Twice a year, Prince Gareth of Conté snuck out of the palace. Creeping through the rose garden, he made it past the guards and headed down to the city. Was it dangerous? Of course. Did that stop him? Of course not.

Everyone in Tortall knew the story of how Beka Cooper, the most famous Dog in Corus had rescued young Prince Gareth. Among the bards, it was widely known that singing that particular ballad in the Dancing Dove would get you roaring applause and a hefty tip.

The people told that story for years, sprinkling in Beka's other feats of heroism, but they never talked much about what became of young Gareth. He was reunited with his parents, persuaded the kingdom to abolish slavery, the people rejoiced, the end.

But meanwhile, above the Lower City, Gareth grew up hidden away in the palace. King Roger and Queen Jessamine had never forgotten what it was to lose a child, so they kept him close in the years after his return. At fifteen, he was a thoughtful boy, with a swoop of auburn hair and intelligent golden-brown eyes. He learned swordplay and archery, riding, and battle strategy, but he was not a squire. He had been discouraged, if not outright prohibited, from trying for his shield. It wasn't safe, said his mother. It wasn't necessary, said his father.

Gareth didn't argue. He always did what his parents thought was right. Well, almost always. He had stood his ground as a child about the proclamation, and he hid a few secrets from them. They didn't know he could sneak out of the palace, and to be fair, he only did so on special occasions.

Tonight was one.

He ducked into the eatery. Throwing back his hood, he grinned at his dining companion. "Did you miss me?"

In the private corner booth, Beka Cooper rolled her eyes. "Of course, you looby, but where are your guards?"

Gareth slid into the seat across from her and raked a hand through his hair. "Oh, you know, I'm sure they're around." He winked.

"Somehow I doubt it," she grumbled. "I ordered barley water for us."

He pouted. "What if I wanted ale?"

Beka stared him down with her ice-blue eyes. "Dragging a swilled teenager back to the palace is not in the plans for tonight."

"You're no fun," Gareth sighed dramatically, "and don't try that ghost-glare scummer with me. I know you too well to fall for that folderol."

She groaned. "Don't talk like a street boy, Gareth, your father will have my head."

He only gave her a smug smile, flagged down a waiter and ordered for them both. He cut her off when she gave a protest — "It's your birthday, Beka, you deserve a treat."

"Is that a Dog joke?" she asked, unimpressed.

"Depends, how old are you in Dog years now?"

Beka couldn't hold in a snort. "31 in human years. I was never much for mathematics, so that's all on you. How are things with your tutors?"

"Boring," he admitted. "I do a lot of research in the library by myself. There are so many things I'll need to know when I'm —" he glanced around to make sure nobody was listening — "when I'm king. And they never tell me enough! It's too upsetting, or I don't need to know." Gareth huffed.

"Frustrating, for sure," Beka agreed. "You're old enough now that you can handle the… hard truths … about the world."

He felt the anxiety rising, so he changed the subject. "How are Farmer, Asher, and Talia?"

Beka smiled a little wistfully. "They're fine. Farmer's had a good spout of work lately. Talia's made friends with a few children from the market, so she's out playing. Asher's at that rebellious stage. He told me I wasn't his real ma yesterday."

"Uh," Gareth frowned. "That doesn't seem like it makes sense. Biologically. Does it?"

"No," she laughed, then sobered. "It's more that he wishes I wasn't, I guess. He wishes he had a better mother."

"You're a great ma! He doesn't know what he's talking about!" Gareth looked surprised at his own fierce declaration.

Beka never said anything about the three times Gareth called her "ma": once right after the rescue, and twice since then. He had probably forgotten. The waiter delivered their mains, and they dug in.

Finally, Beka said, "You only see me twice a year. It's not the same. Asher wants a mother who doesn't come home with bruises and cuts, too tired to play. A mother who can be home to help him learn his letters and pick a trade."

Gareth popped a potato in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "You're still ahead of most mothers in the city," he pointed out. "Lots don't know their own letters, or work longer hours than just the evening shift. Unless you're a noble, that kind of mother just doesn't exist. And even noblewomen have to manage the fief and can't always be there."

"Try telling that to Asher." Beka shook her head. "Sorry, I don't mean to fill your head with grumblings. Let's talk about sommat nice. Has any sweet gixie caught your eye?"

He blushed fiercely.

"That's a yes," she teased. "Who is she?"

Gareth squirmed in his seat, but under the pressure, he gave in. "Her name is Uline. But her family's from the Book of Copper." He said it like it was a swear. "Father would never let me marry her."

Beka raised her eyebrows. "Little early for marriage talk, isn't it? How old is she?"

"When you're a prince, it's never too early," Gareth said, gloomily. "She's fifteen too, just got presented to the court. When she walked down those stairs, it was like... I'd never seen the ballroom before that. And then I talked to her, and it was like the first time I ever read a book and realized how much I was missing."

He was staring off into the distance with a dreamy expression. Beka, out of politeness and maturity, didn't giggle. Not outside her head, anyway.

"That's very sweet," she said. "You know, Gareth, you can always try to get to know her. Not court her, just get to know her. And then maybe talk to your parents if you still feel that way in a few months. They could surprise you."

He half-smiled at her across the table. "Maybe," he said, but he sounded doubtful.

Gareth paid for the meal, although Beka harrumphed, and she walked him out to the street and up towards the palace gate.

"I'll never know how you sneak back in, will I?"

"Security reasons, can't say aught about it."

He hugged her tightly. Beka was still taller, a fact Gareth was silently sore about, and the scent of her lily-of-the-valley perfume washed over him.

"Don't forget what I said," she reminded him.

"Don't you forget," he shot back. "Let me know if I need to come down and give Asher a talking-to. Cause I will."

Gareth snuck back into the stifling, stone embrace of the palace.