A quaint little cottage sat in the center of a plowed clearing, its front shadowed from the full moon. Soft candlelight danced along the sills of two sturdy windows. There was also a barn to the left, and several chickens walked freely about, but there was no sign of Arek anywhere.

Tyra could not believe she was helping a ghost — the ghost of a peasant who had the nerve to humiliate her, no less. She jabbed him in the back, just to be sure — again — that he was a ghost. And again, she felt nothing. His presence went against everything she had ever heard about ghosts. He did not glow, nor was he transparent. He seemed normal, like any healthy person. Despite the illusion, he was dead. Not that it was a tremendous loss, in her opinion. She hadn’t heard of his death, something the royal scribe would have mentioned at the morning meal. Mother liked to know of Avërand’s new births; Father, on the other hand, preferred news about the deceased.

Pushing the morbid thought from her mind, Tyra surveyed the clearing and smelled the air, catching a tinge of smoke. The ground was soft, too, but free of moisture, since it had not rained all week. They walked by a grave mound, not far from the road.

“That’s where they buried me,” said the peasant.

At the head of the grave was a stone with the inscription, Nels: The Knight of Cobblestown. Flowers and wreaths adorned either side of the plot, along with a few burned-out candles. The collection of flora was the greatest that Tyra had ever seen for a deceased commoner.

“Once I speak to your mother, I am going home.”

“You’ll want to put on your hood,” he warned.

Tyra did so without knowing why. “Whatever for?”

“My mother hates royalty. If she knows you’re the princess —”

“Why would anyone hate royalty?”

The peasant raised his brow with a conspicuous stare. She glared back as his eyes turned to the cottage. In spite of the peasant’s insolence, Tyra was intrigued and curious about him — if only a little. He annoyed her, most definitely, but she also remembered him being rather nimble during his spar with Arek — beguiling, even — and Tyra did have a tendency to find tall men attractive. But not this one; no, she couldn’t stand this peasant in the least. Then again, it would one day become her duty to settle the kingdom’s affairs, to resolve disputes and help the people. Fulfilling the request of a dead peasant was a memorable way to start.

“I’m glad you found me. You have no idea what it’s like to go unnoticed.”

Tyra sighed. “Actually, I do know what that’s like.”

“Isn’t ignoring the princess a high offense?”

“Not if you’re my father.”

Nels was silent, a look of curiosity on his face.

“Look,” Tyra said. “All I want is to speak to your mother and be done with this.”

“You didn’t come here to apologize, then?” he replied. “Why are you out here?”

“I came here to practice witchy spells. Do you want me to speak to your mother or not?”

Again, the peasant said nothing. He just smiled with a nod and pressed for the cottage.

When they reached the door, Tyra gave it a knock. No answer. “Is she home?”

“Give her a moment,” he said.

“Wait,” Tyra said, panicking. “What should I say to her?”

The door opened a crack. Standing on the other side of the threshold was a middle-aged woman with red hair, her face glazed with sorrow. She looked lovely, aside from her puffy, bloodshot eyes. She stared at Tyra with a suspicious frown, stooping to see more of what lay beneath her hood. “Do I know you, young lady?”

“We, uh, have never met,” Tyra answered, “but I have come to tell you …”

The peasant stood beside her. The woman did not seem to notice. “What is it?”

Tyra looked to the peasant, unsure of what to say, as the woman waited.

I can’t just say her son is a ghost. “It’s … sensitive. Can we talk inside?”

“I have no idea who you are,” the woman said “but I see by the dress beneath your cloak that you are a Lady of the Court. You are not welcome in my home. Good night.”

Without giving Tyra a chance to speak, the woman closed the door.

Tyra glanced at the peasant. “She can tell by the hem of my dress?”

“She knows a lot about nobility,” said the peasant.

Tyra shrugged. “So what now?”

“Try again?”

“And what should I say to her? ‘Your son is a ghost. He has a message for you’?”

“Not like that. Just … let her know I love her, and that she shouldn’t blame herself.”

Easier said than done. “I’ll think of something.” Tyra knocked on the door again.

“Her name is Norell, if that helps.”

The door eased open again, enough for the woman to reveal her left eye and a portion of her annoyed frown. “Young lady,” she said brusquely, “I insist you harass me no further!”

“Your son,” Tyra uttered. “This is about your son.”

Norell widened the door. “You knew my son?”

“Well.” Tyra tried not to shift her eyes at him. “Sort of.”

“Come in, milady. You should not be out there alone.”

Tyra entered, surprised by the woman’s quick insistence. The peasant followed as the door closed. A few lit candles revealed a cluttered room with cloth strewn about. A loom sat in the corner, its heddles laced with thread. Norell pulled up a chair and encouraged Tyra to sit down.

“Mind your voice. I have a guest asleep in the back. I thought her mouth would never stop.” She walked into the kitchen and raised a kettle from the hearth. “Care for tea?”

The peasant nodded at the princess. “A sip would be fine,” Tyra answered.

Norell eyed her as she searched through a cupboard.

“I don’t get it,” said the peasant. “She’s being nice to you.”

Tyra waited for Norell to tip her kettle, and then she whispered, “Is that uncommon?”

“Did you say something, dear?” the woman asked.

“I — I, uh,” Tyra stuttered, trying to keep track of them both. “I like your tapestries!”

“Why, thank you, child.” Norell carried two cups of steaming tea to the table, their brims lined with silver. Tyra quickly raised hers and sipped, surprised by the strong taste of honey and angelica root. The concoction was more delicious than she was expecting. “I am sorry for being so affront with you, my dear,” Norell said, taking a seat across from her. “I have not been myself since my son … passed …”

Tyra lowered her cup. “I am sorry for your loss. It came as a shock to me.”

“As it did for many,” Norell added. “How did you know my son?”

“I met him in the village,” Tyra said. “Last week.”

“At the festival, I take it. Would you remove your hood, please?”

Tyra knew it was impolite to remain hooded in another’s household, but the peasant shook his head, insisting that she keep it on. She removed it anyway, exposing her yellow hair and soft complexion. The woman leaned forward, astonished, as Tyra’s strands settled.

“Such a pretty girl. He made no mention of you. Were you fond of him?”

“Oh — no, no,” Tyra said, blushing. “It’s nothing like that.”

The woman nodded as she turned to the fire. “He was such a picky boy when it came to girls,” Norell said. “I never knew of him meeting you, a young noble girl. He must have been scared to death to say anything; I thank you for your condolences.” She closed her eyes and sipped from her cup. “I severed my ties with the Court many years ago. Perhaps the nobility is not as conceited as I remember.”

The peasant backed away a step, as if startled by what the woman had said. “Severed ties with the Court?” He snapped his fingers. “I knew it! Her manners, the gowns in her wardrobe, the way she always knew so much about the nobility … Why didn’t she ever tell me about this?”

Tyra studied Norell, finding it hard to accept the unlikely herself. “You’re a Lady?”

“I was a Lady — of the Court, that is,” Norell said. “Perhaps I am saying too much, but I must make up for years of silence. If I had told him sooner, Nels may still be with us.”

The woman raised a hand to her eyes while Tyra caught a shattered look on the peasant’s face, as if he refused to believe his mother’s words. Tyra had a hard time believing them, too. Why would this woman voluntarily leave the Court and live the life of a peasant? Tyra would rather die first than be a commoner. “Why would you renounce your title and live out here?” she asked.

“I doubt you know what happened to my husband,” Norell continued. “He was murdered before the entire Court. Because of Lennart, my husband’s life was taken by a madman.”

Tyra blinked. This was news to her. “No,” she said. “I’ve never heard of this.”

“Lennart never had the backbone to confront his problems, after all my husband did for him. Now all he does is sulk in his castle like a coward, while my son is murdered by the man who killed his father.” Norell began to sob, softly. “It was a clear night. It was not lightning that brought down that tree!” The woman quickly composed herself. “My apologies,” she said, changing the subject. “Please tell me, young lady. Who are your parents? If they are native to this area, surely I would remember them.”

Tyra didn’t know what to do. Telling the woman that she was the king’s daughter would be a terrible idea. Luckily, before Tyra could speak, a thump sounded on the other side of the cottage. A scrawny young girl appeared in the kitchen, her brown hair unkempt and her clothing tattered. This had to be the guest that Norell mentioned. The girl rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked at them. “Who’s there?”

The peasant winced. “Oh, great …”

Tyra shot him a glance, wondering what the matter was. She watched the girl wander to the fireplace and sniff the warm kettle. “Company,” Norell said, releasing a deep sigh. “This is Jilia. She has been kind enough to help me these last few days. I honestly do not know what I would do without her. She and Nels were such good friends. You never did tell me your name, milady?”

“I …” The situation had officially overwhelmed Tyra. “I’d better go.”

“But,” Norell insisted, “you had something to say about my son?”

“What about Nels?” The mousy girl ran closer to the table and stopped suddenly. Her brown eyes widened like huge apricots as she pointed at Tyra. “What’s the princess doing here?”

Norell whipped her head back and locked her eyes with Tyra’s. “Princess?”

With a groan, the peasant raised a hand to his forehead.

“Yes,” Tyra admitted with a gulp. “I am the princess.”

“Princess Tyra?” Norell’s kindly face changed to one of astonishment. “Carin’s girl?” She then placed a hand over her heart. “I never expected. In my house. Why are you here?”

Tyra didn’t know how to explain, but she tried. “This will sound … strange.” She closed her eyes, knowing how absurd she might sound. “I saw Nels in the woods. He is a ghost now.”

His mouth gapping open, the peasant stared at her. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know. What am I supposed to say?” she responded.

When silence followed, Tyra’s eyes drifted to the girl and the woman. Both of them stared at her with horror in their eyes. An ember popped out of the hearth, making Norell jump.

“Nels — a ghost?” Jilia said. “A ghost? Are you mad?”

“I will not hear this.” Norell’s jaw clenched. “Leave my house at once!”

Tyra caught her breath, stunned by their contempt. Even the look on the peasant’s face was exasperated. “I knew they wouldn’t believe me,” she said, glaring at him. She then stood up and turned to the woman, ready to leave. “He loves you and he doesn’t want you to blame yourself.” After that, she turned to the peasant and folded her arms. “There,” she muttered. “I said it.”

“You have said enough!” the woman cried. “You humiliated my son, and now you insult my grief. You wicked, shameful girl — you and your entire family are nothing but a disgrace!”

“How dare you!” Tyra cried back. “I could have you imprisoned!”

“Leave my house!” Norell shouted. “Get out!”

“Who are you to order me about, peasant?”

The woman stormed around the table and seized Tyra by the arm. She yanked the princess to the door and cast her out. The door slammed before Tyra landed on the ground. A loud bawling sounded within the cottage. The door opened a crack, just enough for the girl to poke her head out.

“You’re a vile, wicked trollop!” she said. “If you come back, I’ll make you sorry!”

Again, the door slammed. Tyra dusted herself off, storming past the grave.

The nerve of that woman, handling me like that!

She should have left the moment she couldn’t find Arek in the clearing. The peasant started to call after her, but she went on. She had given into his plea once already, yielding to assist his problem, but she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. She should not have come here.

The peasant caught up with her. “Will you stop and listen to me?”

“I did what you asked,” she said. “I did my best and it only made a mess of things. Are you happy now?” She kept marching. “I fulfilled my agreement; now you fulfill yours!”

“If you won’t stop, I’ll —”

“What will you do, ghost? Walk through me?”

“I’ll … I’ll haunt you. That’s what ghosts do. I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life!”

Scoffing at him, Tyra proceeded into the woods, hoping to find Brooklet in Cobblestown. The peasant persisted, walking in front of her with every step. She refused to acknowledge him, and she refused to think of him haunting her, following her wherever she went, so she hoped his threat was an empty one. As they reached the edge of the woods, he ran ahead and stuck his leg out in front of her. Unhindered, she walked right through it.

“What were you doing?” she asked, finally acknowledging him.

The peasant grumbled back.

“I can’t hear you, ghost.”

“I was trying to trip you.”

Tyra laughed. “There’s a problem with that — you’re dead!”

Without looking back, she walked over the quarry hill and finally descended into the village. The peasant didn’t follow her this time. Perhaps the edge of the woods was as far as he could go. Master Wussen, one of her instructors trained in ghost lore, mentioned how ghosts can only go to certain places. The peasant could stay in the woods. She would not have it any other way, even if the thought of leaving him gave her no comfort.

She had tried to help, and she had failed — miserably.

How can anyone expect me to rule? I can’t even help a dead peasant.

Tyra figured it was midnight by now. The moon was still high and bright. Upon entering the village, Tyra found her mare drinking from a trough. The princess approached Brooklet, stroked her mane, mounted, and guided her toward the castle. They rode for a while and then stopped. At the east end of the village, Tyra turned to see the silhouetted hill once more — for the last time.

“I will never again go into those woods.”

Slipping quietly into her soft bed and feeling the down of her countless pillows, Tyra blew out her candle, pulled the long silk sheets up to her chin, and closed her eyes for the night. Her thoughts lingered on Arek as she listened to the quiet.

The silence was rather comforting.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for a ‘witchy’ princess.”

Tyra sat up with a start, her eyes peering into the darkness.

A tall figure stood in the center of her room, staring back with dark eyes. Moonlight bled through the windows behind him and reached the foot of her bed. He should have cast a shadow on her sheets, but there was none. Master Wussen was mistaken. Ghosts could go anywhere — and he had found her.

He stepped closer. Tyra clutched her pillow. Her heart raced.

She wanted to scream, but what good would that do?

No one else could see him.