And the dearest love in all the world...

Upon exiting Liam's stables, Prince Christopher caught Arrow in the act of harassing a defenseless, gray pigeon. However, as soon as the basset hound realized his master had returned, the animal left the bird alone, sat on his haunches, and looked upon Christopher with round, brown eyes that conveyed pure innocence.

"Don't look at me like that, dog," the prince began, shaking his head in disappointment, "I saw you badgering that poor pigeon."

Arrow whined then, as if he was offended by Christopher's words, and laid his head on the ground between his front paws.

"I won't have any of that, now," Christopher nodded seriously, "let's go. Come on, boy."

And as Christopher began to ease himself into the crowded village square, Arrow was sure to trail no more than a stone's throw behind him.

Had Christopher ever ventured into the village before? Yes, certainly he had, but never on his own. As a prince, there was rarely ever a time when he was left to himself. His father's men were always nearby in case danger were to strike. But what were they protecting him from, exactly? Christopher pondered. The villagers seemed harmless enough, going about their daily business. No one was paying him any mind at all, for that matter. When he was a boy, Christopher had refined a useful skill – giving the guards the slip. Unfortunately, that was no longer feasible for Christopher. It was much easier to hide from the guards when he was a mere four feet tall. The prince sighed, and wondered how much longer he could remain incognito, especially when his father had surely sent his men out to search for him hours ago.

"Good sir, kind sir?" a small, quiet voice forced the prince from his musings.

Christopher found himself facing an adolescent girl, no more that thirteen years, holding a basket of blue flowers. Cornflowers. The prince recognized them, because the petals were the same shade as Cinderella's captivating blue eyes.

"Care to buy some of me flowers, sir? Will only cost you one copper a piece," the young girl finished, looking up at him with hopeful, brown eyes.

Coppers again, Christopher realized. How did these people earn their bread on a few measly coppers a day?

What's your name, love?" the prince inquired with a charming smile.

"Violet."

"Violet? Shouldn't you be selling violets then, Violet?"

"I got no violets, sir, but I do got some lovely cornflowers. For your sweetheart, maybe?"

"I've no sweetheart."

"Your mother, then?"

"Ah, yes, I do have one of those. Indeed, I do," he answered with a dramatic roll of his hazel eyes.

"Only one copper!" chimed Violet cheerfully.

"I haven't got any coppers." Christopher told the girl truthfully.

"Then good day, sir," the flower girl exhaled unhappily, before turning away from the secret prince.

"Wait, Violet," Christopher called after her, and the girl stopped dead in her tracks, only to glare back at him.

"Look, I got to sell these here flowers, and if you're not going to buy any, then I got to move on."

"I don't have any coppers..."

It seemed that Violet didn't care to hear the rest of whatever Christopher had to say, as she turned away from him in a huff. Now, he couldn't be sure, but Christopher thought he heard the girl mumble the word 'cheap' under her aggravated breath. Of course, the prince was just about to prove the poor thing wrong.

"Wait, Violet."

"What!" shrieked the young peddler highly irritated.

Her scream had drawn attention to them, Christopher noticed, as several villagers were now staring. Two men, near his father's age, narrowed their eyes at him in a mixture of what the prince believed was suspicion and disapproval. Christopher felt the tips of his ears heat up, as he was suddenly, and highly aware of how the scene appeared in the eyes of the villagers. He wasn't harassing the poor girl, at least, he hadn't meant to. Perhaps he should have thought his little game through a little better than he had.

"How many flowers can I get for this?" Christopher fished a coin at random from his drawstring pouch. It came up silver.

The little flower girl scrutinized the coin that shone silver in the afternoon light, and wagged a finger at the young prince, "This is a joke, ain't it? I don't take kindly to jokes, sir."

"It's no joke, Violet. I never jest, honest."

Granted, that last part wasn't exactly true, but Christopher was earnest about the first part.

Again, Violet regarded the secret prince in disbelief, but when Christopher closed her bony fingers around the cold, silver coin, she adopted a completely new demeanor.

"For that much sir, you can have the whole bushel!" she exclaimed, shoving the coarse, wicker basket into Christopher's arms.

"Um, thank you?" Christopher squeaked, for the girl had trust the basket of flowers into his midsection so forcefully, that it knocked the very wind out of him. What in the blazes was he going to do with a wicker basket filled to its brim with cornflowers?

"No, thank you sir!" Violet cried happily, "Looks like me work is done for the day."

And then the girl skipped off.

A baffled Prince Christopher stared at the ever-shrinking figure of young Violet as she disappeared into the bustling crowd. His arms were still wrapped awkwardly around the wicker basket, and the prince was unsure of how he would unload all these flowers. Christopher really held no desire to keep them, but he didn't want to simply drop the basket in the town streets either. Oh well. Christopher supposed he would sort things out as he went.

Shifting the basket's position, Christopher gripped it by the handle and causally strolled deeper into the village, whistling for Arrow to follow. It wasn't very long before Christopher noticed that several attractive young women would snicker, and hide their giggling faces behind their slender hands. The prince's ears burned with embarrassment again, as he pictured the scene from the eyes of the various villagers. He imagined the sight of a grown man toting a large basket of flowers would be highly amusing. Amusing... if it were anyone else! Completely emasculated, the prince sunk his head low to his shoulders, and trudged on.

Christopher enjoyed his observation of the villagers. The village itself was chaotic. People always moving. Sellers shouting about their wares to a passerby. Children playing. The scrumptious smells wafting from bakeries. A friendly butcher had even tossed a section of sausage out his shop window for Arrow to gnaw. The dog took the meat up immediately.

All this was all such a delightful contrast from the monotony of palace living. The only time the palace halls were this chaotic, was when servants were busy preparing for one of his mother's balls. And that was not to be enjoyed, but endured.

One scene in particular caught Christopher's eyes. He couldn't help but notice that a handsome couple appeared to be having a bit of a spat on the public streets, and by the looks of it, the young gentleman was on the losing end of the argument. Christopher couldn't guess what the quarrel was about, but he could at lest do something to help the poor bloke. Inconspicuously, Christopher wormed himself between the squabbling lovers, and in an effort of keeping the peace, he tucked one of his cornflowers into the hands of a surprised young woman. The secret prince then clapped his fellow man on the shoulder, and departed with a wink. As he left, Christopher couldn't help but steal a glance back at the couple. They both seemed much happier now. Christopher hoped his gesture of good will would be a catalyst to help smooth things over for the couple. It was up to them now.

Having traipsed about the village for some time now, Christopher found himself in the very heart of the square. It was a pleasant looking space with quaint wooden benches for the weary to rest themselves. It was quieter here than the other parts of the village. People were scattered here and there picnicking with their families. It was already mid autumn, and Christopher guessed families were making the best of the fair weather before winter made it too cold for picnicking. There were lots of children too. Running. Playing. The girls typically didn't stray from skipping rope and hand games, while the boys engaged in more physical games... tag, or something of the like. And in the middle of it all was a great fountain that trickled sparkling water from the mouth of a wise looking old woman.

The prince remembered this fountain. It was called The Fairy Godmother's Well. Christopher used to wish on it when he was a boy. Of course, he couldn't recall if a single one of them ever came true.

When Arrow spotted the fountain, the dog wasted no time jumping into the well, paddling and splashing about.

"You won't find any fish in there, Arrow," the prince laughed, "only wishes!"

Obliging himself to sit along the fountain's edge, Christopher placed the basket beside him, as he mindlessly peeled petals off the stem of a cornflower and placed each blue petal, one by one in the cool water. He listened to the birds twitter away in the trees, as he watched the petals slowly float away from him only to rest at the bare feet of the old, stone woman.

Christopher's quite was disturbed however, when two little boys appeared at his feet, staring at him curiously.

"Might I help you?" asked the secret prince with a smirk.

The two boys gave one another puzzled looks, before the older of the two piped up.

"You're supposed to wish on coins, not petals!"

"Yeah," agreed the younger with a nod, "not petals!"

"Well, perhaps it doesn't make a difference?"

"I've never head of wishing on petals before!"

"Yeah, I've never heard of wishing on petals!" echoed the younger.

"You're brothers aren't you?" Christopher inquired grinning. He could recognize a pair of brothers anywhere.

"What does it matter to you?"

"Yeah, what does it matter to you?"

Delightful boys, truly.

"It doesn't really," Christopher dismissed, "now, run off and play."

The boys scampered to the opposite side of the fountain and began a game of pretend. They were still in ear shot, so Christopher, the dignified prince that he was, eavesdropped.

"Now, I'll be Prince Benjamin and you'll be my subject, okay Jacob?"

"No, Hiram!" the younger one shouted, as if he had been slighted, "I was the subject last time. I want to be Prince Benjamin!"

"You can't. I'm older!"

Ouch. Christopher had heard those same words many times before.

"So what? We're pretending!"

The little one had an excellent point, Christopher had to agree.

The secret prince shook his head at the brothers' antics and returned his attention to plucking the attractive blue petals and letting them fall into the clear water. These cornflowers reminded him of the girl he had met earlier. The petals were exactly like her eyes. The color, at least. Cinderella. Cinderella. Christopher liked this girl, and he couldn't seem chase the image of her out of his brain. Her eyes were something special. Never before had Christopher witnessed so many emotions in anyone's eyes. Cinderella had gone from surprise, to anger, to remorse, to glee, to playful, to cheeky, to grief-stricken, and he could swear he saw fear in them. All these emotions in a span of … what? Ten minutes? Of course this was mostly because he had pressed her, irritated her for his own personal enjoyment, but he couldn't blame himself too much. No one was perfect. Yes, her eyes were something special. Her eyes, and the rest of her. Oh, and the purple bruises spiraling up the length of her arms. Christopher remembered those too, ever so clearly.

At about this point, Christopher realized the two warring brothers had not yet resolved who would play Prince Benjamin, and their argument was now beginning to get out of hand. It was at least creating enough of a disturbance that citizens were beginning to gawk. If someone didn't intercept soon, there was going to be a bloodbath. Sighing, Christopher pushed himself off from his comfortable seat at the fountain, brushed off his breeches, picked up his basket of cornflowers, and walked in a semi circle to where the brothers stood arguing.

"What's with all this bickering?" Christopher furrowed his brows.

Dear Lord, he sounded exactly like his father.

"He won't let me be prince Benjamin!" cried the younger boy, Jacob, as Christopher recalled, and suddenly kicked his brother in the shin.

"Ouch!"

"Stop it, stop it," the secret prince reasoned, "you don't have to quarrel like this. Partia has two princes. We have two princes, and you are two brothers. One of you can be Prince Benjamin, and the other Prince Christopher, no?"

"Well, that makes sense, I guess," the older Hiram commented, "but I still want to be Prince Benjamin."

"Why's that?"

"Because Benjamin gets the throne!"

The young prince rolled his eyes in defeat. Even children preferred his older brother to him. Christopher squinted at the boys through the glare of the setting sun, and again noted the lateness of the evening. His parents must be worried. Worried and furious.

'It's getting late, boys," Christopher sighed exasperatingly, "why not head home? Your mother might be wondering where you've gone off to. You can play your game tomorrow."

"Hey," Hiram began, "can we bring some of those flowers home to our mum?"

"Sure. I have plenty."

"Why do you have so many flowers anyway?" Jacob questioned.

Christopher shrugged, "Because I think their pretty... and they remind me of someone."

"A girl?"

"Yes."

"Yuck."

"Double yuck."

The corners of Christopher's mouth twitched slightly with the effort of suppressing a grin. He remembered sharing the same sentiments many years ago. But things were quite different now. Quite different. Shaking his head at the boys' naivety, Christopher offered up his basket of cornflowers, and each boy plucked a great handful for their mother, before scampering away with a quick goodbye.

The secret prince watched the two brothers go for a little while, but before very long he heard a familiar deep voice.

"Your Highness, there you are!"

One of his father's men.

"Hello, Balin," Christopher greeted half heartily when the palace guard drew near.

"The king and queen have been out of their minds with worry. My battalion searched the Forever Wood twice over. And what happened to your face?" Balin asked, gesturing to the numerous abrasions that adorned Christopher's face.

"Ruffians," answered the prince, No one would ever believe he fell from a tree before being assaulted by a broom wielding maiden, anyway.

"No," gasped Balin.

"I'm fine, really. Shall we go now?"

The guard turned to escort Christopher back to the palace, but the prince hesitated for a moment. He pulled a silver piece from his drawstring pouch... it was his last one. Christopher had given away all the money he had taken with him. Turning the shining coin over in his fingers a few times, Christopher tossed it into the fountain where it settled with a soft pluck. He had made a wish in Cinderella's honor. May her wildest dreams come true.

Then, Christopher let out a sharp whistle and Arrow withdrew from his splashing in the fountain, and shook his wet fur all over Christopher's clothing.

"Thanks, dog," the prince groaned, "let's go home, boy."