Paper! Paperboy!

The next morning, Willem found himself sitting in the back of a grand carriage, trying not to fidget as it rolled out of St. Pete.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," he muttered, glaring at Elizabeth, who was sitting across from him, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

"You'll thank me when you're eating roasted pheasant and drinking wine in the capital," she said.

"I'll thank you when I survive this whole ridiculous plan," Willem shot back.

Elizabeth smirked. "Just stick to the script, paperboy. Act noble, don't trip over your own feet, and try not to spill anything on yourself."

"Easy for you to say," Willem grumbled. "You were born into all this."

Elizabeth tilted her head, studying him. "You know, for someone who claims to hate nobles, you're surprisingly good at acting like one."

Willem snorted. "What can I say? I'm versatile. One day I'm a humble paperboy, the next I'm a scholar. Maybe tomorrow I'll be a pirate."

Elizabeth laughed, and for a moment, Willem forgot how uncomfortable the fancy tunic was.