No one would accept Gilbert's coins. They all said:

"I'm sorry. We're not allowed to take those. It's The King's orders."

They were sitting on the lower level, at the breakfast table, and a small boy stood at the door holding a large bag of vegetables.

Then the innkeeper came out from the kitchen and instead of greeting them good morning, she said:

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize it yesterday, but we're not allowed to take these. It's The King's orders."

"What?" Elizaveta looked at the other woman as though she had called her ugly. "Why not? Why does The King say you can't take them?"

The woman looked as though she swallowed hard. "In protest against the kingdom you came from, The King doesn't want this currency on his soil. Do you have some other form of payment?"

The Queen thought for a moment. "Although I feel I've paid you adequately for your services, I'll give you this." Her hand went diving into her pack and pulled out a ruby the size of her palm, simply to drop it on the table. "I hope that will cover everything until we get this currency situation ironed out."

The innkeeper's eyes practically burst from her skull in the overwhelming disbelief that zapped her so suddenly. It was like getting hit by lightning and now every strand of her hair was fried to frizz.

Then she took the ruby, so no one else would ever see it or be tempted by it, and ran away as if forgetting completely about the two sitting at the table.

The boy at the door had the same expression.

And after the innkeeper finally came back and bought a good amount of his bag, he ran up to the castle and into the kitchen, where one of The King's chefs picked out the best looking vegetables in the ensuing chaos of breakfast.

The boy announced in his little voice the exchange he saw. About the ruby and that odd looking woman with her terrible haircut. And about the man with the red eyes and how the innkeeper looked like her brain exploded.

The child went home, but his news clung like a stupid bug caught in a spider's web, until it eventually landed on The King's table.

"My lord, it seems there is some interesting news."

"Really now?"

King Francis took his blue eyes and directed them at the servant to his right, the silver utensils hovering over the fresh plate of golden eggs.

"By all means, please tell me."

"Well, there's an odd looking woman in town who just paid an innkeeper with a ruby the size of her fist, My Lord. It's believed she may be more than a common person, perhaps even The Queen who ran away from Roderich's kingdom, as no mere woman, even of aristocratic stature, would have such a treasure. This very well could be a problem that requires your attention, Your Majesty."

The King, with his golden crown sitting on the top of his golden hair, wiped his golden chin and blinked his golden eyelashes. "Well. I'm not certain this is necessarily a problem. In fact, it seems to be the opposite of a problem. Even so, I'll meet with this person. Please prepare my chariot."

"Of course, My King. Right away."

That was how King Francis Bonfeuille the Third ended up standing before that tiny inn, with his procession and two of the finest horses in the entire kingdom.

The women outside that day were fainting.

The King entered the inn at his own discretion, his procession of maids and boy-servants following him like a train of an overly long wedding dress. They couldn't all fit either. The last couple people were made to stand outside, because the inn was so small and The King's presence was so large.

"Excuse me."

That poor innkeeper was about two steps away from utter and unforgiving unconsciousness. It overtook her forehead like a night sweat would and she couldn't fasten her bottom lip back to the upper one.

"Where is that woman who paid you with that ruby?"

"Why do you ask, My Lord?" The terror and charm of The King kept the words from coming naturally. "Did she steal it from you, Your Majesty?"

"Absolutely not. I'm simply curious about her. Do you think you could retrieve her, or should I simply go up those stairs?"

There was no need for any of it. Both Elizaveta and Gilbert were walking down the steps in an extremely cautious confusion. Their feet came first, and then their eyes, taking up The King and his house full of well-dressed followers.

But something terrible happened.

Elizaveta's eyes met with the precious sapphires wired into King Francis' face. And he glowed. Immediately. With gorgeous recognition. Because they had met before. Because they had met before and Francis hated her husband.

A lot.

"Elizaveta, darling. Who in the world did all that to your beautiful hair?"

"Hello, Francis." She gave a distrusting courtesy.

Gilbert stood there, confused.

"Well! I have to say I'm quite insulted you come all the way to my kingdom and didn't even drop in to say hello? Why, don't you like me at all?" Francis had come close and held her hand, with every last Goddamn ounce of his bachelor glitter. "And where is that husband of yours?"

"At home."

The Queen was silent for a moment while her hard eyes wove together the entire truth. She was tense. Because Francis still had her hand and was reading all of it just like the pages of her opened diary.

He tilted his head in sympathy and touched her fraying hair.

"Oh, I see. So he finally drove you mad? It's nice of you to run away to my home, and not someone else's. Really. You're a virtuous woman to be so patient for so long. If I had the misfortune of being in your place I would have run on the wedding night."

"Don't say that." Elizaveta crumbled and looked to the ground. "I just needed to go somewhere else for a while."

"My apologies, My Lady. I'll try not to let my guile against your husband taint my invitation, but I would like it if you stayed with me. I'm certain Roderich is searching for you desperately and I can offer you a nice place to stay—although, there's absolutely nothing wrong with this place—where his ever-stretching reach won't be able to claim you."

Gilbert and Elizaveta looked to one another.

"Please. It's the least I can do."

Gilbert and Elizaveta looked to King Francis and then looked to one another again.

"Thank you, Francis." The Queen said. "We'd be happy to stay with you."

"Oh, wonderful! Please, I have two seats ready for you right now if you'd just follow me."

And the Gilbert and Elizaveta followed the glorious King Francis to the chariot, which was accompanied by numerous other sorts of vehicles all decked out in pricey gold and jewels of every color.

The entire time, Gilbert looked to Elizaveta as though this was just some surreal fever dream. Like either of them had been poisoned and this was simply a part of dying. Things seemed to so normal until this odd character—King Francis Bonfeuille the Third came out of nowhere to take them all away to a demented dreamland.

But even in acknowledging this, the pair still got in The King's absurd chariot and rode away up the hill, moving past that happy collection of shimmering houses. Until they got to the blood sucking mansions that lined the palace's feet like ornate jewels sewn into its slippers. It was where the cobblestone pathways became even more beautiful, where there were no specks of dirt and this new part of the city looked like something you would find in a snow globe. This street, drenched in the shadow the castle made, was nearly perfect in every way perfection could be, but it set a knot inside either of the traveler's stomachs.

Gilbert looked to Elizaveta once again as the sun disappeared behind the highest tower of King Francis's castle.