Chapter Ten: Life Gets Better

Dacre hung back in the doorway and watched his brother with an amused grin twitching on his lips. Xavier, for the moment, was not aware of his presence, for he believed his personal chambers would be empty at this time of night. After he was clothed his in nightshirt, the servants usually departed, but it was forgotten that Dacre was fond of sneaking in the room late at night, a custom since they were young boys.

"Where were you this last hour?" He questioned just as Xavier was slipping under his quilt. The king jumped before turning and sending a scolding glare towards Dacre, who laughed. "Let me guess, you were chasing after a certain golden-haired mystery dancer?"

"As always, you are wrong," Xavier corrected him. "Though that mystery dancer certainly helped me realize that I did a great wrong to someone, and I hastened to apologize." Dacre gave a low whistle.

"You were quite enamored with her though," Dacre commented slyly. "Quite a catch, I would say. Admit it, you're in love with her." Xavier didn't respond; so, Dacre pressed harder. "Well then, what great wrong did her baby blues make you realize?"

"That I'm a hypocrite."

"Posh, everyone knows that." He waltzed over to his older sibling and slung an arm around his shoulders. He was even taller than Xavier, and his lips lowered to speak in his ear. "You're in love. Admit it already." The words slurred just ever so slightly.

"The wine has gone to your head," Xavier said, pushing off the red-faced Dacre.

"And the girl's gone to your heart," He cried out. "Methinks you are a lovesick fool." Apparently, the alcohol did nothing to cure the repetitiveness of the conversation. A metal flask was slipped out of Dacre's pocket, and he lifted it to his lips in a triumphant swig. "There are rumors, you know."

"Of what, pray tell."

"The Nobles from Wailon were making a mighty fury over her," He revealed. "They were gossiping amongst themselves about her resemblance to Princess Aella. Then they started mumbling about how her posture was too crooked to be the real thing. But you know those Wailons, can't handle their drink too well." It was ironic, as his own voice was becoming increasingly gargled.

"She gave me a name, Rosalind Ece," Xavier told him. "Do you know of any Lord Ece's in these parts?" Dacre shook his head. "Check up on it with the principality of some of the other lands. Perhaps, she is foreign." Xavier aided the slumping Dacre to the door before pushing him out.

A foreigner. An enigma. The idea of this Rosalind girl only enticed him further. Though he certainly wouldn't call it love. Not yet anyways.

"Do you think his parents christened him Fritz because of the little skip he has in his walk when he's happy?"

"Huh?" Flavia looked up at Aella with slight confusion. The question had come out of the blue while the two were battling double dish duty from the previous night's festivities. Aella was watching Fritz with a strange glint in her eye while she absentmindedly dried a glass.

"I mean, the very name Fritz makes you think of that," She commented. "Like Spritzy Fritzy or something like that."

"Girl, what you just said made no sense," Flavia said, setting down her current plate. She picked up a sliver platter and sneered at it disdainfully. "But I like where you going with this. HEY SPRITZY-FRITZY!" Fritz leapt up, and his head swung around wildly for the source of the voice. His beady eyes narrowed when they landed on Flavia, who had the platter hanging from her hands. "I ain't no chambermaid. You can't make me polish silver like some chamber maid."

"Like hell I can," Fritz growled. He turned away to face Gena with a smirk.

"Spritzy-Fritzy, can you tell whether or not I should use the rose molds for the frosting on the cake tonight, or should I make it a littler ritzier?" A few giggles broke out along the cooks. Fritz bristled but made no other sound.

"You know girl, I'm starting to like you, now that you ain't like some snobby brat," Flavia said with a chuckle. She spat on a rag and wiped the silver dish with it, garnering a laugh from Aella. "You know, I was thinking, and you ain't never told us your name." Aella gulped and turned away to reach for another bowl. She pushed under it under the suds and scrubbed the insides with a few bristles.

"I don't have a name any more," She spoke quietly. "It disappeared the day I ran away. My true name is what you already know me as, Roughskin." She felt Flavia's eyes burn her skin as she tried to decipher it. It was suspicious, yes, but she was telling the truth. If name made the person, then Princess Aella was gone forever and only Roughskin remained. That was not to say she still wouldn't call herself Aella; habits were like steel, molded over time and difficult to break. Yet, she was now at peace with the fact that her old life was truly over.

"Why'd you run away?" Flavia asked. Aella sighed.

"Father loved me, perhaps a little too much," She murmured. "Wanted to force me into a morally wrong marriage between him and myself. My mother was long gone at this point, and no one would dare stop him. I was in love with another man and stubborn. So I ran. I'm not pretty-" Not anymore, she reminded herself. "-so you must think it to be a wonder that any man would want to marry me."

"It ain't just the looks," Flavia said, a brute reminder of Aella's attitude. "But I s'pose that don't matter no more." Aella blushed. Finally, she had a friend.

"Rosalind Ece?" Aella pretended to mull over the name Xavier gave her. "And you're in love with her? Don't you consider it a bit soon in your relationship to be sending her a proposal?" Xavier scowled. Earlier that day, he had asked Aella to join him in a reclusive corner of the garden. He had confided in Aella that it was his favorite spot, in such a remote portion that the gardeners no longer paid it heed. Weeds had choked all the flowers to death and the foliage of the trees grew wild and darkened the unkempt path. There was a solitary bench leaning against the garden wall, which was about six feet tall. Xavier sat on the seat with his back up against the brick, leaving Aella to sit crossed-legged on the ground.

"I didn't say that I was in love, just that she intrigued me," He defended himself. "I'm not even sure if that's her real name. None of the other Lords, even my guests, know of her. There were rumors of her being Princess Aella, but she had bad posture or something." Aella shared a secretive smile with herself. All this time of slouching over pans and sleeping on straw really had affected her.

"I've been hearing a lot about this Aella girl," She said. "Damn stupid, it sounds."

"Apparently, she quite famous for her beauty, though like any girl with money and looks, she was quite vain," He said. "But I never met her myself." In the distance, she heard the bells ring five times, signaling it to be five o' clock. Aella stood and stretched.

"Unless you should be so kind as to dismiss me of my evening duties, I am afraid that I must leave you, my King," Aella said humbly, though with a bit of hope in her voice. Xavier gave a small chortle.

"No, I suppose they need you in the…you work in the Kitchen, correct?" Aella nodded. "Hm, what part of it do you actually cook?" He said it with a bit of interest.

"Well, nothing yet," She informed him. "I mainly just stand there and let Master Spritz- I mean Fritz yell at me so that the other cooks can concentrate. Then I clean up afterwards. All I really know how to cook is soup at the present moment." She looked at him curiously. "Pray tell, majesty, but you've been awfully kind to me today. Not a word about how common I am and noble you are or a sentence chiding me on my behavior."

"All I have done to you on this day is ask for your opinion, and if I ask it, I cannot scold you for it," He said nonchalantly. "But in the future, should a brash comment leave your lips unwarranted, consider yourself warned."

"And warned I am," Aella said. "Now, if you'll excuse me." She curtsied as he waved her off with a hand. She fled down the path, dodging tree roots and potholes. Soon, she was in the pale light of the flower garden. She began to hum a little tune she had learned in the kitchen.

A strong hand suddenly took a hold of her shoulder. She stopped and craned her head to see who it was behind her, but it was to no avail. Instead, she felt hot breath on her cheek as a raspy voice whispered in her ear,

"Pray tell, where'd you get this fine mantle?" Her assaulter released her and kicked her to the ground. Aella looked up and gasped.

It was Radovan.

Author's Note: Update at last! Review please! The next chapter will be up sooner, promise.