The cupboards of Princess Lena's mind were filled with mischief, the drawers with wisdom, and the exposed shelves, composure. Beneath everything was the ever-constant reminder that she simply wasn't good enough. How could she be? Being born a female automatically disqualified her from gaining the throne on her own. Yet it was this disadvantage that made her different, unique, quite unlike those who had come before her.

It wasn't because she enjoyed playing nasty tricks on the patrons at court, like leaving frogs in Lady Hoffman's vanity, or letting goats into Lord Norton's chambers to chew up all his books. They deserved it, after all. Nor was it because she had a knack for sorting out her father's political problems when he needed a creative mind. Hers could conjure up the most elaborate solutions—fixes he'd never considered. They always seemed so obvious once they were out.

No, Princess Lena was unusual because she was the first Princess of Dragonwall to reach the age of seventeen. Moreover, she was only the second princess that Dragonwall had ever seen. That made her special. She wouldn't have agreed. Being a princess left her disqualified from the crown unless she could find her male counterpart. That alone was enough to make anyone feel inadequate. Thus, she considered her title of princess awfully close to a curse.

Today that curse had come to fruition. In the lowest courtyard of the Great Keep of Kastali Dun were a number of guests, all waiting for her. These weren't simply any guests. These were hopefuls who desired to become Dragonwall's next king. Making them feel welcome was the last thing Princess Lena wanted, so she decided to give them a welcome they would never forget.

She raced through the keep, carrying out her most mischievous plan yet, but she was not unhindered. "Lena!" A breathless shout came from behind her—from her handmaidens. They were chasing after her, begging her to stop. Instead, she ran faster. Her heart hammered in her chest, spurred on by the excitement. Passersby laughed. They were used to her silly antics. "Oh, that's just Princess Lena," they said, "up to more of her tricks."

"Lena, come back here!" Voices continued to echo down the stone corridor. Snickering at their discomfort, she threw herself down another set of stairs, trailing her fingers along the smooth rock wall of the stairwell. "Please Lena! You are already late!"

"Then I must hurry," she cried over her shoulder. She burst into another corridor. The south wing of the castle led into a courtyard with a fountain at its center. She doubled over to catch her breath, placing her hands on her knees. What fun she was having! Too much fun.

The irritated cries of her kenna closed in. Kenna Margaret was too old for this exertion, but that did not deter the woman. "Princess Lena! I insist you cease this at once!" Margaret came to a stop beside her.

"Stop what, Kenna Margaret?" She turned to face her tutor. "As you said, I am already late."

"All...the more reason...to go and...get dressed," said Margaret. She took hold of Lena's arm, attempting to pull her away.

Lena pulled her arm free, smiling sweetly. "Oh, Kenna. You are being too serious, just like Mother. See here? I am already clothed."

Kenna Margaret's eyes bulged. "Princess Lena! You cannot greet your guests in that! The queen will find out."

"So much the better." Lena stood erect, her shoulders squared. Her three handmaidens caught up. They were breathing harder than Kenna Margaret, with red faces.

"You take this rebellion too far, Princess." Kenna Margaret also squared her shoulders, placing her hands on her hips as she scowled. "Think! Think about what you are doing. You will embarrass us all."

"My dear Kenna. You let me worry about that. In the meantime, I intend to go the rest of this alone. The four of you must wait in my apartment."

Kenna Margaret sighed. "Very well, child. If you wish to dig your own grave. Come along, ladies. You heard the princess." Margaret shooed the others. Then she afforded Lena a final, appraising look before shaking her head. Just as she turned to leave, the corners of her lips twisted into a smile. Her kenna wasn't so bad. The woman was a great lover of fun after all, else Lena would not have put up with her for so long. And despite her growing age, they were good friends, even if Margaret was a bit old-fashioned.

She waited for her kenna to disappear before making her way through the remaining levels of the keep. All the while, she wore a sly grin on her face. Margaret had every right to be upset with her attire. Each tattered garment was purloined from one man or another—soldiers mostly. It was an immense struggle finding things to fit her slight figure, but a great deal of fun stealing them.

Beige leggings with knee-high leather boots adorned her legs. A red tunic with a black padded doublet covered her chest and arms. A sashed belt wrapped tightly around her waist. And leather bracers were strapped to her forearms, even though she'd never fired a bow. The only thing she was missing were weapons. If only she could have succeeded in stealing a sword, or a bow and set of arrows, or even a knife for her belt. Then she would have truly looked the part.

Her hair was fierce too. It was braided in tight rows along her scalp from her hairline to her crown. The braids were pinned to avoid unraveling, while allowing the remainder of her long brown hair to fan out behind her like a barbarian pirate. How magnificently ridiculous she looked! Princesses were not supposed to dress like peasant mercenaries. Her mother was going to have an absolute fit.

She passed a planter box and stopped short. Ignoring the roses, she looked at the dirt and smiled. Yes, this would do nicely. Bending over, she scooped up a small handful and rubbed it on both hands, savoring the gritty texture. She smeared a bit upon her cheeks and forehead before generously wiping the rest upon her tunic. Then she descended to the final level of the keep and came to a stop in a shadowy corridor just beyond the entrance courtyard.

The Great Keep of Kastali Dun was at the heart of Dragonwall's capital. It was built upon a rocky outcropping that loomed over everything. Its many corridors and courtyards overlooked the Bay of Bandu to the south-east, with its mighty ports and dockyards. And to the west, the setting sun often lit the waters of the Dragonfire Sea aflame with light, offering spectacular views. To the north, the sprawling city of Kastali Dun stretched outward, housing tens of thousands of Dragonwall's inhabitants.

The hopefuls in the entry courtyard stood before the portcullis where they had been advised to wait. They had been told that the Princess of Dragonwall was supposed to welcome them, and Lena had assured her parents that she could handle the responsibility. Her grin widened. She had never promised her parents that she would handle it well.

She surveyed her guests from her hiding place. They shifted from foot to foot while they waited, clearly affronted by her lateness. These men were taller than human men ought to be, with strong muscular builds and perfectly shaped faces. By all accounts, they were far too handsome for their own good. This was because these men were not simply men. They were Drengr—dragons blessed with humanity—and each of them had come with high hopes.

She marched out into the open. "Greetings, gentlemen!" Her voice rang out, amplified by the towering walls surrounding the courtyard. She placed herself before them, hands on her hips. The group regarded her, observing her attire with looks of confusion. A few expressions twisted into distaste. Who was this untidy woman in men's clothing? What right did she have to address them?

She smirked at their reactions. "Thank you all for coming," she said. "I regret to inform you there has been a change in plans. Your services are no longer needed." She paused, watching as scowls deepened. "You may turn around and go home now."

One of the Drengr hopefuls boldly stepped forward. His eyebrows were tightly drawn together. "Excuse me, miss, but who are you to command us? We have traveled across an entire kingdom at the bidding of our monarchs. You have no such authority to turn us away."

"Yes, unfortunate," said Lena, "but I assure you I do have the authority."

A second Drengr stepped forward. "Well, we were assured a full fortnight of rest before the ceremony." He had green eyes and loosely cut dark hair, which he swept into a side part. Frustration and disdain appeared to manifest beneath his handsome features, twisting together like black shadows.

"Were you really? Two weeks?" She shook her head, as if feeling sorry for them.

This frustrated the second man even more, and he took a step forward to sneer at her. "Who do you think you are, girl?"

"Oh!" A thrill shot through her. "Do forgive me. I almost forgot to introduce myself. My name is Pr—"

"Leeeeeenaaaaa!" A horrifying screech silenced her. She flinched.

From the corridor behind her, her mother's feet could be heard padding against the flagstones, silken skirts rustling about her ankles. "Lena! What are you...?! What in the name of every god—" Her mother's voice echoed through the corridor behind them.

"Oops." Her smile turned into a grimace. "That, gentlemen, is my queen mother." They muttered and glanced between them. "Well. That's my cue. I must be going! It was an absolute pleasure, meeting you." She gave them a final, victorious smile then took off like a cat, sprinting away just as the queen came to a halt before their guests. The moment she reached the neighboring corridor, she stopped and clung to it, bursting into hysterical laughter. She had to lean against the wall to breathe. Oh, their faces! Nothing in the world was worth more than their astonishment. She didn't care that they could hear her roars.

What would her mother make of that, eh? She stopped to listen. The queen's profuse apologies drifted to her ears. Queen Amara was doing her best to diffuse the situation by explaining away Lena's love of practical jokes. And then her mother offered to show them to their accommodations. When Lena next glanced out, she saw Queen Amara leading the band of Drengr away.

Her heart leapt in her chest. She needed time to get back to her apartment, and quickly. She took off at a sprint. The sound of her boots against the flagstones followed her.

Several minutes later, she all but tumbled into her apartment's entry chamber. She slammed the door behind her and rushed into the main room. "Quick!" she gasped, looking at her handmaidens. They glanced at each other, uncertain. "Help me with these!"

Avra, Cora, and Theresa rushed forward at last, helping her with the ties of her bracers so that she could slide them off. Kenna Margaret watched on with an amused grin. It was a flurry of orders and activity. "Cora, my gown! Avra, my chemise. Theresa—"

Theresa rushed forward with a wet cloth to clean her face and hands. It was still warm from the pool in her bathing chamber. She exhaled as the last bits of dirt were wiped away.

"Are you going to tell us what happened, Princess?" Kenna Margaret stepped forward, pausing to examine her.

"Not now, Kenna. We must hurry!" It was a struggle to keep the laughter from her voice. She couldn't stop picturing the Drengr's shocked expressions when they realized that the crazy woman before them was the princess they were hoping to discover a bond with.

A trail of what she had been wearing littered the floor from the entryway to the vanity where Avra threw a chemise over her head. That was followed by Cora with the gown she was supposed to have worn, which had been made for the occasion. It was a deep, royal blue silk brocade. Royal blue was reserved exclusively for the royal family, by pain of death. This gown in particular had been made as a statement piece. Silver embroidery adorned its hem and trimmings. On the left side of her chest was the Drengr monarchy's sigil: a dragon's head. All who served the royal family proudly displayed it.

When she was dressed, Theresa rushed to do her hair, tearing at the braids on her head. Lena winced and closed her eyes against the tears, hating her sensitive scalp. Kenna Margaret stepped closer. "There now, you are looking much better, Princess. Much more as you ought. Now, are you going to tell us what happened, or will we have to guess? What has you in such a frantic state?"

"Oh Kenna!" she snapped, opening her eyes and turning to her. "Just come help with these braids. We haven't a moment to spare. But I can assure you, I gave those Drengr hopefuls quite a surprise." Just thinking about it made her smile again.

Lena's hair frizzed up to twice its usual size once free of the brides. Theresa rapidly replaced the small braids with four large ones, which she then skillfully weaved into a bun.

Shrieks sounded down the corridor, making them all jump. Someone was calling her name. "Leeenaaaa!" The noise came closer.

"Oh, Gods! Mother's coming. Hurry!" Lena gasped. Theresa placed the last pin in her hair and Lena nodded, turning to her handmaidens and Kenna Margaret. "You must hide. Quickly. Pretend you are not here."

"Truly, Princess Lena?" Her order was met with knitted eyebrows and wide eyes. "Pretend...pretend we are not here?"

"Yes, truly! Go, go, go," she said. "Into the bathing room. Do not let my mother see you. Oh, this is great fun, isn't it?!" She laughed darkly, looking at her pristine appearance in the mirror. This was Princess Lena as everyone wanted her to be, as she was expected to be. She stepped away from her vanity, bracing herself for what was to come.

Kenna Margaret whispered in the background, ushering her handmaidens away to her bathing chamber. The paneled door clicked shut behind Margaret just as the door to Lena's apartment burst open. In strode Queen Amara, radiating frustration and disbelief. The queen's patience had come to an end.

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