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Chapter Twelve

Through the Looking Glass

Morgan was uncomfortable.

Sitting in the smaller dining hall—he still hadn't figured out why Nick's home had four of them, to be honest, not counting the three banquet halls—he nibbled at his breakfast, not quite sure what to do with the emotional young woman sitting across from him. It did not help that they were the only two people in the room given that Princess Anna and Prince Kristoff had decided to take their breakfast in their private dining chamber with their daughter, Bryn, who had arrived at the castle late the previous night. And, Nick hadn't even bothered coming down at all, opting to eat in his study whilst going over some paperwork or the other.

Really, considering all that had happened to Lady Yuë in the past few weeks, he didn't blame her for being such an emotional wreck. Still, he couldn't deny that he'd rather spend the morning having his nerves wrecked by Olaf than having to endure one more sob.

"My father is dead," said Yuë in a morose voice. Her plate was still filled with scrambled eggs and two sausages, and she shifted the breakfast around the plate with her fork, not quite looking up. Her eyes were red and bruised, as though she'd been frantically rubbing at them since her arrival in Arendelle, which she probably had.

Morgan shifted, unsure of how to respond. He was not good at comforting strangers, and he would definitely be getting even with Nick for abandoning him that morning. He sighed. Not that he would… running a kingdom was difficult, and even with Princess Anna and Prince Kristoff assisting his boyfriend, Morgan couldn't deny how exhausted Nick looked these days.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I wish mine was as well," said Morgan. Almost as soon as the words left his lips, he felt the urge to slap himself. That was definitely right the same thing to say. Reaching across the table, he patted her on the shoulder as she stared at him in what Morgan hoped was just disdain. "There there," he added.

"There there?" she asked, slamming a hand onto the table. "My father is dead. My brothers are dead. My mother is probably dead as well. My homeland is in ruins, and my only friend is a dragon who left almost as soon as he dropped me off here, and now, the only person I have to talk too about my problems is you!" She stabbed at a sausage with her fork, and with a loud crack, the plate cracked. Clenching her fists, she took a deep, shuddering breath, and seemed to crumple in upon herself.

Morgan frowned, unsure of how to handle the situation now that the there there had failed. This girl was a stranger, and unlike Cornelius, Alyssa, and Nick, she was also in a state of deep depression, which made it incredibly difficult for him to win her over with his usual good humour. In fact, all things considered, he hadn't even mentioned who his mother was yet, given that the girl had a pair of dangerous looking sai, and he was not yet certain as to whether they were made of iron or steel.

"Who are you, anyway?" she continued, pursing her lips. "I've known most of the royals all my life, and I've never met you? Are you one of Prince Nicholas' retainers?"

"You could say that," said Morgan. Forcing a smile to his face, he raised his hands in surrender at the hostility in her voice. "I am sorry, you know. I'm just not very good at showing it."

"Then maybe you could be quiet," she retorted.

"I would, but you kept whining until I said something," he said, clenching his fist under the table. "Granted, what I said lacked a lot of tact, and I get why you got angry, but if you're going to be living in Arendelle for a while, then I do think we should be cordial, at the very least." There, he thought to himself. That had been polite and lacking in anything that could be construed as offensive. If only his mother could see him now. She probably wouldn't recognize him, considering how accustomed she was to his usual acerbic wit.

"Whining?" asked Yuë, getting to her feet. A vein throbbed in her temple, and Morgan hastily leaned as far back in his seat as he could without tipping over. "Bite me, Morgan."

With that, she stormed out of the room, leaving him alone with his food. Well, that went well, he thought, wondering if he should pat himself on the back for getting rid of her or kick himself in the shin for pissing of a woman who had just lost her entire family. Whilst he leaned towards the latter, he also knew that he tended to bruise easily, so he'd have to pass.

"Wow, you really suck," said an unfamiliar voice from the doorway.

Turning his head, Morgan raised an eyebrow at the young teenager walking into the room. Nick had often described his cousin as being more rock troll than royalty, and he could see why. Princess Brynhildr had a distinctly wild air about her, from her braided brown hair and scarred face, to the mud she was trekking along to floor, as well as the thick leathers and furs she wore in lieu of proper attire. The only thing royal about her, as far as he could tell, was her eyes. They were her mother's, and Morgan knew enough about Princess Anna to know that whilst the woman was not the most orthodox of royals, she was also quite respected in her corner of the world.

"That's a bit harsh," he replied. "I was under the impression you were having breakfast with your parents."

"Yes, but that was an hour ago," she said, looking at him as if he was stupid. "So, you're the guy who's been screwing my frigid cousin. Eh, can't say I see what all the fuss is about."

Morgan blinked, not quite sure if he should be feeling offended or amused. The girl could not have been older than eleven, all gangly limbs and scraped knuckles, but she definitely had a mouth on her. They would get along famously, he decided, leaning back in his chair.

"Technically, we aren't screwing," he said. "Aren't you a little young to know what that is, by the way?

"Eh, maybe I should use a euphemism so I don't sound so crude," she said, scratching her head. Coming to sit at the seat Yuë had just abandoned, she looked at the cracked glass plate before reaching for the serving platter, still laden with sausages and fish cakes, and placed it in front of her. Not bothering with cutlery, she began to eat. "So, how does it work? You thaw his popsicle and he polishes your scales?"

Morgan spluttered, grateful that he'd already swallowed a mouthful of orange juice before she'd started speaking, or he was certain he'd have sprayed it over her face. Recovering, he raised a challenging eyebrow.

"Bryn, may I call you Bryn?" he asked. Not waiting for her to reply, he continued, "I think we're going to have to set some ground rules. For one, I will not be discussing my relationship with your cousin with you. Secondly, there will be no innuendos while either of us is eating. Finally, please don't forget that you are a young child and that I am a dragon with a constant craving for fresh meat."

Leaning across the table, he let his eyes assume their true form. His irises gleamed bright green as his pupils narrowed to reptilian slits, and he winced as the partial transformation overtook his face. The barest hint of scales covered his skin as his jaw elongated, and he stuck out his forked tongue between his fangs. With a wink, he blew out a small puff of flame, which dissipated like mist after travelling just a few inches through the air.

Almost as quickly as the transformation had taken him, he let it fade away. Resuming his human form, he frowned at Bryn, who for some reason looked positively ecstatic rather than scared.

"I'm starting to see why he likes you," she said, an eager glint in her eye. "You're cool. So, can you transform and give me a ride on your back? Please?"

"Goodbye, Bryn," he said, getting to his feet and hastily making for the door. Morgan rolled his eyes as he went. Most children he'd come across had typically ran away screaming at just the sight of his transformation, and those that remained had wet themselves at the sight of his flames. It was clear that Princess Brynhildr was made of sterner stuff, but it did make him yearn for the clueless kids who'd thrown stones at him that one time, and the looks of terror on their faces once he'd transformed and let out a few roars.

Lost in thoughts, he wandered the castle halls, trying to figure out what to do to pass the time. There was a novel in his room that he'd just started the previous night, but he wasn't quite in the mood to read. Perhaps, he could try getting in some ice-skating practice… Nick had mentioned wanting to go with him soon, and as Morgan had lived in Somnia all his life, it wouldn't hurt for him to at least try wearing a pair of skates first so he knew how not to fall on his ass on their first actual date. Or, maybe he could try and get in some practice in the training room. It had been a while since he'd last practised, and the last thing he needed now was to let his swordsmanship go to rust.

He was roused from his thoughts by a snowball hitting him in the back of the head. Already knowing who had thrown it, he turned around, a smile curling across his lips as he saw Nick at the top of the stairs, watching him with a raised eyebrow and a second snowball in his hand.

"Morgan," Nick called, making his way down the stairs. "I've been trying to get your attention for five minutes. Duke Weselton has just arrived to argue with my mother about trade tariffs, and given that isn't here, Aunt Anna and I have placate him instead."

"And you were looking for me in the hopes I would eat him?" asked Morgan, raising an amused eyebrow.

"What? No." Nick snorted, rolling his eyes. "Though, come to think of it, that would be nice. The man is pushing a hundred and will see us all in the ground, and he'll still be kicking up a fuss about how we run things." Nick leaned against the wall and stifled a yawn. "I actually have about twenty minutes to spare, and I was hoping to spend them with you before having to deal with the old goat for the rest of the day."

"I'm actually just coming from meeting your cousin," said Morgan, smirking as Nick sighed. "She's a firecracker."

"What did she do now?" he asked, sounding quite put upon.

"Actually, I quite liked her," said Morgan with a grin. "Lady Yuë, on the other hand, may currently want to have me whipped."

Just like that, Nick's expression fell, and he reached out to grasp Morgan's hands. Confused, Morgan cocked his head to the side, not sure what had come over his boyfriend, but his confusion almost immediately gave way for weariness at the next words that escaped Nick's lips.

"Don't joke about that," said Nick, his eyes flickering to Morgan's back. "It isn't funny."

"Nick," said Morgan, his voice firm and his heart melting at the very same time. Pulling his boyfriend into a tight hug, he patted him on the back. "Making those jokes is what helped me cope all those years, and I'm fine, really, I am. Life isn't perfect, it never has been, but that doesn't mean your sense of humour can't be."

"I'm allowed to care about what happened to you," Nick replied in a soft voice. "It really was barbaric and nobody… nobody should have had to deal with something like that."

"You are and it was," said Morgan, forcing a smile to his lips as he withdrew from the hug. Cupping Nick's cheek, he leaned in so that their foreheads touched and their noses bumped against each other. "But, I don't want you feeling sorry for me, and I don't want you pitying me. I want you to accept what happened to me, because it did happen, but to understand that it was a long time ago. They're nothing but awful memories now."

"Then, at least let me do this," said Nick, his hands falling to rest on Morgan's hips.

"Do what?"

"Give you a few good memories to replace the bad," said Nick, and pressed his lips to his.

Unlike their first kiss and the many that had come after, this kiss lit a fire in Morgan's chest and stole his breath. There wasn't any awkward fumbling… instead, there was an intensity that he didn't know existed between the two of them, and if he was being perfectly honest with himself, he completely expected to have steam coming out of his mouth when this was done. Then, Nick's tongue slipped between his lips for the first time, and something in his brain seemed to malfunction at the sensation. Grasping Nick's back, he pushed his boyfriend against the nearest wall. Nick gasped, their tongues battling for dominance until Morgan won, and his heart skipped a beat as he felt his frozen prince melt in his arms.

Pulling away, he grinned, trying to catch his breath. Meeting Nick's eye and catching sight of his flushed cheeks and swollen lips, he reached out to give his boyfriend a playful poke in the ribs.

"Feeling awfully confident about your skills, are you, Frosty?" he asked.

"Duke Weselton can wait," Nick murmured. "Just shut up and kiss me again."

Princess Margaret Charming considered herself to be a very intelligent young woman, one whose wisdom was only eclipsed by her beauty. She was a fabulous dancer, had the voice of an angel, and she considered herself to be quite the artist. Considering the immense amount of effort and raw talent it took to make her best friend, Aurelia Rêvere, look as good as her, there was nobody who could question her devotion to the arts. In fact, she had recently begun to write her memoirs, and she expected every young girl in her kingdom to be smitten with the tragic story of her life.

She had money… more than God, as her mother liked to remind her, but what good was a purse that never seemed to empty when you already owned everything that was worth owning. It would not be long until her betrothal to Prince Nicholas was finalized, so all was set in the romance department, and she was certain that the court of Arendelle would be utterly devoted to her warm nature and good humor. However, as much as she was attracted to Prince Nicholas, she could not deny that it was awfully cold in Arendelle, and moving there would be quite the imposition.

There were a great many other problems in her life, but as a princess of Renvale, that was simply her cross to bear.

Right now, she was looking for her brother. He was rather odd, if she was being honest with herself, and she was fairly certain her mother must have dropped him on his head a few times as a child for him to turn out the way he had. Still, she did love him after a fashion. It was her duty to look out for him, dull as he was, and he did make her laugh.

Knocking on his bedroom door, she frowned as it swung open. That was strange. Christopher never left the door ajar for fear of that baby kangaroo—what was its name? Roo?—of his getting loose and starting some sort of mischief or the other. The second sign that something was wrong was the room itself. The bed looked as though it hadn't been slept in for days, and most of the furniture had been covered with white sheets. Biting on her lip, she glanced around in search of one of her brother's many plush toys.

"Rabbit?" she called. "Tigger?"

There was no response. Now, warning bells were sounding in her head. Rabbit had never been warm to her, but Tigger would have come bounding out if Regina herself had swanned in through the door and declared herself the new empress of the earth.

"Piglet?" she called, tugging on her twin-tails. Quickly, she reminded herself that this was not proper behavior for a lady, and placed her hands at her sides instead. A deep frown on her face, she left the room in search of her father. He would tell her what was going on.

As she walked through the corridors, her unease grew. The guards were at their posts, but there was something off about their posture. They were hunched over, leaning on their halberds, and not a single one of them offered her a word of greeting as she passed them by. The servants were acting oddly as well, now that she thought about it, and she'd seen no sign of the dwarves since returning.

As she passed by one of the corner rooms, she paused, hearing a light scratching against the door. Upon hearing familiar voices, she immediately swung it open, letting it slam shut behind her as she took in the sight of her brother's plush toys, all huddled together on the floor. At the sight of her, they looked ready to bolt, from wise old Owl to matronly Kanga.

"Princess Margaret," said Rabbit, his voice stern yet weary. Pushing himself to the front of the small crowd, he pursed his lips at her. "If a single hair has been harmed on that boy's head, there will be hell to pay."

"What hair?" she asked. "Which boy?" None of this made sense. Quickly making sure that the door was closed behind her, she knelt down beside the toys. "What in the world is going on?"

They were silent, exchanging furtive looks. Then Owl, bless his soul, came forward and began to speak. As he did, Margaret felt a distinct sense of horror begin to well up in her stomach; the tale simply could not be true, and she'd have called him a liar had so many things not been so odd since her return. But… for her brother to have been carted off in such a manner, for the dwarves to have been sent away, for the toys to have been consigned to this room to await an inevitable end in one of the castle's fireplaces, all on her mother's orders… No, it couldn't be.

"How do you expect me to believe any of that?" she asked, when he was finally done.

"You're a vain girl, Margaret, but not a stupid one, and I do believe you love your brother," said Rabbit. "Look around and tell us that we're lying."

She took a deep breath. If what they said was true, then something definitely had gone wrong during the visit to Arendelle, and she would get to the bottom of it. Her father would never lie to her, even if he'd been acting more aloof than usual in the past few weeks, and she would have to see him immediately.

Glancing about the room, her eyes settled on a large handbag in the corner. The leather was dusty, and the style was very old, but it would do. Grasping it, she looked at the toys.

"Can you fit in here?" she asked. "Until I find out what's going on, it would be best for you lot to not be in the castle." Margaret left the rest unsaid, though they got the message clearly enough, judging by how fast they scrambled into the bag. She was not doing this for her… but if her mother truly did intend to destroy the toys, as Queen Snow had often threatened to but been held in check by King Charming… Christopher would be beside himself.

Once the lot of them were in the bag, she zipped it shut and dusted it off as best she could. Hoping not to arise too much suspicion, she quickly left the room and, holding her head up high, began heading for the front door. The castle was silent, and the guards' eyes followed her as she walked, sending a chill down her spine. This was not the Renvale she remembered… something was very, very wrong.

Upon reaching the gardens, she headed for the stables. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she caught sight of Dreamer, nibbling at hay in his stall. Her brother's white stallion was an intelligent animal, and she trusted that he knew the way well enough. Not that she could go with them. She never rode for leisure and save for the brief moments she accompanied her family on rides through the country, during which she rode side-saddle as befit a noblewoman of her rank and stature, she did not ride at all.

"Let's go, boy," she said, slipping the handbag over his head as she led him out of the stables. Quickly looking around to make sure the gardens were still empty, she headed for the postern gate, keeping a wary eye on her surroundings. Finally, after what felt like hours, she reached the gate. It was unguarded, to her surprise, and it slid open at a touch.

Unzipping the bag, she reached in to help Owl out. He was the most intelligent, and she trusted that he'd be able to handle things from here.

"Dreamer knows the way," she said, gesturing to the woods. "The beekeeper's daughter, the one that Christopher likes."

As she said it, she saw movement in the corner of her eyes. Whirling around, Margaret felt her heart sink at the sight of her mother striding across the grounds with a string of guards behind her. Their halberds gleamed in the morning sun, but their eyes were glazed over, their expressions blank. She knew a great many of them in passing… something was wrong.

Quickly, she slipped off her rings and bracelets, stuffing them into the bag. For a moment, she considered shoving in her necklace as well, but the clasp was intricate, and it would take too long to undo. Instead, biting her lip, she reached for her tiara and gave that up instead.

"Owl, tell the girl that you all need to leave. Those jewels should be enough to buy passage from Renvale, but make haste."

"Princess Margaret, come with us."

"Go," she said, slapping Dreamer's flank as hard as she could. The horse whinnied and bolted out the gate, disappearing into the woods, and Margaret breathed a sigh of relief before turning to confront her mother. Just as she opened her mouth to do so, she felt her words die in her throat.

Her mother was rippling, though it appeared that Margaret was the only one who noticed. She took a step back as her mother's skin grew a few shades darker and her hair twisted into curls. Her eyes changed from blue to brown, and her features morphed, becoming distinctly unfamiliar. Then, a staff appeared in the woman-who-had-been-her-mother's hand, and understanding dawned. Bile rose in Margaret's throat; she knew who this was, though they had never met.

"Regina," she snarled, and for the first time in her life, she felt herself grow envious of the likes of Alyssa and Aquaria, princesses who had been raised to defend themselves with sword and spear. All her parents had given her was her beauty and charm, and that would not help her in the slightest against the most wanted witch in all of Renvale. "What have you done to my mother?"

"Regina?" replied The Evil Queen, still speaking in Snow White's voice. "My dear, I understand that the news of your father's passing must weigh on you, but I fear you must be quite confused. It's me, Margaret. Your mother."

"You are not my mother," she said, backing away until she felt the stone walls of the castle against her back. Taking a deep breath, she looked around her for something, anything she could use to defend herself. Her eyes settling on a nearby rake, she quickly brandished it in front of her.

Looking at the guards, she raised her voice. "Have you all gone blind? Arrest her immediately." Only then did the other half of Regina's statement dawn on her, and she felt a sickening sensation wash over her. Her skin crawled, and her eyes stung. "My father is not dead," she shrieked.

"Of course he is," said Regina, smirking. "I found him dead in our bed this morning, poisoned… can you believe it? And, can you imagine my heartbreak when I went to inform my only daughter and found her trying to flee the castle like a thief… and, an empty poison bottle amongst your perfumes. Oh, Margaret, why?" Regina wailed, clutching at her cheeks, though her eyes glinted with amusement.

"You vile bitch." Margaret screamed, lunging at the witch with her rake. She missed her strike as the guards grabbed her, their gauntlets biting into her wrists as she screamed again, her throat growing hoarse as they forced her to her knees in front of Regina.

"There is only one punishment for such a crime," said Regina, reaching into her pocket and drawing out a hand mirror. Holding it up, she held it in front of Margaret, and she stroked her daughter's hair. "Exile."

The mirror glowed and Margaret felt herself being sucked in. She screamed and twisted in the guards grasp to no avail, shrieking and kicking. Spittle ran down her chin as her twin-tails escaped their ribbons, and her knees grew scuffed from scraping along the paving stones. Then, the world was white and empty. For as far as the eye could see, there was nothing around her, and when she turned back, there was a single window, floating in mid-air.

Through it, she could see Regina smiling at her. Then, there was a sharp motion and the window shattered. Margaret shrieked, slamming her fists against the broken glass that had been the only exit from the mirror world, not caring as the shards bit into her skin…

"Dear, how do you feel about Aurelia Rêvere?" asked his mother, looking up from her dinner with a teasing smile.

"She's a narcissistic brat who'd burst into flames the minute she walked into a chapel," replied his father, an amused glint in his eye.

"Yes, thank you, Eugene, but I was talking to Cornelius."

Cornelius chuckled as he set down his fork, glancing at his parents. If Alyssa and he were even half as happy with each other after twenty-five years of marriage as his parents were, then he would consider himself to be a very lucky man. Reaching out for another garlic roll, his wedding ring glinted in the evening sunlight streaming through the large bay windows. It was the first time he'd worn it since Alyssa had slipped it onto his finger, and his parents hadn't yet noticed.

He should tell them… really, he should, but he just wasn't sure how to bring it up. Hopefully, one of them would inquire about the ring sooner or later, as he felt that would be a suitable introduction to the topic.

"I agree wholeheartedly with Dad," he said, smirking at his mother. "Aurelia is dreadful."

"I'm glad you think that," she replied, her eyes twinkling. "Queen Aurora brought up the notion of a marriage between the two of you whilst we were in Arendelle, and I have just received a formal request this morning. Needless to say, I tore it up at once and tossed it into the fireplace, but I'm glad you approve."

Ah, they'd brought up marriage, he thought, perking up. Finally, a good lead-in for him to use as a springboard.

"It would be difficult for a married man to get engaged to someone," he said, reaching for his juice. Once again, his ring glinted, and this time, his mother caught sight of it.

Queen Rapunzel choked, her eyes going wide. At the same time, lager sprayed out of King Eugene's mouth, and he immediately reached across the table to thump his wife on the back. With a sharp cough, a wedge of bread and chicken came flying out of her mouth and knocked over a candlestick. Cornelius glanced around the room. The new butler seemed to be having a small fit, whilst Cassandra, his mother's lady-in-waiting, had grasped a column for support. The guards beside the door were eyeing each other warily, and the kitchen maid, who had been waiting patiently in the corner in case they needed anything else, hastily grasped the skillet of chicken off the table and hurried out the door.

"Married?" his mother asked, still looking rather winded from her choking fit. "You got married? When? How? To whom?"

His father cleared his throat, eyeing him with a knowing look. "If we may have the room," said King Eugene, nodding in approval at the maid who'd removed the skillet.

As the staff filed out, Cornelius beamed. Things seemed to be going well. His parents were surprised, no doubt, but they'd come around as they always did, and his mother had not yelled at him, meaning that she wasn't angry. Or… he suddenly realized, the smile slipping off his face as he caught sight of the vein throbbing in her temple, it was simply taking her a bit of time to process what he'd just said.

Suddenly, he too was grateful that the maid had the foresight to remove the skillet. He couldn't remember her name, but she definitely deserved a raise.

"It was Dad's idea," said Cornelius hurriedly, trying to shift what portion of the blame he could. "He told me to do what makes me happy."

"Cornelius, that isn't what I meant and you know it," said his father, resting a placating hand on Rapunzel's shoulder. "I said that the only person standing in the way of your happiness was yourself, not that you should go out and marry her." Suddenly, he paused, as if something had just come to his mind. Groaning, he brought a palm to his face. "I sense a lot of angry letters in the future… many, many angry letters, courtesy of King Adam."

Cornelius opened his mouth to reply, but his mother silenced him with a look.

Her eyes narrowed, she said, "You have five minutes to explain before I come over there and whack you upside the head."

"Right…" He gulped, running a hand through his hair. "So, here's the deal. Alyssa and I have been friends for years, and then we kind-of, sort-of fell in love." He flushed, knowing how cheesy it sounded, but needing to get them on his side and convince them that he'd just done what he'd needed to do. "And yes, I love her. I smile whenever I see her, and I get this odd feeling in my stomach, and my heart skips a beat whenever we kiss. And I get bored listening to most people talk, but she could keep my attention for an hour just talking about the weather. And, she's tough as nails and doesn't take my nonsense, and I think she can probably kick my ass in a swordfight, which shouldn't come as a surprise to you, Mum, seeing as you're a better fighter than Dad, but I'm getting off topic."

Drumming his fingers along the table, he frowned. "Look, it's not ideal, but in Arendelle, we found out that King Adam was going to force a betrothal contract between Alyssa and Christopher Charming. She didn't want that. I didn't want that. Hell, I don't think Christopher even knew about it, and he probably didn't want that either. So, we decided to get married so that we wouldn't be forced to seperate. And, we magically bound our wedding license so that it couldn't be annulled by a king's verdict… and we sort of…" He flushed, hoping they got the picture.

"Consummated the marriage?" said King Eugene, raising an eyebrow. "Cornelius, I don't know whether to be proud of your ballsiness or utterly furious that you probably just caused a diplomatic firestorm for your mother."

"Proud of my ballsiness," he replied quickly, nodding in his parents' direction. "Please let it be the former."

"So, let me see if I have this all correct," said his mother, and the disappointed look in her eyes was worse than if she'd been angry. "You were in a relationship with a foreign princess, which your father and I approved off, as I'm sure you know, and upon hearing a rumour regarding a potential betrothal contract which would make it so you couldn't be together, you decided that the appropriate course of action was to get married? Which you then did, and I can only imagine you dragged your cousin into this since nobody else in Arendelle would be daft enough to officiate such a ceremony without first telling the parents of the bride and groom, and then you found a magic user to bind the marriage so that no matter what anyone else says, you and Alyssa will remain husband and wife?"

"Well—" Cornelius began, only to be cut off.

"And, not once through all of this did it occur to you to come to your father and I for assistance in the matter?"

"Mum." Cornelius sighed, looking down at his shoes. "What could you have done? Honestly, King Adam hates me, and he loathes Dad. In fact, the only reason he tolerates you is because you' re of the same rank. Queen Belle may have been willing to help, but she has no say in how Amoré runs… the same as Dad can't really rule Corona and can simply assist you in your rule. So, put yourself in my shoes… would you have done it for Dad?"

He looked up, hopeful that he'd made his point, and his mother sighed. Rubbing at her temple, she poured herself a glass of wine and gulped it down in one.

"You know me too well," she said, closing her eyes. "I probably would have done the same to be with Eugene."

"Oh, that just warms my heart," said his father. A faint smile on his face, he looked at Cornelius, and nodded. "And you, I can't say I'm a hundred percent happy with this, but I suppose congratulations are in order?"

"Thanks, Dad," he said, before turning to his mother.

She sighed. "Well, once the cow's been milked, there's no squeezing the cream back up its udders. I'm still very disappointed and more than a little cross that my only son eloped without telling me, but I suppose that can't be helped now." Leaning back in her chair, she looked at him. He could tell that her smile was forced, but considering the bomb he had just dropped on them, he would take what he could get.

"So," she added. "Would you inform your father and I as to your plans for the future, now that you are wedded?"

"And, Cornelius," said his father, smirking. "We would appreciate it when you're expecting your first child, you tell us before it's old enough to introduce itself to us."

"I guess I deserve that." He groaned before returning his mother's smile. "Actually, I'd like that," he said, referring to the plans he had for his future with Alyssa. "I'm sorry for eloping, but if I could make one request?"

"Yes?" asked his mother.

"When she married me, Alyssa did so knowing that she was burning her bridges with her father and that she was risking her crown. So please, just promise me you'll accept her. If not for her, for me. I'm as much to blame for eloping as she is."

His parents exchanged a knowing look and nodded, and Cornelius let out the breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. Slowly, cautiously, he began to speak about how he thought the future would look after the fallout of his wedding becoming public knowledge, and how he expected to deal with it, and the plans he had for his relationship with Alyssa.

And, by midnight, when his mother finally decided that they should all go to bed and could talk more in the morning, Cornelius was delighted to see that her smile was genuine. As he walked to his bedroom, he couldn't help but feel as though the future was a little brighter now that he had his parents support. And, in a year or two, when the wars were won and the dust had settled, he'd make sure his parents could attend his wedding, even if his wife and he were already married as they repeated their vows. Only, it would be in the royal chapel, and it wouldn't be a secret… it would be the wedding Alyssa deserved.

A half hour later, as he prepared for bed, his mother walked into his room. Grateful that she hadn't walked in on him changing and that she wasn't carrying her frying pan, he offered her a tentative smile.

Softly, his mother asked, "Cornelius, does it make you happy? Do you truly think this is your happily ever after?"

Looking at her, he smiled. "I know it is, even if it isn't the perfect story."

"Good," she said, pulling him into a hug. "And, the best love stories in the world all begin with a bit of a mess, I'll have you know. Remember, the first time I met your father, I knocked him out with a frying pan and tied him to a chair with my hair."

Christopher woke up in a soft bed, dressed in comfortable clothes, and with a dull pounding in the back of his head. His stomach ached, no doubt queasy from the copious dosages of sleeping potion that had been forced down his throat for the entirety of his voyage, not to mention empty. The crew had fed him for the most part, but the meagre rations had made him wonder if they remembered he was actually their crown prince and not some random stowaway they'd found on their vessel. His mother's orders, they'd said, but even Christopher had his doubts.

Snow White had never been much of a mother to him; she was vapid, mean, and deluded into thinking her way was the only way, but she had never been cruel. Perhaps there had been times when she had toed the line a little too firmly, but she had never crossed it. Christopher sighed. Who was he kidding? His mother loathed him, and she had ever since their court had termed him the Prince of Fools.

Sitting up in bed, he clutched at his temple as he glanced around the room. It was very red, save for the walls, which had been painted a rich shade of green. From the curtains to the bedsheets, everything was redder than a rose, and even the wooden furniture seemed to have a vermillion tinge to it. The last time he'd visited Amoré, he'd been eleven, and he didn't remember them taking their national colour quite so seriously.

"Well, took you long enough to wake."

Christopher nearly fell out of bed in surprise. Glancing wildly around the room, he clutched at his temples at the sharp pain which came with movement before his eyes well on the blond man sitting beside the window. The man was shorter than he was with blue eyes, high cheekbones, a silver stud just on his left eyebrow, and he wore an apron around his waist. Instantly on alert, Christopher rubbed his fingers together beneath the sheets, trying to summon a dream to mind. His head ached as he did so, but he persevered until he felt the faintest flicker in the tips of his fingers.

It was not that he distrusted the man, stranger though he was. Simply, it was that the last week had been completely hellish, and he was more than a little jumpy.

"Chatty lad, aren't you?" added the man, quirking an eyebrow. "After I went through all the trouble of keeping the maids from throwing this little tyke out with your old clothes."

Christopher remained silent. The knowledge that the castle maids had undressed him rankled, and he felt his cheeks grow hot. It was not that he was a crown prince who deserved at least some small smidge of respect, at the very least. Simply put, he was a human being, and he would expect that these people would have had at least offered him the courtesy of allowing him to change his own clothes, or if that was too much to ask, that they'd have had the common decency to not violate him by stripping him naked whilst he'd been asleep. Well, at least they'd redressed him.

Shaking himself to clear out the nasty thoughts brewing in his head, he reminded himself that he had bigger worries.

Then, the man reached behind his chair and lifted Pooh into the air by the back of his red T-shirt, and Christopher's heart leapt into his throat in delight. He hadn't even spared a thought about his friend since waking, but just the sight of Pooh was enough to lift his spirits. To his subsequent horror, however, the man tossed the bear across the room in his direction, and Christopher nearly failed to catch him by the paw as he sailed past.

"Bastard," he muttered under his breath, quickly checking his friend over to make sure that Pooh hadn't taken any damage in their most recent… well, adventure, for want of a better word. Seeing none, he let out a sigh of relief. "Pooh, you all right?" he asked.

"Well you see, Christopher, I have had a most dreadful week. But, I have thought about it, and what I have thought is that it is much better to be here with you. Though, I must say that I am very hungry, and there is no honey to be found."

"I'm sorry, buddy," said Christopher, ruffling the bear's head. "We'll get you some as soon as we're out of this mess."

Looking up, he looked at the man again, who had been waiting in silence. Grudgingly, Christopher nodded in his direction. "Thank you," he said, gesturing at Pooh. "For not throwing out my friend."

"Well, I know how attached you are to the bear," replied the man. Tapping his chin, he frowned. "I'm surprised you don't remember me. Well, it has been nearly ten years, so that's to be expected, but considering how many times I caught you sneaking into the kitchens in search of honey for that bear's black hole of a stomach during your last visit, I'd have thought I'd have left a better impression."

Christopher frowned. It had been a long time ago, but now that the man mentioned it, he did look rather familiar. Then, as if a candle had just been lit in his head, his eyes widened as realization dawned.

"Mister Potts?" he said incredulously.

"Huh, been a long time since anyone's called me that, but you always were a polite kid. But, you're not eleven any more, and I'd like to pretend I'm still twenty, so call me Chip." Getting to his feet, Chip cricked his neck before giving him a quick once-over. "It's madness is what this is, believe me. I know it. Lumiére knows it. Cogsworth knows it. I smell your mother's hand in this. How is the old broad?"

"Well, Chip," said Christopher, "She had my guards knock me out, had a ship waiting to bring me here against my will, had a crew drug me to make sure I couldn't escape, and I can't say the welcome I'm getting in Amoré is any warmer."

"I'll have you know that we've been most welcoming," said Chip, looking visibly affronted. "The circumstances of your arrival may have been less than ideal, but I assure you that when Lumiére informed King Adam of it, he was furious."

"Chip," said Christopher, his voice cold. "This is not my bedroom. I haven't eaten a proper meal in a week. I've been dosed with so much sleeping potion that I could probably vomit out Sleeping Beauty's childhood. And, these are not the clothes I remember wearing when I left Renvale."

Chip paled, no doubt understanding the insinuation in the last part of Christopher's complaints. Raising his hands in surrender, he shook his head. "Your clothes were sodden with saltwater and they stank. Marla, the head-maid of the castle, who is sixty by the way, and the royal physician changed you and cleaned you up rather than let you lie in your own filth until you woke up."

He shrugged, looking completely out of his depth. "Look, I know this sucks for you," he added. "But, what do you want me to do? I'm just the chef, and the only reason I'm even here right now is because I'm the youngest person in the castle that Lumiére trusts, and he thought you'd be more comfortable around someone closer to your age. And, as for not eating, just tell me what you'd like and I'll whip it up in no time. I'm on your side here, mate, believe me."

"My side?" Christopher snorted. "Whether my mother arranged this or not, your King is just as responsible as she is. It takes two monarchs to arrange a betrothal, and if he had just not gotten me involved with whatever schemes he has, I would still be in the comfort of my own home, mocked by my court, but able to visit Priscilla whenever I wanted." His eyes widened at the last bit, and he bit his lip. He had not meant to say that, not in the slightest. He needed to get eat something, he knew, and take a hot bath before getting some proper sleep.

"Believe it or not, I am," said Chip with a shrug. "You're a good kid who doesn't deserve this, but if I'm being honest, I'm not on your side because of that. You mentioned having a girl back home. What makes you think Princess Alyssa is any keener on marrying you than you are her? She's got a beau as well, and call me sentimental, but I've had the pleasure of knowing her since she was in diapers, and I would like to see her happy."

"King Adam and Queen Belle should be home within the week. If you want to stand any chance of stopping this, I advise you to speak to Queen Belle. Her support means more in this than does her husband's." Making for the door, Chip paused. "So, what do you want for dinner, Christopher?"

Christopher hesitated. In his arms, Pooh squirmed, rubbing at his stomach, and at the same time, Christopher's own belly gave a loud rumble. "Anything is good, but you should know that I'm a vegetarian and I can't eat anything that has nuts in it. And, if you could, a pot of honey for Pooh, please." He forced a smile to his face. If he wanted to get out of this mess, he needed friends in Amoré to help him, and at the moment, Chip was the closest thing he had to an ally.

"No worries. Bathroom is through that door. Closet's been stocked with a few changes of clothes. I'll be telling Lumiére you're awake, so hold off on showering and what not until he gets to see you, because if the old fart wants to tell you something, he'll come right in and say it, whether you're on the can or taking a wank. No sense of shame, that bloody candlestick." Rolling his eyes, Chip smiled. "You need anything, just ask. Welcome to the Court of Roses. I trust you don't mind the thorns too much."