“It’s called cocoa. It’s a sort of bean, added to hot milk. I’ll have some too.”

Gwen filled her cup and handed it across to Isobelle, then claimed Isobelle’s to pour her own. “I’ve never had . . . cocoa, you said? It smells good.”

Isobelle braced herself as Gwen lifted the cup for a cautious sip.

Gwen’s eyes went wide, fixing briefly on Isobelle’s before they fluttered closed again. “Holy . . .” she managed, when she’d swallowed and could breathe again, her voice full of satisfaction. “I should’ve started impersonating nobility years ago.”

Isobelle, rarely lost for words, scrabbled for something to say. “Well, wait until you taste the next course. There are plenty of good things to come.”

Gwen paused, the cup halfway to her lips again. “The next course?”

“It’ll just be something simple. Sausages, eggs, things of that nature.”

Gwen stared down at the wreckage of four croissants. “Oh,” she said, before looking up once more to meet Isobelle’s gaze. “I’ve made a terrible, delicious miscalculation.”

Chapter Eleven
You are the girl who would be a knight?

Remember how we decided at the beginning that this castle could be whatever we wanted it to be, with crocodiles in the moat and high, impractical turrets scraping the sky? Well, while most castles tend to be pretty spartan and concerned primarily with defense, let’s say this one is more palatial in its design. The following scene will be more fun if it takes place in a grand ballroom rather than in some cramped, dark hallway with defensible slits for windows.

Gwen probably would’ve preferred the dark hallway, but we can’t always get what we want.

Isobelle’s quarters were located in the upper floors of the castle, requiring them to traverse long, winding staircases and slip through room after ornate room as they made their way toward their destination. The ballroom occupied its own wing of the castle and lay at the end of a long corridor lined with portraits—past lords of Darkhaven, Isobelle explained to Gwen, who drew half a step closer under the cold, haughty stares of noblemen past. Toward the end of the parade of old men was one particularly surrounded by wealth and luxury.

“The first Lord Whimsitt,” Isobelle explained, with a look on her face that told Gwen she found him as unfriendly looking as she did. “Ancestor of the current lord. He’s the one who built this castle, with all the income from the gold mines. I suppose that wealth will start flowing again, now the current Lord Whimsitt has reopened them.”

“It’s a miracle they waited as long as they did,” Gwen replied. “Just goes to show how rumors of dragons liking caves and mineshafts can make even the greediest of men a bit nervous.”