AN: after a long absence from writing, I have finally found my muse. Sad to say, any drafts of my older stories were lost in my document manager, but I'll try to update then as soon as possible.

This will be a little AU, because I can.

Anyways, it'll be Elliot/Princess/Ben because Elliot is a sweetheart and I was incredibly disappointed that I couldn't romance Ben. Hopefully, my delectable plot isn't too cliché.

I would like to casually remind everyone reading that I don't own anything here; only Laetitia and any OC that I plan on making. Even then, Laetitia and said OC technically still belong to Lionhead Studios.

When I push the door open, I hold my head high, knowing that I am brave, and that I can stand up to him. I am perfectly able to hold up for myself, and I cannot possibly let him into my head. My brother is manipulative and cruel, and I am nothing, nothing like him. I have a mind of my own, as Walter had reminded me back when I signed that petition. I have a mind of my own, and I can and will put it to good use.

But Logan's eyes are cruel as he stares me down, his gaze stabbing into mine. I don't lower my eyes, and this infuriates him even more. His personal guards, move behind me. They handle me with exaggerated force, and I want to believe that they are only doing their job, as they fear my brother to much to defy him. I know, that this isn't true, however I may want it to me. Perhaps my habit of seeing the best in people wouldn't work this time. In my peripheral vision, I can see Elliot wince as one of Logan's personal guards handles him more roughly than he should have. I grit my teeth.

"What, in our good father's name do you think you're doing, Laetitia?" he asked me sternly, his mouth curled into that horrid sneer that had graced his face for so many years, now. I remember briefly when Logan used to smile. But the unpleasant memories far outweigh the better ones.

I furrowed my brow, shaking myself free of the guards on both of my sides. "Don't you dare speak of our Father like that," I say, taking a step towards him. He doesn't move, but the guards do, and they seize me with stronger arms, this time dragging me back a little. I can see Walter on the ground, and he hasn't moved. I can tell he is fine, though; his eyes are staring hard at the floor, as if he doesn't want to look at me. Why doesn't he fight back?

Logan laughed. "Insolent little girl," he tittered, walking around me, his hands placed gingerly behind his back as another cruel smile donned his lips. "The war room is no place for a child," he said, shaking his head. "Guards –,"

"You can't kill all those people!" I protest, shaking the guards off yet again. As soon as I'm out of their grip, they move to snatch me again. My fists are clenched tight, like my jaw. "They've done nothing wrong, and you know it, Logan!" His face darkens, and I know why; it's the fire, the spark in my eyes. Does it make him uneasy?

"They are rebelling against their king!" He cried out, and I step back, fearful. I see concern on Elliot's face, and he finally removes himself from the soldiers, his hand shooting out to grab mine. He gives me a reassuring smile that makes me feel infinite. A smile that makes me feel invincible. "You are rebelling against your king," Logan says in a final tone. I can tell that Elliot and I have made him furious. From the ground, I see Walter finally look up. When his eyes, his aged eyes, with the tired bags under them, meet mine, there is nothing but misery. No, not misery – perhaps it was regret.

"This isn't right, Logan," I pleaded, backing down. I've got him now; I've gone and made him angry, but he knows I'm right... He can no longer deny it, now. "Please."

He gives me a sneer, and I realize that he is unshaken by my words. Perhaps my brother really is as evil as everyone says he is.

"Guards!" he barks, and the men behind Elliot and I grab us, forcefully. "Take my sister and her... unfortunate friend to the throne room," he says, turning his back. When the guard's done move fast enough, he yells, "Immediately!"

I am led through my own home as if I were a prisoner, and the guards are silent behind us. The regal purple flags hung around seem less lavish. "You don't have to do this," Elliot said to Timothy. The guard didn't say anything back as he took us to the throne room.

The tall mahogany doors loomed over us, much like Logan's towering figure, and I swallowed hard. The feeling of invincibility is wearing off, and now I realize that it was a mistake, trying to intervene. I should have held my tongue, and now I was going to pay the price. Perhaps it would be the ultimate price.

The doors open, and inside the throne room I can see Logan sitting in his seat on a raised dais. My chair, which is nothing compared to his stately one, is nowhere to be seen, and I know that it has been moved. I look over to Elliot, and I give him a look, trying to tell him, with my eyes: I will fix this.

The Elite guard leading Elliot tries to move him too harshly, and Elliot ends up sprawled on the ground, on his hands and knees. There is no look of apology as I glance over at the guard before stooping down to pick Elliot up, offering my hand. "We'll get through this," I promise. "Together."

The look in my eyes does not match the words from my lips.