By sunrise, the palace was in chaos.
Servants rushed through marble corridors with pale faces and hurried footsteps. Guards stormed in and out of the east wing. Courtiers whispered in clumps like startled birds, trading rumors with the kind of delighted horror only nobles could manage before breakfast.
Prince Jace of Areal had vanished.
Queen Camille stood in the center o asf the throne room, silk robes flowing behind her like storm clouds, her usually perfect composure cracking at the edges.
"What do you mean he's gone?" she demanded.
The captain of the royal guard kept his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. "His chambers were empty at first light, Your Majesty. Two outer guards reported no breach. No struggle. No sign of forced entry."
Camille turned sharply toward her husband. "No breach? No struggle? He did not simply evaporate, Caleb."
King Caleb sat on his throne as if the entire matter bored him.
Which, to Camille's growing fury, somehow made it worse.
He lifted his goblet, took a slow sip, and said, "Then he left of his own accord."
"That is your conclusion?" she snapped.
"It is the only one that makes sense."
Camille stared at him in disbelief.
"Your son has disappeared into the lower city, the day after refusing the marriage candidates, and you are calm?"
Caleb set the goblet aside.
"He is angry," the king said evenly.
"He is dramatic. And he is foolish enough to think the world beyond these walls will welcome him simply because he is bored."
Camille's jaw tightened. "You are speaking about this as if he skipped a dinner, not as if he abandoned the palace."
Caleb leaned back in his throne, expression unreadable.
"He will return."
The words echoed with maddening certainty.
Camille folded her arms. "And if he does not?"
Caleb's gaze sharpened.
"He will."
A dangerous silence followed.
Because beneath his calm, Camille knew exactly what lived there.
Pride.
Stubbornness.
And the unshakable belief that Jace would come crawling back the moment the world reminded him that crowns were heavy-but poverty was heavier.
The king turned to the captain.
"Double the search in the upper districts only. Quietly."
Camille whipped toward him. "Only the upper-?"
"No announcements. No panic. No rumors of weakness." Caleb's tone left no room for argument. "If word spreads that the heir to Areal has run from his duties, every ambitious noble family in this kingdom will begin circling."
Camille's lips parted, then pressed into a thin line.
She hated when he was right.
"And if he is found?" the captain asked carefully.
Caleb's mouth hardened.
"Do not drag him home."
Camille blinked. "Caleb-"
"Watch him."
Now the queen went still.
"Watch him?" she repeated.
Caleb's gaze drifted toward the massive stained-glass windows, where dawn painted the palace in gold and blood-red light.
"Let him play at freedom," he said.
"Let him starve a little. Let him sleep somewhere beneath him. Let him see what life looks like without servants, without protection, without a title to shield him."
His expression turned cold.
"He will come back."
And when he does, the unspoken words seemed to hang in the air-
he will be easier to control.
Camille looked away first.
Because for all her elegance, for all her ambition, there was one thing she understood too well.
Jace had inherited far more from his father than either of them liked.
By contrast, Jace woke up to a rat staring at him.
He stared back.
The rat twitched its whiskers and scampered under the couch.
Jace groaned and sat upright, wincing as his ribs reminded him of the previous night's humiliations.
A thief girl's fist, apparently, was not to be underestimated.
The hut looked even worse in daylight.
The single window let in a stripe of pale sun that only highlighted the dust, the crooked table, and the fact that one leg of the couch had collapsed sometime in the night. Logan was sprawled on the floor with one arm over his face, snoring like a dying mule.
Jace nudged him with his boot.
"Rise and shine."
Logan swatted blindly at his ankle. "Go away."
"We have work to do."
"We have no ruby."
"We have a plan."
"We have mold."
Jace smiled despite himself.
"Come on."
Logan lifted his arm just enough to squint at him. One eye was already swelling from Sydney's heel. "Why are you smiling like that?"
Jace leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"No reason."
Logan stared for a beat.
Then horror dawned.
"Oh no."
Jace raised a brow. "What?"
"You're thinking about her."
Jace scoffed. "Don't be absurd."
"The thief."
"I'm thinking about the ruby."
"The thief with the mouth."
Jace threw a rolled-up cloth at his face.
Logan cackled.
"God, you are," he wheezed, sitting up.
"This is tragic. You got robbed and concussed, and somehow she still wins."
Jace grabbed his shirt from the chair and pulled it on. "She was clever."
Logan made a dramatic gasp. "He admits it."
"She was reckless."
"Mm-hmm."
"Annoying."
"Sure."
Jace fastened the cuffs with a little more force than necessary.
"And she stole our only valuable possession."
"There it is."
Logan pushed himself up and winced.
"I hate both of them, by the way."
Jace smirked. "You got kicked in the face."
"You got kissed and punched in the stomach. We all suffered."
That was fair.
Jace moved to the small cracked mirror hanging near the door and assessed the damage.
A bruise was blooming beneath his ribs, darkening across his skin in an ugly smear. His jaw was still sore where she'd shoved him away. He ran a hand through his hair and looked at himself.
A runaway prince in borrowed clothes, half-broke, slightly bruised, and living in a hut that smelled like mildew.
Oddly enough-
He felt fantastic.
Alive.
The palace had polished him until he gleamed.
The city, on the other hand, threatened to bite.
He preferred it already.
Logan came to stand beside him, rubbing at his eye. "So what's the grand plan, Your Terrible Idea?"
Jace turned.
"We find a wife."
Logan stared.
Then he blinked.
Then he stared harder.
"I'm sorry," he said slowly. "Did the punch to your stomach travel to your head?"
Jace sighed and sat on the edge of the couch. "Think about it."
"I'm trying not to."
"My parents want me married. They don't care who, so long as she's suitable enough to satisfy court and tradition."
"Suitable enough" made Logan snort.
Jace ignored him.
"If I return with a woman of my choosing, they lose their precious lineup of noble daughters. They can't force a match if I've already made one."
Logan's expression shifted.
Not agreement yet.
But interest.
"...That," he admitted, "is unfortunately not the worst thing you've ever said."
"Thank you."
"That bar is on the floor."
Jace spread his hands. "If I have to marry, I'll choose someone myself."
Logan leaned against the table, considering.
"So your genius solution to avoiding your parents is... finding a girlfriend in the lower city?"
"A wife."
"That's worse."
"A temporary wife."
"That is definitely worse."
Jace grinned.
Logan groaned.
"No. Absolutely not. We are not wandering around the city asking random women if they'd like to participate in your royal rebellion."
"Not random women."
"Jace."
"Interesting women."
"That is not better."
Jace's grin widened.
Because ridiculous or not-
It was a plan.
A dangerous, impulsive, possibly disastrous plan.
Which usually meant it was exactly the kind that worked best for him.
And somewhere beneath the practical logic of it all, another thought stirred, unwelcome and persistent.
Dark eyes.
A crooked smile.
A kiss used like a weapon.
A girl who moved like trouble and looked at him like he was just another man in her way.
Jace exhaled through his nose.
Not important.
She was one thief in a city full of them.
And he had more urgent matters than chasing after some infuriating little criminal who'd vanished with the night.
Logan narrowed his eyes.
"You're doing the face again."
"What face?"
"The one where you're pretending you're not thinking about her."
Jace rose smoothly. "Get dressed."
Logan pointed at him. "You are doomed."
The lower district in daylight was almost more dangerous than it had been at night.
In darkness, the city hid itself.
In sunlight, it flaunted every sharp edge.
Street vendors shouted over one another from crooked stalls draped in faded cloth. Children darted between carts with sticky fingers and faster feet. Women haggled over bread like war strategists. Men with scarred knuckles leaned in doorways and watched the world with too much patience.
Nothing here glittered.
Nothing here pretended.
Jace liked that too.
He and Logan blended as well as two former palace idiots could-which was to say, not perfectly, but better than expected. They'd traded their clothes for plain shirts and worn boots from a back-alley seller who hadn't asked questions so long as their coins were real.
"Rule one," Logan muttered as they stepped into the market square. "Try not to look rich."
Jace looked down at himself. "I don't."
"You stand like you've never carried your own groceries."
"What's a grocery?"
Logan snorted.
They passed through rows of stalls selling everything from dried herbs to rusted knives to suspiciously expensive pastries. Somewhere a violin played badly. Somewhere else, two men were arguing over a chicken.
Jace slowed near a jewelry stall, scanning the crowd without meaning to.
Women in worn cloaks.
Women in bright skirts.
Women with quick hands and quicker tempers.
None of them were her.
Which was absurd.
He did not even know her name.
Didn't know where she lived.
Didn't know whether the fire in her eyes had been real or just adrenaline.
Didn't know if she was laughing at him right now.
And yet his attention kept snagging on every dark-haired girl who moved too fast.
Annoying.
"Ah," Logan said beside him, folding his arms. "There it is."
Jace frowned. "What?"
"You're hunting."
"I am not."
"You absolutely are."
"I'm observing."
"You're looking for the thief."
Jace scoffed. "I'm looking for options."
Logan grinned. "If by options you mean 'the girl who assaulted you and stole your ruby,' then yes."
Jace gave him a dry look.
Logan only laughed harder.
"Fine," Jace said. "Suppose I am curious."
"Curious."
"She intrigued me."
"Robbed you."
"She was bold."
"Punched you."
"She was memorable."
"She kissed you."
Jace stopped walking.
Logan smirked in triumph.
Jace gave him a look of deep suffering. "You are insufferable."
"And yet, beloved."
Unfortunately true.
They moved on, cutting through the market and into the narrower streets beyond, where taverns and gambling dens pressed shoulder to shoulder.
Music drifted from open windows. Laughter spilled from doorways. The scent of ale, smoke, and fried meat hung heavy in the air.
Logan slowed near a tavern with a crooked sign that read The Rusted Crown.
"Oh, absolutely," he said.
Jace looked up. "That seems on the nose."
"That means it's good."
Inside, the tavern was dim, loud, and packed with the sort of people who either knew secrets or were secrets.
Perfect.
They found a table in the corner and ordered drinks they both pretended to understand.
Jace leaned back, letting his gaze drift over the room.
There were couples tucked into shadowed booths. A group of card players at the center table. A woman in red laughing as she picked a man's pocket while he flirted with her. A scarred barkeep who looked like he'd seen too much and judged none of it.
This city had a thousand stories unfolding at once.
For the first time in his life, Jace could choose which one to step into.
Logan took a long drink and sighed. "Now this feels like adventure."
Jace nodded.
Then, before he could stop himself, he asked casually, "What kind of woman do you think would make my mother lose consciousness on the spot?"
Logan nearly choked.
"Oh, we are really doing this."
Jace spread his hands.
"If I'm to be trapped, I'd rather at least choose the trap."
Logan shook his head, laughing. "Well. Definitely not a noble."
"Obviously."
"Not someone polished."
"Absolutely not."
"Someone clever enough to survive court."
"Yes."
"Sharp-tongued enough to terrify your father."
Jace's mouth curved. "That would be a bonus."
"Pretty."
Jace gave him a bland look.
Logan smirked. "You're shallow."
"I have eyes."
"Mm. And perhaps someone who steals from princes?"
Jace took a slow sip of his drink.
"Purely hypothetical."
Logan slapped the table, cackling.
"You are gone."
Jace was saved from replying when the tavern door opened and a gust of daylight spilled across the room.
A girl stepped inside.
Dark hair tucked beneath a hood.
Quick movements. Lean, alert posture.
Jace's body reacted before his mind did.
He sat up.
His pulse kicked.
She turned-
And she was absolutely not the girl from the night before.
Logan watched his face change and dissolved into fresh laughter.
"I hate you," Jace muttered.
"No, no," Logan wheezed. "Please keep doing that. This is healing me."
Jace dragged a hand down his face.
Ridiculous.
This was ridiculous.
He had known her for all of thirty seconds in the middle of a fight.
She was a thief. A stranger. A problem.
And still-
He could feel the ghost of that reckless kiss like a taunt.
He leaned back again and stared into his drink.
"Fine," he said at last.
"Fine?" Logan echoed.
"We live our lives."
Logan blinked. "That's suspiciously mature."
"We find me a wife."
"There's the madness."
"We recover eventually."
"Eventually?"
Jace smirked.
"If fate is feeling generous, perhaps the little thief returns what she borrowed."
Logan barked a laugh. "Borrowed?"
Jace shrugged.
"She seemed attached to it."
"She punched you."
"And yet, I remain a gentleman."
"Barely."
Jace let his gaze sweep the tavern one last time.
No sign of her.
No sign of her friend.
No trace of the night before except the bruise under his shirt and the sharp little thrill that still hadn't faded.
Perhaps he would never see her again.
Perhaps that was for the best.
A man couldn't build a future around a girl who arrived like a storm and vanished like smoke.
But as Jace rose from the table and tossed a coin onto the wood, one thing became painfully, annoyingly clear.
If the city ever put her in his path again-
He would not let her disappear so easily.
"Come on," he said.
Logan stood, stretching. "Where to now?"
Jace smiled, all charm and bad decisions.
"We continue the search."
"For the thief?"
"For my future wife."
Logan snorted.
"Those may be the same person."
Jace paused.
Then he grinned.
"That," he said, "would be inconvenient."
Logan threw an arm around his shoulders as they stepped back into the sunlit chaos of the lower district.
"Inconvenient," he repeated.
"Catastrophic. Entertaining. I support it fully."
Jace laughed.
And for the first time in years, the sound came easily.
No court.
No expectations.
No crown pressing at his throat.
Just a city full of strangers, trouble waiting around every corner, and a dangerous girl he absolutely should not want to see again.
Unfortunately for him-
he very much did.