A/N: So new story. I can't seem to stick to writing just one at a time. If anyone reading this is also following 'once upon a time' I promise I'll have a new chapter of that out tomorrow morning-ish. But I've been working on this a while and I felt like I would lose my nerve if I didn't just post it already.

This story takes place way in the future and I started it because I really felt like even though I claim to be a feminist in real life, I don't seem to commit to writing really strong female characters. Whenever I write Sofia I inevitably fall into Cedric's voice and make her a supporting character in her own story. So I'm going to try not to do that this time. In wanting to make Sofia more real to me, I inevitably made her older, because I can no longer relate to 18 year olds. I have no idea how well I'll succeed at any of this, but I figure I'd give it a try. So…

Disclaimer: Cedric is 53 in this story and Sofia is 35 (really, really an adult). Disney owns them and anyone else you recognize. I'm just spinning the clock out for them.

1.

The sun made a weak effort to peak through the clouds just as the castle came into view, looking for all the world like a tiny toy meant to be played with by a child. They were still a good distance away but Sofia realized how much the fairytale façade lent credence to the idea this was a place where dreams could come true.

As a child the first sight of it on the horizon would always make her breath catch. The shimmering ivory white of the marble towers. The multicolored rooves that reflected the sun as though it were dancing on their surfaces. The way the original King of Enchancia had picked the perfect spot, nestled in a wood of storybook beauty, surrounded by gleaming, blue waters.

She'd felt so lucky to get to live there once upon a time.

After all fairytales always ended with the Prince and Princess marrying and living happily ever after, but her mother had married a King and made her a princess. So Sofia had expected her fairytale must just be beginning.

As she smoothed down the black velvet of her gown, she gave a rueful smile. She'd had an enchanted childhood. One most children could only dream of. How else could she have remained so naïve to the truths of life for so long?

She wasn't a child any longer though and as the coach made its approach she found herself relieved to see Baileywick waiting on the steps for her. The message she'd sent ahead of her arrival would only have gotten here a few hour ago at best.

She knew the King didn't like to have his routine disturbed, especially on such short notice. And even though she had no desire for a full court welcome, she did need a little of his time, and knew if he'd been upset by her unexpected visit she would have found herself left quite alone on the front steps.

"Princess Sofia!" The castle steward gave her a formal bow, before holding out his hand to help her down from the coach.

"Hello Baileywick," she returned, her face crinkling into a warm smile as she tried not to put too much of her weight on the dear old man.

"We just got your message. I hope everything is alright." He said as they began making their way up the steps.

Sofia could see how difficult they were for him now and tried her best to make it look as though he were helping her when really she was doing her best to help him.

"Everything is…," she hesitated to answer. She knew there was an expectation she should be crushed by the events of the last six months, even if the truth was she felt a great deal less than others wanted her too. "…as good as can be expected." She finally settled on. "But I need to speak with the King as soon as possible. There are a few things I'd like to have his assurance of…in person."

She saw one of Baileywick's eyebrows creep up his forehead, but whatever he was thinking he kept it to himself.

"As it turns out, the Golden Wing Circus is in town this week and James and Vivian have taken the little royals for the afternoon show. So you'll have King Rolland all to yourself at lunch. I thought conversation over food might make everything a little easier."

Sofia squeezed the steward's arm gratefully as they walked into the castle.

"Thank you Baileywick."

While they made their way to the banquet hall, Sofia looked around the castle and felt herself smile. There had been a time when returning home had been a sad and gloomy affair. The air of grief that hung over the whole of the place after her mother's death had lasted for many years.

But in Vivian's unassuming way she'd begun quietly bringing sunshine back into the castle and when she'd given James and Enchancia not one but two beautiful heirs, real joy had seeped back into the walls and the people within them.

Though Sofia would probably never get used to seeing this place without her mother in it, she was happy it didn't feel like a mausoleum any longer.

"Here you are Princess Sofia. I'll have Violet get your things settled in your old room and if you need anything at all, you know what to do." Baileywick smiled at her and bowed again, before leaving her at the hall doors.

Smoothing a hand over her hair and skirts one last time, Sofia took a deep breath, and walked into the large, mostly empty room.

The midday sun was streaming in steadily now and at the head of the long table, sitting by himself, a slight scowl on his face as he looked over some papers, was her step-father. She knew he'd heard her enter, yet he didn't bother to look up.

Looking him over as he willfully ignored her, brought all the grief of her mother's death tumbling back down. He was a different person now, older and grayer most assuredly, but that wasn't what caused her sorrow. It was the visible hardness of him. He was colder now, harsher. Even the births of five grandchildren hadn't been able to resurrect the part of him that went into the ground with her mother.

Which was why Sofia so desperately wanted to have this conversation face to face. Why she needed to look in to his eyes and see his agreement to her request, rather than get it second hand or in writing. For all he had been altered, King Rolland II's word was still his bond. He would never be able to look her in the eye and then forget, conveniently or otherwise, what he'd promised.

Sofia stopped short, just a few inches from his right hand and cleared her throat, even as she bent into a respectful curtsey.

"Your Majesty," she intoned quietly, as she looked up at him through her lashes.

Finally, he seemed ready to acknowledge her.

Putting down the papers, he turned and gave her an appraising look. She knew as she'd grown she had come to resemble her mother less and less. Her hair had darkened slightly but never lost its red overtones so that now it had the hew of highly polished cherry wood. She was still startlingly petite and her figure tended towards voluptuousness rather than Miranda's willowy, statuesque beauty. Her skin was still quiet pale instead of having her mother's golden glow, though that one thing might be blamed on Freezenburg's complete lack of reliable sunlight. She wondered now if she would fare better or worse with him for not reminding him of what he'd lost.

"Sofia, sit." He gestured to the chair next to him, the one which had always been her mother's.

"Thank you," she answered, feeling a little of the stress eek out of her.

"What was it you wanted to discuss with me?" He got straight to the point, perhaps knowing she had as little desire to beat about the bush as he did. But despite his blunt words his tone was even, no hint of anger or frustration, two things she was sure he'd come to associate with her over the years.

"I'd like your word." She began, staring him boldly in the eye.

.o~O*O~o.

Several hours later she emerged from the banquet hall tired, but quietly elated.

She'd ventured with the King and won.

He had been difficult at first, attempting to bend her to his way of thinking as he had so many years ago. But she wasn't a doe eyed nineteen-year old girl anymore, desperate to please and believing herself beholden to this man for grandness of her life.

She'd spent fifteen years alone, holding her own in a foreign court. Fighting for her right to be heard and respected by a husband and father-in-law who often thought a woman's place was a submissive and silent three paces behind her menfolk. Struggling to bring her 'outlandishly childish' ideas of egalitarianism and common human decency to a place where the gap between the nobility and the peasantry they gained their wealth off the backs of was so wide it was barely believable.

She was thirty-five now, a widow, a champion of her adopted people, and the mother of the next King. Sofia was fairly certain Rolland had found her a more formidable opponent than last time.

As Sofia mused, her steps brought her to the kitchen where she said a fond hello to Chef Andre and introduced herself to the many new faces, before begging a tray of cookies and a pot of tea.

"Strawberry just as you like." He proclaimed, obviously proud of himself for remembering.

"They are my favorites," she agreed before pointing a finger at a plate in the far corner. "But could I beg some of the chocolate ones as well?"

Chef Andre gave her a puzzled look but then rushed over and began loading another plate for her.

"Of course Princess!" He hurried back, making room on the tray she was holding and carefully placing the new plate next to the one already laden with pretty pink cookies.

"Thank you!" Sofia said, turning and giving the whole room a bright smile before disappearing out the side door.

Spring was falling on Enchancia slowly, but after so many years in a land where the ground never thawed, she was already feeling quite warm. Still she thought it might be best not to suggest going outside for tea, no matter how inviting the sunlight was.

A few more minutes and many determined steps later, Sofia found herself standing in front of a large wooden door. Smiling fondly at the two statues flanking its expanse, she remembered how much they'd frightened her as a little girl. As though they were an ordeal she needed to pass through before receiving the reward of entry to the mystical land beyond.

Now she just thought they were ugly. Ugly and oddly endearing in their ability to make her anxious for what came next.

Rebalancing the tray on one hand, Sofia knocked gently.

There was the sound of a muffled curse from within and then a long suffering sigh.

"Yes, yes, come in, you're going to anyway!"

Shaking her head, even as a genuine warmth spread from her heart all the way out to her extremities, Sofia took the wrought iron knob in hand and pushed the door open.

His back was to her as he sat on his red velvet cushioned chair, hunched over a spell book at his worktable. Sofia could see the quill in his hand and the ink stains on his fingers as he made diligent annotations to something or other.

"What do you want?" He called over his shoulder rudely, not bothering to look up from his task.

Leaning up against the doorway she took in what she could of him. It had been hardly more than a year since she'd last seen him, but every time their paths crossed, she was startled by how his form no longer matched the image of him she held in her memory.

He was still tall and thin, but age had thickened him a bit, adding a much needed padding to the frame that had once been so painfully gaunt. The gray in his hair was no longer confined to his bangs, but had spread all the way back, so it was finally all one color. Despite this it had lost none of its silky thickness, and she still had to tamp down on the desire of her hands to run through it.

Sofia found herself feeling anxious flutterings in her stomach, wanting him to turn around so she could see the rest of him.

Cocking an eyebrow, she screwed up her courage. "I was hoping to have tea with an old friend."

At the sound of her voice, quiet but teasingly confident, his back straightened and the quill dropped from his grasp. He went very still for a moment as though he weren't sure he should believe his ears. Then slowly he began to pivot around on his chair.

His face was surprisingly unchanged and Sofia felt such relief when she saw his familiar brown eyes and long, distinguished nose. He wore glasses now, and there were a few more lines, a few more crags, to his beloved face, but otherwise he was unmistakably her sorcerer.

Thin lips curled up in the smallest of smiles and Sofia detected the slightest tremble in his long, elegant fingers as they pulled off his spectacles.

"Princess," the word was barely a whisper.

"Master Sorcerer," she responded, giving him an irreverent smile, and bowing slightly.

"No one told me you were coming home." He said it almost as if he were apologizing.

Hearing the tea pot and plates rattle from her movements, he suddenly stood and rushed over to take them from her, placing them on the barrel that sometimes held stray potion bottles but was at the moment bare.

"I only just arrived a few hours ago. I've been with the King the whole time."

Her words were light, simply stating the fact, but it seemed both of them were drawn back into memories of the last time she'd come to him directly from the king….

The final ingredient was ready to go into the potion. Cedric carefully tapped the vial into his palm three times, getting exactly three of the small crystals situated in the cup of his hand.

"Once I add these three crystalized griffin tears Wormy, I'll finally have the power to change old socks into monsoons!" He all but cackled.

Why he should want such a power hadn't really occurred to Cedric, but then there was a great deal of magic one did because one could and not necessarily because one should. Besides he was fairly certain such a power would come in handy someday, even if he didn't need it today, or have any socks to spare.

Still as royal sorcerer it was his job to be prepared. And Merlin knew he'd been asked for stranger things in his life.

Just as he was about to drop in the last crystal, the door to his workshop was flung open, slamming into the wall behind. It startled him so, he lost his grip on the small vial and all the griffin tears fell into the brew right along with their container, causing the potion to explode in his face.

"PROSPERO'S PICKLES!" He screamed, "Just look what you've d…." All his anger melted away as did his breath to finish the scolding that had been leaping off his tongue just seconds before.

Sofia was standing in his doorway utter panic completely eclipsing the look of sunny serenity which normally resided on her sweet face.

"Oh Mr. Cedric!"

Her expression crumpled completely as she flung herself at him.

Not knowing what to make of any of it, he found himself simply standing there, arms held aloft, as the girl practically strangled the life out of him with the ferocity of her embrace.

Every moment he did nothing Sofia felt herself growing more desperate. If she was a different person, perhaps more like Amber, she would have just yelled at him to hug her back already. But she wasn't. It wasn't in her nature to demand of others what they wouldn't freely give, especially not for her own benefit. And despite his many wonderful qualities, Cedric had never been a hugger, or a nurturer of any kind really.

Pulling back just slightly she took in his scandalized expression.

She'd ambushed him with many a hug over the years, but they'd always been exuberant, joyful expressions of her affection for him. Not the passionate explosion of anguish that was erupting all over him now.

"I'm sorry," she suddenly felt embarrassed and attempted to reign in her emotions, though she didn't make the slightest move to let him go.

"Child whatever has gotten into you?" He asked, his hands coming to grasp her upper arms, finally pushing her away as he always did.

"I…I'm…,"the words didn't want to come out. And for a single second, Sofia had the ridiculous, childish notion if she didn't say it, somehow it couldn't happen.

When she was still silent a full minute later, Cedric felt his anxiety getting the better of him. Sofia was many things: annoyingly good, humble, sweet, affectionate, smart and witty, and almost obnoxiously optimistic. One thing she was not was prone to over dramatic displays.

"Dear gods girl spit it out before I have a coronary!" He said, shaking her a little without really meaning to and immediately feeling remorseful for the insensitivity of it.

"I'm to marry Prince Carl Henrik." Her voice was so soft and so little she sounded almost exactly like the lost eight year old she'd been all those years ago when he'd asked if she wanted to see his workshop for the first time.

He felt a long suppressed desire rise to the surface of him. It reared up so swiftly, so fiercely, mastering it left Cedric barely able to think or breath and so they simply stood there, a few steps apart, his hands clasping her arms, her looking at the ground, and him at the top of her head.

He'd known this day was coming for a long time.

Perhaps longer than even Sofia had. It was the inevitable end to a royal childhood. She may not have been born so, but Sofia was a princess. She was the acknowledged daughter of a King. She had been groomed, educated, and prepped for a royal marriage for the last decade.

There was simply no world in which Rolland would have put so much effort into turning his grubby little peasant step-daughter into a dazzling young lady, without expecting a return on his investment. And the Crown Prince of Freezenburg was a handsome return by even the most exacting standards.

He knew Sofia was shocked, that even after all the offers of courtship, after seeing Amber given to an arranged marriage and learning Princess Vivian was coming to live with them, per Rolland's long ago agreement with her parents, she still thought her humble birth would save her from a similar fate.

She had thought perhaps if she continued to refuse offer after offer she might be given the right to retire into duchess-hood like her aunt and someday marry a young man of her choosing.

But Cedric had known for years now her dreams were just that.

If she'd been a different person perhaps….

But she wasn't. She was Sofia. A beautiful, enchanting, enthralling, rare ray of sunlight in a dark, dark world. And everything she was made those around her want more of her. Rolland would have seen it, just as he did, from the beginning. And when at fifteen she'd flowered into an outward beauty that was a perfect reflection of her bright and dazzling inside, her fate had been sealed.

It broke his heart, not the least because he knew she was here desperate for a way to escape the inevitable. That she had pinned her very last hope on the idea her sorcerer, her strange, dark, magical friend could find some way, unbeknownst to anyone else, to rescue her from her fate.

And again the desire reared its ugly head, teeth gnashing at Cedric's insides. It was within his power to take her away where none of them would ever find her. If he did it now it would be hours before anyone even suspected anything was amiss.

But if he gave into the selfish desire to spare her from the realities of her world, what good would he really be doing her?

She might believe she would prefer to live the humble life of a village girl over the dazzling but artificial one of a Princess. Especially if it spared her from marriage to a man she didn't love. But how long would the allure of a simple life last? Past the first hard winter? Past the first epidemic that swept like wildfire through the peasantry? Certainly it wouldn't live long in the face of the endless struggle to keep enough food in one's belly. Or the need to pick up and leave everything behind again and again when she was inevitably recognized.

As much as she wanted to revolt against the realization her charmed childhood was merely a smoke screen for an adulthood spent as a commodity to the crown, she would be safer, and he dare thought happier, in this life than she would in her old.

Once you'd had wealth and privilege it was virtually impossible to go back.

And so just this once he would do something honorable, something unselfish. Even if she couldn't understand or appreciate why he was doing it. Even if she would be angry at him for making a choice for her.

Just this once.

For her.

Sofia heard her friend make a sound under his breath, and finally looked up at him.

She'd hoped to find him distressed by her news. She'd hoped maybe this sudden pulling out of the rug from under their comfortable, cozy companionship might push him to make a daring choice. But instead she found him smiling widely at her, the look lighting his face in a way that was oddly beautiful on her usually grumpy and sour sorcerer.

If she wanted to be picky she could have pointed out his eyes remained wet even as he tried to radiate chipper cheer, but she was too beat down to call him on it.

"Then I suppose congratulations are in order, Princess." He said brightly, dropping his hands from her arms and giving her a little bow.

Sofia looked at him astonished.

"Oh don't be so gloomy, girl. This is a wonderful thing! Did you ever think, when you were sitting in your little hovel in the village, you'd be Queen of a great land someday? I know you don't like to be told what to do, but I hope you didn't let your stubbornness prevent you from thanking the King for arranging such an illustrious match!"

Sofia began to shake her head, even as she continued staring at him, and Cedric felt sure if she didn't stop he would be unable to continue this loathsome farce. Putting a single finger under her chin, he closed her mouth for her.

"I suppose all these tears, and that…assault I was forced to endure just now are because you're fearful of leaving your home and friends for a strange new place. But honestly child, it's only Freezenburg. You've been there plenty of times and you'll get to come home as often as you like. It's not like you won't ever see any of us again!"

"But…."

Sofia tried to break in, but Cedric ignored her, turning away from her and all but skipping over to his bookshelves, picking out one large volume after another.

"Now, I assume you will want the world's most sensational sorcerer to perform at your wedding. And since you are the world's most sensational apprentice, and know what truly amazing feats of magic I'm capable of, I will let you pick out the spells yourself! Come."

He smiled down at her now from up on his rolling ladder and Sofia felt the iron bars of her life closing in on her. He was happy for her. Excited for her illustrious future. He wasn't angry or hopeless or even the least bit upset at the thought of losing their intimate companionship….

"What did he want?" Cedric's voice pulled them both back into the present and Sofia realized he sounded almost fearful.

She took a moment to wonder if he ever regretted encouraging her to accept her fate all those years ago. If he ever wished he had…. But she knew that was ridiculous.

"Nothing," she answered nonchalantly, brushing aside the hurt she was astonished to realize she could still feel when thinking about that long ago conversation. "I wanted something from him." She finally answered somewhat mysteriously.

Suddenly Cedric's arms were around her and she was being pulled into an all-encompassing hug.

She came eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face against his shoulder. She breathed in his familiar, comforting scent, as he pulled her closer and let his cheek rest against her hair.

All those years ago he'd been a miserable hugger, even after all the ones she'd given him as a child. But they'd been through so much since the day she came to him hoping for a way out of her betrothal, so much neither of them could ever have foreseen. It had brought them closer when she'd been convinced they would be torn apart. And over the years he'd finally relented to the soothing contentment of a good hug.

Pulling away after what, to Sofia, seemed too short a time, he gave her a genuine smile.

"Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad you're home, and I always have time for tea with my oldest friend."

Picking the tray up, the smile still wide on his face, he led her to the small sitting room that adjoined his workshop.

Sofia took her 'usual' spot on the warn settee, a seat far better suited to the voluminous skirts of her dresses, as Cedric lit a small fire in the grate and pulled two cups down from the mantel, handing them to her so she could pour for them.

When the fire was set and the tea made, Cedric got comfortable in his overstuffed armchair and they sat opposite each other over the small table.

Sofia had the idea he was comparing her to his mental image as well, and she wondered what he thought of the differences. With the magic of corsets and stays she assumed her figure didn't look much different than it had all those years ago, though she could most certainly see the changes when she looked in the mirror at night. She wore her hair up now in elaborate styles her maid spent a great deal of time doing every morning. Her face was a little less round, and her eyes a little worldlier, but she fancied she was still young even if she was no longer immature.

"How are you holding up?" He finally asked, his tone somewhat rough.

Sofia realized they'd been silently staring at each other for a long while.

She chose to take another sip of her tea before answering, hoping to come up with a response that was honest without being too harsh.

"I'm well. Perhaps more so than everyone would like to me to be. Carl was a good Prince, a good father, and he always tried to be a good man. But you know he left much to be desired as a husband."

Cedric only nodded. He was the one person to whom she needn't to lie about her nonexistent affection for her dead spouse.

"And so what will you do now? Surely the king doesn't mean to marry you off again so soon?"

It was the question which had driven her to make an uninvited, unexpected appearance today. Sofia knew only too well a relatively young, widowed princess was as much a commodity as a young, virgin princess, though to a different market of buyers.

"I have no idea what the King wanted, but I've had his promise now, face to face." She watched Cedric raise an eyebrow and shrugged as though what she was about to say wasn't so significant. "I'm thirty-five. Even if Rolland were to betroth me tomorrow, I'd be thirty-seven before I could bare another child, and that's far too old to guarantee a living heir. No, I'm done with marriage and princes and all the rest of it.

With Princess Astrid and Princess Hildegard married off and Carl dead, king Henrik is all too happy to have me stay in Freezenburg and run his homes and lands while he rules and prepares Frederick to inherit after him. He's given me a home of my own. I have a place close to the palace, close to my child, and for the first time in my life I'm my own mistress. I'm… free!" The last word came bubbling up out of her and Sofia had to stifle the urge to laugh uncontrollably!

Cedric looked at her bemused, before pulling out his wand and waving it over the table. There was a bright burst of light and then a large bottle of amber colored liquid appeared along with two small glasses. Putting his wand away he took the bottle and uncorked it, pouring a good amount into both glasses and then handing one to her.

"That sounds like it deserves some celebration." He said, taking his own glass and swirling the contents.

"Drinking at four in the afternoon, how scandalous!" She said, sneering at him but good naturedly.

"As you said, you're a free woman now, you can drink at four in the afternoon if it pleases you." He responded with a sneer of his own.

Sofia bent her head to her glass briefly, taking in the aroma of the alcohol, if only to gather herself. He might be a man in his fifties now, but that look had always held a carnal power over her.

Lifting her head up again, she smiled raising her glass.

"It pleases me to share a drink with you… at any hour."

He nodded at that, giving her a second wide smile in one afternoon. An occurrence she couldn't ever remember having happened before.

"Cheers," he said raising his own glass.

"Prost," she answered clinking hers to his before drinking deeply.