So I was trying to pace myself with the chapters and post one or maybe two a day... but I just really want to get the ball rolling so I might post a couple more, especially since the romance is hotting up now ;) Yes, there may be love triangles ahead, but I promise I will be as kind as possible to the characters... a little drama is necessary though, especially with someone impulsive and passionate like Callum... Heehee!

Thanks again for the reviews, please tell me moooore! Also, SmellofRoses I'm in the process of reading your Vineyard story and realising that there are some similarities to mine in it - I swear I'd never read yours before, I'm new to ! :P but I'm glad you like mine :)

HELEN

I followed the Prince to his rooms, still a little confused and afraid. The confusion because I had never known such a strange order – it was not my job to cut anyone's hair, so why had he asked me, when I was clearly only a lowly maid? – and the fear because in spite of all the good stories I had heard about this prince, I had also heard stories about other princes that were not nearly so good – rumours of men who got girls 'into trouble' (as it was known in the village) and then had them dismissed, unable to find work again. What if this Prince Callum wanted to take advantage of me? Why else would he lead me to his chambers, unless he genuinely did only want a haircut?

But it seemed that this was the case. I stood for a moment in his doorway, looking around the room with wide eyes: I had not yet seen into any of the private rooms of the palace, and the richness of the place amazed me. This was a little dressing room, with a wardrobe of clothes, a sink with shaving paraphernalia and mirror, and so on. Another open door led off into a sitting room, comfortable chairs and a low table visible through the doorway. Thick red carpet was on the floor, and intricate hangings on the wall added further splendour. Beautiful ornaments and paintings were everywhere to be seen.

The prince sat himself in front of the mirror, and I came towards him before he could catch me gawping. He told me where to find the tools I needed, and obediently I began to comb and then cut his dark wavy hair. It felt very strange. I was used to cutting my father's hair, or Bobby's when my mother was too busy; it was an oddly intimate thing to be doing with a stranger, looking at him in the mirror to judge how much I needed to cut, running my hands through his hair as I wielded the scissors. I knew I should remember that I was just a servant, not a person, and think of this as an inanimate job, but somehow I could not.

What kind of prince did not think twice about calling a maid to cut his hair, instead of having a personal servant do it, or even a professional hairdresser? I studied him for answers as my busy fingers continued their work. He was tall, even sitting down, and just as handsome as Annie had claimed, though tiredness and emotion had drawn deep shadows under his black eyes, visible even through his dark skin. His walk had been arrogant and so was the set of his mouth; here was someone who was used to getting his way, but it was not at all a cruel face. In fact, as I looked closer, I could see that there was an unexpected tenderness there, in the curve of his lips, in the deep velvet of his eyes and dark sweep of lashes; but the sorrow I had been told about had made his features hard, cheekbones high and determined, jawline square and rigid. I could look as much as I liked, for his eyes were not watching me but looking into the distance, as if the things he saw were far removed from this time and place. Was he thinking of his lost princess?

I had a sudden ridiculous urge to reach out and touch his face, and my face turned hot with embarrassment. Hastily I decided to concentrate on his hair to the exclusion of everything else.

CALLUM

The girl was being very quiet as she cut my hair, and for that I was grateful; it was about time I had some peace. For a while, my thoughts were occupied by the problem of my possible engagement, but they soon returned – as they always did – to Elena. Where was she now? Did her body lie somewhere in an unmarked grave? Was she trapped somewhere, waiting for me to rescue her and wondering why I took so long? I couldn't bear the idea and made an impatient movement, startling the maid, who accidentally made an almost inaudible squeak. In spite of my dark thoughts, I grinned. She really was nervous.

"Sorry. Finished yet?"

Her face in the mirror was a picture of concentration as she laid down the scissors and, taking my head in both hands, moved it from side to side to check the evenness of her handiwork. Satisfied, she nodded. "It's done."

"Thank you," I said absently as I rose and brushed hair off my shoulders. "I'll remember to ask for you next time I need a haircut…" She'd done it well, in a style that suited me, and I was pleased. I looked at her properly for the first time as she bobbed a nervous curtsey. She was surprisingly pretty for a maid; she was small, barely up to my shoulder, and had a pleasing figure that her maid's uniform could not entirely conceal. Her dark hair was pulled back tightly, drawing attention to her most striking features: her eyes. She shyly glanced up at me, and that was when it hit me.

My body knew before I did. My heart began to race, my breath caught, and the back of my neck prickled, even before I had realised that the eyes looking into mine were the same shape, the same shade of green, as those of the girl who nearly four years ago had danced with me and held me captive with her gaze. I stared at her for one incredulous moment – causing her cheeks to flush with embarrassment – and then swept her into my arms and held her more tightly than I'd ever held anything in my life.

"Elena. It's you."

It only took me a few seconds to realise something was wrong. Elena was tense in my arms, not hugging me back. I moved back to look at her face. She was blushing violently and looked incredibly confused.

"Elena? What's wrong? You should be happy, dearest. You've found me at last. But…" My voice trailed off as I realised that she was shaking her head, and suddenly questions filled my mind. Why was she here now, and not before? Why was she dressed as a maid? Why had she not greeted me the moment she'd seen me? What was going on?

"I'm afraid, your highness, that you have mistaken me for someone else. My name is not Elena." She looked down as if I would punish her for daring to contradict me. I still didn't understand, though warning bells were going off in my head. I reached for her again, desperate to feel her warm and solid and real, but she backed away, looking at me out of those great green eyes. "My name is Helen, and I come from Falecia. I'm just a farm girl who works as a maid, your highness."

"No," I said slowly. "That can't be right. You… you are Elena."

Still she shook her head, and somehow my world was crumbling all over again. "No, sire… I may look a little like her, perhaps, I do not know. But I come from a village in Falecia and I have a family there. I am not a lost princess." She said the last words with a mocking edge to her tone, perhaps unconsciously, and I winced.

She looked so like Elena. Yes, her face was a lot thinner than I remembered, and her skin was tanned pale gold by the sun where once it had been white, and of course she'd grown up, but it had to be her. Surely no one could look this similar.

"There's something wrong about this," I said, finally. "Come on. You're coming with me."

My grim voice must have frightened her for she paled. "Where?"

But I was too angry and confused to comfort her. "I'm taking you to my mother."

HELEN

It was hard to focus on what was really going on, however dramatic it was, as the prince dragged me through the corridors because a large part of my mind was occupied by how warm and strong his hand was in mine. Which of course was utterly ridiculous because it had nothing to do with anything. Nor did the fact that when he'd hugged me, I'd been unable to pull away because he smelled so good… I told myself sternly to snap out of it.

He was taking me towards the quarters of the King and Queen – the even richer, more sumptuous part of the palace where I had yet to be allowed, since I was still only a new maid, to be regarded with some caution until I had proved my skill as a worker.

"Your highness," I gasped – for he was pulling me along rather too quickly for comfort – "I'm not allowed down here!"

He gave me a swift unreadable glance, then tightened his lips and continued his reckless pace along the carpeted corridors. I caught wide-eyed shock from the faces of passing servants and with an inward sigh knew that the entire palace would know within moments of what was going on.

The prince came to an abrupt halt in front of a pair of doors and, letting go of me, threw them open with all of his strength. They flew back with a resounding bang, and inside the room, the King and Queen rose to their feet with startled cries. The prince grabbed my hand again and pulled me into the room – if he hadn't, I probably would have remained rooted to the spot.

"What is the meaning of this, Callum?" said King James with an icy stare before which I shrank and wished I was anywhere but here. "What are you doing with that maid?"

Thus addressed, the Prince pushed me in front of him, and I stared at the ground with hot cheeks and wished it would open up and swallow me.

"Look at her," he commanded. His parents didn't even glance at me; they were too busy staring at Prince Callum with horrified disapproval in their eyes.

"Callum, please tell me that this isn't what I think it is, and that that this is not your reason for avoiding another betrothal," said the King through his teeth. The prince frowned, but I understood his meaning perfectly well, and suddenly found my voice.

"No, your majesty, it's nothing like that," I said hotly, and three startled pairs of eyes were turned on to me. I was tempted to say no more, but I remembered my father's words as clearly as if he'd only just whispered them into my ear: Don't let anyone trample you. I didn't mean to, whether they were royalty or not. "I have too much self-respect, sire," I went on, with a curtsey to him. "And with the greatest respect to you, this is not my fault. His royal highness there dragged me here against my will."

The King looked back at his son, who was gaping at me as if I'd just demonstrated an ability to breathe fire instead of stand up for myself. "Callum, explain this."

He pulled himself together hastily. "She… it's… she's Elena!"

This astounding statement was met by silence, which I broke with an exasperated sigh.

"Excuse me, your majesty, but I am NOT. My name is Helen, and I am a servant here."