What Comes of Attending the Commoners Ball

by Elisabeth Aimee Brown

could easily fit inside, chickens and hogs included, although they’d be more out of place than I am. Or would we be equally out-of-place? Am I really more refined than a hog?

“My brother is … impetuous.” He glances at the portrait on the wall behind me. When he speaks again, it is deliberate. “He had his heart broken recently, and I worry that he may make a hasty choice for his next beau.”

no, not "beau"

tries to convince me to tell everyone that I danced with Prince Fitzhugh, but it was more embarrassing than anything. And besides, who would believe me? And if they did, would I have to share our cheese?

His touch is both strong and gentle. Warmth sparkles up my arm and lodges itself firmly in my heart. Wonderful. Now I can never wash this hand again.

“It’s not just superstition! My Mum had a neighbor whose cousin’s husband’s great-aunt’s daughter was taken to a Folk glade, and when she finally came back she cried all the time, they say.” Lucas flicks his gaze over to me. “You knew her?” “Well, no.” “Ah.”

“I do not think I know anyone else quite like you.” I grin. “How very sad for you.” “Very,” he agrees,

His lips quirk. “Afraid of angering Cook? You’ve always seemed so fearless.” “I find it prudent not to annoy people who feed me.”

I’ve been at the palace often enough that this house shouldn’t awe me, and yet it does, and a tiny portion of my heart is gladdened by the thought that I have not lost my wonder. I have not yet lost myself, and I don’t mean to.

She’s backed by a retinue of sycophants, who all stare at me. I recognize the look: my herd of hogs made the exact same expression when a lost owlet wandered through their pasture once.

appears with a steaming cup of tea and my own ham-and-egg platter. I forego them in favor of a buttery piece of toast.

forgo

I hope those men don’t come back down this alley, because a giggling pickle-barrel is probably not something they would overlook.

I blanche and shut my mouth

blanch