private chambers. Attempting to offer the stiff, rehearsed genuflections required in the presence of a princess of the blood, the child’s composure shattered.

Forgetting all protocol, Mili collapsed weeping against Kat’s skirts, her small hands tightly clasping the Princess’s fingers as she sobbed out her breathless thanks. Kat, profoundly moved, held the trembling child close, her own heart swelling with a quiet, fierce satisfaction.

Yet, having orchestrated this small miracle, Katarina found she could no longer maintain the cold, defensive wall of avoidance she had built against Sir Daniel. Conscience and courtesy dictated a response, and so she penned a hesitant, carefully measured missive.

Sir,

I offer my most profound gratitude once more for your hand in securing safe passage to the capital for Mili’s mother. The child has grown immeasurably brighter and more cheerful under the comfort of her embrace. Knowing that such an undertaking across the borderlands must have exacted no small effort upon your part, I beg you to permit me to compensate your trouble with the enclosed gold sovereigns.

Yours with sincerity,

K.

The response was delivered through Celia almost before the ink on her own signature had dried, returned alongside the heavy, untouched velvet purse of gold she had offered.

Katarina,

You wound my honor if you truly believe that I require payment in gold from your hands. If you genuinely wish to settle your account with me, meet me at the rising of the evening star by the South Stables.

Yours,

Daniel

Given their last encounter by the stables, Katarina had come to expect this daring informality from the knight, and to her own quiet terror, the sheer audacity of it thrilled her. When twilight finally bled into the sky, she shed the heavy, suffocating silks of her station, choosing instead to don a plain linen maid’s shift and a modest wool cloak. She pinned her thick, vibrant brown hair securely beneath a common linen bonnet, casting a final look in her mirror to make sure her disguise was complete.

Stealing away through the servants’ corridors, she slipped out into the crisp evening air. The palace grounds were vast and sprawling, and the southern boundary neared a heavily wooded grove of ancient, moss-hung oaks.

There, leaning casually against a stone pillar near the paddock line, stood Sir Daniel. He had discarded his formal tourney armor, dressed instead in a supple leather doublet, dark breeches, and high riding boots caked with the dust of the yard.

Bathed in the dappled silver of the early moonlight, he looked every bit the rogue prince from a minstrel’s forbidden ballad, a sharp, mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as he marked her approach.

“Sir, you requested my presence?” Kat said as she neared, her voice a low whisper that was instantly swallowed by the rustle of the leaves overhead.

Daniel did not answer immediately. He waited until she stood well within his reach, his gaze sweeping over her humble maid’s disguise with quiet appreciation. Then, without a word of greeting, he reached out, his calloused thumb gently lifting her chin upward, and stepped forward to press his lips firmly against hers.

Kat cursed herself for not resisting him right away, breaking the kiss after a breathless moment to step back and glare at him with a defiance that lacked any real conviction. “Is this the payment you truly desire, Sir?”

Daniel smiled, a slow, devastating expression that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Yes. For the present hour, at least, that is entirely what I want.”

Kat could feel the heat creeping up on her cheeks. Untying her linen bonnet, she tossed it aside into the grass. “Oh, very well,” she muttered.

Looking directly into his eyes, she stepped softly into his space. Then, boldly, she reached behind his neck and pulled him down, finally pressing her lips against his for a proper kiss on her own terms.

Sir Daniel was not laughing now. He wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her effortlessly to turn her in the shadows until her back was pressed against the cold stone.

They broke apart for a single, breathless heartbeat, their eyes locking as he cradled her cheeks to steady her nervous shudder, before he captured her lips again with a fierce, pinning intensity while her arms tangled around his neck.

There they lingered in the deep, protective dark of the grove, locked in each other’s arms. For the better part of an hour they stole kiss after kiss, and few words passed between them, as if speech might disrupt the slow unraveling of years of mounting, repressed longing.

When she finally snuck back through the postern gate and into the quiet halls of the castle, her cheeks were flushed, her hair was wild, and her soul felt beautifully, dangerously drunk on this new adventure.