Eleanor & Pippa — The Disguise
The sun had already begun to slide behind the castle walls, painting the corridors in copper light. Servants hurried to and fro with candles and linens, the murmur of evening chores echoing faintly through the stone halls.
In her chamber, Eleanor stood before her wardrobe, a heavy traveling cloak spread across her arms.
"Pippa," she whispered, "I need your help."
The maid froze mid-step, clutching a bundle of fresh sheets to her chest. "Oh no," she said immediately. "You've got that look again."
"What look?"
"The one that means trouble for me and heartache for Greta," Pippa sighed dramatically, setting down the sheets. "What is it this time? Sneaking honey cakes? Hiding kittens in the laundry again?"
Eleanor grinned. "Nothing so small. I'm going out."
Pippa blinked. "Out… where?"
"The woods," Eleanor said, lowering her voice. "Just for a walk. I need some air before I lose what little sense I have left."
"The woods?" Pippa's voice jumped an octave. "The woods! My princess, if the guards find you creeping about at dusk, they'll mistake you for an assassin!"
Eleanor laughed, muffling it with her hand. "Then you'd better make me look less like a princess and more like a harmless peasant."
Pippa groaned but couldn't hide her grin. "Saints preserve me… I'll be hanged for this one day."
---
She rummaged through a chest at the foot of the bed, pulling out discarded garments — an old brown cloak, a plain skirt, a faded kerchief. "Here," she said, holding them up. "This'll do. You'll look about as threatening as a turnip vendor."
Eleanor slipped behind the screen to change. "Perfect," she said. "I've always wanted to blend in with turnips."
Pippa snorted. "If only Father saw you now — his royal daughter dressing like a scullery girl. I should fetch a mirror, you'd die laughing."
"Don't you dare," Eleanor said, stepping out. The cloak hung loosely on her shoulders, the hood casting a shadow over her face. "Well? Do I look the part?"
Pippa circled her with mock seriousness, squinting like a tailor inspecting a poor stitch. "Hmm. If you squint real hard and ignore the smell of rose oil, maybe."
Eleanor swatted her arm playfully. "You're impossible."
"And you're mad," Pippa retorted. "But—" she sighed, softening. "You look happy. I'll take mad over miserable."
---
Eleanor tied her cloak tighter, glancing toward the window where twilight was deepening into violet. "Cover for me. If anyone asks, tell them I've gone to the chapel for evening prayer."
"Prayer?" Pippa gasped. "That might actually kill Greta — she'll faint dead away thinking you've turned holy."
Eleanor bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "All the better. She'll be too busy fanning herself to notice I'm gone."
"You're wicked," Pippa said, shaking her head, though affection softened her tone. She reached up, adjusting the cloak's hood so it shadowed Eleanor's features completely. "There. Now you look like a mystery."
Eleanor smiled. "Or an assassin, apparently."
"Let's hope the guards can tell the difference," Pippa muttered.
---
They crept through the servants' corridor, lit only by a few guttering candles. The air smelled faintly of beeswax and stone. Each footstep echoed like thunder to Pippa's nervous ears.
"Walk softer," she hissed.
"I am walking softly," Eleanor whispered back, stifling a laugh. "You're the one clattering like a runaway horse."
"That's my heart clattering, thank you," Pippa said. "It's trying to flee before I'm dragged to the dungeons."
When they reached the side gate, Eleanor paused, peeking through the iron bars. Two guards stood chatting nearby, distracted by their own gossip. She waited until their laughter peaked, then slipped out through the narrow door, Pippa holding her breath behind her.
For a moment, they both froze.
Then Eleanor turned, her smile blooming like dawn. "See? Not so hard."
Pippa leaned against the wall, clutching her chest. "You've just aged me ten years, Your Highness. If anyone asks, tell them it was royal stress."
Eleanor laughed, pulling up her hood. "You're a good friend, Pippa."
"Fool's more like it," Pippa muttered, though her eyes were warm. "Go on then, before I change my mind."
Eleanor nodded, her pulse quickening with excitement. "I'll be back before the moon rises."
Pippa sighed as the princess slipped into the dusky road beyond the gate, her cloak blending with the twilight. "Assassins and turnips," she murmured to herself, shaking her head. "Only my princess would make that combination work.
Lenora's POV
The road home was quieter than usual, though the clamor of the market still echoed faintly in her ears — the blare of trumpets, the barked orders, the crack of a whip.
She walked fast, head down, clutching her basket tight as if the sound might chase her all the way back to her cottage.
When she reached it, the familiar sight steadied her nerves — the crooked chimney, the smell of herbs drying by the window, the steady cough of her father inside.
"I'm back, Da," she called softly as she pushed open the door.
The old man stirred from his chair near the hearth. "You're late, girl. Thought the tanner took you for a runaway debt."
"Would've been safer if he had," Lenora said under her breath, setting the basket on the table. "The king was in town today."
Her father blinked. "The king? What in God's name for?"
"To show off, I think," she muttered. "You should've seen it, Da — half the market on their knees before he even stepped down from his carriage."
She pulled out the loaf of bread and a small wedge of cheese, placing them neatly on a wooden plate. The scent filled the small room, warm and comforting.
Her father reached for a piece, his hands rough and trembling. "At least you brought supper. That's somethin'."
Lenora sat across from him, chin in her hand. "They beat a man, Da. Just for not bowing fast enough. I swear he didn't even see them coming."
The old man's mouth tightened. "Aye, that's the way of kings. Been that way since before I was born. Speak too loud, and they'll take your tongue for it."
Lenora hesitated, tracing circles on the tabletop. "There was a princess in the carriage too. She… she looked different."
"Different how?"
"Not proud. Not cruel." Lenora frowned, remembering. "She looked angry. Sad, maybe. When that man was whipped — she didn't look away like the rest of them. And when I lifted my head…"
Her father raised a brow. "You looked at her?"
Lenora bit her lip. "Only for a moment. I didn't mean to. But she saw me. I thought—" she laughed softly, shaking her head. "I thought I was done for. But she didn't call the guards. She just… looked back."
Her father gave a low hum, half amusement, half worry. "You best keep that head of yours down, girl. A royal's gaze is a dangerous thing."
"I know." She smiled faintly. "Still… I think she spared me."
---
Later, when the light began to fade, Lenora packed her satchel with care. The basket, the small knife for cutting stems, a bit of bread wrapped in cloth. She checked each bundle twice, though her mind was elsewhere — still in that marketplace, still caught in the memory of eyes too kind for a crown.
Her father dozed by the fire again, the faintest smile softening his worn face. She tucked a blanket over his shoulders. "I'll be off to the woods for a few hours," she whispered. "Don't wait up."
He murmured something in his sleep — her name, or maybe her mother's — and she brushed a stray lock of hair from his brow before stepping outside.
The evening air met her like a sigh, cool and sweet. Crickets had begun their song, and the forest loomed dark and welcoming beyond the fields.
Lenora adjusted her cloak, tightening the strap of her basket. The path to the woods was familiar — the kind of road she could walk blindfolded — but tonight it felt heavier somehow, as if something unseen waited among the trees.
Still, she went on.
Because the forest, at least, did not care about kings or crowns. It cared only for the quiet hands that knew how to gather what it offered.
And so Lenora followed the winding path into the deepening dusk.
Lenora's POV
The forest was soft with evening light when Lenora finally slowed her steps. Her basket was half-filled — sprigs of thyme, clusters of wild sage, and a few white blossoms she couldn't name. The hum of insects drifted in the air, and somewhere deeper in the trees a dove cooed its low song.
After a few minutes more, she came upon a clearing she'd never noticed before.
There, tucked among the roots and wildflowers, lay a small pond — its surface glassy and still, reflecting the gold of the setting sun. Water lilies floated lazily on the edge, and tiny ripples moved where a fish had risen to kiss the air.
"It's beautiful…" she whispered, smiling to herself. Her boots sank into the moss as she stepped closer. "Just a moment of rest," she murmured. "Then back home."
She bent to set down her basket — and froze.
There was a faint rustle across the pond. Something moving.
"Probably just a rabbit," she told herself, though her heart skipped a beat. "Or a fox. Nothing more."
But when she turned, she came face to face not with a rabbit — but with another pair of eyes.
And with a startled yelp, she stumbled forward—just as the other person spun around. They collided with a soft thud, Lenora's herbs flying out of her basket like startled birds.
"Oh saints—!" Lenora gasped, grabbing at her hood. "I— I didn't see you there—"
The stranger steadied her with gloved hands, equally flustered. "It's quite alright! I— I shouldn't have been standing so still."
Lenora blinked, finally focusing on her face. The hood had slipped back, and the fading sunlight caught a familiar gold in the woman's hair. Her breath caught.
"Wait…" she said slowly. "You look— you look familiar…"
The woman's eyes widened slightly. "Do I?"
Lenora's mouth went dry. "You're— you're the princess. The princess! From the market!"
The woman blinked once, twice — then offered an awkward smile. "You must be mistaken."
"No," Lenora said quickly, her heart thudding so hard she could barely hear herself. "No, I remember. You were in the carriage beside the king. I— I saw you look at me."
For a moment, silence hung between them. The princess — Eleanor — sighed softly, realizing the pretense was useless. "Well," she said with a small laugh, "so much for subtlety."
Lenora's knees nearly buckled. She dropped into a half-bow, her hands trembling. "Forgive me, Your Highness, I didn't mean— I wouldn't have— if I'd known—"
Eleanor quickly reached forward, her voice gentle. "Oh, please don't— you don't need to do that."
"But my da said the royal gaze is dangerous," Lenora blurted, eyes still downcast. "Said I shouldn't look at nobles too long, lest they—"
"Turn you to stone?" Eleanor finished, smiling faintly.
Lenora's ears burned. "Well— not exactly, but something close to it."
Eleanor tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. "You looked at me earlier, didn't you?"
Lenora swallowed. "You… you remember that?"
"Of course I do," Eleanor said softly. "You were the only one who dared."
Lenora looked away, cheeks red. "I didn't mean to. I was just— curious."
Eleanor chuckled, the sound warm and disarming. "Then we're even. I was curious too."
Lenora dared a glance upward, only to meet those same blue eyes again — softer now, not royal or distant, but human. It made her heart trip in her chest.
Eleanor smiled. "No need to look at the ground, Lenora. I'm not my father."
Lenora hesitated, then lifted her gaze, still shy, still uncertain. "How… how do you know my name?"
Eleanor grinned. "You dropped half your herbs on me. One of them hit my lip. It tastes like thyme."
Lenora blinked — and before she could stop herself, she laughed, quiet and nervous. "Oh, saints. I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Eleanor said softly. "It's the best welcome I've had in a long time."
Lenora's POV
Eleanor's teasing grin lingered, the evening light brushing her cheek like gold.
Lenora blinked, still half in disbelief. "Wait—how could you possibly know my name from thyme?"
Eleanor's grin turned sheepish. "Ah. Right. That part."
She pointed down to where Lenora's basket had fallen — half its contents spilled across the moss. The woven handle had a small tag attached, faded and fraying at the edges. Written in rough ink were the words: 'Lenora — herbs for Tanner'.
"I saw it when we— well, when you accidentally attacked me with your herbs," Eleanor said, trying to keep a straight face. "So no, I didn't divine your name from the taste of thyme."
Lenora's face flushed scarlet. "Oh saints… that's embarrassing."
Eleanor smiled gently. "I find it rather charming, actually."
Lenora crouched quickly to gather the scattered herbs, muttering, "Should've known better than to write my name on it. Da says I'd forget my own head if it wasn't attached."
Eleanor knelt beside her, helping pick up the fallen leaves and blossoms. Her movements were graceful, but not practiced — she fumbled once or twice, clearly unused to such work.
"You don't have to—" Lenora began.
"I want to," Eleanor said simply, brushing soil from her hands. "Besides, it's the least I can do after being assaulted by your basket."
That pulled a small, reluctant smile from Lenora. "You're not supposed to make jokes, you know. You're a princess."
Eleanor raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what are we supposed to do then?"
"Look serious. Wave at people. Pretend not to notice anyone bleeding in the streets," Lenora said before she could stop herself. Her words came out sharper than she meant.
A flicker of pain passed across Eleanor's face, but she didn't scold her — didn't even look offended. "You're right," she said softly. "That's what most expect of us."
The quiet between them stretched — not awkward, but thoughtful. The sound of crickets filled the edges of the silence.
Lenora cleared her throat, shifting the basket onto her arm. "Still… it's not safe for you out here, Your Highness. Woods like these— they're no place for royal folk. There are wild boars, thieves… and worse."
Eleanor gave a faint laugh. "You think I'm afraid of a few trees and thieves?"
"I think you should be," Lenora replied, more firmly this time. "If anything happened, the whole kingdom would turn upside down."
Eleanor looked around, taking in the dappled light through the branches, the calm shimmer of the pond. "This isn't my first time here," she said quietly. "I come often. It's… the only place that feels real."
Lenora frowned. "Real?"
Eleanor's gaze drifted toward the horizon. "At the palace, everything is marble and rules. People smile, but it's never for the right reason. Here—" she gestured around them "—no one expects me to be anyone but myself."
Lenora studied her for a moment. The words were simple, but something in them ached — a longing she understood too well.
She looked down at her herbs again. "You sound lonely."
Eleanor smiled faintly. "Maybe I am."
The forest wind stirred between them, carrying the scent of wildflowers and rain. Lenora adjusted her cloak, still not quite sure if she should stand or bow or run.
Eleanor noticed, and her smile turned soft. "You don't need to be afraid, Lenora."
"I'm not afraid," Lenora said quickly, though her voice betrayed her. "Just… cautious."
"Good," Eleanor said, brushing a fallen petal from her sleeve. "Caution's wise. But if you're cautious with everyone, you'll never see who they really are."
Lenora looked up, meeting her eyes properly for the first time since they'd met. There was no command in that royal gaze — only warmth.
And for a heartbeat, she forgot to be afraid at all.
Lenora's POV
The sky had begun to bruise with twilight, streaks of lavender and rose melting behind the trees. The pond shimmered faintly, mirroring the last light of day. Crickets had started their soft chorus, and the air had grown cool enough that Lenora could see her breath faintly when she exhaled.
Eleanor glanced up at the fading sky, tucking a strand of gold hair back under her hood.
"It's getting dark," Lenora said softly. "Maybe I can escort you on your way?" She shifted her basket nervously, her tone careful, almost formal. "It's not safe after sunset, even for—" She stopped herself before saying princess. "—for someone alone."
Eleanor turned to her, smiling, a few loose strands of hair glinting in the dim light. "It's fine," she said easily. "I do this almost every day."
Lenora blinked. "Every day? Alone?"
Eleanor nodded, plucking a stray leaf from her hair and holding it up with mock offense. "Well, almost every day. Except when the forest decides to throw foliage at me."
Lenora couldn't help it — she laughed softly. "That's the forest's way of saying hello."
"Then it's far more affectionate than the court," Eleanor said dryly.
The princess looked out over the water, her reflection wavering with the ripples. "It's strange," she murmured. "I come here to be alone, to forget everything for a while. But meeting someone here today… it doesn't feel like a disturbance. It feels…" She paused, as if surprised by her own words. "…nice."
Lenora's throat tightened. "Nice?" she echoed, almost teasing.
"Yes," Eleanor said, glancing back at her with a shy smile. "It's nice meeting someone who isn't afraid to speak honestly. Even if your honesty nearly gave me a heart attack."
Lenora felt her cheeks warm. "Sorry about that."
"Don't be," Eleanor said. "Most people around me only speak when they're told to. You didn't. It's refreshing."
They stood in silence for a moment — the kind of silence that didn't feel empty, but full of something quietly alive. Fireflies began to appear, winking between the reeds and branches.
Lenora shifted again, unsure of what to do with her hands. "You really shouldn't stay too long," she said finally. "Even the kindest woods can turn strange at night."
Eleanor smiled at her concern. "And you? You'll be safe walking home?"
"I always am."
Eleanor tilted her head slightly, her voice softening. "Then we'll trust each other's paths tonight."
Lenora hesitated, then nodded. "Alright."
Eleanor turned to leave, but paused. "Thank you, Lenora."
"For what?"
"For not treating me like a princess," she said simply.
Lenora blinked, unsure how to respond. "Well," she said at last, with a shy smile, "you didn't act much like one."
Eleanor's laughter drifted through the clearing, low, warm, and genuine.
As she disappeared into the trees, Lenora stood by the pond a little longer, watching the ripples fade where Eleanor's reflection had been. Her basket felt lighter than before, her heart heavier — but not unpleasantly so.
When she finally turned to walk home, the path behind her seemed to hum softly, as if the forest itself had witnessed something rare — the moment when two lives, worlds apart, quietly brushed against each other under the evening sky.