Daliya huffed, straining her legs as she took one step after another. Her boots squelched each time she removed them from the wet, muddy ground.

  It was a mess—the whole place was. No one told her the Torin province was mainly a huge, stinky swamp. Not that she regretted coming along. It was still leagues better than staying cooped up in the castle, in the dark, surrounded by frightened attendants.

  They had offered to have her carried on a sedan. An offer she swiftly shot down as soon as Mazin—the head of the knight’s order—voiced it. She could still remember the minute relief on the porters’ faces as she declined.

  Now she understood.

  It would have been a living nightmare to carry her through these grounds. But for the life of her, Daliya couldn’t find it in her to regret her decision.

  Look on the bright side, she thought. All those exquisite meals had made her gain a little weight. This would undoubtedly put her body back in good shape.

  She was surprised at first. She always thought princesses had an easy life, so their bodies would be weak and soft. But the princess’ body was quite fit as if she had trained regularly. Maybe she did, Daliya mused.

  “When will we arrive?” She couldn’t chase away the hint of a whine as she spoke. She scrunched her nose as her leg dug deeper into the sludge. With more force, she yanked her leg up and nearly fell on her back, if not for Thuraya grasping her forearm, steadying her, and helping her along a few steps.

  Much to Daliya’s surprise, Thuraya had opted to follow them—not that she disapproved. Her cooking was exquisite, befitting of a royal family’s cuisine. She had become a constant shadow at her side. She could feel her furtive glances now and again. Daliya knew she did a poor job impersonating the princess, but if Thuraya had found out, she hadn’t said a word.

  They arrived at the village at noon. The knights changed out of their uniforms and donned plain-looking clothes. They were supposed to impersonate a merchant caravan returning home after a successful business in the South. Judging by the suspicious glances the innkeeper kept throwing at them, she didn’t think he bought their cover.

  After a couple of hours of resting, Daliya was ready to throw hands. She felt suffocated, imprisoned in her accommodation. It was the biggest room in the inn. Still, she couldn’t help but feel the walls closing around her.

  Life in the palace had spoiled her.

  She took her heavy purse and walked out the front door. No one stopped her or even asked her where she was going. The knights near the inn’s door watched her, their posture tense as if awaiting orders, but they didn’t utter a word. She nodded at them and left, feeling their gaze burn into her back.

  She would be fine, she thought. A knight was not needed to accompany her when she was only sightseeing around the town. A stiff, armed man following her around would arouse more suspicion than a girl alone.

  She roamed around the streets, aimless, gazing around the town’s slanted roof houses. One thing she was glad for was the absence of snow. While it was cold—judging by the heavy woolen clothes everyone around her adorned—the streets were clear even from the sludge that surrounded the town.

  It wasn’t that hard to find the bazaar. The street was filled with stalls on each side, with hordes of people wandering from one stall to the next. No one spared her more than a glance. The riches the vendors presented were far more captivating than her appearance could ever be. She, too, found herself mesmerized by the varying goods the bazaar offered. She moved around the stalls, eyes wandering around the colorful clothes and shawls as they swayed gently to the wind, like curtains, a canopy of colors contrasting with the dark wooden stalls. The smell of spices filled the air, miniature hills of red, saffron yellow, and brown. She breathed in the familiar scents. For a second, imagining she was back home and walking through the Souq after a tiring day at the university. She sighed mournfully. To think this would be her last connection to her world.

  She was glad she came here alone. There was no group of eager knights dead set on forming a wall between her and the outside world. She walked around freely for the first time since leaving the cave. With the hood on, only her eyes were visible.

  Her nose picked up the rich and delicious aroma of coffee. She followed the scent to a small stall nestled between two pastry stalls—a strategic placement indeed. A moment later, she held a warm wooden cup, the rich liquid sloshing gently against the edges.

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  She sidestepped as a group of kids rammed into her. The little angels bowed their heads in apology, a reluctant, almost shy smile on their faces, their little hands clutched together in front of them. Daliya smiled at them to assuage their unease.

  “It’s fine. Nothing bad happened.” She lifted her cup, a testament to her words.

  “Thank you, miss,” they called as they hurried away, waving at her.

  She turned to pay the merchant when a voice jerked her to a stop.

  “I really can’t tell if it’s destiny or bad luck for us to meet again. And so soon.”

  She whirled around, the liquid sloshed in the cup, threatening to spill. The assassin took a step back, glancing warily at her hands.

  “Woah, careful with that. This uniform is still new. Wouldn’t want to ruin it so quickly.”

  “It’s you,” she whispered, wincing at her hopeful tone. She couldn’t help it. He was the only person in this world who knew about her.

  He shot her a weird look. “Yes. It’s me. Why? Were you expecting someone else?”

  “No.”

  Daliya glanced at the small child he held by the arm. “What? You’ve moved to terrorizing children now? Leave the kid alone.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her, then turned a frown at the kid.

  It was one of the kids who had stumbled into her earlier. What did he want with him?

  The assassin motioned with his head towards her, his eyes still fixed on the wriggling child. But no matter how he tried, he couldn’t escape the man’s death grip.

  “Miss, help me, please,” The child turned pleading eyes at her.

  Daliya glared at the madman. She lifted her cup, threatening to down its content on his face.

  He took another step back, tilting his upper body back further. “Woah. I’m trying to help here.”

  “Let him go!”

  The assassin shot the kid a pointed look. The child huffed, muttering a curse under his breath. Then he took a purse—Daliya’s purse—from his pocket and handed it to her. He wiggled himself free as soon as the assassin’s grip eased.

  Daliya watched, flabbergasted. When did he take it?

  Oh, she was robbed when they bumped into her earlier.

  The kid smiled sheepishly at her. “Sorry,” he muttered before dashing away, disappearing into the sea of people.

  “Oh.” She glanced at the assassin. “I guess I owe you an apology.”

  “Yes. Oh.” He huffed. “I should have left them rob you. It’s not like it’s your money to begin with.”

  Ignoring him, she handed the merchant the silver coin and turned to leave.

  “Hold it,” he called.

  Daliya huffed. What now?

  He held his hand up to the merchant and beckoned to him. The latter sighed, frustration apparent on his face. He ruffled through his pouch and took out a handful of copper coins. The assassin snatched them and handed them over to Daliya.

  “You can’t be left alone, can you?” He chuckled, amused.

  Daliya put the coins back in her silken purse. She wondered how many coins she had lost today. She needed to get the hang of the monetary system here. She might now be a princess, but money was money.

  His gaze fixed on her. “So, what brings you here? This is quite a distance from the castle.”

  Daliya regarded him. She could tell him, couldn’t she? Since they had first met, he had done nothing but help her… Well, except when he had first thought she was the real princess. But that part didn’t count, she guessed.

  She took a sip of the sweet liquid, grimacing at its taste. Although it looked like coffee, it tasted nothing like it.

  He snatched the cup from her hand and took a large gulp of the dark liquid. Satisfied, he nodded to himself. “It’s good. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

  “You can have it then.”

  He gulped what remained in one go. He grinned at her staring.

  “What? Did I offend your royal sensibilities? Oh, wait. You’re not really a princess, are you?” He cackled, amused by his own words.

  She turned and resumed her walking, looking at the different foods, pointedly ignoring the steps following her.

  “So, why are you here?”

  “Looking for someone,” she said without stopping, navigating through the crowd.

  The assassin whispered a few apologies as he shouldered through the masses to keep up with her hurried steps.

  She stopped at a stall, admiring the intricate designs and colorful hairpins.

  “You have good eyes, my dear,” The old merchant smiled at her, her wrinkles deepening at the corner of her eyes.

  “Someone? Could you be more specific?” The assassin said from next to her.

  There was something in his voice that Daliya couldn’t decipher. Was it doubt? Suspicion? Daliya didn’t know.

  She turned to him. “Why? You’ll help me find them?”

  He clicked his tongue. “Haven’t you known? Nothing is for free around here.”

  “How much is your price then?”

  “I’m afraid you can’t afford it, princess.” His eyebrow raised mockingly.

  “Forget it.” She glared at him. She was a fool for thinking he would help her. She stomped away, not waiting for him to follow.