A/N:

Goodness, it feels like ages since I've been on this site. Skie Narkie told me about Ryuchu's contest during the first week it was being held, and I felt like I just had to enter an entry of my own. That, and I wanted to get back into the swing of things. X'3

This was originally going to be a one-shot, but after sending this out and gathering some feedback from several friends, most of them agreed that it would be better for me to send this out in chapters. It's well over 24,000 words, and I really don't want to put anyone through that kind of torture to have to try and read it all in one go. Q u Q

Since I've been absent for so long, I really wanted this to be one of my best works and I'm asking ahead of time to forgive me if it sounds pretentious and wordy at times. I did my best not to make it sound like it too much. . . Also, as a side note, the inspiration for this happened during a Disney movie marathon between me and my siblings, and listening to Empath-P's original "Second Star" on repeat in my mp3, so this fic is heavy on Peter Pan (anddefinitelynotbecauseitwasoneofmyfavoritesgrowi ngup. /*shot).

So, without further ado, onwards with my entry! ^ ^

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"Wendy, Wendy, when you are sleeping in your silly bed you might be flying about with me saying funny things to the stars."

~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

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At nine years old, Miki met a strange boy.

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When her ninth birthday had finally come to pass, Miki thought she was more than qualified to be out meandering around the kingdom's largest market town without even the remotest hint of supervision.

After all, the precocious princess was well-read, well-versed in self-defense (as the poor stable boys who had thought to play rough with her had discovered to their physical detriment), and had an earnest thirst to experience the corners of the world that extended beyond brief family outings. Unfortunately for the keen-eyed and sharp-minded child, however, the reigning monarchs of the land, who by an unhappy twist of fate were also her parents, did not exactly concur with that dubious opinion.

Their staunch refusal, born of natural parental worry, to allow their daughter beyond the castle boundaries without an escort had therefore resulted in Miki taking desperate measures.

Hence the reason she was now smothered from head to toe in a thick cloak, courtesy of her beloved cousin Cul. Miki felt the keen thrill of disguise, with her brilliant red locks safely tucked away from view beneath her hood, her finely made dress concealed beneath the rough woolen fabric, and her feet clad in simple black slippers she had traded the milkmaid's daughter her own dainty shoes for.

The near unbearable heat that resulted from wandering around the marketplace garbed in such a way, in the middle of spring with hundreds of other shoppers and traders was, to Miki, well worth the simple marvels of everyday life she was afforded the privilege of seeing there.

Anonymity was a wonderful thing — no one stopped her or stared blatantly. Tucked under her little cloak, she was no princess, no daughter of kings. . . just Miki.

And so, as just Miki, she was free to wander about in a state of ravenous curiosity, at liberty to view things without the restricting barrier of dozens of guards or her parents' hovering presence.

To say it was intoxicating would been a light term to use.

She ran her hands reverently over brightly-woven afghans from Agrabah, and marveled at the sleekest silks imported from the mysterious depths of the Orient. She listened to the fearsome tales of wild beasts that roamed the forest lands as she looked at the intricate woodcarvings, depicting them, heard the enthralling boastings of blacksmiths who showed off their wares, claiming that each sword had taken the life of a dragon or two. Not that she believed a thing they said, but the far-fetched yarns were at least entertaining to listen to. They certainly made a pleasant change from the somnolent lectures of her tutors.

And so she mingled, exposed to the small fragments of far-off kingdoms and intrepid lands that only the brave could traverse, knowing that this was likely as close as she would ever get to the stories of her parents' heroic deeds and travels that Mister Kiyoteru and the other tutors regaled her with when she wasn't studying.

As her parents and their various friends had been occupied as of late with the furthering of diplomatic relations and the opening of new trade routes, leaving a bored Miki to the lackluster routine of eat, lessons, sleep, this was undoubtedly the most amusement Miki had gathered in quite a while.

Unfortunately for Miki's outing, however, this one took a turn for the decidedly worse when, like in most tales, hunger got the best of her.

The marketplace's vastness required that it be organized into sections — artisan crafts, carpenter's wood works, smithies' steel wares, the flower sellers, etc. Miki knew when she had crossed the line from the sharp pungency of steel and crowded males that made up the smithy sector, and into the one where various foods, both foreign and national, were set out for display, for the air took on a sweet quality and thickened with the scent of spices and sugars.

Walking along the pie stands and bread shops, fried meat stands and fruit carts, her gut had immediately clenched with longing.

She came to a stop before one of them, passing a hand apologetically over the complaining part of her body. Those scarce few muffins she had hastily crammed in her mouth as she had slipped from the castle's remote stable exits were now thoroughly digested. . . making the fact that she was now standing directly before a cart piled high with luscious red apples all the more uncomfortably blatant.

She gave an idle glance around.

The adult who appeared to be the apple merchant, a rotund man with a coarse voice, seemed to be haggling animatedly with a farmer and his wagon full of round, tantalizing fruits. Engrossed as he was in the conversation, he didn't seem to take any notice of the small girl staring ravenously at his cart.

A low rumble disrupted her concentration, the audible hunger of her stomach translating visually in hungry look in her eyes at the sight of the shining red apples perched neatly atop one another, rows upon rows of blooming crimson glinting in the warm morning sunlight.

There were so many, she thought with a childish reasoning. The apple seller wouldn't be mad if she just took one, right?

Not thinking very much of it, she obeyed the grumbling of her stomach and took the very top one off the pile. Immediately she brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply. Her mouth watered at the scent, and she smiled contentedly as she prepared to sink her teeth into the crisp skin.

"You've gotta pay fer what ye take, girly!"

Apparently she had been wrong to guilelessly believe she hadn't been noticed.

Miki yelped as the stall merchant materialized before her. He seized her roughly by the hand, the ground swept from beneath her feet as she dangled helplessly in the air. The apple, knocked from her grasp, went hurtling through the air and wastefully rolling on the dusty ground.

Eye-to-eye with the large man that had grabbed her, and a large distance from the ground, she could do little more than twist and struggle. The realization that, courtesy of her brilliant idea of sneaking out of the castle unaccompanied meant no one would be rushing to her rescue, suddenly stilled her frightened movements.

Why oh why had she thought this to be a good idea again?

Her nose wrinkled automatically as she was brought closer to the furious apple seller, the man's putrid odor washing unpleasantly over her. This was nothing like her mother's lulling cinnamon smell, or her father's comforting scent of steel and the woodlands, but a nastily pervasive stink that made her want to gag.

Miki clamped her mouth firmly shut. She didn't think the situation would be helped were she to vomit all over him.

"So," he rumbled, his voice deepening with anger. "Where's yer money for that apple, girl!?"

There was no way around it — she would have to open her mouth to defend herself.

"I'm-I'm sorry!" she stammered, panic coursing through her and causing her heart to patter frantically against her chest. Her heart was also fluttering because it was rather oxygen-deprived, seeing as she was desperately trying not to breathe and accidentally inhale his disgusting smell. "I d-don't have any! I'm sorry!"

Yellowing teeth were exposed as the merchant gnashed them furiously, reminding Miki vaguely of a petulant horse that had once bared its large mashers at her in a similar fashion. "Then ya shouldn't have stolen my apple then, should ya!"

Another rough shake and Miki's already simmering temper flared, her demeanor slipping rapidly from contrite to annoyed. No one had ever handled her in such a rough way in her entire life, and it was already becoming intolerable. "I already apologized — I didn't know I had to pay!"

Despair at her naivety coursed through her. Oftentimes when she was out and about with her parents, shopkeepers had been more than generous in imparting little gifts to her. . . she had foolishly thought that would apply at any time. But as she had delighted in when first setting out, she wasn't a princess at the moment. Merely a normal little girl without a cent on her and descending rapidly into the stifling grip of trouble.

"Excuses won't do the trick. Ya know what we do to thieves 'round here, girly?" The man sneered at her, looming in further until she could literally feel his putrescent breath against her face.

Unable to reply, she just gave a frantic shake of her head.

The merchant snickered. It was an unpleasant, nasally laugh. "We take 'em and toss 'em in dank cells — or even haul 'em before the king an' queen themselves to be judged. I've heard of many a crook who's 'ad their head chopped off as punishment!"

It was only with great difficulty that Miki refrained from rolling her eyes. This was utterly laughable for two reasons: one, her peace-loving, epitome-of-generosity parents were inherent believers in the redeemable ideals of everyone and were about as likely to carelessly order an execution as they were to wage war. Two, the scenario of her being dragged up to the castle as a thief and have her crimes scrutinized by her parents was both mildly alarming and amusing. . . although she had the distinct notion that neither her mother nor father would view it as such.

A curious crowd had half-gathered by this point, made up of partially interested spectators and worried faces. None, however, were making any move to give aid to her. Miki bitterly wondered how fast they would hop to it were her true identity made known.

Was this what she was missing out on then, in her regulated little life at the castle? Was this the grandeur of humanity she had been so enthralled with in the library's endless tales of heroism and nobility?

If so, Miki made a mental note to chuck all of those lying books in the bin as soon as she wriggled out of this situation.

"Oi, Mister!" A loud shout caught her assailant's attention. "Best look about now — some bloke just made off with a bunch of your wares while you was otherwise occupied!"

The merchant's eyes, already bulbous, bugged out even more at the shout.

Miki couldn't believe her good fortune at the timely distraction, mentally thanking the fact that there were deliberately dishonest people in the world who would rob someone blind at first advantage. Anything was better than the fate of being clapped in chains and tossed before her parents.

A small "Oomph" of pain escaped her as she was unceremoniously dropped to the ground in a heap. The merchant trundled off with a speed that belied his hefty size, and Miki was left rubbing her sore wrist in an anxious attempt to make sure it hadn't been irreparably broken in the oaf's grip.

Not a second later and she was being abruptly tugged up by two firm hands grasping her arms.

"Might want to run, doll," a boyish voice suggested lowly against her ear. "He won't stay occupied for long."

Miki squeaked, spinning about until she found herself gazing into two startlingly red eyes, mischief writ across them plain as day. They belonged to a boy not much older than her, who was already tugging pointedly at her arm in an effort to get her to move.

But tired of being manhandled like a sack of potatoes, she opened her to mouth to argue. . . and then rapidly decided against it after catching a glimpse of the exceedingly enraged apple seller, who had apparently figured out he had been tricked and was now bearing down upon them like some ferocious demon from one of her father's adventures.

As dull as the man might have looked, he obviously missed little when it came to monetary matters.

Her hand was snagged quickly, and Miki felt herself being pulled into what was fast becoming a frenetic sprint through the marketplace.

She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the back of her timely savior's head, which mainly consisted of several golden blond spikes of hair that couldn't seem to decide which way they wanted to lie.

Helpless to do otherwise, she vainly tried to keep up with every fluid dodge and quick maneuver the boy made — though without much success, for he seemed to navigate these labyrinthine streets with all the ease of a local who traversed them daily.

Determined not to lag behind, Miki swallowed her bewilderment and tampered down on the heavy feeling of over-exertion already beginning to steal over her, instead of focusing on making her smaller, slippered feet follow carefully in the wake of the boy's long-legged strides.

Even for all her effort, however, if not for the unyielding clasp of his fingers about hers, she would undoubtedly have been hopelessly lost among the crowd. Miki looked down bemusedly at their joined hands, the rough feel of calluses and summer heat playing warmly against her soft skin.

She'd never held hands with a boy before.

It was. . . strange. Different. But the good kind of different; the type of different you received when you bit into a new dessert for the first time and let the flavors play deliciously across your tongue.

And so, shrugging off the tingling sensation on her skin, she curled tentative fingers around the boy's and lost herself in the run.

It was only when they had made it beyond the stone walls of the marketplace and into the safety of the surrounding forest that Miki finally called a halt to the endless dashing about. In a little copse of trees, she dug her heels stubbornly into the dirt and allowed her body to become a leaden weight to the boy guiding her as she leaned backwards.

The movement caught his attention, causing him to similarly slow to a halt and turn around — for the first time, Miki looked fully upon the face of the one who had rescued her.

Because of the face that he stood a good few inches taller than her, the youthfulness of his features was surprising. The pale spikes of hair she had seen only from behind now messily framed a sun-tanned face (which also happened to be horribly smudged with traces of soot and dirt) with bangs that flopped haphazardly across his forehead. As she had briefly glimpsed when he had pulled her from the ground earlier, a set of red eyes, the color of a warm setting sun, peeked out from beneath strong brows.

They stood in silence for a moment, Miki blinking up at him. The boy stared back, almost impertinent in his unwavering gaze.

Finally, Miki coughed and, noting their still-clasped hands, pulled hers away with a speed that almost implied rudeness.

"I'm not running anymore." She bluntly said the first thing that came to mind, most likely born of her aching feet and roughened breathing.

A chuckle met her proclamation, the boy flashing her an impossibly wide grin. "Wasn't asking you to, doll. Here's as good a place to stop as any." A strange accent lilted the words. Body arching and leaning up on tiptoe, he stretched like a leisurely cat. "I was a little curious as to how far a tiny thing like you could run."

Her mouth fell open, quite inelegantly. "You mean — you mean — " Miki stammered, her quickly-rising ire making her tongue-tied. "Do you mean to say you hauled me all the way out here merely for your own amusement?!"

"Weeelll~" the boy dragged out the word, his laughing eyes twinkling in a way that irritated her for some indefinable reason. "That and the fact that ya seemed to be in a spot of trouble. I'm still waiting the boundless gratitude for that, by the way."

His swarmy words instantly caused Miki's already perilously darkening mood to sour further. If this cretin thought she'd be showering him with anything even remotely resembling adulation, he definitely had another thing coming!

"I would have been fine," she snapped, folding her arms and attempting to ignore the blatant lie formed by her own lips. "There was no need for you to intervene!"

"Sure," he agreed instantly, smirking lightly. "I thought you were handling being dangled like a worm on a hook particularly well, doll."

"I was! Er, that is to say I, um. . ." Blast it, Miki thought, employing a phrase that she frequently heard her father exclaim when his height got the best of him and he smacked his head on some of the lower door arches of the castle. This unbearable boy had a point, but Miki was Miki, and she absolutely hated being made a fool of. So rather than continue the argument, she gave a dismissive little sniff and a cold "Good day" before making an about-face and marching, stiff-backed, towards the direction of her grandiose home.

. . . Or at least in the direction she thought her home was in.

Only a few stomped steps away, however, and there was the rustling crunch of leaves behind her. Shooting an annoyed glance behind her, she found that insufferable and grimy face staring back at her.

"What?" she grumbled, wondering what he wanted and definitely not fancying the idea of having him follow her all the way back to the castle. "Go away, boy."

He interlocked his fingers, placing them behind his head — the very picture of careless ease. "Just had a question for you, that's all," he said, clearly unruffled by her snappish tone. "Figured you owe me at least an answer, seeing as I did just save your pretty little hide from landing in gaol."

Emotions warred with upbringing — the impulsive, emotional side yelling for her to simply grant him her best royal nose-wrinkle and storm off, and the proper, well-upbringing part of her pointing out sensibly that he was indeed entitled to a request, given the service he had just performed her.

"And that is?" Miki had a brief fantasy in which this boy was a fly, and she had to do little more than swat him away with her hand to drive him off. She would answer his stupid question and then be done with him forever.

"What's your name?"

She blinked, taking an uncomfortable step backwards. Names were intimate things — hers was one bestowed upon her by the mother she loved and respected most in her life, the father she trusted and adored more than anything. It was special. She certainly didn't want this uncouth boy knowing it.

There was only one alternative, then.

"You may call me 'Princess'," she told him formally. After a second's contemplation, she yanked off the concealing hood in one swift swipe, allowing a cascade of cherry red hair to tumble down her shoulders.

Her head and face fully exposed, Miki looked at the boy expectantly and waited for recognition to set in.

But instead of a gasp of realization, or some groveling for her to forgive his impertinence, all she received was a quirked eyebrow and a nonchalantly drawled, "Don't think so. 'M not calling you that."

And just like that, her suggestion was promptly discarded. In three words by a scruffy young boy in patched breeches, no less.

Miki stared at him, eyes rounding with disbelief and utterly flabbergasted. "Why not?"

"Dontcha have a name?"

She huffed, regarding him mistrustfully. "Of course I have a name, but that doesn't mean you get to just call me by it!"

"How's that then?"

"Because I'm a princess!" The frustrated reply was automatic, firing from her lips before she really had a chance to consider it. It wasn't entirely her fault — after all, it seemed to Miki that most of her questions posed to adults were answered with the universal reply of 'Because you're a princess'.

The strange boy, meanwhile, had given a loud scoff at her words. His mouth crooked upwards in a half-smile as his eyes danced with bold amusement.

"Well, you're not my princess," he said brazenly.

The red-haired child blinked, lips parting in surprise. Miki was mildly offended, not quite used to being dismissed with such ease. "How do you mean?"

The dirty-faced boy turned and hopped effortlessly onto a splintered tree, his spindly build and lithe movements oddly reminding her of her father for a moment. Despite her current disgruntlement, she smothered a soft giggle at the thought.

"I come from the western lands, see," the urchin explained, eyes trained firmly on the scraggly bark of the fallen tree he was pacing. His arms were thrown wide as he balanced himself, nimbly moving upon the wood with a strange grace. "And it isn't ruled by yer parents, is it now?"

Thinking back hard and finding that she recalled little of the admittedly boring geography and history lessons Miki had been repeatedly forced to attend by her adamant parents, she was a little remorseful that she had fallen asleep as often as she had. Though she still asserted that it wasn't through any fault of her own that she had the unfortunate tendency of rudely dozing off during those particular lessons, seeing as her tutor was quite possibly the most boring person in the land. Had her teacher held any of Lady Rion's penchant for storytelling, or Aunt Miku's passionate manner of expressing herself, Miki might not have been so inclined towards slumber.

Even so, she vaguely remembered the distant Western lands as being very far away and markedly different from the region governed by her parents: less agricultural and tending more towards trading and the like. As a result that section had attracted an amalgam of peoples and a mixture of all different cultures—she supposed that was where this boy had gained his thoroughly odd, choppy accent.

"Still," she said slowly, mind still mulling over this. "You live here now, don't you?"

"Yeah. What of it?"

Miki smiled with satisfaction, a hint of slyness peeking through. "Then that means you're a subject of this kingdom. And therefore, I am your princess!" She finished the last part with no small amount of relish, pleased at having finally obtained the upper hand in this odd conversation.

Spiky gold hair flopped untidily as he neatly pivoted on one foot. The smirk on his face seemed unusually condescending for one so young. "Temporary relocation is all," he said. "I plan to leave soon enough."

His smug words stumped her. She glared at the wily boy, momentarily lost for a retort. Did it make her a bad person if she really hoped he would fall off the stupid tree he kept prancing about on?

Daughter of the ever-elegant Meiko Haigo she may be, but at the moment she would have delighted in anything to wipe the dumb grin off his face.

As though reading the unkind thoughts whirling through her mind, the dreadful boy laughed, sprang skillfully from his perch and landed, cat-like, on his feet.

A red gaze glittered with amusement as he pushed persistent bangs from his forehead. "So, now that we've established you're not my princess. . .gonna tell me your name then, doll?"

"No." Miki scowled, eyebrows forming a sharp "V" of displeasure. "And stop calling me that! You can't be much older than I am."

"Already ten, just last fall." His eyes swept her speculatively, his head tilting to the side in consideration. "You can't be anymore than. . . six. Am I right?"

A loud squeak of annoyance left her. She wondered if he was deliberately being a prat or if we was just naturally that obtuse. "I'm nine, I'll have you know!"

"Impossible."

Miki imagined she could hear the snap as her temper broke cleanly in half. "And why is that impossible?" she demanded hotly.

The boy smirked again, eyes sweeping from the tip of her red head to the toes of her slippered feet. "You're just so. . . short. Nope. I think you're having me one, doll."

"Cease. Calling. Me. That!"

"Got somethin' else for me to call you then?"

"I already told you."

"And I already said that's not a name."

They stared at each other, each standing at the precipice of a yawning impasse.

Miki fumed wordlessly, wondering if all boys were naturally born into the world with such an impossible disposition, or if she was uniquely blessed in the fact that she had encountered the most idiotic of them all.

She could hear the grin in his voice when he finally decided to break the stubborn silence. "Well then, I'm—"

"I really could care less," she interrupted, stamping off.

Between continuing having this lout's presence inflicted upon her and facing her parents' disappointment sooner, she'd rather choose the latter.

A few days later after her escapade she was ambling through the woodland surrounding the castle, having finally had her house-arrest lifted by two still extremely disgruntled parents (although she had garnered the feeling from her mother's uncontrollably twitching lips during her father's ranting lecture about all of the dangers that could have befallen her that she was more amused with her daughter's willful adventurous streak than furious).

And even though it was quite pleasant to be sucking in lungfuls of fresh, forest air once again, Miki had to admit that the fact that these woods were enchanted with the Blue Fairy Lapis's magical safeguards rather detracted from the fun and venturous quality of her walks.

After all, the most dangerous thing she was likely to encounter here were fluffy little bunny rabbits that could change into young girls in the blink of an eye. . . and loud, furry, and obnoxious squirrels.

Hardly the stuff breathtaking legends of daring courage were made of.

Miki kicked moodily at a pebble on the ground. Trying to sate her boredom with another market trip was most definitely out of the question now, seeing as her father had quite firmly emphasized that she was not to leave the castle or the immediate surrounding forest grounds without an escort.

More importantly, without Kiyoteru as an escort. Having the propriety-concerned and nagging tutor hovering about her, clucking over her rashness, did not a exciting escapade make.

A heavy sigh filled the air, courtesy of one very mopey princess. It wasn't that she couldn't appreciate her parents' worry for her. After all, Miki had heard tales of a wicked witch who had strenuously tried her best to separate her mother and father. . . who had even attempted to bring down a black curse upon the land in the cruel spirit of that revenge, and who would have succeeded had it not been for the actions of the royal families and scattered heroes that had rallied together to defeat the witch.

The witch, suffering from the ignominy of failure and dire wounds to match, was rumored to have disappeared long ago, right on the eve of Miki's birth, in fact. Miki supposed it was the fear that she might one day return to exact vengeance that caused her parents to enact such strict measures to ensure their daughter's safety. But just because she understood the root cause of her parents' over-protectiveness, that didn't mean she had to like it, and it certainly didn't mean she enjoyed being smothered with guards that made it impossible to run about and yell and play like the other children she caught glimpses of on trips with her parents.

Another exhalation of breath, this one accompanied by a frustrated "Ugh" that wasn't really a word, but darn it she was upset and disgruntled and would come up with as many non-words as she liked!

Miki continued in that fashion for a while, half-heartedly making her way down to the river by a path she had traversed hundreds of times in her youth already.

When she reached it, partly hoping there might be a horde of pirates that had accidentally drifted in by way of the sea (in a very small boat, of course), or perhaps a wily river-spirit that would demand she answer his riddles correctly or misfortune would befall her, she was disappointed yet again. The whispering waters of the river were the same as they always were: blue, rushing, and thoroughly unchanging.

Much like her life.

She was already resigning herself to another dull afternoon of aimlessly kicking her feet in the water, scaring away the odd fish that came to tickle her toes. . . until she caught glimpse of a bedraggled form with hopelessly unkempt hair lounging idly at the river side.

It was a very familiar bedraggled form, and she'd stared at those messy locks of hair for a good while when she'd been unceremoniously dragged through a marketplace.

A tingle of excitement at the unexpected coursed through her. Never mind the fact that she had never met someone so utterly irritating in her entire life — he was something different, and anything different was good.

Employing all of her considerable lightness of foot—

("Princesses float, sweetie!" her mother reminded her cheerfully, demonstrating as she glided easily across the room. "They do not waddle, trundle, or do ungainly running about. . . except in dire cases."

"Like what, mama?" Miki had asked curiously.

"Hmm. . . running from monsters or unwanted suitors. Though I suppose they're really the same thing. . ." )

— Miki snuck nearer to the prone body. His identity as her ill-mannered savior was confirmed the closer she crept, but he made no movement to acknowledge her presence.

From his heavy-lidded eyes and slightly parted mouth, she supposed him to be dozing.

The barest hint of a smile unconsciously curved upon her pert lips, a bloom of eagerness developing upon her round cheeks. Uncommonly mischievous, she cupped her hands around the outside of her mouth, inhaling deeply.

"Hello boy!"

The call, thoroughly unfeminine in its boisterousness, did what it was intended to: the snoozing adolescent jerked awoke with a startled yelp, his bleary eyes roving about wildly in search of the voice's source.

Miki couldn't quite suppress the triumphant smile rapidly stretching upon her face as his bemused gaze sought her out. She gave him a cheeky wave.

"Oh," he grumbled, with apparent disinterest as his eyes sought her out and familiarity set in. "It's just you, doll."

She watched as he yawned and sprawled back onto the lushly green riverbank, not as insulted at the apparent dismissal as she might have been upon first encountering him. One meeting had been more than enough to become mildly used to his blunt nature.

Heedless of her dress's hem, she plodded through the damp and dew-ridden grass and resolutely plopped down by his side.

One red eye cracked open at her. "What?" came the tired grunt.

Miki folded her hands primly on her lap, even as she ignored the way in which her legs were ungainly splayed outwards. "I found you again it seems. What were you doing, boy?"

"I was sleeping." This was followed by a few unintelligible mutters, inaudible even to Miki's sharp ears. "And I've got a name, y'know."

"As do I," she retorted in a sugary tone. "But you've yet to use it."

A snort met her words. "Last I heard, 'Princess' wasn't a proper name. 'Sides, I would've thought you'd be tired of fancy titles and the like by now."

His offhanded remark struck a strange chord in Miki and she glanced down at her small hands, a frown evident on her face. How had he, an uncouth street boy that he was, known the discomfort and isolation her title often brought her, the cold jab that a lack of intimacy with others her age inspired?

" 'Propriety and royalty are synonymous with each other.' " The phrase rolled off her tongue almost involuntarily, Miki almost able to picture her mother's gentle eyes and lilting voice as she imparted it. She didn't add the mischievous addendum of "usually" that her mother had tacked on at the end of that.

"An' who told you that?"

"My mother."

"And what does she call you?" There was a smile in his voice.

There was absolutely no chance that Miki was going to impart her mother's embarrassing endearments and her doting father's pet names to this boy. Teasing was obviously an inbred part of his roguish nature, and she had no desire to grant him any further material to use against her.

She sighed, blowing an exasperated breath out loudly. One hand slid gingerly among the grass, supporting her weight as she leaned over the indolent boy who seemed perfectly at ease among nature's cushioning bed. "You're being quite silly, keeping up with this pretense, you know," she told him quietly.

"What's that then?" His eyes were shut again, tone as placid as though they were involved in nothing more than the idle chatter that went on at tea time.

"Not knowing my name." She glanced away, plucking dispiritedly at rebellious weeds and random wildflowers. "It's not exactly a secret. Ask any person on the street and they'd be quite capable of telling you. I don't know why you persist in this. . . and I absolutely hate liars."

"Right."

Miki gave a nearly imperceptible 'Eep!' of surprise as he abandoned all continued attempts at resuming his interrupted nap. Dark red eyes regarded her contemplatively as he sat up with those unconsciously languid movements of his; soon enough an amused spark entered his gaze.

It was a spark bespeaking of cunning mischief yet to come, and it gave Miki a very, very, very bad feeling.

"What?" she queried with an air of discomfort, resisting the urge to squirm under his gaze.

"How d'ya feel about games, doll~?" he asked blithely, mouth curving up.

Her eyes narrowed, clearly communicating just how she felt about that particular form of address. Rapidly dissecting his words for any hint of trace of a trap, she replied reluctantly, "I. . . they're alright, I suppose."

Not that she was very familiar with many games beyond the sedate hours spent galloping her dolls about her nursery with her mother, or mock-wrestling with her father. Still, not wishing to lose face, she kept her features as stiffly nonchalant as possible, pretending her expression was as stiff as some of the court ladies' overly starched petticoats.

"Well, then. We're gonna play a particular favorite o' mine." He leaned forwards, surveying her with his unsettlingly keen red gaze. Lithe fingers pushed unruly locks of hair off his forehead. "When I win, you're gonna tell me your name."

She raised an eyebrow at the overt self-assuredness in his tone, the fighting spirit that was natural in a daughter of King Yuuma Yamaha and Queen Meiko Haigo beginning to rally. "And when I win? What do I get?"

"You," he said, with a marked delight at her show of gumption. "Get to tell me to mind my own business and sod off, before marching away in a self-righteous huff."

Miki snorted, beginning to rise up to her feet. "I hate to tell you this, boy, but I am quite capable of doing that anyways."

Her progress was halted by the light touch of his fingers upon her wrist. It was warmer than the kiss of daylight on her face, and was startling enough to give her pause.

"But you won't." The smarmy smirk was back, making an infuriating reappearance.

"And why is that?"

"Because," he said confidently. "You're bored. And you think you can win." He paused, a devilish gleam dancing merrily in the gaze that assessed her. "Besides that, you like me, doll. I can tell~" He tapped the side of his head. "Sixth sense and all that sweet goodness."

Miki rolled her eyes heavenward, shaking off his hand as she reseated herself. She offered him a challenging look.

"Fine. I'll play. If only to be rid of your irksome presence once and for all."

~ . . . ~

Long story short, Miki lost.

Miserably.

As dirty and uneducated the urchin boy may have appeared, but underneath the layers of grime lurked a shrewd intellect.

Staring resentfully at his outstretched hand, Miki grit her teeth and tentatively took hold of his fingers in a tiny shake.

"I'm Miki," she grumbled.

"Yohio Lloyd," he introduced himself cheerfully. An amused grin played at his lips. "Nice to meet you, Mii-chan!"

Yes, Miki thought darkly, ignoring her new nickname. She was definitely going to wipe that stupid grin off his face.

. . . One of these days.