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whom I had previously considered a sensible fellow, followed me around for five days with an expression as addlepated as a cow off her feed. He got in the way when I tried to scrub every flagstone of our front path by hand, the way Lucille demanded. I finally had to tell him I’d pull every one of his fingernails out with my bare hands if he didn’t leave me alone. (I wouldn’t—and couldn’t—have done it, of course, but he was too stupid and lovesick to know that.) That got rid of him, but I still hated to go to the butcher’s because of him. Or I did, before I became a princess and didn’t have to sort through animal entrails anymore.
    Of course, if I’d bothered pondering it, I would have thought becoming a princess and wearing fancy dresses instead of rags—and having several maids whose sole purpose in life seemed to be making me beautiful—would have subjected me to more addlepated expressions than ever. But it hadn’t. Maybe being the prince’s betrothed was as good as wearing a sign that said; “Addle or pate over this girl, and the prince could have you beheaded.” Before this young man—or boy, really, he wasn’t much more than a boy—every glance directed my way had been perfectly discreet and bland. But he was still gawking.
    â€œWell,” I said, “thank you. But please, I beg you, don’t let it bother you.”
    He shut his gaping mouth and gave a little jerk and returned to what I guessed must be normal for him. He dipped into an awkward bow, almost laughably off balance, then swung back up sideways and introduced himself.
    â€œI’m Jed Reston. I’m sure someone told you—I’m going to be teaching you because my father is . . . er, dang it, I’m not used to talking to princesses. What words am I allowed to use to tell you what happened to my father?”
    I stepped aside to let him into the room.
    â€œI’m not really a princess,” I said, forgetting myself. Then I quickly added, “I mean, I wasn’t raised the way a princess would be raised in this kingdom. And I saw what happened to your father. How is he now?”
    â€œJust fine. Thank you for your concern.” The words came out rapid-fire, like blasts from several cannons at once.
    â€œNo, really, ” I said. “Tell me. I don’t care what words you use.”
    Jed grimaced.
    â€œStill mostly paralyzed. But you can tell that underneath, he’s furious at not being able to get up and walk and talk and act pompous. Oops. Dang it again. Dad’s right. I never will learn to be diplomatic.”
    He looked so nonplussed, I couldn’t help laughing. After a second, he joined in.
    â€œI suppose I shouldn’t do that when Dad’s not aroundto defend himself—but he already knows I think he acts pompously. He says it’s part of his job. Which I’m supposed to be doing now.”
    I’d met Jed only moments earlier, but already I knew he could never carry off pomposity. He did seem serious, though, about doing his father’s job. His eyes were scanning the room.
    â€œWhere do you study?” he asked.
    I pointed to the pair of chairs where Lord Reston and I had sat only the day before. I was delighted that Jed sat down immediately without doing the elaborate cat-and-mouse dance all my other instructors followed: “Princess, may I help you to your seat?” (Deep bow.) “May it be your pleasure that your humble servant be seated as well?” (Deep bow again.) Madame Bisset had told me that if anyone failed to show me the proper respect of that ridiculous little routine (“ridiculous” being my term for it, not hers) I should feign a fainting spell and call for a guard to have the cretin removed. I had never bothered to ask how I could call for a guard while fainting. I hastened to my chair for fear that Jed might realize his error and attempt to correct it. In the past