(The formatting is a bit screwy, but I didn't feel the need to fix it.)
Madison caught me just as my fingers closed around a soft, sweet peach. I’d been so careful; we hadn’t gotten caught at the tart stand, or the apple seller’s, or the cart full of fresh, hot loaves of bread. I struggled and managed to wrench out of his grip, but he was after me quick.
Samuel gave a yell as I tried to dodge the guard, and I realized my twin had already been caught. Two other guards held him firmly between them, and I couldn’t leave him behind. And besides, I’d dressed as the girl today – I had less of a chance of getting away in my stupid skirt as I would have if I’d dressed as my brother. I let Madison catch me around the middle and haul me back over to my brother. He flipped a coin at the merchant, who bit it and gave my brother and me an amused scowl, and bid the guards a good day.
“Poor lot you’ve got there, chasing after those blasted miscrea’ts all day long!” he called after us as the guards pushed us back in the direction of the palace.
We struggled as best we could as they led us through the streets of Eldale, but they had long practice in keeping us in place. Sammie got in a good kick to James’ shins. He winced, and I knew he would be bruised for a good week, but my brother didn’t manage an escape, held on both sides as he was. I was faster, but he was stronger, and they knew well enough how to keep a-hold of us, by now.
My guard tightened his grip on me in case I got the same idea. They would have liked to give us a good, hard shake, I had little doubt – but father would never allow violence to be used unless necessary, even on repeat offenders, as we were, and his guards knew it.
It galled them, I was sure, to have to tramp all over the city after such recalcitrant children, but such was their lot – in times of such long peace as we lived in, even a Duke’s guards had little use beyond trailing after his spoiled children, protecting them more from themselves than any imaginary threat.
The guards who trooped my twin and me back to the palace brought us to the Duke’s solar. It was too late in the evening for him to be taking petitioners in his great audience hall, and this sort of chiding certainly didn’t require more than the Lord and, of course, his Lady, who the realm agreed could sway any decision of his with a single look.
James and the third of the Colletti household guard, Rian, held us in place while Madison explained to their Lord exactly what they’d caught us at. As soon as they left us there, ragged little children in mud-stained silks, the Duke turned angrily on us, but his wife remained seated at his side, her secret smile half concealed by a white lace fan.
“Filching. Again. When we have a full larder in the kitchens and scores of servants, ready to serve you. Care you explain yourselves?”
I didn’t, particularly, so I scowled at him, daring him to yell. Sammie took his cue from me and held his tongue, but I could tell by the way his hand shook in mine that he wanted to explain.
There wasn’t anything to say, though, that wouldn’t make matters worse.
We did it because there was no fun in being served; we did it because we could.
When it was clear that nothing was forthcoming from either of us, he launched into a lecture I’d heard a hundred times before. It began as it often did.
“You’re both nearly eight! You should have learned well enough by now not to go about stealing like ruffians!”
I tightened my grip on Samuel’s hand, and he shot me a brief glance. He relaxed a little under the influence of my composure; I felt the shaking in the hand clutched in mine cease, at least.
Father continued his rant, words I’d nearly memorized I’d heard them so often, and I chanced a glance at mother.
She had lowered her fan and was wearing her perpetually amused expression, a look that always made me think she knew more than everyone else – that a spectacular joke had been told, and she alone knew the answer to it.
She met my eyes, and her lips pulled into a deeper smile, and I couldn’t fear the anger in father’s tone when she sat next to him on the edge of laughter.
My brother, though, quelled under his glare, unaware of mother’s poorly hidden mirth. She’d told me, once, that father’s inability to tell us apart annoyed him more than our pranks, and it made him gruffer with us than was truly necessary.
“How do you think it makes me look? The price of thievery is a hand! How can I possibly punish starving children for such acts when my own are running about doing the same?”
To my knowledge, father had never taken the hand of a starving child. Under his stony exterior, I knew he was a fair ruler – certainly, my good, sweet mother would never have loved him so faithfully, otherwise. Only true crimes deserved such severe punishments, and I knew he only said it to strengthen his point, but it set Samuel to shaking again at my side.
Mother saw it, too, for she finally intervened, touching a slender hand to the Duke’s shoulder. She merely gave a slight shake of her head, and the anger completely drained from father’s face. With them, that was all it took.
He sighed and gestured us forward. I nearly had to drag Sam up to them.
“Honestly,” I hissed into his ear, “He’s our father.”
When we stood before him, he leveled his gaze on me and said, “It’s bad enough that you’re being brought into me in such a way, over and over again! You’ve both ruined your fine clothes. You certainly look like no-good ruffians. But what’s so much worse is that my only son and the heir to the province is tramping about in a dress! For God’s sake, Samuel, you are too old for such games! Just because the two of you look alike enough to swap places does not mean you ought to!”
Being One and the Same was our favorite game, and we switched places as often as we could. But in this instance, we hadn’t switched. The best part of the game was confusing others, and Sam seemed to enjoy confusing father enough that he overcame his nervousness and, grinning said proudly, “I’m not wearing a dress, father. Can’t you tell us apart?”
He opened his mouth to reply and then snapped it shut. He looked between us, back and forth, suspicious. “Of course I can. I’m not wrong.” He nodded at me and said, “You’re Samuel,” and then at my brother, “And you are Arianne.”
We denied it again, and mother had to intervene. “For once, they speak the truth, Henry,” she told him in her best placate-the-angry-Duke tone.
He looked us both over once more and then, in an uncharacteristic show of frustration, threw up his arms and said, “You know I can’t tell you apart. Go on. Out with you both. And I’d best not see you dragged up here by my guards again!”
Grinning, we promised avidly that of course it would never happen again, and then we made for the door.
“And get out of those rags!” he yelled after us, and Sammie waved a hand at him as we darted out of the door. Before it snapped to behind us, I saw mother lean over and press a light kiss to his cheek, laughing.
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