*Paige's P.O.V.*

"You don't have to wait for me every time, you know," Paige says, oddly touched to see Sam lounging in the uncomfortable plastic waiting room chair, which he specifically asked to have brought to a secluded corner in the back of the clinic just so that Paige wouldn't have to worry about the press seeing him in the waiting room of a therapist's office and asking questions. It's a little funny and more than a little endearing, the way Sam idly reclines in a cheap plastic chair almost the same way he sprawls in the throne at his mother's side. Georgia is curled up quietly at his feet.

He looks up now, seeing Paige's approach, and his face lights up, while Georgia sits up and noses at Paige's knees. "I don't have to," he agrees, "but I'd like to, so I will."

"I should never have told you it makes me feel better," Paige sighs, only half-serious, and shakes her head as she bends down to pet Georgia properly. Sam rises with fluid grace and smiles down at her, taking her hand (he does this so easily, now, and Paige sometimes forgets she hasn't always been so used to it).

"But it does make you feel better, doesn't it?"

Another sigh. "It does," she admits, squeezing Sam's hand slightly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Sam says, squeezing back. "So, how did it go? Are you feeling okay today?"

Side-by-side, they start to walk down the hallway, heading to the small, discreet private exit on the side of the clinic building. In nondescript clothes and with sunshades, they're hard to recognize, and even if photos do turn up, there'd be no real proof of it being either of them, which doesn't do a whole lot to get rid of Paige's anxiety, but it helps. A little.

"I'm alright," she answers, shrugging. "We just... talked. It was good."

"I'm glad to hear it," Sam answers, humming. He swings their joined hands as they walk, cheerful today, and it makes Paige smile too. Therapy definitely helps her, but sometimes the minutes right after each session can feel lonely like she had to cut herself off from something good and she's been cast adrift to fend for herself again, which is why having Sam here as soon as she gets out is ... nice.

It's incredible, how much having a space to just talk out all her fears is helping her. It's like in the months she went without it, she forgot just how much better it made her feel. She's glad she's finally doing it again, even though it's only been four weeks since she's started.

They wind up walking down the street, still hand-in-hand, and Paige lets herself relax a little bit. It's a beautiful day, the early summer sky a brilliant blue, spotted here and there with fluffy clouds. And sure, there might be a few people around, here and there, but it's okay, mostly. Even if they do get recognized, it'll be fine.

"Do you want to stop for lunch?" Sam asks, breaking into her thoughts, and Paige hesitates, processing the question, and then shrugs.

"Maybe a snack for me?" she says. "I'm not super hungry yet, but... maybe we could get something from a café and sit outside and eat? It's very nice out here today."

Sam stops walking and beams. "We can do that!" He looks around at the small shops all around them, pensive and thoughtful. "Do you see any cafés, in particular, you want to go to? Should we just experiment and try something new? I don't come to this particular street that often, so I don't have any favourites in the immediate area. Looks like we're in for a surprise! How exciting!"

It's funny, Paige thinks dryly to herself, that what she considers terrifying—uncertainty—is what Sam finds charming and exciting.

Well, at least it means there's one of them who's always going to be prepared for this kind of thing. And by that, Paige means that she herself is probably going to have to make sure she's ready for some kind of spontaneous adventure at all times. Just because Sam has never hauled her outside at two in the morning to stargaze yet doesn't mean he never will.

"I guess we're experimenting," she agrees, peering around. "Maybe... do you see the one across the street? It has a pink sign and those pastries in the window?"

Sam nods. "That looks good!" he grins. "Let's go try it."

***

And that's how Paige finds herself sitting in the grass in the park half an hour later, with a dog, a warm tea latte, and a chocolate-filled croissant at her side, and with Sam's head in her lap as her fiancé cloud-gazes, pointing out what he thinks different clouds are shaped like.

"Are we just ignoring the paparazzi for now?" Paige asks, resisting the urge to run her fingers through Sam's hair. She's quite familiar with Sam's habit of being ridiculously touchy-feely, but it still seems like a breach of some sort of etiquette on her part, touching his hair without permission, no matter how soft it looks. And besides, the paparazzi are right there. They're keeping some distance, but this is a public park, and Sam and Paige aren't really hiding, so...

"Yup!" Sam says cheerfully. "Don't worry, there's nothing incriminating about two people who are engaged spending time together at a park. Wanna give them something really worth looking at?"

"No," Paige says firmly. "I don't know what idea you just had, but we're not doing it in public."

"But Paige," Sam wheedles, eyes twinkling. Paige ignores the flutter in her stomach that's an unfortunate side-effect of having the full force of that dazzling grin directed unequivocally at her, shaking her head instead.

"Maybe, then."

Sam laughs, and good lord, that's even worse than the grin!

It is very unfortunate, Paige has discovered, when one knows someone who is unfairly attractive, and then that someone worms their way into one's trust and makes himself at home under the label of a friend, because all that does is make him even more attractive and also removes some of one's original inhibitions about finding him attractive, such as it's purely aesthetic and I barely know him and I don't know if I trust him anyway so I'm safe—I can admire his appearance and keep my personal distance.

(Very, very unfortunate.)

"You also said you don't even know what I was planning, though," Sam protests, drawing her out of her thoughts. Paige fervently hopes she isn't blushing and hurriedly stuffs the last of her croissant into her mouth to give her an excuse not to speak. "It could be something perfectly harmless!"

Mouth full of croissant, all Paige can do is level a sceptical glance down at that bright smile.

"Oh, ye of little faith," Sam sighs, dramatically pressing the back of his hand to his forehead as if he feels faint. "I'm wounded."

"I didn't say anything," Paige points out, stifling a laugh. "What was your plan, then?"

Sam shakes his head. "Now I can't tell you. You've hurt me too deeply. I don't think I can carry on." He rolls over, off Paige's lap, and buries his face in Georgia's fur, and lets out the most melodramatic sigh Paige has ever heard. And that's saying something.

"Alright," Paige says. "Then that's fine. Don't tell me."

She sips her latte again—it's almost cold, so she really ought to just finish it—and waits. It really is beautiful out here, she thinks, closing her eyes to enjoy the feeling of the dappled sunlight as it filters through the tree above them and onto her face.

Of course, being out in public means never fully letting her guard down, especially not with the ever-present risk of assassination, so she opens them again not too much later, looking around to make sure nothing has changed and nobody is approaching them. She doesn't see anything suspicious but does catch sight of someone else surreptitiously taking pictures of them while trying to act natural and sighs.

There is nothing wrong with two people who are engaged having lunch together in a park, even if they are royalty. It's a weekend, and they have the day off. She knows this, but her anxiety still spikes, and she finds herself having to take deep breaths. Perhaps she should have forgone the caffeine.

"Paige?"

Sam's hand slips into hers easily, and Paige looks down, startled. "Oh," she says, looking at their joined hands in the grass. "Yes?"

"You looked kind of far away for a moment," Sam says. "A penny for your thoughts?"

Paige laughs softly, humorlessly, and shakes her head. "Nothing important," she murmurs. "I was just... fretting. That's all."

"Would you prefer if we went back to the palace?" Sam asks, his thumb rubbing soothing, slow circles over the base of Paige's.

Paige hesitates. Part of her wants to lie down in the grass too, wants to roll over and just bury her face in Sam's shoulder and hide in the blissful feeling of security that comes from being held, wants to continue basking in the early summer sunshine without having to worry, and if she was with Bela and at home, she knows she would. But out in public with Sam is... different.

They're friends, yes. But it still feels like Paige is testing the waters of their relationship as it grows, never quite sure where the boundaries lie and never wanting to cross them inadvertently. The teasing and the friendly banter—that's all relatively new. And the element of knowing that every picture taken today could easily end up on the internet doesn't help much with her worries.

Yeah, okay, the paparazzi is stressing her out. "Yes, please," she says softly, and Sam nods, sitting up. Georgia, dozing, yawns and lifts her head as Paige leaves Sam to gather their leftover trash as she gets to her feet.

"Are you alright?" Sam asks, taking Paige's hand again as they start walking, tossing the empty cups and paper bag in a trash can on the way.

"Just a little nervous," Paige admits, keeping her gaze fixed on the sidewalk. She leans her head against Sam's shoulder, just for a moment, and Sam squeezes her hand in response.

"It'll be alright," he says, the oldest line in the book and Paige almost laughs at how cliché it is, but at least he's making an effort. That's sweet of him. "You know, there's a botanical garden in Lawrence. Would you like to go sometime? Maybe next weekend?"

A botanical garden—just like the park, but more private. Paige has missed gardens, gardens like the ones she grew up with. She can think of nothing she'd like better. Except perhaps swimming. "I'd love to," she says. "Thank you."

***

Paige is having lunch with Lord Tran when she receives the most terrifying message she's ever gotten in her life. It leaves her staring at her phone, petrified, with ice coursing through her veins instead of blood, as her heart pounds painfully hard.

It must show in her face because Lord Tran clears his throat politely and inquires, "Is everything alright, Princess Mains?"

Paige raises her head, eyes wide.

"Um," she says. "I have just been invited to have tea with the Queen this Saturday."

"Ah," Lord Tran says, understanding. Sympathy blooms in his eyes, perhaps along with relief, relief that Paige is still calm and breathing and not running away. All of the others have treated her a bit more delicately since her panic attack and subsequent snowy misadventure, and while Paige can't say she doesn't understand why they're doing it, she has to admit she wishes they wouldn't. She hates being treated like she's made of glass. "I wish you the best of luck."

Paige laughs awkwardly. "Thank you," she says. "I will probably need it."

"If it's any consolation," Lord Tran offers, "she's really not as bad as she seems."

Another awkward laugh, as Paige fights down her nervousness and types out a reply in the affirmative, that, 'of course, she's free' and 'she would be delighted'—wait, no, 'she'd be honoured to join Her Majesty for tea'. "Well, I'm sure it'll be fine," she says, squaring her shoulders and forcing a smile as she once again puts her phone aside.

"As am I," Lord Tran says, nodding. "Would you rather we talk about something else, though? I know Queen Winchester can be rather, ah, forceful. It's perfectly fine to be nervous, you know."

"Talking about something else sounds wonderful," Paige decides. Lord Tran, like the others in what Paige has come to see as their group, knows Paige has anxiety (of course he knows, after last month), but Sam is the only one Paige has actually talked to about it in depth, so far, and right now she'd rather keep it that way. She'll tell the rest more eventually, but right now taking it slowly sounds less overwhelming.

"Alright! Well, in that case, I can think of a much, much nicer topic," Lord Tran smiles. He rests his chin on one hand and lets out a dreamy sigh. "Have you spoken much with Channing yet? Ah—that is, Lady Ngo. She really is something out of this world..."

(Paige doesn't really do much talking for the rest of their luncheon, but that's alright. She's never minded listening, however, she honestly ignored Kev.)

*-*-*

[14:08] angry kitten princeling:

im bored and its friday lets go spar

[14:08] Charlie:

sorry I can't right now!!! helping prep for the Harvelle twins' arrival

[14:09] angry kitten princeling:

"helping prep" wow transparent, u mean avoiding prep work to text/flirt with the princess lmao

[14:09] Charlie:

Don't give me that kind of talk, I am both productive AND gay

[14:13] angry kitten princeling:

ughhhh

im still bored tho

oh wait i just had an idea. bye

***

*Dean's P.O.V.*

Snap Pea is not in her rooms.

Well, either that, or she's in there but she's ignoring Dean at her door, which would make her a rude bitch, and since Dean is a paragon of politeness, he's going to assume that Snap Pea is not a bitch because assuming the worst is rude or whatever. Anyway, the point is, Snap Pea isn't answering her door.

That's annoying. That's really annoying. Charlie's busy with court things like the minutia of the ceremonies to welcome the Harvelles (should the tablecloths be eggshell or white, who fucking cares), Kevin is swooning over Channing (her smile is so beautiful, who fucking cares), and Sam is supposed to be with the Queen right now, so where the hell would Snap Pea be? Dean swears, if Sam actually whisked her away to go on yet another date, he's going to kick his cousin down the stairs.

Well.

If he can't find Snap Pea, there's nothing for it—maybe he should just go try and Skype Cas or something. See if that invitation to visit Qazrazi in autumn is still open. Ugh, typical—he has a day off and everyone else is busy. What's he supposed to do, all the work his tutors assigned? Fat fucking chance!

"Prince Dean?"

Dean whirls on his heel to see none other than Snap Pea herself, looking surprised to see Dean in front of her own door. She looks like she just got back from ... something athletic? Yoga maybe, those look like yoga pants. But she's not carrying a mat, so who knows.

Anyway, that's not important.

"Do you know how to use a sword?" Dean demands, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm bored and I haven't sparred in a while. You're not busy now, are you?"

"Um—well, Sam was planning on—but that's later, so... no, I'm not busy, right now," Snap Pea says, shaking her head. She blinks owlishly behind her glasses. "I know some swordplay, but to be honest, I learned a lot more about how to use knives. They're easier to conceal and are therefore more practical for self-defence in a lot of the scenarios that I'm likely to encounter."

"Concealed weapons?" Dean snorts. "Sounds shady, Snap Pea."

Snap Pea laughs. "I learned from a shadow enchanter assassin, so you could definitely say that."

Dean's eyes go wide despite all his intentions to appear unflappable. "You know shadow magic?" he demands, shocked. That never really seemed like a Snap Pea thing at all! "You learned from one of the shadow assassins?"

"Oh, no, I don't know much shadow magic at all, except for a little of the basics that I learned more or less through osmosis from her," Snap Pea quickly clarifies, shaking her head. "I learned self-defence from a shadow assassin, though. If you've heard of the shadow guild that runs out of Genosha, she's part of it."

If. Of course, Dean's heard of that guild—everyone worth their salt who's ever even considered hiring an assassin knows about the shadow guilds. The one based in Genosha is one of the most infamous, most high-quality, and therefore most expensive to hire. Not that Dean's ever had to have someone assassinated, of course, but he has been curious about how it all works, so he's looked into it.

Anyway, the point is, he's kind of reevaluating his idea of Snap Pea as soft and harmless and delicate. She learned from someone in the most renowned shadow guild out there? Damn.

"You... look surprised," Snap Pea observes, her deductions brilliant as ever. Dean scoffs.

"I just didn't think you had something like that in you," he sniffs. "You look like a fucking pansy, anyway."

Snap Pea actually laughs at that. "Well, that's to my advantage, don't you think? People are more likely to underestimate me if they think I'm not a threat. But don't worry, I'm really not that great in a fight anyway." She comes closer, reaches past Dean, and opens her door. "You can come in if you want, by the way—I just need to put my bag away."

"Where've you even been? I was waiting on you," Dean grumbles, following her into the sitting room. He waits by the couch while Snap Pea heads into her bedroom and deposits her bag, then returns.

"Dancing!" she answers, beaming. It's the most genuine smile Dean has seen on her since they've met, probably. Huh, she must really love dancing. "Have you ever done ballet, Prince Dean?"

"No," Dean answers short and to the point. What type of person does Snap Pea peg him for?

"I see," Snap Pea says. "You took up sparring, though?"

Dean shrugs. "It's a thing we do here, I guess. It's like... tradition. Everyone learns some form of swordplay. Sam, that dick, has been the undefeated champion every time we've had a tournament for like six or so years. I'm gonna kick his ass soon, though."

Snap Pea considers that for a moment, and honestly, she should go back to acting like she does in court, because right now she's not bothering to hide her emotions that much, and Dean's pretty sure he can pinpoint the exact moment when Snap Pea goes from thinking about Sam having technical skill with a blade to whether her imaginary Sam looks more attractive with a sword and a gold trophy, and he kind of wants to throw up.

"Anyway," he says, and Snap Pea blinks. "How the hell did you of all people end up learning self-defence from a shadow assassin? Did your parents pay him a shitton to teach you or something?"

Snap Pea gets a fond smile on her face. "Not quite," she laughs. "More like my parents took her in when she ran away from her family's home, and she continued studying from under our roof and taught me things as she did. She got really good too! She enchanted a knife for me before I came here, actually—oh, I left it in my bag, hang on."

Has Snap Pea been carrying a knife?

It's not unheard of for nobility to carry ceremonial weapons, but again, the concept of Snap Pea of all people doing it? Dean blinks and stares after her, aghast, as she ducks into the bedroom again before emerging with a small, unobtrusive knife in a subtly decorated, elegant black sheath. It looks very plain and ordinary, albeit obviously made from high-quality materials, but something about it is off-putting.

"What kind of enchantment?" he asks, frowning at it. Snap Pea seems used to its aura by now, holding it easily, and just shrugs.

"I actually don't know," she says. "When I asked her what it does, she just looked at me and said that she hoped I would never have to find out."

"That's sketchy as hell, Snap Pea," Dean mutters. "I'm still weirded out that you of all people actually know how to use a knife in a fight." It had seemed much more likely that Snap Pea would be the type of person to run away—it's not that she looks totally helpless or anything (Dean has seen her in court, and she's probably just as good at the political games as Sam), but she just... never struck Dean as the type to learn actual fighting. He wasn't sure that Snap Pea would know ceremonial things like swordplay, let alone shadow-assassin-styled knife fighting. She just looks like a harmless puppy or something.

Snap Pea just laughs sheepishly and shrugs. "Well, when you're a princess, you have to learn some kind of self-defence, right?"

"...Yeah," Dean says, supposing that a harmless puppy appearance would be to one's benefit in a fight—element of surprise and getting an enemy to underestimate you and all that. Then he shakes his head. "Anyway, I don't actually care, but if you're halfway decent with that thing, come spar with me. I need a partner and everyone else is busy."

Snap Pea considers it. "Well," she says, "alright. Are there practice blades somewhere?"

Dean scoffs. "Of course, do you think I wanna spar with sharpened swords? No, stupid, come on."

It's a little funny. As spring has started melting into summer and Snap Pea's presence in Ruritania has become less of an anomaly and more of a given, Dean has become less and less worried about maintaining perfect manners around her. Insults are his preferred mode of communication, and Snap Pea never even told on him for the time at the beach, when Dean called her an idiot, so Dean has to give her some measure of grudging respect.

"I'm coming!" Snap Pea says. "Just let me put my glasses away. Sparring with glasses tends to end badly, in my experience."

"Yeah, yeah, hurry up," Dean rolls his eyes. "I don't have all day, Snap Pea!"

"Really? I thought you had the day off," Snap Pea says over her shoulder as she heads to the bathroom. Dean considers throwing one of the pillows from her couch at her.

"Don't be a smartass!"

Snap Pea just hums in response, and Dean flops over onto the couch to wait on her. He's actually kind of looking forward to sparring now—not that he wasn't looking forward to it earlier, it's just that he assumed he'd be kicking Snap Pea's ass into next month, which as a concept certainly has its own charms but wouldn't help him achieve his ultimate goal, which is practicing hard against a decent opponent (like Charlie, his usual partner) so that he can make sure he's good enough to kick Sam's ass into next month, when the tournament starts in autumn.

But it looks like Snap Pea is just full of surprises, huh?

Wait, no, no ew ew ew that's what Sam said about her, albeit with more heart emojis and ugh nope no goodbye, Dean is not thinking about this. Sam is annoying and he knows it. Kevin says he does it because he thinks it's funny that Dean always blows up at him, but still, he's annoying and it's worth yelling at him for.

...Although... Dean will admit, if only in the privacy of his own mind and maybe to Castiel if asked several times while tipsy, that Sam has seemed genuinely happier with Snap Pea around, and since Snap Pea came here, Sam has been spending more time with all of them, not just cutting himself off to constantly sharpen his edges into the perfect prince all the time.

It's... been nice.

Not that he'll ever tell either Snap Pea or Sam that he appreciates them, of course. That'd be stupid and sappy and he might end up sounding like them, the horror.

"Okay!" Snap Pea's chirpy voice draws him out of his thoughts, and he sits up. Snap Pea is waiting, bare-faced and sport bag on her shoulder again. "Ready to go?"

Dean vaults to his feet and grins. "Ready to eat dirt, Snap Pea?"

"That doesn't sound particularly appetizing," Snap Pea says, wrinkling her nose. Dean rolls his eyes. Snap Pea's command of Ruritanian is almost but not quite impeccable, given the years she's spent learning it, but some phrases, particularly idiomatic expressions, still trip her up.

"Idiom."

"Oh," Snap Pea says. "Right."

"Yeah," Dean says. "Okay, whatever. Just come on already."

Maybe he'll unblock Sam later just to text him "guess who just kicked your fiancée's ass". That should be funny.