Maybe he was thinking about kissing too, because he pressed his hands against her waist, lifting her tightly against him so her feet nearly left the ground. He returned the kiss with surprising skill and intensity. His lips were a bit rough and wind-burned, but in a good way, and Raisa wasn’t ready to stop when he broke it off and backed away, gray eyes wide with alarm.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” he gasped, reddening, raising his hands, palms out. “Forgive me. I…I didn’t mean…”

“Call me Raisa,” Raisa said, moving toward him again, reaching for him.

“Please…Raisa.” He gripped her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length. “I don’t know what I…We can’t do this.”

Raisa blinked at him. “It’s just a kiss,” she said, feeling rather hurt. “I’ve been kissed before.”

There was Micah, of course, and then there’d been dark-eyed, intense Reid Nightwalker Demonai, one of the warriors at Demonai Camp. Mush-mouthed Wil Mathis, Keith Klemath (not Kip), and probably one or two others.

“It should never have happened. I’m a soldier, and I’m in the Queen’s Guard. If my father—”

“Oh bother your father,” Raisa grumbled. “He doesn’t have to know everything.”

“He knows things. I don’t know how. And I would know it.” Awkwardly, Amon groped in his pocket, produced a handkerchief, and handed it to her.

Raisa knew the kissing was over. For the time being, anyway.

“When I saw you at dinner, you looked like a princess,” he said, graciously averting his eyes from her tear-blotched face. “I mean, I always knew that, but you seemed different than I remembered. Kind of…remote. Not what I expected.”

“You looked different too,” Raisa said, blotting her eyes. “I didn’t even recognize you until Mother called your name.” She managed a damp smile. “You…you’re very handsome, you know. You must have lots of sweethearts.” She couldn’t help thinking he’d had some practice kissing since she’d last seen him.

He shrugged, looking embarrassed. “There’s not much time for sweethearts at Oden’s Ford,” he said.

“Magret says I’m willful and spoiled. My mother says I’m stubborn. I do try to get my own way, but I think it’s because I’ll never get my way on anything that matters.” She looked up at him. “I won’t get to choose where I live, or who I marry, or even who my friends are. My time will never be my own.” She blew her nose, feeling bad about Amon’s handkerchief. “It’s not that I don’t want to be queen, I do. I guess I don’t want to be my mother.”

“Then don’t be,” Amon said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“But most girls would love to be her,” Raisa said, glancing around guiltily, as if someone might overhear them in the dank tunnel. “And I don’t know how to be anything different. I don’t want to be at the mercy of advisers. But how do you find things out? Other than how to play the lute or embroider, I mean. At least I know how to ride a horse and get along in the woods and shoot a bow from my time in Demonai. My father’s got me well on the way to being a trader. But that and embroidery’s not enough to be a good queen.”