Prince Rainier

Hunts used to be exciting. So did fencing and charming Miss Elaine Stanton, the girl who arranges the flowers in the Blue Parlor. In fact, a great many things I used to enjoy have grown to become rather lackluster in the past few days. There's a layer of bland, gray dust blanketed over just about everything.

Now the hunts bore me. Fencing is a chore—I can't focus and I lose every single match. Charming Miss Elaine Stanton feels like stepping into a pool of ice water. Everything I used to love has suddenly and inexplicably become painful. Well, perhaps not inexplicably. I know exactly what the root of my troubles is. I know why I can't hunt or fight or charm. It's because of her. The girl. My fairy.

I love women. I always have. Not just their…intimate company, but their overall air. They're glorious creatures. They make me smile. But it wasn't until this one girl that I knew what it felt like to look at someone and smile for absolutely no reason. She didn't have to tease it out of me. It was there already. And now she's gone like the winter snows, leaving behind only the memory of cold and sparkling white in her wake.

I eat but I can't taste anything. I inhale but I can't smell anything. I look but I can't really see anything. All day, every day, it's just the fairy the fairy the fairy.

"So this is love?" I ask myself by the window in the hall one day. "I do not want it."

I was wise to stay away from the ledge those two other times. Wiser than I've ever been, though I hadn't known it at the time. I feel like a petulant little child. If she's here, then I'll take the love. But if she's not, then I'll do whatever I have to to drown it out.

But love doesn't work that way and I know it. Regardless of whether or not she's here, I'm still going to wake up every morning thinking of her and I'm still going to go to sleep every night dreaming of her and it hurts to wonder what'll happen if I never see her again so I banish it from my mind. I'm in need of some divine aid.

What's funny is that I haven't honestly prayed for anything since I was maybe seven. That had been around the age when I learned that I could easily charm my way into getting the things I want rather than asking God for them. No wonder this is happening to me now.

I walk slowly to the edge of the hall, pulling back the biggest window and letting the rays of sunlight warm my hands. I look up at the cloudy sky and take a deep breath.

"I've been…sort of foolish," I say. "I do confess I probably could have afforded to come to church a few Sundays a year. And yeah, I admit, I'm not the most devout of your…worshippers. But I'm in love, alright? And being in love is never easy. But now I've gotten myself in a fix because I might possibly never see this girl again. I'd…I'd like to see her again. So if there's some way you can make that happen—that would be great. You just get me to her and I'll take care of the rest. Um…thanks."

That went quite well, if I do say so myself.

"Rainier, what are you doing?" asks Father's voice as he approaches me. I turn and shrug.

"I had a go at prayer, I suppose," I say.

"Finally turned back to God and decided not to burn in Hell?"

"I figured it can't hurt my chances," I say, shrugging again.

"Stay back, boy!" yells a guard in the distance. We both look up.

"What's going on over there now?" asks Father. Crowley cranes his neck.

"Some little street urchin has been trying to get in here since yesterday," Crowley says. "Rather persistent little fellow. His determination alone has earned him an audience."

"I need to speak with the prince!" yells a voice. I perk up instantly, then feel my heart drop. It's not her voice. It's a boy's voice. "Please! It's a terrible emergency!"

"Your terrible emergency can be taken up with Captain Rhodes," says the guard.

"But it's about the girl!" yells the boy. "It's the—please—"

"The girl?" Father repeats. "Wait…he can't mean…Rainier, wait!"

Father and Crowley hurry to keep up with me as I dash towards the guard.

"Wait!" I say as I take the guard's arm, waving him away. "Wait, let me hear what he has to say." I turn to the boy. He's a small thing. Skinny. His clothes have definitely seen better days. He looks like a coal boy. "What's your name, boy?"

"Edward, Your Highness," he says, panting as he sinks into a deep bow. "Edward Finchley of Amonta."

"You speak of a girl," I say. "Which girl do you think I am searching for?"

"The one who owns this," Edward says, raising a small bundle of old fabric up to me.

"How dare you present such filth to the prince of the realm?" the guard hisses.

I raise my hand. "Shut up," I say quickly, taking the fabric from the boy's hands. There's something familiar about the scent on it. I recognize it instantly. It's her perfume. Just smelling her calms my head. This is something she held. She's a real person. She touched this fabric.

I unravel the fabric slowly. I feel the familiar shape of the shoe before I see it. It glitters in the light, just as its twin does in Captain Rhodes' study on the floor directly below our feet.

"How did you come by this?" I ask.

"She entrusted it to me," Edward says.

"She knows you?"

"Yes, Your Grace," he says.

"She trusts you?"

"She does, Your Grace."

"Then tell me, Edward," I lean in closer, my heart pounding into overdrive. It's not healthy. "What is her name?"

"Lady Ambriella, sire," Edward says. "Of House Allendale."