Author's Note:

To all my lovely readers,

I'm sorry it has taken so long to update. I have been battling writer's block and how to move forward with this story for a long time. I would start writing, only to become stuck, or I would sit down in front of a blank screen forever and then beat myself up because I couldn't figure out the perfect way to write what I wanted. I always strive to make this story enjoyable for all of you, and I never want my story to lull or become boring. So I stopped writing, which I now realize was not the right thing to do. As a writer, I should always be writing, even if it isn't perfect.

So, as I move forward with this story, please know that I don't know all the ins and outs just yet. I don't know how everything connects, and there may be times where the story seems to either drag or go too fast. All I ask is that you are patient with me during this process. This story is something I truly enjoy, but what I enjoy even more is seeing how much you all enjoy it. I'm hoping this chapter is the beginning of more consistent posts. God knows you've all been waiting long enough!

Always,

Miss Faery

The destruction of the Lost Boys knew no bounds. What I had hoped was contained to the Great Hall was also the reality of the rest of the castle. Furniture was overturned, broken, and had stuffing and feathers spilling out. Tapestries hung in ribbons on the wall. Paintings were scratched over with lewd words and drawings, hanging crooked on the walls. Vases and glass sculptures lay shattered on the floor, bits crunching beneath my boots like sand.

The servant girl and I didn't speak as we maneuvered the halls. She stayed several feet ahead of me, never once looking over her shoulder to see if I was still following her. Her strides were long just like her legs. Her shoulders were back, her head high, but her arms were stiff, making her look more like a soldier marching than a servant girl walking through the castle.

It was only when we made it to my room that she turned to look at me, blue-grey eyes taking me in as she pushed open the door. Her stare was as cold as her demeanor, and I found myself straightening to my full height so the I as staring her right in the eyes.

A smirk pulled at the corner other mouth, but it vanished when a few Lost Boys rounded the corner at the end of the hall behind me. She quickly ducked her head, the sharp angles of her face hidden behind the dark curtain of her hair.

I felt myself deflate, guilt flooding my stomach as I stepped into the room. This girl was not my enemy, but I would be lying if I said her blatant distaste of me didn't anger me.

Unlike the rest of the castle, my room was tidy and untouched. Everything looked the same as the day I was taken. It seemed to be the only thing that hadn't been tainted by Peter and the Lost Boy's arrival.

The servant girl busied herself with the bedding, pulling the blankets back and fluffing the pillows.

"You don't have to do that," I insisted as I ran a hand over the smooth wood of my vanity.

"His Majesty said you needed to rest," she replied without looking up from her work.

"You don't need to call him that," I said before I could think better of it. "He isn't really king."

That made her pause in her assault of fluffing my pillows. Our eyes locked, and I knew I had struck a nerve. "You best watch what you say around here, Princess," she hissed. "The last person who said such a thing got their tongue cut out." When I mentioned it must have been someone she knew to have her so upset, she made her way around my bed to stand toe-to-toe with me. Seething, she opened her mouth to answer, but she was interrupted.

"It was her sister," came a voice from behind me, and I immediately forgot about the angry servant girl standing in front of me.

That voice was one I never thought I would hear again. It was a voice I wasn't even sure still

existed under Peter's reign. Since my arrival, I hadn't set eyes on a single castle guard.

"Harlan," I said, feeling a little breathless and unsure.

"Hello, Princess," he replied, his voice faltering as a sad smile appeared on his lips.

He wasn't a boy in a guard's uniform anymore. Before me stood a man with broad shoulders and strong arms. His hair, usually a mess of unruly curls was cut short. He still wore the castle uniform, but it was dirty, wrinkled, and torn in places.

"It's not polite to stare," he tried to joke as I stood frozen, his voice still wavering as he looked at me. Then, he opened his arms wide and said, "Come here."

That was all it took. I was across the room and in his arms in the span of a heartbeat, wrapping my arms around his neck and holding on with everything I had. His arms wrapped around my waist as he crushed me against him. I ignored the stab of pain that came from my bruised ribs as my feet left the ground.

"You're alive," I choked as tears spilled down my cheeks. Harlan said nothing, just squeezed me tighter. I gasped, the pain quickly subsiding to a dull throb as Harlan let me go, holding me at arms length as he studied me a furrowed brow. His cheeks were wet.

"You're hurt."

I waved him off. "I lost my footing during a storm. Hit a railing."

Harlan didn't seem convinced, but he didn't push. I made a mental note to fill him in later when I could.

If I could.

The servant girl cleared her throat, drawing our attention away from each other. I had almost

forgotten she was still in the room.

"You should go," she said, her icy gaze on Harlan. She was folding clean rags and placing them next to the wash basin. "There's no telling how he'll react if he finds you in here."

I opened my mouth to protest, but Harlan interjected. "Sasha's right." He pulled me to him again for a quick embrace and whispered, "I'm so happy you're here"

"Me too," I whispered back, and a small part of me meant it. Harlan was a friend, an ally, and I needed as many of those as I could get.

After Harlan disappeared, Sasha quickly finished preparing my bed. She didn't speak to me. She didn't even look at me. It was only when she was gathering a few miscellaneous things in an empty basket and getting ready to walk out the door that I spoke up.

"I'm sorry about your sister."

She said nothing, balancing the basket on her hip before pushing past me, and leaving me alone.

Hours passed, and the afternoon sun slowly fell towards the horizon, bathing my room in a golden glow. A tray of bread, cheese, fruit, and tea sat untouched at a table near the door. It had been left there at some point, but the servant had been so quick and so quiet that the I only heard the door click shut. I had been busy standing at my window, looking out over the water at the horizon as the sun's rays attempted, and failed, to eradicate the cold from my bones.

Every pair of footsteps that passed by my door made my skin crawl as I convinced myself that it was Peter, finally finding time to slip away and spend some time alone with me. The cold, clammy goosebumps on my skin conflicted with the blush in my cheeks as I thought about what was sure to happen when we were finally alone.

It had been so long since we had shared a bed together, and Peter was not patient.

A soft knock made me jump, and I turned just as three servant girls filed into the room. One carried a basket full of soaps and oils in one hand and a pile of linens in the other while one carried a red gown that had only been reserved for parties. The final girl, Sasha, carried a basket of thread and needles.

Their resemblance was easy to spot. One would have to be daft to miss it. They all shared the same dark hair and light eyes. They were all long and thin, but not gangly, and they moved with a grace that reminded me of dancers. Even dressed in the servant uniform, they were beautiful.

I remembered what Harlan had said about one of Sasha's sisters having their tongue cut out for saying that Peter was not really king, and I found myself looking between the two younger girls, trying to figure out which one it was.

"His Majesty has asked us to help you get ready for dinner," the middle-child servant girl said.

"He hopes you are well rested and ready for tonight's festivities," said the youngest girl, quieter. She blushed and looked down at her basket.

"I am," I lied and tried to smile to hide my confusion. "Thank you."

Sasha's eyes darted towards my bed, and I had no doubt that she noticed that the pillows were still perfectly fluffed and the blankets were exactly as she had left them.

Sasha didn't smile, just ordered the middle sister to hang the gown in my wardrobe so it wouldn't wrinkle. As she placed her basket of sewing materials on the table next to my untouched tray of food, she motioned for the youngest girl to hand her the basket of soaps and oils. The youngest girl made quick work of laying out the linens on the floor and setting aside the others to dry off with. Then, she fetched fresh, warm water for my basin.

As Sasha arranged the various soaps and oils, the youngest sister climbed the three steps to the higher part of the room nearest my door and pulled the privacy curtains from either side of the room.

I undressed quickly, disposing of my clothes in a small pile that the middle sister came to retrieve.

She gasped, and it startled me. When I tried to meet her eyes, I found her scanning my body, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. Her hands covered her mouth, having dropped the clothes back onto the floor.

I snatched a linen off the floor in an attempt to cover myself, but it was too late.

"What happened to you?" Her voice quivered, and I felt myself flush in embarrassment.

Sasha hissed something at her sister, and jerked her back by her arm. "You cannot speak to the princess that way." But even as she said it, I could see she was having difficulty tearing her eyes away from what her sister saw.

"No, it's alright," I tried to reassure her, pulling the linen as tight against me as I could, but I couldn't bring myself to explain the scars or the bruise still blossomed across my ribcage. All three sisters were looking at me, and I felt like I wanted to curl in on myself and disappear.

I knew what my body looked like. I knew the battleground that had become my skin. What was once a silky smooth plain was littered with jagged mountains and discolored burns. I knew what my body looked like, but sometimes I forgot that others did not.

After a few moments of heavy, uncomfortable silence, Sasha cleared her throat and ordered the two younger girls to run some sort of errand for her. She told them that she would take care of my bath, but that they needed to return to help with dressing me and doing my hair for the night's festivities. The younger sisters didn't hesitate, and they left without a word.

Sasha and I were silent as she bathed me. It was one of those times I would have preferred to lounge in one of the tubs so that I could bathe in private, but they took too long to fill and warm up. This quick linen bath wasn't about luxury. It was about getting me ready as quickly as possible so that I could join Peter and the Lost Boys for whatever "festivities" they had planned.

When the two girls returned, they helped Sasha get me into the gown. It was a ruby chiffon gown that fell to the floor. The sleeves were long, and rested just off my shoulders. The neckline was deep, and I remember how much my father had disliked it when I wore it for the first time. He ended up having the seamstress add some fabric at the top to hide the deep neck line, and I remember feeling hidden. Now, the fabric was gone, and I felt exposed.

Sasha pulled in the fabric at my waist and at my bust, pinning the changes before ordering me to take the dress off so she could fix it.

"It won't be the most beautiful stitch work," she said, "but it'll hold until we can get it fixed properly."

I nodded, but said nothing.

Once I was back in the dress, Sasha had me sit in the chair in front of my vanity so her youngest sister could do my hair. I must have looked skeptical, because the youngest girl assured me that she was the best hair dresser in the castle. I smiled at her, and she mirrored it, her tongue peeking through where her two front teeth were growing in.

She wasted no time, and began to brush my hair. She sectioned it, then began her work of twisting, braiding, and pinning my hair into place. Slowly, my hair came up off of my shoulders and came to rest high on my head in a bouquet of twists and braids, making my flat, lifeless hair seem full with a hint of waves I didn't now was possible.

Looking in the mirror, I couldn't help but think that I looked like myself, like a princess.

Gingerly, I touched my hair. "You truly are talented," I said, meeting the girls gaze in the mirror. She beamed and curtsied.

"Thank you, Your Majesty." She had a slight lisp from fighting the gap in her teeth, and it made me smile a little bigger.

When the door to my room burst open without so much as a knock, my smile faltered. The privacy curtain was still drawn shut, but I knew who it was, and when he said my name like a sing-song, my smile fell away completely.

"Where's my little lost girl," he continued to sing-song. He ripped back the curtain a moment later, and I could spot Benj following behind him.

I was surprised to see he was as dressed up as I was for the occasion. He still wore my father's crown above his head, but he had traded in his green tunic for a black one. Over the top of it, he wore a dress jacket adorned with silver thread in a pattern that reminded me of a maze. His trousers were more fitted instead of baggy, which made him seem even taller than he already was. A variety of silver rings adorned his fingers, many of them with green gems that reminded me of his eyes.

I stood and did my best to smile at him. "What do you think?"

The playfulness that had adorned his face when he pulled back the curtain slowly drained away as he took me in, and I could feel a shiver threatening to rip up my spine.

"I love the dress," he said, his voice cold, "but I'm curious as to which one of these wenches did that to your hair."

"What do you mean?" I asked, stepping in front of Sasha's youngest sister. She had grabbed the middle sister and was holding her close, both their eyes wide with fear. I could feel the youngest sister grab onto the back of my dress and bury her head in it. She was scared, too, and I didn't blame her.

Peter scowled and took a step forward. "I hate your hair up—"

I cut him off. "She didn't know, Peter." But he was already reaching around me, his eyes blazing, his teeth barred. I felt myself beginning to panic, and my voice broke as I pleaded for him to leave her alone."

He yanked her up by the arm until she was dangling eye-to-eye with him. She was already crying, her face blotchy as tears ran down her face.

Sasha stepped forward, pushing her other sister behind her in an attempt to keep her safe, but Benj was there to meet her. He blocked her path and pulled a knife from his belt to make sure she stayed put.

"Was it you?" Peter shouted in the girls face, spit flying. He was escalating. His face was darkening, and his face was beginning to flush a deep shade of crimson. He looked like a wild animal as he continued to scream at the girl. "Did you do this?"

The young girl didn't answer. She could only cry and wail and write in his grasp as she kicked her feet.

I stepped forward and grabbed his other arm. "Peter, stop it," I begged, but he pushed me away.

"Stay out of this," he hissed, but he put the girl down. His grip didn't loosen despite her attempts to twist free, and I knew she would have bruises.

He always left bruises.

He knelt down so that he was eye-to-eye with her again. "I cut your sister's tongue out for refusing to acknowledge me as king, so what do you think I'm going to do to you?"

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, "I'm sorry!"

She kept saying it, over and over and over, and Peter clenched his jaw tight.

"Shut up," he shouted, raising a hand to strike her. "Shut up!"

He brought his hand down, and Sasha and her sisters screamed.