The soup is thin. Fishy. Honest work for a pot that's seen better centuries.
Loma is slurping like she's afraid it might escape. Both hands on the bowl. Chin hovering dangerously close. Zero grace left in her body.
I watch her for a bit. Thinking.
She looks up, soup-string dangling from her lip.
"…what?"
"Okay," I say. "Hear me out, Your Highness."
She straightens a little at that. Royal muscle memory kicking in.
"You're royal," I continue. "Right?"
She nods, solemn, then immediately goes back to slurping.
"And all you serene city-state people," I go on, "you're all related. Cousins. Second cousins. Sixth cousins. Someone slept with someone at a festival two hundred years ago. Boom. Dynasty."
She nods again. Soup splashes.
"Yes," she says. "Aunt Ilvara married into Delvida. And there's a Sabrabenan branch with very shiny hair."
"Great," I say. "Exactly."
She squints at me.
"And," I add, "you said you were afraid of being recognized as a princess. Because kidnapping."
She freezes mid-slurp.
"…yes?"
"What would kidnappers do," I ask gently, "if they caught you?"
She thinks. Really thinks. Brow furrows.
"They would probably," she says slowly, "hold me somewhere unpleasant and send letters until someone paid ransom."
I grin.
"Precisely."
She blinks.
"What does that have to do with—"
"Look," I say, leaning in, voice dropping like I'm sharing state secrets instead of a felony. "Me and the Dragon kidnap you."
Her spoon clatters.
"…you what."
"We kidnap you," I repeat patiently. "On purpose. Safely. Nicely. With snacks."
She stares at me.
"But why would you—"
"Then," I continue, steamrolling, "your royal relatives pay the ransom. We split the money."
She blinks again. Once. Twice.
"…I would be kidnapped?"
"Yes."
"By you?"
"Yes."
"And then rescued?"
"No," I say. "Ransomed. Very different vibe."
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.
"But… I wouldn't be in danger?"
"Loma," I say, offended. "I'm a professional."
She looks down at her soup, trying to line the idea up in her head.
"And… then what?"
"Then," I say, smiling wider, "we do it again. Another city. Another cousin. All over Longland."
Her eyes slowly light up.
"…Over and over?"
"Until people stop answering letters or we get bored," I say. "Whichever comes first."
She whispers, awed:
"That sounds… very organized."
"It's called recurring revenue," I say.
She hugs the bowl to her chest.
"But wouldn't that be… dishonest?"
I snort so hard I nearly spill my drink.
"Princess," I say. "You just described nobility."
She considers this. Nods once, seriously.
"…Would I still get dresses?"
"Yes."
"And shoes?"
"Multiple pairs."
Her shoulders relax.
"…Could we use different aliases each time?"
I grin at her like a shark spotting a wounded accountant.
"Oh," I say. "You're going to be excellent at this."