wild woman

The tailor begins to measure the length of your body to the length of your future veil and that's when you lose patience. You push past her, off the tailor’s step riser, and stomp out. She’ll probably complain to the king how difficult you're being, and he'll lecture you tonight at supper. Lettie will try to soothe him, because Lettie's the only one who gives a damn about you in this palace, but it will be in vain. You've acted particularly egregious these past months.

You can't bring yourself to care. The monotony of life sits on your chest like a weight. It's like you'd been living in ice before Gotham, frozen in meeting expectations. Sneaking to the cinema then was nothing compared to the things you’d like to do now: run away to another country, make friends, go somewhere where no one knows or cares if you’re a princess. Now you're impatient, outspoken, unruly to the point of agitation. The guards and your father have all but lost their tempers with you. Your father has begun to hint at marriage, even going as far as to invite two princes on two separate occasions as possible suitors. You were as terrible as you could be to them, until Lettie interfered and dismissed them both. Both instances resulted in your father screaming at you and you stubbornly moping in your room. Life is stagnant since you returned from Gotham, and you have no idea what to do about it. 

You go to the palace gardens and find a secluded bench. Your usual spot when you need some air and to pretend like you’re free. 

Sometimes, out of weakness, you google the Red Hood. Recently, he was in the middle of taking down a local mobster called Black Mask, whose face frightened you. A citizen had recorded Hood fighting Black Mask on a roof. You rewatched the clip several times, transfixed by Hood's fluid movements, the way he wielded himself as a weapon. He'd taken down several of Black Mask's men easily. More than once, you scolded yourself for not taking Hood's number. Though who's to say he'd have given it to you? And really, it was only a kiss. Hood probably isn't thinking about it. He’s a busy man.

Better that you didn't get his number, actually. Better that you came home and returned to normal. Except you can't return to normal. 

"I convinced the tailor that you were ill."

Lettie is on the garden path, walking to you. Her white work shoes click on the paved cobblestone. 

"I can handle the king's lectures,” you say, crossing your arms and angling away from her on the bench. 

She hums. You feel her sit down next to you. "Certainly. Though what if a lecture becomes finishing school?"

You make a face at the thought. "I'd just escape." Briefly, you picture Hood waiting at the bottom of a two-story dormitory as you climb down on tied bed sheets. You smile.

"Yes, I suppose you would."

Lettie’s joints creak as she shifts to get comfortable. She's too old to be babysitting you. You're too old to need babysitting.

Her hair is fully gray. It's been that way for a couple of years. She refuses to dye it. It's a privilege to grow old, she always says. You're still not sure if you believe her. So far, being young isn't so wonderful. Is being old really much better?

"I wasn't trying to be cross," she says, taking your hand into her lap. You feel her cool gold wedding ring press against your knuckle. "I simply don't want you to crash into reality. You're growing up. It's the hardest thing to do."

"I know," you say. You're silent for a while. Then, "I'm sorry that I stormed out."

"Which time?" she asks, squeezing your hand.

You laugh. "All of them."

"Hmm. Forgiven."

You sit there a little longer in the garden, listening to the bubbling fountain that has two marble cherubs, water pouring from their open palms. You rest your head on Lettie's shoulder, using less of your weight than you used to so her arm won't ache.

"Do you still have nightmares?" she asks.

"Sometimes." You’ve had them since you returned from Gotham.

"I'm sorry, my darling. You shouldn't."

You shrug. "It's to be expected, I guess."

You wonder if Hood has nightmares. You're certain he does. Your own nightmares make you feel closer to him in that way.

"So, when will you tell me about the boy?"

You flinch, sitting up. "What boy? There's no boy."

Lettie laughs. "Oh, I'm sure. A lady in love denies it instantly."

"There is no boy, Lettie," you say firmly. "Father barely lets me out on my own. How can I meet a boy to fall in love with?"

"Like with everything else, you manage to find a way." She smiles, teasing. "I'm only sorry you won't introduce him to me."

You sigh. "It's impossible to. That is, er, if there were a boy."

"Of course," she says, eyes twinkling. "Speaking in hypotheticals."

"Precisely. He isn't from here."

"A foreign love? Interesting. Doesn't surprise me, though. You've always had a traveling spirit."

"It doesn't matter." You shake your head. It's silly to think so often of him. You have your life and he has his. "It wouldn't work out anyway."

Lettie takes your hand in hers. They're wrinkled with age but still soft. These days, she never skips her lavender-aloe nighttime balm. Her hands crack otherwise. Many nights you’ve massaged her aching hands and put soft gloves on to soothe the skin.

You look at her, at her dark eyes, her gray curls pinned away from her head. You look at her heart shaped face, the face you've known since childhood. Your only friend. Your only ally. Some nights, you feel guilty for not thinking of Lettie that night in Gotham. You imagine she was worried sick when she got the news. She hugged you for a long time when you came home.

But you think if she met Hood, got to know your savior, she wouldn't have worried so much.

"Life has a way of working out," she says.

You want to believe it. Lettie's never lied to you before. 

Three days later.

Someone is shouting in the throne room. You only have to listen for a few seconds before you realize it's your father who's shouting. And he's shouting for the guards. Fear washes over you. You dash for the throne room, mind careening toward the worst-case scenario. 

As soon as you enter, you freeze. 

In front of you is your father at his throne, snorting with anger like a rhinoceros. And in front of him is the Red Hood, his arms crossed as three guards point spears at him. Your exhale is punched out of you at the sight. 

“Hey there, princess,” says Hood, not turning around. 

You bite the inside of your cheek briefly. Smiling would be extremely inappropriate right now. “Hi, Hood.” 

“Seize him!” your father orders. The guards advance, and you see Hood reach for his holster. You move before you can think about it. 

“Father, no!”

You race across the foyer, nearly slipping on the marble. You place yourself between the guards and Hood. The guards stop, bewildered. Pointing their spears at you would be treasonous. 

“Princess,” Hood whispers, barely audible. His gloved hand grazes your elbow, quick enough to be an accident. But you know that Hood's touches are never accidents. 

“Daughter! Remove yourself this instant!” your father thunders, eyes blazing. 

“No,” you say, and the closest guard is forced to lower his spear. 

Your father sputters. “What–!”

“This man saved my life,” you say. “He's a hero. You cannot treat him like some thug!”

“Not that I'm not used to it,” Hood adds, unhelpfully. 

“This man is the Red Hood of Gotham,” says your father. 

“Nah, I'm the Scarlet Pimpernel.”

The guard begins to raise his spear again.

Hood scoffs. “Man, if I wanted you dead, you'd be on the floor already.” 

Your father looks about ready to blow a gasket. His face is plump with anger. 

“You scoundrel,” he says. “You barged in here and attacked my guards!”

“I think incapacitated is a more fitting wo—”

“Father, please,” you interrupt, because if there's one thing Red Hood lacks, it's diplomacy. “Red Hood rescued me, or are you so quick to forget favors given by common men?” 

“Ouch,” says Hood. 

You turn, putting your back to the guard and your father. “I'm sorry,” you say quickly, eyes wide. “I didn't mean that you're common, just that you have no title and therefore—”

“I know what y’meant.” Hood sounds like he's smiling. “‘S good to see ya, princess.” 

You smile quickly, wary of the eyes on you. You turn back to face your father. He's stomping toward you. Hm. Not a good sign. 

“Father—”

“Look, Majesty,” Hood drawls. “I didn't come here to stir up trouble or corrupt the pretty princess. I promise I have no interest in doing anything but good things for your lovely country.” 

Your father doesn't stop in his tracks. You stay put in front of Hood. Your father wouldn't dare lay a hand on you and you really don't want him to be bested in a fight with Hood. You love your father (most days) and that's exactly why you're trying to prevent his humiliation. 

“I don't care why you're—”

“Why did you come?” you ask, before your father decides to do something rash.

“Nice of you to ask, princess,” Hood says. He gently moves past you, so that he’s face-to-face with your father. You want to touch Hood in warning, but you think better of it. That would throw your father over the edge. “I came because a man named Michael Jamison is in your country, and if you don't let me take care of him, he's gonna do some serious damage. Treason-level damage.”

“If there was an enemy in my country, I'd know about it,” says your father. 

“No, you actually wouldn't. He knows how to hide his tracks. He's got his fingers in every pie: weapons, drugs, cutting off people's fingers. All the specialties. My partner and I have been tracking him since he moved his operation from South America and holed up here two weeks ago. All I want is to take him back to Gotham.”

“All you want?” Your father raises a brow. “Are you not infamous for your firearms, Red Hood? I recall that they're not only for decoration.” 

Hood shrugs. “Thought I'd spare you the nitty-gritty.”

“My answer is no.”

“‘Scuse me? He's operating right under your nose. If you let him run wild, you'll put yourself and your citizens in danger.” 

“You have no proof a person like that exists. And even if he did, my police would take care of it.” 

Hood snorts. “Yeah, sure. ‘Cus cops are so trustworthy.”

“I handle matters in my country. Not you. You have no jurisdiction here, Red Hood. You're incredibly lucky I haven't jailed you by now. It's only by the grace of my wayward daughter that you're not rotting in a cell.”

“That's cute that you think your prison could handle me,” Hood says. 

“Is that a challenge?”

“It's a fact.” 

Right. Now seems like as good a time as any to step in. 

“Father,” you say. He glares at you. You barrel on. “Red Hood is very good at what he does. He's a vigilante who’s not affiliated with Batman, but still very capable. He deals with domestic matters with impeccable skill. I think that it would be wise to investigate—” 

“No,” your father says. “And I am finished discussing the matter.”

“Fine,” Hood says. “I'll go.”

You swing your head to look at him. He doesn't even incline his head to you. Go?

“Excellent,” your father says. “Leave immediately.”

“Sure,” Hood says. “You don't wanna deal with a potential coup? Fine by me. I'll go right home. Jamison will destroy your country and escape to somewhere with a large desert or forest where I can bury his body.” 

“Excellent,” your father says airily. “My men will personally escort you to the tarmac.” 

“Fine.” Hood begins to walk away, then stops, turns. “Oh, one more thing. Jamison has plans to assassinate you so your adversaries can take over. Okay, take care!”

“What?” you ask, stepping toward him. You turn to your father. “Father, we should—”

“How do you know this?” your father asks. 

Hood looks at him straight on. “I’ve been doing this for a long time.” He pauses. “I studied under Batman. A long time ago. His reputation precedes him. You can trust that I know how to gather intel and how to take down bad people. It’s my job. I dealt with Jamison a while ago and I thought I’d destroyed all his assets, but he’s back, and he’s not someone you wanna ignore.”

Your father snorts. “Am I meant to take you at your word?”

“Yeah, actually, you are. ‘Cus I took care of the princess and I didn’t want to see her caught in the crossfire of a political coup. She’s the only reason I bothered to put you in the loop, Majesty.”

You bow your head so no one will see how utterly pleased you are by that. 

Your father sighs. For the first time in a long time, you see how aged he is. It’s hard to see him as anything but your father the king when he’s ordering you to marry before the end of the year, but now, you see him as he is: an old man who needs protecting. Protection that you know Hood can provide.

“Please listen to him,” you say softly. “Please. He wouldn’t lead you astray.”

Your father looks at you. He’s no longer glaring at you, but he still squints, like he’s trying to figure something out. He looks at Hood, who gives away nothing with his stance and helmeted face. You wish you could hide your emotions so easily. 

“Red Hood, if you can provide substantial proof that this person is staging a coup in my country, then we may go from there. But I refuse to act on a guess.”

“I can do that,” says Hood.

Your father nods and finally gestures for the guards to stand down. You exhale fully. 

“Return to your chambers,” your father says to you. “We will speak later.”

You blink. “What? Father, if this concerns your safety, I should—”

“You will not be in this conversation,” he says firmly. “I will handle this alone. Go see Lettie. I know you dismissed that tailor before she could fit you for your new gown.”

“This is outrageous!” you say, and your father’s eyebrows raise.

“Do not say another word,” he warns. “I have been more than patient with you today—”

“You’re my father!” you burst. “How can you exclude me from this? Don’t I matter? Your own daughter! How can—”

“That is enough.” Your father gestures for a guard to escort you. “Please take the princess to her chambers. We will discuss your defiance later.”

“Plans for a coup wouldn’t ignore the princess,” Hood says. “It’d be good if she was—”

“No.” Your father looks angrier with you than he had with Hood, eyes blazing. “Get her out of my sight.”

The guard leads you away and out of the throne room by your arm. As the doors slam shut, you wrench your arm out of his grip.

“I can walk myself!” you snap. 

The guard backs down, bowing. You don’t go to your chambers—your last act of disobedience. 

No, you go up the back stairs and behind a false wall, where there’s an entrance to a passageway that runs along one wall of the parliament chamber. A thin, silken banner covers the vent you peer through, so you can see most of the chamber but it’s tinted red. There, you wait. And listen. You try to slow your breathing, fuming from your father’s dismissal but not wanting to give yourself away. Your father walks in first, sans guards, followed by Red Hood. 

“If you try anything, I’ll see you hanged,” your father says.

“Sure, Your Majesty. Whatever you say.”

Your father sits at one end of the long, polished wooden table. Many times, you’ve watched him and members of Parliament discuss matters. It was your only view into your country’s politics before they happened. Or else you were as clueless as Calpatia’s citizens. You didn’t want to be a princess who didn’t concern herself with her own country. 

“Well? Show me your irrefutable proof, Red Hood.”

Hood takes out a small laptop. He opens it and types, then shows it to your father, who puts on his glasses, squinting at the screen.

“This is a network where jobs are posted for mercenaries. Call it a dark web Glassdoor.”

“I see. And this is how you find work?”

Hood snorts. “No, I’m a little more exclusive than this. I choose what I need to be involved in. But it’s a good way to track activity. Now this…” He types. “Was posted two weeks ago. And this is footage of Jamison entering the country.”

“Jamison is looking for men to do his dirty work,” your father says with a grimace. “All of this happens on the internet now?”

“Yup. Welcome to the twenty-first century.”

Your father shakes his head. “It’s all very confusing to me. My daughter is the one with the technology knowledge.”

“Well, she’s of a different generation, so it tracks.”

“Yes.” Your father looks at Hood. “I suppose you’re of the same generation as she is, then. I can tell that you’re young. Young men always give themselves away.”

“I’m actually forty-seven. I work out.”

Your father ignores him, looking at the screen. Finally, he sits back.

“Alright,” he says. “I believe you about Jamison. Should I presume that you have a plan?”

Hood shrugs. “Sure. Pretty simple, actually: get out.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Jamison isn’t gonna waste time, Your Majesty. He’s gonna take you and the princess out as fast as he can. He knows that every additional day he spends in the country increases the chances of him being discovered. We can’t risk going after him while you’re still here.”

Your father nods thoughtfully. “I suppose you’re right. That’s a good plan.”

That’s a terrible plan. Every good spy film has taught you that bait is the best way to lure out the enemy and make them more likely to make a mistake and fail. Leaving the country would basically let Jamison walk out without a hitch. There’d be nothing stopping him from trying again in a new country. What’s wrong with Hood? He should know better. 

“I’d lend my services to get you out safely, of course,” says Hood. “Otherwise you’ll be sitting ducks.” He glances at the vent where you’re watching from. “‘Scuse the expression.”

You startle. How did he–?

“Red Hood, before I choose to accept your consultancy, I want to make it very clear that your relationship with my country and everyone in it is strictly professional,” your father says.

“Your guards really aren’t my type, Y’Majesty.”

Your father’s expression tightens. “Do not play a fool. You know exactly what I mean. I’m sure that you attempted to seduce my daughter while you were rescuing her in Gotham; it’s no wonder she’s been so wild since she returned from Gotham. I know it’s only through her training that she resisted you. She is a princess, a future queen, far above you, and I will not have her tainted by you. She might think you’re a dashing young man, but I know your kind very well. A mercenary, whether you use the label or not. A thug.”

“Please, I’m blushing,” Hood says.

You’re far from Hood’s easy humor. You’re accustomed to your father’s snide remarks about how you don’t know any better, but wrapping that up in an insult to Hood has you hot with anger. You glare at the gauzy shape of your father, layered in red. Tell him off, you think. Give him some Gotham.

“If I find that you even attempt to consort with my daughter, assassination or not, I will certainly make your life hell. You are tentatively welcome in my country, but you are not welcome to her.”

Hood laughs. “You’re wasting your breath, Majesty, really. Princesses are a dime a dozen in my line of work. She’s not the first princess I’ve met. Anyway, I don’t accept payment in the form of kisses. I expect something more material.”

You gasp, covering your mouth with your hand.

Your father raises a brow. “Is that so?” 

“Well, like the princess said, I did rescue her. For free. Actually, all things considered, I think that my payment would be compounded. I saved her life, now I’ll save yours.”

Your father chuckles. “If there's one thing I can appreciate, it's your audacity, Red Hood.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Hood says, leaning back in the chair and folding his arms. “You know how far the dollar stretches. Or, uh, the euro. A guy's gotta eat. And considering that no one in your country alerted you to this impending coup, y’really don’t know who to trust. I’ve always found financial support to be good insurance that I do my job well.”

You blink rapidly, hurt and furious at once. You can't believe what you're hearing. This can't be the same man that took you for a slushie and carried you back to your hotel. 

Your father sighs. “A mercenary after all. I suppose I am glad that your sights are set beyond my daughter. Fine, I am willing to discuss payment. I will not pay you in full until my safety is confirmed. But I suppose I can give you a deposit.”

“Now you’re speaking my language.”

And you watch in horror as your father writes Hood a check and how Hood happily accepts it. “A pleasure,” he says. “Such a lucrative pleasure to protect kings.”

You hurry out of the tunnel, eyes hot. How could you be so stupid?

You skip supper. Lettie tries to talk to you but you ignore her efforts and all the efforts of the other maids. Months wasted on someone you thought you loved. All you've done is lie in bed until evening, despondent. That's what you're doing when an origami lily sails through your open window and lands on the floor. You sit up and look at it, wiping your eyes. Another paper shape soon joins it: a swan. You get up and go to your window. 

Hood is fifteen feet below, on the grass. He waves, casual and effortlessly cool in a way that would've made your heart swoop before. Instead, your mouth curls into a sour pucker. 

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down thy silken drapes,” he says, hushed. “I always thought it was gross for the prince to climb her hair. Who knows where his boots have been, y’know?”

You bare your teeth at him, anger overriding your hunger and headache. 

“What are you doing here?” you hiss.

Hood pauses. “Wanted to tell you what King Pops and I discussed. And I forgot my grappling hook at home, so…”

“I know what you discussed!” you snap. You whirl around and grab a pearl and ivory comb that you got for a birthday present off of your vanity. You return to the window and hurl it at Hood with all your might. He catches it with one hand. The comb doesn’t even crack. Bastard.

“What the–?”

“There's your reward. Compounded,” you spit viciously. “Had I known you were so eager for material wealth, I wouldn't have offered anything else!” 

Hood scoffs. “Princess, I know you're smarter than that. You know that was all an act.”

“Was it? I was very convinced. Especially when you took the money. I'd no idea you were such an actor, Red Hood.” 

You slump down against the wall next to the window, not wanting to see him anymore. The memory is always better than reality. You know that now. 

“Wait, c’mon, none of that was true! I didn't want a reward. I never wanted a reward for rescuing you, okay? Don't you think I'd have asked for one sooner if I did?”

“You were only waiting for an opportunity to ask,” you say, voice wobbly. Great. Here come your tears again. “You didn't even really want to see me except to butter my father up for a reward. You probably barely care about Jamison being here at all.”

“Shit, hey. Aw, please don't cry,” Hood says. 

“I’m not crying!” you shout through tears. You hope the guards will hear and drag Hood away. 

“Shit. Shit. This isn't how it was s’posed to go. Princess, don't cry ‘cus of me.” 

You bring your knees to your chest and bury your face in them. How could you have been so naive? It's one thing for this feeling to have fizzled due to the distance. But having Hood here at home, revealing his true intentions in front of you is the worst thing that could've happened to you. You were deluded to think it would turn out any way but terribly.

Suddenly, there’s a hand lightly touching your shoulder. You flinch and look up. Hood’s crouched in front of you. Between two gloved fingers is your white, floral-embroidered handkerchief, which he must've found on your vanity. You guess that the comb you chucked at him is back on your dresser too. 

“Don’t cry over me, princess,” he says softly. “Hate that we keep meeting like this.” 

You stare at him, forgetting your tears for a moment. “How… how did you get up here?”

Hood nods at the window. “Climbed.”

“It's three meters up.” 

“Yeah.”

“And the guards? There are always six in rotation on this side of the castle,” you say.

Hood tilts his head. “Y'think I can't evade a few royal guards?” 

“Oh.” You're extremely impressed but you don't want to admit it. “I should have you arrested for trespassing.”

“Nah, you could have me arrested for way more than that. I mean, if they found you crying with me here, you could easily claim I was attempting to hurt the Crown and that'd be treason. Don't forget my earlier threats and break-in. King Pops would probably draw and quarter me at this point.” 

Your eyes widen in alarm. “Hood, that's horrific! I would never let him draw and quarter you. We never practiced that in Calpatia. It's positively barbaric.”

Hood shrugs. “‘M sure you could make an exception for someone that really deserved it.”

You shake your head. “If this is your way of apologizing, it's awful.”

“Actually, I was trying to cheer you up.”

“Then it's doubly awful.” 

“Yeah. Not so good at the sweet talk part. Which you know.” 

You hum. “Yes, you're quite bad at it. Too bad Batman isn't here.”

“Alright, I deserved that.” 

“You did.” 

Hood waves your handkerchief. You take it and dab your cheeks. He crosses his legs and sits in front of you. He’s bigger than you even at this height. The memory of the kiss hits you then. Inappropriate. 

“Look, ’m sorry I said those things,” he says, head down. “But I can’t have Papa Majesty thinking ’m tryin’ to seduce you. He’d launch me into the ocean before I found Jamison. But none of what I said back there was true. I don’t want a reward for rescuing you or for stopping Jamison. I took the check but I ain't gonna cash it.” 

“And princesses being a dime a dozen? How many have you kissed before me?” you ask scornfully, brows furrowed.

“Zero,” Hood says, looking up. “Not just princesses—I haven’t kissed anyone before you. Or after you. That was all true, what I said in Gotham. No one’s ever wanted to kiss me. Then you—I mean, a princess wants to kiss me? Shit, that’s like, so astronomically out of the odds, it never even entered my realm of possibility.”

“That’s silly,” you say. “You aren’t that terrible of a kisser.”

“Oh, well, I’m glad to see you’re in such high spirits now,” Hood says, pulling a knee up and resting his elbow. You can see his belt and the taper of his waist. 

You bite your lip, trying to hide your smile. “I suppose that I am feeling better now, yes. I… I sincerely apologize for my outburst.”

“Y’mean when you threw a comb at me?”

“I knew you’d catch it.”

“Uh-huh.”

You lean in, giddy now that your tears were for naught. Hood is here. In your room. It’s… well, it’s scandalous, for one. It’s a dream, for two.

“I’ve never had a boy in my bedroom,” you say. “It’s very improper.”

“Oh, yeah? Careful, princess. You almost sound excited about the impropriety.”

“That's absurd,” you say.

“Mm. As absurd as you spying on us in a secret vent?”

Your eyes widen. “So you did know I was there.”

Hood nods. “Sure did.”

“Then why did you say you came to keep me in the loop?” you ask. 

Hood rubs the back of his neck. You lift your chin, feeling victorious. 

“You came to see me,” you say, smirking. “Didn’t you?”

“Well—”

You lean forward on your knees so that you’re taller than him. You cast your gaze down at him, feeling confident despite the fact that you can’t see Hood’s face. 

“Didn’t you?” you say again, grinning.

“Just wanted to make sure you were takin’ the news okay,” he mumbles. 

“How very valiant of you, Hood. I think your plan is terrible, by the way.” 

“‘Scuse me?”

You shrug. “I must be plain with you. You’ll almost certainly miss the chance to capture Jamison if we leave. And moving my father when we've no idea where Jamison is hiding is too risky and it makes us unstable. Calpatia is our home. Being on our home ground is better tactically.”

“Tactically? The idea is to prevent an assassination, not go to war. And it'll take time for Jamison to move into position.”

“But we want to catch him,” you say. “Haven't you seen those spy films? They always use bait. Besides, my father's departure will worry the citizens. There'll be civil unrest. Instability will only benefit Jamison.” 

Hood's quiet for a moment. “I was tryin’ to play it safe.”

“I know,” you say, eyebrows pinching. “That isn't your style. Why?”

“I didn’t wanna scare you, or put you or your dad at risk. This is a lot. We should play it safe.”

“Hood, I have something that Jamison doesn't. Well, two things. I have you, and that’s why I’m not afraid to stay.” He coughs quietly at that. “And I have a lot of knowledge of Calpatia. Come with me.” 

You stand and wait for him to do the same. You’re reminded again of his size, how he’s like a shield to you. He smells like the jasmine flowers from the palace gardens. You take him by his elbow and lead him to your desk.

“Alright.” You take out a map of the city from your drawer and bend your desk lamp to shine the light more thoroughly on it. “This is the city. Countless tunnels run underground, see? I have heard that some go for miles outside the city center, though I've never investigated it for myself. If Jamison has employed citizens here, he'd definitely be using these tunnels. He could hide his assassins in the tunnels.” 

Hood sighs. “And there's too many to know where he'd be hiding, so we'd be putting you both in danger if we tried moving you out.”

“That is what I was thinking. I don't know how far along Jamison is in his plans. But if he's been here for two weeks, I imagine that he has enough strategies at his disposal. There are too many variables for us to risk moving my father, and we don't have enough men to search everywhere. It would take months and triple the manpower to find him.” 

“Know somethin’? You're killer at military strategy.” 

You smile, tip one shoulder up. “Do you think so?” 

“Oh, you've got the brains for it, definitely. And people would never see ya comin’, princess.” 

You turn so you're facing Hood. He's close enough that you're pressed against the desk, the edge of it against your hip. You look at his helmet, at those glowing eyes. For months you've ached to know what color his real eyes are. What any of him looks like underneath his mask. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” he asks. 

“I was… I was just thinking about how we would lure out Jamison.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes.” You promptly turn and face the map again. “Do you have any ideas?”

“Well, if we're talkin’ about using your dad as bait, then it'd need to be a big enough situation where he'd feel comfortable with trying to assassinate the king.”

You gasp. “Oh! Oh, Hood, this is perfect! You're a genius. Well, I'm a genius, but you helped.”

You race to your nightstand and set your laptop up on the edge of the bed, kneeling. Hood follows you, looking over your shoulder. 

“Is that a video of me fighting Black Mask?” Hood asks. 

You click out of the tab as fast as humanly possible. “No. I don't even know who that is.”

“Been googling me, have ya?” Hood sounds undeniably smug. 

“That's preposterous. I'm very busy. I don't have time to search you up, Hood.” 

He gracefully doesn't say anymore. You quickly pull up the advertisement for the city festival that you created.

“Here it is. Here is where we can trap Jamison.” 

“‘Festival of Embers,’” Hood reads. “Wow. Did you make the flyer?”

“Yes.”

“Looks really good, princess. Didn’t know you were an artist.”

You preen. “I dabble. Anyway, it's a countrywide celebration, and they celebrate it for many days outside of the city. But here in the city, we have a masquerade ball on the first night as an official commemoration. Many dignitaries and officials attend.”

“Masquerade, huh? Yeah, that would definitely appeal to Jamison. Closed space and he can disguise himself. Good thinking, princess.”

“Then you’ll propose this to my father?”

Hood sighs. “It’s a good plan, but I don’t wanna put you in danger.”

“My father has many guards. I would be fine. And you’d be in charge. I trust you.”

“You do?”

You look at him in confusion. “Of course I do, Hood.”

“It would give me a better chance of catching him…” Hood nods. “Okay. I’ll tell your dad.”

“Lovely! Oh, this is so exciting.”

“An impending coup is exciting?”

You wave him off. “You know what I mean. And now, I must go sup a late meal. You are dismissed.”

He snorts. “Generous of ya to let me leave.”

“You’re welcome.”

He gets up and goes to climb out your window. You step forward.

“Hood, wait.”

He stops, turning to face you. You press your lips together. How easily you forget how a princess ought to behave when you're around him. But you get the feeling that Hood doesn't mind so much. 

“I… I wanted to say that I'm grateful for your presence. And your help.”

“‘S nothing,” Hood says. 

“No, it is something. I am glad you're here.” 

“Happy t’be here, princess,” he says quietly. 

You smile. “Good night, then.”

“G’night.” 

Hood disappears behind the wall. You don't watch him leave, too afraid of the ache his departure causes. You take the paper swan and lily and put them on your vanity, next to the comb. 

The next day, you sneak into the parliament chambers again and listen to Hood propose your plan to your father. He agrees after some persuasion. You try not to let it get to you, the fact that your father would trust Hood, who is essentially a stranger, over you, his own daughter. But you can’t let that get in the way of your focus, which is to protect your father (and, by extension, yourself) from Jamison. 

“You will be there at the party then, I presume?” your father asks Hood towards the end of their meeting.

“‘Course. I’ll be lurking and shit.”

Your father raises a brow. “I would appreciate it if you'd not be profane in my presence, Hood. Come, now. Surely you’ll partake in the festivities. Besides, my men are very territorial about their duty to the Crown. It’s better for everyone if you blend in with the crowd. Would it not go against the point of you being here if you’re out in the open in your helmet and guns? That isn’t subtle at all.”

“I didn’t exactly come dressed for a masquerade ball,” Hood says.

“No, certainly not,” your father says, looking Hood up and down. “But no matter. One of the tailors will design you a costume, on my charge. A sign of good faith, since you’re putting effort into keeping me alive.”

Hood hesitates, and you see him look in your direction, at the vent you’re peering through. “Yeah. I’m, uh, trying my best.”

Your father nods jovially, in infinitely better spirits than he was yesterday, despite discovering his impending assassination. Probably because you two haven’t crossed paths at all today. “Then it’s settled. One of the maids will direct you to the tailor today.”

“I really don’t need a tailor and all that sh–ugar. Can’t I just wear off the rack?”

Your father tilts his head. “I do not know what that means.” 

Hood sighs. “Never mind. Look, Your Majesty, I don’t sit for tailors. Not good for protecting my identity. Get me? I appreciate the offer.”

“They could go to your hotel, if you’d prefer.”

“That’s a negative. Only a select few see the goods.”

Your father makes a face. You stifle a laugh.

“I… see.” Your father shrugs. “Well, if that’s how you feel. You can give your measurements to the tailor then. Or are those confidential as well?”

“S’pose that’s okay. Sure, I can do that.”

They get up. 

“Wonderful. And Hood? I trust that you are keeping everything we discuss here confidential. That includes talking to anyone in the palace.”

“What am I, an idiot? ‘Course it’s all confidential,” Hood says.

“That is not to say that I don’t trust my subjects. But I do not want any of our plans to reach the princess. She doesn’t need to worry about this.”

Your jaw sets. Hood pauses in leaving, crossing his arms. 

“She’s really smart, Majesty,” he says. “She’s not some airhead. And I think she’d have important ideas to contribute to the plan.”

“I know that my daughter thinks she is clever,” your father says. “Too much so for her own good, in fact. However, she’s not knowledgeable about the world, and because of that, she would get hurt. It’s better that she focuses on other matters.”

“God,” Hood says. “You dads really are all the same, huh?”

Your father lifts an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“Tryna keep her in the dark isn’t gonna work. She’s worried and she’s smart and she’s gonna find out about stuff eventually, whether you want her to or not. It’s up to you whether you wanna be there for her. But you’re hurting your relationship in the meantime.”

“Red Hood, you are here for our safety and that is all,” your father says coldly. “I do not need nor desire your opinions on how to manage my daughter. I am magnanimously choosing to forgive your insolence. Good day.”

“Right,” Hood says, clearly holding back. He goes to leave. “See ya.”

Your heart sings. No one’s ever so freely laid praise upon you, especially about your brain. You’ve been called beautiful and gracious and poised countless times. And those are nice compliments, but no dignitary or ambassador cares enough to say things besides what a lovely gown, Your Highness. Not even your own father thinks you’re capable of anything beyond getting dressed in the morning. 

You race out of your hiding spot, hoping to catch Hood before he leaves the palace. He hadn’t said when he’d see you again, in your room or otherwise, and you want to see him again in these precious few days that you have him. You don’t see him in the foyer or in any of the nearby hallways, so you go to the garden. There are a couple of secret hideouts in the shrubbery and stone walls that you’re sure Hood would find and wait for you there. You check the bushes first, then the false wall that leads to a secluded, overgrown part of the garden that’s a blind spot for most guards who don’t know to check here. Then you see a peek of red within the bushes and you walk faster, excitement restored. 

“Hood!” you say. “Hood, those things you said—”

A man steps out of the bushes. It’s not Hood.

You stop, frightened. “Oh! Intruder! Intruder! Help!” You grab a fallen branch and wield it at him. “Just–just stay back! I will hit you!”

“Whoa, jeez.” He holds up his hands in defense. One arm is a prosthetic and looks to be metal. His copper hair is tied back in a small ponytail, a bow strapped to his back. He’s wearing similar gear that Hood wears, but it’s short-sleeved and maroon. His face is scruffy, and he has on red aviators and a backwards, gray baseball cap. He sort of looks like if a frat bro became a superhero. Hood teams up with the strangest people. 

You shake the branch at him. “Back up!”

He backs up. “Your Highness, I swear I don’t mean you harm. I’m with Hood.”

You stop, squinting at him. “Prove it.”

“Sure, sure. What do you wanna know?”

“Um… what is his post-patrol food and drink of choice?”

“Oh! I know this.” He snaps his fingers. “Buffalo ranch roller and blue raspberry slushie from 7-Eleven. Bam.”

“And who did he first eat these items with?”

“Dick.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He inhales through his teeth. “Ah, I mean his brother. Obviously. That’s just what I call his brother because he’s a… jerk.” He makes a face like he’s in pain. “Did I pass the test?”

“I… suppose so.” You don’t lower the branch, frowning at him. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Arsenal. Hood told me to meet him here. We’re tracking down Jamison together. I’ve been laying low since he waltzed into the palace and pissed off the king.”

You perk up. “Hood’s coming here?”

Arsenal sighs. “Guess not. I’m gonna call him now… okay? Please don’t hit me with the branch.”

“If you try anything, I’ll kick you in the groin,” you say, lifting your chin. “I have been trained in self-defense.”

Your self-defense teacher from when you were sixteen was a beautiful, strict woman, who was rumored to be the heiress of an underground assassin network. She favored swords the most. She was the only person, besides Lettie, who actually intimidated your father. You miss her. 

“I totally believe you, Your Highness, and I promise I will keep my distance. Look, I’ll put him on speaker. You can hear from him that I’m cool.”

You nod. “That is agreeable. Dial.”

“Okay, great. I love when things are agreeable.” He dials on his phone and it rings. Hood answers on the first ring.

“Yeah?” comes Hood’s voice. You try not to react too obviously to the sound of his voice.

“Dude, what the hell? You ditched me.”

“Sorry.” Hood sighs. “I dunno what’s goin’ on with me. I got in a fight with the king—he’s just so dismissive of her, y’know? What an asshole! She’s the one who came up with the idea! I got mad ‘cause she’s—God, if you met her, you’d get it. She threw a comb at me yesterday. What a woman. She smells like a meadow—”

Arsenal coughs loudly. “Ohhh, you’re on speakerphone! Her Highness is actually here with me.”

There’s a solid three seconds of silence. You fear the line has dropped. Then: “What.”

You swallow and lean forward. “Hi, Hood.”

“Hi, princess.” You can’t decipher his carefully neutral tone. “What’re you doin’ with Arsenal?”

“She found my super secret hiding spot,” Arsenal says.

You roll your eyes. “Do you think I don’t know the ins and outs of my own garden? This is hardly a hiding spot.”

“Yeah, I can see why you like her so much, Red,” Arsenal says. “She threatened me with a crotch kick.”

“Attagirl,” Hood says.

You beam proudly. “Thank you, Hood. I was looking for you.”

“How come, princess?”

“Well, I…” You glance at Arsenal. He sighs and hands you the phone, taking it off speakerphone at the same time. 

“Thank you,” you say. “I apologize for threatening you with a branch.”

“No sweat. Happens all the time. I’ll be over there, not eavesdropping.”

You put the phone to your ear. “Hello, Hood. You’re off speakerphone now. Arsenal gave me the phone.”

“Got your way, huh?”

“I always do,” you say sweetly. “I was looking for you because… well, it was very kind what you said to my father about me today.”

“He’s fuckin’ ridiculous. How d’you deal with him?” He huffs. “I thought my dad was a pain in the ass. Thank God he’s not a king. Well, not legally.”

You hum. “It takes a lot of practice to deal with him. But please don’t jeopardize the plan by arguing. I know he can be frustrating, but truly, you don’t need to fight him for my sake.”

“He was sayin’ stupid shit,” Hood says petulantly.

You smile. “He often does. Thank you for defending me.”

“I’ll always defend ya, Princess. But, um, I better stay away for a bit to let him cool off, yeah?”

You’re mournful at the thought of Hood staying away. Your time together is already so limited.

“Did you talk to the tailor about your costume?” you ask instead.

“Yeah, I gave him my measurements. He said he’d deliver the costume to my room.”

“Wonderful. I’ll make sure he doesn’t put too many feathers on it.”

“Feathers?”

You giggle. “Kidding. So, I smell like a meadow?”

Hood clears his throat. “I, uh, think Arsenal needs his phone back.”

You fiddle with your dress, delighted by how flustered he is. “In a moment. I’m quite enjoying this.”

“Please, Princess,” Hood says, voice husky. “Show mercy.”

You bite your lip. “Very well. I am a benevolent princess.”

“I know y’are. And you can trust Arsenal, okay? I trust him with my life.”

“I trust you with mine, so I believe you,” you say solemnly. You hesitate, wanting to ask him to see you again before the festival, but you don’t think you have a right to request such a thing. “Goodbye, Hood.”

“Bye, princess. Don’t get into too much trouble.”

You hand Arsenal the phone. He nods gratefully and holds it up to his ear, listening for a bit and humming, then hanging up. 

“What hotel are you staying at?” you ask.

Arsenal snorts. “Hotel is a very generous descriptor for where we are. Hood wanted to stay inconspicuous which means we’re roughing it. We’re at the Calpatia Inn.”

“Then you should go that way,” you say, pointing. “You can cut through the woods and find the main road while avoiding the guards.”

“Thanks, Your Highness.” He does an awkward half-bow. You watch amusedly. He winces. “Yeah, that wasn’t right, was it?”

“It wasn’t bad,” you say. “But you do not need to bow. A friend of Hood is a friend of mine. No formalities required.”

“You’re Hood’s friend,” he says, nodding slowly. “Huh. Right. See you later, Your Highness.”

“Goodbye,” you say, watching as Arsenal disappears behind the wall and in the opposite direction of the castle. 

You allow yourself a tiny squeal when you’re completely alone. He thinks you smell like a meadow!

The city is abuzz with excitement about the festival, which is three days away. Meanwhile, your father is wreaking havoc on the castle inhabitants. Not only is he stressed with expense approvals and security arrangements, but he's also insistent on not letting you go anywhere, under the guise of the assassination threat. You know that he’s stressed and when he’s stressed he’s more strict. But instead of your usual defiance, you’ve decided to be as complacent as possible so he doesn’t discover your wild plan (falling in love with the Red Hood). To do this, you have agreed to the worst thing possible: a courting. 

Viscount Archibald Gramsley has graciously told you to call him Archie. You do not extend the same courtesy, and you make sure he addresses you as Your Highness. True, you're playing nice with your father today, but too much cooperation would make him suspicious. Luckily, you know how to strike a balance. 

You and Archie are in the garden for tea, in the nice, white wicker chairs, shaded under the large oak tree that nearly reaches the top of the palace. You used to attempt climbing to the top but never got further than the first branch. You wonder if Hood likes to climb trees. 

“I have twice as large an estate at home,” Archie says, lazily lifting a well-groomed eyebrow. “It would please me to host you instead next time, Your Highness.”

You smile tightly. “Nothing would please me more.”

“Fantastic. I'll have it arranged.”

Archie was the first on your list of potential suitors, and instead of going through the pain of vetting them all, you agreed to go in order of request. Now you wish you had studied the list more closely. Archie has been talking about himself for a little under an hour, and you’re debating which fork would be best to stab him with. 

You wish you could have tea with Hood instead. Does he like tea? He seems like he would. And he probably has freckles on his cheeks from the sun. Scars, too? You think so. A man like him can't go without getting keepsakes from fights. You stir your tea absently, thinking about what color eyes Hood has while Archie blathers on. 

“You know, Father worried me when he said I'd be meeting the Princess of Calpatia, but you're more beautiful than I thought you'd be. It's refreshing, to say the least,” he says. He loudly sips his tea. 

Archie is short and wiry. He could be handsome if he never spoke a word, but his lack of wit unfortunately ruins any good looks of his. He's very proud of his blond hair and smooth skin that's probably never seen an hour of sun. You thought meeting in the garden would be good for what is certainly a vitamin D deficiency. 

“Are you sure we couldn't have tea inside?” he asks, wrinkling his nose when a dragonfly soars past. “It's quite sunny today. It's… unpleasant.” 

Seriously, who hates the sun? You take a large gulp of tea. Your tutor from your childhood would rap your hand with a ruler for that but she's not here, and you don’t care if your manners disgust a so-called prince. You wouldn’t see Archibald again even if he was the last man on Earth. 

Then again, as far as choosing men that would survive the end of the world, he wouldn't be on your list. Hood would be, though. He’d be wonderful in an apocalypse. You imagine him sweeping you away on his motorcycle, telling you to stay close and to hold on as you weave through the hills of Calpatia. You would almost certainly survive with Hood watching over you. He’d find an abandoned cottage for you to rest in, and when he was sure you were alone, he’d delicately unlace your bodice, careful not to rip your dress—

“I beg your pardon, are you listening?”

You blink, zone back in. “My apologies. What were you saying?”

Archie’s mouth puckers. “I was saying that your father said you were looking for a husband.”

“Oh! Well, I have been wanting to travel first,” you say. You can’t let Archie think you’d seriously consider a proposal. What’s more, if he does propose, your father will stop at nothing to push you to accept. And if you decline, he’ll make you accept the next royal pain that looks your way. And there’s always someone worse.

“Travel, yes. I also enjoy traveling. We could do that, before we settle down.”

“Surely you must have other prospective marriage offers,” you say quickly. “Better than me. My estate is small, as you said.”

Archie nods. “True. But princesses from larger countries are such chores to manage.”

He’s obviously never met you before. 

You smile wanly. “Is that right?”

“Quite.” Archie sips delicately from his teacup. “They have such modern ideas about independent rule. I myself am in line for my own throne. You understand.”

Good God. 

“I think that a king and a queen should rule equally,” you say.

Archie looks like you’ve just told him you like to chew barbed wire. “With all due respect, that is preposterous. Princesses are not trained in diplomacy or politics. A queen’s role is important but separate from the king’s duties.”

Yeesh. Where did your father find this man? The last century? 

“I… Archie, I think perhaps—”

Thwap!

You both flinch as an acorn hits the side of Archie’s head. He whips his head around, searching for the offender. “What on earth was that?”

“I don’t know,” you say, looking around. “Perhaps the tree dropped an acorn.” 

Archie rubs his head. “You ought to instruct your gardeners better. If they cannot do their jobs, then—”

Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!

Three acorns drop from above, all hitting Archie right in the center of his head. He leaps from his chair, outraged. His cheeks are pink with anger.

“What is going on?” he shouts. “Who is doing that?”

“Archie, it’s probably just a squirrel—”

“Filthy rodents!” he screeches. “They ought to be shot!”

You blink, watching him in disgust. Out of the corner of your eye, you see movement. A red vest. You laugh, then cover your mouth.

“What is so amusing about this?” Archie snaps. “Are you ill?”

Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!

“No, not at all,” you say, muffling your laughter. This time, the acorns come from multiple directions. Archie screams, swatting them away, and your giggles become uncontrollable as he flails like a monkey. 

“Bastard squirrels! Filthy creatures!” he screams, and you gasp. Archie looks at you with wild eyes, panting.

“I…” He swallows. He smooths his hair and his suit, trying to regain his composure. “I–I apologize for my outburst. I did not—”

Thwap! Thwap! 

Archie bellows a yell, kicking the chair and knocking the teacup onto the ground. It chips at the rim. You stand up, lifting your chin.

“I request that you leave,” you say sternly. “Now.”

“Fine!” he yells, and stomps back inside the palace, shoving through the guards. 

You exhale and pick up the teacup, then you point to the gardens. “I am going for a walk to clear my head. Please make sure that Viscount Gramsley finds his way out.” 

The guards nod understandingly, and you go toward where you saw that glimpse of red. You spot a red origami bat near a jasmine bush and you quickly pick it up and tuck it into your dress. 

“Didn’t work out?” 

You smile at the voice hidden in the bushes. “Unfortunately not. Some mischievous squirrels.”

“Shame. Gotta watch out for them.”

“Indeed.” You resist the urge to stick your hand into the bushes and find Hood’s hand. “Is the plan going well?”

“Sure is. Everything’s going smoothly.”

You nod. “That’s good.”

The urge to ask to see Hood again before the festival bubbles up. You can’t get enough of him. It should frighten you. 

“So, you’re interested in meeting a prince?” 

You make a face. “Don’t be ridiculous. I am already in love.”

You cover your mouth, hoping Hood can’t see your embarrassment. 

“Oh,” he says. “I—”

“Anyway!” You bite your lip, mind racing for a subject change. “Er, please tell Arsenal thank you for the acorns. His aim is impeccable.”

Hood snorts. “Dunno what y’mean. He told me he’s been practicing his curtsy. “See ya soon, princess.”

“See you.” You pick a jasmine from the bush, walking back to the palace. You bring it to your nose. It smells like Hood. 

The Next Night

Boom!

Somewhere, something hits the walls of the palace. The sound makes you flinch, and you rush out of your chambers to see the commotion. The guards that are usually posted down the hall are gone, so you follow the shouting. There’s a second set of doors that separates your chambers and the hall from the rest of the castle, and you push those open.

On the carpet is a palace guard being restrained by three other guards. As you approach, he looks right at you, eyes wild and hateful. A guard steps in front of you, gently shielding you. You peek around his shoulder, watching the traitor struggle.

“I’ll kill you!” the guard shouts. “You’ll be sorry, you stupid brat. You and your father destroyed my home. You don’t deserve this palace! You don’t deserve it!”

He’s dragged away and the heavy doors close after him. His ranting is muffled now, but you can still hear it in your mind, feel his frightening blue eyes cutting through you like ice. 

The guard in front of you asks, “Are you alright, Your Highness? We prevented him from entering your chambers.”

You feel sick. “Yes, thank you. I-I am fine.”

Another guard sighs. “If it’d been a minute later, y’might’ve been—” 

The first guard nudges him. He shuts up.

“We’ll be nearby if you need anything,” says the first guard sympathetically. “Please try to rest, Your Highness.”

You’re suddenly exhausted as you shuffle back to your room. The hallway seems longer than usual, and you stare at the portraits and ornate windows on the walls. Paranoia strikes you then: what if there are others? What if they break in through the windows? You pick up your pace then and race to your room, closing the doors behind you. Mindlessly, you rub your arms and sit on the edge of your bed, staring at the floor. Tears come to your eyes, and you let them fall. 

What if the plan doesn’t work? What if your father dies?

Your curtain moves and you flinch. It’s happened. They’re here for you. 

But then you see the heavy black boots and the tactical vest and you exhale in relief. No, you’re safe. You are always safe with Hood. 

“Hey,” he says quietly, climbing gracefully over your sill.  

You quickly wipe your cheeks. Your face feels puffy and hot. “Hi.”

Hood stops at the edge of your room, right by the window. You watch him take off his boots and walk to you in socked feet. He sits on the floor next to you, not touching you, but close enough to. You see now that his clothes are spattered in blood. Your mouth opens in horror.

“Hood, why are you—”

“Arsenal and I intercepted some of Jamison’s men before they got to the palace. They tried a sneak attack. Got messy. I came as soon as I heard. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

You clasp your hands in your lap. “No. But he was so close to me, Hood. The guard said that if it had been a minute later, I would’ve… I would’ve been—”

“‘S not true. People always say stuff after the fact.”

“Don’t lie to me, Hood,” you say, glaring. “Don’t try to protect me in my father’s misguided way.”

His shoulders go up, then down as he exhales. “Okay. Sorry.”

You shiver, adrenaline coursing through you. “I suppose I would be an easier target than my father, considering the placement of my chambers. We should probably put more guards after… after we have checked their backgrounds, of course, and reinforce the—”

“Princess.” Hood kneels in front of you. He takes off his gloves, careful not to get blood on you, then holds the sides of your calves over your nightgown. Your exhale is punched out of you. He looks up. You can’t see his eyes, but it makes you feel better that he’s meeting your gaze somewhere behind his helmet. 

“He wouldn’t have gotten to you. I wouldn’t have let that happen. And y’don’t need to figure out security measures. We’re doing that right now.”

“I don’t need to be coddled, Hood,” you say sharply. “I understand the reality of the situation.”

“Not coddling you,” he says. “Supporting someone who’s scared isn’t coddling them.”

The image of the guard’s face hits you again. The strands of spit pulling from his teeth as he screamed at you, his wild eyes. How can anyone be so full of hatred toward you? What have you done to make him want to hurt you?

“I just… I don’t understand what I’ve done. Why is this happening?”

“No, hey. This ain’t a reflection of you. Jamison is the devil, seriously. And he only works with people who are just as twisted as he is. It’s not you, y’know, it’s… really, really bad business.”

You feel tears begin to swell again. Hood rubs your legs. “I kept wondering why I was kidnapped in Gotham,” you say, voice warbly with tears. “If there was something different I could’ve said or done… maybe I’m a terrible princess. Even you hated me when we first met.”

“No way, I didn’t hate ya. I was… I was havin’ a bad night, to be honest. Didn’t have to do with you. And you’re not a bad princess, okay? Not a bad anything. Nothing that happened in Gotham or tonight was your fault. Got me?”

He squeezes your legs. You nod.

“Yes,” you say. He’s so close. You’re reminded of that night in Gotham, how his bulk unnerved you. Now, you feel overwhelmed in a good way, Hood at your feet like a guard dog. His hands are still on you. You feel drowsy and warm.

“Anyway, ‘m glad we met. Despite the circumstances,” he says, stroking your clothed calf with his thumb.

“Well, that is because I am spectacular company and quite irresistible.”

He throws his head back and laughs. You bite your lip at the sight, sick with pleasure. You can face anything with Hood at your side, you think. 

“Oh, man. Think y’might’ve cast a spell on me,” he says when he catches his breath, tracing your ankle bone with a knuckle. 

“I hope so,” you say, heart beating fast. He hums.

The adrenaline is fading and exhaustion hits you. In Hood’s presence, you feel as safe as you possibly can be. You believe that he wouldn’t have let that guard hurt you. But you also know that he can’t be everywhere at once.

“Hood?” you say quietly.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Will you stay the night with me? I’m afraid… what if Jamison tries again?”

“He won’t.”

You frown. “I won’t sleep a moment alone.”

“Princess, I really don’t think I should—”

You clutch his hands. They’re calloused and cool. He has thick fingers. “Please? Please, Hood, I feel the safest with you. Just for tonight. Then we’ll catch Jamison at the festival tomorrow and it’ll all be over.”

He sighs. “If I stay…”

You nod eagerly. “Yes?”

“No one can know. I’d be gone before dawn.”

“Yes, of course. So you’ll stay?”

“...I’ll stay. Despite my instincts.”

“Oh, wonderful! Hood, you’re wonderful.” You want to hug him, but you think better of it when you remember the blood. Even so, hugging is not proper for a princess. You stand and smooth the wrinkles of your nightgown. “Good. Yes. Shall I find you some pajamas?”

“Uh, no, you shall not.”

“You cannot wear your gear to bed, Hood. It’ll be very uncomfortable. Besides, I do not want you sitting on my furniture when you have blood on your jacket.” You wrinkle your nose. 

“I’m gonna be on the floor anyway.”

You roll your eyes. “That is the most ridiculous thing you’ve said. You will not lie on the floor like a house pet. No, you will sleep on my chaise lounge.”

You aren’t completely gone; you realize that having Hood sleep in bed with you would be a little much, even for your recently developed lack of decency. Hood is probably too much of a gentleman to sleep in your bed, anyway. But you won’t let him hurt his back sleeping on the floor. Not when he has to be at his best tomorrow night.

“Your chaise?”

You point to your baby pink chaise with gold accents that’s next to your bed. “It’s comfortable; I have fallen asleep on it while reading.”

“Jesus. This kinda thing is bad for my reputation, y’know.”

“Yes, yes. Don’t sit in it without removing your blood-stained clothing, please.”

He sighs like you’ve just asked him to fetch you the moon. “You always get your way, don’t you?”

“Essentially, yes. You can shower in my en-suite. I’ll sneak into my father's chambers to get you some clothes.”

“Oh no, no no. That's where I draw the line. No way am I wearing King Pops’ stuff. He’s not even my size.”

“Then how will you change clothes?”

Hood looks at the window. “Well…”

Twenty minutes later.

“I resent this,” Arsenal hisses from below.

You peek your head over the windowsill and wave. “Hi, Arsenal.”

“Hiya, Princess.” He scowls at Hood. “I still resent this. I don’t care that you’re in love or how beautiful the princess is.” He nods at you. “And you are quite beautiful, Your Highness.”

You laugh. “Why, thank you, Arsenal.”

Hood snaps his fingers impatiently. “Less yappin’. Not gettin’ any younger here.”

“I should never have to look for your underwear. Hood, man, we’ve been through a lot, but touching your underwear is far from being on my bucket list.”

“It’s clean, asshole,” Hood hisses. “Will you just throw the bag up?”

Arsenal sighs and throws the duffel bag up to your window. His aim is impressive, like Hood’s. You’re glad that they’re both on your side.

“Hold on,” you say, and you get the picnic basket of palace dinner you packed for Arsenal, in exchange for his magnanimous delivery of Hood’s underwear. Hood helps you attach it to his grappling hook so you can send it down. 

“Princess, you’re the sweetest,” Arsenal says. “See, this is what I’m talkin’ about, Hood. Manners. Grace. Politeness. You can learn a thing or two.”

“You’re one to talk,” Hood says, flipping him off. 

“Jerk. Sweet dreams, Princess. Sorry about that crazy guard guy.”

Your smile is thin. “Thank you, Arsenal. Will I see you tomorrow at the festival?”

“For sure.” He grins at you, and it would probably make your face hot if you weren’t shoulder-to-shoulder with the Red Hood. “Save me a dance?”

“Don’t answer that,” Hood says. “She only dances with princes, jackass, not your ugly mug.”

You smile, patting his hand. “Don’t be jealous, Hood. A princess’ job is to be diplomatic and dance with all of her subjects.”

“Yeah, hear that? Diplomatic. Look it up, Red!” Arsenal crows.

“Fuck off.”

Arsenal shrugs and blows you a kiss. You snort and wave. 

“Good night, Arsenal,” you say.

“Night, Princess. Jerk-off.”

“Fuckhead. You’re watching the north wall tomorrow,” Hood says.

“Gotcha. See ya both.”

He disappears around the wall, picnic basket in tow. Hood closes your window and locks it.

“He’s nice,” you say, biting your lip to hide a smile. 

Hood whips his head around so fast, you almost laugh. “You like him?”

You smile indulgently. “I find him charming. Though not as charming as you.”

“Yeah?” He inches closer. “I’m charming, huh? I’ve been told as much.”

You laugh. “No modesty! Go shower.”

Hood comes out in a cloud of steam exactly seven minutes later. You’re already in bed, and you close your laptop on your lap. The front of his white tank top is a little damp, drops of water running down his neck and getting absorbed immediately. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of his arms, soft when at rest but bulging with muscle when he bends them to stretch out his tank top. You catch a glimpse of dark hair on his chest and oh, the Red Hood is a brunet.

He has on black basketball shorts for modesty, though you have no idea what’s modest about Hood’s impossibly large thighs. Briefly, you recall the internet trend of people crushing watermelons with their legs. 

“Bathroom’s free,” he says. “I bagged up my clothes, don’t worry. No blood in your room, princess.”

“Oh, I—yes, that’s good. Thank you. Isn’t it uncomfortable to wear the helmet with wet hair?”

“Nah, I have a drying mechanism built in for when I have to go diving in the Hudson on a case. Learned that the hard way. And it’s cushioned inside, so I can sleep everywhere.”

“You think of everything,” you say, watching as he approaches. You have to crane your neck to see him from this angle, and your heart jumps at the thought of Hood climbing atop you, bracketing you with his arms and legs. You think about if his helmet were off, and if he dripped water onto you, and where that water would land, and would he wipe it away with his hand…

“—don’t have t’worry about it, okay?”

You blink. “I… I beg your pardon, Hood, I was lost in my thoughts.”

“Yeah, I see that. What were you thinkin’ about?” 

He squats at your bedside, resting his elbows on the bed. That flexes his biceps. You feel light-headed.

“I was just thinking about tomorrow. I’m worried,” you say, not completely lying. 

“Hey, it’ll be fine. Y’know I’d never let anything happen to you. I was sayin’ that Arsenal and I are gonna vet the guards on your protective detail, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“Thank you, Hood.”

Is this what it’s like to fall in love? 

“No sweat. It’ll be over in a minute,” he says. “Morning after, you’ll be amazed at how light y’feel. Happens every time I finish a case.”

You turn on your side, putting your laptop on the nightstand. You prop your head up on your hand. “So you’re a detective. Like Batman?”

“Well.” Hood stands and stretches, pulling his elbow over his head. His tank top rides up, showing you a sliver of his happy trail. Goodness. He settles in the chaise, reclining. “Kinda. I definitely practice methods that Batman doesn’t approve of. But he trained me, so yeah, I owe a lot of what I know to him.”

“What was it like, training under him?”

Hood sighs. “It was fantastic. ‘Til it wasn’t.”

You frown. “I’m sorry. Let’s talk about lighter things.”

“Sure. What’d ya think of Archie?”

You roll your eyes. Hood chuckles, shoulders shaking. 

“Please,” you say. “I’ll spare you. Father’s choices for suitors are always horrendous.”

“‘S so medieval that you still have to do that. Marry some guy you don’t like for the throne.”

“My mother felt the same way,” you say. “She was only queen for a year before she abdicated and divorced my father. She couldn’t stand royal politics.”

“Wow. Didn’t know a queen could do that.”

“She wasn’t royal by blood. She met my father while abroad and they fell in love. And I guess she thought that she could do this: be a queen, love my father. But she could only do one of those things. She got sick a few years later. My father would hardly leave the hospital. I didn’t see him for weeks at a time. I know he misses her everyday, and I’m grateful that he loved my mother so much that he carries her through his grief. But it changed him for the worse.”

“You don’t miss your mom?” he asks quietly. 

“I miss the idea of a mother,” you say. “But how can I miss a woman I never knew? I can only love the people who have tried to make my life better, who love me to the best of their abilities. My father would do anything for me, except let me marry who I want. He loves me the way he knows. What more can I ask him for? Anything else I desire, I must carve it out for myself.”

He hums. “That’s—you’re really understanding of people. You’d make a great queen.”

You smile. “Do you think so?”

“Yeah. I think you can have anything you want, princess.”

“I think you can too,” you say, hushed.

He laughs, but it’s sad. “Yeah, dunno ‘bout that.”

“No, you could,” you say. You could have me.

He looks at you for a long moment. You have never seen his eyes, and yet Hood’s gaze unravels you every time. You’re certain he always knows what you’re thinking. It scared you at first. Now it feels like a blessing to have someone who can read you so well. It feels like fate. 

“You should get some sleep,” he eventually says, leaning over to turn off your bedside lamp. “We got a long day tomorrow.”

“Okay.” You pull the covers over you. You’re glad you told the maids to not come in and prepare you for bed. “Good night, Hood.”

He turns off the light. Your room is shrouded in darkness, but you can still see the dim glow of Hood’s helmeted eyes. They should scare you. 

“G’night, princess.”

When you awaken, you’re soaked in sweat. Your neck sticks to your pillowcase, and your body feels baked, trapped under the covers. You struggle, your breath thin. You don’t remember your nightmare, but you know what it was about. Ever since Gotham, all your nightmares are the same.

“Hey.” Hood’s figure looms over you. You see his helmeted eyes. “You were screaming. I…”

You reach for him without another thought. “Please come.”

And immediately, he goes, climbing into your bed, sitting cross-legged. Gingerly, he opens his arms, and you cling to him tightly, fisting the back of his tank top. He holds you back, petting your spine. You’re sweaty and your breathing is too fast and your nightgown is rumpled. You are not a princess right now. You’re just you. Hood doesn’t seem to mind.

“I dreamt about the night in Gotham,” you whisper. “I… I haven’t stopped having nightmares about it since I came home.”

“‘M sorry,” Hood says, words thick with guilt. “I should’ve found ya sooner.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” you say. “Just bad business.”

He hugs you tighter. “Yeah. Gotham’s cursed like that.”

“I’m going to miss you when you leave, Hood.”

“Me too, princess. But I’ll come visit. I’ll sneak into your window. ‘M gettin’ real good at it.”

You laugh, your throat thick with unshed tears. “Too good.”

“I’m just so cool. What can I say?”

You pick your head up from where it rested on his shoulder. You hold his forearms. His hands are cool but the rest of him runs hot.

“Please stay in my bed,” you say. 

“Princess. Honey, that’s not proper. C’mon, y’don’t want me in your bed.”

“I do. How can you not tell? I want you everywhere, Hood.”

He shudders. “Shouldn’t say those things. Y’know better, princess.”

“Please,” you say again, resting your hand on his neck, where his pulse throbs. “Or I won’t sleep.”

You feel him swallow. “A-alright, okay. Lie down.”

You smile triumphantly, and lie down. Hood lies next to you, taking care not to touch you. You slip your hand under the sheet and feel for his fingers. He lets you link them together.

“Always get your way, huh?” Hood says.

You smile into the darkness, eyelids heavy. “Always.”

You wake up slightly groggy from last night’s events, but you’re otherwise well-rested. And, to your absolute delight, Hood is still in your bed. You move your head slightly to look at him. He’s rolled onto his side, facing you, shoulder touching yours. 

“Oh my.”

You jerk away from Hood, shooting to sit up. Lettie stands in the doorway, a stack of fresh linens in her arms. She sets them down and stares at you. Hood startles awake, and it takes him less than a second to roll out of your bed, sleep-rumpled. He freezes when he sees Lettie.

“Lettie, it isn’t what you think,” you say. 

She raises her eyebrows. “My dear child, I’m really not sure what to think. Mr. Red Hood, is it?”

Hood pulls down his tank top and tucks it in, trying to look more presentable. “Uh, yes, ma’am. Hood is fine.”

She looks at you, laughter in her eyes. “I see. Well, ‘Lettie’ is quite fine as well. Do you often share beds with princesses in your undershirt, Mr. Hood?” 

“Lettie!” you hiss, face aflame. “Gods above. He was protecting me.”

“Is that what the young people call it?”

“Oh my God,” Hood says, looking up at the ceiling. “Jesus Christ. I’m gonna go. It was, uh, nice to meet you, ma’am—Lettie. Princess?”

You nod, forgetting your embarrassment for a moment in favor of getting your last looks of Hood. “Yes. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Promise,” he says, reaching over to squeeze your hand. He briskly circles around your bed, bowing his head as he passes Lettie, getting his bag.

“Indeed, don’t forget your belongings!” she says cheerily.

“Yup. Yeah. Thank you.” Hood shuffles to the window and puts on his boots. He doesn’t lace them before he’s throwing his legs over your windowsill, disappearing in a moment. You stare at the cloudless sky long after he goes.

“So. Foreign boy?”

You whip your head back to glare at her. “That is not funny. He really was protecting me. I was frightened after last night. I had another nightmare, and I asked him to stay. He was a perfect gentleman.”

Lettie’s expression softens. “Oh, my dear. Yes, I heard about the incident this morning. I was in town last night, or I would’ve checked on you. Are you alright?”

“I am fine. Hood was… he comforted me.”

“I see.” Lettie’s eyes are fond. “You really like him.”

You sigh. “I really do, Lettie. He’s… oh, he’s just not at all what you expect. He’s kind and funny and so brave.” 

You leave out the details about Hood’s biceps. For your and Lettie’s sake. 

“And he visited you? That’s dedication. I’m sure he’s very busy in Gotham.”

“He came here for work,” you say. “It was a very good coincidence. Well, bad, because of the coup plan, but…”

“But silver-lined,” Lettie says.

You nod. “Yes. But he’s leaving after the festival tonight.”

“Oh, darling.” She comes to your side of the bed, sitting next to you. You scoot closer and lean on her shoulder. She rubs your back. 

“I’m going to miss him so much, Lettie,” you say. 

“I know, my dear. But you know that things have a way of working out.”

And with all your heart, as you look out the window, you hope that Lettie is right. 

“Thank you for coming,” your father says for what feels like the hundredth time to a couple dressed in matching purple Volto masks. They curtsy and you return it, smile strained. It’s only been a little under an hour and you’re already exhausted. You hope you’ll get to enjoy next year’s ball more. Ideally without any assassination threats.

“Stand up straight,” comes your father’s sharp reminder. “I expect you to dance with at least three suitors tonight. We must keep up appearances and there are plenty of prospective husbands here.”

You sigh. “Yes, Father.” You feel his eyes on you and you turn to look at him. “What is it?”

“You aren’t fighting me,” he says. “It’s odd. What are you planning?”

“Nothing. If you want me to dance tonight, I’ll dance. Though I maintain that I can help with the plan. Er, whatever the plan may be.”

He shakes his head. “I want you as far from me as possible. Jamison is after me, not you. I don’t want you caught in the crossfire. But… I suppose you ought to focus on other things tonight, besides finding suitors.”

You perk up. “Really?”

“I don’t want you to be distracted if something does happen. But… promise me you’ll try to participate in the festivities. We don’t want to alert our guests that anything may be amiss. You are the face of tonight.”

“That isn’t true. They look to you for guidance, Father.”

He smiles and reaches over to stroke your face in a rare display of affection. “In some ways, yes. But you’ll be their queen one day, and you are in the public eye whether you like it or not. Think of the impression you want to make.” He looks at you for a moment longer. “You look like your mother. She would’ve been very proud of you, you know.”

You blink away the wave of emotion that fills you. “Thank you, Father.”

You look out at the sea of people in the ballroom. Dozens of couples dance, laugh, flirt. You try to focus on greeting new guests instead of your longing to join them. The musicians have begun to play a smoky waltz, rich and extravagant. 

“Good evening, Your Majesty.”

You turn at the new voice. It’s an odd mix of a proper affectation and not. This guest is alone. His eyes flick to you briefly, before returning to your father. He bows deeply. He has a red Colombina mask etched with black and gold. His suit and cape are extravagant and match his mask. Tucked into his belt is a sword, completing his costume of a rugged, mysterious Casanova. But covering his mouth is a black sash of fabric, like he’s an outlaw, or a—

“Welcome. I hope you’ll enjoy the festival,” your father says. “Her Highness, Princess of Calpatia, my daughter.” He gestures to you.

The mystery guest bows deeply to you. He gets close enough for you to see his seafoam eyes, piercing through the shadows of his mask. His lashes are thick and dark. Your heart stutters.

“Princess,” he says, and you’d know that voice anywhere. Your lips part, about to call his name. He puts a finger over the sash, where his mouth would be. You remain silent. 

“It is the utmost pleasure to meet you.” He addresses you, not your father, and you smile. “If it pleases you, may I have this dance?” 

“What did you say your name was?” your father asks.

“I did not say, Your Majesty. I apologize. The name is Gregory. Prince Gregory. Greg, if you prefer.” 

You grin. 

“I see. Well, alright. I suppose that is fine. Go ahead.”

You take your prince’s hand. He helps you down the dais carefully, mindful of the poof of your skirt. 

“Don’t worry, Princess.” He eases you into a waltz position, one hand on your ribs, the other holding your hand. “Promise I won’t tear up this dress.”

You can't stop grinning. It's incredibly inappropriate. “I should hope not, Hood. This cost more than the last one.”

He hums. “‘S beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

You tuck your chin coyly, pursing your lips. “I wore red for you.”

He sucks in a heavy breath. His gaze flips your stomach. “For me? Not very proper of ya, Princess.”

“No,” you say, voice husky. You wish you could feel his pulse on your mouth. “It is not.” 

“How’d y’get away with that? Didn’t King Pops vet your dress?”

You smirk. “Do you think that I cannot handle my overprotective father, Hood?”

“Nah.” He turns and pulls you closer for a moment, chest against your back, before resuming the polite amount of distance expected between a princess and her guest. “I know you can handle yourself.”

The crowd has made a space for you and Hood to dance. Some watch, some don’t. You aren’t concerned. Hood’s eyes drift aside periodically, checking your surroundings. But for the most part, his attention is all on you. It overwhelms you in the best way. 

“How did you manage to do this without my father knowing, Prince Gregory?”

His eyes tell you that he’s smiling. “Needed to go incognito. Can’t have the Red Hood stompin’ around, raising flags. ‘Sides, y’think I can’t handle your overprotective father?”

You let your hand creep up from its place on his broad shoulder, until you’re cupping the back of his neck. He inhales sharply. His Adam’s apple bobs.

“It would be foolish of me to doubt you can’t handle anything that comes your way, Hood. If there’s a word to describe you, it’s competent. Among other things.” 

He squeezes your waist. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Y’know what. Your dad’s watchin’ me like he wants to string me up the flagpole.”

“Since when do you care about being good?” you whisper. 

“Since you stopped, apparently.”

“You have pretty eyes, Hood.” And he does. They’re so much better than anything you’ve conjured in your imagination. You can last another year without Hood after discovering the color of his eyes. You’d wait a decade to know the color of his lips. 

“Not as pretty as yours, sweetheart,” he murmurs, holding you against his chest for a moment as the song ends. Then he steps back and bows. You laugh.

“So formal,” you say, curtsying. 

“One of us has to be,” he says, eyes mischievous as he takes your hand and kisses your knuckles through the sash. You feel his warm breath on your skin. 

“I only want to dance with you,” you blurt before he can go. “Don't leave, please.”

Hood squeezes your hand. “You’re my dream, pretty girl. But I gotta check security first. Jamison’s probably arrived by now. Go dance with the real princes.”

“I don’t want to,” you say, probably sounding as whiny as you did when you first met Hood.

He clicks his tongue. “C’mon, be good for me, yeah? I’d never leave ya hangin’.”

Reluctantly, you let him slip his hand from your grip. 

“Be careful,” you say fiercely. “Really, Hood. I mean it.”

“Hey,” he says quietly in your ear. “Nothing’s gonna happen. I’m real good at this. Never had the Royal Guard on my side, so it’s gonna be easy as pie. If you see anything, tell one of the guards. Arsenal’s outside. Jamison’s going down tonight, princess.”

Your heart is in your throat. You swallow it back down, straightening your back. Hood needs you to be a princess tonight. And that is what you do best.

“Okay,” you say. “Don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

“Oh, I’d be the world’s biggest asshole if I did that. No way would I leave without seeing you again, sweetheart. I’ll be back soon. Save me another dance.”

And then he’s gone, easily slipping into the crowd. A man approaches you, one of the visiting diplomats. He bows, and you curtsy, falling back into the rhythm of the festival. You spend the next hour on high alert, dancing with anyone who asks. You keep a sharp eye out for Hood, but he hasn’t returned to the ballroom yet. Probably, he’s doing a diligent check of security, and you’re grateful that he takes his job so seriously. But it’s your last night together. You want one last dance. And… maybe even a second kiss. 

“You dance beautifully,” your current partner says. A general, judging by the medals on his costume and his straight posture. He’s dressed up as a knight, his mask serving as a helmet. He has a scabbard around his waist with a bejeweled sword. 

“I like your costume,” you say, trying to be polite.

He grins proudly. “The sword was custom-made. Would you like to hold it, Your Highness?”

“Please,” you say, grateful for the distraction.

He takes out the sword and sets it carefully into your hands. He reminds you that it’s sharp, and you remember not to roll your eyes. 

“It’s a beautiful piece of work,” you say, taking the sword in hand. “The swordsmith did an excellent job. Perfect weight, balance, quality.”

The general blinks. “I had no idea you knew so much about swords, Your Highness.”

Go figure. “I used to fence.” 

He keeps talking, but you’re no longer paying attention. There are guards running toward the palace kitchen. You glance at the dais. Your father is gone.

You don’t think. You just run.

“Where is my father?” you yell as you enter the kitchen. Pots are strewn across the floor. Soup is dripping from a stovetop. You whirl around to face the guards. The captain steps forward.

“What happened?”

“Jamison was disguised as a waiter. There was a confrontation between him and the chefs. We think he took the king and went through the garden.”

“That wouldn’t work. There are too many people, and the gardens lead to the palace wall. It’s a dead end.”

The captain sighs. “Your Highness, I calculated this to be the most likely escape route. Jamison will want to get to his boat as soon as possible. We’re wasting time discussing it.”

You turn to the frightened chef, who looks like he might faint. “Is there anything that stood out to you about Jamison? Anything he said, did, wore?”

The chef lights up. “Yes! Yes, Your Highness, he was wearing these awful muddy boots instead of the standard loafers. That’s what made me confront him in the first place.”

Tunnels.

“He’s going through the sewer grate that leads to the tunnels under the city. I was right. Get Red Hood and tell him to meet me at the—”

“Your Highness, with all due respect, you are not in charge of this plan. There is a protocol to follow,” says the captain. He turns to the guards. “Men, follow me. Fan out and search the garden.”

“My father will die if you don’t listen to me!” you shout. 

But the captain ignores you. Angry tears sting your eyes. Why won’t anyone listen to you?

The chef steps forward. “Where do you think he will go, Princess?”

You wipe your cheek. “The sewer grate on the south side of the palace. That’s the closest escape. I’m going after him.”

You run out of the kitchens and out into the warm summer night. People are still laughing, drinking, dancing, unaware of the tragedy that looms. You will never forgive yourself if you lose your father tonight.

You go to the south side. Three figures stand near the sewer grate. One of them is struggling. You tear off your mask and brandish the sword, furious and terrified. You point at the closest man’s neck.

“Let go of my father,” you say, body tight with adrenaline.

“And you must be the beautiful Princess of Calpatia. What a pleasure.”

“Jamison, is it?” You push the sword further so the tip is against his neck. He inhales sharply. 

“Now don’t be hasty, Princess. Especially when it’s you, and…” Jamison looks behind you and laughs. “Oh my God. Just you? That’s pathetic.”

Jamison’s thug holds your father, his thick arm wrapped around your father’s neck. You glance at him. 

“Father, are you alright?”

“Please, please run,” your father begs, and the thug crushes him in his grip. Your father wheezes at the pressure. You can see his cheek is dark with blood.

“Father—” Tears well in your eyes, and you blink them back. You take a deep breath. You must be brave. You aren’t back in that Gotham warehouse. You are home. “Let him go. I’ll hurt you!”

Jamison laughs. “You think I believe that?”

You’re shaking, and Jamison sees that. You push the sword harder. Blood wells up at the point, and Jamison winces, but his mean smile doesn’t drop. 

“Kill me, then. Kill me and John here will beat you unrecognizable and leave you to die, and you’ll be lost in Calpatian history.”

“Run, please run,” your father begs, moaning in distress. “Do not hurt her. She doesn’t know any better, please—”

Crack!

The sound of a gunshot tears through the air. Jamison turns, and in the second he’s distracted, you hit him hard on the back of the head with the hilt. He growls, taking out a gun and trying to aim, but you slash his wrist with the sword. He yells, shouting profanities and clutching his wrist with his other hand to stop the bleeding. 

“I’ll kill you!” he screams.

“No, you won’t.”

Hood appears from behind, and now you know the source of the gunshot. Relief washes over you. His mask is gone, replaced with his helmet, and he’s wearing his brown leather jacket. 

“Hood,” you say, overwhelmed with love. You almost say as much, but you catch yourself. You are a princess right now. 

Jamison sighs in disgust. “Red Hood.”

Hood looks at you, gun pressed against Jamison’s back. “Hey. Y’okay?”

You nod, breathless. “Fine.”

“Good.” He knees Jamison, forcing him to the ground. He takes his gun and throws it aside. Several guards appear, surrounding your father and John, who realizes he’s outmatched. He releases your father. 

“Hey, Jamie,” Hood says, and you can hear the daggers in his voice. “Long time no try to kill. You’re lucky the princess is fine, or you’d already be dead, fucker.”

“Another second and you would’ve found her body in the sewer,” Jamison sneers.

You take a step forward and kick Jamison in the stomach. He groans in pain, hunching over. You look at Hood, who nods.

“Nice one.”

“Thank you. Get him out of my sight.”

“Yes, Captain,” he says, and you smile. 

Hood hauls Jamison up. Several guards take him from Hood. The Captain of the Guard tries to slink away in the chaos, but you stop him.

“Captain,” you say.

“Princess,” he replies uneasily. 

“Had Hood not come in time, my father would’ve died. Perhaps I would’ve too. This negligence on your part was unacceptable.”

“Your Highness, the most likely escape route was through the—”

“Perhaps some time abroad will cure your misplaced judgment,” you say. “That is all. Dismissed.”

He opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but when you glare at him, he salutes and leaves, hurrying to catch up with the others. 

“That was very foolish, what you did.”

You turn and face your father, who is frowning. He’s still bleeding, but that doesn’t soften his expression. You lift your chin, prepared for your final battle of the night.

“I will not apologize. You were in harm’s w—”

He cuts you off with a strong hug. You’re speechless as your father pulls you to him, hugging you so tightly, you fight to breathe. But you don’t tell him to loosen his grip. You just drop the sword and put your arms around his shoulders. 

“Do not apologize,” he says, and you can tell he’s crying. “My brave girl.”

You inhale shakily, unable to do anything but hug back. 

He steps back, wiping his eyes. “I know that I am hard on you. I’m afraid of so much. But you… you can take care of yourself.”

You nod frantically. “Yes, I can. I promise.”

Your father presses his lips together. “I see. I will remember that.”

He smoothes down his clothes and looks around. It doesn’t hurt this time, watching him put his feelings aside and regain composure. 

“Hood,” he says.

Hood steps from out of the shadows, startling you. “Majesty?”

“I trust that you will see the princess safely inside.”

“Of course, sir. Guard her with my life.”

Your father looks at you. You smile. He nods, then walks back inside. 

Now it’s just you and Hood. The stars are out, and there’s a warm breeze. The sounds of the party are muffled, and you’re relieved that the guests weren’t frightened and forced to evacuate. 

“Arsenal found a bunch of Jamison’s men. The guards are gonna search for the rest of the night to find the rest. But he’s finished, don’t worry.”

“Oh.” You exhale. “That’s very good. Thank you for… everything. For saving me. Again.”

“You kidding? You saved yourself, Princess. But…” He closes the distance between you, taking your hands. Your eyelids flutter. 

“I’ll always have your back,” he says. 

You lick your lips, itching for a kiss. Can he tell? Part of you hopes not. The other part, however…

“Those were some killer sword skills.”

You grin. “Thank you. I was trained by an expert.”

“Hm, I can tell. The moves seemed familiar.”

“Did they?”

“Mmhm.”

You rub the insides of Hood’s bare wrists. You look at where his lips would be, under his helmet. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” he whispers.

“How much I’d like to kiss you,” you say. 

Hood takes a sharp breath. “Still?”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you again since you first kissed me, Hood.”

You clutch Hood’s hands, squeezing. He squeezes back before letting go.

“Jason,” he says. 

You blink. “What?”

“My name. ‘S Jason.”

“Jason.” He shivers when you say his name. You brush your fingers along the sliver of skin between the collar of his costume and his helmet. “Jason, will you kiss me?”

“Yeah, yes. Anything y’want.”

He goes to take off his helmet. You close your eyes, listening to the hiss of air and the click, and the helmet hitting the grass. He touches your cheek with one cool, ungloved hand. His thumb traces circles on the apple of your cheek.

“I…” The hand drops. Your eyebrows knit, but you don’t open your eyes. “I want you to see me. ‘S only fair, so you can decide if y’really wanna kiss me again.”

You open your eyes, about to protest. Jason’s face startles you. His eyes are a vibrant teal when they aren’t shadowed by a mask. His hair is dark and curly, like you suspected, but there’s a shock of white in the front. His nose is big, with a bump in it. Tens of scars decorate his face, most of them silvery with age. He has a particularly deep scar on his upper lip and another on his eyebrow. His face is strong and masculine, one you’d find on-screen as a rugged cowboy.

Jason looks down like he’s ashamed. His lashes are thick. 

“No Prince Greg here,” he says quietly.

How can he say such a thing? Doesn’t he see how gone you are for him?

“Jason,” you say. “I am in love with you.”

His mouth parts in surprise. You step forward and kiss him before he can speak, arms looping around his neck. You bury your hands in his curls, combing through them. Jason catches you, making a surprised noise against your mouth. He holds you by your waist and dips you slightly as he kisses you back. You sigh, nipping his lip, and Jason makes a tiny noise in his throat.

“Don’t you know?” you say, pulling away. “Princes are terribly overrated.” 

He smiles gently, holding you tighter. “Is that your royal decree, Princess?”

“Obviously.” You take him in some more, and it’s like bathing in moonlight. “You owe me a third kiss. You can’t leave until you give it.”

He leans in and kisses you, holding your chin between two fingers. “Good?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No. Now you owe me a fourth.”