Author's Note:

Sorry for the delay! It's been a busy week, but I was able to do a bit of brainstorming, so I think it's for the best. Have fun reading!

Slipping out the back door of the kitchens, Clyde Fitzherbert exited the castle, looking casually over his shoulder to make sure no one was tailing him. Donned in a perfectly pressed, if slightly large, soldier's uniform, Clyde had been delighted in how easily he had penetrated the security of the castle. Then again, this was in his blood. He knew exactly how and when to be invisible.

After learning of Queen Freja's newborn daughter, he had made his way nonchalantly out of the castle, eager to see the look on his son's face when his father arrived home, arms laden with food and fresh clothes and blankets. But now, as he walked down the hill toward the village, Clyde felt like his shoulder angels were having a brawl inside his head.

Knock it off. This is not the time to grow a conscience. It's just a job, and you need to money.

But what does Carney even want with the royals from Arendelle, anyways? Nothing good, to be sure. It wouldn't have anything to do with the baby, would it?

Clyde felt a lump rising in his throat and tried to swallow. His mouth was dry. Stealing, raiding, things like that, he could handle. Leaking valuable information about the high-flying royal family to put bread on the table? He wouldn't lose any sleep over that. But endangering a child? He didn't know much about Freja, the Queen of Arendelle, anymore, but he remembered many years ago, when the two young princesses of Corona would accompany their parents in the annual kingdom parade. His memory of her was so innocent, so untarnished. She was just a girl. Clyde didn't know why, but he thought of Eugene in that instant. Suddenly, he wanted very much to protect that young woman. Not because she was a queen. He couldn't care less about that. But whatever Carney had planned, it definitely wouldn't help her. And then there was the baby to worry about…

That settled it. Carney would not get a word out of him. He didn't care about the money. He still had the one bag of money, insurance for his work. They would make it last as long as they could. As Clyde saw his small home looming in the distance, he quickened his pace, smiling to himself.

The door was open.

Why was the door open? Clyde's heart beat rapidly as he neared the house. Marta knew better. Maybe it was Eugene. Clyde tried desperately to stay calm. He was still in the soldier's uniform. He needed to change before he attracted any unwanted attention. Ducking inside the scantily furnished home, he glanced around. The kitchen was empty.

"Marta?" he called. Silence follow for a second as he shut the door behind him.

"Back here."

Thank God.

Clyde walked into the back room, then jumped backward in surprise. Carney was standing there, next to a smaller, darkly clad man he did not recognize. Marta was sitting on the floor in the corner. She was hemming up one of Eugene's shirts, but her eyes were not on her work. Instead, her gaze followed the intruders with a frightened look on her face. Nestled next to Marta, Eugene sat cross-legged. He was staring intently at a circle of ants huddled around a crumb of moldy bread. It was all Clyde could do not to reach out and wrap his fingers around Carney's tree limb of a neck. How dare he come here like this!

"Carney," Clyde nodded curtly. His manners would be practically non-existent today, "Who's your friend?"

Carney didn't speak, but the stranger held out a hand in greeting, which Clyde ignored, "Please forgive the intrusion, Mr. Fitzherbert. My name is Alazair. Carney here is an… associate of mine. He saw speaking on my behalf before."

Clyde didn't know why, but Carney, who, under normal circumstances would seem large and intimidating, was dwarfed by this small man. It was as if Alazair's presence in the room outdid everything else, and Clyde didn't like it. He also doubted that his old acquaintance was a mere associate of the strange man. Alazair didn't seem like a type to have friends. Minions, maybe.

"Well, I hate to tell you this, gentlemen, but I gained no useful information today," Clyde stated, standing up tall, "and I'm quite positive that if I go back I will be caught. I'm not going to continue risking my family's future and end up in prison."

Carney crossed his arms, "What are you saying, exactly?"

"That I'm out of the deal. Sorry boys."

"I'm sorry," Alazair was saying, his eyes cold and narrow, "But that's not an option."

Gazing past the two men at his wife, Clyde felt sick to his stomach when he noticed how terrified she looked. Marta was not one to frighten easily, but she had never looked smaller or more vulnerable. And maybe she was right to be scared. Clyde hadn't thought about how Alazair and Carney would take to his new found integrity. Looking into Marta's eyes, Clyde tried as hard as he could to communicate with her, without using words, the one thing that was consuming his mind.

Eugene.

His wife knew him well. She blinked slowly, in understanding. A pained look crossed her face, but it was hidden instantly underneath her firm desire to protect her son.

"Darling," she spoke softly, but loud enough to catch their captors' ears, "would you run along to the market and pick up some fresh apples for lunch, please?"

Carney glared at her and Alazair looked only mildly amused. The boy stood up slowly, his eyes fixed on his mother's. Uncomfortably, he inched away from her, glancing up at the two strange men as he walked past them. Clyde's hands clenched, his breathing halted, his body ready to pounce at any sign of movement from the intruders. But neither of them lifted a finger, and as Eugene slipped past Clyde out of the room, the boy smiled brilliantly up at his father. Clyde swallowed a nervous lump in his throat as he grinned tightly back. After his son has safely left the house, Clyde breathed again, then faced Alazair dead on.

"Listen, I told you I didn't learn anything! If I keep poking around, someone is bound to notice. I'm through taking orders from the scum of the earth!"

Alazair turned to Carney, whose eyes blazed. Clyde had never seen that look in them in the past, and he didn't like it. It looked like bloodlust. Alazair nodded. Before Clyde could blink, Carney's hand was clenched tightly around the back of Marta's neck, holding her up against the wall. Her eyes were wide with surprise, and a soft sob of terror escaped her as her attacker held up a jagged knife.

"No!" Clyde felt frozen, his pulse pounding like a drum in his head. Carney grinned as he pressed the cold flat of the knife against Marta's neck.

"You see," Alazair circled like a vulture, "I don't think you're telling the truth. I think you did in fact learn some very valuable things today. And I think you're going to tell me. Now, before I have Carney slit your wife's beautiful throat."

"You son of a…" Clyde hissed, but Alazair cut him off.

"There's no point in threatening me, Mr. Fitzherbert. Tell me what I want to know, and I might just spare her life. And there's your son to consider, as well."

"What on earth do you want with some snotty nosed royal baby? What did they ever do to you?"

Marta gasped as Carney applied pressure to the dagger. A tiny stream of blood ran down her pale neck, and Clyde felt like beheading both Carney and Alazair. But he felt completely and utterly useless. Any move he made toward Alazair would bring Carney's knife deeper into his wife's neck.

"Please, Mr. Fitzherbert, tell me now, has the Queen of Arendelle given birth? It's a simple enough question. Yes or no. But you had better make up your mind…"

Marta squeaked in pain as Carney twisted her arm behind her back hard. Tears streamed down her face.

"Yes."

"What was that?"

"She had the baby," Clyde said harshly, "It's a girl. She was born last night, right after the launch ceremony," he looked pleadingly at Alazair, "I swear that's all I know. Know, please, let her go."

Alazair lifted his eyebrows and Carney released the knife and shoved Marta into Clyde, almost knocking her over.

"Easy!" Clyde growled at him, but turned his attention toward his wife almost instantly. Her arm was badly bruised from Carney's grip. "Oh, Marta, I'm so sorry…"

Tears were in her eyes, but she nodded and buried her face in his chest.

"Now, you have what you want. Respectfully, get out of my house."

"Of course," said Alazair, heading toward the door. Then he turned back, his eyes glistening with evil. A darkness settled itself over Clyde.

"Then again," the miracle man spoke in eloquence, "We can't have you running off and warning anyone. After all, you two are the only link between us and the royal family."

"We won't say anything! Please!" Marta finally spoke, her voice on the edge of sobs. Clyde pulled her back behind him, searching the room for something to defend them. But, like most other rooms in the house, this one was empty, except for an old burnt-up candlestick that lay on the floor at Carney's feet.

Alazair turned to his henchman.

"Kill them."

Eugene skipped toward home. Or ran, more like. A bushel of apples was stuffed in his shirt, making it bulge out at strange, lumpy angles. He could see the house in the distance, dodging through the alleys and hopping over boxes. Eugene skidded to a stop, all of a sudden, his bare feet burning against the cobblestones. What was going on? His home was surrounded by soldiers, their glinting uniforms blinding his eyes. He pulled the apples from his shirt and stuffed them under an empty wooden box in the alley before venturing out, casually strutting through the ranks, up to the front door. An older soldier put a hand out to stop him.

"You can't go in there, lad."

"I live here."

A strange emotion filled the soldier's face, somewhere between pity and anger, and Eugene took a step back. Something was wrong, but the young boy didn't know what.

"Come on, son, this way," the soldier placed his hands firmly on Eugene's shoulders and steered him away from the house, where two bodies draped in white sheets were being lifted gently onto a wagon.

"Am I under arrest?" Eugene asked timidly.

The soldier smiled and shook his head. He lifted the six-year-old in his arms and carried him in the direction of the castle.

Two dark figures, one large and the other relatively smaller, slipped through the alleyways of Corona, hoods pulled low over their faces. Silently, the wove their way toward the outskirts of town, avoiding the crowds. At long last, Carney threw off his hood, looking around warily. Alazair followed suit seconds after.

"What now?" Carney asked.

"The boy."

"Clyde's boy? You really think he knows anything? I don't think he is capable of ratting on us." The tiniest sliver of resentment crossed Carney's cold face, but he instantly wiped it away.

Alazair sighed, "Maybe, and maybe not. If you can find the opportunity, take it, but otherwise, I think we have more important children to see to."

Author's Note:

I wanted to put this at the end, so it wouldn't give anything away... This chapter was so hard to write! I didn't think it would be hard to kill off Eugene's parents when I first brought them in. I think this is the first time I've killed off a character that wasn't an antagonist (my stories are apparently very happy.) Oh, the things we sacrifice as writers! :)