Chapter Text
Taylor and Tyler had been stupid—again. The plan was supposed to be simple: sneak into the market, grab a few silver coins from the distracted merchants, and slip away before anyone noticed. Just enough to bring something home for their mother, who never had a clue where the “spare money” came from. But nothing ever stayed simple for the twins.
The moment Taylor’s fingers brushed the heavy pouch on a merchant’s stall, the man’s hawk-like eyes snapped to her. Tyler, not subtle in the slightest, had already fumbled half the stolen coins into the dirt. Shouts rang out across the square—furious, booming voices of shopkeepers who had just realized they’d been robbed.
“Run!” Taylor hissed, shoving her brother hard before bolting down the crowded street. Tyler didn’t need to be told twice—though, in his panic, he tripped over baskets, knocked over a stall of peaches, and still somehow managed to keep his feet moving. Angry hands reached for them, curses flying, but the siblings broke through, hearts hammering like drums. The crowd thinned. The shopkeepers were still on their heels. Sweat stung Taylor’s brow as she glanced around wildly for an escape. The street forked. Tyler, without thinking, veered toward the tree line just beyond the road, sprinting for the shadows of the forest like a startled deer.
Taylor cursed under her breath. No way she could keep up with him in that direction—her lungs burned, her legs ached, and the forest was too exposed. Her eyes shot upward. The closest building towered above her, its stone walls dotted with ivy, and an open window gleamed just a few feet above the ledge. “Better than nothing,” she muttered, and without hesitation, she scrambled up. Fingers clawing at the bricks, boots scrabbling for purchase, she hauled herself up with pure desperation. Below, furious merchants shouted, pointing at her dangling figure. She dragged herself onto the windowsill, chest heaving—then froze.
This was no ordinary house....
Silken drapes framed the wide chamber, candlelight flickered from a golden candelabra, and the faint scent of roses clung to the air. Across the room, before a mirror taller than Taylor herself, stood Princess Ashlyn—her absurdly long hair cascading in waves as she brushed it with a silver comb. Her eyes lifted, meeting Taylor’s.
For a breathless second, the world stopped. A thief. In her window. Ashlyn’s lips parted, outrage flashing across her face. Taylor stumbled clumsily into the room, boots leaving trails of dirt on the pristine carpet, her heart pounding harder than ever. Of all the buildings she could’ve picked, of all the windows she could’ve chosen to scale—she had broken into a royal chamber. But, gosh, Taylor may have been more focused on how pretty she was instead of being worried for her life!
And the princess was staring at her like she’d just committed the most unforgivable crime in the kingdom.
Ashlyn has never been interrupted in her life, not like this. She’s standing there in front of a tall mirror, ivory comb dragging through her waterfall of hair, preparing for a refined little dinner she doesn’t even want to go to. Then—thump. Muddy boots, ragged breathing, and a pair of wide, terrified eyes staring right back at her. Now. Ashlyn is not stupid. She recognizes instantly: this is not a courtier, not a knight, not even a servant. This is a thief. Worse, a common thief. She whirls around, ready to kick the SHIT out of this commoner. “Who are you? What are you doing in my chamber?” Her chin lifts, voice sharp. “You’ve got ten seconds to explain before I scream so loud every guard in this wing comes running.”
Taylor stuttered, still staring at the carpet, taking off her boots, begging for apologies as she did so. "My Lady, I am so sorry for how I have intruded. I have taken my boots off in hope I will not... dirty your chamber any more." She kneeled. Ashlyn decided to take mercy, handing off her bell to call her guards and lowering her foot. "What were you even doing out there before thy came up my window?" Ashlyn tried to wipe dirt off Taylor's face roughly with her handkerchief. Taylor flinched slightly at the rough wipe—more from how close Ashlyn was than the touch itself—her breath catching. "R-ran from market," she stammered, face heating.
"We didn’t... take much! Just enough for Mami’s medicine. Tyler dropped half of it, though, and—gods, I swear we’re usually better at this!" She dared a glance up, eyes wide and honest. "I picked your window 'cause I panicked! Swore I’d never make it through the woods in time. Never meant to—I mean—you’re you, and I’m covered in dirt, and now your floor looks like a pigsty and—" She winced. "I really am awful at this whole ‘not being caught’ thing." A tiny pause. Then, quieter: "...But thank you. For not ringing the bell." The princess sighed, bringing down her hand for Taylor to stand, quickly blushing a tad while she noticed how close she and this thief were. She tried to tell herself over and over that this was a wanted commoner. Not some prince that another kingdom was trying to get her to marry. Much taller than he was over by the window.. Taylor gasped, stepping back, bowing. "Apologies, My Lady."
But he has the manners of a prince too!
Ashlyn’s breath came sharp, indignation simmering hot as she towered over the filthy intruder. She should have been ringing the bell by now, should have screamed until every guard in the wing came storming in, swords drawn. But something—something in the way this thief kneeled, boots off, face half-hidden beneath the hood of that ragged cloak—stayed her hand.
“Stop kneeling,” she snapped, lifting her chin higher to disguise the heat creeping into her cheeks. The thief rose quickly, head bowed, murmuring another apology. Ashlyn’s heart pounded as she studied him—too tall, shoulders broad under the cloak, his voice rough and nervous. Gods, he even bowed like a prince.
He’s dangerous,
she told herself. A man slipping through windows isn’t here for roses and song. And yet, the boy—no, the man—stood there like some awkward courtier rehearsing his lines.
“You’re—filthy,” she hissed, forcing herself to glare at the dirt smudged across her silks, the discarded boots near the sill. “A criminal. Do you know what would happen if I called the guards this instant? They would drag you out in chains. You would disappear.”
At that, his head tilted just enough for her to catch a grin—crooked, unsteady, but undeniably there. “And yet… you didn’t call them.”
Ashlyn’s pulse lurched. Her grip tightened on the handkerchief, fingers trembling. “Do not mistake mercy for kindness,” she spat, though the words shook faintly. “You live only because I allow it.”
Taylor's heart was in her throat, her pulse beating so violently she almost swore the princess could see it through her hood.
She swallowed hard. Ashlyn was just as pretty up close, just as graceful, with every bit of regal dignity any prince in the kingdom could ask for. Her dress was silk, her hair was brushed, her jewelry glittered in the candelabra light... and here Taylor was, dirt streaked across her face and smelling faintly of a horse.
A pathetic sight, that much was sure.
But then the thief’s hood slipped back just enough for candlelight to catch on her face—mud-streaked, hair falling loose, cheeks flushed a desperate pink. Ashlyn blinked, her thoughts derailing in an instant.
Not a man. A girl?
The shock of it sent a rush through her chest, a confused flush climbing her neck. She had been so certain—a thief bold enough to scale a royal wall, brazen enough to meet her gaze and speak to her—that had to be a man. But no. This was a girl, one far too disheveled and alive for Ashlyn’s carefully ordered world.
Taylor froze as the hood slipped, realizing too late—oh no, she can see me now.
Her breath hitched under Ashlyn’s wide-eyed stare. “I—uh. Yeah. Girl,” she stammered, voice cracking slightly as she gestured vaguely to herself with a grimy hand. “Definitely not a prince. Or a boy! Just… me.”
She tried to tuck her hair back frantically, smearing dirt across her cheek in the process. “Honestly? Probably worse than you thought! I make metal tools, lamps, cooking utensils and steal apples. Very boring thief.” A sheepish grin tugged at her lips despite everything. “But hey… at least I bow real pretty?”
Ashlyn stared, dumbfounded, her brain refusing to process what was happening. This was not some burly knight, some rough-voiced soldier, not even a noble who had taken to picking locks. This was a girl, a dirty, sheepish, unapologetically alive girl who was trying to hide a grin behind a grimace.
And she couldn't help the corners of her own lips from lifting.
"Apples?" she said softly, eyebrows raised incredulously. "You steal apples?"
"And coins. And... a lot of food..? My mami is sick, okay? Don't judge. We need to buy medicine."
Ashlyn winced, suddenly feeling a pang of guilt. She'd been thinking of this stranger as some sort of criminal mastermind, someone who robbed for the thrill of it. But here she was, just trying to support her sick mother.
It was... rather noble, actually. And not at all what Ash had expected.
Her gaze flicked over Taylor again, taking in her ragged appearance. "How old are you?"
Taylor blinked, clearly not expecting the question. She scratched awkwardly at the back of her neck, leaving another streak of dirt there. “Uh… seventeen,” she said after a pause, before adding hastily, “almost eighteen, though. Practically grown.” Her grin widened again, the kind of grin that tried to turn weakness into bravado. “Old enough to know better, I guess. Not old enough to stop myself, apparently.”
Ashlyn studied Taylor more closely now, the princess’s sharp, appraising gaze softening despite her best efforts. The dirt-streaked face, the frantic attempts to hide her smile, the too-large cloak fraying at the edges—it all painted a jarringly familiar picture.
Taylor wasn’t some alien creature from the world below the palace walls; she was… a peer. A contemporary. Someone who could have been at her side in lessons, or across from her at a banquet table, if only she had been born into silks instead of scraps.
“You’re barely older than me,” Ashlyn murmured, almost to herself, the realization slipping free before she could bite it back.
Taylor had been prepared for another insult or scoff at the thief's age, but the princess's soft words made her heart pound. Barely older.
Ashlyn was beautiful, refined, perfect. Taylor was a mess. Dirtier than the floor, with tangled hair and rough hands and tattered clothes.
And yet here they were—standing inches apart, one in silk and the other in rags, both the same age. It... shouldn't feel like this.
Ashlyn’s voice was quiet, but it carried an intensity that made Taylor pause. “Can we make a deal?” she asked, leaning slightly closer, her eyes flicking toward the window as if the stone walls themselves might have ears.
Taylor blinked, surprised at the sudden seriousness in the princess’s tone. “Uh… okay?” she said hesitantly, unsure whether this was a trick or some kind of test. Her fingers twitched nervously, brushing at the dirt on her sleeves. “A deal? What kind of deal?”
Ashlyn’s lips pressed into a thin line as she considered how to phrase it. She had spent her entire life behind gilded walls, carefully measured and observed at every turn. And yet, standing here with this muddy, unapologetic girl, she felt an unfamiliar spark of rebellion flicker inside her chest. “I want to leave the castle,” she said finally, her words deliberate, slow. “Not forever. Just… every now and then. I want to see the streets, the market, the city beyond these walls. Any time I even leave my room, they're with me.”
Taylor’s breath caught, eyes widening. “You… want to leave?” she whispered, like it was some forbidden spell. “Like, sneak out? Into the streets?” A slow, disbelieving grin spread across her face. “Your Highness… are you asking me to help you play hooky from being a princess?”
"...Yes. I am, commoner."
Taylor couldn't help it—she laughed loud and bright. This was too perfect, too impossible. Princess Ashlyn, wanting to escape the palace and explore the world outside her golden cage?
"You're serious," she said between giggles, leaning against the window sill. "You really, actually want to break out and see the markets and eat street food, like a regular person?"
The princess sighed, "I want a day where I'm not being thrown at all these princes and dinners and papers. I just want to be normal for once."
Taylor’s smile softened, her teasing grin melting into something quieter, warmer. She looked at Ashlyn—really looked—and saw past the silk and the crown and the icy princess act. Just a girl. Tired. Trapped.
“Normal’s overrated,” she said gently, brushing a smudge of dirt from her cheek with her thumb—then freezing at how close she’d just gotten again. “But… I can show you real. No titles, no guards breathing down your neck, no fake smiles.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “We could go tonight. After dark.”
Her heart pounded as Ashlyn stared back—silent, intense.
Taylor bit her lip.
“...If you want...?”
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “I’ll show you the corners no one notices, the alleys where you can disappear in a second, and the food that tastes better when you steal it than when you pay for it, though that one might just be me.”
Ashlyn’s lips twitched at the unexpected humor, and then a thrill ran through her—a dangerous, exciting rush she hadn’t felt in years. “And you… promise not to get us caught?” she asked, half teasing, half pleading.
Taylor laughed softly, brushing a rogue strand of hair from her eyes. “Promise? No. But… I’m really, really good at this. Trust me, Princess. Tonight, you’ll see the city like it’s meant to be seen. Not from windows or balconies or behind velvet curtains. And it's fun to get caught, just for the chase.”
Ashlyn's breath hitched at the word *chase*. Her fingers curled slightly, nails pressing into her palms. Fun? For a criminal, maybe. But for a princess? Being caught wasn't an adventure—it was execution.
Yet Taylor stood there like it was just another night, grinning like trouble was an old friend.
"...Fun to get caught?" Ashlyn repeated flatly, narrowing her eyes. "You’re either very brave or very stupid."
A beat.
Then she leaned in—just slightly—and whispered:
"...I like it."
Taylor laughed quietly, then stopped to notice.
"I never gave you my name, Princess Ashlyn. It's Taylor."
"Taylor..."
Ashlyn repeated the name slowly, like it was something to be savored. How was it possible for a commoner's name to be this soft, this pretty, when it had no right to be?
"You're not what I expected," she murmured, looking Taylor over yet again. "I thought all thieves were rough, cruel-looking brutes. Or at least... not so..."
A small pause. Then, with an edge of amusement, "...Pretty." She flushed, trailing back, trying to be cold again. "Now shoo. Meet at my window at sundown."
The two heard a loud *RINGGGGG!* and Taylor straightened up like a startled dog.
"Gotta go, princess!"