Author's Note: Hello, my readers! :) Thank you all so much for patiently waiting for chapter two. I hope you all have a Happy Thanksgiving and holiday season to come! Enjoy and thank you for your support/interest!

DISCLAIMER: The Slayers © Hajime Kanzaka, Funimation, and J.C. Staff. Any original characters belong to me.


Troubled Waters

Chapter 2

Inevitable

The darkening of the skies correlated with the last bite of a late-night supper in the Seyruun royal palace. And there was a strange feeling in the air.

Phil had sensed its foreboding waft since breakfast. He didn't know why nor could explain it. The feeling was just… there. Perhaps it was the awakening to a graying sky that troubled him. Yes. That had to be it. Storm clouds were on the horizon. They were to be expected. They needed rain what with the impeccable number of scorching summer days that had inhabited Seyruun. To the say the least, the crown prince was delighted to see summer wave goodbye and autumn creeping its way into the city.

Adjourning for the night, Phil set aside his unfinished business and gave his undivided attention to his most important investment. His daughter.

Phil's untamed mustache twitched as another checkmate was crowned on his daughter's behalf. Amelia had certainly mastered the art of chess during her free time. Now witnessed to her continued line of victories, he could relate to Zelgadis's despondency. Every win she acquired Phil lost another sweet treat from his premium crafted box of Zephilia chocolates. Still, Phil was no sore loser. If anything, he was stricken with fatherly pride at his Amelia's keen eye for strategy.

Every great defender of justice needs to understand the importance of strategy! he thought to himself with a glimmer of approval in his eyes.

"Checkmate!"

Reaching for the opened box, Amelia popped the last candy into her mouth with a playful wink. "Sorry, Daddy," she said cheekily, as she chewed the morsel on the side of her left cheek. "But all's fair in the art of chess!"

Phil sighed in agreement, smiling softly to himself. "I think that's the end of our game for tonight." He then lifted the empty box of sweets, flipping it upside down in the hopes some would magically appear and fall right onto his desk. They didn't. "And my chocolates too."

"I'm sure Mister Zelgadis will remember to bring some kind of candy back," Amelia assured, brushing any remaining crumbs off her dress. She paused, her head sinking into her shoulders. "If Miss Lina and Mister Gourry haven't eaten it already."

Her father waved one of his big hands dismissively. "Ah, I wouldn't fret. Ralteague chocolates are fine, but nothing like how Zephilia crafts them. Just another knock-off..."

"Daddy, we don't have any proof," Amelia reminded, using her carefully trained political tone.

The princess never liked to assume the worst in anyone or anything. Even in imposing kingdoms. Though, to be realistic and fair given the political climate, it was not farfetched to assume a rival nation would exploit the success of another. Copying blueprints for new inventions, facsimileing political decrees, stealing advanced weaponry, all were common lines of threads of treachery... But to capitalize on the popular delicacy of Seyruun's world-renowned soft-served ice cream... Now that seemed farfetched. Heinous to the righteous hearts of true Seyruun patriots, but nonetheless, a small-scale indecency compared to treacherous plots against the country's wellbeing.

"Perhaps not yet, but I wouldn't be surprised if Miss Lina and the others came back with some good solid evidence confirming those rumors we've heard around the city," Phil insisted. He then proceeded to shake his head. "Hard ice cream—who would want that? You'd have to wait a great deal of time for it to be soft enough to bite into. And with our recipes and dairy cows no doubt! In the name of Justice, we shall hold Ralteague accountable for not only theft but for robbing the people of what real ice cream represents!"

Two large fists met the solid oak top, the contents rattling and spilling. The Crown Prince's adamant animation caused the chessboard and its pieces to topple into Amelia's lap, some falling directly onto the floor. Soon after, scattered papers floated downward in disarray. Phil basked at the result of his passionate declaration for retribution as his daughter left her seat and collected the chess pieces back onto the table.

"Oh. Sorry, Amelia," Phil sweat-dropped, rubbing the back of his head with a laugh. "Got a little carried away, I suppose."

Amelia sat upon her knees on the floor, her hands contacting the tabletop as she picked handfuls of papers and game pieces. "It's alright," she replied.

The fallen loose papers were randomly shuffled and stacked together, as she collected them into her hands. It wasn't long into the clean-up process did Amelia uncover a flood of envelopes. She gathered a handful at her feet, sifting through to find numerous royal or family crest wax seals on the back. Steadily, the princess rose to her feet, eyes unable to tear away at the discovery before her.

Phil winced to himself. There was no need for words. He knew she understood.

"Amelia," he started slowly.

"When did the first letter come?"

"Oh, Amelia." He hated the dread that claimed her usually vivacious voice. Phil offered his large hand, sturdy round fingers reaching out to take hers into his. She complied willingly, anxiously waiting for the inevitable as she took a seat.

The crown prince exhaled a deep breath through his widened nostrils. "We've talked about this."

"I know," she breathed a similar despondent sigh.

"I'm sorry, Amelia, but I've done my best to fend them off for as long as I can. As much as I prefer to keep you from the unfair realities of our world, we both have our responsibilities as leaders. I promise you, whoever he will be, he will be chosen with the utmost consideration on your behalf. You know I wouldn't accept just anyone as your husband. He's got to get through me first!"

Amelia smiled at her dad's well-meant assurance. Still, she couldn't help but allow a frown to persist. "But Daddy, I won't even know him. He'll be a complete stranger to me. And it will all be— arranged," she said with a subtle cringe. "Where's true love in that?"

"Arrangements aren't all terrible," he tried to assure. "Why, your mother and I had an arranged marriage and we were happily matched. Spending those first few months with her before the wedding was one of the best times of my life! I got to see what a wonderful, kind, forgiving, and fierce woman she was. I got to fall in love to understand true love. And I only hope the same for you."

He had to admit his romance was a once in a lifetime dream come true. Most dignitaries never had what he so briefly shared with his wife. Even though their time was cut tragically short, Phil always cherished what memories he was able to make with her and the daughters she had given him. In turn, Phil wanted nothing more but for his daughter to experience such blissful love and devotion as he did.

Amelia's mouth twisted, soaking in her father's words. She tried to find comfort and confidence in them, but an unsettled feeling, a nagging question was too powerful to dismiss.

"Still," the princess started quietly, her eyes turning back to her father, "what if there was someone else? What if Grandfather or the council wanted you to marry a completely different woman?"

Phil gaped as if the proposal was completely and utterly out of the question. "I wouldn't have stood for it. I would have fought all forces that dared to keep your mother and me apart! I would have swum across all waters, climbed all mountains! Why I'd even—" It was then he stopped himself, pausing in a classic pose riddled with blooming passion.

He lowered his bushy eyebrows. "Kumquat," he started with her silly childhood pet name, "you're not saying you have your heart set on someone else, are you?"

A nervous large smile spread across Amelia's face. "No. Of course not!" she insisted, tucking a dark lock of hair behind her ear. "I've got so much on my mind; I don't have time to worry about if someone loves me or not."

That wasn't necessarily true. Amelia gave herself a mental slap for the quick dismissal of her feelings. As of late, that seemed to be a newly formed habit of hers. She had been placing her responsibilities and obligations above her feelings on matters; it was strange for someone who usually acted upon emotion rather than convention. But she was a princess. Convention was called for. Not that she didn't like rules or expectations. They were necessary for society to halfway function among daily chaos. But when convention affected her own personal private feelings…

That doesn't mean I don't love him... Amelia thought to herself, staring glumly at the letters in her hand. Maybe I should tell, Daddy. This is the perfect opportunity before any arrangements are made. MAYBE if I tell Daddy, then there won't be a need to respond to any of the letters and then, if I'm brave enough, if I REALLY want to be completely honest with myself, I can finally tell HIM the truth and maybe we'd—

Amelia stopped right there. It was as if everything she believed in, everything she longed for was crumbling away all because of the one person she cared most about. It wouldn't be that easy. Nothing was that easy with him.

She slapped the envelopes on the tabletop in defeat.

Oh, who am I kidding? That would never happen.

Outside the study, the slamming of the front doors echoed down the halls. Phil became spooked and Amelia broke free from her inner thoughts. They both straightened themselves in their seats, alerted by the apparently sudden intrusion of the night.

The father and daughter looked to each other in confusion.

"Now, who could that be?" Phil pondered out loud.

Amelia observed her father as he rose from his chair. It couldn't have possibly been Miss Lina and the others. They weren't expected to arrive until sometime tomorrow. As far as she knew, Daddy wasn't expecting any visitors. Could it have been a suitor? Enraged that the crown prince had not replied to his most pressing letter? Amelia allowed the outrageous idea to extinguish itself. If an eligible bachelor had stormed into the castle uninvited demanding the world, then Amelia was confident his letter would be tossed into the fireplace without question.

The sound of footsteps could be made outside the closed-off study, followed by what could be identified as murmured voices. The crown prince pushed in his chair and came around the corner of his massive desk.

"I'm going to go see—"

"Are you aware young man, that there are no candlesticks lit into the entrance of the palace? I could have tripped at this time of night. You'd think someone would be alerted to the situation and dealt with the matter swiftly."

Phil went white as a sheet. He gulped. That voice!

Could it be? Oh, no...

Amelia's eyes widened in surprise, her gaze swiveling back to doors of the study and then her father. She too was alarmed by the voice. "Daddy, did you know she—?"

"Oh my, God."

"So, no?" her conclusion sounding more like a question than a definite answer.

Simultaneously, the doors busted wide open. The darkness of the entrance did not keep the announced presence at bay, as it graced itself from ominous shadows with a wooden thump following behind each footstep.

Once the face was cast under flickering candlelight from the study, Phil nearly tripped over his own feet.

"Philionel! Is the blinding dark a commonality as to how your servants greet a marchioness?"

"Mother!" he managed to declare, with a surprised and awkward smile. "What a lovely surprise! How wonderful to see you! It's been so—"

"Oh, skip the formalities, Philionel," the figure now known as 'mother', hushed with an impenetrable bark. "We both know what you're really thinking."

Phil held back a grimace, his teeth clenched together. What is SHE doing here?

Being called 'mother' was a commonality in society for married families, as mother-in-law would be too odd and impractical to be called by name. Mother was supposed to be warm and friendly. Mother-in-law felt so cold and distant. It didn't seem to matter in Phil's case. After all, she was anything but warm and friendly.

Where his mother-in-law lacked in towering intimidating height, she made up for in her eyes. Her freezing gaze was a blast of winter hail debilitating the crown prince from seeking calmness and comfort in the recesses of his mind. And much like her eyes, she bared a sharp mind as well. Her words were forever as articulate as her hair, pulled back and restrained in a neatly made bun. Her nobility was silently displayed by the gorgeous gemmed hair pin holding her entire station by stark white strands. She was short, small-boned, and bore a fragile frame; yet she somehow looked as if she could take a good punch like her body was solidified armor. She wore an oversized signature wine-stained tapestry dress (if there was any, the armor must have been hidden underneath), accompanied by her finely sculpted Ceifeed cane, its mouth holding a stunning blue orb.

Phil still stood boggled. He had no remembrance of her writing, indicating she was coming to visit. Then again, much to Phil's disdain, she had a horrible habit of dropping by whenever she felt like it, much less expecting a formal welcome despite her inability to communicate. But she hadn't done that in ages. Something had changed. Something was happening.

"Grandmother Vonzelle!" Amelia acknowledged, excited.

Only Vonzelle's eyes moved, peering at the ecstatic young lady before her. She raised her chin in the air and held up her hand. Amelia stopped at the silent order. When she halted, she became stiff as a board until Vonzelle motioned with curling fingers to do otherwise.

"Amelia, dear. Come," she beckoned over.

Obeying, Amelia stood before her and she took the princess's hands into her own. Her face remained the same as she then took one hand, firmly but softly grabbing Amelia by the cheeks. She turned her face from left to right, pursed her lips with a 'hmm' and returned her hands to herself.

"Now," Vonzelle ordered, "step back, turn, and let me look at you."

Cobalt eyes nervously look to her father, who gave a subtle nod to do as she said. Breathing deeply, Amelia did as commanded. With a straight back, Amelia slowly provided her grandmother with a full view of herself, before clasping her hands together against the middle of her casual dress.

In a rare occurrence, Vonzelle offered an approving but mild smile. "Your presence is a pleasant sight to the eyes. Why you're looking more like your mother by every passing day." Her eyes traveled over to her son-in-law. She frowned. "Thank Ceifeed for that."

"Really? You think so?" Amelia said, sounding hopeful.

"I do not lie, my dear," she lectured.

"You can say that again," Phil mumbled.

A nervous smile stretched across Amelia's face at her father's grumbling. Her intervention was swift but perhaps obvious as she took her grandmother by the arm, seeking all her prosecuting attention. "It's been so long since you've visited," Amelia said, sounding distracted. She adjusted her throat. "I just can't believe you're here!"

"Neither can I," muttered Phil despondently.

"Will you be staying or are you just passing by?" Amelia quickly jumped, causing Vonzelle's back to face Phil. "We would love it if you could stay!"

Over Vonzelle's frail shoulder, Amelia witnessed her father fervently shaking his head and hands in disapproval. In return, Amelia bit her lip and gave an apologetic shrug. She didn't know what else to say. She was only trying to avoid an argument from breaking out.

Over the years, Amelia collected bits and pieces of verbal evidence to suggest there was a rift between Grandmother and Daddy. She assumed it concerned Mom's untimely demise. There was prolonged mourning and hurt on both sides, and perhaps, Amelia wondered if there were some passive-aggressive notions mixed in there as well. But being the optimist, Amelia couldn't allow anger to shape what family she had left. Yes, she knew Grandmother was a tyrant when it came to perfection and expectations. Even so, she was family, her mother's family.

"That was my intention," Vonzelle answered as if Amelia should have known better. "I already have a servant arranging a room for me. I hope the unoccupied rooms are still being cleaned regularly despite their vacancies."

A big forced full teethed grin was made by Phil. "Of course, of course! Cleanliness is essential here."

A testy white eyebrow rose. "Quite." She then focused back onto her granddaughter. "Amelia, as much as I would like to discuss your latest developments, would you mind excusing yourself so your father and I may have a private word? I promise we will talk at breakfast tomorrow."

Amelia appeared surprised, shrugging hesitantly. "Uh— sure. I should probably be heading to bed anyway. Goodnight, Grandmother Vonzelle. Goodnight, Daddy."

"Goodnight, Amelia," Phil replied. "Sleep tight."

Behind the door, Amelia's footsteps gradually grew quiet, until they had disappeared up the staircase. The mood of the room shifted with a serious note in the air. Once knowing they were fully alone, Vonzelle turned back to Phil. The hue of blue grew vibrant in her irises. Phil squinted the stare, the stark shade against snow-white hair becoming momentarily unbearable. Her eyes possessed a bitter chill to them, like a once crystal clear free-flowing pond, solidified below impenetrable ice. Something tugged and gnawed at Phil. He could see it now: Amelia was that free-flowing pond and he knew his daughter was about to be ensnared.

"I'm surprised to see you made the journey all on your own," Phil finally commented. He nonchalantly moved back to his desk, pouring himself a drink. He'd offer, but he knew she would vehemently decline.

Vonzelle's scrutinizing eyes narrowed. "Why? Because of my assigned sex or is it my fragile old age?"

Phil nearly choked on his first swig. "I didn't mean—"

"I would have thought your philosophy of empowerment for all might have extended to women?"

"Well, of course it does!"

She returned his answer with a dignified snort. With her cane in hand, she began to walk over to an available seat, prompting Phil to assist.

"Here, let me—"

The old woman swatted Phil's assistance away adamantly. "There is no necessity to hover over me, Philionel. I am perfectly capable of seating myself."

The cane was there for support, in case of any imbalance. Phil thought it was for weaponry but that was him just being silly… and maybe a little spiteful.

Phil adjusted his throat embarrassingly. "Erm— Yes. My apologies." He rounded to the opposite side of his desk and sat down. "How's Doonatel this time of year?"

The subject alone left her sick to her stomach. Her face contorted into disgust as she rested her weathered limbs on the armchairs. "Hot. Humid. And I detest blistering warm weather; it's quite bothersome. I heard talk of exceedingly cool temperatures in the capital, so, as I wait for the transitional summer temperatures to pass, I thought I might make use of my time here."

Phil nodded as if it was a programmed response. "I see." Then he blinked. His thick brow lowered, wrinkles deepening across his face. "Wa—wait. Make use of your time here? Forgive me, Mother, for asking, but what exactly do you plan to do with your time while you're in Seyruun?"

"You know very well why I am here," Vonzelle said as if it was obvious.

"Do I?" he echoed. He honestly had no clue.

Vonzelle rolled her eyes. "Don't be daft!" she snapped with a harsh tap of her cane. "Christopher informed me of the urgency of Amelia's impending marriage."

The crown prince balked. "When?"

"When you sent him to the annual Doonatel Ball in your place." When he said nothing, she persisted in further annoyance. "Don't you recall? You claimed you had a, how did you put it? A 'top-secret mission for the cause of justice' to oversee. If you didn't want to attend, a simple 'no thank you', would have sufficed. No sense in making up a silly story like a child."

He was going to start with, 'but I wasn't 'making up a silly story'', but Phil knew better; he decided it was best to leave it at that if he wanted to avoid sounding like a child as she so claimed. Both in his defense and the revealing of his 'top-secret mission'.

"Perhaps, you misunderstood Christopher," he replied tactfully. "You see, I have everything under control."

Vonzelle's frown tightened as her eyes scrutinized the scattered letters upon the desk. Untidiness was never becoming of a royal. "Yes, your desk speaks volumes. Christopher expressed the council is pressuring you," she cut to the chase. "He informed me that a vote had taken place on behalf of arranging a suitor to court Amelia. You were in the minority. I'm aware your brother tends to stay in your camp; however, he could not help but express his concerns that your purposeful delaying will cause unnecessary tension between our allies. I don't need to remind you that prospective suitors don't like to be snubbed. Why it's insulting of you Philionel to just throw their proposals on your desk like those rumpled wrappers of your devoured sweets!"

Phil sunk into his massive shoulders, looking down at the mess before him shamefully. Those once full delicious wrappers weren't even consumed by him. But that wasn't the point. He had no intention of being disrespectful. He was just... busy ruling a kingdom after all! The people's welfare and the country's foundation were his main concerns. He had more important tasks to focus on like ceasing the prostitution rings on the dingy side of the capital or renegotiating paid maternity leave for working women or Amelia's mission on reforming and promoting more humane farm animal slaughtering practices. Seyruun was an evolved liberal monarchy. Change was forever progressing. And with that, Phil had to remain diligent.

"I'm well aware of the delicacy of the situation," he, at last, said, staying even. "I just don't see the need to push Amelia into marriage this instance. She and I will decide on a match soon enough. If anything, a long engagement is what I had in mind. I'm more focused on preparing her as a ruler first. I've made this very clear to the council."

"Still, you were outnumbered, Philionel," she reminded with a hint of wicked smugness. "With preparation to be a ruler comes the need for a spouse. A partner in this affair. If you want her to be a well-adjusted leader, Amelia needs to learn what it means to share the title with another. After all, she won't be ruling Seyruun all on her own."

"Well, yes. You do make a good point. But—"

"How long do you intend to let her drag out this impending engagement? Weeks? Months? Years? She cannot go on much longer unless she has a passionate desire to be a spinster!"

"Amelia is not against the idea of marriage if that's what you're presuming," Phil declared, against his mother-in-law's premature fantasized speculations.

A glint of suspicion lit in Vonzelle's eyes. "Who is he?"

Phil made a face. "I don't think we should jump to conclusions—"

"You know I adore Amelia with all my heart," she started, almost tiredly. "But as a princess, she has responsibilities to think of first before her own desires. Political prospects she should be thinking of. Not falling in love. Love is fleeting. Ruling a kingdom is forever. This nonsensical talk of 'happily ever after' is unrealistic. It gives her no scope on her reality."

"Nothing in life is perfect," she stated, knowing full well of the truth. "But for someone in her position of power, life can at least be— content."

Most people lived by coping rather than being content. Even if their lives weren't perfect, most still had a say in who they wished to marry. The one right a commoner had was the one Amelia was practically without. And knowing his daughter, contentment was not on her agenda when it came to marriage. Amelia loved her kingdom and would do her ultimate best for it, but she was uncooperative in compromising her heart. Both saddening and frustrating, Phil did not blame her. He knew full well he cultivated that… Not that Vonzelle was right about 'happily ever after' or anything.

"Mother, I'm sure Amelia understands fiction from reality. But where's the harm in letting the girl dream a little?" he said with a shrug. "She has been and will be handling more adult responsibilities soon enough. The least I can do for her is let her be with someone who will treat her kindly and make her happy."

"I understand a man of good character is indispensable for Amelia and the kingdom's welfare. Let's not get that confused, Philionel," Vonzelle retorted sharply. "And let's not forget that not only was your title appealing but it was your reputation that sealed my husband's agreement with your father when we arranged your marriage to our daughter."

There was a change in her expression. The hard lines of age faded, and the cast of an icy stare softened into something warm yet grave. She brought a rounded fist to her chest, calming a beating heart.

"I promised Pherenice I would look after her daughters if anything happened to her," Vonzelle began, her voice resembling the reciting of a pledge. "And I intend to uphold my promise until the very end. Now with Gracia gone… Amelia is all I have left of Pherenice. And because of that, I want the utmost best for her. Even if she fails to understand I am only looking out for her best interest. Perhaps she will understand this when she has children of her own.

"But enough of that," she dismissed speedily, feeling the subject had been broached enough. For a moment, she struggled to meet Phil's eyes again. "You just concern yourself with shaping my granddaughter as a ruler. I will take this burdensome task off your much-weighted shoulders. I understand the council is waiting for an answer, are they not?"

At first, Phil was submersed into a puddle of upheaved grief at the mention of his departed wife. If there was anything these two opposing souls shared, it was the love and sorrow of Pherenice. For just a split second, Phil thought he and Vonzelle were amid coming to some understanding. But like many times before, she had swiftly and unashamedly pulled the rug right underneath him. His mild state had been pricked and prodded with self-imposition and he would not be bullied into anything involving his daughter's future.

"Now hold on, Mother," Phil ordered, holding up his hands. "I understand where you are coming from, but you cannot come in here and undermine my authority when it comes to my Amelia's future. I am not about to give away her freedom and rights at the expense of political convenience for some lord—"

"Very well. I've heard your feelings on the matter quite enough," Vonzelle extinguished with silencing of her hand comparable to a magic wand. "I can see you have, at least, attempted, to sift through the propositions."

"Of course, I have!" Phil proclaimed, defensively. "I think I've reviewed enough."

"Well then, what do you think?" she asked, waiting for his supposed ideal candidate to be announced. "Any sufficient considerations for the next king of Seyruun?"

Phil shrunk back into his boulders for shoulders. His large hands delicately peaked under a couple of papers. "Oh well, I suppose there are a few acceptable fellows..."

"Really? Who?" she persisted.

His eyes fell back onto the disorder, riffling through papers among flattened heaps. "Um, well, there was a man from uh... was it Lyzeille or...?"

He held them to the light of lit candles and when he wasn't satisfied with that man, he went onto the next. Vonzelle's expression stood unchanged, only the rhythmic tapping of her long-manicured fingernails indicating she had fed enough into this lousy attempt of preparedness.

"How about this," she started catching her son-in-law's attention. "Since you apparently need time to recall exactly who you believe is worthy enough to inherit the kingdom and wed Amelia, you have until tomorrow night to do some— reorganizing," she worded with intended snobbery. "We will then reconfigure the following morning. Perhaps weed out the competition. After that, you may take it to the council."

Until tomorrow night? The papers dropped and flew from Phil's hand, floating before his flummoxed face. "I do have other matters to attend to—"

"It's settled," she decided.

From there, Vonzelle rose from her seat. She paid no heed to his still paralyzed state as she and cane in tow, went to the study door. "Now, you should very well understand how taxing a long journey can be. I will be adjourning for the night. Do not forget the necessity of the candles in the entrance hall, will you?"

And with that, she closed the door behind her.

Phil remained seated, wide-eyed, and lost. How did she manage to still steamroll right over him after all these years? To the people of his country, Crown Prince Philionel was known for his thunderous righteous voice against all corrupt forces who dared to threaten the use of mayhem among the goodness of the world. When in the presence of his mother-in-law, he was cursed and transformed into a fumbling milquetoast. Strange, how one person could have such an affect over another.

Phil had no desire to mull over it. He would deal with it in the morning. A shot of whiskey before bed would do well enough if he was going to get through the next… He paused.

How long did Vonzelle intend to stay anyway? Maybe he was going to need two shots of whiskey… And two more in the morning.


When her skin turned as wrinkly as a prune, Amelia knew it was time to get out.

She left the bath and ventured back into her bedroom, slipped on a nightgown, and snatched her hairbrush. She then sat before her vanity mirror, wet locks sending droplets onto the skirt of her dress. One leg was propped up on the satin cushion of the chair, her dainty foot resting on it while the other stayed pointed, the toes touching the cold floor. The bristles of her brush pulled through the tangled soaked knots of her dark locks, leaving a smooth silky shine when she was all finished.

Off of her vanity, she grasped a thin delicate gold chain. She then watched the gold locket hanging below, swing in midair with graceful ease. It was her favorite and because it was her favorite, she hardly wore it to prevent any more damage. The hinge was partially broken but stuck to where she couldn't open it. When the aftermath had passed, Daddy discovered the chain had been snapped and it had been flown across his bedroom. When they laid her to rest, he couldn't bear to look it. The cherished memories it once held turned dark with only flashes of a slain woman he called his wife.

When he was ready, Daddy inherited the locket to her. Amelia saw true love whenever the locket met her eyes. She only wished she could have the same. So much so, that if she had a daughter, she intended to pass it down to her and to the next. Keeping it in the family seemed only right.

As she abandoned her vanity, she detoured from her usual bedtime ritual and stood before her large scalloped mirror. Amelia examined herself from head to toe, pulling at the skirt of the flowy nightgown, playfully swishing it from side to side. She felt oddly pretty in it. Not sensual just— pretty. It was a very modest nightgown. A prim and respectable piece of night attire every princess should have in their wardrobe. One that love-sick lovers were supposed to admire at the foot of a high tower or to find in a bed of flowers. But there were no lovers in her life, and there certainly wasn't anyone or had been anyone standing outside her balcony doors for that matter.

Now opening the enormous bed, Amelia's bare feet contacted cool fabric. She fully swung her short legs onto the bed, leaned over, and struck a match to stone. The oil lamp was lit and the match, serving its one and only purpose, was discarded. Comfortably laying back onto pillows, she pulled her knees close to her chest and grabbed a handful of rumpled notes off her nightstand. She had not anticipated that the commissioning of humane slaughter as well as dairy production for cattle would not only cause such an upheaval with its farmers but an immense amount of legal work!

The end of Amelia's traveling days brought an abundance of work in total. Who knew princesses were required to handle more than mastering the art of graceful waving, ballroom dancing, deciphering the language of woodland critters, and being rescued from witches or dragons? Daddy showed no hesitation in giving her a little fatherly shove from the bird's nest, encouraging the mastery of taking flight. Much to the princess's relief, she took to her duties well. That didn't mean, however, that there weren't times where she wished she was searching for treasure, defeating monsters, or looking for stolen ice cream recipes with her dearest friends.

It wasn't long into her rummaging of parchment before Amelia spotted a fluffy feather-duster tail swishing above the papers. Her blue eyes peered over and smiled at the sight of the purring spectator.

"And where have you been hiding?" the princess asked with a playful ring to her voice. "Sleeping somewhere, I assume?"

Jumping onto the massive bed with ease, the feline walked over to the princess. Amelia giggled at the longhaired tortoiseshell cat's receptive nudging. She returned the gesture with a thorough scratching behind a pointed ear.

"Don't worry, Gingersnap," Amelia soothed. "Mister Zelgadis will be home soon."

She said this because, she was what Amelia titled herself no doubt, a joint partner in the care of this ragamuffin stray. In the bitterness of January, Amelia and Zelgadis had discovered Gingersnap behind a restaurant in the city, feasting on meat scraps that had been tossed into the alleyway. She was scruffy, unkempt, malnourished and malodourous as rotting food she ate upon. Amelia took pity on the poor creature and insisted she come back to the palace.

Safe in the corridors of the grand castle, Amelia and Zelgadis immediately went to the kitchens, scavenging for a proper source of food for the stray. As they did so, the cat found delight in licking off sugary crystals from freshly baked molasses cookies on the counter. Naturally, Amelia decided Gingersnap was the perfect name for her. Zelgadis agreed without much care and assumed she would be Amelia's pet anyhow. What he was not prepared for, was that his rooms were to become the cat's forever home, thereby, selecting him as the rightful master. Amelia, on the other hand, was not at all surprised. There was a sort of care in the way he carried her to the palace to his diligence in finding what he believed to be a source of protein sufficient enough for her carnivorous diet.

Evidently, cats, or at least Gingersnap, were his soft spot. No annoyance was mustered at the cat's claim of his secluded rooms. Perched like nobility, she stationed herself on the bench next to the window, seated by Zelgadis's chair and canvas. She was ideal company while he painted. Quiet, unassuming, and nonjudgmental. In return, generosity was prevalent with warm milk, plush cushions for bedding, peacock feathers for playtime, and plenty of scratches behind the ear.

As much as Zelgadis valued being labeled as 'a heartless mystical swordsman' he wasn't fooling her. Out of preserving his merciless mercenary reputation, Amelia didn't dare breathe a word of his kindness. The care that had been placed onto Gingersnap was enough proof for Amelia to know the goodness in his heart.

Which was what made everything so frustrating. The potential to open Zelgadis's locked heart was there, but only in the rarest of moments. Glimmers of something more, something implied had been flickering between them in just that year. Words were cryptic but actions were no longer dismissive. The sidelong glances, the offering of his arm, the light caressing touches when emotion crept in… something must have changed. Amelia wasn't sure when, but she was sure it had. Perhaps when he became her bodyguard… or was it further back? Was it when she gave him the bracelet? Every time he would leave in stints, she made sure he took her bracelet with him, begrudgingly or not. She had hoped he recognized it as a token of her affection. Nothing could be confirmed, but Amelia had an aching suspicion. But she couldn't be certain because it was never said.

She wanted him to know the truth. But if she said it first and the affection was not returned it would ruin everything between them. She preferred to believe Zelgadis as a determined man rather than a stubborn one, but admitting anything that seemed out of bounds was nearly impossible for him to do. Zelgadis was enough of a difficult creature to be close to, and Amelia couldn't risk losing his friendship, his presence in her life, on the prospect of what could be. Then again, assuming what was written in those letters, it felt like she was already losing him. She wondered if he would even care…

Overwhelmed, Amelia became too distracted to work. The parchment wilted in her hands like flowers and so, she made an exchange. An escape was necessary before going to bed and she had just the answer. In her hands, was the current novel that engaged her attention. She was near finished; only a few more chapters to go. Oriolda Winters had to be her favorite romance author (despite hiding such books in shame). Amelia wished she could be more like her striking heroines. So bold, so brave, even at the cost of social outcry— that Amelia had down pat. But admitting romantic feelings point-blank and never being modest of showing a little skin out of the provocation for the greater good… Well, that she struggled with. Not that Amelia ran into a problem where that was required.

Among her high shelves, Amelia proudly displayed books from politics, to enlightenment, to cultural exploration, and of course, magic. All were worthy topics of discussion a liberal woman of her society should be educated in. But romance novels on the other hand… Well, they were fairy tales full of romantic notions, idyllic endings, and shamefully venereal desires. But where most found laughable fodder to mock at Amelia saw dustings of parables and inklings of maybes. What reality could be like if someone (and not anyone in particular, mind you), felt secure to let their guard down, to not shoulder their burdens alone, and find happiness in the acceptance of themselves and of others' love.

For example, where she was currently at in her book. In this excerpt, Amelia was observed in the boiling tension between that of the heroine Lettice and her sword-fighting masked savior Sir Madok. Together, they had defeated a juvenile dragon, Madok inheriting boiling blisters on his arms by the fire-breathing monster. Lettice, a skilled healer, showed no hesitation in attending to his wounds. Here, they shared vulnerability together as she communicated her dedication through trusting touches.

Once she healed his arm, she took his hand and ran her lit index finger over the lines of Madok's palm. Each told a story, leading down a different path. One told of scars of abuse from his wicked aunt, shame from his homeland, another of lost love. A cleansing wave washed over Madok, Lettice's soft touch purifying every line into something renewed and hopeful. Now understanding the sensation and its deepest roots of origin, he asked himself why it took him so long to let his guard down. If her touch was powerful enough to make him feel whole, he wondered what an exquisite experience it would be for her to become fully his in the flesh—

With a slapping of pages, she closed the book. Perhaps that's not what Amelia necessarily idealized... and maybe it was a tad too flowery... But the idea was there.

Amelia sat the novel aside, pulling her knees in and rested her arms then chin on top. She then turned her head, pursing her lips in thought. It all sounded piffling to imagine anyhow. If she had to entertain the horrifying idea of an arranged marriage, no suitor who was after the throne, the sheer volume of riches, or power, would take any grandiose notion to captivate her for the sake of admiration and affection. Amelia recognized it was hypocritical to be biased. But there were too many encounters of the type to persuade her otherwise. Men in her line of work were nothing like the fictitious "Prince Charming" most common girls fantasized about. Conceded, spoiled, dull, vain, judgmental, and often inept in the most basic daily regiments were shared commonalities among high ranking eligible bachelors. They weren't like what she read in her romance novels. There, she found exciting and riveting heroes who felt emotion, struggled with life, and were full of ambition. They rode on horseback, and charged into peril, and sacrificed themselves for the sake of another one's livelihood, safety, or for love.

But that was fiction. No suitor like that would ever walk through the palace doors.

Then again, was it right of her to judge so quickly? Sure, Amelia had met her fair share of conceded nobles, but that didn't mean they all had to fall under one category. Someone could have easily said the same about her if they didn't know her. If she was an exception to the common princess than there had to be a nobleman in a similar position. Mom got lucky with Daddy so maybe the same would happen for her. Or was that just wishful thinking?

If anything was for certain, it would take more than gorgeous eyes, a handsome complexion, and noticeable muscles to vie for her affection. No matter how dire the circumstances were, she wasn't going to bargain with her heart. Her heart was sacred, and she had already given it away. There was nothing that could make her believe otherwise. Even if the man she loved could not give it back.

But slumber was calling for her and she could not worry about powers out of her control. So, for the time being, Amelia would rely on her dreams to sweep her away.


A/N: Thanks for reading everyone! :) I hope you all enjoyed this latest installment! I will try to have chapter three posted sooner than chapter two. I have already started, so with a little time, luck, and pixie dust, I hope to have it up in mid-December. :)

In regards to this chapter, I have always been intrigued by the exploration of Amelia's family. The subject is hardly broached, so I thought I would expand upon it myself. I assumed Amelia's mother also came from some line of nobility (considering that we are dealing with royalty and politics), and in doing so, would possibly have an expectedly traditional wealthy mother to juxtapose the more liberal and modern thinking of Phil. I wanted to play with the idea of Vonzelle being the keeper of her family, as it has been fragmented by the loss of her daughter, thereby overseeing Amelia's future. We shall see how it plays out! To give credit where credit is due, Vonzelle was inspired by Marion Ross's fantastic performance as "Trix"/"Gran" from Gilmore Girls as well as the infamous Lady Catherine de Bourgh from Jane Austen's classic Pride and Prejudice. If you have not read the novel, please check it out! In general, I always enjoy creating original characters especially meddling elderly dames! LOL

Thank you once more! :) See what mysteries, possible suitors, and drama awaits for our heroes in the next chapter! Toodles!