Instead of the man lounging on the couch as he had the night before, he was nowhere to be found. "Papa?" Rosalyn called. She began to search around their home, looking for her father. When she went to check their bedrooms, she found him on the floor in the hallway. "Papa!" she shouted and ran to his side. She kneeled next to him and lifted his head.

Mercer Beaumont opened his eyes and saw his beautiful daughter bending over him. He reached a hand up and gently cupped her cheek. He smiled. "Rosalyn, my flower. You look exactly like your mother."

"What happened?" Rosalyn asked and tried to sit him up, but Mercer refused. "I need to get you off the floor and into your bed," she said.

"I am so proud of you," the man carried on. His body ached tremendously. But his daughter was here with him, and that is all he really cared about.

Rose's eyes began to tear up. "You're going to be all right, I promise. Adrien is going to come visit us tomorrow and you'll meet him and, and..." Her words began to sound panicked and her thoughts mushed together. Though she didn't want to believe it, in her heart she knew her father was dying. Here, in her arms. Why hadn't she come home sooner?

Mercer smiled again and let his hand fall away from Rosalyn's cheek. "My child, there is no need for me to meet the man you love. As long as you are happy, I am happy. I love you, Rose." He closed his eyes and his breathing slowed to a stop. He would see his wife again and together they would watch over Rosalyn as she lived the rest of her life.

"I love you too, Papa," Rosalyn managed to say. The tears that had welled in her eyes began to fall and she collapsed onto her father. Her heart broke once again as she laid in the middle of the hall.

Pastor Pere Rob awake at 6am as he always did to pray and read from the word of God to seek direction in what the lord would have him do that day.

He got the impression to visit the Beaumont residence. Mister Beaumont had not been well as of late. Ever since Miss Rosalyn's husbands untimely death, Pastor Pere Rob had keep a distance. Being cordial to her when he saw her, but he no longer saw her come into at leisure to burrow from his small library.

At the reasonable hour of 10 o clock he approached the Beaumont residence front door knocking gently thrice. When no immediate answer came he thought that odd. It was long past the hour of village market shopping.

"Mr. Beaumont, Miss Rosalyn, is anyone home?" He called out.

On his way back to the castle, Adrien sought out a Chamomile and Sage plants in the woods. He gathered what was still viable to make a fair sized pouch of herbs for Mr. Beaumont to make into tea to relieve his aches and pains.

He returned to the castle and instructed Mrs. Pom to hang the plants up near a fireplace and then mince them once they were crisp to the touch and place the contains into a pouch. After dinner he went to his study and wrote a small note in excellent calligraphy, "For aches and pain relief: Add a pinch to a cup of hot water, stir thrice, then drink." When Mrs. Pom came in later that night with the herbs minced and contained in a pouch, he thanked her and attached the note. Leaving it on his bedside as he went to sleep.

The next morning he busined himself with reviewing the census of people in the village and the castle staff. He debated on hiring a counsel. His mother had one while his father reigned from the shadows. They had been dismissed after Adrien's transformation. The kingdom was not presently under the threat of war from neighboring kingdoms, so he felt competent for the time being to lead on his own.

He tied his light brown hair back in a pony tail securing it with a gold colored ribbon. He dressed in a white ruffle front shirt, deep purple almost black in appearance waist coat with gold colored trim and black trousers and boots. Lastly, a hooded cloak the color of pitch with no crest or embroidery. Nothing that would indicate his title or lineage.

When the hour struck 1 o clock he grabbed the pouch of herbs and hasted for the stables and began his departure to the village.

Rosalyn had been up well into the night, but by the time Dawn broke, she was fast asleep. She hadn't moved from her father's side, only cried herself to sleep.

Just after 10 o'clock, she heard a knocking on the door. It had sounded like Pastor Pere Rob. Rose slowly got up from the floor and went to the front door. It was him. Her eyes quickly filled with tears again as she tried to speak to the man of her father's death. "Papa...He...he passed away last night."

She covered her face as grief overcame her. He was the only man that had been there her whole life, the only family she had left. Now, she was left to face the world alone.

Pastor Pere Rob face didn't hold much shock at this news. The man had been falling more and more ill as of late. As a pastor he knew to expect more funerals to occur during colder months.

"There, there, Rosalyn. Mourn your loss but find peace. He was of elder years, he lived his life well. Had a wife, a daughter, did well in providing for them. He raised his daughter alone and she became a very capable woman I am certain he was very proud of. I can only imagine he died in peace. And is enjoying much happiness to be with his wife again." Pastor Pere Rob reassured as he gingerly touched the grieving womans shoulder in attempt to console her.

"I'll go collect some of the deacons to assist me with Last Rites and take him to the church to prepare him for burial. Now is the time for you to say your final farewell before he is shrouded in white and no longer to be seen." Pastor Pere Rob told her, giving her the chance to spend a final few minutes with her fathers vessel, before they took him away.

The hour struck 2 o clock and there wasn't much folk to be seen or children running about. Or even folk doing laundry in the town square. The village appeared to be quite a dismal place. He wondered if it was always lime this? It was almost as lonely as his castle when he had made himself a prisoner within its walls.

He knew from the census where the Beaumont residence was and after securing his horse to a tie out where it could partake of water while waiting he knocked on the door and waited.

Rosalyn took her final opportunity to tell her father goodbye. "I love you, papa," she said and placed a gentle kiss on the man's forehead before he was taken to the church to prepare for his burial. The funeral was to be held that afternoon.

A black dress with long sleeves was tucked into the back of her wardrobe. It was the dress she had tailored after the death of her husband and she wished she would never have to wear it again. But people don't live forever...

Minutes after the clock struck two, there was another knock on her door. It didn't take word love to spread throughout the town. Rose was sure it was villagers coming to give her their condolences. But when she opened the door, she found Adrien instead.

Forcing a smile, Rosalyn gave the man a small curtsy. "Good afternoon, your majesty," she said quietly.

Something was wrong. Rose was not her normal self. The way she forced a smile reminded him of the time her time spent with her husband, it was false. Her greeting was full of sorrow despite her attempt at polite and respectfulness.

He bowed his head acknowledging her courteous gesture and stepped inside closing the door behind him. "What is the matter, Rose?" He asked, pulling the hood off his head so she could see his look of concern in his eyes.

A lump formed in the back of her throat. "My father passed away last night," Rosalyn choked out. She wiped her eyes and attempted to straighten her hair. "His funeral is being held in a couple of hours," she explained. It felt like her whole world had come to a screeching halt.

Adrien felt a rush of guilt clawed at his stomach. He knew her father had been feeling unwell. He should have told her not to visit a second day after her first visit. He should have instructed her to wait until her father was well. He should have left the comfort of his home and visited her instead.

"Rose, I am so sorry." He told her with deep sincerity in his voice, wrapping his arms around her in a embrace. The memories of losing his own mum came fresh to his mind and his heart. How he felt he would never be happy again. How he would never hear her voice speak or sing. How the darkness that filled his heart more and more with each passing day with everyday she was gone. Most importantly he remembered feeling so alone despite that many servants in the castle or his fathers shadowed but none the less there presence.

"You are not alone, Rosalyn Beaumont. I am here with you." He whispered, his voice sure and true.

The king's warm embrace was welcoming and it brought her comfort, though it was very little. "Thank you, Adrien," she answered. She knew he was there with and for her, but she still felt so alone.

Her father had been there through everything. He had taught her to read and think for herself, instead of being a simple minded woman. He picked her up when she fell, comforted her in times of sadness. He was there the night of the ball, telling her everything would be okay. When she had been chosen, he volunteered to take her place. In the end, he had been right. She was okay.

And she knew now that her father would be saying the same words. After her grief had passed, Rosalyn would be okay.

"Would you care for me to accompany you to the funeral? I will gladly stand by your side during this difficult time. If you would rather, I will take a place among the congregation. I cannot simply leave and return to the castle during this, your time of need." Adrien asked of her, offering what he could during this difficult time of grief.

His memories were wrought with the castle servants around him trying to give him comfort when he did not want such a thing from anyone. He felt angry, sad, and grief stricken. He pushed everyone away, just like his father had done.

Rosalyn backed out of the man's embrace and wiped her eyes once again. "If you would, Adrien," she said with a nod. There was no one else who would be standing with her at the funeral. She was the only family Mercer had left and being considered "odd," it was hard for him to make friends as well.

"But I must get ready. You may make yourself comfortable," Rosalyn offered before she retreated to her bedroom to change out of her blue dress.

While she headed to the bedroom to ready herself for the dreary event ahead, Adrien made himself 'comfortable'. For him that meant walking about the quaint home and observing.

He could see the main living space was set up as a workshop of sorts, for that of an artist and a tinkerer. Various portraits were all about. Some in oil paint, while others in black and white pencil. They were all very exquisite. So much so Adrien would have easily hired him to redo many of the portraits in the castle. Adrien saw hand tools for making or mending clocks or music boxes.

Adrien stopped when he saw on the fireplace mantle a music box. Identical to the one he had picked out for him mum years ago as a lad. That of a windmill and inside was a painter doing a portrait of a woman holding her baby. During one of the times she and he had ventured out to a flower festival in the spring and also browsed a peddlers market that was happening in timing with the festival for vendors to sell their wares to those who traveled to see the flower festival. His mother had beamed ever so brightly when he told her he wanted to get that for her. His child memory didn't recall what the vendor had looked like. But judging by all the trinkets and tools about, he reckoned a guess it had been Rose's father. His mother had received a piece of parchment after making a purchase of the music box. And from that point on she had sung to him the song that when with the tune the box was made for.

He carefully and turned the crank to wind up the music box and opened it so it began playing. Inside the figure of the painter's arm was moving as if doing the portrait. The woman holding a red rose in her hand? Upon closer inspection Adrien realized it was a rose shaped rattle for the babe in her arms. He began to sing quietly,

"How does a moment last forever?

How can a story never die?

It is love we must hold onto

Never easy, but we try

Sometimes our happiness is captured

Somehow, our time and place stand still

Love lives on inside our hearts and always will

Minutes turn to hours, days to years then gone

But when all else has been forgotten

Still our song lives on

Maybe some moments weren't so perfect

Maybe some memories not so sweet

But we have to know some bad times

Or our lives are incomplete

Then when the shadows overtake us

Just when we feel all hope is gone

We'll hear our song and know once more

Our love lives on

How does a moment last forever?

How does our happiness endure?

Through the darkest of our troubles

Love is beauty, love is pure

Love pays no mind to desolation

It flows like a river through the soul

Protects, proceeds, and perseveres

And makes us whole

Minutes turn to hours, days to years then gone

But when all else has been forgotten

Still our song lives on

How does a moment last forever:

When our song lives on"

Rosalyn slowly changed into the black gown. It was a simple dress. The bodice was snug, the skirt was flat, sleeves were long. There was nothing exquisite about the dress, because there was nothing exquisite about a death or the funeral that followed. The seamstress that had tailored the dress understood that and made it so. She pulled her hair up into a ponytail and tied it with a black ribbon. Her father had always liked when she wore her hair this way.

Upon stepping into the hall, she heard the music box chiming. Her father had built only a handful of the specific one sitting on the mantle. He fashioned it after a scene he had remembered so clearly. He was painting a portrait of Rosalyn's mother and her when she was very young. The same portrait still hung in their home, in the foyer, so that anyone entering could see.

Rosalyn also heard a voice. Adrien knew the words to the song. She had recalled in the palace that he sang the same one. It had not registered in her mind where it had come from as she was ill and distraught at the time. Her voice was quiet and gentle, but she sang the last few verses with him as she came into the living room.

Adrien was astonished at the coincidence. Perhaps there was no such thing. Maybe fate was real after all. They sang the last few verses in unison. The music box came to a stop.

"My mother liked to venture out to flower festivals in the spring. When I would become bored with the many acres of seeing them, we would also browsed a peddlers market that was happening in timing with the festival for vendors to sell their wares, to those who traveled to see the flower festival. My mother enjoyed music. I heard a unique sound playing and followed it to a very unique music box. My mother beamed ever so brightly when I pulled her to it and said I wanted to get it for her. I'll never forget the smile on her face in that moment and many others after as she looked upon it. Or the sound of her voice as she sang its tune many a time before she passed away." He explained and he closed it once more.

"Your father was incredibly talented. He has my thanks...for many reasons." Adrien concluded with a sympathetic look on his face.

"My father made many music boxes, but only a couple of these," Rosalyn stated. She studied the scene carefully before closing it back up with a lightclick."Father never took me to the festivals, but he always brought back a bundle of flowers. He said he would only choose the most beautiful of them." Rose smiled at the memory.

A bell rang throughout the town, signaling the time to gather for the funeral. Rosalyn took a deep breath. "We should be leaving for the cemetery," she choked out and started towards the front door.

Adrien nodded and opened the door for her to exit. In a courteous manner he held her arm out for her to grasp as they walked through town. They passed the town square, the church and headed for the east side of the village. The cemetery was just outside the village perimeters to prevent sickness from entering the village water and for superstition of making sure restless spirits did not bother the living.

Everyone from the village was gathered in black attire. A plot had been dug six feet down and a wooden coffin nailed shut with the head facing east was lowered into the ground. A mound of dirt and shovels lay waiting to fill in over the coffin after the service was finished.

Adrien knew this ceremony all too well. He had been in attendance of his mother's as a lad. And was in attendance of his father's as a young adult. Only royalty were buried in their own cemetery designated for royal bloodline members only on the castle grounds. Only kings were buried in vaults.

The villagers stood aside as Rose came into view. Allowing her and Adrien to walk up and stand at the very front of the gathering. Except for Pastor Pere Rob, who stood to address the crowd.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are gathered here today to mourn the passing of Mercer Beaumont. A husband, an artist, and a loving father. I know not of many men who could have handled the loss of their wife as Mercer had to endure. Such a tragedy to lose a loved one. But with the lose of his wife he also was faced with a challenge. Left to raise a child, a daughter, all on his own. What a fine job he did raising his daughter. He is survived by her and surely pleased to be reunited with his wife again. I can only imagine they will be watching over you Rosalyn, until your time comes to reunite with them once more."

Pastor Pere Rob continued, "Let us bring our hands together and bow our heads in prayer. After the prayer those who wish to give their condolences may grab a handful of dirt and toss it into the final resting place. Those who wish my bid Rosalyn Beaumont words of comfort in passing. Then make haste so the family of the beloved may be the last to leave the final resting place as the earth is restored, so that the spirit finds peace and be on its way to a better place."

Adrien moved his hand over her arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze as the prayer commenced and all heads were bowed. When the amen was said he removed his hand from her arm. A minstrel began playing a violin of somber music as villagers followed the pastors instructions. Men of the village were not compelled to give words of sentiment. A few did toss a handful of dirt onto the final resting place.

A few women did give words of comfort. Presenting twin flowers, one tossed onto the final resting place while the other given to Rosalyn. Adrien for the first time in his life, kept his gaze cast away from meeting the eyes of anyone. He did note a few men looking rather suspicious. This men were very likely hunting or tavern associates of her late husband, Gustave. Adrien intended to appear as nothing more than a valiant escort for a woman who had no other family to do so. Perhaps they were wondering who he was. Or maybe they were debating on spreading superstition about Rosalyn. After all her husband's accident had been just over a month ago and now her father was gone too. It pained Adrien to think that they would label her as cursed. Especially since all this happened within a several months after her 'rescue' from the month she spend in the 'cursed castle'.

When all the villagers departed, Pastor Rob Pere assisted the deacons with filling the final resting place with the remained earth from whence it came. Once that was done, they left. Rosalyn and Adrien were alone with the freshly filled grave and a cross made out of wood with Mercer's name carved into it, his birth, and his death date.

By then the sun was beginning to set on the horizon and the chill in the air becoming more so as night began to creep into the sky. Withdrawing the pouch of herbs he had in his inner cloak pocket he poured the dried herbs into his hand and scattered them on top of the grave. "Be at peace, Mister Mercer Beaumont."

Though Pastor Pere Rob's speech was short and to the point, Rosalyn felt like it would never end. Throughout the service, she kept her head held high and her eyes dry.

A couple men came and threw a handful of dirt into the grave and some women even dropped flowers in. Rose couldn't help but feeling that none of them had really cared. Her and her father had always been outcasts. Mercer had moved his daughter to the small village to raise her safely. The townsfolk always thought he was odd, or perhaps even crazy.

The grave was filled in and the pastor and deacons left, leaving Rosalyn alone with the king and a handful of flowers. By then, the air had grown cold and the sky dark. "Fly high, Papa," she said mournfully. She stepped over to the cross marking his grave and set the flowers down beside it, then turned back to Adrien and bit her lip. "You should be heading back to the palace," she said quietly. "Everyone is probably wondering where you've run off to."

"You need not to worry. They know where I run off to most of the time. They were once quite used to not seeing me for days on end. I shall walk you home." Adrien said, holding out his arm for her to grasp in a courteous gesture.

Rosalyn took his arm and they began walking back to her home. "Thank you for accompanying me," she said. "I don't think I would have been able to do this on my own." The town had quickly cleared out. People did not like to be out a night, especially a cold one such as this. They had all grown accustomed to the warmth of summer. Even Rose had enjoyed the warm weather more than she would like to admit, but the chilled air tonight felt refreshing and helped her calm her emotions.

"Of course." Adrien replied as they walked slowly toward her home. Her home...

With no husband and now no father, she would very likely struggle to keep the family home. Even if she learned her fathers craft of clockworking, it was apparent that the village folk were not the most welcoming of folks. They would never provide her enough work to keep up with her expenses. Even if she traveled to ther places to sell wares being a woman with mechanical skill would be seen with doubt and hesitation. She would need a new husband or a steady salary if she wanted to keep her family home.

"Did you learn your father's craft of mechanical tinkering? Colin has been complaining about the clocks in the castle being incorrect. Once you feel . . . " he was going to saty better but as he knew it never really felt better, just felt different. "Feel. . . inclined to, perhaps you can visit the castle on a occupational matter and see if they are in need of repair?" He offered, slowing as they reaches her front gate. He opened it and motioned with his hand in a silent ladies first gesture.

"I'm afraid not, your majesty. I picked up on it a little as I watched him work, but I could never produce the results he had." Rosalyn walked through the front gate and up the couple steps to the front door of their...her home. She reached for the handle and paused, staring down at the hand which covered it.

The house was empty, something she had never had to deal with before. When her father went to festivals, she knew he would always return in a couple days' time. Now the only resident of the house would be her. A few tears rolled down her cheeks. This was the first time in many, many months that Rose did not want to go home.

"No matter. Colin has been always one to worry beyond reasonable means." Adrien stated, making a mental note to think on the matter further and come up with another solution.

They reached her front door and he saw the hesitation in her movement to open it. He knew how hard that was. It was days before he entered the West Wing where is mother died. It was months before he entered the gardens. It was years before he entered the astronomy tower.

Rosalyn's face was cast downward out of his sight. But nothing could have prevented him from seeing the tear drop the clung to the edge of her jawline after its descent down her cheek. He withdrew a white handkerchief and offered it to her. No words were needed. Just time. He would have gladly stood there all night if she asked him.

Rosalyn kindly refused the king's offer. After taking a deep breath, she pushed the door to the house open. She would have to get used to the quiet if she did not want to live her life homeless and begging for scraps. "Thank you again, Adrien," she said quietly. She stood in the doorway with her back facing the empty house.

She was so independent. So strong in her own right. In a way that was not often seen in a woman. "You are most welome, Rose. May I visit again in say three days time? Unless you prefer to come visit me when you are ready." He asked of her, placing his handkerchief back into his pocket. He would have gladly come the following morning. However he knew the last thing anyone often wanted during grieving was company. This gave her the option to choose based on her needs, not his desires.

She thought hard about his offer for a minute, then shook her head in response. "I will visit when I am ready, Adrien." She loved the man, but she needed time to grieve. He didn't need to see her like that anyway. He knew the brave, kind Rosalyn, not the weak and vulnerable woman she was likely to become over the next couple of days.

But how long would it be until she felt well enough to see him? She grieved over the loss of her husband, even though she did not love him. But her father...he could not be replaced. That void in her heart could never be filled by another. Would it be weeks, months, before she would be able to find peace with his death?

"If I have not returned by the time the leaves begin to fall, you may seek me out. Until then I need time to heal."

"I understand. Fare thee well Rose, until we meet again." Adrien said, bidding her a bow and a parting kiss on her hand.

With each step he took away from her his heart felt a more heavy. He mounted his horse and spurred it into a gentle stride out of town. Once he was clear of the town and into the woods, he urged the steed into a full gallop.

He made it back to the castle without incident. His heart still felt heavy and ached. It wasn't as painful as when he thought she was gone from his life for ever more. The ache hadn't been so hard when he knew when to anticipate Rosalyn's to visit. But this was somewhere in between. A feeling of heartache for her and the feeling of being powerless to help in any manner.