Once upon a time, there were two neighbouring lands who felt it would be a good idea to join together. Well, their kings thoughts so, not the lands themselves. Therefore, a marriage was arranged between King Montilyet's oldest daughter Josephine and Count Gordon's only son, Annachie. Since the arrangement was done when the children were still small, they grew up knowing that one day they would be married. As luck would have it, Annachie from the start saw in Josephine the fairest of maidens, and she never lost an opportunity to praise her brave Annachie. It should have ended there, but unfortunately King Gordon was a gambler and a drunkard and by the time Annachie was sixteen his father was a penniless destitute, in debt over his ears. He had sold off all his lands, and was facing the fact that he had to sell his castle. Therefore, two days short of the day that the official engagement party was to take place, Gordon hung himself in his study.

King Montilyet, who had watched the decline of Count Gordon with horror, immediately called off the engagement and ordered his daughter back home, saying she was never more to see the destitute Annachie. It did not help that the fourteen year old princess cried, begged, or even threatened suicide - home she must go, and so she said a heart-breaking goodbye to her childhood sweetheart. He kissed her, sweetly and gently beneath the willow tree that his mother lay buried beneath, and swore to her that one day he would come back to her. In return, she swore to take no other man for her husband than he who knew that the bitterest thing was the tears of lovers forced to part, and the sweetest thing to kiss the lover's lips.

After Count Gordon's death, the Countess Otranto and his family, who had bought the castle and most of the lands, immediately moved in. Now began a sorrowful time in the young prince's life. He was Annachie No-Land, a man of title but without means, and so it was that he was left little choice but to start working as a servant in the house that had once been his home. But Annachie bore his misfortune with calm and pride, and would not let on with so much as a sigh how much he grieved all that was lost. More than anything, he grieved the loss of his princess.

Three deeply unhappy years passed, and Annachie had grown into a fine young man with a strong, toned body, flowing black locks and deep, velvet brown eyes. He was as handsome as he was kind, and though he was made to perform the most demeaning of labours he never complained. For the Countess he scrubbed floors, emptied chamber pots, changed bed linen and other tasks no other servant wanted to take on. And each night, he had to sleep on the cold stone floor next to the grand fireplace in the kitchen. Therefore, he was always covered in soot and his clothes never seemed to get properly clean, no matter how well he washed them. Therefore, soon all simply called him Ashachie.

One day, as Annachie was nineteen, a messenger from the Kingdom of Montilyet came to the castle. Soon all knew that princess Josephine, who was now seventeen and old enough to be married, was seeking a suitable husband. Also at this time, princess Lyssa Trevelyan had been found and had come to visit her dear childhood friend along with her husband Lord Krem. Annachie remember Lyssa fondly; she had been a great source of amusement for both him and the oft-serious Josephine. To hear of her happiness made his own heavy heart feel lighter. Then he thought of the missive. All youths of title, it had said. He had a title. He was the son of a king, even if he had no money or fine clothes. But if he went to the ball that was to take place... maybe Josephine remembered him. He could go there, and find out! But in his soot-covered, dirty rags he could not possibly show himself to the court.

So, on the morn of the ball, he watched Countess Otranto and her sons go off, dressed in their finest clothes, and he could not help but cry as he stood in the courtyard. Surely one of them would charm his Josephine, who was not his anymore. But in his heart she was his Josephine. She always would be. He stood still and watched them leave, until he could no longer see the fine carriage. Then he looked down at his own naked, dirty feet and allowed his heart to break for the first time since he had to bid Josephine goodbye.

Weeping softly under his dirty dark hair, Annachie went slowly to fetch water for scrubbing the hearth. What else could he do? This was his path now, and it was time once and for all to forget Josephine.

"Cry not, boy!" He looked up, startled. An old woman whom he had never seen before, stood beside the well. She was looking at him knowingly, as if she saw something in him he himself did not.

"How can I not?" Annachie cried, bereaved. "To-night the finest of men shall flock to Castle Montilyet to woo princess Josephine! And She will truly be lost to me, then!" And he sank to his knees, weeping bitterly.

The old woman waited until the worst of his cries had tapered of, before she went on:

"Then go to the ball yourself. Charm the girl back into your arms."

"Look at me!" Annachie wailed, "I have no fine clothes, and my hair and face are dirty! I would never get in!"

"Is that all?" The old woman laughed. "Give me a lock of your hair, Ashachie No Lands, and I will get you to the ball."

Meanwhile, at Castle Montilyet, poor princess Josephine sat in her chambers and cried as if her heart was breaking. Which, to be fair, it was. Earlier that day, her father had told her that three balls were to be held to celebrate the marriage of princess Lyssa, and at the end of those Josephine's engagement would be announced. And if she had not chosen a groom at that point, he would choose for her. But how could she choose, when all she wanted was Annachie?

Lyssa Aclassi, who had been her friend since they were both learning to walk even though Lyssa had been Lysander at the time, held her close and stroked her back, but did little else to stop the sobs. There was nothing she could do, after all. She knew in her heart that it would be alright - after all, had not Krem come for her, when she was abducted? They had their happy ending, and so would Josephine. All she had to do was trust in Annachie.

"There now, Josie" she soothed, "you will dress as a beautiful swan and wear that mask, and I am sure he will come. He swore he would love you forever, and surely your Annachie is a man of his word."

"He is" Josephine cried, "but father is not!" And after that, there really was nothing to be said any more.

That evening, Josephine stood at the top of the stairs dressed all in white, her long dark hair done up in an elegant style and covered in white pearls. On this first of three masked balls, she was dressed as a white swan and wore a mask of white feathers. Next to her stood Lyssa as a red fox, and her husband Krem, this night dressed as a grey wolf. They were all stunning, but brightest of them all shone the princess.

"It will be alright" Lyssa whispered one last time as they descended the stairs together, hearing the oohs and aaahs and feeling the admiring eyes of the crowd of princes and nobles all waiting to sweep Josephine of her feet. In reality, Josephine wanted to turn tail and run as fast as her feet could carry her, but she was a princess to the edge of her fingertips and she knew her place. So instead, she held her pretty head high and refused to let herself think of how the lights gleaming in all corners made her remember Annachie's beautiful dark eyes, and how they had gazed so lovingly into her own brown. It would only make her cry, and she must not be seen sad.

For hours, she danced and chatted and acted charmed, as she was expected to, but she found no joy in any of it. And then, as the clock chimed ten, there was a commotion by the door. A stranger had appeared, dressed all in black with his brown hair falling elegantly over his shoulders. His mask was that of a black swan, with elegant feathers and a glimmer of glitter around the eyes. Those eyes... The moment he stepped before her and offered his hand in a dance, she knew those eyes. And with a true smile for the first time that night, Josephine allowed herself to be led to the dance floor. The hours flew, and before she knew it it was midnight and the ball was to end. As it did, the stranger who was no stranger kissed her hand good-night, and impulsively she found herself begging,

"Come tomorrow!" He smiled at her.

"Will you wait?"

"Always!"

"Then I will come" and then he was gone, lost in the crowd, but Josephine kept smiling. He had always kept his promises to her.

The second night, Josephine found herself impatiently looking towards the door even as she danced with others, not minding when some Lord something-or-other trod on her fine red dress. This night she was a phoenix, waiting impatiently to see what the stranger would wear when he appeared. As the hours ticked by, she grew more and more anxious and not even Lyssa teasing her gently could help calm her down. Then, at last, the clock struck ten and there he was - the stranger from the previous ball. This night, he was dressed all in blue, a waterbird to her phoenix. And once more they danced, twirling across the floor light as air, and she was so happy it felt as if her heart would burst from her chest.

And when the clock at last, after an eternity and mere moments, struck twelve, she begged him:

"Come tomorrow!" and he smiled as he kissed her hand.

"Will you wait?"

"Always!"

"Then I will come" and then he was gone, but she knew he would come again. He had promised.

The third ball, Josephine made no attempt to hide that she was waiting for the stranger. Indeed, she wandered about the hall restlessly, as lovely as the angels in her brightly colored peacock costume, but she would not dance or flirt or gossip. She only waited, waited for the clock to turn ten and her stranger appear. And then, the clock struck ten. Josephine flew to her feet and hurried towards the grand entrance, not caring for the impression she made. But where was he, her stranger? Not at the door. Bewildered, she stood waiting, staring at the door as if it at any moment would swing open and admit him in. But where was he? Lyssa, this eve dressed in beautiful green with the mask of a snake, slipped up beside her.

"has he not come yet?" She asked quietly, looking towards the door with the same anxiety.

"No" Josephine whispered back, hurt and confused.

"Surely he is merely late" Lyssa soothed, and Josephine nodded, wanting nothing more for the words to be true.

"Yes, he is only late." And they stood there, together, Lyssa's arm around Josephine's waist, and they waited.

It was not until the clock was heard toiling midnight, that Josephine began to weep.

What was it then, that had befallen Annachie? For surely he would not callously abandon his true love. Ah, it was a terrible deed. For when he left the second ball he ran into Blackwall, a knight that served Lady Otranto. Furious at what he perceived as a servant boy's attempt to seduce a princess, he had swung his heavy sword at Annachie. The knight had succeeded in stunning the youth, and then he had cruelly cut of his right hand, the one that had held the princess' hand.

"Now you will know your place" the man had snarled as he ripped dark eyes from their sockets, and then he left Annachie on the ground in his own blood. Surely he would have died, if not for the kindness of a stranger passing by just then. It was a mage skilled both in healing and the dark arts, and as he nursed Annachie back to life they formed a firm friendship. Jowan, for that was his name, was as lonely as Annachie; he had, too, lost his own true love many years ago and he was determined to help Annachie reclaim his princess. So he took the eyes that had been ruined, and the hand that been severed, and with his magic he preserved them. But not even Jowan, skilled as he was, could reattach them to Annachie's body. But this did not bother Annachie, surprisingly enough. He was a pragmatic soul, and all that really worried him was that he had left Josephine waiting.

As the days turned into weeks, and then into months, slowly but steadily Annachie healed from his injuries. Though blind and crippled, he kept a neat house around the hopelessly disorganised mage and was mostly content with his lot. But he thought often of Josephine, and wished often that he still had his sight so he might see her face, if only one more time.

Then one day, Jowan flew through the door to their little cottage, wild with excitement.

"Annachie!" He cried, "here is your chance! The king has announced that his daughter, princess Josephine, is ready to choose a husband. But he has to give her three gifts... oh, what was it again..." Jowan thought hard, and Annachie waited impassively.

"Oh, now I remember!" Jowan suddenly exclaimed, "the bitterest of things, the gentlest of things, and the fairest of things." Annachie smiled. That sounded like his Josephine, who had always loved a good riddle. But then he remembered that he was hiding from Blackwall, who might come back to finish the job if he realised that it was not completed.

"Will you go for me?" Annachie asked, hopeful. "I know what you will give her. You can be my representative." Jowan was all for the idea, but he spent the rest of the day convincing Annachie to don a disguise and go with him to the castle. In the end, Annachie was fed up enough with Jowan's needling that he gave in.

Josephine sat on a small footstool, hands clasped in her lap, and swore to herself for the fifth time that day that she was not to cry because the man in front of her was not Annachie. Instead, she shook her head at his gifts.

"Nay" she said, "there are things bitterer than lemons, gentler than silk, fairer than a rose. Next." And the lord was forced to leave, as so many before him.

The king frowned at his daughter, but his heart softened at the veiled sorrow in her eyes. Once more, he cursed his decision to force her to part with Annachie. It was clear, now, that he had broken his daughter's heart that day, and she was still grieving. And to see her now, hoping and once more being disappointed at the suitor not being Annachie, he wanted to weep for her. And yet... there was a way to make her stop hoping. He could tell her the terrible news he had received and hidden from her for nigh on two months; her Annachie had been slain by a knight thinking he was doing the princess a favour. Granted, he had ordered the Knight stripped of his title and banished from his lands, but that would not bring Annachie back to life. And if he told Josephine that her waiting was for naught... no, Montilyet thought as he gestured for the next possible suitor to step forward with his gifts. It would surely kill his daughter. Best she not know.

And so the line of suitors waiting to impress the lovely princess Josephine shortened by one man. And Josephine once more had to face the disappointment at the man hoping to win her hand not being Annachie.

It was almost a week into the gift-giving when a man with scraggly dark hair and an oversized robe stepped in front of the princess. By this point, there were no more princes or lords or even merchants to try for the princess, and in his desperate wish to see his daughter wed the King allowed anyone who wished to try. But this man? Surely he was a beggar, poor and dirty, but he stood as proud as a lord.

"Princess" the man said, "I am Jowan, and I bring you the gifts you have requested. I also bring a fourth gift, I think you will find to be the sweetest of things."

"We shall see, master Jowan" Josephine replied, her voice as calm as ever.

Jowan nodded, and then he handed her a small piece of white fabric.

"The bitterest of things - a handkerchief stained with a young maiden's tears, as she was forced to bid her true love goodbye for ever."

Josephine gasped in shock; she recognised it immediately. It bore her monogram, and the lace was of a style that... that had been fashionable the summer she had been forced to part from Annachie. Her tears. The bitterest of things was her tears.

"Thank you" she whispered, and the entire court gasped in shock. It was the first time princess Josephine had actually accepted a gift.

"the second thing you wished for, princess, was the fairest of things. Surely there is no fairer gift than the loving gaze of your one true love." And he handed Josephine a small wooden box. She opened it, and could not hold back a shocked cry. Eyes. Familiar brown eyes. Annachie's eyes. Eyes filled with tears, Josephine looked up at Jowan.

"I accept your gift" she said, her voice trembling. King Montilyet discreetly pinched himself and tried to see what was in the box.

"The third gift I bring you, princess, is the gentlest of things; the touch of a man in love." and he laid in Josephine's lap a severed hand. There was a moment of silence, then chaos broke out amongst the court. People were yelling, women swooning, guardsmen drawing their swords. It took the King yelling that he was going to have them all hanged if they did not shut up to quiet them down.

Josephine, clutching the severed hand as if it was all she had in this world, sobbed;

"Annachie, where is my Annachie?"

"The last of my gifts, princess" Jowan said as if he had not heard, "is the sweetest of things. The return of your own true love. Your Annachie."

And when he spoke those words, a crippled man made his way through the crowd. Though he carried a cane in his lone hand, and his eye sockets were covered with white cloth, Josephine greeted him with a cry of joy as she ran to him.

And as the princess fell into Annachie's embrace, the King smiled. He might be blind, crippled, and penniless - but it was clear that he was also his daughter's one true love. And he would give his kingdom to see his daughter so happy for as long as he lived.

"Let it be known" King Montilyet said as he stood from his throne and embraced Annachie, "that Annachie No-Land shall have my daughter for his wife, and in time he shall be king."

And so it was, and King Annachie ruled for many years side by side with his beautiful queen. And though he never more could see her face, each morning he felt her smile with his fingertips.

And so they lived happily ever after.