Adelia had seen a lot in her life. Five siblings, endless sleepless nights, a high school cafeteria food fight that probably counted as a federal offense, but this? This took the cake. No, it baked it, frosted it, and served it on a silver tray while wearing lace gloves.

Adelia had to bite her tongue, physically bite it, just to keep from bursting out laughing right there. The way Eliot froze, caught like a cat with its paw in the fish bowl, then slowly lowered the hem back down like it was radioactive. It was a miracle she stayed upright. And then he was by her side again, arm hooked tightly in hers, dragging her down the corridor in a flurry of silks and mild panic. Her posture straightened instinctively at the contact, the knight facade falling into place like a shield. But then he leaned in, soft voice curling at her ear, familiar despite the dreamscape. A short, dry breath escaped her lips. “Yes, Your Majesty. I can tell,” she murmured back, keeping her tone dutiful, though the glint in her eye betrayed her.

[i]This is one of those waffles dreams,[/i] she thought dryly. [i]Of course it is. The moment I said “Barbie Fairytopia” out loud, my brain decided to punish me.[/i]

She kept pace easily beside him, her armor clinking softly with every step, the weight more ceremonial than cumbersome. As they passed through the halls, she watched Eliot’s head bob like a man possessed, acknowledging every servant, guard, and stray dog they passed. By the time they made it to the main gates, his smile had started to twist into a thin line of help me. Adelia merely raised a brow in amusement, her stride steady and unaffected. “Perhaps we’ll get you one of those little parasols next,” she said under her breath to him. “For neck support.” 

Then, the courtyard opened up and even she had to pause for a moment. It was beautiful. Chaotic, colorful, and loud. Tents had been pitched, with linens blowing gently in the breeze. Fruit stalls sat beside smithies, embroidered gowns flapped beside racks of iron tools. Children wove through legs like darting minnows, and the smell of roasting meat clung to the summer air. A bard strummed on a lute near the well, singing something in a language her waking self probably wouldn’t recognize.

She let go of Eliot’s arm once they stepped onto the cobblestones. She didn’t ask just gently slipped free, stepping ahead of him and surveying the space with a soldier’s eye. The habit was instinctive, even here. She scanned exits, noted the rhythm of the crowd, mentally clocked anything that looked out of place.

A knight’s duty.

A flicker of motion caught her attention—two small children darting through the crowd, one with a stolen apple in hand, the other laughing with wild freedom. The merchant gave a good-natured shout but made no move to chase them. Adelia’s shoulders eased. This wasn’t a dangerous village. Not yet, anyway. But she couldn’t shake the pull in her chest. Not just from the dream, but from him. Back in the waking world, Eliot had felt like a rush of static, brash, charming, all whirlwind and caffeine. Here, in this quiet corner of dream logic, he felt..different. Not false, just softened. Like seeing someone in a different light, and realizing they cast a longer shadow than you’d guessed.

Adelia adjusted her grip on her sword and called back over her shoulder with a wry smile, “Stay close, Princess. If anyone tries to kidnap you, I might not feel like ransoming you back.” She didn’t wait for his reply. Instead, she strode forward into the crowd, head high, boots ringing against the stone and let the dream carry her wherever it wanted.