Chapter 1;; Secrets

Disclaimer: I do not own any canon characters. I own Stephanie and whatever characters I choose to fabricate. Tortall is not mine. Basically, all that's mine is stuff you don't recognize, and the plot.

Lady Stephanie of Blue Harbor sighed as her carriage pulled away from the convent. At age sixteen, she had called the convent home for the last six years of her life. As much as she had disliked her time there, it was still home, and she would miss it. There were friends she was leaving behind—good friends at that. Stephanie knew she would see many of them at the palace eventually, but it wouldn't be the same. Once in Corus, the capital city of Tortall, the new convent girls were expected to be on their best behavior. Stephanie's friends had always been better at that than she. Stephanie—Steph or Stephie to her friends—had always been the Wild One, always getting into trouble.

"My lady?" the servant seated across from her asked. Stephanie looked at the young man. She was a bit shocked that her father had sent an attractive young man to escort her to Corus from the City of the Gods. Did Lord Henry of Blue Harbor not know his daughter at all? Or was he too busy screwing his new wife to care? "Are you all right?"

"Fine," she answered shortly, looking out the window once again. Quickly, she turned her green eyes back to him. "What's your name?" Stephanie had always wanted to know the names of servants. She liked names.

"Maverick, milady," he answered.

"Please, Maverick. Don't call me 'my lady'. I much prefer Stephanie. Lady Stephanie will do if you must," she said, playing with the ends of her recently cut auburn locks. Stephanie had once been envied for her long auburn curls. Just before she left the convent, she decided that the curls were too long. One evening, she took shears to her own hair and cut it off so her hair barely brushed her shoulders. It was still a new feeling to her, because Stephanie could never remember having short hair before.

Maverick looked somewhat suspicious. Well, he should, Stephanie thought. It's not everyday that your mistress tells you to call her by her first name. Stephanie knew the rumors that circled about her through her father's fortress: she was a slut, she slept with her servants, she beat them, etc. "Listen, Maverick. If you think that I'm going to sleep with you or beat you because you've heard a nasty rumor, try thinking again. I don't sleep with servants," she told him, deciding to dispel any rumors right then and there.

A smile spread across Maverick's face. "Lady Stephanie, I must confess—" there was no hint of being a servant in his voice. He sounded utterly Court-bred. "I'm no servant. I am Maverick Butcher, the son of an old friend of your father's. I've just been asked to watch over you." He winked at her, causing Stephanie to sit up straighter with a start. "Call me Mav." As he lifted her hand and kissed it, Stephanie smiled wickedly. Well, well, well. A keeper. This could be fun.

"I'm gonna make you bend and break"

Prince Jonathan of Conté, son of King Roald and Queen Lianne and heir to the Tortallan throne, paced his rooms. At age seventeen, Jonathan was going to have his Ordeal of Knighthood in precisely one month and twelve days. He would not admit it to anyone but himself, but he was terrified. He knew what the Chamber of the Ordeal did to people, and he did not look forward to it. In addition to his upcoming Ordeal, the convent ladies would begin to arrive soon. Within the fortnight, a slew of women fresh from the convent would convene upon the palace hoping to find their knight in shining armor. Or, as Jonathan feared, their Prince. Now that he would be of age, he knew that women would be after his hand. The prospect was not at all enticing to Jonathan.

A knock came at his door. "Come in!" the Prince called, stopping in his tracks to look at who his intruder was. A copper head popped in the door. Jonathan smiled. "Alan! Come in!" The fourth-year page smiled broadly and came in. Jonathan had found out roughly a month previously that his friend Alan of Trebond was not Alan at all. He (she?) was Alanna of Trebond, and female. She was hiding herself. It was a secret that could (and would) become a scandal. Jonathan, as he (she, he reminded himself firmly) entered the room, embraced his friend. "How are you?"

Alanna's violet eyes glittered in that way only hers could. "I think the better question is how are you," she answered. "In two weeks, ladies looking to wed you will be here, and in a month you'll be a knight." She puffed up her chest and added, "And I'll be squire to the prince." The friends laughed, knowing that Alanna had been a squire in high demand. Their friends, Raoul of Goldenlake and Gareth (Gary) the Younger of Naxen had both wanted the girl as their own squire. However, neither Gary nor Raoul knew her (not so little) secret.

"I don't think Gary will ever speak to me the same way again," Jonathan admitted. Gary was his cousin.

"Raoul keeps attempting to bribe me into switching," Alanna said with a smile. "All sorts of empty promises." She shook her head. "That Raoul." They exchanged a smile, knowing that the secret they shared would make Alanna's time as a squire easier on them both. Or, mostly easier.

"Are we going to have to set rules?" Jonathan asked, somewhat out of the blue. "I mean, for dressing and evenings…"

"You're saying you don't want to see me without my shirt on and don't want me to intrude on anything private?" Alanna's eyes twinkled with laugher.

"Well…yes," Jonathan answered, avoiding her eyes. He was male, after all. Seeing a woman topless—even if it was Alanna—could make certain things happen that didn't need to. And if she walked in on him with a woman? He wasn't sure if anyone involved could handle that.

"I say we cross that bridge when we come to it," Alanna said. "No use worrying your 'pretty head' anymore than it already it." She reached up to tap his messy black hair. "Gods, Jon, forget to brush your hair this morning?"

"You sound like my mother," he grumbled.

"Well at least I'm allowed to," she volleyed. Jonathan shrugged. It was true—he no longer thought of Alan as mothering him. He knew that, as much as his friend tried to hide it, Alanna had a motherly side to her. It was much more becoming in a woman than a man, for the obvious reasons.

Jonathan ran his silver-handled brush through his coal-colored hair. Looking at himself in the mirror, Jonathan couldn't help but admire himself. His sapphire blue eyes with their thick black lashes were offset by his strong chin and slightly hooked nose. He was a fine specimen of a man, with his physique from all the training involved in becoming a knight. Yes, any woman would be lucky to have Jonathan in her bed.

"Come on," Alanna said, grabbing his tunic. "Time to stop admiring yourself. You don't need to swell your head bigger than it already is. Let's go get some practicing in. You need to stay in shape for that Ordeal."

What else could Jonathan do? He obeyed.

Author's Note: OOC? I think a little bit. Please review. You'll get cookies!