Sophia was definitely not in Ensolia anymore.

  Throughout her entire life she could count on her fingers the amount of times she had any substantial contact with any Impericutta legionary; how those faceless ceramic armored toy soldiers just seemed to naturally follow her and her family around in their wordless, unyielding presence.

  But this Dominion Guardswoman? Now she had a presence.

  And like some monster taken from Sophia’s greatest socialization nightmares, this guardian of royalty was trying to create conversation from the driver’s cabin of the motor carriage. “If you didn’t know already Ma’am, I’m Guardsman Mori Fushimi. Been beside Zai for a decade now. If anything happens, all you need is to scream my name… or scream for help as loud as you can. I don’t think there’s much of a difference there.”

  The joke falls completely flat, Sophia maintaining a tight lipped scowl on her face.

  That was funny though… One of the thought processes argues.

  Yes, but we’re so anxious we’re gonna puke.

  Oh yeah… oops.

  The Guardswoman continues. “Any particular sights you desire to see in town? Zai and I have had some ample time in the mornings to take a look around during our grocery runs.”

  You cannot say that you need donuts. Her internal consensus snaps. If she tells Zai you were spending the entire day searching them out you’re a dead woman.

  “I…” Sophia begins to open her mouth, waiting as the Guardswoman guides the carriage through a rough patch in the road. “... I’m not certain.”

  The Guardsman narrows her gaze with suspicion. Yeah, that’s an intelligence agent's answer. Probably is trying to meet with a contact.

  Guardsman Fushimi keeps up a joyful, innocent appearance. “Oh so it's an open day. Shall you spend some time exploring Port Azuru?”

  “That would be preferable, yes.” Sophia answers her, thinking to herself a solution to this next issue. And if we happened to come upon a store selling donuts, then that would be such a wondrous coincidence now wouldn’t it?

  Oh yes this was certainly a great plan, keeping in line with maintaining some semblance of dignity with enough plausible deniability. How this Princess incognito would oh so quietly slip into this small town with an ocean view, like some assassin she would stalk and pick her prey from the endless isles of street snacks and baked goods in this foreign country. Before the suns would even hit their peak at noon, she would easily secure herself a baker's dozen of those critical, life giving pastries.

  Sophia Elise, you are a genius. She thinks proudly to herself, watching as the motor carriage crests the hill towards the town.

  And what a small, quaint town it was.

  Out of all the names they could’ve settled with, Port Azuru was quite an appropriate one. A locale on the sea that seemed to be nearly divine in form, with the ocean a mere mile away reflecting light from the peaks of waves like a bed of scattered jewels.

  And Sophia noted, as they pulled into the streets of the Port, that this entire place had such a strangely ensolian architectural style. Within its brick homes and snaking vines that grew in flowering buds along old, sea worn walls; she could see the similarities to the buildings found within the more peripheral wineries of the Capital Valley, or even perhaps something akin to the towns along the Erythryn Coast.

  And as Sophia steps out of the parked motor carriage and breathes in the faint breeze of the sea and the scent of foreign spice in the air, she feels it.

  How in this town of movement, of voices haggling over fresh catches, of bells ringing from returning fishermen in the harbor, of children laughing as they dart between pedestrians, was the most simplistic reality of human life. Civilization coaxed forth from the vibrant soil, of the vast void of the sea; universal in all places.

  Sophia closes her eyes and attempts to imagine herself back in Capital; amongst the busy streets and the lives of the citizenry. She imagines the world amongst the crowds and advertisements, between the streets filled with motor carriages and pedestrians; and she tries her best not to have a nervous breakdown.

  Her internal monologue gives her the rundown. Girl we are not good with crowds, why did we ever think this was a good idea?!

  The Guardswoman attempts to coax her charge from the roadside, already the fancy vehicle drawing a few strange looks as she locks the carriage’s doors. “Alright Sylvia, where first?”

  It’s utterly overwhelming.

  From the cries of seagulls overhead, the heaving scent of raw fish being gutted in stalls, the strange accents of the Tiancin dialect of the Ensolian Language, and the touch of cobbled, worn smooth roads beneath her shoes; the Fourth Princess tries to keep herself steady as her heart pounds in her head with anxiety and her vision begins to spin.

  So much so that she misses her own cover name.

  “Sylvia Duval.” The Guardswoman reminds her charge, a bit more sternly this time.

  “What?” Sophia blinks at her, then makes the connection in her head. “Oh… I…”

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  There were choices, this was a port town after all.

  One of the thought processes snaps its fingers as it gets an idea. If our goal is to find the ‘Holy Ensolian Pastry’ it may be best to go to a space with the most commercial buildings. We’ll be able to find a confectionery in no time at all.

  Yeah but it's going to be crowded… Another brings the objection.

  We don’t have much of a choice. The rest of the consciousness committee murmurs to one another. We’ll just have to brace ourselves for it.

  And so it will have to be it.

  Sophia needs to speak up now, as the Guardswoman slowly draws an expression of concern to the stuttering, very confused Princess that was standing with a glazed over look. “... I believe I would like to see a town square, or main street. A location with merchants, bakeries; spaces where they sell food.”

  “You’re hungry?” The Guardswoman raises an eyebrow, a long thought crossing her mind. If there is an agent of the Imperium within this town, it would make the most sense for them to be some sort of merchant. And most bakeries were fronts for something.

  And Sophia panics at the long, drawn look on her guard’s face. Crap. We just ate, she can’t think of us as a glutton who needs to eat a donut every twenty hours.

  “Not currently.” Sophia Elise the Eighth graciously recovers, poetic words spilling like viscous honey on pancakes. “But a good place to understand a culture is its cuisine. And if I am to understand the Dominion, it would be wise to understand its food first.”

  The entire consciousness committee jumps and hollers with joy at this well executed play of speechcraft. High fives, hugs, and screams of victory while excitedly pointing towards the extremely neutral reaction of the Guardswoman who just stares at her with just a hint of personal amusement at the answer.

  “As you will, Ma’am.”

  That Guard probably thinks we’re some pathetic noble who has never seen a peasant in her life… Sophia’s internal monologue hisses dreadfully. How na?ve of her! We have plenty of experience with a ‘normal’ life!

  That’s right, Sophia was not hopeless.

  On the occasions where Natan and Father would sneak out of the Imperial Palace and into Capital for dinner they would sometimes kidnap one of the siblings for the night. And Sophia, once she was old enough, had become a target of one too many manhunts for her presence. How, if discovered hiding away in her room, they would drag her to eat at either some terrible Kirali Diner serving ‘world famous’ deviled eggs and hashbrowns, the decent up-scale Tiancin Eatery in the old city district, or the much better Ensolian Restaurant on 7th Avenue East (Sophia would voluntary go just for their parmesan chicken cream pasta).

  Sophia Elise was used to this sort of thing.

  But unlike a demure baroness of Montglace, you’re about to have a mental breakdown.

  Oh CRAP.

  Social anxiety compounded by donut withdrawal was eating her alive, Sophia Elise gritting her teeth as the world ever so gently spins clockwise and a headache begins to crawl up her forehead towards the back of her brain. This girl was actually going to collapse onto the street without intervention, and she quickly reaches out a stabilizing hand onto a nearby lamppost.

  Everyone is staring at you. Some random thought crosses her head, hijacking her perception. Look at them, look at these Tiancin families passing by you. They’re looking, judging you for being such a pathetic mess. What would they think if they found out that you were the Fourth Princess of Ensolia? Awful…

  And some were eyeing her, at this young ensolian woman who seemed to be in town about two months too early for the summer tourist season. Gazes leveled at this other-worldly beauty and grace that she carried, leveled at her poorly braided blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, and leveled at her foreign dress and the very, very dark ring she wore on her wedding finger.

  Yeah… pathetic. The thought continues to pound in her head, pointing its sword of self-deprecation at the cowering committee members within the Central Consciousness Chamber. You’re absolute garbage Sophia. What made you think that you could somehow play spy, detective out here? What made you think you could somehow satisfy your donut addiction, or even be as terrible as to have an addiction to a baked good in the first place. You’re…

  Five shots slam out from the handgun as the roar of gunfire fills the chamber, a brazen assassination on the speaker’s stand by none other than the internal monologue. A coup averted, the now very much armed savior snapping its fingers towards the committee hiding behind their desks. Come on, problem solving time! We gotta get donuts don’t we?!

  “Bakery… ” Sophia whispers to herself, trying to keep her breathing somewhat stable. “... a confectionery. That’s what I need right now.”

  And even if such a location didn’t have any donuts, they probably would still have sweet, wondrous pastries.

  Something to take the edge off, get her thinking straight again.

  Even an inferior food item could work as long as it hit the right receptors of sweet, fluffy, and hand-portable; and all she needed was a few bites to buy another precious few hours before death.

  Guardsman Fushimi clears her throat, watching as her charge grips the lamp post like her life depended on it. “Are you alright Ma’am?”

  “I’m fine.” Sophia grunts out.

  The armed woman isn’t convinced at all, taking a slow, deliberate step towards her. “You sure? You’re looking a little pale.”

  “Yes, I’m alright.”

  Sophia quickly scans the town square, observing the signages of each store that lined this place. Beautifully crafted, an artist’s slow and tender hand in each. How the straight edges of the Tiancin alphabet were so geometrically precise like the bands of steel welds or the pipes of a grand industrial machine; perfectly aligned together into words that massaged an aesthetically pleasing place in Sophia’s brain. Across the square some are inlaid with reflective gold foil, while others were simply carved into negative space upon weatherworn redwood; each in their own advertisement for services, goods, and everything in between.

  And Sophia Elise the Eighth could read none of it.

  Yeah, maybe we need to learn how to read this alphabet if we’re gonna be living here in this country. Her internal monologue plans. But we still have a workaround for now…

  Window shopping. Sophia declares to herself, this new brilliant path to salvation as clear as day. Who needs to read when you can use your eyes! We’ll find a bakery as soon as…

  Her stomach growls, a breakfast digested now leaving this body with a cavernous emptiness within.

  “Do you desire a quick snack Ma’am?” The Guardswoman quickly asks, making the assumption for her. “It is around time for lunch…”

  “Absolutely not.” Sophia pridefully rejects. “I desire to look around this locale more.”

  Sophia bites her tongue. Oh come on why did we say that we’re starving.

  “Very well.” The Guardian confirms as she straightens her back.

  And now they’re committed to this.

  Still, how hard could it be?