A/N: Well, as promised, here is the reinvented prologue of Six Feet Under! I found it a little too tedious to match Lafayatte up with the Unity AND Scarlet Pimpernel timeline and decided that I'd rather the character be a lot less, well, perfect. Besides, as a middle-class lady, it will be a lot easier to move around, anyway! That's really the only major edit. That and the character themself; while you're still no closer to Arno than you were in the original version, you at least have an introduction to him (and Elise) in the beginning. Basically, you're aware that he exists, but the two of you don't grow up together. I thought this development would make the story a little more personable since you're not just chasing a specter like you originally were. This time, the stakes are closer to home - and so is Arno. (Still sunny with a chance of smut later, wink wink.)

Sorry about the delay on this. I'm a year closer to a degree in Anthropology (and the crowd goes wild!) and the full-time schedule can be a little overwhelming. But I'm free for the summer, so it's time to get back to work! Thanks for your patience (and if you weren't patient, you suck, but I still love you for sticking around) and let's get this show on the road!

-Toothbrush

PS: I'm going to leave the original chapters posted. I'm thinking that I might find a way to weave them back in - with some adjustments, of course, but nothing too drastic besides the names. I'll fill in the space between them and this prologue as I go. (And I also had Queen Latifah in mind when writing for Clarisse's character. Just a behind-the-scenes confession. C: )

1776

The crisp morning air brushed back the tendrils from my eyes as I stared out into the crowded bazaar undulating below the sill of my window. My first memories were of happiness and a love that traversed freely between my parents and I. I had no knowledge of the suffering I lived amidst, of the disease and death that lingered beyond the townhouse door. I was oblivious to everything my parents hid from me. They loved me with the force of a thousand suns and, through no fault of their own, veiled the malicious squalor of Paris from my eyes. They simply loved me too much to shatter my purity; they only wanted me to keep my innocence and remain happy for the rest of my life.

But they could not protect me from the brewing trouble that would soon come to plague all I'd ever known and loved in this world.

I saw my father merge into the mass outside, prepared for the journey to the palace. He was a noble and gallant man, king-worthy with a heart too pure and a soul that repelled any pestilence that sought us out. He was the sort of man princesses would swoon over—and they would have had he been born of higher class. But class didn't matter to me. All that mattered was that my father was the most handsome man to ever grace the Earth and that I loved him more than I loved my own life because he and my mother were what made it so special.

He paused amidst the crowd and turned, eyes seeking me at my window. He smiled, a smile that could provide Paris enough light to see for centuries, and waved. I excitedly waved back and blew him a farewell kiss. He caught it with one hand and brought it close to his heart. We shared a last secret smile before he disappeared into the crowd.

My father settled for the position of a palace guard rather than a king. In my mind, he was already king, but in reality, he served one. It didn't make much of a difference, though; I was proud of him either way. He was protecting the king—protecting me and my mother—and no occupation could be more generous than that. Mother always worried that he would be hurt one day, but father always reassured her that he would be back before supper, safe and sound. His sincerity had soothed me, too. I never worried for his safety. I believed wholeheartedly in him.

But no one could predict that his time would soon draw to an untimely end.

Later that evening, fierce knocking resounded through our townhouse. Mother rose to open the door and a family friend who worked alongside father, Dante Pierce, rushed inside, flanked by a handful of my father's friends. Each looked as though they had lived through a thousand years of turmoil and they lowered their hats in some sort of commemoration. I think mother had been expecting this unceremonious sort of visit, but was too incredulous to believe the time had come. She and Dante spoke in ever-loudening murmurs until mother burst into hysterics and collapsed to the floor. Syrel and Daniele comforted me as I looked on, shocked and terrified as Dante lifted mother into one of the dining table seats.

"Who did this?!" she cried, enraged. "May God strikes their souls to everlasting Hell! Oh, God, not my love!"

"We don't know who the perpetrator was," Dante murmured hoarsely. "They murdered another man, Charles Dorian. But until they are caught, we cannot know what their purpose was. Only assume."

Mother looked grotesquely enraged through her tears. "And what's to be assumed, Dante?" He hesitated. Her eyes zeroed in on Dante's and she yanked him closer by the collar until their noses almost touched. "Tell. Me. Now."

He swallowed and his throat bobbed. "We assume it was an act of retaliation. Some hitman was ordered to assassinate Dorian and your husband is believed to have witnessed his murder."

Before my mother could reply, another knock sounded at the door. Syrel glanced up at my mother. They exchanged a look and Syrel turned to open the door.

"Am I allowed inside?" a stern voice asked.

Syrel looked back at mother. She didn't nod or shake her head, just continued to glare aimlessly. Syrel murmured a yes and stepped back. In walked a man I'd never seen before, slightly obscured from my view by the billowing hem of his trench coat. His piercing green eyes instantly sought my mother and his thin lips stretched into a shy smile.

Mother stared at him in disbelief. "Gilbert?" she whispered dubiously.

Gilbert nodded and slowly approached her, looking as though he ached to touch her but feared she might crumble into dust. He looked as though he were seeing again for the first time. "Yes," he managed. "Yes, it's me. I heard. The palace, Versailles—I knew it was him, knew you were not far. It lead me—they lead me here—I followed them to you. I had to find you, I haven't stopped loving you since the day you left, no one has—"

"My God, my little brother!" Mother began to sob again, taking me off guard. My mother had a brother? Why had I never known?

I watched in awe as she threw her arms out in open invitation and Gilbert approached her, hoisting her off her seat and squeezing her against his stalwart chest. It was then that I realized how large a man he was in both strength and masculinity, very much like my father, albeit my father was hampered with a heavy French accent. Mother began to plead forgiveness for things I could not fathom. Gilbert maintained a calm composure, but the flush of his nose betrayed his emotional vulnerability to me.

The next few minutes passed so quickly I hardly recall what happened next. I was so emotionally exhausted and disoriented I could barely stand. I do remember that my mother immediately introduced my uncle to me. His eyes glowed with an intense love as he pulled me close alongside my mother. Then I was being whisked out the door as my uncle and mother whispered excitedly beneath the silvery slivers of moonlight that peeked out from between the clotheslines dangling far above our heads. Mother sounded adamant, but uncle continued to insist that he bring us to his home just outside Versailles. Between mourning the sudden loss of my father and squeezing a plush white horse (which I had named FitzGerald, the Horse in Shining Armor) he had brought me the week before, I was hardly in any state to argue my decision. I was frightened of leaving the only home I'd ever known, of what would become of mine and my mother's happiness without my father, of the enormous black stallions that hauled my uncle's carriage. I had never ridden in a carriage before. I had never seen horses before. I had never felt so twisted into knots before. That is, never before in my young life. Had I known what was in store for me later down the road, I would have felt both nauseous and excited.

I hugged Syrel, Daniele and Dante goodbye before my uncle hoisted me gently into the carriage. The seats were nothing compared to the comfort I felt in my father's arms, but I was so exhausted I fell asleep the instant my head hit the nook between the bench and the door.

And then, I was waking up to the morning sunlight streaming through a window. I was wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, FitzGerald lying on the pillow beside me. Comforted by his presence, I snuggled deeper into them to avoid the intensity of the sun's brightness.

That was until something rammed itself into my bed.

"Rise an' shine, sweetheart," a low and melodious voice called out. I jumped into arousal and stared at the woman in shock. I didn't know her—I'd never seen her before in my life! She was tall and thick with flawless brown skin and the deepest brown eyes I'd ever seen. Her lips held a dash of mauve, their corners curled in a dazzling smile that mirrored her sparkling eyes. Her hair was pulled back in a loose chignon tied with a satin bow and a few smooth tendrils curled atop her brows. I intuited that she was at least five-and-twenty. She bumped the bedframe again with her large hips and patted my feet. "Come on, get up an' greet the mornin'. You want breakfast, don't you?"

She was authoritative and yet still patient and kind. I knew from the moment I saw her that I'd come to love her. I rolled out of the bed and staggered to my feet. She simply smiled and led me over to a wardrobe towering against the opposite wall. When she opened the doors, an array of color splashed out and I gaped at the kaleidoscope of dresses and petticoats draped over hangers so elegantly the hangers looked as though they'd been born to wear the clothes.

My heart pounded in excitement. Never in my life had I worn anything so expensive looking. I'd seen the clothing girls of higher class sported and even they were second rate to what that wardrobe was flaunting.

"I believe these should fit," the woman said. I beamed up at her, enchanted by her like Cinderella was her fairy godmother. "I brought these up from your auntie Amelie's old trunk. She was about the same size as you."

Aunt Amelie? My mother had a sister, too?

"Can I touch them?" I asked hesitantly.

She smiled and nodded, beckoning me to take my pick. "You can do whatever you like, darlin'. They're yours now."

Mine. They were mine. Had I died and gone to heaven?

I tentatively reached out and brushed my fingers down the skirt of a green satin dress. The material felt like butter between my fingers. "They're so pretty. I've never seen dresses this pretty…"

The fairy godmother chuckled. "God, you are precious. Call me Clarisse, darlin'. If you ever have any problems, just call out my name and I'll come a-runnin'."

It was awkward not dressing myself, but she insisted on pampering me. I didn't quite agree that helping me dress was pampering, but I'd heard from my storybooks that princesses didn't dress themselves, so I didn't argue. I was too excited.

And then I remembered the night before and my arms fell slack at my sides. My father was gone. No amount of mourning him would bring him back, but I believed with all my heart that he was still with me. I couldn't miss him if he was still with me. But no amount of soothing could ease the pain that had seized my heart and bled from it. What would I do now?

"There," Clarisse hummed in approval, "lookin' like a princess already! We'll get your hair up outta your eyes and join your uncle at breakfast. You'll meet everyone else later this week when they arrive—your uncle just sent out the letters."

I gazed up at her solemnly and hoped she could read my expression. I had suddenly become too exhausted to form words. Her eyes appeared to concave and I knew she felt my sorrow. She heaved a sigh and combed her nails softly through my hair.

"We don't need to get your hair up," she said with a sad smile. "Let's go downstairs an' get you some food, okay?"

I wanted to see my mother so badly, but there was something in Clarisse's expressive eyes that I didn't understand. Did she want to keep us apart?

"What about maman?" I asked. "Will she be down there, too?"

Clarisse heaved another sigh and, after a moment, nodded. "Yes, sweetie. She'll be down. Not for a while, though, but she will be. I promise you."

I whispered a goodbye to FitzGerald before Clarisse led me to my uncle's kitchen. As we walked, I studied the décor in curious fascination. The coffee-colored walls were covered with art and artifacts unearthed from places I could not imagine. One portrait that caught my eye depicted a young girl leaning against a garden pillar. My eyes traveled up her chiffon dress billowing out at her ankles, the long sleeves encircling her long arms. When I finally reached her face, I found that it looked strikingly familiar. I couldn't help but imagine she was me.

The dining room was fairly large and cozy, accented with beiges and deep browns like Clarisse's eyes. Parquet panels lined the floor and atop it stood a rectangular table long and wide enough to seat two families of ten. At the end sat my uncle, shrouded in the glistening early morning light pouring through an ovular window. He looked up when we entered and stood to come and meet me.

"Good morning," he murmured gruffly. The dark bags beneath his eyes made mine water wearily. He obviously hadn't slept a wink. "Thank you, Clarisse, for escorting her down here." Then he addressed me: "I assumed you would not have much of an appetite this morning—perhaps not even this week—but Cookie will be available to you any time you wish to eat."

"And what does Cookie think about bein' on-call all hours of the day?" There was humor in Clarisse's voice, but uncle looked mildly perturbed. He scowled and scratched at the back of his neck. "Mmm-hmm, I thought as much."

"Cookie?" I echoed.

Clarisse's throat rumbled with laughter. "Cookie the cook, sweetie. The kitchen's behind the double doors at the other end of the room. Feel free to bother him to your heart's content."

I couldn't tell if she was being facetious or not, so I simply nodded. Uncle was right; I didn't feel hungry. I didn't even feel awake. There was just a throbbing pain in my chest and a crick in my neck from sleeping in some odd position in the carriage. My mind had passed into overdrive, trying to comprehend the last several hours. They'd passed so quickly and I was so young I wasn't sure how to adapt as fast as they moved.

Uncle seemed to notice the dull look in my eyes; he straightened and awkwardly patted me on the head. "Well, well, ah—would it make you feel better to, er, not eat?"

Clarisse began murmuring to him in a language I didn't understand. It wasn't French—I knew a little from my father and could discern several phrases. Uncle understood her language and nodded in fierce agreement.

"Ah—I had planned to spend the day in Versailles. You know, to investigate the crime…ah, the crime, by which I mean, ah…" I saw Clarisse roll her eyes from the corner of my peripherals. "What I mean is—you have yet to meet your cousin, don't you? Lorenzo?" Uncle cleared his throat. "Well, I had planned to take him to a friend of mine's estate outside Versailles while I attend some, er, adult business. Do you feel up to traveling with us?"

I met his gaze and nodded. I didn't want to lie around all day. I wanted to go out and do something distracting. That and I was afraid of seeing mother again. As much as I wanted to, I was afraid she wouldn't want to see me. I don't know why, but I feared she would turn me away.

Uncle smiled and patted my head again, still as awkward as before. "Then prepare to depart within the hour. It's quite the long ride to Versailles. Lorenzo will be down shortly, I believe. The two of you can chat and get to know the other better."

"Oh, I'm sure they'll make quite the pair," Clarisse chuckled. Again, I couldn't tell if she was being facetious.

Ten minutes later, I was waiting in the foyer, admiring the fragile elegance of the spiral columns decorated with ivy and the thousands of flowers that towered beyond my head, blooming in lieu of spring. They crisscrossed up the marble walls and their reflections glistened in the fleur-de-lis imprinted tile. It was quite the contrast to the masculinity of the dining room and everything else from what I'd seen. Had my uncle orchestrated all of this, or was this Clarisse's idea?

"Hey, you!"

I whirled around. There was a boy poised at the top of the grand staircase dressed in a deep maroon waistcoat and slacks that were tucked into his riding boots. His eyes were a piercing green, framed by thick brows and dark chestnut hair that was cut tastefully, barely brushing his ears. He was a smaller doppelganger of my uncle and I knew immediately that he was Lorenzo.

"Yes, you."

He stalked confidently down the stairs, keeping eye contact with me the entire time. "I hear you and I are related," he bellowed as he approached me. Those vibrant eyes studied me, magnifying in ferocity the closer he came. I didn't understand his vehemence, nor did I understand him, so I simply shrugged.

"What, cat got your tongue?" He was a mere foot from me now, still scrutinizing me. Then he frowned. "Are you mute? Clarisse didn't mention that you were mute."

"I'm not mute," I growled, puffing out my chest to look more confident. "I just don't feel like talking."

Lorenzo cocked a brow. "Well, you should, you know. De la Serre's daughter, Elise, might think you're illiterate if you don't talk to her."

I narrowed my eyes. How dare he call me illiterate! Whatever that meant. "I am not illiterate! And I don't have to talk to her if I don't want to—there's not a law that says I have to."

I was familiar with laws; my father was a palace guard after all. But Lorenzo didn't look impressed. He leaned close as uncle entered the foyer and whispered, "If you can't talk, then you're illiterate."

"Who says?" I snapped.

"Everybody." He smirked tongue-and-cheek and strolled passed me.

I would have decked him in the back of his enormous head had uncle not suddenly been behind me, urging me out the door and directly onto the streets of Paris. Even in the early morning it was busy, just as the bazaar always was on my old street. The townhouses here were large and their designs varied in color and decoration. Horses with pedigree gaits galloped past, narrowly avoiding the eloquently-dressed passersby who attempted to cross the street without first glancing in both directions. Merchant carts passed; farmers with wagons filled to the brim with an overflow of crops freshly picked from their fields; a postal delivery man atop a horse fishing out letters from his messenger bag and allotting them; police officers strolling with batons across the paved street—it was the portrait of peace in pandemonium, all integral halves of security and business interacting in harmony while still causing enough noise to shatter glass. I was amazed I hadn't tuned in on all the noise earlier.

"Come along," uncle said sternly when I paused to absorbed the scenery. "We've no time to lose. Clarisse is tending to your mother. She told me to tell you not to worry for her. She is perfectly all right and is merely in bed for the purpose of soothing an aching head. You won't worry for her, will you?"

I didn't answer, still too taken with my new surroundings and feeling somewhat rebellious after my argument with Lorenzo. I'd show him that silence and illiteracy weren't the same thing—whatever illiteracy meant.

Uncle sighed. "If you cannot even manage to answer a simple question, others might fear you are illiterate."

I scowled. Not him, too!

I leaped up into the carriage and plopped down beside Lorenzo. He grinned smugly at me before turning to the window. This was going to be a long trip.

x

François de la Serre had to be the wealthiest man on the planet. I knew the moment I glimpsed him out the window. He was dressed as fashionably as a king and held such posture I wondered if his back hurt; he was also the epitome of gentility and kindness, going as far as expressing how proud he was of me for having the strength to continue on without my father not even twenty-four hours after his death. I didn't tell him that it was because I believed my father was a fairy hiding in the veil of hair that brushed my shoulders. De la Serre and my uncle lingered outside discussing crimes while Lorenzo gave me a tour of the land. He'd already directed me toward a fountain where cherubs used the pool as a toilet and a garden that towered off to the side of the manor. De la Serre's estate was elaborate and opulent and I could not stop gaping and turning in circles. There was a mural on the ceiling inside and I wondered with wild stupefaction how it got up there.

"It's only the foyer," Lorenzo muttered.

I ignored him. Foyer or not, I could tell that uncle's friend was definitely a man of priority. I could only imagine what the rest of the estate must have looked like: expensive enough to buy all of France three times over.

I remember the hours passing quickly as we explored. Then Lorenzo began talking about our family and I became more interested in exploring my roots. I learned that Lorenzo's mother was absent in his life. It wasn't until later when I learned that his mother, Meghan du Clare, was a French aristocrat who had left her fiancé, my uncle, after she had committed herself to an even richer man. She returned to Gilbert some months later with an infant son, announcing her intentions of abandoning the child to him to escape a scandal that had already claimed her. She left the child with Gilbert and departed for God knows where, without her husband, too, who had left her once he'd learned of her pregnancy outside of wedlock. Thus Clarisse had been hired as a substitute for the mother he had lost.

Uncle Gilbert was not an aristocrat, I realized then when I was old enough to rake through the finer details of Meghan's story. He had no royal title. His parents had been knighted centuries ago in England, but even that was not enough to craft connections with the higher echelon. The opulence he had was earned from his vocation as a private detective. He solved murder mysteries, cold cases, burglaries—and was always successful. That's how he had found my mother after all these years of searching every niche between Paris and London. I suppose that's why he was not so much the emotional sort of man: his emotions had the proclivity of steeling themselves from vulnerability. But I had witnessed his loving side and loved him for him none-the-less.

Lorenzo also informed me that our Aunt Amelie was a harbinger of fashion. She made trips around Europe and attended all sorts of conventions in search for her next incredible creation. Traveling was the love of her life—until she met a handsome German duke and began to court him. There were rumors of their engagement, but they had yet to be confirmed.

Too, I later learned of Amelie's reasons for maintaining a lavish life of travel: my uncle was not only a detective, but was a respected member of a faction called the Templar Order. I had no idea what it entailed in my young age, only that Lorenzo had divulged its secrecy and made me swear to never speak of it to another soul. He told me he would one day be initiated into the Order and would help his allies create a better world. Other than what he had told me, I knew nothing else about it, but my curiosity was peaked and I wanted with all my being to make the world a better place, too, the same cause my father had devoted his life to. When I asked him if I could someday join, Lorenzo told me he would mention it to my uncle on his own time and again made me swear to keep our conversation a secret even from him. I agreed eagerly.

It wasn't until later, once I had reached that comprehensive age of maturity, that I understood why this family had been shrouded from my knowledge. My parents had meant to tell me eventually, but the time came before they had the chance to explain it to me. My mother had left her home to elope with my father, the love of her life. They were soulmates and she abandoned her life to begin a new one with him. Uncle could never restore her title in the public's eyes, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that my father was the most amazing role model I could have ever dreamed up and he would forever be a part of me.

Everyone always did tell me I was the spitting image of my father.

But returning to my roots also posed a problem for my mother: she was meant to join the Order before she vanished and, as a defector, she was highly criticized by other Templars and was therefore ostracized. As Lorenzo and I explored, my uncle was debating with de la Serre about my mother's fate. De la Serre was more than willing to allow mother to remain with my uncle, but, as a compromise, he deemed her no reentry into the Order.

They also debated my fate as well. For some reason unknown to me, uncle insisted I be restricted from affiliating with the Order. I could hear him muttering my name in a persistent tone when Lorenzo and I passed de la Serre's office. In the end, though, it was decided that I would one day be initiated as a compromise for my mother's crime. This, however, was not decided by just de la Serre and my uncle alone. Little did I know that other factors had come into play to determine my destiny.

"…stand the value of a compromise, but she cannot!" I heard uncle exclaim.

"I understand your concern, old friend," de la Serre replied. His voice was low and calm, but there was force to it. "All I'm saying is that the Council will want a word with—"

"To hell with their word!"

Lorenzo and I exchanged a glance. We stepped lightly to the door and peeked inside. The office wasn't as large as the other rooms I'd seen thus far, but it was certainly spacious and trimmed with opulence. Against the back wall stood an intricately carved wooden desk and standing around it were de la Serre and my uncle, engaged in a battle of wills.

"You are our Grandmaster, François," my uncle growled. "Your word is law!"

De la Serre smiled ruefully. "To those who trust me, yes. But not every man can trust a Grandmaster, no. There have been corruptions in our past that have shaped the vocation forever."

"Then ostracize my sister if you wish! I can take care of her. Just don't allow my niece to get involved!"

"And I will do what I can, old friend, I swear it. I will do whatever is necessary to persuade them. But the amendment was instilled some hundred years ago and is perceived as a tradition by these men—I may not be successful in changing their minds."

Uncle shakily placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward until his nose was just a breath away from de la Serre's. "I trust you more than anyone. I would follow you into hell, François. You know that. But if my niece is taken from me, I don't think I'll even follow you to lunch."

De la Serre, in turn, looked obliquely serious. "I understand, Gilbert. I will do what I can to save her. But know that, if all is ruled in your favor, the Council will most likely send her and her mother away. They might even execute your sister. Is that truly a risk you are willing to take?"

Uncle slowly moved away from de la Serre, brows raised in shock. "Execute my…No, but…"

"You can see why my hands are tied, Gilbert," de la Serre murmured, reaching for an opened bottle of champagne and pouring a glass. "Would you?" He offered the glass.

Uncle snatched it with ashen knuckles and downed the entirety of it whilst de la Serre poured himself another glass.

Why me? Why my mother? Why were they so fixated on us? It suddenly made sense to me why my mother had refused her brother's offer of sanctuary the night previous. She had been trying to protect us from Templar law. Of course, my young seven-year-old mentality could not yet fully comprehend this connection, but it did come to make sense to me later.

"How much time do we have?" Uncle asked in a ragged voice.

"Three days, at best," de la Serre replied quietly. He sipped his champagne and sighed heavily. "Give or take their urgency."

Uncle's fingers curled into fists on the tabletop. "If my sister is in peril of being executed, then I believe there is quite a measure of urgency."

"Quite right—which is why I estimate three days. It took a week for them to audience with Jameson and another month to reach a congruent verdict. Your sister, however, is more of a risk to them than a petty larcenist. If I had the choice of keeping her return from them, I would, but it would only serve matters worse should they discover she's been kept a secret from their knowledge."

Uncle gulped, palms searching the desk aimlessly until they came to grip the edges. He leaned forward again, appearing to steady himself, and scrubbed a hand down his face. "Yes…a risk…"

De la Serre regarded him with a viciously serious leer. "Don't get any rash ideas, Gilbert. The Council may be forgiving of your sister, but they will not be so forgiving of a traitor." He palmed my uncle's shoulder and squeezed. "All will be well, my friend. Trust me. Please."

Uncle tentatively met his gaze. "I…I do."

De la Serre smiled and Lorenzo and I shied away from the door, sensing they had come to the close of their conversation and were soon to depart. "Thank you, old friend, for trusting me. I will do what I can to ensure their safety."

"Perhaps it is safer for her to join us," uncle growled in resignation. "And if that is to be, then I demand full custody of her as her mentor."

"And I will champion that. I will not allow her to be taken from you, Gilbert. It is your right as an elite and as her uncle and they will not take that right from you."

"Thank you…"

Their words rang in my ears as Lorenzo and I slipped outside through one of the nearby doors. I had yet to explore this courtyard, but found that I lacked the drive to. I no longer wished to explore nooks and crannies. I wished to join their Order as quickly as possible. I didn't want my mother robbed of her family, nor did I want to be separated from them. I felt as though the sooner I joined, the sooner my mother would be safe. She wouldn't die while I was still kicking—I couldn't fail my father. If he could no longer protect her, then I would.

All I knew was that my mother was in trouble. Thus, the ferocious flower of justice in my soul began to bloom. My enemies would not ask for mercy. They would be begging for it.

"Are you all right?"

I looked up at Lorenzo, sheepish now that he'd caught me leaning against the wall of the garden gazebo with glazed eyes. Drool had begun to puddle at the corner of my lips and I hastily wiped it away with the back of my sleeve.

"I'm tired," I said. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the entire truth, either.

But Lorenzo understood. He came to stand abreast me and leaned against my shoulder. "Monsieur de la Serre's estate is enormous, isn't it? You couldn't walk the entire place in a day, I don't think. It's almost sunset, so there's that." He suddenly grinned. "Sunset. Want to watch the sunset?"

I glanced up at the darkening sky. "We can't see it from here."

Lorenzo shook his head. "Not here." He nodded up at the gazebo roof. "Up there."

I pursed my lips curiously. "How do we get up there?"

Quicker than I could have anticipated, Lorenzo shot over to a nearby tree and began climbing. I watched him in awe as he sprung from limb to limb until he'd reached equilibrium with the roof. His head peaked between the feathered leaves with a smile the size of the crescent moon.

"What are you waiting for?" he laughed. "An invitation? Well, you've got one! Now come on!"

I'd never climbed a tree in my life. I thought about telling him that, but then I shrugged. Now was as good a time to learn as ever. Following suit, I clambered onto the first limb, surprised at how exhilarating it felt to backhand society (for I was very certain a princess would never climb a tree). The first few feet were easy, but the higher I climbed, the more afraid I became of my progress. What if a branch broke? What if I slipped? Any minor mistake could send me tumbling to my death. I clung to the trunk for dear life and dug my nails into the bark.

"What are you doing, pisspot?" Lorenzo called. "Are you coming up or not?"

"I—I don't know if I can go any higher," I replied shakily.

Lorenzo must have sensed the fear creeping into my voice, for he was beside me in the next minute, hanging between branches like a spider monkey. "If you aren't going to do it, then climb back down."

"I can't," I mumbled.

Lorenzo heaved a sigh. Then he shrugged. "Well. If you can't go down, then the only way to go is up. You can figure out down later."

The way he spoke! He made it sound so easy risking his neck shattered against the ground. I was almost beside myself in my trepidation, yet I wanted to persevere and be as strong as he was. But still, I was terrified.

"What do I do if can't go up or down?" I wondered quietly.

"Then you're stuck in perpetual purgatory, aren't you?" Lorenzo shrugged again. "Sounds like a personal problem, honestly. If you're afraid of heights, then just don't think about them. Father says all the great minds disregarded what everyone else expected, and then they found something new to expect. Just pretend you're climbing to the sky, or maybe that the ground is covered in King Louis's drawers."

I barked a surprised laugh. "King Louis's drawers?"

"Under clothing, drawers." He shrugged again. "It's all the same, really. Just imagine that you're brave, and then you will be."

I thought about that for a good few moments. Then I decided that he was a genius and I should listen to my elders. Not that he was much older than me, only by four years. So I began climbing again, under Lorenzo's watchful eye, and, before I could decide whether or not Lorenzo was a wretched fiend who had been wrong all along, I'd reached the place he'd previously been waiting. We were now on equal level with the gazebo's paragon roof.

"Made it!" I cheered.

"Finally," Lorenzo mumbled. I started to shoot a glare over my shoulder at him, but I caught the facetious smirk that quirked his lips and relaxed deeper into my triumph.

We carefully maneuvered ourselves onto the rooftop and settled down next to the large stake protruding up from the center. It made for a good back rest and we leaned wearily against it as we watched the sky. The clouds were formed into all shapes and sizes and we spent awhile just pointing out vaguely reminiscent objects. I'd never enjoyed myself more watching the sky. From my old home downtown, I could see nothing but a faint gleam of red and orange. From here, however, I could see everything. The sunset rose upon us like a quilt crafted by the Hesperides themselves.

But Lorenzo and I weren't the only ones eager to enjoy it. As we lay there, footsteps rumbled through the wood beneath us. Someone had entered the gazebo. Lorenzo and I exchanged glances before falling into silence and listening.

"Is there someone up there?" a feminine voice called.

Lorenzo and I rolled over onto the edge of the roof. A young girl dressed in a lace evening gown stood on one of the benches below, gazing inquisitively up at us. A boy sat on her right, also looking quite curious as to who we were. Or maybe how we'd managed to get up onto the rooftop in the first place.

"Lorenzo?" the girl gasped.

"Elise," Lorenzo deadpanned. He cast her a bewitching smile. "Speak not a word, Elise, for a magician never reveals his secrets."

So this was the much-referenced Elise. Well, referenced by Lorenzo, anyway. I immediately took to admiring her fiery red hair and beguiling blue eyes. Envy stirred within me, but I dismissed it almost immediately. I had to prove to her that I wasn't illiterate.

Elise giggled. "I wasn't even about to ask you how you got up there. It would be pointless because you'd never tell me." Her gaze swung to me. "But she might."

Lorenzo scowled. "You speak a word and I'll brand you a traitor for life, ya hear?"

I scoffed. "Can I expect you to pay me for keeping secrets?" Lorenzo scoffed irately and began to climb down the side of the gazebo. It took me a moment to realize that he was leaving me by myself. I was going to have to find a way down without his help! "You traitor!"

"Takes one to know one," he demurred. He landed on the grass with a soft grunt.

I growled low in my throat. "I didn't even have the chance to betray you!"

His viridian eyes sparkled wryly up at me. "Then it's a good thing I evacuated before you could, huh?"

"I still proved I'm not illiterate. I talked to Elise, so there."

Elise swung her head to Lorenzo, looking vaguely angry. "Lorenzo," she growled.

He waved a hand at her in dismissal. I glared down at him, hoping my leer would burn holes through his head. After all we'd been through, he ended up leaving me high and dry.

Elise didn't look very impressed. In fact, she looked hellish with those fiery curls and darkened eyes. "Lorenzo Edward Chandler, you cannot leave her up there! I won't have it!"

"I'll help her," the boy on her right all but whispered. Lorenzo looked smug as he rounded the gazebo and climbed up the stairs to take a seat. "I don't know how to climb, but…"

"You might fall!" Elise proclaimed anxiously. She gripped the hem of her sleeve and growled. "If I wasn't dressed so, I would go up there myself."

Elise could climb? My admiration for her leaped excitedly. If Elise could climb, then by God, so could I. I gingerly crept over the edge of the roof and hooked my foot on one of the pillar rungs protruding out from just below my heel. Elise shouted something in warning, but I could hardly hear her above the rushing in my ears. Pride clashed with fear and I shakily slipped down until I could grasp the pillar between my clammy palms. I clung to it, determined, and began the slow descent down, sliding my hands along the footholds until my toes knocked the balcony railing. I jumped down from the rail and landed haplessly on my feet.

I was met with Elise's glowing eyes as she beamed at me. "You did it! Though I'm not surprised—not when you're related to a monkey."

"What a pity I am," I remarked, throwing a disinterested glance in Lorenzo's direction. He scowled and sank further into the bench cushions.

"I'm Elise," Elise reiterated with a doe-like smile. She swung an arm in presentation of the boy beside her. "And this is Arno. He's staying as a ward here. Be gentle with him - he's had an extraordinarily terrible week!"

Arno was watching me shyly. I offered him a reassuring smile and he returned it hesitantly. "Hello," he murmured.

I wonder what we might have done had we been aware of the consequences of our union early on. It would have prepared us for the torment yet to come. But in retrospect, I'm glad we were made unaware. Had I known, it might have prevented me from taking part in the greatest adventure of my life.

"Elise, Arno," I respired. "I'm (y/n)."