Emma stood back and admired her work. The thatched roof wasn’t easy to repair. Many men had stopped along the street, gazing up at this girl balancing precariously atop a steep roof, and taken it as their moment of destiny, where they could show off their manhood and help this damsel in distress. Although it was annoyingly distracting, Emma was grateful that so many men would help her should she need it. It wasn’t necessarily their fault. They probably grew up hearing stories about knights from far-off lands who helped fight heretics and save defenseless women.

 

The issue, of course, was that she wasn’t defenseless at all in this current moment. She was sure of her footing and confident in her ability to lay and bind thatching over a small hole in a simple roof. She enjoyed being self-reliant, and she adored being able to affect the world around her. Even if the impact was only a few sheets of straw atop a humble house, Emma could look up at that small patch when a storm passed through and know in her heart of hearts that she existed, that she had sway over the appearance of the world, and that she could fix her own problems thank-you-very-much.

 

Godrick was the next man to stop under the bright glare of the sun and stare up at her sweating body. He was one of the hired masons rebuilding the parish church on the east side of town. Like most of the men who’ve stopped, he was well over twenty years her senior; he had a wife and two kids, who she sometimes played with after she finished her odd jobs. Emma smiled and waved at him kindly as he offered his services. She turned him down, explaining that the job was already finished, and any effort imparted by him at this point would be a waste of his good energy. He thus continued on his way, and Emma enjoyed her solitude again.

 

“Showing off now, ain’t ye?”

 

Emma spun on the roof and smiled down at Alice, her best friend of five-going-on-six summers. Ever since she and her mother first moved to Marlborough, Emma had been fond of Alice. She became engaged to a slow-witted but gentle boy named Roger recently, saddening Emma because she now saw her much less than she’d like. Emma, at the exciting and prosperous age of 14, realized that most of her girlfriends—like Alice, who was only two years her elder—were already off getting married. In tough times like these, any extra family member meant a better chance of surviving these dismal winters.

 

“Only for ye, my love,” said Emma. She bear-crawled her way to the ladder and scurried down to Alice. They shared a warm embrace before heading to the market.

 

The pair chatted along the way, catching up about each other’s families and the few exotic experiences they’d had with the odd foreigner that passed through their city. On top of that, other than discussions about church, the juicy rumors swirling about folk their age always became the prime subject of their talks.

 

When they reached the market, Alice and Emma bought bread, spices, and game meat. The air was full of the textured aroma of sweets and delicacies.

​

“When’d ye get so much money?” asked Alice.

 

“Been doin’ plenty of odd jobs,” said Emma. “Fixing roofs. Delivering letters.”

 

“And do they know you can read?”

 

“They wouldn’t hand me important letters if they did.”

 

“You’re going to get yourself into trouble.” Alice and Emma smiled conspiratorially.

 

“Ye want to know the best one I’ve read yet?”

 

“Yes! Must you even ask?”

 

They pulled each other into an isolated corner away from any prying ears. They giggled to each other. “Lord Hunnington has professed a new love life,” whispered Emma.

 

“Ooooh. To whom? Prithee tell. Come, come.”

 

“Peace, Alice!” They smiled and pushed into each other. Nobles were weird. They rarely married for romance, and it made Emma very confused. Why were they so content with being unhappy? Like, they’re rich . . . just be rich and marry someone dashing. But alas, the eccentric highborn found a way to neglect their marriage that confused her even more. Each noble had the person they were married to, the man or woman they had their personal and . . . sexual duties with—the word sex still made Emma feel naughty—but then, the nobles had their actual admirers, the person they really loved but couldn’t be with for whatever stupid reasons. They called it a “love life.” The life of amour they could experience away from their wife or husband.

 

And the part that scrambled Emma’s brain the most? The wife or husband usually allowed it.

 

WHAT?!

 

It made no sense to her. She would be furious! Why can’t they just be with the person they love? The one who makes them feel warm and cozy, like the sun exploded inside their chest. If Emma found out Tom would even consider a love life—

 

“Emma,” Alice moaned. “Tell me who!”

 

“He has a love life with Isabeau of Wareham.”

 

Alice gasped. “He chose someone from the empress’s land? Why would he do that? He’ll never get to see her.”

 

“He said, ‘love is love,’ or some silliness like that. Ye want to hear the best part?”

 

“Yes, spit it out.”

 

“Guess how old she is?”

 

“Emma, how’m I supposed to guess that?”

 

“Just do it.”

 

“Seventeen?”

 

“Forty-five.”

 

“HOLY SHIT!”

 

Emma spat out a laugh. Alice ducked down, embarrassed by her own outburst. Some older women walking by gave them dirty looks. Emma and Alice grabbed each other for support.

 

“My God, Lord Hunnington must be stupid or insane or both,” said Alice.

 

“She’s older than his wife.”

 

“Jesus Christ, that’s older than me mum. He could have had any young girl he pleased, yet he chose an old hag on the other side of the war?”

 

“‘Tis his love life. Besides, forty-five isn’t that old.”

 

Alice raised her eyebrow. “I know four women who died last winter who were over that age. If being that age makes me die easier, then I’d call that old.”

 

A sudden commotion on the next street aroused their attention. They swarmed to the excitement, for they were addicted to intrigue and novel experiences like most young people confined to a single town; any scandal worth gossiping about was met with the utmost pleasure. Emma couldn’t wait to tell all her other friends about her good fortune of being able to see whatever was happening. They pushed through a small crowd and spotted Lady Colette.

 

Emma gasped. Lady Colette, the daughter of Lord Deorwine, was like the princess of their knightly tales brought to life, unfathomably beautiful and perfect in all ways. Today, the fair lady wore a brilliant, burned-orange dress with a lovely floral design decorated up the skirt. She didn’t need to wear a belt, as her bodice was perfectly tailored to fit around her waist. It was striking. Daring. It gave a hint of her figure, while still allowing her the grace that would be expected of a lord’s daughter. Emma imagined what the dress would feel like on her—the fabric brushing against her legs and the power she’d command from feeling so elegant.

 

“She’s so pretty,” said Emma.

 

“Me knows,” said Alice. “And I hate it.”

 

Emma knew what she meant. Anytime Lady Colette granted the citizens of Marlborough a chance to gaze upon her, she made certain she was adequately graceful and handsome. Just like Emma, she had raven-black hair that hid behind a thick wimple and veil. The only thing she didn’t have was Emma’s eyes. Green as springtime grass, as her mother would say. Lady Colette had dark auburn ones. So, Emma might not have wealth, or a well-fed body, or ornate clothes, or hundreds of admirers, or the ability to travel, or a warm bedchamber at night, but Emma had some beautiful green eyes that her mother complimented all the time.

 

At least she had that?

 

“Actually, I hate her too,” said Emma. She sighed. “Why is it that God makes some of us look like angels while He makes the rest of us look like the rear end of an ass?”

 

“Because we’re peasants. If we ate as much as they do, we’d look lovely too.”

 

The crowd around the illustrious Lady Colette dissipated as she moved down the street. And with it, Emma saw an opportunity. She glanced over at Alice, and her friend caught the look in her eye.

 

“Oh no,” said Alice.

 

“Let’s do it!”

 

“It will never work.”

 

“We don’t know that.”

 

“It didn’t work when Lady Sabina came to town.”

 

“That’s because I fell right on top of her. As long as I fall next to her, it’ll be fine.”

 

Alice sighed and gave in. Emma did a little jump, needing to get the bottled-up energy out of her system somehow. They moved, both knowing the plan. It was bound to work one of these days. Emma just needed to make sure she didn’t almost cripple the royal maiden; she still had sores from Lady Sabina.

Emma climbed up a ladder leaning against the apothecary’s shack. She slipped off her shoes. The straw roof felt spongy underneath her. She ducked as a city guardsman with an intimidating halberd walked by. She waited for him to pass, and then she jumped.

 

She leaped across the narrow gap between the apothecary’s shop and the adjacent building, owned by a tailor named Oswald. She landed cleanly and smiled. From above the muck and stench of Marlborough streets, the fresh spring breeze could hit her unimpeded, giving her lungs a refreshing surge of clean air.

 

Emma smiled. This must be what it feels like to be a princess. She could have clean air every day if she were noble. Now, all she needed to do was to be accepted by one. Lady Colette certainly wasn’t her top choice, but, hey! A noblewoman was a noblewoman.

 

Emma chased after the moving entourage. She spotted Alice. She was keeping close at hand while watching out for guards. Lady Colette’s group took a left turn down a dusty old street before pausing to allow a pony-drawn cart to go by. It gave Emma the opportunity to get directly above them.

 

A few nearby townsfolk noticed her up on the roofs and grimaced. Emma imagined what they must be saying: Not the cripple’s girl again. Whose roofing is she going to ruin and have to fix this time? She is mighty sure-footed up there, though. Great balance! Oh, she can certainly hop farther than any boy her age. Maybe she is as skilled as a noble woman. She should be a princess with how daring and confident and pretty and—

 

Alice hissed at her, desperately waving her arms. Emma glanced down and noticed with horror that Lady Colette was halfway down the road. She cursed. Her mother routinely berated her for getting lost in her daydreams. Thoughts, like imagining what her life would be like after she fell next to Lady Colette; she would take Emma under her care, and bring her back to her estate where there would be endless food and constant pampering, and Colette would decide to make Emma her little sister, and—

 

“Emma!” Alice shouted.

 

Right! Stop thinking, Emma! She shook her head and sprinted across the rooftops. Lady Colette headed for the townhouses at the outskirts of town, whose roofs were much too high for Emma to jump up on. She needed to act fast. This was her dream, and dreams don’t magically come true like in children’s tales.

 

Her foot slipped. Oh no, not again!

 

A bundle of thatch flew up and caught in the breeze above her. Her stomach lifted into her throat. Her scream thundered out to the wide blue sky. The next thing she knew, she slammed onto the dirt road; the air blasted out of her chest. She sucked in pure dust, and it burned her lungs. A crowd flocked around her as she focused her eyes on some pigeons flying way above her. She moaned.

 

The sun blinded her until a dark shadow blocked it out. She gazed up at this phantom and recognized it to be the beautiful noblewoman. For a split second, Emma saw her own reflection looking down at her. Yes, she would make a proper aristocrat one day.

 

“What’s wrong with you?” asked Lady Colette.

 

Right, time to put on a show.

 

“Oi! Oh! It hurts so much.” Emma winced, not having to act much on account of how badly it did hurt. The men in the crowd attempted to help her up, but Emma pushed them away. “Nay! Don’t touch me. You there.”

 

“Me?” Lady Colette looked down at her confused.

 

“Yes, ye fair maiden. Please help—no, no, not ye men. You. Pretty madam. Perhaps ye have a nice infirmary bed inside your estate where I can rest me woes?”

 

“Uh, no. We don’t have any extra beds.”

 

“Oh, well, ye wouldn’t need a little sister, would ya?”

 

“Huh?”

 

A loud shout came from behind the crowd. Alice pushed her way up to the front and was pulling Emma off the ground before she could object. “Emma, we got to go.”

 

“Move aside!” yelled a commanding voice.

 

“The guards are after ye!”

 

Emma tried to wave goodbye to Lady Colette. She really was gorgeous up close. Behind the crowd, she spotted a halberd thrusting up and down in the air.

 

“Move!” shouted the guardsman. “Let me get to her!”

 

“Bye, Lady Colette!” Emma screamed. “Let me know if ye change your mind about having a sister!”

 

Before the bewildered noblewoman could respond, Alice had towed Emma through the crowd and out a back alleyway. They ran and ran until the crowd and guard and all the hubbub around the main street of Marlborough were far behind them. Eventually Emma caught her breath, and she could enjoy Alice’s company once more.

 

“Can ye do me a favor?”

 

Alice sighed. She knew what was coming next. “Don’t make me lie to your mum.”

 

“It’ll be just once.”

 

“‘Tis never just once. You know she doesn’t like him.”

 

“Please, Alice. I want to see him so badly.”

 

“Where is he now?”

 

“In Reading. ‘Tis not very far.”

 

“How far isn’t the point. It’s dangerous for us. Girls can’t be out on the road alone.”

 

“I won’t be alone,” she said timidly. She raised an eyebrow in an inviting gesture.

 

“You want me to travel all the way to Reading so ye can see Tom?”

 

“Please? I’ll love ye forever! Please, please, please?”

 

Alice moaned. “Only if Roger comes with us. But I’m not lying to your mum.”

 

“You’re the best! Thank ye.” She paused. “At least I didn’t land on her this time.”

 

“I think it’s time for you to admit that peasants and nobles don’t get along.”

 

“I’ll be a princess one day. You’ll see.”

 

“If ye do, you better take me with you.”

 

Emma and Alice smiled, interlocked their arms, and headed for the edge of town. Underneath the crystal-clear sky, the spring weather bloomed the natural wonders of Marlborough into a visual treat. Fresh streams snaked along the stone paths, and the constant trickle provided a soothing backdrop to the eager gossip of the townsfolk.

 

Soldiers of King Stephen’s army patrolled the town. They made hungry, wanting eyes at Emma and Alice. The recent influx of military activity had been an active concern for the locals. Robert FitzRoy, the Earl of Gloucester, had been building his forces in the southwestern regions of the kingdom. Under his immaculate military leadership, he and Empress Maud were expected to make a heavy push inland, hoping to capture London at the heart of England. King Stephen retaliated against this threat by stationing more soldiers in the minor towns throughout Emma’s region, which bordered the territory held by Earl Robert.

 

They reached Emma’s home as the sun set far in the west. Her simple abode rested underneath a large oak tree, whose leaves had reached that magical time of year where they shimmered in a vibrant-green wave. Emma pushed open the front door.

 

“Mama, I’m home. Look who I have with me.”

 

Emma and Alice navigated a tight entryway until they reached the main chamber, where a small, central fire pit in the dirt floor gave off a comforting heat. Edith, Emma’s mom, kneeled next to the fire and stoked it with a large poker. She glanced back at the girls.

 

“Alice! How joyous it is to see ye again,” said Edith. “Here, give me a hug.” Edith tried to push herself onto her feet, but she stumbled down as her lame left leg gave out. It erupted a series of deep coughs from within her lungs. Emma and Alice rushed over.

 

“We’ll help ye, Mama.”

 

“No. No. ‘Tis fine. Me gots it.”

 

“Don’t be silly,” said Alice. “Let us help.”

 

With a bit of grunting effort, Alice and Emma lifted Edith to a chair next to the fire. Her mother had injured her leg in a freak accident when Emma was very young, and since then, she hadn’t been able to find any long-standing work. At first this wasn’t much of a problem, as Emma’s godparents, Verona and Paris, helped provide for them. For a time, they even had Emma’s childhood friend, Lief—whose own parents had died long ago—living with them. He started working after he came of age for an apprenticeship with a scribe, and together all three, including Emma performing the odd job here and there, made enough money to survive despite Edith’s injury.

 

But now, because of some troubling events that Emma would rather not think about, it was just her and her mother. And last winter had her awfully worried.

 

Emma had been the sole provider all year, and she’d been unable to save up enough provisions to last the full winter. In a desperate attempt to feed herself and her poor mother, she succumbed to thievery, which was how she met Alice. They both teamed up to steal a loaf of bread here, or snatch a coin purse off a drunk traveler there. One of the few benefits of being a woman was that they could get away with a lot by behaving innocently.

 

“Did you get everything you needed?” asked Edith.

 

“Yes, Mama.” She placed the goods they bought on a rickety trestle table. Her house had only two chambers: the main area for cooking and staying warm, and a side bedchamber to sleep in. It was a far cry from how she imagined the luxurious abodes of the fair maidens and princesses.

 

“Did you have any trouble?”

​

“No. No trouble at all, right, Alice?”

​

“Nothing that got us killed,” said Alice. She glanced at Emma, waiting for her to tell her mother about her planned venture to Reading.

​

Emma took a deep breath. She blew air into her closed mouth and puffed out her cheeks. Her mom gave her a discouraging look. Edith could always read whatever Emma was thinking. She wondered how her mom did that.

​

“What do ye want?” asked Edith.

​

“Mama, don’t be mad . . .”

​

​

​​​​

“You’re not going, and that’s the end of it!”

​

Alice scratched the back of her head awkwardly. Emma and Edith had been arguing for the last quarter of an hour. There were many times when Emma had asked Alice for aid, but Edith had been way too kind to her over the last few months to risk interjecting. Eventually, the argument moved to the bedroom, and Alice was left waiting next to the fire.

 

Emma slunk out of the bedroom looking defeated, annoyed, and utterly devastated. She sat down on the ground next to Alice and poked at the fire. She glanced over at her best friend, and the flames radiating in Emma’s eyes reflected the passion flaring in her chest.

​

“I don’t like that look,” Alice remarked.

​

“She said I couldn’t go.”

​

“I got that impression.”

​

“So, I think I’ll leave tomorrow.” Emma gave Alice a devilish smirk.

​

“She’s goin’ to kill ye, you know that? And then she’ll murder me for helpin’ you.”

 

“We’ll run then. What she goin’ to do? She can’t keep up with us.”

 

“I hope this boy is worth it.”

 

“He’s a man, not a boy. And he’s a squire. Means he’ll be a knight soon. And when he’s a knight, that’ll make me his princess.”

 

“You’re obsessed with this princess idea.”

 

Edith stumbled back into the room. It struck Emma how alike she and her mother looked. Her hair was jet black, just like Emma’s, and they had the same tanned skin color. The only obvious difference was in their eyes. Her mom told Emma she had her father’s eyes.

​

“It’s not about the princess thing,” whispered Emma to Alice as her mom prepared dinner. “Ye know what happened last year. I want to make sure we don’t starve again, and he might be our best chance.”

​

“Ye can tell yourself that, but I know the real reason is that you think he’s ravishing.”

​

“Yes, that too.” Emma smiled. “Why can’t a girl have both?”