Word did get around to my parents that I was very intelligent. Not just "advanced for her age", but "holds her own among adults". I was about a year and a half old, and I think I did an extraordinary job lasting that long. My parents were around me a lot, and restricting myself around them was almost a vow of silence. And there's a reason those are impressive; it's hard to not talk for weeks or months at a time.

  They took it well.

  "You've been talking in full sentences for months and you didn't tell me?" the duke said, with a sad-dog face, holding his eyes wide open so they would water up piteously. He trembled his lower lip like he was near to crying.

  I giggled and glanced away. "I was a little embarrassed," I confessed. "It's hard being strange."

  "Oh, princess!" he exclaimed, and lunged out of his seat, crossing ten feet in an instant to wrap me in a hug that was many times larger than I was. "You're not strange. And anyone who says you are gets a right sharp tap on the noggin!"

  My mother looked up from the desk she was seated at, dozens of opened letters in front of her. "I was told by my ladies-in-waiting that you sometimes speak more eloquently than your father."

  I looked over his shoulder at her. "Oh, I don't know about that. They were exaggerating, I'm sure."

  My father backed up a foot, and looked at me seriously. "All right. Not to take away your moment, but- is Nathan secretly a professor? Or a great swordsman?"

  I leaned forward, and put one of my hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look straight at me. I matched his very serious demeanor with my own. "Nathan is secretly the very best boy this kingdom has ever known."

  He stared back at me, his eyes even and unflinching. "That's no secret at all."

  I held his unwavering gaze with my own. "Never forget it."

  We both nodded stoically. My mother threw a piece of chalk at his back. "You two are being silly. Get out of here, I need to get serious about these invitations."

  He scooped me up in one arm and carried me out, pausing to blow a kiss to his wife. She rolled her eyes, and blew a kiss back at us. He pulled the door shut behind him. I nestled easily into the crook of his arm. He sighed, with much-affected disappointment. "Now that you know all the big words and all, you probably don't need me around at all."

  "As a steed if nothing else," I said dryly.

  He turned his head to gape down at me, and this time his surprise was more real. "Is that your mother's wit?"

  "You were barely holding on before you were outnumbered," I said with a pitying smile, and patted him on the cheek.

  The duke shook his head, and glanced over at one of the knights that walked just ten feet behind us. "I'm being condescended by my own daughter! Can you believe it?"

  The knight had no way to respond to that, so fell back on, "Your Grace," with a professional tone. That one-size-fits-all "I acknowledge your words, heard and understood, but I will not answer them".

  "But I was rather serious about Nathan," I said, slouching down a little. "He might not present an obvious oddity like I have, but he is a marvel. The very best of his kind."

  "And don't you forget it," he said, echoing my earlier words.

  I nodded. "I won't. I'm lucky to have him."

  The boy that I saved. A goddess marked him for ego-death and made me her weapon against him, but I was able to save him. I was able to prevent myself becoming a murderer against my will. That is lucky. That is fortunate. And because of it, I have a brother. Also, I'm sure that he's the only one that can save this kingdom. I might have some cool cheat codes, but I think only Nathan Harigold can save us from what is coming.

  On my second birthday I got another experience point, which confirmed my theory: I would reach first level when I was ten years old. And I had to presume that Nathan would as well.

  I took more of a hand in the planning of this soiree: the candle-blowing ceremony was a big hit, and the introduction of the "happy birthday song" took the noble children by storm. After cake was finished the atmosphere in our kids-table room got kind of awkward, though. We did not want to stand around and mingle with cups of barely-there wine in our hands like our parents were doing in the next room, just chitchatting for social connection and strengthening alliances. But, we could hardly play tag or pirates or whatever- not only would it be a diplomatic incident if anyone stubbed a toe, but we were all dressed in finery that made it difficult.

  My brother and I were in matching outfits. Since our family colors were red and white, we were dressed each in red and white. On his left side, shimmering crimson satin and linen were layered together, with fits and darts cut in so that the shoulders and knees and collar would rise to twisting points, creating a flame motif. On the right side, pure-white linen and satin was cut with sweeping lines that flared out horizontally, picking out blue highlights like a snowfield. My costume was exactly the same but reverse left-to-right, and featured a a skirt rather than trousers. On a two-year-old, it was really far too much.

  Also, it felt tacky to me for other reasons. I came from a culture that celebrates Christmas and features red-and-white coloration then. A display like that for our birthdays, in early autumn, felt like we were that family that starts putting out the Xmas decorations as soon as the leaves turn colors.

  I turned to a maid, and asked her to send a runner to the kitchen for a dozen eggs, and another dozen hardboiled if they have them ready. Taeril was staring at me oddly, so I recruited her.

  "Taeril," I said, pitching my voice loudly so that everyone would hear and pay attention because eavesdropping is fun, "if you were going to divide this party into two evenly-matched teams for a competition of daring, strength, luck and finesse, how would you do it?"

  "Hm," she said, looking around the room. "Teams are even?"

  "Yes," I acknowledged, watching everyone's attention gather to us.

  "What kind of game?"

  "An egg-drop race," I said.

  Blank stares. Oh my, look what I'm inventing on the fly.

  "What?" I said, and put my hands on my hips. "It's an egg-drop race! But the teams have to be even." Nathan stood beside me and put his hands on his hips as well. "Yeah!" he said, smiling.

  Taeril the ringleader, the socially-comfortable eldest who knew everyone, looked around and tapped her lip. "I think Papholy should be on my team. I'm biggest and he's smallest."

  Papholy, youngest at this event, heard his name and rushed over to her. He was three months younger than my brother and I, and even for a toddler he was kind of a mess. But a happy child, always. I was impressed and gratified, her picking him for her team meant that he was wanted, not placed, in a team.

  "Hm," I said. "Next to Papholy, my brother and I are the youngest here. But, I act like I'm oldest, so that evens out."

  A uniformed guard barked a laugh at that, and quickly hushed himself, but it set the children to laughing as well. I made sure that Taeril's team got the most mature and level-headed kids, and a runner arrived with a basket of eggs for us. Only two hard-boiled, the chef was making those for himself when the runner arrived. I felt bad about taking someone's lunch, but the man could hardboil himself two more eggs, there were plenty. I grabbed a dozen spoons, and marched out.

  "All right. Taeril, your team stands against this wall on this side of the table. Nathan, your team is over there on the other side. Everyone gets a spoon, pass them down. This is a relay race. Each team sends one racer out at a time. If you're not racing, you cheer, all right? The racer has to get their egg to the far wall, and back. Then, you give the egg to the next racer on your team. If you drop your egg, you have to go back to your starting wall and get a new egg and try again. When your team has had all of its racers make it back, then your team wins. Now, here's the hard part- you cannot hold the egg with your hands, or in your clothes. Not in a pocket or a sleeve. And you have to use the spoon to help you hold it."

  They stared, confused. I took an egg and a spoon, and showed myself walking with the egg on the spoon. But then I bent down and pressed my cheek to the egg, and held the egg between my face and the spoon, and walked much more easily that way. I used my forehead, my elbow, and I even took one of my sashes to wrap over the egg-and-spoon and pulled it tight to hold them together. I saw plenty of dawning comprehension. And I saw the teams looking at each other, psyching up for competition. Perfect. "One more rule," I said. "You can't use your mouth or lips to help with the egg. This is not a kissing game, right?" The gasps of horror told me that there was no trouble with this rule.

  "Now, the last egg in the basket is hard-boiled, so whichever team gets it doesn't have to worry about breaking, but you do still have to go back to your wall, understood?"

  Madame Cushnere cleared her throat. "Young miss, if only one team has a boiled egg, then what happens if the other team drops their last egg?"

  "Well, I imagine we'll have to send out for a chicken."

  The children were a second behind the adults laughing at that, but they were much louder and freer with their laughter. Taeril had a delightful cackle, high jagged sounds that came straight from the heart. Nobody would laugh like that on purpose.

  They did understand one-two-three-go, so that got us started. It was a terrific disaster. Papholy immediately tripped and destroyed his egg, he did not have enough walk-and-chew-bubblegum control to be able to hold something steady and control his feet. I did not expect Taeril to put him up first just because she picked him first, that was on me. I handed him the hard-boiled and sent him back to his wall. He pressed it to his chest with the spoon, and walked carefully across the room and back. He gripped too hard, and the boiled egg was crushed by the time he made it back. I counted it as a lap, and handed a new egg to the next competitor.

  On the other side of the room, big linebacker-baby Geland was moving carefully and calmly, using his cheek like I said. The atmosphere in there was bonkers. Kids cheering for a win, but kids laughing at how silly they were looking. Jumping up and down, slapping backs. Nathan got accidentally pushed down, but someone helped him back up before even I could lend a hand.

  I misjudged, I tried to make sure that Taeril's team had an advantage, but in the third lap my team was ahead by one-and-a-half racers. I needed to step in. "Guys, since it's my game, I think i need an extra rule," I called out, stepping in as a shy little girl with bright red cheeks came up to me with the egg gripped between her elbow and spoon. "I'm not allowed to hold the egg with my hand, and, I'm not allowed to hold the spoon with my hand!"

  There was confusion and surprise, but I tucked the handle of my spoon into my mouth, and bit down to hold it. I looked the red-cheeked girl in the eye, and gave her a nod. And then we started the difficult process of transferring her egg to my spoon. Her hands were shaking. I was not confident about my odds, my tiny body was still clumsy. I may have handicapped myself too much.

  I could hear the splat-crunch of the other team losing another egg, their fifth. Feet pounding as they returned to their wall to get a replacement from Madame Cushnere. With a clink and a sigh, the weight settled onto my stubby teeth, and the girl stepped aside, and it was time for me to make a spectacle of myself. I walked carefully, testing each step forward like a rock-climber testing handholds. I kept my eyes riveted to the egg and concentrated on not rocking my body. My arms out for balance, I used my feet to find my path, tracing the edge of the floor runner.

  "I don't have to do that too, do i?" someone asked, a little loudly.

  "No, this is Natalie's rule," someone assured them.

  My foot snagged the runner, and I wobbled, arms fanning for balance. The egg tipped, slid, and I watched it fall away. I turned and ran back to my wall, for my governess to reload my spoon. Then, another attempt. I failed badly. I may have over-handicapped myself here. A third egg, I was getting self-conscious.

  A familiar hand slid into mine, and held me. I gripped my twin's fingers, and he guided me down the length of the room, slowly, carefully, matching my pace.

  Egg races took off at children's parties for the gentry and gentles, after that. But the host or hostess always had to hold the spoon in their mouth. It was called Natalie's rule. Good news was, when I went to other people's parties I could compete normally. And when that happened, the host or hostess was allowed a friend to hold their hand. When we grew older, "friend" in that context came to mean "suitor", unless it meant "twin".

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Nathan walked me back, carefully, his turn to help me with my balance. I took my time transferring my mouth-gripped spoon's payload to the next child, who was using his spoon to press the little white orb to his forehead. He took off at a moderate jog to try to catch up, because our team was losing now, thanks to Natalie's Rule.

  From the other side, splat-crunch. I peeked into Madame Cushnere's basket- we were running out of eggs fast. She looked untroubled, I stayed untroubled. I wasn't the only smart person in the room, and far from the most experience with children.

  Taeril herself, against my expectations, was just awful at this. She tried to use her forehead but her bangs had no friction and the egg slipped. She was wearing silk, and when she tried pressing the egg to her shoulder it slipped. My team's last runner was taking his egg, if she could not get this together quickly it was going to be a blowout for my team. And then our last runner fumbled his egg, and Cushnere handed him the last one from the basket. My fault for only calling for a dozen. I don't think she would have made that mistake. Oh well, it's my second birthday. I'm allowed to make mistakes.

  Taeril's eyes sprouted tears when her third egg fell to the floor.

  Madame Cushnere glanced to the side, and stepped in close. With her carrying voice, she said, "Well, that's the last of those, and we used up our boiled egg early. So, as Miss Natalie said, we've sent out for the chicken."

  The maid in the corner made an underhand toss, and Madam Cushnere made an elegant, graceful catch. One of the maid's feather dusters. My governess rustled its feathers at Taeril, and handed it to her. "Here's your chicken. Now go!" and clapped Taeril on the back. The girl took off at a run, clinging to her duster, while my last teammate was staggering back, holding his egg against his elbow, staring at her.

  She had a demon's determination in her eyes as she sprinted back, fists and knees pumping, dead-set to make up the distance. I could see the panic in our runner's eyes, he could hear her footfalls. He hurried, and tripped. And fell. HIs egg spilled out of his grip, and splattered on the wall right next to Nathan. Taeril's hand slapped the wall a second later, colliding with the finish line with her duster held high like a trophy.

  Nathan and I helped our runner back to his feet, and congratulated him. "Look!" I said. "It hit the wall! That means you won the race for us!" Yheta was his name, and he was over the moon, dancing and cheering for his win. Taeril's team was leaping and cheering for her, too, for that dramatic comeback. Our team was excited to win, her team was excited for second place, and the whole game was a, forgive the pun, a smash hit.

  I sat down on the floor and looked around, and gave a tiny soft whistle. "What a mess."

  But everyone had something to talk about. The two teams blended into each other, chatting happily, comparing notes, recreating favorite moments. That ice was broken forever, we had the ultimate bonding experience: we let ourselves look foolish in front of each other, and we had a great time.

  One of the maids later referred to it all as the most orderly food-fight she'd ever seen.

  Taeril clutched her victory duster for the rest of the evening, and the dozen of us broke into smaller groups, two trios and a quartet, while I slipped Nathan and myself away from that activity and over to the pile of presents. I took the first, and carried it over to the child who'd given it, Geland. I sat with his group while I unwrapped it, carefully, saving the paper. I set it aside, opened the box, and held up the contents: A coloring book with some words to tell a story, for Nathan to color and for me to read. A thoughtful gift from the thoughtful child, a single present to bring my brother and I together. I thanked him, and gave him a hug, which he returned shyly. I set the paper aside, and moved to the next box, which brought me to sit with another group while I unwrapped.

  I circulated like this, keeping myself in each of the groups, and showed off each present to the groups and made a remark and thanks for each one, and a hug if I knew them well enough. Papholy got cake on my white satin sleeve, but it couldn't be helped. Hugs were more important than a child's gown.

  After presents, I started folding paper airplanes with the wrapping paper, and immediately everyone was rushing to my elbows to see. I folded and tucked edges and the spine to add structure, and creased back the nose to add some forward weight and a blunt edge to reduce crumpling. I threw the first one, and the other kids chased it. Then the next, and the next.

  The wrapping-paper let each child see which present each paper plane had come from, so it devolved into competitions over whose plane flew best with the best paper. The shy girl, Vesi, had her plane tear early so I pulled her aside and started asking about her pets and her home. I got her talking about things that made her comfortable, and she opened up immediately, gushing with words.

  We were all thoroughly worn out when the side doors were opened and parents began filing in to collect their offspring. The baron of Hingstal stooped to pick up Taeril, and looked around the room Paper planes, disarray, boxes, table moved out of place, chairs stacked haphazardly, rugs and floor runners rolled away, eggs on the floor and walls. "Most orderly children's party I've seen in years," he commented, nodding.

  I had been embarrassed by the mess, but later I found out that a dozen eggs to clean up was actually pretty tame for a toddler's party. We kept almost all of the cake on the table, plates, and servingware.

  Just eight more years until I level up.

  Nathan waved to his playmates as they left, and smiled to me. "Fun," he said, clearly enunciating. "Goog fun."

  "It was," I nodded. "Good party. Good friends."

  "Goog fen," he agreed. "More egg?"

  "I think that's enough egg for today," I laughed, and took his hand. "We should take a bath."

  The Harigold birthday bash was a big hit. We were invited to everything. My mother joked about spending more time as my social coordinator than my parent.

  My social circle stayed pretty narrow, there were only so many kids my own age among my peer group. There's only so many rungs up or down the social ladder that you can comfortably reach across under these conditions. A baron's daughter would be able to play with the children of a count or an earl, other barons, cadet knights, and even unlanded gentles or peasants of a certain standing. An alderman's daughter would be able to hang out with young barons, and workers of any stripe.

  But as I'm the daughter of a duke, it's awkward for me to interact socially with anything less than the child of a landed baron. The difference in lifestyle, expectations, and social standing would just be too much. Yheta, the last runner from the egg-drop race, had a playmate who was son of a serf. I was shocked the first time I saw them together, because Yheta was suddenly a very different child. He treated the playmate like a pet rather than a person, and all the staff and servants about treated this as very normal.

  My twenty-first-century sensibilities were offended by this, but I was attracting enough attention without making strident social protests at my young age. I would save that for later. Speaking out now would be performative, speaking out later would be pragmatic. I am definitely going to circle back around to these issues.

  In the meantime, I'm the toddler prodigy who is revolutionizing social occasions in my age bracket.

  When the invitations came in, there were a lot of factors to consider. How far away is the event, and how much travel time? Will the duke and duchess attend as well, and what other obligations does this interfere with? Is there going to be anyone we know there? Is there going to be anyone we should get to know there?

  At first the pace was relatively tolerable. Ten parties in twenty weeks. I introduced flip-cup, pi?atas, pin-the-tail, musical chairs, duck duck goose, and king's cake. Some people started to get really competitive with egg racing, so I had to make new additions to keep it silly. The hosts each time left things to my discretion, which meant that more and more I was just running their children's party for them.

  After that, I asked that my mother, when accepting invitations on my behalf, should stress that I will be arriving as a guest and participant in the party. After that, a lot less was expected of me. And that's great, because I gotta tell you, that is a high degree of stress and tension for a very small child.