"You're going, right?"

      "Of course. Fiona was one of the gang. She was Julia's best friend. Besides Peter's sister, of course."

      Antonio Roberto Chisolo Mateas sighed and wiped the sweat from his brow. His attendant, Shyra, quickly dapped a cool cloth on his forehead. He brushed her hand away. "I can do it myself."

      "I'm supposed to help you, sir, in whatever way possible."

      "Let's stay on track. What can you tell me about the funeral? Is Julia going with her family?"

      Shyra nodded, her short blonde hair falling across her face. She swiped it out of her eyes and blew air across her face. It was unnaturally hot. "Word from the palace is she's refusing to go."

      "Oh, she'll be there - she'll probably just go with Lydia and Peter. Last time she refused to go somewhere with her parents, she went in of Matthieu's oversuits and pretended to be a cousin visiting him from Salud."

      Shyra laughed. She would have given up a lot to be in Julia's position - Antonio was one of Evelon's finest males. His family's house, the House of Jarel, wasn't nearly as influential as the House of Darc, but that never stood in Antonio's way. He had been smitten with Julia from a very young age.

      He had produced the brideprice on Julia's fourteenth birthday. The governor, along with most of Evelon, was surprised, but not entirely displeased. It wouldn't have mattered if he had been. Evelonian law dictated that any man who meets the brideprice of a noble daughter has the right to marry her when she comes of age. Julia would come of age next year - when she turned eighteen, shortly after Antonio's twenty-fourth birthday. It would be a young marriage, but a blissful one, Shyra reflected a little jealously.

      Antonio was not so sure. He had always been dazzled by Julia's firey spirit, but that same spirit was getting her into trouble lately. She had little time for his attempts at romance - she was always off gallivanting with Peter, Lydia, and that Matthieu fellow. He bothered Antonio more than anything else. The curly-headed youth was anything but noble, and indeed, was everything that Antonio was not. He was quiet, but well-read; undereducated, but resourceful; weak, but quick; awkward, but gentle.

      Many nights, after a long day of meetings and being pushed around from palace to place, Antonio would fall asleep to thoughts of a young bride that waited for him just a year away. But just as many, he woke in a cold sweat to the fear that this Matthieu was stealing away the heart of his betrothed - and he was powerless to stop it.

      "My lord, what's wrong?"

      "Nothing, Shyra."

      "Nothing at all?" Matthieu groaned, "Come on, Julia, you've got to have something in mind. You're moving like a ' bot ."

      Julia laughed and whirled around, coming face to face with Matthieu. "And just what is that supposed to mean?" she demanded, her eyes lit up with a playful fire.

      Matthieu grinned and lightly kissed her on the nose. "It means you know exactly where we're going and what we're doing there. I can tell by the way you're walking, silly."

      Julia grinned and bolted. "Come on, slowpoke, we're almost there," she called over her shoulder.

      Matthieu ran, trying to catch up to her. "No fair, I have all the food!"

      "You're the boy! Can't you be a little faster, maybe?"

      "No!"

      "Fine!" she laughed. "It doesn't matter. We're here."

      "Here? The bridge?"

      Julia grinned and sat down on the bridge, hanging her feet over the edge. "Water feels great on your feet." She patted the smooth wood next to her, "Come on."

      Matthieu lugged the basket over to the bridge and sat down next to Julia. He dipped his feet in. "Mm, it does feel nice." He scooted closer to her then awkardly wrapped an arm around her shoulder, glancing back and forth from the ground to her face.

      Julia almost laughed out loud at his blatant display of attraction. He was so different from Antonio - so different from the ideal Prince Charming she had dreamed up too many times. That was part of what she liked about him. He felt familiar, like a little piece of herself. His whole manner seemed to say, " Be gentle with me, this is my first time. I don't know what to do any better than you do. And I'm terribly afraid you'll laugh at me. "

      And so she didn't laugh, but closed her eyes and leaned her head against his shoulder. She felt his tense body relax a little. "So why'd we come here?" he asked her quietly.

      "I needed to get away," she confessed. "I'm hurting about Fiona, and my parents aren't being too helpful."

      "Aww, Jules, I'm sorry..."

      Julia stiffened a little and shrugged, embarassed by her weakness, "It's nothing.."

      "Hey, it's not nothing Jules, if it hurts you, it matters to me."

      Julia shrugged a little, "Anway..."

      Matthieu grinned a little and gestured towards the basket sitting next to him, "Shall we?"