AN: Here's Chapter 2! Warning: ANGST ahoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or Ella Enchanted.

I slumped in the pew as High Chancellor Figgins droned on and on. I refused to listen. It wasn't as though he was actually talking about Father. Some of his speech mentioned "Sir Burt," but I did not recognize the person he spoke of. Why didn't he talk about how funny Father could be, how generous? How he would carry Carol off to her bed some nights when she fell asleep in the kitchen instead of waking her. How everyone in our household had loved him so, myself most of all. Most of the speech was about death, and about swearing allegiance to the kingdom of Kyrria and its royal family. The names "King Andrew" and "Prince Blaine" were spoken much more often than "Sir Burt."

I wished I could be with Carol and Shannon and the other servants. Instead, I sat next to Mother, my hand held firmly in hers, her nails digging into my palm ever so slightly. I knew if I tried to withdraw from her grasp she would just grab me again. I wondered if my faerie godmother would send Mother away if I could find her. I wondered if she could bring Father back if I asked.

High Chancellor Figgins stopped speaking, and suddenly everyone was looking at me. It was my duty to close the lid of Father's mahogany casket. I rose shakily to my feet, feeling my knees bucking slightly. Mother put her hands on my back and pushed me forward.

Father's mouth was in a thin line, making his face much more stern than I was used to seeing. His face was blank, and staring at it, I choked back a sob as I lowered the lid. The thought of Father stored away forever in a cramped box was too much.

The tears I had been holding back all day burst forth. I stood in front of the whole crowd of people with tears streaming down my cheeks, unable to stop my loud sobs. Mother rushed forward and pressed me into her chest. To anyone watching, it must have appeared as though she were comforting me, but I knew it was just to stifle my loud wailing. It was to no avail. She leaned down and hissed in my ear, "Get out of here right now, Porcelain. Don't come back until you can keep quiet."

I certainly would not fight against this order. I fled, tripping and falling over the clunky boots I was wearing. I ignored the sting in my knee and palm as I picked myself up and ran out of the room.

I didn't want to see Father's grave, so I ran to the grand weeping willow in the middle of the grave yard. I pushed my way through its curtain of leaves and threw myself down onto the ground, my sobs now completely unrestrained. Everyone had told me how sorry they were for my loss, but the truth was, Father wasn't lost. He was gone, and no matter how long or hard I searched, I would never find him. I would never sing to him again, or hold his hand. We would never joke and laugh together. Or slide down the banister or attempt to pull pranks on Carol. Or a thousand other things.

Once I had cried myself dry, I sat up and frowned down at my mourning outfit. The black silk was wrinkled and covered in dirt. One of the silver chains across the front of my jacket had broken. Carol would have called me a spectacle.

The order Mother had given me had started to bother me. I had no idea how much time had passed, but now that I was quiet, I had to go back. I started to feel a little nauseous, but I was distracted from the feeling momentarily when I realized I wasn't alone. Outside of the veil of my tree, Prince Blaine stood facing a tombstone. I had never been in such close proximity to him before. I blushed faintly; sure that he had heard my loud wailing.

The prince was a year older than I and a little taller. He greatly resembled his father, although Prince Andrew's sharp angles were softened in the youth of his son. They each had dark, almost black curls and a slightly olive complexion. The prince's eyes shifted and met mine, a beautiful shade of hazel.

"An uncle of mine," Prince Blaine said, pointed to the tombstone in front of him. "I never liked him much. I liked your father." He turned and started to walk back towards Father's grave.

I didn't know what to do. Did he expect me to follow? Did I need to maintain an appropriate distance from his highness? I walked at his side, leaving enough room between us for two giants to walk hand in hand. He moved closer. I noticed that he had been crying, too, although clearly with much more dignity than I.

"You can call me Blaine," he mentioned out of nowhere, "There's no need to bother with the title."

I could? I stayed silent.

"It's what all my friends call me," he added.

"Thank you," I managed to squeak out, my voice hoarse from all my crying.

"Thank you, Blaine," he amended with a hint of a smile. For a moment we fell into silence again. Then, "Your father used to make me laugh. At banquets, he would always do silent impressions of Chancellor Figgins as he pontificated. One time he arranged the food on his plate to look like the chancellor's profile, with the mouth hanging open and the bulbous little nose. I saw it before your mother managed to mess it up, and I had to excuse myself from the hall to go outside and laugh."

We were almost back; I could see Mother standing by Father's grave. It seemed as though the crowd had dispersed.

"Where did everyone go?" I asked Blaine in surprise.

"They were all leaving as I came to find you," he replied. "Did you want them to stay?" He sounded concerned, as though perhaps he should have made them all stay.

My chin jutted out. "No, I didn't want anyone to stay." I would have been happy if Mother had left as well.

"I know all about you;" Blaine offered, "our cooks meet and gossip in the market. Do you know much about me?"

Carol had never mentioned the prince. "No. What do you know about me?"

"I've heard that you sing beautifully, and that you are very passionate about current trends in court fashion. I know that you are funny like your father, but perhaps a bit more biting in your style of humor. Once, you reduced Lady Rachel of Berry to tears with your sharp wit."

"She had been screeching at me for the past hour!"

"I heard that you were screeching right back at her." He laughed then, but it wasn't to mock me. It was a good natured laugh, and it sounded smooth, like freshly churned butter.

We had arrived at Father's grave, and Mother greeted Blaine with a curtsy, eyeing the oils that coated his curls with something akin to suspicion. "My thanks, Your Majesty, for finding my son."

Blaine answered this with a graceful bow.

"Come, Porcelain." I flushed a little. I wished she would not call me that, especially in front of the prince. I could never tell if it was spoken with affection or ridicule for my fair skin.

As we said our goodbyes to Prince Blaine, I gazed at Father's grave. I could feel my knees trembling again as I walked toward the carriage, and my foot caught on the first step. Suddenly, a strong arm wrapped around my waist and a hand gripped under my elbow. I turned my head and my eyes met the hazel of Blaine's. A gentle smile graced his lips, which I hastily forced myself to look away from, muttering a "thank you," before climbing in. I gazed out the window at him as he waved to us, the signature royal salute, probably as natural to him as breathing. I still felt tremulous as I thought of Father, but there was a new sensation, quiet and deep in the pit of my belly, that I had never experienced before. I clasped my hands together to stop them from shaking and scooted on the seat, as far away from Mother as I could manage.

"It was an outstanding occasion," Mother was saying, as though Father's funeral were some kind of celebration, "All the important people attended."

"It was terrible." How could Father's funeral ever be outstanding?

"It seems you've befriended the prince."

"He liked Father."

Mother pursed her lips and gazed out the window as our carriage rocked into motion. "Your father was a good man. I'm sorry he's dead."

Next chapter: Kurt meets some new people at Burt's memorial dinner. Will they be friends or enemies?