"I'm sorry sir, there's still no sign of him."

Léon Bonnefoy sighed heavily as his servant told him this. He was starting to get tired of hearing the words 'I'm sorry' or 'Still nothing'. After the kingdom had been made aware that their prince was missing, they had all pitched in to search for him. Despite having the whole kingdom looking for him, Francis was still nowhere to be seen. They were starting to get worried.

By now, Léon had started to suspect that his son wasn't in the public areas of the kingdom and had likely wandered off into the wilderness. Most of the public areas had reported back that no one had even seen Francis for the past week, not helping quell his worry.

As the servant went away to continue directing the search, Léon once again sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Where could he have gone? he wondered to himself.

He racked his brain, trying to think of all the places that his son said he would go when exploring. He got more and more frustrated when he realized that Francis never really told him about where he had gone in those hours of absence.

Non, there must be something he said, he thought to himself. There has to be something.

While still racking his brain, he subconsciously moved through his castle. Before he even realized it, he had gone into his son's room.

It was still in ruins from days earlier. The broken dishes still lay scattered, the few water-proofed human books were ruined from the water-proofing becoming undone, small collections of keys or coins were thrown about the room. Then there were the human clothes; still ripped to shreds and gently fluttering in the movement of the water.

All at once, the memory of that day came back to Léon. He remembered the rage he felt when Francis had told him that he had saved a human. After everything he had told him, Francis still had the audacity to see a human and help it. He honestly didn't remember moving to his son's room, but he knew that Francis needed to know that humans were not something to be trifled with. He didn't even hear the desperate cries of his son to stop. Then he ruined the trunk full of clothes.

The look in Francis' eyes was something that Léon had never seen before. It was a sadness that he didn't even have when his mother died. He had watched as his son crumpled to the floor, gently holding the scraps of human fabric. The amount of feeling in the tears he shed were rivaled only by the ones shed by the death of his mother. Looking back, Léon didn't know how he simply left his son in such a state.

It was only then, looking at the ruins of his son's room, that he realized just how precious these human possessions were to Francis.

Human possessions… shipwrecks.

The thought hit Léon like a brick. That's where Francis had been going to, it had to be; it was the only place that Francis could have gotten human stuff. That must have been where Francis had run away to, some of the human shipwrecks.

With this revelation, Léon moved to leave. He had to tell his servants to check the surrounding area for shipwrecks. But, just as he was about to exit the room, he stopped and looked at the room. The poor possessions still laid about, forgotten, ruined, considered worthless…

What have I done?

But he knew. He knew he had ruined his relationship with his son, but more than that, he had broken his child. He had forced his child out of his home without realizing it. More than that, he had just robbed the kingdom of its prince, threatening political stability.

I have to get him back…

Léon gently closed the door and tracked down one of his servants. He was going to find his son if it was the last thing he did.

He was on the beach, the same one he washed up on, the same one he brought Arthur to after the storm. Why? He had no idea, but he was there. The sun was setting, creating a beautiful wash of pinks and oranges and purples in the sky.

He had his legs, he was still human, and wearing some kind of long shirt that almost reached his knees; a tunic, he was pretty sure it was called. He felt some kind of trousers on his human legs, but no boots. There was no pain in his feet. It felt like bliss.

But he was not focused on his clothes. No, he was focused on what he saw in front of him. There, standing on the other end of the beach by the dock, was Arthur, facing away from him. Arthur was wearing a white shirt and green trousers and black boots. His sandy blonde hair was ruffled by a slight breeze.

"Arthur!" he called, running to him.

Arthur flinched, hearing his name being called, but didn't move otherwise.

"Arthur, mon amour!"

Why did he say that? He didn't know but it felt right.

Arthur turned to face him. He stopped, just a few feet away from him. Arthur's expression was blank. He simply stared.

"Arthur?"

Arthur's eyes when cloudy, much like the sky around them.

"Get the hell away from me, you bloody frog."

He stumbled.

"Quoi..?"

"I said get the hell away from me!"

The shout caught him off guard.

"Arthur?"

"You moron can't you listen to anything you bloody frog?"

As Arthur yelled this, the voice became distorted, it wasn't his anymore. The darkness was beginning to smother him. In the blink of an eye, it was no longer Arthur in front of him, but Madoline, her skin an ugly shade of purple and her eyes a terrifying shade of red.

He tried to scream to get away from him, but he couldn't. His voice didn't work anymore. The darkness was getting heavy and he tried to scream again, pain filling his throat and his feet.

Oh god, what was happening? He felt hot and sticky and yet cold and rigid at the same time. What the hell was this?

He looked down at himself, at his arms. His arms were blurry, not from his vision, but because the skin was actually foaming, dripping off of him.

Francis gasped as he woke. Sitting upright, he frantically looked around to see he was in his bedroom. The sun was just rising, filling the room with soft pale light. Panting lightly, Francis turned his attention to his arm, gently tugging at the skin. He wasn't melting into sea foam, not yet anyway. He sighed, relief filling his body like a drug.

Sinking back into the bed, Francis took a few more deep breaths to calm himself.

Mon dieu, what kind of nightmare was that? Arthur wouldn't really yell at me like that, would he?

He decided that Arthur would not do such a thing, vaguely remembering the comment that the Dutchman had made the night before. Speaking of the night before, he glanced at the nightstand to see the rose. It was still as beautiful as it was last night. Despite its beauty, Francis couldn't help but think of the nightmare.

Four days, he thought. I have four full days to get Arthur to love me, otherwise…

He shook his head. He wasn't going to think about becoming seafoam by the end of the week. It scared him too much to think about. Once again, he glanced at the rose, thinking fondly about how Arthur had quasi-given it to him. He thought of the light dusting of pink Arthur had on his face when he saw the rose the night before.

Chuckling a little, Francis thought to himself: He's cute when he's flustered.

It felt weird to think that. He'd never actually felt love for anyone else before, so this was all new to him. He felt warm inside and smiled to himself thinking about the Englishman. Speaking of which…

I have less than a full day, I really should get going.

Sure enough, the sun was rising steadily, threatening to quickly end the day faster than he wanted. Francis got up, unconsciously being gingerly on his feet. He washed his face with the lavender soap, detangled his hair, and pulled on some fresh undergarments. Then he went to the dresser and picked out an outfit. It was a pale blue tunic with gold trim, a white under-tunic and a pair of tighter-fitting light gray trousers.

Huh… this looks familiar…

Francis couldn't help but think of the dream as he put on the clothes. He looked at himself in the mirror, smoothing the tunic. It just reached to mid thigh, not nearly as long as the one in his dream, but he was pretty sure it was the same color.

Creepy…

But whatever, he felt good in it. Actually, he felt rather… pretty? He wasn't sure if that was the right word, but he seemed like the right word. He found it odd that he was given clothes that looked as feminine as they did, but they were made with male proportions in mind and obviously paired with the trousers. Maybe it was a fashion trend from another area of the world? He hadn't seen any other men (or even women for that matter) wear something like that so he wasn't sure.

Oh screw it, it feels good and I look stunning so what the hell?

Sure enough, the baby blue fabric beautifully complimented his blue eyes, pale skin, and blonde hair. He was given these clothes, so god dammit he was going to wear them with pride. With this internal debate settled, Francis made his way out of his room, looking for Arthur. However, halfway down the hall, he started following the beautiful scent that wafted from the kitchen.

When he got there, he found the kitchen filled with quite a few maids, all in aprons covered in various amounts of flour, jam, and other assorted stains. They all looked slightly worn out, tired and lethargic.

They did have to prepare the house for the others… Merde they look miserable… maybe I can help them?

After deciding he didn't like seeing these women working themselves so hard, Francis gently knocked on the doorframe. The maids looked up, some of them almost a little scared.

"Yes my lord?" one of them, a redhead, asked timidly.

Mon dieu what do they think I'm going to do? Fire them?

Francis smiled a little as he signed: 'Do you need any help?'

Unfortunately, the maids didn't know enough (if not any) sign language to fully understand what he was asking. A small sigh escaping as he saw their blank faces, he used an absurd amount of vague hand gestures, eventually resorting to the dictionary to get his point across. When they finally understood, they glanced at one another, still a bit nervous.

"You-you don't have to help us, sir," said another maid, this one had black hair and looked a little older than the rest.

'I understand, but I like to cook and was actually wondering if you'd teach me about what you're making,' Francis signed roughly.

Once they understood what he said, they glanced at one another, as if wondering what to do. They eventually looked back at Francis.

"If you really want to, sir…" the redhead answered.

Francis nodded in confirmation, put on an apron, then started to follow the maids instructions. He learned they were making pancakes (or maybe they were considered hotcakes… they all called them different names), which was something that he'd never had before. Francis followed the maids' leads on making the pancakes, asking questions the whole time. This seemed to help the maids work go faster and even put them in a bit of a good mood.

Despite not having a voice, Francis was somehow able to make the women laugh, able to tell anecdotes about his early years of cooking. They joined, telling stories about all the things they had done and witnessed as servants, everything from accidentally filling the sugar shaker with salt to walking in on their master making out with a woman that wasn't his wife.

Before long, they were all cracking jokes and laughing like they were old friends, all while making more pancakes, quick jams, simple syrups, etc. Francis was happy to see them smiling, their miserable mood seemingly forgotten. At one point, Francis was at the stove stirring the simple syrup, but his hair kept getting in his face. Constantly brushing back his hair did not make not burning the syrup easy. The third maid, a girl with chocolate-colored hair, had a remedy.

"Here," she said after getting Francis' attention. "This'll help."

She proceeded to take a black satin ribbon out of her pocket, gently pull Francis' hair into a small ponytail, and tie it off with the ribbon.

"Is that alright?" she asked.

Francis looked at her, gently feeling the bow holding his hair back. With a smile, he signed: 'Yes, thank you, that's much better.'

She grinned, then went off to finish the butter, as a fresh batch had to be made. Francis now felt properly feminine, being in the kitchen with a baby blue tunic and a bow in his hair. It was strange how comfortable he felt despite this. He felt at home there.

Arthur was distracted. Plain and simple. That in of itself was not unusual. What made it unusual was what was making him distracted. Normally, he just had a lot of stuff on his plate, and lately the prospect of being a prince was looming over his head kept him busy. But this morning was different, because he was thinking of Francis.

He hadn't been able to focus on his paperwork the night before, still thinking about how Francis had given him the rose. He couldn't stop thinking about how his guest had blushed when he returned the rose. He begrudgingly had to admit that Francis was pretty cute when his face went red.

When he had gone to bed that night, he had hoped that these were just fleeting thoughts. Arthur was wrong.

Never in a million years would Arthur admit it, but he had actually had a dream about Francis, one where they were… more than friends. It was nothing super intense, but it was still enough that Arthur woke up in a cold sweat, wondering what the hell he just saw. If having a dream like that didn't scare him, that fact that he almost wished he could go back into said dream did. Once he had calmed down from the cold sweat, he realized that he didn't feel ashamed, but he felt… content… happy even.

Now, after he had washed his face (unable to scrub the shame off) and got dressed in a plain shirt and black pants, he was making his way towards the kitchen, wondering what the maids were making for breakfast. It smelled good whatever it was. Still, it didn't distract him from his distraction.

It's just a bloody dream, he reminded himself internally. It doesn't mean anything.

Still, a small part of him wondered if maybe it did…

Arthur shook his head, trying to rid himself of such thoughts. He couldn't think like that, he was about to become a prince, he couldn't become romantically involved with anyone. Plus, he was pretty sure no one would look upon his attraction to another male kindly. It was a part of him he had had to bury a long time ago and never let come to light, and he was determined to keep it that way.

However, Francis, unlike other men, had come into Arthur's life with a shovel and was already starting to dig up that grave.

He isn't flirting with me, he was just being nice last night. I don't like him like that; it's only because most people are twats and he just happens to be a pleasant person.

Before he could think upon the matter anymore, he heard some voices. Women, it sounded like, laughing and gossiping like housewives. What was odd was that sometimes they would go silent, wait a few minutes, then would burst out laughing. It was almost as if there was someone else who spoke so quietly that they couldn't be heard by anyone but them.

What on earth are they doing? Is there someone else… Hold on.

Francis.

It had to be, Arthur was sure of it.

Oh hell if I see him I'm just going to turn into a blushing mess thanks to that fever dream last night, won't I?

He initially wanted to just walk away, mostly to keep his dignity. He was going to be a prince soon, he couldn't afford to show a weak side of him. Still, he wanted to see that it was actually Francis in the kitchen, see what he was doing, and totally not spy on him…

He had an idea. A terrible idea, but an idea nevertheless.

I'm going to regret this, but screw it.

Arthur leaned up against a wall, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. With a bit of concentration, he began to whisper some ancient words like a chant. A shiver ran up his spine and he could see green even with his eyes closed. Just like that, it was over; the chill, the green, the words, everything.

He opened his eyes and immediately looked down at his arm. It wasn't there. Well, actually it was, but you couldn't see it.

Arthur was invisible.

Christ I haven't done this in a while, I'm getting rusty.

He was a little lightheaded, but other than that he was fine. After adjusting for just a moment, Arthur made his way quietly to the door of the kitchen. The maids were about the kitchen, making pancakes and the accompanying toppings. They were all laughing and making jokes as if they hadn't a care in the world. But that's not what caught Arthur's eyes.

No, it was the woman standing over the stove, stirring something in a pot, that caught his attention. Except when he looked at the woman for more than a fraction of a second, he realized that it wasn't a woman at all; it was Francis.

He wore a beautiful baby blue tunic that just covered his ass, along with some gray pants that were tucked into those black boots. His gorgeous golden locks were pulled back with a black bow. But it was his smile, that goddamned smile that made Arthur stare. Everything else simply complimented that smile; his rosy cheeks, his stunning blue eyes, the way his bangs framed his face, the golden trim on the tunic…

Oh good god in heaven…

Arthur found himself frozen in place, simply staring at the man in front of him, his face so warm he could have sworn his face was on fire. He could barely breathe as he watched Francis pull the pot of the stove, still stirring it. One of the maids asked him something (Arthur couldn't hear right at that point), to which he looked up, smiled that damn smile again, and signed back, something about learning how to cook syrup from his parents.

The Englishman took a shaky breath and ran his hand through his hair.

Oh lord what the hell is wrong with me? He's just wearing a tunic and put his hair back to work… Wait who gave him that tunic? Didn't that go out of style? Or is it back? Why is it so feminine… wait but it fits him and I know he has a pretty muscular body-

He mentally slapped himself for that.

What the actual shit am I thinking?

After calming himself down for a second, Arthur looked up again. Francis was helping pack butter into a jar. One of the maids came up to him, saying something about getting another jar so that one didn't get too packed down. To get Francis to stop packing in more butter, the maid gently grabbed his arm.

Arthur felt something deep down in him, something he hadn't felt in a very long time. It was an unrelenting, completely unwarranted rage towards the girl touching Francis. Arthur knew his face was boiling and he was clenching his teeth. He found himself staring daggers at the brunette who had dared touch his Francis.

How dare that bitch just touch him like he's all her for the taking.

He wanted nothing more than to march over there and grab Francis away from the girl, but he knew he couldn't. Still, he felt like he was about to have an aneurysm standing there and watching this, so with what little grace he had left, he silently left the kitchen and wandered to the other side of the dining room before leaning heavily against the wall. He was starting to get really dizzy now, not used to being invisible for so long. Mumbling another few ancient words and he was able to be seen again.

The thoughts in his brain were bouncing around faster than he could process them.

That bastard flirting with all the maids like they're whores he's to choose from I mean seriously what the hell is he wearing that for does what I do mean nothing for him why is he-

Arthur stopped mid-thought. It was appalling how long he'd allowed himself to think such things. He sighed heavily, rubbing his aching temple.

He's just being nice to the maids… he did the same thing yesterday… and the maids are probably just happy to have someone new to talk to… they really are sweet things, those girls… God what the hell is wrong with me?

It took him a moment, but he realized he was jealous. What the hell was he jealous about? Nothing about this made sense…

He kept these kinds of thoughts going for a minute as he regained his strength. Really, what was he thinking, being jealous of the maids for getting close to Francis? He was a commoner, he was just wearing the clothes that the maids had gotten for him, he was just being nice… Arthur shook his head, trying to get all the negative feelings out of him; seriously why was he so upset by this?

Fighting to keep his cool, despite almost losing it earlier, Arthur got up. As much as he wanted to go to the kitchen, he decided against it, opting to wait until they finished breakfast; he crept into the hallway and peaked around the corner, waiting for someone to emerge from the kitchen. Why he wanted to do this, Arthur had no idea, but he did, so why not? He didn't have to wait long. Soon he heard someone walk towards the table. At first he thought it was one of the maids, but he heard them all talking in the kitchen still, meaning…

Arthur rounded the corner, as if he hadn't been standing there for a while, and saw Francis at the table, gently setting a plate of syrups, jams, and butter down.

God damnit how does he look so… pretty?

He gave a small cough, which made Francis look up. Upon seeing that it was Arthur, Francis smiled and signed a quick 'good morning'.

"Sleep well?" Arthur asked.

A nod from Francis, still arranging jams and syrups. He gave a look that asked the same thing.

"I guess."

Arthur didn't really know what else to say. He realized too late that he was staring at that baby blue tunic on Francis while thinking about something to end the painful silence. Francis noticed.

'One of the maids gave it to me. Is something wrong with it?'

"Oh, no no… it looks good on you, I mean…"

Arthur hated that he had been reduced to a mumbling mess. He was pretty sure his face was red now. He had to say something.

"It's fine, really, a bit out of date maybe, but I'm not one for fashion."

'It really looks okay?' Francis signed, looking a bit uneasy. He tugged at the tunic, nervous almost.

Arthur, hating to see Francis like this, replied: "Of course it does… blue suits you."

Francis blushed lightly at this, then smiled bashfully, or at least what Arthur thought was bashfulness. Was his own face going red? It felt like it. In an effort to change the subject, Arthur turned his attention to the platter Francis had just brought out.

"So, I take it you were helping with breakfast?"

Francis nodded, then explained that they had made pancakes, along with the syrups and such. They made idle chit chat for a while, nothing too interesting but nice enough since it filled the silence. Then a servant got Arthur's attention about something wrong with a delivery and not knowing what to do about it.

Arthur didn't want to leave, much to his surprise. He found himself wishing that he could stay with Francis and keep talking. But he was needed elsewhere.

Reluctantly, he told Francis he would be back in a bit for breakfast and slowly followed the servant out the room.

Francis watched as Arthur left, a hollow feeling rearing its ugly head. He felt so lonely in the room. That thought quickly changed when he looked down at his clothes again.

He said they looked nice on me, he reflected, thinking of the blush that was just barely noticeable on Arthur's face when he said that.

Maybe he meant it in a different way than just…

He shook his head. As much as he wanted to believe it, he knew that Arthur was a stubborn man, that he was too busy worrying about being a prince, and likely wasn't even thinking about Francis' situation of being practically stranded at his home. With a small sigh, he tugged at his tunic once again.

He did seem to like talking to me though. I'm at least making progress.

Happy at this revelation, Francis smiled slightly, then went back into the kitchen to help the maids once again.

Author's Note:

Hello Again! Whoo, I did not think that I would get another chapter out so soon. Okay, technically I haven't finished it yet, but I need a little bit of time to think about where I want it to go. I have an idea, but this is one of those 'brain doesn't know how to fill in the blank' moments. Don't worry, I'll figure it out!

Anyway, what did you think about this chapter? We actually get a bit of Arthur's perspective on this, which was something I actually had a lot of fun writing. And yes, Arthur in this story is gay before he ever meets Francis, mostly because I thought it would explain why he likes Francis the way he does and adds the InternalConflictTM. Did anyone catch the reference to the 11th century tunic that France wore? As someone who likes learning about historical dress, I had to throw it in there because it's France.

Oh wait... were you guys waiting for me to talk about something else? What else is there... Oh right. Yeah, Arthur can use magic (but I don't think any of you are surprised by this!); adds another interesting dynamic in my opinion. Trust me, that's going to come up again soon :)

Alright, I've gotta stop rambling before I spoil something. I hope you guys are still enjoying the story! If you have any questions or comments, or heck even suggestions for improvements, I would love to hear! Thank you all so much for all the views. My other cat Sasha says hi and see you soon!