Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Greaseball hated council meetings.

She'd never admit it to anyone, of course. They'd become as much a part of her job now as drilling recruits or riding patrol along the outer roads. Standing at attention behind Princess Dinah's chair, silent and immovable, was simply another extension of the sword she carried.

But she really hated them.

It wasn't exactly because they were dull, though they often were. Nor was it because councillors talked in meaningless circles. She hated them because she had to stand still and listen. She had to look as if she wasn't expecting danger to be lurking around every corner, lest she frighten any visiting nobles.

She stood at Dinah's shoulder, hands clasped loosely behind her back. The council chamber was full today, voices clamouring to be heard, debating about the upcoming festival, and whether or not it should be delayed in the face of last night's attack on a courier.

Dinah was leaning forward in her seat, brow furrowed, tapping the end of her quill against spare parchment with barely restrained impatience.

"—and if we delay now," Councillor Miller was insisting, palms braced against the polished wood of the table, "we'll show the kingdom we fear these attacks. Every ally attending will think us weak!"

Across from him, Councillor Rossi scoffed. "Or perhaps they'll think us wise to not invite strangers into our castle at a time that our royal family are already vulnerable." He stood, rolling his shoulders back. "A courier was found with his throat cut not three miles from our eastern gate. Who knows what secrets he was carrying?"

A murmur rippled around the chamber. Some nodded, while others avoided looking at one another entirely.

Greaseball took a step forward when she felt Dinah tense in front of her, gaze fixed on Councillor Rossi.

Miller lifted his chin stubbornly. "Banditry increases any time word spreads that there'll be coin flooding the capital. They're opportunistic scavengers."

"His satchel was empty," Rossi snapped. "Not torn, or scattered. Empty. Someone clearly wanted whatever message he carried!"

Councillors shifted, muttering uneasily.

Greaseball narrowed her eyes, all too aware of how unease had become a constant presence in these chambers, pooling around the kingdom like spilled wine.

She glanced across the table, toward Porter.

He was stood as he always did, rigid, his attention focused forward. Hydra lingered a half step behind him, iron still clasped around their wrists, though the chain had long since been removed. Their posture was almost infuriatingly loose, showing how much of a disrespectful wretch they were in the face of the royal family.

But their eyes were sharp, focused on the argument like a predator would stare at prey.

Greaseball wanted nothing more to confront them in private, to demand to know why they seemed so fascinated by these council meetings, if not to use the information against the kingdom. But she knew she'd never get the chance to get around Porter.

Dinah moving to stand drew Greaseball's attention back to the discussion at hand.

"Was the courier expected in our kingdom?" Dinah asked, cutting through the now-rising voices without so much as raising her own.

The chamber quieted, all eyes turning to her.

Rossi nodded politely. "Yes, Your Highness. A sealed dispatch from the eastern trade routes. He'd been due to arrive before noon."

"Was anything found on his body?" Dinah glanced at Queen McCoy, before continuing. "Any sign that what he'd carried was important?"

"I mean no disrespect, Your Highness," Councillor Valentine spoke up, bowing before continuing, "but why would a bandit steal an unimportant message? The only reason a courier would be so violently intercepted is due to their cargo being deemed valuable."

Dinah turned to look at Valentine, before nodding. "Yes, but do we have any indication that he was carrying any trade secrets? Or perhaps he had parcels that might hold value." She looked around the chamber, straightening her back a little. "It might be that we're being overly cautious for no reason."

Councillor Fletcher cleared his throat. "I agree with the Princess," he smiled, the expression too insincere for Greaseball's taste. "A courier from a trade route is bound to have something valuable on him. There's no sense in delaying a celebration that our Princess has put so much effort into planning."

Dinah looked relieved at being backed up, nodding, but Greaseball couldn't focus on her response now.

Because Hydra's attention had locked onto Fletcher as if they were staring at a venomous snake poised to strike.

Their reaction wasn't obvious, but Greaseball distrusted the witch too much to miss it. Their posture stayed loose, giving off the impression that they don't care. But their ears were pricked, staring intently.

She followed their gaze to Fletcher, examining the way he was smiling still. He was acting pleasant and agreeable, but Greaseball knew from past meetings that he wasn't the sort of man who nodded at every opinion. His fingers were folded together, his signet ring glinting in the torchlight.

He seemed far too composed.

Hydra's ears pinned back against their skull as he praised Dinah's decision, and Greaseball instinctively stepped closer to the Princess, her hands falling to her side, prepared to reach for her sword if needed.

Porter noticed, his gaze flicking briefly towards her, then he looked up at Hydra, who was still staring at Fletcher.

Rossi was speaking now, something about diplomacy, but Greaseball barely heard it. She was too busy watching as Fletcher's smile faltered for a fraction of a second when Dinah suggested doubling security on essential routes in the meantime.

Across from her, Hydra's head tipped slightly to the side, as if they were curious, before they turned their head to look at the Queen.

Fletcher recovered smoothly from his fleeting falter, lifting his goblet to his lips. "Doubling security is sensible," he mused. "Though I do hope we won't be encouraging hysteria among the kingdom. Fear spreads quickly when it's fed, after all."

Greaseball might think his words sensible, under any other circumstance. It was a reasonable concern, but she was wary. What ulterior motives could he have to want the festival to go ahead?

Dinah nodded in front of her, a little too gratefully. "We'll communicate this carefully," she assured him. "We have no need to alarm the public when we can simply explain it as our attempts to prepare the kingdom for increased footfall."

Prince Rusty nodded from where he'd been watching the discussion in silence. "I'd rather we be cautious, Councillor Fletcher." He rose from his seat, frowning. "My sister was the target of a recent assassination attempt. This courier was the first attack near our kingdom since. That alone warrants more security."

A hush settled over the chamber at Rusty's words, eyes turning to Dinah before lowering respectfully.

Councillor Fletcher lowered his goblet slowly. "Of course, Your Highness," he said smoothly. "No one here would suggest your sister's safety be taken lightly."

Greaseball watched him, not missing the way his smile seemed terse now.

Rossi nodded, looking thoughtful. "Additional patrols would ease concerns. And if nothing else, it sends a message."

"That we're afraid," Miller muttered.

"It'll show that we're prepared," Rossi corrected. "Our allies will see we're strong enough to defend our land, and our enemies will see we're alert to potential attacks."

Fletcher folded his hands atop the table once more, looking around. "Perhaps a compromise would be better?" he suggested. "It seems there's two opinions in this room. Some are afraid of our kingdom appearing cowardly, while others think we should be showing our strength."

Queen McCoy finally spoke, turning to him. "And what would you suggest?"

Fletcher didn't wilt under the Queen's attention, instead staying perfectly composed. "The attack happened on our Eastern roads, so perhaps we increase security along there. That way, we can ensure further couriers are protected, without frightening the kingdom."

Queen McCoy considered him for a moment longer. "And the rest of the kingdom?" she asked.

"We should continue as planned," Fletcher said. "Increase patrols where the threat has proven itself. We needn't alarm anyone else with speculation."

Hydra straightened slightly, before shifting their weight to one hip, looking almost casual. But their ears had pricked again.

Rossi nodded slowly. "So we react with targeted reinforcement rather than broadly escalating?"

Miller looked relieved. "Yes, that'll avoid any spectacle."

Prince Rusty didn't look satisfied, remaining standing. "If we increase security along the eastern road only," he said evenly, "then we imply that we're certain the threat lies there."

Fletcher's attention turned to him. "It's the only location where blood has been spilled, Your Highness."

Dinah shifted uncertainly, looking at her brother. "Are you suggesting the threat might not be limited to that road?"

Rusty hesitated briefly, before responding. "Whoever killed that courier likely had knowledge of his route. I'm concerned about where they got that information."

Fletcher's smile flickered. "Forewarning can be gained in many ways. Predictable courier schedules, or loose tongues in taverns. We needn't assume treachery within our own walls."

Hydra's lips parted for a fraction, before they shifted back, looking away. Greaseball noticed how uncomfortable they looked.

Queen McCoy cleared her voice, interrupting the brewing argument before it could build. "Enough," she said firmly, silencing the room. "We will increase patrols along the eastern road immediately."

She swept her gaze over the room. "Additional guards will accompany all couriers until further notice. And the festival preparations will proceed." She turned her attention to Porter. "I'd like Sir Porter to stay after the meeting, I need to discuss security with him."

Porter nodded, glancing at Hydra, before bowing. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Chairs scraped across stone as the meeting dissolved, servants moving in to collect empty goblets as councillors left the chamber in small groups.

Greaseball didn't move from Dinah's shoulder, watching as Porter and Hydra approached the Queen. Porter's posture was perfect, bowing before straightening to listen. Hydra lingered just behind him, gaze following Fletcher as he left the chambers, before turning their attention to the Queen as soon as he vanished from sight.

Undoubtedly, their concerns would be brought up, but Greaseball still filed the information away for later.

She didn't trust Councillor Fletcher as far as she could throw him.

Dinah exhaled softly in front of her, setting down her quill before rising. "Sir Greaseball," she said, smiling. "Walk with me, I need fresh air."

"Yes, Princess."

They left the chamber through the side corridor, the echo of council voices fading behind them, walking in silence.

Dinah walked quickly, skirts gathered in one hand, jaw set. She was clearly thinking hard, head down.

Greaseball stayed a half step behind her, scanning the corridor. A pair of guards straightened as they passed, and a maid dipped into a curtsey.

Everything was normal, nothing seemed to be wrong, but Greaseball didn't let herself relax.

It didn't take long to reach the arched doors that led to the inner gardens, and Dinah pushed them open herself rather than waiting for assistance. Cool air washed over them immediately, carrying the scent of herbs to them.

The gardens were quiet at this hour. A few gardeners worked along the far hedgerow with their heads down, trimming back the foliage, doing their best to not disturb the Princess as she passed through. The central path lay empty, the gravel clean of any debris.

Dinah stepped onto it, walking until they were well clear of the doors, relaxing the further they got away from the bustle of the council. Only when they were out of earshot did she slow, letting out a breath that sounded like it'd been trapped in her lungs for the entire meeting.

Greaseball adjusted position automatically, speeding up a little to walk beside Dinah, making certain to stay far enough to stay proper, should anyone look out at them.

"Is the fresh air that good?" she asked, tone light, though her attention swept over the landscape for any threats.

Dinah nodded, looking irritated. "If I had to listen to Miller speak another word about cowardice, I might've tossed the whole ink pot at him."

Greaseball bit back a smile, lowering her head to hide it. "That certainly would've been memorable," she admitted. "Though, I can only imagine the arguments it'd cause."

"You'd have defended me if things got unpleasant," Dinah grinned, shooting her a sideways look.

"Without hesitation," Greaseball nodded immediately.

They slowed near the fountain at the centre of the garden, water flowing over the carved stone statue in a steady, soothing rhythm. Dinah watched it for a moment, then turned her head.

"Thank you, Grace."

Greaseball straightened instinctively, looking around frantically to make sure no one was close enough to overhear. Still, her pulse raced beneath her doublet.

"You shouldn't use that name where someone can hear you," she murmured urgently. "If anyone found out—"

"They won't," Dinah promised, gathering up her skirts before lowering herself onto the bench by the fountain. "No one can hear us here."

Greaseball hesitated for a moment, before sitting beside her, making sure to not touch her.

The fountain masked the sound of tools and distant footsteps. This was probably the closest thing to privacy they'd get within the castle walls.

Dinah leaned forward, elbows braced on her knees. "I can only imagine the scandal," she said, voice warm with mischief. "Should the kingdom discover my most decorated knight is really a woman." She tilted her head to one side. "Though, we do have women in our ranks."

Greaseball tensed. "This kingdom is a little unusual for that."

"I know," Dinah agreed. "I'm glad it's this way, but few kingdoms seem to accept women the way we do."

"In my home kingdom, they'd have laughed me out of the gates," Greaseball admitted. "They wouldn't even have let me try."

Dinah didn't interrupt, turning a little to face her.

"So I didn't give them the chance," Greaseball said. "I left home, learned to bind, and travelled across kingdoms. I trained a little in small villages on my way, taught myself how to lower my voice, and stand like I belonged in the barracks." She looked up at the sky, following the drifting clouds. "By the time I arrived here, I was already 'him'."

Dinah hummed.

"I built everything on this lie. I earned the trust of Sir Eagle and Sir Arrow. Dame Flash and Dame Lightning bled with me when training got rough. Sir Bullet has dragged me up from the dirt more times than I care to admit." A smile ghosted across her mouth, before it faded. "All of that under a name that wasn't mine."

Dinah shifted closer, shoulder brushing against hers, impossibly warm. "You came here because you had a dream," she said softly. "No one could fault you for that."

"I lied to you, and to everyone in this kingdom."

"No," Dinah replied. "You were exactly who you needed to be for your own comfort."

Greaseball turned to look at her, at the same time as Dinah's hand came up to cup her cheek without hesitation. The contact made Greaseball's breath hitch before she could stop it.

"If the court found out," she murmured quietly, unable to look away from Dinah, "they'd see deception. They'd kick me out faster than I could even explain myself."

"The court can't even agree on pastries without turning it into a grand argument," Dinah giggled, leaning in a little bit. "I don't think they're the best judges of character."

Greaseball let out a small shaky breath.

"You have nothing to prove," Dinah continued. "You've already proven you can be trusted, anyone who matters will see that."

"And if they tried to strip my title?"

"Then they'd have to go through me," Dinah puffed out her chest a little. "Mother and Rusty would side with me, naturally. And your fellow knights would understand why you came to us this way."

Greaseball turned her gaze to stare at the fountain, watching as the ripples broke the sky into shards. "I'm not ready to tell them," she admitted.

"That's alright," Dinah soothed. "I'm not asking you to be."

A pause.

"But… can I still call you Grace? When we're alone? It suits you."

There was a lump in Greaseball's throat at the question. She kept her gaze on the rippling moment a moment longer, before answering. "You can."

Dinah beamed, looking pleased. "I'm honoured!"

Greaseball laughed, shaking her head incredulously. "You're a strange princess."

"And you're a strange knight."

For a while after that, their conversation dissolved into silence. Dinah's hand fell to her lap, and they watched as birds flew overhead, chirping loudly as they bounced from tree to tree.

Greaseball knew Dinah treasured these moments. The hours stolen from duty. Afternoons disguised in plain wool cloaks, carrying baskets through narrow streets to feed children whose parents worked every day just to keep food on the table.

It had been jarring, the first time Dinah had begged her to be discrete about it.

Greaseball had grown up on stories of the distant land of Solstara, of King McCoy's ruthlessness. He'd had a certain level of cruelty, ruling his kingdom and crushing dissent before it had a chance to blossom.

She'd expected cold marble and colder hearts when she ended up at the gates to Solstara, hoping for a place in an army where she might be able to thrive in her duty.

Instead, she'd found a still grieving family. Queen McCoy listened to her people. Her son worried day and knight about whether he would be a good king. And her daughter would slip out of the palace to hand pilfered sweets over to hungry hands.

It had seemed so complicated.

She'd expected to serve an icy throne, instead finding warmth.

Dinah shifted beside her, stretching her legs out in front of her and leaning back on her hands as the sunlight washed over them, the clouds drifting lazily overhead, making her glow. She always looked so free out here, away from the confines of the council.

"You're brooding," Dinah murmured, glancing at her. "You look like you might burst into flame if you think any harder."

Greaseball huffed, but she didn't deny it. Her gaze swept the hedgerow out of habit, unable to bring herself to fully unwind.

Dinah noticed clearly. "You can relax for a few minutes," she said softly. "I promise I won't vanish. And there's no one close enough to attack. If they tried, you'd spot them before they even got halfway to the fountain."

"I know," Greaseball said.

She did understand, but habit was hard to strip away. She refused to let anyone get near the Princess, not wanting her to get hurt by another attempt on her life.

The sound of the grand doors opening drew their attention, and Greaseball's posture shifted to be more alert, no longer companionable as she'd been for the past minutes.

Dinah didn't move, but her gaze did flick lazily to the doorway at the noise.

Prince Rusty emerged first, back straight, flanked by Sir Porter a pace behind him. And trailing behind them both, completely unhurried and relaxed, was Hydra.

They all stepped into the open garden, pausing to take in the warmth and light.

Hydra especially seemed to light up, moving fluidly to stand into a patch of sunlight, tipping their head back immediately, eyes closing as sunlight touched their face.

Greaseball's jaw clenched at the sight.

She still had her reservations at letting them walk around freely like this, trailing after Porter like a farm dog to a farmer.

Rusty started walking again, slower as he spotted Dinah and Greaseball by the fountain. His expression was fond, though it shifted into something more measured as he approached. His hands were clasped loosely behind his back in a show of the courtly posture he'd been taught.

"Sister," he greeted, turning his attention to Greaseball as she rose from the bench to bow. "Sir Greaseball."

Dinah straightened a little, smiling. "Rusty."

Porter bowed his head to Dinah, before moving to stand at Greaseball's side.

Hydra hadn't followed too closely, instead sitting a short distance away, leaning against a low stone wall. They were basking like lizards Greaseball had seen sometimes, face tilted upwards like they could drink in the sun. It would've looked almost peaceful if not for the iron wrapped around their wrists and ankles.

Greaseball didn't look away from them.

"You've found the quietest corner," Rusty said mildly, sitting down next to Dinah. "I would've followed you out here sooner, but we had a situation to deal with."

Dinah smiled at him. "I needed air," she mused.

"So did they," Rusty replied, gesturing towards Hydra.

Hydra opened one eye in response, looking unimpressed. "If you insist on caging me inside stone walls, I'll take whatever scraps of sky you offer."

Porter shot them a warning look, and they scowled, before returning to their basking.

Dinah giggled, before shifting a little closer to where Greaseball was standing.

Rusty tracked the movement quietly, his gaze lingering a little too long on the way Dinah angled herself to look up at her knight, and how at ease she looked.

"We've been enjoying the sun." She mused, glancing back at Rusty. "The weather has been awful lately, so I've appreciated getting some sun."

Rusty smiled, but there was something thoughtful in his expression. He leaned a little back on the bench, posture loosening as he took in the warmth. "It suits you. You look happier when you aren't moments away from declaring war on half of the council."

Dinah snorted. "I might still, trying to cancel my festival like that."

"I don't doubt it," Rusty responded, though his gaze was still flicking idly between Dinah and Greaseball. It wasn't accusatory, but he looked a little cautious.

Greaseball frowned and adjusted her stance, widening the space between herself and the bench by an inch, clasping her hands behind her back again, shoulders squaring. Whatever warmth had lingered between her and Dinah faded away, hidden behind the discipline she'd learned.

Rusty hummed. "You might draw questions," he said mildly, as though he was talking about the weather. "If you're seen tucked away in corners like this too often."

"Tucked away?"

"With your knight," Rusty clarified gently.

The implication settled in a way that had Greaseball fighting a blush, gaze locked on the castle ahead of them.

Dinah straightened up, frowning at him. "He's my guard, he goes where I go."

"I know," he responded. "And he's a good one too. But… The court thrives on stories, and I worry about the spin they could put on your closeness."

Dinah huffed, waving her hand. "You have no room to talk. I heard Sir Porter has spent some nights sleeping in your chambers."

Greaseball glanced sideways to Porter, who was rigid, cheeks red.

Even Rusty seemed caught off guard, flushing. "After the attack on your life, I felt safer with my knight by my side." He nudged Dinah's shoulder with his, grumbling. "Besides, since Hydra was brought to the kingdom, Porter has slept in his own room with them."

"You could leave me to fend for myself," Hydra chirped from their spot in the sunshine. "I can't exactly run, and I wouldn't mind sleeping out under the stars again."

"No." Porter and Greaseball both said at the same time, staring at the witch.

Hydra blinked at the response, one brow arching as they shifted their weight. "How touching," they murmured. "You're united in your distrust."

Porter didn't rise to it. He kept his gaze locked onto them, back straight. "You are not sleeping under the stars," he said evenly. "Not within the castle grounds. Not until the Queen says otherwise."

The corner of Hydra's mouth lifted, one sharp fang peeking out behind their lips. "I didn't realise I was such a coveted guest."

"You're a responsibility," Greaseball corrected sharply, glaring at them. "Sir Porter is charged with making sure you're monitored and kept healthy."

Hydra turned their head toward her slowly, blinking slowly, almost owlishly. "I can tell."

Rusty cleared his throat to interrupt the building tension, turning to Dinah. "We have suspicions about a potential traitor in the council," he told her. "Hydra noticed some unusual behaviours from Councillor Fletcher, and Porter believes your knight might've had similar reservations."

Dinah's head turned to Greaseball to confirm. "If he did, he didn't share them with me."

"Apologies, Your Highness," Greaseball bowed apologetically. "I was going to tell you, but you were enjoying the sunlight too much to interrupt."

Dinah's brows knitted together, though she didn't look upset. "You can interrupt me if you think something's wrong," she said, voice lowered slightly. "I can enjoy the sunlight any time."

Greaseball dipped her head. "Of course."

Rusty studied her for a moment longer, weighing her up, then nodded as if satisfied. "Fletcher's behaviour seemed calculated," he said carefully. "He pressed for our minimal response to a perceived threat, and seemed unwilling to entertain the idea that the threat may come from other corridors when one was too well guarded for an attack."

He paused, looking at Greaseball. "Porter tells me you seemed rather focused on Fletcher."

Greaseball nodded. "Yes, sir," she cleared her throat, deepening her voice a little. "He jumped to appease Dinah, and looked uneasy when she suggested increasing security on routes that merchants and couriers would pass through."

Porter shifted his weight beside Greaseball. "He was quick to dismiss the idea of information leaking from inside the castle too."

Hydra's eyes opened again, eyes near enough glowing in the sunlight. They didn't move from their place, but their voice carried across the space. "He had a lot of explanations, and he explained them smoothly that most would assume he was speaking from wisdom. But he was too desperate to reduce security." They looked up, watching as a pair of birds flew overhead.

"Meaning?" Dinah asked, looking curious.

"Why would a councillor with this kingdom's best interest at heart want less scrutiny on trade routes?" Hydra replied. "It suggests he benefits from the current focus. Perhaps the attack on the courier was designed to make the kingdom look away from another route?"

All four by the bench froze, staring at Hydra like they'd grown a second head.

"The sooner I find the truth for your Queen, the sooner I get to go home," they grumbled. "I benefit just as much from discovering who attempted an attack on the Princess's life as you do."

Greaseball clenched her jaw, narrowing her eyes at them. The witch was observant, for someone who spent half their days lounging about as if manners meant nothing to them.

Rusty sighed. "We've brought these concerns to Momma, and she said she'll increase security on the rest of the primary routes into the kingdom, but she wants the knights on high alert," he admitted. "We can't confront Fletcher without proof."

"Queen McCoy has recommended the Prince and Princess stay together for the foreseeable future," Porter explained to Greaseball. "She believes we will be able to protect her children together better than if we were apart."

Greaseball fought back a grimace at the idea, aware that less time alone would mean she'd lose her rare chance to be Grace instead of just Sir Greaseball.

The idea made sense though, so she nodded politely. "It'll be an honour to serve my duty with you."

Rusty gave her an approving nod. "This isn't a restriction on me or Dinah," he said, looking at his sister. "It's just a precaution. If whoever orchestrated the courier's death is trying to gauge our response, they might try again."

Dinah folded her arms loosely, the weight of responsibility settling back over her shoulders. "I have no objections. I want this festival to go well."

Hydra stood from where they'd been lounging, stretching their arms above their head and yawning. Greaseball's attention snapped to them in an instant, searching for any potential escape path they might take.

The witch didn't seem to care about her attention though. "You're smart to stay together. You make an easy target in scenarios like this. Any assassin would know better than to attack you in a council meeting or another dinner."

Greaseball scowled, hand going to the pommel of her sword. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."

"It's logic, not experience," Hydra shrugged, looking at Dinah. "They'd want you alone, because a sole target is vulnerable."

Dinah's hands curled into fists, grasping uneasily at the fabric of her skirt, worry flitting across her face. She looked at Rusty, suddenly looking younger and more afraid.

Greaseball took a step forward, before blocking Hydra's view of her protectively. "I'd be careful how you speak to the Princess of Solstara, if I were you." She kept her hand on her sword. "Your confidence about this might raise suspicion about your motives."

Hydra met her stare evenly, unafraid and unbothered by her aggression. Their ears pricked as they examined her, before moving to sit next to a flower bed. "My motives are to clear my name so I don't have to spend more time than necessary in a dreary castle."

Porter shifted too, positioning himself closer to Rusty, attention locked onto the witch.

"I'm trying to tell you you're smart for being wary," Hydra continued, wholly unafraid of the two knights. "But you'd be foolish to keep your movements predictable."

Rusty blinked, looking up at Porter, before turning back to Hydra. "Explain."

Hydra hummed. "If I were an assassin, I would be looking for patterns." They glanced slyly at Greaseball. "This isn't a confession before you drag me before your court again."

When they seemed certain they wouldn't be interrupted, they continued. "If you keep the same schedule, you make it easier for them to plan." They reached down to right a broken stem, fingers glowing weakly. "So you need to move around unpredictably. Tell the council you're attending lessons in the library, only to suddenly decide to retire to a private study."

"Huh," Porter mused, looking at Greaseball. "I suppose that makes sense."

"There's the risk of confusion for the guards," Greaseball argued. "They'll be at the library, expecting to do their duty there, when Rusty and Dinah are unprotected elsewhere."

Hydra's eyes flicked to her, nudging the now repaired stem. "Are your ranks that undisciplined?" they asked, the barb sharp enough to make Greaseball reach for her sword again.

"Our soldiers are well disciplined," she warned. "If you keep speaking this way, I'll assume you need a demonstration."

Hydra grinned, showing off their fangs. "Good. Then they can adapt."

Dinah cleared her throat pointedly, setting her hand over Greaseball's. "That's enough," she urged, gently removing Greaseball's grip from her weapon. "You don't need to draw your sword in the gardens."

Greaseball let her fingers fall from the pommel, though she didn't step back.

Hydra watched the exchange with interest, gaze falling to Greaseball's hand, ears twitching forward, before they turned to Rusty. "Naturally, I defer to you, as my keeper. But irregularity will keep you from becoming a target."

Rusty frowned, clearly mulling over Hydra's suggestion instead of dismissing it outright. He rested one hand against the back of the bench, gaze distant as he thought through the logistics.

Greaseball watched as he muttered something under his breath, before nodding.

"I see the merit in it," he admitted eventually. "If someone out there is relying on routines, then disrupting it would make their planning more difficult." He turned to Porter. "We'd need to make sure the guards knew where we actually were at all times though. I don't want confusion getting Dinah hurt."

Porter nodded. "We could rotate routes quietly between trusted guards," he suggested, looking at Greaseball. "We'll keep the public schedule the same, but have guards we know we can trust to be guarding where we'll actually end up."

Hydra shrugged like it was obvious. "That's what I meant."

Greaseball glared at them, still not liking the ease that they put themself in the boots of an assassin like that, but Dinah's hand lingering over hers was enough to stop her from snapping again. Instead, she forced herself to step back half a pace, folding her arms behind her back.

Dinah smiled at her, before finally speaking. "I think the unpredictability will be sensible for us," she admitted. "At least until this is dealt with. If Fletcher is involved, or someone else in the castle for that matter, then sticking to a routine will only help them."

Rusty sighed, looking suddenly exhausted. "I hate that we have to have this conversation…"

"So do I," Porter admitted, earning a nod from Greaseball.

For a time after that, no one spoke, stuck in their own heads. Somewhere deeper in the gardens, one of the gardeners laughed at something another had said, the normality disconnected from the heaviness of the conversation they were having.

Hydra was the one to break the silence first, voice lighter now. "On the bright side, if someone is plotting against you, they're apparently terrible at finishing the job."

Greaseball shot them a flat look, opening her mouth to retort, but she was stopped by Rusty barking out a laugh, immediately covering his mouth with his hand.

Dinah looked startled for a second, before giggling under her breath.

Hydra looked faintly pleased, puffing out their chest. "There, everyone looks less miserable now."

The tension eased, and Greaseball rolled her eyes, letting herself relax just a little.

Rusty rubbed at his eyes, shoulders slumping slightly, before standing. "I should go speak with Mother before our evening meal," he said. "If we're going through with this, she'll want to approve it herself."

Porter moved to his side immediately. "I'll accompany you inside."

Hydra groaned, ears drooping pitifully. "Back inside already?"

"You can survive without sunlight for an hour," Porter replied.

Hydra muttered something under their breath that sounded distinctly insulting, reluctantly standing from the flower bed. They glowered at Porter as they moved to Rusty's side, before staring longingly at the plants they'd left behind.

Greaseball had to bite her cheek to stop herself from laughing a little at the way they looked more like a kicked puppy than a feared witch.

She watched the three of them heading back to the castle. Rusty and Porter walked at the front, talking together about something too quiet to be heard from here. And trailing after them was Hydra, moving slowly enough that it was clear they were dragging the journey out on purpose.

Every few steps, they glanced back towards the flower beds, or turned their face up toward the sunlight, longing written on every inch of their expression.

It was ridiculous.

Greaseball had spent days convincing herself that the witch was dangerous in ways that no one could properly understand yet, and they likely were. But right now, with their ears drooping and their shoulders slumped as they traipsed after Porter, they looked less like a terrifying forest witch and more like a child woken too soon from a nap.

Dinah laughed beside her. "They're sulking."

"They're being manipulative," Greaseball said automatically, though the words lacked their usual conviction.

Dinah hummed, sounding unconvinced. "I think the only manipulation here is trying to get Rusty to stay outside."

Greaseball watched as Hydra muttered something towards Porter again, earning a long-suffering look in return. Rusty turned his head, shoulders shaking with barely restrained laughter as he said something in response.

Greaseball shook her head.

It was easy to forget that Hydra had only been here a short while. Despite the iron around their wrists to dampen their magic, and the suspicion still hanging over them, they'd made themself too at home for her comfort. They'd managed to make themself seem harmless to both Prince and Princess, and even Porter looked more weary of them than suspicious of any wrongdoing.

She couldn't help but feel like they were more dangerous than anyone was treating them.

Eventually, the three disappeared through the doors, walking into the castle, leaving Dinah and Greaseball in peace.

It didn't take long before Dinah stood up, letting out a long breath. "I think I'm tired."

Greaseball turned to look at her immediately, frowning. The Princess did look worn down now that the conversation was over, the tension of the evening finally catching up with her. There were faint shadows beneath her eyes, and her eyes were drooping slightly.

"You should rest before evening meal," Greaseball suggested quietly. "You've barely stopped moving all day."

Dinah groaned, rubbing at her eyes. "I know. But if I sleep now, I'll end up sleeping through supper and wake up tonight, confused and starving."

Despite herself, Greaseball smiled fondly. "If you'd like, I can wake you when it's time to go eat."

Dinah turned to look at her, tension melting away a little. "You'll stay nearby?"

The question was so casual that it took Greaseball off guard for a second, redness rising to her cheeks, before she managed to settle herself. "Of course," she promised. "I'll remain outside your chambers until it's time."

Dinah nodded like she expected no other answer, swaying slightly as she moved to take a step, and Greaseball reached out to steady her by the elbow before she could stop herself.

Dinah looked down at the hand around her arm, then up at Greaseball again.

Neither of them moved, the moment stretching long, before Greaseball cleared her throat and let go.

"We should go inside, Your Highness."

Dinah smiled, looking a little flushed from tiredness. "Lead the way then, Sir Greaseball."

Greaseball fell into step beside her until they got close to the castle, stepping close to open the door for Dinah to walk through, glancing over her shoulder for a moment to sweep one last time for danger, before following the Princess inside.

The castle was peaceful by the time Greaseball was dismissed for the night, Sir Eagle and Dame Flash taking their place outside Dinah's chambers to keep watch.

The only sound left was servants hurrying quietly around, carrying out their nightly routines to keep the castle orderly. Any earlier tension had been buried beneath the mundane acts, and Greaseball found herself relaxing slightly as she made her way down the hallway.

She let out a proper breath as soon as she shut the door to her chambers behind herself, locking the door before hastily tugging off her clothes, tossing them clumsily on the bed to be sorted after a bath.

Her room was modest compared to what many knights of her standing could've demanded. She opted for a narrow bed pushed up against the far wall, and a small desk with a wooden chair. Simple, but it worked better for her than asking for opulence of any kind. It was easier to roll out of bed when she couldn't sink into a soft mattress that the royal family might prefer.

She sighed, rubbing a hand down her face, walking to the washroom. The day clung to her unpleasantly, and she longed to clean it off.

The washroom was small, but thankfully private.

She definitely didn't miss the days of having to sneak around at odd hours to bathe in the barracks.

A servant had already filled the copper bath before she'd arrived, steam curling faintly from the water's surface, and she dipped a hand into it to test the temperature was right.

She leaned both hands against the edge of the basin for a moment, head bowed as she stared down at her reflection.

Her hair had half-fallen from its tie, and she lifted her arm to undo it, rising to stand. She let out a sharp breath as she thought about the day's events. From Fletcher's potential betrayal, to Hydra's irritating ability to notice every little detail.

She shook her head, finally beginning to undo the bindings around her chest. She'd wound them too tightly that morning in her haste, and she regretted not taking her time. She really needed to learn to rise earlier.

It took longer than usual to work free, layer after layer loosening beneath her fingers until the pressure finally eased enough for her to get in a proper breath. Relief hit her immediately like a tidal wave, almost painful in its own way after an entire day of restriction.

She hated how vulnerable she felt like this.

There was no Sir Greaseball when she was alone like this. No broad-shouldered knight standing guard. No carefully crafted voice or rigid posture to protect her secret.

Just Grace.

A wannabe fraud.

Greaseball grimaced at the thought immediately, jaw clenching as she tried to push it down.

Fraud would imply she hadn't earned her place here. It'd downplay the bruises she'd taken during training, and the scars from small battles with thieves and rogues. No one had gifted her the title that she'd fought for with every bit of her might. She'd fought hard for every scrap of respect she'd been given.

But still, the feeling lingered.

Because if the truth came out, none of that would matter. They'd still see the lie underneath, and all trust would be lost in an instant.

She swallowed and stepped into the bath before the thoughts could spiral any deeper. The hot water filled her with so much relief, heat soaking into stiff muscles from standing rigid through council meetings and duty. She sank lower with a quiet breath, lying back as much as she could, rinsing off her hair.

For the first time all day, she didn't have to be Sir Greaseball. She could just be herself.

She scrubbed herself quickly at first out of habit, as practical and efficient as she could be, before eventually slowing. Her thoughts drifted away from the duty, instead circling back toward the gardens. Dinah laughing softly beside the fountain, and the warmth of her body next to Greaseball.

Grace.

The memory engulfed her, and she leaned her head against the edge of the bath with a soft groan.

No one had called her Grace like that in years. Not as kindly and softly as Dinah did.

Back home, her name was usually spoken with exasperation and disappointment, or sometimes even pity whenever she pushed too hard against the expectations set for her.

"Grace, you should sit properly," she'd be told. Or "Grace, stop picking fights with boys in the village square."

Or worse, "Grace, you should stop talking about knights and swords and war. That isn't your place."

But Dinah had said her name like it was something precious. A treasure that she could hold in private.

Greaseball shook her head quickly, using a bowl to wash off her hair, the water splashing over her.

Saying yes to Dinah using her name was dangerous. More so than council conspiracies and suspicious courtiers. She didn't know how to defend herself against this sort of behaviour.

This was new territory for her, wanting to hear her own name from Dinah's lips again. Who was she, to want the Princess to keep looking at her with that soft, quiet warmth in her eyes?

She closed her eyes, sinking into the water, trying to push the thoughts away.

Only when the water began cooling her did Greaseball climb reluctantly from the bath, drying herself briskly, before pausing in front of the mirror that had been offered to her by Dinah, staring at her reflection.

For a moment, she barely recognised herself.

She reached up to trace the swell of her chest, running a finger over the angry red marks around her ribs where the bindings had dug in too tightly, reminding herself to wake up earlier to prevent this from happening again.

She paused, looking over her naked body, at the curves she usually hid beneath her armour and padded clothes. What would it be like, if this were the figure that the rest of the kingdom saw? If they could see her so soft and feminine?

The person in the mirror felt so strangely disconnected from the brave knight that usually stood in her place.

Like this, she looked almost fragile. Pathetic rather than strong.

She rested a hand against the mirror, frowning as she tried to imagine how Dinah would feel seeing this. Would she still look at Greaseball like that if she saw the softness beneath the armour? Would she feel protected?

Greaseball sighed, shaking her head as she turned away, pulling on a loose sleep shirt and soft trousers before beginning the familiar process of getting ready for bed. She folded her discarded clothes for the servants, pulling out a fresh outfit. She placed her sword belt over the back of her chair, and mentally listed the next day's duties so she wouldn't forget anything important.

By the time she crawled into bed, the exhaustion had wormed its way under her skin, until she could barely keep her eyes open.

But even so, every time she shut her eyes, she could hear Dinah's voice again, calling her Grace so fondly.

Her face burned furiously in the darkness, and she rolled into her side with an irritated groan, dragging the blankets higher around herself to try to smother the thoughts.

Her last thought before she drifted off was of Dinah standing close to her, and calling her Grace.

"Grace, a word?"

Her father's voice rolled through the throne room, carrying with it the same usual danger as a blade.

Princess Grace looked up immediately from where she'd been standing near the foot of the dais. The throne room was dim, torchlight flickering gold across black banners stitched with the crest of her father's kingdom.

King Greaseball lounged across the throne like he owned the world itself, one leg draped over the armrest, fingers tapping lazily against polished wood. He wasn't old compared to most kings, but war had left its mark on him all the same. A jagged scar split through one eyeball, disappearing into dark hair that was streaked now with silvering hair.

He smiled when she approached.

"Father?"

"Come closer, I have a plan I want to discuss with you."

Grace obeyed without question, walking until she stopped at the base of the throne, keeping her head raised high as she looked at him. She knew better than to show any weakness, lest it get her killed.

For a few seconds, King Greaseball simply studied her in silence. At the training clothes she'd stolen from the knights, and her scraped knuckles from getting into a fight with a squire that had dared to question her.

He laughed harshly after a few moments. "You really do look more like a soldier than a princess these days."

Grace stared back at him, eyes narrowed. "Why should I wear frilly dresses so suitors can look at me like a future wife instead of a queen?" she asked dismissively. "Why do you insist on stopping me?"

King Greaseball hummed, fixing her with a look that turned her stomach. "Perhaps I was too hasty to stop it," he admitted. "After all, you may finally prove useful after all."

Something uneasy twisted in her chest.

"Useful, how?" she asked carefully.

The king's smile widened into a grin that showed teeth. "King McCoy is dead."

Grace blinked, and for a moment, she thought she'd misheard him. That her hopes were too high, and he'd said something completely different.

The man responsible for the war. The man whose soldiers had ridden through their villages, burning fields and destroying anyone who stood in their way. The man who'd ordered the campaign that had left her mother dying slowly in an infirmary while Grace sat by her side, too young to understand death.

King McCoy was dead.

Her father watched the emotion hit her with open satisfaction. "He succumbed to his injuries three nights ago," he said lightly, as if discussing the weather. "Apparently the old bastard survived the battlefield long enough to crawl home and rot in his own bed."

Relief burst bright through Grace's chest as she thought about his death.

Solstara might not remember their tiny little kingdom, but she hoped they felt the grief her own kingdom had felt when her father stood in front of the crowd and announced the death of their beloved Queen.

Solstara had destroyed their family, the McCoy's were monsters wearing crowns as they one of the largest kingdoms.

King Greaseball leaned back again, smirking. "The kingdom is unstable right now. My spies report that mourning has sewn chaos throughout the villages."

Grace nodded, folding her hands behind her back.

Right now, black banners would replace the castle logo. Merchants would be whispering in the streets as peasants closed their shutters and nobles would be scrambling to secure influence.

King Greaseball leaned his cheek against one fist. "Queen McCoy and her brats are still alive, but grief will leave them vulnerable."

Grace looked at him. "What does this have to do with me?" she asked.

Her father smiled again. "You've spent years longing for the knights barracks. You've always wished for a lower station, and the bloodshed it brings," he said. "You act as if you wish you'd been born my son."

"I never said that," Grace snapped quickly. "Can a daughter not wish to be strong?"

"True," King Greaseball agreed. "But daughters don't fit in such a barbaric place. So you act like you wish to be a man."

Grace bit back the urge to argue. She knew better than to try to change his mind.

Her father stood slowly from the throne, heavy boots echoing against stone as he descended the dais, black robes trailing behind him. "You wanted to be a knight so badly," he mused. "Well. Congratulations are in order then."

Grace went still.

"You'll travel to Solstara within the month."

Her head snapped to him, eyes wide. "What?"

"You heard me," King Greaseball circled her slowly as he spoke, as if inspecting a horse before purchase. "The kingdom will be recruiting heavily now that the war is ended. Queen McCoy will want to strengthen her armies while her kingdom is grieving." He snorted at the thought. "That'll leave the perfect opportunity for you."

Grace frowned.

"Those fools won't remember us. They won't know my name or your face, so you'll be safe to infiltrate, posing as a man," he continued.

Grace shook her head, disbelieving. "They'll never believe I'm a man. My name, for one."

King Greaseball smirked at her. "You won't call yourself Grace," he clarified. "That would be foolish." He stopped circling her finally, standing directly in front of her. "You'll use mine."

"Yours?" She asked, stunned. "But what if they recognise it?"

"They won't" he promised, shrugging. "The selfish fools don't remember the names of their conquests. They'll just see you as a fresh faced prospect, begging for a place to fight and avenge their king."

King Greaseball reached up, gripping her shoulder tightly enough to hurt. "You'll pose as a wandering young nobleman just seeking his purpose. Skilled with a blade, fiercely loyal. The perfect knight."

Grace swallowed.

The role sounded almost too easy, and she imagined how she'd find ways to fit in as a man.

"You'll train before you leave," her father continued. "You'll learn how to look the part instead of mocking soldiers in taverns like an unruly child. By the time the moon is full, I expect you to look the part."

Grace stared at him, before her expression hardened. "Yes, father. I won't let you down."

"Good," King Greaseball released her shoulder, returning to his throne. "After I hear word from my spies that you're trusted enough, I'll send a mercenary."

He smirked at her, gaze distant and somewhat manic. "There'll be an attempt on Princess Dinah's life. The mercenary will attack head on, giving you time to step in," he promised. "You'll stop the attack and allow the arrest of the assassin. You'll do whatever you can to prove you're worthy of protecting the princess."

Grace stared at him, pulse hammering in her throat as anticipation washed over her.

King Greaseball watched her from the throne, clearly pleased by what he saw now. "You understand now?"

Grace nodded. "They'll trust me because I save her, and I'll take my place as her knight. We'll attack Solstara from within."

"Exactly." Her father grinned at her like a wolf. "The grieving princess survives an assassination attempt thanks to a brave young knight willing to throw himself between her and danger," he scoffed. "Stories like that spread quickly, building hope where there once was fear."

She could already hear it, getting lauded as Sir Greaseball, loyal knight of Solstara.

The thought curled viciously in her chest, and she nodded eagerly.

King McCoy had taken her mother. So now, his precious kingdom would learn to really feel the grief of losing someone so beloved.

"You won't concern yourself with the logistics of the attack," King Greaseball waved his hand dismissively. "Leave that to me. Your focus will be on Princess Dinah."

Grace looked up at him. "What do you know about her?"

King Greaseball barked a laugh. "Very little worth respecting," he admitted, leaning back. "She's young. Sheltered. Apparently the peasants love her, because she hands out scraps of food and pretends to care about the poor." His expression twisted with disdain. "A soft-hearted little fool. The exact sort of princess to believe in fairytales of happily ever afters and attaching to whatever protector saves her life."

Grace nodded, committing the thought to memory. If she was that soft, she'd be an easy target.

"You'll stay close to her after the attack," King Greaseball ordered. "Become her shadow. Earn her trust. No one should ever find out that you're a traitor, until I give the signal."

Grace turned to face him properly. "And what is the signal?"

Her father's face split with a cruel grin. "We'll wait for her twenty first birthday," he said. "And while her people are celebrating, our soldiers will burst in and we'll kidnap the little Princess from her home. It'll be the last time Solstara will ever see their precious royal, and they'll be left grieving again."

Grace let herself smile at the thought, vicious satisfaction filling her. Solstara in flames, Queen McCoy grieving as her daughter vanished, the kingdom thrown into chaos just as hers once had been.

"They'll tear themselves apart looking for her," King Greaseball continued, delighted. "The people adore her too much. And when they find her, it'll be too late to save her."

Her father watched her, head tipped to one side. "Do you understand the importance of your role now?"

"Yes, father."

"Good girl," he said finally, the approval warming Grace, a scrap of the attention she'd desperately craved since her mother had died. "Report to the barracks tomorrow. You'll learn your role until it's second nature. And after this over, you'll know how to be a ruthless Queen after me."

Grace opened her mouth to speak, but the world lurched violently beneath her feet, the torches dimming all at once.

Her father's grin warped, stretching too wide, inky blackness starting to swallow him as he stared at her. The throne room darkened with it, and Grace swallowed as fear enveloped her.

Then another voice cut through the dream.

"Grace."

The tone was soft, and warm. Dinah's voice, wrapping around her.

"Don't forget what they are," he snapped, voice echoing unnaturally. "They're monsters."

The room shook again.

"Grace."

Her name sounded so precious and kind on Dinah's lips.

The walls split apart, black banners caught fire.

At her father's feet, Dinah's body appeared in the ink, limp and dead. Rusty crouched at her body, sobbing as he shook her shoulder desperately.

And standing in front of them both, Porter with his sword drawn, and Hydra looking at her like they'd known of her treachery all along.

Every one of them looked like they'd finally realised what she was.

A traitor.

The dream shattered completely, and Greaseball woke with a violent gasp, sitting bolt upright in bed so quickly that the blankets tangled around her legs. Her hand flew instinctively to where her sword should've been, before she remembered where she was.

She was in her chambers. It had been over a year since that memory.

Her chest heaved painfully, head ringing as she pressed the heel of her hand against her eyes, forcing herself to breath.

Slowly, the panic began loosening, her blankets twisted around her waist, sweat prickling the back of her neck as she fell backward against the pillow again, staring at the night sky out her window.

She'd come here to carry out a duty. Get close to the Princess, so she could facilitate the attack right at the heart of the Royal Family.

This was meant to be revenge, but…

Somewhere along the way, her anger had faded, as she learned who the McCoy family really were.

She closed her mind, guilt and duty conflicting each other.

Princess twenty first birthday was eight months away.

And Grace had never felt so uncertain about where her loyalties were meant to lie now.

Her father had sent her here, prepared for vicious tyrants. He'd taught her to expect their cruelty, and to have to fight tooth and nail for unjust battles.

Instead, she'd been greeted with warmth.

She shivered, pulling the blankets up her body finally, unsure about what to do now. Remembering the plan, and her own fury, it hadn't filled her with satisfaction.

It had filled her with dread.