"Greg, which ones do you think suit me better?" Alexia twirled some stones right in front of my nose, blinding me worse than a directed spotlight.

  "I don't know," I answered honestly, trying not to squint.

  She tried on a bracelet that covered her entire forearm, densely studded with tiny crystals. They flared under the lamps so brightly that something clicked inside my head.

  I froze. Why couldn't I look away from those pieces of metal? My gaze literally glued itself to the dancing reflections.

  Alexia, of course, noticed this. She smiled slyly and sharply jerked her hand to the side. My eyes darted after it in perfect synchronization. She moved it the other way. I followed. She started waving her hand in the air, tracing complex figures, and I watched with such intense focus it was as if...

  As if I were a cat watching a laser pointer.

  She laughed brightly. "Do you like it, Greg?"

  I forced myself to blink with great effort and returned my face to its usual indifferent expression. "No, not really... it just glows cool. An optical effect, nothing more."

  She put the bracelet back (without buying it; apparently, she was only interested in testing my reaction) and dragged me further along.

  "Now let's pick out some perfume."

  "Why?" I protested. "You already have so much of it that a person could suffocate just taking a single breath in your room."

  We walked into the shop. For my nose, it was a personal hell. A million scents mixed into one heavy, oppressive cloud. My olfactory receptors were literally screaming for help.

  "Listen, Greg," Alexia began sorting through the elegant bottles. "What's your favorite scent?"

  "I like it when things don't smell," I cut her off, covering my nose with my sleeve.

  She froze, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "What? What do you mean 'don't smell'? That's impossible. Everything has a scent."

  I silently held out my arm, offering her my wrist. "Here, smell."

  Alexia cautiously leaned in and sniffed. Frowned. Tried again, her nose almost touching my skin. "Well... I don't smell anything at all. It's like... nothing."

  "Exactly. That is normal. I don't have a favorite scent because every scent is intrusive. Cleanliness is the absence of noise."

  Alexia turned back to the display, thoughtfully examining another bottle. "Right..." she muttered. "Doesn't smell..."

  I saw her reflection in the mirror. She looked as if my answer had somehow offended her.

  Alexia didn't let it go. She fished a bottle off one of the endless shelves and, without warning, sprayed it right in my direction.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  I grimaced as if someone had thrown a lemon in my face. "Ugh... That smells like an old closet where someone forgot a bouquet of roses."

  She snorted and pulled out another bottle. Spritz.

  I froze, sniffing the air. Strange. The scent was subtle, barely perceptible, but it triggered a bizarre urge to agree to whatever she said.

  "The scent of manipulation," the thought flashed through my mind. Seriously? Are they bottling intrigues now? Alright, fine. Let her spray. You can't fool me with cheap tricks like that.

  We left the shop and headed toward the central bazaar. The hum of the crowd, the shouts of barkers, the smell of manure and spices.

  "Listen, Alexia," I readjusted my grip on her boxes to make them more comfortable. "Why are we even here? The castle has everything. And whatever it doesn't have, they'll buy and bring to you on a golden platter. Why wear out our boots in this crowd?"

  Alexia didn't even turn around, gracefully stepping over a pile of trash. "It's not about what I'm buying, Greg. It's about how I present myself to the people. A princess walking through the market—that represents 'closeness to the common folk.' Reputation doesn't build itself."

  We wound our way through the aisles for a long time until she stopped at a fruit stall. "Two apples, please," she smiled sweetly at the merchant. "Oh, the very best for the Princess! No money needed!" the man fussed, wiping the apples on his dirty apron.

  Alexia left a coin anyway. She knew the rules of the "kind ruler" game by heart. She handed one apple to me.

  I bit into the juicy flesh. It crunched loudly. Not bad, actually. "Where to next, My Lady?" I asked with a full mouth.

  Alexia adjusted a lock of silver hair and looked toward the blacksmiths' row. "Let's go to the armory."

  I raised an eyebrow. "The armory? Was the dummy not enough for you? Want to buy something to slice up my feelings?"

  She didn't answer, just started walking forward. Something... businesslike appeared in her stride. It seemed the cute little shopping trip was over. We were moving on to serious business.

  We walked inside. The smell of scale, hot coal, and old grease immediately pricked my nose. Alexia wandered among the racks for a long time, grabbing one weapon after another. She swung swords, checked their balance, meticulously inspected the sharpened edges.

  "Listen, Greg," she turned to me, gripping an elegant rapier. "You need a weapon too."

  I readjusted my grip on the boxes of her purchases and sighed. "Why would I need a weapon? It's just dead weight. My own hands are more than enough to create problems for everyone around me."

  "You are incorrigible!" Alexia said indignantly. "Do you really not want to wield a sword made of true forged steel? A master's handcrafted work, his personal maker's mark on the guard... That is status! That is pride!"

  I looked at the gleaming blade. "A maker's mark doesn't make the steel any sharper, Alexia. The master will turn to dust someday, and the piece of iron will remain just a piece of iron. Meaningless fetishism."

  She left the swords alone and walked over to the polearm rack. "What do you think of this spear?" she asked, pulling out a long shaft tipped with a head as narrow as a willow leaf.

  I evaluated the tool with a professional eye. "A spear is a serious weapon. If you want to reach an advanced level, it requires an immense amount of diligence. Much more than a sword. The most important thing with a spear is learning to feel the distance from day one. You misjudge by a couple of centimeters—and the enemy has already stepped into your dead zone."

  "Yeah, I know," she thoughtfully twirled the shaft in her hands. "I was just thinking... I read in a book about a great warrior. He used the blunt end of his spear just as effectively as the sharp one." She made a sharp sweep with the shaft, trying to mimic a combat maneuver. "He could create slicing gusts of wind or waves of fire just using inertia and magic. Do you think I could master something like that?"

  I looked at her. At her silver hair, at her posture—elegant, almost weightless. "Nope."

  Alexia froze, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "And why is that?!"

  "I just don't see you with that stick," I shrugged. "A spear requires monotony, heavy labor, and grinding. And you... you're too impulsive. Sure, if you really want to—you'll learn it. But over the centuries, the world has bred so many styles that you could drown in them. Most of them are just a way to wave your arms around beautifully before someone takes your head off."

  She displeasedly put the spear back in its place. It seemed my "nope" verdict had wounded her royal ego. Oh well.