Walking a mile back in the throng that followed the borrowed landau, Anryn snuck into Mahaut disguised as a woman. Just as he suspected, a veil offered him more protection than a chainmail shirt. The one drawback was that he`d had to give Griff his sword to wear in order to make the decoy convincing. He felt practically naked without it.

　　The prince knew he should have been anxious. Terrified, even. But the mood of Mahaut swept over Anryn. He could not stop grinning as they drew closer to the city gates. There were thousands of people there for the wedding, all smiling and eager. Even if they were not smiling at Anryn himself, they smiled for the Prince of Ammar.

　　"My feet hurt," Maertyn complained. "I do not know why we could not just ride in the cart with the professor."

　　Maertyn walked a little behind Anryn. He gawked at the sheer size of the city, craning his neck to look all around them as they squeezed through the crowds following the false prince through the streets. It seemed that every five steps, he wanted to stop and ask Anryn a question about a strange sight that he saw—foreign faces, brightly painted shop signs, the public fountains in the fire lanes.

　　"Do people take baths in those fountains?" he asked.

　　"What? No!" Anryn had to shout over the cheers to answer Maertyn. "Keep your clothes on, peasant. We have baths at the palace."

　　"I am thirsty," Maertyn complained. "There are too many people."

　　"You`re just hungover," Anryn said. "Come on, let`s get off the main road and try to go around&"

　　They broke off from the spine of the main street leading to the palace. Anryn led them down an alley fragrant with the scent of new baked bread. The buildings here leaned over them on all sides, three- and four-stories high. It seemed to Anryn that there were flowers and smiling faces in every window. The alley released into a square where merchants were just setting up their stalls for the day.

　　It was exhilarating to walk through Mahaut disguised. All around them, people talked in cheerful voices and broke into spontaneous little jigs. They shouted and laughed, excited for the wedding. Relieved that the prince had returned. Anryn was so swept up in the happy feelings, he forgot to be jealous of Griff. He forgot to be anxious about the witches.

　　"Where should we go?" Maertyn asked.

　　"Everywhere," Anryn answered. "I want to go everywhere dressed like this. We have at least two hours before Griff can get through the crowds. I want to try street food. I was never allowed to eat it when I lived here with my father."

　　Prince Anryn dragged Maertyn from stall to stall of the tiny market square. They found a stall selling hand pies spiced with cinnamon and stuffed with warm chopped apples. Beside it, another stall sold a beer made from more apples, bright with hops and a little salty.

　　Anryn prodded Maertyn in the side to take out their money. The prince had to count out the coins for him to buy their food and drink. Maertyn was so unused to carrying money, he had no sense of what it should cost. Anryn carried only the new silver; one fat coin got them four pies and three cups of beer. Others around them paid with fistfuls of the old silver, plucked from the ground where Gruffydd`s men flung it.

　　Now the veil gave Anryn his first real challenge. He found he had to pull it away from his face with one hand while moving the other underneath to reach his mouth. The struggle was worth it. The hot, buttery crust crumbled against his lips and the spiced apples slid over his tongue like warm, sugary silk. Anryn ate three pies in two bites each, relishing the sensation.

　　Maertyn held Anryn`s beer for the prince while he ate. When Anryn finished his third pie and was ready to take a sip of beer, he found all three cups empty. Maertyn had drunk each of them.

　　"I told you that I was thirsty," he said.

　　"You have no manners, peasant," Anryn said. "Come on, let`s find something else for you to drink& And me. I`m getting thirsty, too."

　　The sun climbed the sky, and more people came out into the streets. Anryn led Maertyn through another alley that led to the steps of a church. On the steps, a priest clad in robes not unlike Professor Lawson`s sang out a sermon on the joys of matrimony, and the power to resist temptation. A few lines of dancers formed in front of him. At their edges stood foreigners, snickering and pointing. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

　　Across from here, Anryn found a public house with its doors already open for the day, doing a lavish business selling whole cases of Ammarish whiskey and beer in preparation for the wedding festivities. Anryn counted out the right change for Maertyn to go and buy them a case of something.

　　The prince watched the gathering at the church steps, intrigued by the foreigners. Amwarren had its fair share of international students, but Anryn had never seen so many women from other lands before, all with their faces exposed. Some of them even wore paint around their mouths and eyes. Prince Anryn wondered if his bride would look like these women—painted and bright, with soft, curling hair that blew in the wind. He wondered, if he painted his face, whether he would look like them.

　　Anryn jolted as a sharp pinch found his buttocks. He whirled around, and heard several men chuckle.

　　Anryn narrowed his eyes. The Sight revealed a line leading right to a narrow little man. When Anryn`s eyes found him, he tried to slip away between two other chuckling men. The prince lunged hard. His hand shot out from underneath the veil, and he caught the man by his arm.

　　"Apologize," Anryn commanded. His hand went to his hip before he remembered that he`d given Griff his sword.

　　"Crazy bitch, let go of me," the man snarled.

　　Hands waved at Anryn. Fingers, wagging.

　　"Now, now, miss. You shouldn`t be out here by yourself. Where`s your husband? Where`s your father?"

　　"You dare take this man`s side? By what right do you touch me, sir?" Anryn snarled. He squeezed the butt-pincher`s arm. "Apologize, now."

　　Another hand found Anryn`s backside.

　　"Dangerous for a lady to be out in the streets alone," a man leered into his ear.

　　Anryn threw his elbow into the man behind him and twisted the wrist of the other. Oh, how lucky they were that Anryn could not fit a sword under the veil!

　　Maertyn stepped out into the street. He held a box of whiskey bottles. The dark look on his face threatened what would happen if he were forced to set it down.

　　At the sight of him, the other men drew back.

　　"Sir& No offense meant. I thought that she was just lost," stammered the man Anryn held.

　　Anryn would have liked to hear a better apology, but Maertyn raised his eyebrows at him, impatient to get back to drinking. He let the worm go and cursed after him. The priest on the church steps paused his song to squint across the street at Anryn.

　　"You know, I do not think your disguise is working," Maertyn said.

　　Prince Anryn hurried Maertyn away, down another alley to get away from the church. He did not want to get arrested with Maertyn for public disturbance again.

　　They were almost a mile east of the palace`s main gates. Anryn knew if he led them up one of the main roads here, they would arrive at a side gate. He stopped for a moment and looked up at the sky. He judged that they had another hour at least before they should try to sneak into the palace.

　　They stood in the shrinking shadow of the buildings and shared some of the whiskey. For once, Maertyn offered to let Anryn take the first sip from the bottle before he could put his mouth all over it. The prince took a sip, and marveled at how the taste of the whiskey changed when he breathed out of his mouth instead of his nose. Nutmeg and maple—not a dash of smoke.

　　"When I`m King, I`m going to make a law that anyone who pinches an ass loses a finger," Anryn said. He felt the warmth of the whiskey spread down from his stomach to his fingertips.

　　"Your whole army will be fingerless. Their King has a nice ass," Maertyn laughed. He drank three gulps of the whiskey and offered the bottle back to Anryn. "So. Will you really go through with it? With the wedding?"

　　"Of course," said Anryn. "Ammar has no other prince but me. Maybe God got it right after all& Even if I am a witch, Nynomath can`t touch me when I am King. And who else will protect all these idiot witches ripping up flower beds for their crowns from my father? Did you hear that man at the church?"

　　"And the wedding night&?" Maertyn handed Anryn the bottle. "Remember to kiss her. Wherever she asks you to, even if it sounds strange."

　　Anryn felt his face grow hot. He pulled off the veil and let it rest around his shoulders. "Will that be enough&? I`ve never talked to a woman without my mother present, let alone kissed one. What if I`m bad at it?"

　　"We could leave instead," Maertyn offered. "Try to break your curse."

　　"Have you ever tried to break yours?" Anryn asked.

　　"Mine will last for eternity. That is the word written three times on my back," Maertyn said. He took another sip of the whiskey. "I never tried to break it because& I did not think that I needed to. I lived. I ate, I drank& I drank a lot. I did not think&"

　　Anryn watched his face as Maertyn`s smile faded. The prince thought of the witch of Dorland, tied to the stake. All alone, with no one to speak for him. A wild tenderness erupted from somewhere inside Anryn. That other prince emerged with it and she reached for Maertyn`s hand.

　　"You didn`t think that you were worth saving," the prince said.

　　Maertyn looked into her face. He did not smirk, scowl, or make the drunken smile that meant he was not listening. In that moment, Maertyn looked as lost as Anryn felt on the mountain on the day that they met. Desperate for any help God had to give him.

　　"You said you didn`t want me to die," said the other Anryn, the one who always knew just what to say. "If I live, I`ll be King—your king, Maertyn. And as your king, I command you: save yourself. Because you are worth saving, Maertyn Blackfire."