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A dark flush crept over Armand's cheeks, and he tried to think of a way to talk himself out of it. "I assure you, I don't suffer from the same thing," he said, his voice flustered; "in fact, I love my lessons with Monsieur Dupont. I simply don't learn well when I have these headaches. Your Pseudo Isitis is not relevant to me, Sir. Isabella can vouch for me. My own sister! She can always tell when I'm being honest." He shot her a look: now was her moment to back him up.

Armand gave Isabella a grateful smile. He excused himself from the table on the pretence of going to his room, and waited in there for half an hour. When he was certain that his lie had been believed, he hurried down to the stables, saddled his horse, and was quickly preparing to gallop towards the city - away from his dreaded lessons and the suffocation of his family. Leading his horse outside, he leapt into the saddle and prepared to set off.

Armand rode his horse into the city, and set out to explore. As he came to one of the more remote shops, he froze. Monsieur Dupont! He would know that pointed face anywhere. Shaking with suppressed laughter, Armand looked around for some way to escape and his eyes fell on the dark interior of the shop. All thoughts of dangerous and angry peasants flew out of his head and he quickly leapt off Marcel, tied him loosely to the wooden block, and then hurried into the shop.

Looking out of the dirty window, he saw Monsieur Dupont coming. He couldn't believe it! The old bat had chosen this shop, of all places. Armand looked around for a hiding place and took the only one that he could: behind the counter. There was a girl there, but he would just have to hope that she didn't give him away. Vaulting over the countertop, he crouched down and hissed at her to hide him.

Armand's immaturity was his problem. It was ridiculous: the heir to the throne of France hiding behind a counter in a musky little shop. He wondered if the girl even knew who he was. He certainly looked rich: his regal attire was clearly much more expensive than her own clothes.

"No, thank you," Monsieur Dupont snapped coldly. "I don't usually come in this shop. The price of your wares is disgusting. Why, I could get the same products for the same price in a different shop, but the quality would be far better!" He glared at the girl, and Armand couldn't resist a snigger, knowing that superior tone well. Monsieur Dupont always spoke to him like that.

"What's that, girl? Do you find something amusing?" Monsieur Dupont barked sharply, mistakenly believing that it was Annette who had laughed. "I tell you, this shop is ridiculous. I was passing, so I decided to come in and purchase my items here. Now I see that this was a mistake. Good day to you, Miss!" He stormed out, snapping the door shut behind him, and marched off down the street. Armand waited a moment, then stood up and sat on the counter. There was a basket of apples on the side and, without thinking, Armand picked one up and tossed it loosely in the air before catching it and taking a bite.

"That was brilliant," he said, his cheeks flushed with the sense of adventure he had been looking for. "I'm Armand. Thanks for hiding me."

"Don't worry; I know who he was," Armand replied; "you don't want his money anyway. Trust me. He would only have returned it all and charged interest or something ridiculous. And you really shouldn't talk to me like that, you know." He spoke lightly and didn't elaborate. By now he was sure that she didn't know who he was, and he didn't particularly want to tell her. Perhaps it would be interesting to have a conversation without a peasant without them fawning all over him and dropping subtle hints as to why he should put them in good favour with the nobles, which was what usually happened when anyone found out who he was.

He completely ignored her comment about paying for the apple and instead took another bite. The bell jangled on the door and he indicated it without looking round from his position on the counter. "Look! You've another customer. Don't let me stop you." He shot her an almost cheeky grin.

Armand tossed his apple in the air as Annette talked to the customer, and idly picked up other items on the counter and examined each of them before replacing them when he grew bored. He yawned and took another bite of the apple before examining his clothes for any dust; the same actions he always repeated when he was so bored.

It was better than being with Monsieur Dupont though. Besides, he was rather enjoying irritating the peasant.

Armand shrugged his shoulders and tossed the apple in the air again, once more ignoring her comment about paying for it.

"I don't have anywhere else to go," he replied, then grinned cheekily again. "I'm in trouble when I go home. I'm supposed to be in lessons. Believe me, your company is preferable." He paused, then started picking things up at random again. "What's this? And what would you use this for? Why do you need this?"

"I'm not messing up your store," Armand replied, mildly indignant. "I've put everything back where it came from." He looked at her closely. "You really don't know who you're talking to, do you?" He laughed. "You wouldn't dare speak to me like that if you knew who I was." His tone wasn't at all threatening; on the contrary, he sounded both amused and playful. He considered her again. She was rather pretty.

"Anyway, I must go," he announced suddenly. Sliding down from the counter, he stood very close to her for a heartbeat, then kissed her swiftly on the cheek, vaulted over the other side of the countertop and approached the door. He paused with his hand resting loosely on the handle.

"By the way," he told her; "just so you know. My name is Armand Antoinette. I'm the Prince of France." He laughed, tossed the apple in the air again, caught it deftly and left the shop.

He still hadn't paid for it.