"Don't you know what that means?"

"No. Enlighten me."

"It means you're capable of happiness! ... oh my God, I have to sit down. I was not expecting that."

---

"I cannot believe we're doing this," Prince Shura says for what must be the millionth time in this past hour. I try not to let it irritate me too much. The kid is thirteen and he's leaving his safe, comfortable carriage to go on a road trip with a scary half-stranger. Thirteen-year-old me was scared to walk to the grocery store by herself. I might as well be patient with him.

"Me neither, to be honest," I say instead.

The prince laughs, a shaky, nervous little thing but I let it pass uncommented. "I appreciate that."

I'm not sure how to respond to that, so I just incline my head and try to adjust to his pace. It's not easy. Though he's already out of breath after not even an hour of walking, any time I try to slow down he plows right on ahead, and when I stride to catch up he notices and speeds up. My new strategy is taking very short steps at the same time as him, which feels unnatural but at least he hasn't noticed it yet.

"Would you tell me in which direction we are headed?" he asks and turns to look at me. That's a mistake - the rough woodsy path we're traveling is full of roots and pebbles that can easily trip you up. The prince's foot catches on an especially gnarled sample and it's all I can do to catch him by the elbow before he lands flat on his face.

For a moment, both of us stare at my fingers wrapped around his oversized tunic.

I release his arm as if it stung me and take three steps backward, crunching loudly over fallen branches. "Apologies, your highness."

He blinks and shakes his head. "Not to worry, Nikita, no harm done!" he says cheerfully and straightens back up.

Yes, no harm done, because I bloody caught him before he face-planted into the next root. Do I hear a "thank you for preventing a concussion, Nikita"? No. But I let it go, nod, smile, give a shallow bow.

He frowns. "I suppose you can't call me that while we're out and about. Highness, I mean. It's much too suspicious if I am meant to be undercover."

"Good point," I say. "How should I address you?"

"Shura will do," he decides after short deliberation. "We will also need a story, if someone asks us who we are."

"That's easy," I say and slowly start walking again. He follows suit, careful to keep his eyes on the ground this time. "If anyone asks, you're deaf and I don't speak Zemyalese."

The prince stops again and stares at me with wide eyes, and I immediately regret being born with a mouth that's capable of talking such nonsense. Crap. "I'm joking, I'm joking," I say quickly. "I'm a journeyman and you're my trusty nephew who makes sure I stay on..." Track isn't the right word. Is that even a word in Zemyal? I fumble about. "You make sure I don't do anything silly."

His mouth begins to twitch.

I don't know how to handle a twitchy prince. "And... I'm a storyteller?" I ask, because I have to say something.

The twitch turns into a full-out grin, the kind that takes up three quarters of his round face and crinkles up the skin around his eyes.

Is that a good thing?

"A storyteller," he repeats. "You."

I raise my arms. "If you don't think the profession is suitable, we can make it something else like--"

The prince bursts out laughing.

I freeze with my arms still in the air. This is new. This is alarmingly new. Lord Khetve didn't cover this in his "how to interact when on a road trip with royalty" lecture. What to do when you've essentially... well... kidnapped the royalty (with their permission) and suddenly they're laughing at you? Heck if I know. This is certainly not what I'm being paid for.

"I don't know how to interpret your laughter." My confusion allows another unfiltered thought to slip through before I can stop it. But I guess it wasn't all bad, because it just makes the prince laugh harder until he's doubled over and wheezing with little tears gathered at the corners of his eyes.

"I didn't realise you tell jokes!" he gasps out and rests his hands on his knees.

I stare at him.

He started cracking up because of the storyteller comment. My knee-jerk reaction is being highly offended, because I did not suffer through as many interviews and televised appearances as I did back in the day without at least getting some good storytelling skills out of it. Sure, it was in a different language and the stories were meant to humanize me, the scary classical musician prodigy, to my audience. But it's not that different. "I'll have you know I'm an excellent storyteller," I blurt.

Great job, Cassandra.

The prince snorts. "I doubt I've heard more than three consecutive sentences out of your mouth. But my apologies, I didn't intend to cause offense."

That's fair enough, I suppose. "You do make a good point, sir."

He raises an eyebrow. "Shura, remember? But I was mainly shocked by your joke earlier."

"If it was inappropriate, I..."

He shakes his head. "No, no, not at all! In fact, I value it very much!"

I blink.

He grins again, this one also much wider than I'm used to seeing on his face. "It's easier to go on an adventure with a companion one has a good rapport with!"

It takes a few moment for me to untangle the sentence. Is this his way of saying he's glad we get along? "Thank you?"

"No, thank you! I am pleased you're not as aloof and... guard-like as with the company. We would stand out like sore thumbs."

What really stands out like a sore thumb is his convoluted, overly polite vocabulary, his smooth court accent, and his marble-column posture, but I don't have the heart to tell him that. "I'm glad you're not bothered by it," I swallow the automatic "sir" and cast about for another way to finish the sentence.

"--nephew." Crap. That was too forward. Not as sacrilegious as actually using his first name, but only barely. He never even agreed to the idea. He's definitely going to throw a royal temper tantrum, and I'll have to--

The prince grins again and grabs my sleeve. "Let's keep moving, Uncle Nikita."