don't you know who I think I am?

Agatha's first thought upon receiving the rose was, Sophie's going to kill me.

The idea, she had gathered, was for these stupid duelling boys to throw the rose to girls they liked. My lady– the maiden they wanted to court, one of these pretty girls that smelled like flowers and brushed their hair 100 times every night. For her, that was obviously not the case. So what... was this?

She looked up in what probably came across as undignified gawking disbelief, and met the eyes of the boy who had thrown it to her.

He smiled.

Agatha, who had never so much as seen a boy so clean and handsome, let alone been treated like a human being by one, immediately smelled a rat. A giant rat. A ginormous rat. Even the grubby boys in Gavaldon with bowl haircuts and no personal hygiene hated her. It made no sense that a handsome boy with flawless skin and perfect hair would like her... which meant he obviously had an ulterior motive.

She glared back, but he didn't notice, following the rest of the boys into the pews and sitting down next to her. Agatha shuffled away, aghast. He even smelled nice. What teenage boy was handsome, smelled like mint and thyme, and styled his own hair successfully? It seemed unrealistic that any of them could achieve a full house on the bingo card of life...

"I'm Tedros," he said.

And his voice had already broken. Did the boys in this world grow up quicker?

The other girls around her were smiling gently at the boys, admiring the roses and laughing at their jokes. Agatha stared in hostile suspicion and said;

"What do you want?"

"I– what?"

He had a soft, unusual accent, and looked genuinely quite confused at this unexpected response. Agatha shook the rose in her fist at him.

"What's this about?" A thought came to her, and she frowned. "Oh. You're not blind, are you? If you are, sorry. On several accounts."

"I'm not... blind..." Tedros said, befuddled.

Then he was stupid, Agatha decided. Poor thing.

In the sort of single-minded valour befitting a prince, he tried to rally– he smiled, and said;

"I don't think I got your name. Or your kingdom."

"Didn't say it." crabbed Agatha. He stared expectantly, and she frowned. "My name's Agatha. And we don't have a king in my village."

He nodded his glorious head happily, as if he'd had a theory confirmed to him.

"Agatha. You're the Reader. I thought so."

"You're still not answering my question." snapped Agatha, deciding not to ask what a Reader was and if he'd just called her a dreadful name. She thrust the rose at him. "What's this?"

"Well, we just– we give the roses to–"

"Pity? Bad aim? Mistook me for someone else?" Agatha fired off, looking hard at him for some flare of guilt. There was nothing beyond a faint crease of confusion.

"Maybe I was just... trying to be friends?" he said.

"Liar." said Agatha. Tedros looked slightly worried.

"Well, I–" he exhaled. "Honestly, I thought it was sort of funny that you looked so unimpressed with us..."

"How self-deprecating." said Agatha mulishly. "I'm so convinced."