Hilfred kept her covered and crept around the flat, cursing to himself whenever he made a noise. On the night of the second day, she woke when he dropped a spoon. He looked at her sheepishly and cringed at the sight of her open eyes.

“Sorry, I was just warming up some soup. I thought you might be hungry.”

“Thank you,” she told him.

“Thank you?”

“Yes, isn’t that what you say when someone does something for you?”

He raised what would have been his eyebrows. “I’ve been your servant for more than ten years, and you’ve never once said thank you.”

It was the truth, and it hurt to hear it. What a monster she had been. “Well overdue, then, don’t you think? Let me check your bandage.”

“After you eat, Your Highness.”

She looked at him and smiled. “I’ve missed you so,” she said. Surprise crossed his face. “You know, there were times growing up that I hated you. Mostly after the fire—for not saving my mother—but later I hated the way you always followed me. I knew you reported my every move. It’s a terrible thing for a teenage girl to have an older boy silently following her every step, watching her eat, watching her sleep, knowing her most intimate secrets. You were always silent, always watchful. Did you know I had a crush on you when I was fourteen?”

“No,” he said curtly.

“You were, what, a dashing seventeen? I tried everything to make you jealous. I chased after all the squires at court, pretending they wanted me, but none of them did. And you … you were such the loathingly perfect gentleman. You stood by stoically, and it infuriated me. I would go to bed humiliated, knowing that you were standing just outside the door.

“When I was older, I treated you like furniture—still, you treated me as you always had. During the trial—” She noticed Hilfred flinch and decided not to finish the thought. “And afterward, I thought you believed what they said and hated me.”

Hilfred put down the spoon and sighed.

“What?” she asked, suddenly fearful.

He shook his head and a small sad laugh escaped his lips. “It’s nothing, Your Highness.”

“Hilfred, call me Arista.”

He raised his brow once more. “I can’t. You’re my princess, and I’m your servant. That’s how it’s always been.”

“Hilfred, you’ve known me since I was ten. You’ve followed me day and night. You’ve seen me early in the morning. You’ve seen me drenched in sweat from fevers. I think you can call me by my first name.”

He looked almost frightened and resumed stirring the pot.

“Hilfred?”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness. I cannot call you by your given name.”

“What if I command you to?”

“Do you?”

“No.” Arista sighed. “What is it with men who won’t use my name?”

Hilfred glanced at her.