Bound to the king: In love with the Prince.

Princess Lyra Valerian had been robbed. Three minutes earlier, she had possessed enough gold to buy half the market. Now she possessed nothing but her dignity, and even that was slipping away. "Check your satchel again," Mira whispered, her voice low enough to avoid attracting attention. Lyra turned to her maid with an expression of profound offense. "You think I haven't?" "I think you're capable of many things," Mira replied calmly. "Panic happens to be one of them." Lyra pressed her lips together and reached beneath the folds of her dark traveling cloak for the third time in less than a minute. Her fingers brushed nothing but empty fabric. No purse. No coins. Not even the jeweled clasp that had fastened it to her belt. Gone. The realization settled like a stone in her stomach. Around her, the festival carried on with infuriating cheer, utterly indifferent to her disaster. Lanterns in brilliant shades of sapphire and gold swayed lazily overhead, their ribbons fluttering in the warm afternoon breeze. The rich scent of roasted meat mingled with cinnamon, fresh bread, and exotic spices drifting from crowded stalls. Merchants called out impossible bargains. Children laughed as they darted through the sea of travelers. Somewhere beyond the square, musicians struck lively drums whose rhythm seemed to pulse through the entire city. Life continued. Only Lyra's had come to a spectacular halt. "This is your fault." The dry voice belonged to Thalia, who appeared beside them wearing the satisfied expression of someone whose prediction had just come true. "I told you not to wear the pearl-threaded belt." "It was hidden beneath my cloak." "It still looked expensive." "I can't help looking expensive." Mira sighed. "That," she muttered, "may be the most princess-like sentence you've ever spoken." Lyra shot both women a glare sharp enough to slice silk. It would have been considerably more intimidating if she hadn't been standing in the middle of a foreign festival, disguised as a common traveler while looking anything but common. Her hood concealed most of her silver-gold hair, and the veil covering the lower half of her face hid features recognized throughout Elyria. Yet no amount of cloth could disguise the effortless grace with which she carried herself. She had spent years trying to imitate ordinary women. Ordinary women, unfortunately, did not walk like future queens. It was one of the many reasons sneaking beyond Elyria's borders became more difficult every year. It was also one of the reasons she refused to stop doing it. "No one saw who took it?" she asked, scanning the restless crowd. Thalia folded her arms. "If we'd seen the thief, Lyra, he wouldn't still have your purse." "Perhaps he dropped it," Mira offered, though she sounded unconvinced. Lyra gave her a long, flat stare. "And perhaps the Moon Goddess herself will descend from the heavens to return it." Mira considered that. "That would certainly make today easier." Despite herself, Lyra almost smiled. Almost. Instead, she drew a slow breath and searched the bustling marketplace once more. The festival stretched far beyond the main square, spilling into narrow streets and winding alleys draped with colorful banners. Performers in painted fox and swan masks danced through the crowds while children chased after them, laughing breathlessly. A bonfire crackled somewhere nearby, sending bright sparks spiraling into the clear afternoon sky. Everywhere she looked, there were faces. Hundreds of them. A thousand opportunities for one clever thief to disappear forever. If her mother ever learned where she was, the missing purse would become the least of her concerns. Queen Seraphine of Elyria had forbidden Lyra from leaving the hidden kingdom without a full royal escort years ago. Officially, it was for her safety. Unofficially, Lyra suspected it was because the Queen knew her daughter possessed an extraordinary talent for finding trouble wherever she went. Lyra maintained that trouble usually found her first. Sometimes she merely introduced herself. Elyria was a kingdom wrapped in ancient traditions and older secrets. Every day of Lyra's life had been governed by ceremony, duty, endless lessons, and the constant reminder that one day the moon-crowned throne would be hers. She loved her homeland. She loved her people. But sometimes— Sometimes she simply wanted to breathe air that hadn't already drifted through palace windows. So she'd slipped away again. A carefully prepared lie left behind. A cloak instead of a crown. Only her two most trusted companions beside her. And now... Every last coin she possessed had vanished. "We can't hire a carriage home," Mira said quietly. "I know." "We can't use the royal seal." "I know." "We can't remain here until nightfall." Lyra looked at her. "Would you like to continue listing all the ways our situation is hopeless?" Mira hesitated. "It helps me cope." Thalia leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "We could steal a horse." Lyra turned to her with thoughtful seriousness. "That," she declared, "is precisely why I keep you around." Mira looked horrified. "No." "Absolutely not." "We are not stealing anyone's horse." Thalia looked disappointed. "Why does everyone object to theft only when the suggestion is genuinely useful?" Lyra asked. "Because," Mira answered patiently, "the last time you had what you called a genuinely useful idea, we spent six hours hiding from temple guards." "I borrowed ceremonial wine." "You stole ceremonial wine." "I intended to return it." "You drank ceremonial wine." Lyra lifted her chin with complete dignity. "And it was excellent." Thalia failed to suppress her laughter. Even Mira's stern expression softened into reluctant amusement. For one precious heartbeat, the knot tightening inside Lyra's chest eased. Then another merchant brushed past her shoulder, and reality returned all at once. Her purse was still gone. No money. No carriage. No explanation she could safely give anyone. Worst of all... Someone had outsmarted her. And Lyra Valerian hated losing.