Hey, everybody! So… this is my first update in exactly one month, but that's because this chapter has been a long time in the making. (I know, excuses, excuses… ;-) ) Anyway, I just want to rectify some wrongs in the last chapter (thanks to Ellsbeta – muchos gracias!): Ariana cannot read the letter, and I stated that she had. I'm glad that she found the error, because once I saw it, it really irked me – I just didn't want to bother you guys with reading basically the same chapter without that flaw. Thanks also to aries200, Lumiere Hikari, Bingo7, and bellathedisenchanted. Now, I'll stop ranting. Enjoy!

Chapter Seven

Ariana

"So… tell me what his name is," I begged as Marielle dressed my hair. I was still waiting for my breakfast, and I suspected that sir-handsome-stranger wasn't going to make another appearance. I smiled at my reflection in the mirror, wishing absently for earrings. Mother had always told me that she thought jewels in one's earlobes were vulgar and common, and had forbidden me to pierce them. That hadn't stopped me from wanting to and envying those who had, though. "Will you tell me, please?" I asked again, my thoughts flashing back to the more pressing matter at hand.

"No. I don't want to," Marielle answered sulkily, looping a green ribbon around one of the strands. "So I don't think I will."

"I can just insist that you tell me," I pointed out triumphantly, glancing in the mirror for one last look before turning to face Marielle, who had finally scrubbed her face free of the ink stain I'd noticed last night. "Or I could just ask Margaret. 'Ooh, who is the amazingly handsome young man that my lady-in-waiting flirts with so nicely?' " I grinned, watching in satisfaction as her face darkened to a lovely shade of rose.

"I was talking," Marielle answered hotly, winding the ribbon around her finger. "I was not flirting. A Young Lady never flirts," she mimicked that awful governess she always complained about as her finger slowly turned purple. "That sort of behavior is only for common whores with loose morals and nothing to lose." Ouch; point taken, dear. I snorted at the statement, and turned so that she could tie the hair back.

"Marielle, you're always the first to say that you aren't a Young Lady."

"All the more reason not to say such things to others!" she pronounced with the air of one who has just scored a major victory. Not having followed her twisted logic, I blinked a couple times before nodding. "Of course, Marielle. Whatever you say. Now, anyway, tell me what his name is."

"I won't!" she folded her arms across her chest and forced a furious scowl onto her face. Child.

Unfortunately for Marielle, at that moment a knock came from the door to my chamber. "Breakfast for the princess," a male voice stated from behind the door. My brown eyes met Marielle's green ones, hers fierce with determination. Both pairs narrowed.

Marielle leapt from her seat and flew for the door as I followed, accidentally slamming into her. I heard a thud as she went down, but it didn't matter; I'd gotten to the door first. Quickly, as she scrambled to her feet, I wrenched the door open and grinned a crocodile smile. It was the mysterious stranger. I'd won. "Thank you, but I don't usually eat in the morning," I stated, taking the tray from his hands and placing it on the low table by the door. He looked from Marielle's somewhat-disheveled appearance from her slight tumble to me, a nervous expression beginning to show on his features. "Excuse me, but what is your name, please?" I asked before he could make an escape, smiling widely again and leaning against the doorframe to block my lady-in-waiting.

"Benjamin, Princess. I'm, um, the son of Mage Joaquin. He's courting the duchess." The last bit was said in a rush, as if he were embarrassed to say it. I regarded him for a moment, surprised – I hadn't known that, and I doubted that father had, either. In Marquia, it is customary for the closest male relative to give permission before the courtship took place, and I doubted that my father had heard either… but the idea of a secret romance was exciting, and so I put any ideas of protocol out of my mind.

"Don't mind her, Ben," Marielle called out, throwing an irritated glance my way. "She's just… just Ariana," she finished lamely, for lack of an adjective that would describe my behavior without giving herself away. I stopped blocking the doorway and turned to face Marielle, who tugged nervously at the bodice of her green dress. Then, without warning, she gave a cry and staggered, clapping a hand to her forehead as her eyes widened.

Before I could react, Benjamin had reached her, catching Marielle before she hit the ground, one arm down to support her back. There was a moment of tense, nervous silence before she opened her eyes and gave her head a little shake, her hand still on the wall from where she'd tried to keep herself from falling. "Are – are you all right, milady?" the mage's son asked, slowly bringing her up to a standing position. Noticing Ben's intense gaze, I smiled slightly and stepped back, trying not to feel concerned. Marielle was fine. Of course she was fine.

"I – yes, yes, it's nothing," Marielle muttered, ducking her head and stepping back. "Nothing," she repeated, flashing a bright smile towards both of us. "I'm fine."

"You really should see a healer," Benjamin insisted, his brows knitted together in an odd, concerned little frown. "My father should have returned from the village, maybe we ought to speak to him –"

"I told you both," she laughed, her voice containing, this time, a slight sense of urgency. "I'm fine." There was a silence in which Ben regarded Marielle carefully before his lips twitched and his face broke into an easy smile.

"Would you care to see manor, as well as the grounds?" he inquired, looking at both of us. "Princess, I know it has been some time since you have last visited, and, Marielle, you've never been."

"That would be wonderful, thank you," I finally spoke, truly smiling for the first time that morning. "And… may I inquire as to the whereabouts of the duchess?"

"She is out with my father, I think. She wanted to tell the villagers about this… party she's decided to throw. Now, are you ready for the grand tour?" Ben asked cheerfully, clapping his hands together. "I've been assigned to be your guard, Princess," he added as we followed him into the corridor. "Her grace knows that the king would prefer you to be protected at all times, especially in such an unfamiliar territory, and… oh! This room," he began as I processed the information, "was the bedchamber of the late duke, and is actually where he died. The cook, Aridia, believes that his ghost is still here…"

And we were off on a tour, with Benjamin telling us bits of trivia about each room, as if he actually cared about it. Marielle, who enjoyed learning about the past, was enthralled, excitedly connecting each piece of history with something she'd already learned. I didn't like history nearly as much, and, being left out of their conversation, I was bored. I managed to fake enthusiasm every time they looked back at me, but for the most part, I allowed my mind to wander. Benjamin would be a good protector; I was sure of it. Having been around guards all my life, I could tell the good ones from the cruel or lazy. He did talk too much about things I didn't care about, which didn't give him a completely fantastic first impression. Still, he wasn't stupid, that was for sure.

Despite the death-by-boredom tour, the gardens caught my attention. Aunt Ivy had allowed her namesake to crawl and cling to the walls in the small courtyard, and consequently, the entire area looked green. Flashes of color where exotic flowers bloomed bombarded my vision from all sides; the intoxicating scents of thousands of blossoms swirled around me. In one small corner, I could see who I presumed was the cook, harvesting a few plants from the tiny herb garden. I'd loved plants all my life, and it had been my aunt who had actually cultivated my interest in botany. I'd always been interested in what the physicians in the castle did, and how they worked, and I would sometimes observe them. All I had learned to do thus far, however, was heal burns.

I didn't dwell on this, though, as I watched Marielle bounce along happily with Ben, her smile lighting up her face each time she laughed, while he answered just as cheerfully. I noticed, though, that he kept his hands clasped behind his back, except for when he let go to point at something. The gesture, though strange, seemed more out of habit than a conscious attempt not to touch something, which would suit my lady-in-waiting just fine; she'd never been demonstrative, and hated my (and Bridgette's, come to think of it) sudden hugs. "Sneak attacks," she would call them, shuddering.

The grounds were as beautiful as the garden, with sprawling willows, a little pond shrouded by oak trees that looked, in my opinion, fairly climbable, and a meticulously maintained moat. Aunt Ivy's was the only manor home I knew of that actually had a moat surrounding the walls of the main building; she said that the border wars several years ago had forced whoever had been the duke to do something to protect the people inside. Clean and clear, the "moat" had been enchanted by Ben's father to have a slight current, so that the water did not become "stagnant and ugly," as the magician's son explained, distaste in his eyes for the frivolity of the action. Still, he went so far as to claim that it had once been stocked with poisonous snakes. A step up, I assumed, from the monsters that were said to guard the castles of Irenta, but did not say aloud.

"Her grace told me all of this," he admitted as we gazed at the moat which, I noted, did not contain garbage or waste or any other disgusting products, as the moat at home did. "I mean, all the little stories. It was her idea to give the… tour."

"It was a good one," Marielle said thoughtfully, leaning over as she dragged her fingers across the water, swirling sand particles so that they caught the sun. "It's always good to know the little facts about where you live – well, where we're staying."

We were silent for a few moments, watching the light swirl of the water and enjoying the warm sunlight on our shoulders. Without thinking, I removed my slippers and sat down on the grass to dangle my feet in the water. It felt wonderful – freedom to be myself without worrying about being caught or scolded or looked at in a disapproving manner. Ben, who had, I realized, been waiting for me to sit, sat down on the bank; Marielle hurriedly thumped to the ground as well, her eyes closed as she relaxed in the sunlight.

For a moment there was silence between us, and then, surprisingly, I was the first to speak. "What did you mean about a party?" I asked, turning to face Ben. Of course, Marielle had packed a nice gown or two, but they weren't ball attire, and I wasn't entirely sure I would need them, anyway. I tipped my head back, and let the warmth of the sun on my face contrast with the cool water on my feet; the grass smelled fresh and… clean, I suppose, and I could detect the scent of sage on the breeze. Simply paradise.

"She's decided to throw a party – a ball, sort of, but a party – next week, celebrating your engagement."

In that moment, the perfection of the world around me shattered as I was forcibly dragged back down into reality. My engagement. Of course. What else was there to be celebrated? I wondered bitterly, the already-dragging secret I carried suddenly gaining another ten pounds. My eyes went towards Marielle's direction, but she wasn't looking at me, worried; no, she, the endlessly hopeless romantic, was gazing at Benjamin, her eyes dreamy and thoughtful. She was no help.

"My engagement," I swallowed, drawing my feet out of the water as the breeze washed over me again, though this time it felt unpleasantly cool. "Yes. Ah… I'm ready to go inside, now," I spoke, and Marielle instantly got to her feet, her quick fingers picking up my shoes and her own. "I'm rather hungry, surprisingly."

***

It was one evening a few days later, as we sat at Aunt Ivy's enormous dining table, that I first met the Mage Joaquin. He spoke Irentian with a thicker accent than his son did; I supposed it was because Benjamin spent most of his time in the Walled City, studying with his uncle. Anyhow, the mage resembled his son in everything but his manner – they both had the green eyes that suggested they were part of an elfin bloodline, similar tattoos, and longish black hair. Though Ben enjoyed conversing, he was quiet and more reserved than his father, who spent most of the evening gesticulating wildly and shouting in his booming voice. When I consider the prejudices we all held then, I am surprised that my people readily accepted an Irentian mage when a common Marquian warlock was treated with less respect. I could see, however, why my aunt loved him. He spoke kindly to both myself and Marielle, showed appropriate respect, and, when Marielle inquired, told us all how excited he was about their impending wedding. I was comfortable, to my surprise, with the intimate setting of the table; we were joined by Aunt Ivy's manservant, the cook, the scullery maid, and, finally, by the harried-looking Margaret. Aside from Marielle and one or two children when I was younger, I had never actually befriended any of the servants.

The past three days we had spent at the manor had been wonderful; with Benjamin as a companion, Marielle and I had explored the grounds, added to her collection of stories with a book of Irentian folktales, and merely relaxed inside the manor. Ben had proven to be kind, perceptive, and thoughtful, and while he was always ready with an answer, he wasn't especially talkative. This worked out very well for my lady-in-waiting, who would talk to a stick if there was nobody else, especially because he was a good listener. It was clear to anybody who paid attention (and I did) that they had an undeniable chemistry, and I was happy to see Marielle light up whenever he was around, and vice versa. Of course, thoughts of her father, not to mention her overprotective brother, entered my head… but, as with Aunt Ivy, I shoved it away. It didn't matter here, where there was nobody around to disapprove of anything.

"I had thought," Aunt Ivy proclaimed that evening as Margaret took her place near the end of the table, "that it would be lovely if we both announced our engagements at the same time, Ari."

"Really?" I asked, trying not to show my dismay. Partially because… well, she was my aunt, and partially because Father still didn't know. Still, it was strange, and I tried to cover the awkwardness by answering, "That sounds wonderful!" in a voice that was far too bright.

"Good," Aunt Ivy responded, clearly proud of herself for the idea. "And so, in four days' time, we will be having a… oh, a ball, I suppose, is really the more appropriate word. We'll hire some extra people for the cleanup, of course," she added hastily to the scullery maid, Ava, and poor Margaret, who looked as though she wanted to collapse into her plate. "Formal attire, strictly – I expect we'll only have the villagers, but that's all right, there's always Joaquin's friends –"

In the corner, the mage gave a small cough as Ben shot him a stricken look. I blinked, hoping Aunt Ivy hadn't noticed; no, she continued chattering on cheerfully as Marielle nodded politely, her eyes rather glazed over. "Ah, dearest –" Mage Joaquin finally managed to get out, "it may not be such a grand idea to invite my friends. They're a little… eccentric," he managed, just as Ben snapped, "Insane."

My aunt's face fell, and she sighed. "Very well, we'll have to do without the, ah, magical crowd for the evening. Are you quite sure –"

"Father's closest friend is a wizard who frequently misplaces his wand," Ben announced, a hint of irritation in his typically placid tone. "The last time he did so, I nearly lost an eye."

"Ah," Aunt Ivy's own eyes widened before she snapped her expression back to its usual one – a cross between merriment and secrecy – and continued buttering her roll. "I see. Well, there's always Ariana's groom, of course – and Marielle, you do have family in the area, yes?" I turned, confused, to Marielle, who, upon suddenly having everyone's attention upon her, resembled a goldfish. "Um, yes, Aunt Ivy," she managed to get out, her face flushing. "My mother and brother live about twenty miles east. And my sister-in-law," she added quickly, swirling her food together. I had never actually visited my lady-in-waiting's childhood home, as to do so would require her father's accompaniment, and Sir Ian nearly never went back there if he didn't have to. At least, I thought, observing Marielle, my parents were in love – or if they weren't, each at least tolerated the other until I was out of the room. And at least my father had not engaged in any extramarital affairs around the castle, as the nobility did frequently… Bridgette had, of course, kept me informed about all the gossip.

"Well, we shall have to extend them an invitation!" boomed Joaquin, and Marielle's face immediately relaxed into a smile as she looked up, raising her fork to her lips. "What is your mother's name?"

"Lady Imogene d'Este," she answered, putting the fork down with great reluctance. Disinterested, I became aware that, down the table, the servants were having their own discussion involving who was in charge of what during the party, and I began to feel sorry for them. I'd never really considered how an event like a ball – or, in my case, the lavish occasions my mother continued to toss out for my fiancé – affected the help. Without thinking, I blurted out suddenly, "I can help with the gardens"… and then felt like an idiot as each person stared at me as if a frog had just spoken. "That is… I can help with the… arrangement of the flowers, and that sort of thing. At least before. If you need me to. I mean…" my voice dropped off to nothing, and I turned my attention back to my food, trying not to feel any stupider than I did.

"Nay, milady, anythin' ye like," the-manservant-whose-name-escapes-me nodded thoughtfully. " 'Twould save me a lotta trouble, that's for sure, what with makin' the new plans and all." I nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. It would be nice to help with the gardens – and it would certainly get my mind off of Braxton. I couldn't help but remember how he'd promised to come a few days ago, but it hadn't happened. Obviously, my mother had held him up with some wine tasting or feast or fitting.

She'd unknowingly bought me another three days of freedom. But how long would this last? I didn't know, and didn't want to think about it more than I had to; still, I didn't know how to avoid it. I was deep in thought, and I almost didn't hear Marielle calling my name.

"Princess? Uh, milady?" she asked, and I started. At the head of the table, my aunt was snorting, "You don't have to call her that here, dear! Goodness, you'd think she actually carried on that way…" Marielle, flushing, mumbled a quick yes-Aunt-Ivy and explained what I'd apparently missed. "Ben says that he wants to show us something – he thought you'd find it interesting, what with your wedding being so soon. He thought that it might help you adjust better, to living somewhere else." I looked over at Benjamin, whose eyes were earnest, and smiled.

"Of course," I stated dryly, standing. "I'm sure anything will help."

***

As the courtship between Mage Joaquin and Aunt Ivy was fairly recent, Ben explained on the walk to his study, his father had called him from his home with his uncle in the Walled City to come and meet her, just a few weeks before. "It's nice being on a break from learning," he admitted as we began the trek up a long staircase. "My uncle isn't the most patient teacher in the world. Still, my father moved this here, and when you spoke about your wedding I thought it would be the perfect thing."

"Really?" I asked, intrigued by the mysterious offer. We'd reached the corridor that contained Benjamin's father's study by now, and I was growing both excited and anxious. "And… what is it, exactly?"

"It," Ben announced grandly, sweeping the door open, "is this."

What he was referring to was immediately obvious – standing at least two feet taller than I was, and twice as wide, a vast mirror dominated the right wall of the study. To be truthful, it was not exactly an impressive thing to behold; the frame, with strange words carved around it, had turned brass from disuse, and I could see spots of bright metal where gems had fallen out. The mirror itself was a strangely bent, gray-green color. "Now, if you just stand here," Ben demonstrated, guiding me over so that I was directly in front of it, "and look at yourself…" I obliged, turning my head away from him and into the eyes of my reflection, and gasped. Silver sparks licked at the frame, replacing the brass with gold, cleaning the grimy letters around the rim, and adding the missing jewels – magic, obviously, but what was the purpose?

I realized said purpose immediately as the sparks leapt from the frame, and as the mirror turned to shimmering clarity, my reflection changed as well. My features were still the same, but my skin was a shade darker, less pasty; my hair was threaded with a silver cord that met a matching tiara, and I was draped with what I could only presume was my wedding dress. I swallowed, and tried to ignore what I knew about this costume – accept that it was magic, and pretty, and my new friend Ben had shown it to me to please me. The whole-murderer-bent-on-power thing was still solely between me and Marielle, and I intended it to stay that way. Still, I turned my head, admiring my false jewelry (earrings!) and carrying on the way any female would in front of a mirror. "It's amazing," I turned to Ben, smiling. "Why does it –"

"No, wait. You have to face it and say –"

"Mirror, mirror," murmured Marielle, a grin spreading across her face. Ben laughed.

"No, not quite, but that is a good idea. I'll say the words," he indicated the strange combination of letters sprinkled around the now-gold frame, "and you simply say somewhere you want to be or someone you want to be, and it will show you."

"Really," Marielle said interestedly, turning her head towards the mirror and dragging a hand through her hair.

"Yes, really," Ben grinned back at her, and I suppressed a smile as Marielle's face lit up like a firefly. "Now, princess…"

"Of course, right." I stepped towards the mirror and thought. What did I want to see the most? Not my parents, really – after all, I'd just gotten used to the freedom of not having my mother breathing down my neck every five minutes – and certainly not Braxton. Of course, there were others, but… I glanced at Marielle out of the corner of my eye, and knew who she would ask to see if given the chance. "Ben?" I asked, my subject chosen, and he obliged, carefully allowing words I had never heard before to slip into the air. "Show me Sir Johan, son of the Lady Imogene d'Este," I commanded once he had finished, and the room fell silent.

A ripple passed across the cold surface, the mirror pulsed with green at the edges, a low buzzing filled my ears; there was color spreading from the corners of the mirror, and I heard Marielle gasp as the change took place. For a moment, there were bright, misshapen forms, and then it settled, falling back into definition. I could see, though not hear, a young man of maybe twenty. He carried himself with confidence, though I knew he was unaware that, several miles away, we were watching Marielle's brother Johan. I had met him once, but we had both been children, and the thing I remembered most was how he'd jumped about, playing swordfights with one of the baker's sons. Now, he leapt forward in the hallway, jabbing at an imaginary opponent. It was apparent, I thought, struggling not to laugh, that that aspect hadn't changed. We watched as the picture changed, following him as he stepped through a door and into what I assumed was his bedchamber – there was, after all, a bed in one corner, but the room carried all comforts of home. There were two massive bookshelves sitting on either side of two soft-looking armchairs, one of which was inhabited by a lady, obviously with child, with a small gray cat curled on her lap. Johan grabbed a book off of one of the several bookshelves in the room and plopped happily down next to the woman. Flipping anxiously through the book, he finally settled on the correct page, and began to read soundlessly to the woman. She tipped her head against the wall, one hand on the cat, and the other on Johan's free hand. "Isabel," Marielle pronounced as her smile widened. "My sister-in-law. They were married… last summer, about a year ago, I think."

"Have they thought about names?" I tried to phrase the question as delicately as I could, but Marielle nodded, her eyes focused on the picture of comfort and happiness and home.

"Laurent and Suzette," she said absently, her eyes far away – perhaps they were back home, sitting with Isabel and Johan and listening to them read.

"They look happy," Ben murmured, appearing as transfixed as she was by the image. For a moment, I wondered why they were held spellbound, straining to read more into the peaceful picture of a familiar family life. I did not have to wonder long. For not half a beat later, I found that I, too, had looked too long, and began to feel the stirrings of loneliness and emptiness inside my own heart. I watched, looking for a sign that the sort of relationship that Johan and Isabel held was destined for me, too, one day – and found no sign. Before long, there was a whispering voice in my ear, and I didn't understand, but I wanted to hear it, needed to hear it, and –

"Son?" Mage Joaquin's voice cut through the room, and I snapped my head towards where he stood. Marielle and Ben had done the same, and I relaxed as the picture vanished. "I told you, you shouldn't look at it like that. You know what's happened…"

"You didn't say why," Benjamin muttered, but, nodding, added a pleasant, "Yes Father. I forgot to mention it, I suppose." Turning first to Marielle, and then to myself, he gave a neat apology and promised to see us at breakfast the next morning. Before we left, he slipped a smaller, handheld mirror into my hand, promising that he would teach me the words and that it would have a similar effect. My lady-in-waiting and I both swept quick curtsies and exited; I know that I certainly felt disoriented, first by the effect that the mirror had had upon me, and then by the sudden interruption of Mage Joaquin. It seemed that a short while later, I was sitting at my desk as Marielle unwound the ribbon in my hair. The mirror, now flat and useless without the magic, was lying next to me.

"What do you think we should do?" I asked, finally accepting the fact that I would have to tell her about Braxton. "He's coming here, you know. Soon."

"If he gets a hold of you again, he won't let you go," Marielle stated grimly, combing through the tangles. My eyes kept darting to the walls, each decorated with a different tapestry, and each windowless. I hated the trapped feeling, even though Ben had created some sort of strange lights that wizards used. They were definitely better than candles, as they didn't catch anything on fire – they merely glowed with a golden sort of light. "He needs you. And he doesn't – I mean, he doesn't know that you know, right?" I paused. Marielle, suddenly concerned, dropped the comb to the floor and moved to face me. "Right?"

I could only shake my head wordlessly, hating my silence and wishing desperately that I could withdraw into myself. "He knows," I managed to get out. "Somehow. And he's coming here." There was more, awful, silence for a moment as Marielle looked at me blankly, as if she didn't quite understand. Then, her lips settling into a thin, tight line, she jerked her head.

"All right," she agreed, looking as if she wished to scream but couldn't. "I think I…" she trailed off, her mood switching abruptly from furious to thoughtful. "Well, what can we do?" she asked.

***

The next hour is pointless to describe; it consisted of each of us coming up with plans to warn my parents, stop Braxton, and all without making us look like liars or worse, insane. I was focused on finding the letter he hadn't sent; Marielle insisted that it would be smarter to "catch him in the act" of something nefarious. What that would be, though, I had no idea, and anyway she insisted that the letter was probably well on its way to its recipient. After locking horns without success, we fell quiet and thought.

"We could deliver his plans to the leaders of the Bright Isles!" Marielle shouted with sudden enthusiasm. "He'd bring them with him when he comes. You know, his official proposal… and you could have your father sign a letter…"

"That," I stated slowly, feeling stupid that I hadn't thought of it earlier, "may work. In fact, it may work perfectly. But how would we…"

"Oh, don't worry about that," Marielle responded cheerfully, her face lighting up with a wicked grin. "I've got a few ideas."
So… yes! Review, por favor!