Frances was young. She had run without a real advisor and with no guarantee of success. Scratch might not have been in possession of that level of bravery, but neither did she have that degree of recklessness. She wasn’t idealistic, not yearning for a just nation like the one Brella envisioned. Her mind wasn’t built for conjuring a destination, it was built for carefully laying each plank on the bridge that would lead there. Frances wanted to build; Scratch was a builder.

The princess reached absently for her teacup. She held it in her hands. She sipped. “Go on.”

“Strategy is of the utmost importance to you right now,” she said, feeling the momentum in her voice, the stirring in her chest. “I’m a strategist.”

“All right.” Frances rose and began to walk around the room, tapping her fingers against the teacup. The purple hue of her dress was so jarringly rich against the frippery of the room. “Why else?”

“I’ve spent the past decade in the Ivinscontian palace. I know how it operates for the most part. I’ve had to be observant.”

“And why is that?”

“Every social grace I have, I learned,” she said, remembering the sensation of moldy apple cores slipping between her skinny fingers. “I don’t know if you know this, but being an outsider as I am, eyes are always on me. If I fail, it was expected. If I succeed, I’m the exception. I have had to learn how the world operates because it does not operate for me.”

“Interesting.” Frances moved to the sideboard to refill her teacup. She paused. “Would you like some tea, Scratch?”

Hope unfurled a tentative petal in her chest. “Thank you.”

“Of course. How do you take it?”

“Milk and one sugar, please.”

“Perfectly proper indeed.” Frances grinned while Scratch tried not to think too hard about the reality of a princess serving her tea. “Any other professional recommendations to share?”

She received the tea with a quiet nod of thanks. “I’ve changed a great deal since I left the palace.”

Frances retook her seat. “Yes, I’ve seen your haircut.”

She grinned self-consciously, scratching at the back of her neck. “I’m less afraid, too.”

“I wasn’t aware that the architect of the Western Wilds annexation was afraid of anything.”

“Mostly, I was afraid of losing the life I had built. Then I lost it.” She shrugged. “There’s not much left to fear when the worst has already happened.”

“Scratch.”

“Yes, Highness?”

Frances bit her lip, worrying it between her teeth. “What would you have done? I mean, would you have sent you to the dungeons? How would you have gotten you out if you were me?”