Author's Note: This makes the third time I've republished this chapter. But this time, I'm not lengthening the chapter from what I've already got. I'm starting it all over, from scratch. The story will be the same, but it won't be so rough—and I'm hoping it will make more sense. Okay? Okay.

Original: 3/25/12

Update 1: 12/20/12

Update 2: 1/26/14

The carriage ride-because it was obviously too far to walk for her father, sweating like a pig and dabbing his large forehead with a starched handkerchief—was quite rough. The cobblestones were uneven just outside Bowerstone, and did not become even until a few moments before they came into the Castle grounds.

It was her first time to the home of the Royal family. Compared to this, her home, in Bowerstone Market—which otherwise was extravagant and quite large and well-kept—was a slummed down shack.

She stumbled, without the help of her chauffer, onto the gravel and came into full view of the castle. Elise stood in awe for a moment, until her father pushed her on her back and got her moving.

They entered through the front of the house, and were immediately greeted by no less than sixteen servants, in various positions, all over-eager and newly hired and unknowingly offensive. Her father thought it rude they were greeted by maids, or that there were servants cleaning in his—a wealthy merchant and noble—presence. But he held his tongue, and she hers, though she saw nothing wrong.

She was far from her first season at court, only being fourteen, but she knew the basics of nobility. She could curtsey like a princess, gossip as a middle-aged housewife; she was caught up in any and all politics, but knew better than to speak around men. Oh, yes, she knew better. But she did not think of all she knew very often.

Her parents, her sister and brother, thought her ill-mannered. On the occasion that someone thought her an amusing creature; they were soon driven away by a racy comment or sharp-tongued quip. Elise was a girl unsuited for the life she was born to—unsuited for the company she was given.

But she could imagine herself nowhere else when she saw the castle interior. The elegance—deep green accents to the gold and marble and porcelain—was so painfully beautiful she ached to stay and just take it in and never leave, but her father was escorted—she in tow—to a meeting room, which one of the maids had called the "War Room," as they passed.

She caught sight of a carved wooden table, upon which was a relief map of Albion and the land across—which was called Aurora, named by some dead adventurer from long ago—before a man clad in half-armor, and thick heavy boots, of which she was unnecessarily frightened.

He was imposing to her, a girl short for her age and quite slight in figure, but his voice was kind in spite of it. "I'd not think you to enjoy a meeting of such topics. The garden is quite beautiful this time of year—it's especially nice today. Why don't you go see for yourself? One of the servants—William," he called for a man dressed as a footservant, dusting shyly in the corner of the room, "take this young lady to the gardens."

William nodded dutifully, a shock of his pale blonde hair fell into his round face. He looked sheepish as they walked into the hallway, as the half-armored man shut the heavy wooden door to the "War Room".

"It's my first day," he admitted quietly, their pace slow, "We're not supposed to clean in front of him and the guests, but I never know when any of you are coming."

She nodded attentively, "It's never bothered me. Father, however…" William smirked at her, "To be honest—I care only what the princes, err, what the Prince and King, think of me. His highness is a decent employer and a good man. I want to do right by him."

She thought this such a wonderful sentiment she could think of no other reply but, "of course."

"I suppose you think the King's handsome, don't you?" William asked, as he pushed open a door that led to a descending flight of stairs, with books lining walls on either side.

"No, I don't suppose I do." Elise replied and walked a bit ahead of him.

"Oh? Most of the maids do—Can I ask my not?"

"I just don't think so. He's a bit… Pardon this—it must be treason—"

"Aye, but I won't tell. Swear it."

Elise nodded, "He's a bit imposing. Kind of… scary-like. Like he's got an ill-temper."

"Do you think?" He asked, a bit stupefied, and she didn't think the question actually warranted a response.

The pair exited the small study that branched off of the shelved corridor and she was stunned by what she saw.

A huge expanse of garden, broken up into a maze of flora by large, neatly trimmed hedges. She counted four live trees, and one that looked quite dead. "It's amazing," she said to William, but she turned and he had already gone.

The sun was bright and pleasant, but she was sweating in her starched and layered dress, too heavy for the summertime. A pleasant breeze swept through the enormous garden, the morning un glittering off the dewy leaves of the trees and flowers, all a watercolor of beauty and elegance and the undeniably rich.

A few scattered nobles—mostly women, so she assumed they were there to proposition the King, they were so lovely—wandered aimlessly around the courtyard, sneaking looks to the gnarled, dead tree.

Elise wandered alongside them, feeling quite pleased with their low level of concern in her. She enjoyed the solitariness of the large plot.

There was a lonesome patch, unoccupied by the few visitors in the gardens, along the railing. It overlooked the newer part of the city. Well, critically speaking, it was quite an old part of Bowerstone. It was half of the abandoned mansions built up some fifty years before that were all crumbling now, turned from luxurious dwellings into shiny, new factories. They were under the control of a scientist whose name Elise could not recall, but he'd heard her sister and brother talking of Reaver and his backings trying to buy them out.

She'd not bothered with these things until that moment, where the morning sun shining golden and rosy pink above brought the future of the third of the city she never visited to her mind. But she felt captured with the idea of it.

She did not know how long she gripped the marble railing and gazed down at the city, which had never felt more hers, but she was only shaken from her thoughts by a greeting directed towards her.

"Hello, girlie."

She turned around, "Oh." She greeted a plain-faced boy with a dark, shorn hair, "Hello."

"I'm Percy," he said haughtily and held his hand out.

She took it, and he yanked her to his lips and kissed it as she watched, "I'm, uh, I'm Elise."

"So, Elise," he said, releasing her hand with a squeeze, "Where do you live?"

She hesitated a moment, considered lying, but she answered truthfully when he looked about to speak again, "Bowerstone. Near the market."

"Nearer to here than I," he replied immediately, eager to talk of himself again, "I live in the Millfields. It's very close to the lake. Have you ever been?"

"Oh, yes," she said, but he looked uninterested, "I went with my father this spring."

He raised an eyebrow, "Who is your father? A Nobleman?"

"Not exactly," Elise paused, "He's a merchant. But my mother is a Lady of the Court. Lord and Lady Bigsby."

He looked unimpressed, "My father is the first cousin of the Late King. I'm sixteenth in line for the throne."

Sixteenth didn't seem very close to the throne to her, but even knowing this Percy for just a moment, he didn't put it past him to use drastic measures to gain it. She felt repulsed by the idea that someday, he could be the King.

"I'm spending the summer here," he went on, despite her boredom, "Prince Rory and I are doing our training together."

Elise looked to the city again, "Oh? That must be interesting. Knowing the Prince."

"Quite. He's rather brutish for one of his position. You wouldn't know by looking at him, but he's got quite a temper."

"I've heard the same for His Highness."

"Ah." Percy looked dazed for a few moments, in which Elise enjoyed the quiet, but it was soon broken.

"So, Elise. How old are you? I'm sixteen myself. My sister just went to court this year, and she's already had a dozen proposals."

"It sounds as if she's—" Elise started, but Percy interrupted.

"She seems to be waiting for The King to notice her. She's always been foolish. She can't possibly aim that high."

Elise blushed with irritation. She did not want to speak to this arrogant, judgmental boy any longer than was necessary, but she didn't see a way out. "Perhaps she's in love."Elise offered, trying, lightheartedly, to distract Percy from his bitterness.

Percy scoffed. "She's in love with the idea of being a Queen. She fancies herself akin to one, anyhow."

"Oh," Elise said for lack of a better response. Silence fell on them, "But maybe she does like him. Your sister and The King, I mean. Maybe she thinks nothing of his position and just fancies him."

"I doubt that. She seems to enjoy the company of our chauffeur more than anyone. She's always going on senseless carriage rides for the sake of seeing him. I think she would fancy marrying him—but she always goes on about Logan and how lovely being a Queen would be."

"Perhaps she's trying to fool you."Elise said with a wave of her hand, "Perhaps she wants you all to think she's holding out for The King, instead of pining for a chauffeur."

"Perhaps. I'd like her to marry and move out, though. Her room has a nicer view than mine."

Elise bit her tongue to keep from sighing at him. Everything he said had built up to maybe, just maybe, show some deeper side of him. A side that wasn't pretentious and selfish. But instead he just got shallower with every breath.

"Would you like to see it someday?"

"Well, I, er," Elise tilted her head, "I don't think it would be very appropriate to go calling on you for visits."

"What if I…"

"What?" Elise backed into the railing to face him. He, who suddenly looked a bit bashful.

"Elise, I actually…" He paused and looked her dead in the eye, his brown eyes burning, "I've come to see that you're quite lovely, right now."

"Well, thank you." She fidgeted.

"Did you know that, Elise? That you're really very, very pretty. Especially in this light."

"Aw, well, no but, thank you very much, Percy."He took a step to her.

"I know I've only just met you—but some people meet at their own weddings—but, Elise, you're beautiful and I," Percy looked at her hopefully, and she felt pity for a brief moment, but he still approached her even further.

"What's this talk of weddings? Don't be foolish. We hardly—"

"What I want to say is, Elise, you fit every requirement of a bride for me." The words left his mouth, and almost just as fast, his head darted for hers. To kiss her, she supposed.

Just as quickly, the large tree behind them, just behind the mausoleum of the deceased royalty, rustled. Immediately afterward there was nothing remotely near her. Not the strange, irritating Percy, not whatever—or whoever—had caused the rustling leaves, nothing.

But ten feet away was a fistfight. Percy had been tackled to the ground and the perpetrator—a boy around their age—was by them snarling on him. "You've insulted this," he paused for a punch, because Percy was fighting back rather fiercely, "maiden's honor!"

Elise paused for a moment, because she'd never seen any two people physically fight before. Once or twice she'd been slapped by her governess or her sister, but she'd never seen anything like this—pure violence and anger.

She ran and grabbed a nearby gardener, who'd not noticed anything, due to their odd angle. He ran, clippers in hand, and yanked Percy away, red-faced.

Percy's lip was cut, and his left cheek bruised, but he stood tall in the faces of the three looking at him. "How dare you assault the Prince—at his own home! What were you thinking? Foolish, foolish boy!"

The Prince, Elise realized, had fought for her honor. She side-stepped away from him as he addressed Percy.

"Don't get him into too much trouble, Serge. He's a slimy prat, but don't ruin him."

"Y-Yes, milord," Serge the Gardener stammered, and, still clutching onto Percy's now-bloodied collar, stalked off toward the castle, presumably to lecture and punish the Noble teenager.

"So," The Prince looked to her, "Not a fan of him, either?"

Elise looked away from the retreating backs of the pair and to the Prince, "What?"

"He's such an unbearable git, don't you think?" But he wasn't looking at her, anymore. A glance, and he glared daggers at Percy's back.

"Well," Elise started, but he interrupted, which was beginning to annoy her.

"Never mind." He looked down at her, and she noticed the smear of blood beneath his nose, the slight tear in his sleeve, and she understood why Percy didn't think him very princely. He seemed entirely too comfortable in this state of undress, scruffy and bruised. "I've been watching you deal with him for nearly an hour. I'm sorry I didn't come down earlier, I wanted it to be justified, you know?"

She almost nodded, but halted with sudden thought, "Come down sooner?"

"Oh," he laughed, "I was in that tree, over there."

She looked to the forgotten tree, which she recalled had rustled just as Percy had tried to kiss her. And then she recalled that Percy had tried to kiss her, kiss her even though she didn't want him to, and she turned pink with rage. Embarrassment that royalty saw her in a moment of weakness and vulnerability, and rage that she was weak and vulnerable.

"Are you alright, Elise?"

"Oh, yes," she replied quickly, "Just a little flustered, your Grace."

He scoffed, "Please don't call me that. I'm redundant, you know. Hardly worth the effort of the title."

"That's an awful thing to say!" Elise protested, "You're hardly unworthy of being alive, don't you think? Anyway, I know dozens who would just die to be you. Appreciate it."

"Ah," he nodded, "I suppose I do deserve the breath, never mind the title. Perhaps you could call the people who'd like to be me and we can switch? I imagine life is far more enjoyable being around you often."

"Oh, stop," she smiled, then caught herself, "Oh, excuse me, sir."

He was grinning at her then, "I can see why Percy wanted to kiss you. You make this place considerably more amusing than it usually is."

She looked away, "I do think I'm done with compliments for today."

"I'm sorry," The Prince said quietly. "I should have come down sooner than I did."

"Oh, never mind it," Elise responded thoughtlessly, "I was going to take care of it."

"Sure you were. You were definitely going to take care of it."

Elise raised an eyebrow, "For a royal, you're a bit boorish."

He crossed his arms in return, "And for a supporter of my brother, you're awfully treasonous."

"Ah, yes. I feel a bit mutinous lately." She smiled, and he grinned back. "Oh, Prince." She hesitated, then went ahead anyway, and grabbed her handkerchief from her pocket, "Your nose is—er, was—bleeding. So, here."

He took it, looking surprised, "Thank you," he dabbed at his nose, "Am I much of a mess?"

She nodded, and he gave a little laugh. A moment passed in silence before she spoke, "Can I ask you a question, Prince?"

He replied, "Yet another? Yes, but you must call me Rory. We're friends now; close as kin."

She snorted, "Why were you up in that tree, then, Rory? That's an odd place to be. Do you often climb trees and hide and spy?"

"Yes to all questions—even though you said you were only going to ask one, Elise." He shook his finger at her, playfully reprimanding, "I was in the tree because they're going soon, and I will miss them."

"Going? Where? Where could they possibly go?"

"To be made into furniture, I suppose. But my brother doesn't like them, so he's doing some… landscaping. So it's all his."

"I think the trees are lovely." Elise pushed out her lower lip, "I don't see why he'd dislike them."

"It's because they're bad memories." Rory replied, and he stared at the oak in front of them.

"How so?"

He smiled, "It's a very long story. I don't suppose you'd like to hear it?"

"I do," she nodded, "I mean, I would like to."

He sat down on the stony ground, under the shade of the tree, as he explained the bad memories of the gardens' five trees.

"This one is Robert's," he said, and patted a root near Elise's hip, "He was the first of us—well, he was my mother's third child. But the first of my whole siblings. The other two died—were killed by soldiers, with their father—before she took the crown. But he was born a year into her second marriage.

He was supposed to be king, before any of us, me and Logan. But I was really little when he died. I'll have to ask Sir Walter—oh, that's another story, he's why Percy's even here—about it later, about how old Logan and I were. I think I wasn't even two, but it doesn't matter, so never mind it.

He was sixteen, with the army, doing some scouting, visiting mum's childhood home, outside the Millfields. They said it was hard to identify his body—they think it was Balverines, it's what mum swore it was, but everyone else says it was just bandits." He spoke very casually about the death of his eldest brother, and Elise couldn't understand why he seemed so at ease with a subject so morbid, but she made no reply, save nodding for him to go on.

"Then there's Yvonne. I can remember her a little. She was pretty, and she used to take me to the kitchens at night to steal sweets. I liked her. She was a year or two younger than Robert, I think.

When I was really young, five or six or maybe seven, a fever swept through—from some foreign dignitaries visiting. Mum was really fond of her. They said she called her, her "little princess". When she died, everyone said she was like an echo of mum, and she couldn't stand it. She once got so mad…" He paused again, and for a moment, it seemed they were having a normal, entirely non-saddening conversation.

"That's only two, Rory," she prodded him on, her voice low and secretive.

He nodded, "It's just Rosie. I remember her the most."

He got quiet after that, and Elise said nothing, so they sat in the quiet of the gardens. He suddenly jerked his thumb toward two cherry trees, one stunted in growth, and one several feet taller, but with less blooms. "Those are ours, me and Rosie's. And Logan's is the dead one, by the kitchens. The dead Aspen. Yvonne's is the holly by the gazebo."

"I think they're lovely, still." Elise whispered mindlessly, looking on, and not at Rory.

Rory's fingers brushed hers and pulled away.

"Do… Do you think, you could come back, some time?" He asked, "To come see the trees before they're gone?"

She nodded, "I think that can be arranged."

They smiled at each other that morning. And many mornings after.

The Bigsby house was large, three stories high and filled with expensive furniture and ancient paintings. It was her mother's house, the one that belonged to her family, and it was filled with the earnings of her father.

Her parents were pleased with the news of her friendship with the Prince, his defense of her, and the prospects of such a good marriage. Her sister, seventeen-year-old Fayette, was entirely jealous. The King was their brother's age—nineteen, though nearer to twenty than teen—and an eligible bachelor, but Faye swore she'd never had a chance to woo him, otherwise she'd be Queen. Elise reveled in her sister's jealousy, for the first time.

Fayette and her mother were renown in Bowerstone for their beauty. Soft features and large eyes and perfect, stylish hair and clothes. Fayette's long, light brown hair curled slightly at the end, and she did with it as she pleased, tying it in elaborate braids and up-dos that Elise was sure she'd never pull off.

Her brother pulled her aside just after dinner, when her mother and father and sister had gone into the drawing room for brandy and tea and long, drawn-out talks they felt needed to be had.

Her brother was the only person in their family with red hair. Her mother had blonde, like Elise's, and her sister and father were close to it, with light-brown—or, in her father's case, graying brown. He had always kept it long, but, for some reason, had recently decided to cut it short, cropped close to his head, with short sideburns. She thought it looked funny, but reasoned he did it for the girl he fancied—her name was Angela Monroe, and was awfully sweet—so she tried not to stare.

But when he pulled her aside it was all she could think about. She stared at his widow's peak, dark orange, how it contrasted with the pale ginger of his eyebrows. She was so focused on his hair she hardly heard what he said.

"Be careful, Ellie." He straightened up, put his hand on her shoulder, "You're pretty, and naïve. Don't let him use his position over you—don't ruin your reputation, don't ruin yourself, over him. Don't… Don't be stupid."

Elise nodded, "I'm not stupid," she argued, but her brother kissed her forehead and smiled down at her pityingly.

"Be good, sister," he said finally, and went to join their parents in the drawing room.

This encounter stood out in her memory for two reasons. One, because Isaac was nineteen and had, in most of Elise's memories, thought her too young to even hold a conversation with, and had rarely paid her any mind.

The second reason was because she had done the exact opposite of what he instructed. She had become lazy in her life, too comfortable in her little niche in the world. She had been stupid.

Nearly four years later, she was making her way down narrow alleyways, clutching onto an address and a canvas bag that held everything she owned in it. The air was stale the nearer she got to her destination.

The castle was far behind her now, and despite the fact that Logan had let her go willingly, he'd sent his soldiers out to look for her. Her mother had pushed her out the servant's entrance as soon as she realized what was happening.

And so Elise found herself standing outside a run-down, yet large building swedged in-between a residential housing area and a factory pumping out smoke despite the late hour. The Bowerstone Orphanage. Her maid and mother said that she would find friends here.

Author's Note: Entirely revised! I hope you liked it. Please review! Thank you for reading!