A/N: A huge thank you to everyone who's read/reviewed/favourited/alerted! This chapter sets the rest of the story up, so I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 6

The Queen sat in her chair, staring morosely out the window. It was something she'd taken to doing recently. A book lay forgotten on her lap as an attempt to keep her mind occupied with other matters. But every time she sat in this chair, by this window, she couldn't help but look outside and wonder.

Most of the time she wondered just what had happened to her precious baby.

She shed no tears anymore. She'd long since cried herself dry. But the pain was always there. It had dulled to a small ache, but it was a constant reminder of everything that had happened and everything that she did not have – a baby girl. She had lots of money that could buy her whatever she wanted; just not her daughter.

Though, she supposed as she stood from her chair, her baby would not be such a baby anymore. A few months ago would have been her nineteenth birthday. That is, supposing her girl was still alive.

Jerking around from the window, she tried desperately to rid herself of that line of thinking. Rupert was always telling her it was best to think of it that way, because constantly hoping and pining for their daughter would just break her down slowly, into many pieces. He said it was better to move on because in all likelihood, after nineteen years and not a glimpse of their child, the chances were not good.

But she refused to think that way. She could feel it – she couldn't describe it – but she could feel that her daughter was alive. She was her mother. She would know if her daughter was dead, wouldn't she?

The doors behind her opened and she turned to see the King walk in, his eyes on her in concern. He knew that she had been spending a lot of time in her chair, looking out the window. Right after the festival every year, for a few months she would retreat here. He was getting concerned and wanted nothing more than for her to live again. Though it pained him to admit that he was attempting to get his wife to move on, for he himself still ached with sadness. It didn't feel right, but that didn't matter. Their kingdom needed them and they needed the full attention of their rulers.

"Marie dear," his low voice rumbled as he placed his hands on her shoulders. "Why don't you step out for awhile? You haven't left the palace in ages."

She sighed and looked at the ground.

He gently stroked the side of her face. "Remember you used to enjoy visiting the market? And talking to our people? Why don't you go there for a bit." When she didn't answer he said, "Hm? For me, please?"

Finally, her lips curved into a smile. "Alright, Rupert. I will go. I admit I haven't been to the market in a while, I do miss it."

He kissed her forehead. "Excellent decision, Your Highness. I will call for the coach."

The Queen sat in the coach, basking in the noises of everyday life outside the castle. She loved the sounds of people shouting their wares, children crying out with joy, and the smells of baking bread and blacksmith fires. When the coach finally reached the market, she was almost sad to get out.

The Queen made her customary rounds around the market, to each and every seller, conversing and occasionally purchasing a pastry here or a dish there. She didn't need any of the things but it made the people so happy and they could use a few extra coins.

One woman and her paintings in particular caught her eye.

She was young, with short brown hair and wide green eyes, and she was smiling and laughing animatedly with another young woman. As soon as the queen approached them, the girls dipped into a curtsy.

"Your Majesty," they greeted.

"Good morning, ladies," the queen smiled. "How is business today?"

The blonde replied, "Very well, Your Highness. How are you this morning?"

"Very well, thank you." She smiled and examined the paintings that the brunette had displayed. Some were portraits (one she recognized as the blonde sitting next to her) and some were landscapes or still life. But they were all lovely and the Queen, being somewhat of an artist herself, could tell the attention that had been applied to detail in each careful stroke.

"What lovely paintings," she said to the artist.

The girl beamed. "Thank you, Your Majesty. You are very kind."

"What is your name, dear?"

"Rapunzel Fitzherbert," she replied.

"You have quite the talent, Ms. Fitzherbert." With light fingers, she traced the outlines of a tree in the middle of an orchard. A sudden sadness filled her, but she could not understand why. A strange feeling began to stir in her stomach and she felt a strong connection to these paintings. Without a second thought, she asked, "Would you like to paint a portrait of myself? I would very much like to have one done."

The girl stared at her with wide eyes, speechless.

"You would be paid, of course."

The girl smiled and curtsied again. "I would be honoured, Your Majesty."

The Queen nodded. "If you would come to the palace tomorrow morning? I will tell the guards to expect you."

"Of course, Your Majesty. I will be there."

With a smile and another look at the paintings that had captured her heart, the Queen moved on.

As she was getting back into her coach a few hours later, the Queen suddenly wondered if it was the paintings that had stolen her heart, or the young girl who drew them. Half her reason for the portrait was because she truly liked the artist's style – and yet the other reason she could not explain, other than that she wanted to see that girl again.