She moved through the town quickly and quietly, keeping her head down and not talking to a single soul…before she moved off the path. Interesting. With nothing but her cloak and her wits she left the road and headed into the forest, stepping carefully over rock and soil. There was no path or trail and yet he knew the ground she walked over wasn't unfamiliar to her. She didn't look around for direction or an individual she was meeting, she didn't stop to get her bearings, she just walked. She walked on and on with the confidence of someone who knew where they were going. After following her for a few minutes, he understood.

He knew the second she was on her own property because she suddenly developed an air of dislike and disgust. Though he watched her from high up in the trees and she kept her hood up, he could have sworn that he saw her turn her nose up as if the very air itself smelled foul when she crossed that imaginary line.

Once she arrived at the riverbed, she stopped, something clearly in her sights. A laundry basket. She picked up her skirts and huffed quickly to it, kneeling down to inspect the contents of what appeared to be ordinary laundry. She took one of the white shirts from within, sniffed it, and nearly wretched. She threw the thing back into the basket as she turned her head away violently, seeking out the cool fresh air to fill her nose again. From the trees, he could tell disgust went to anger as she picked up the basket and began trudging up through the forest again, her target becoming clearer with every step.

She lived in a small house. It was a mill. There was a tower with a windmill on top, and that was about it's only defining feature except for a man, lounged on a cart, obviously asleep-or perhaps just passed out.

Her father, he presumed. The woman wasn't exactly a spring chicken herself, but he was still too old to be her husband. And the way she looked at him didn't suggest that relationship. No one knew the look of a disgusted and bitter wife better than he…and that wasn't it. Besides, they had the same forehead and nose.

She was a ball of fury. Upset and angry and yet obviously smart as she didn't seem to expect much from him. She chastised him for not making the flour delivery, but she didn't order him to get up and do it himself or even push him around. She simply stalked about the property, loaded up a small cart herself, and set off. He followed for what proved to be a very informative afternoon. She had only a few deliveries to make, with such a small cart she could hardly make more, but her interactions told him far more than a conversation with the girl ever would have.

She knew her place. But that didn't mean she was happy about it or willing to be owned by it. Though she kept her head down as she walked she wasn't afraid to confront those who pushed her. When a man reached out and pinched her in jest, she wasted no time turning around and slapping the devil. "Try that again, and you'll find your fingers pulled from your body one by one, do you understand me?!" she threatened, brandishing a knife she had in her bodice. Needless to say, the stranger did understand, and she moved on.

She was educated or at least educated enough for a miller's daughter. She knew how to count money and do sums in her head, as evidenced by the one and only individual who attempted to pay her less before she pointed it out, and he simply laughed away the mistake he'd made. Neither Cora nor he believed it was a mistake, he could tell simply from the look on her face. But she didn't make threats, simply enjoyed being able to call him out on his mistake and count the money he owed her out for him.

She was ruthless and unforgiving, cunning, and clever. When she finally arrived at the bakery and found herself face to face with the man who had come after her in the tavern, Ivan, she didn't unload her flour. Instead, she named her price, and he watched as the sour-faced man blanched. "That's twice the cost! And it's late!"

"You ended my shift at the tavern early! You scared away all my customers and deprived me of my tips. You'll make up what I deserve."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Fine. The next closest mill is over an hour from here, get your flour for the King's ball there."

"You can't do that!" he screamed as she went to pick up her cart once more.

"I just did. Pay, or have nothing to send to the castle tonight. I do hear those royals love their desserts; I hope they're not too cross with you when you can't deliver," she commented over her shoulder as she moved on. Clever. A woman who knew the art of deal-making and how to hold all the cards in her hand, as his father would have said. He watched as the man glared at the back of her head as she moved on, then looked at his bakery, then back to her…

"Wait!" he called. "Wait, wait, wait! Fine…it's thievery, but take your money."

She did, of course, and smiled as she counted it out and put it somewhere safe. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Ivan," she commented as she left the bags of flour with him.

"Wish I could say the same," he called after her as she moved on. She kept her eyes down and moved on.

She was interesting. A very interesting creature. And the magic that poured off of her was exquisite in its raw form. If only she could learn how to harness it. If only…

To his surprise, her next delivery was to the castle itself. It was questionable, knowing that the baker had been planning on creating the desserts for tonight, but he assumed the flour here must be for other things they were making for the dinner. Whatever the reason, it wasn't his concern; it wasn't why he was here. And as she wandered inside the castle, he summoned a cloak with a hood to pull over his shoulders and hide his face then walked inside after her. She stopped in the ballroom, a beautiful open-air space humming with activity. He watched from a safe distance, knowing in the commotion that no one would notice an extra individual, everyone was too focused on their tasks, and that included Cora. She stopped her cart just by the stairs and began to put the order together. Three bags of flour. He watched as she managed two of the heavy sacks with one arm as if they were weightless. Her magic perhaps? Helping her without her knowledge. It would not have been the first time he'd heard or even seen someone use magic that they were unaware they had without their knowledge. And he was certain that she did not know she had it because-

A shriek suddenly filled the room, breaking him from his distraction and forcing him to search the room for Cora.

"You stupid, foolish girl!" he heard her shout, telling him that she was certainly there; he just couldn't see her. And a moment later, he understood why.

"What happened here?" the King of this land demanded.

"Oh, the peasant fell! As they do," a girl remarked, forcing him to search the floor around her.

There she was, on her hands and knees before them, surrounded by a starburst of white flour.

"Are you alright?" the King inquired.

"I'm fine!" Cora shouted, flinging her arms out with so much frustration he wouldn't have been surprised if the flour gathered itself back up into the bag on its own. He could taste her magic once more. Clearly, she was not "fine".

"Not you! Eva," the King scolded. The was a flicker of confusion on Cora's face before she narrowed her gaze at him. Even he had to admit he was only watching Cora and he'd believed the King was addressing her. Selfish, unseeing royals. Why would he need to concern himself with the girl by his side? It was Cora who was on the floor covered in flour. "Are you alright, Eva?"

"Well, she ruined my slippers," the girl complained, putting forth a slippered foot, he could only imagine to show them how exactly, Cora had managed to ruin her slippers when the gown the child was wearing would have obviously required her to stick out her foot in order for them to have been damaged.

"I don't think the girl meant any harm," one of the gentlemen, a Prince, he believed, one of the King's sons, suggested.

There, at least one of them had some sense of logic, even if his words did suggest he was spineless. He could see the flaw in what the girl suggested had happened, but still went along with it instead of correcting the lie that had been told. This was only one of the many reasons he hated politics.

"You shall receive no money for the flour, and you will apologize to Eva," the King insisted, glancing at Cora.

He knew how she felt about that without looking at her only because he felt a surge of power rip through the air around him. She was emotional. That was the driving force behind her magic. If only she could channel it…

"Apologize? The wench tripped me!" she argued. Words instead of magic. Oh, she had so much to learn!

"Curb your tongue. This is Princess Eva from the Northern Kingdom, our honored guest. She's a very important woman." The King's introduction was useless. He could see that Cora didn't care to be "curbed" if the woman was a Princess or a Pauper. She was angry. And why shouldn't she be?

"She's a girl!"

"And who are you, miller's daughter? What's your name?"

It was a potentially deadly question. Names were important not only to him, but in the world as well. With a name, the King could find her father, fine him, strip him of his land, tax him, throw him out, and if she refused to do as he said she could be found, tried for treason, and hanged for her insolence. She had power, such power, and yet he hoped that her spirit was measured equal with her brain. He needed her alive!

He watched as the woman squared her shoulders and raised her head. "Cora," she answered honestly.

Oh, she had so much to learn before she could become a princess. Magic as well as politics.

"Then kneel, Cora," the King ordered.

"Do it!" he heard himself mutter through gritted teeth as he watched her mind jump back and forth between following the order and telling him off. She hated this. He'd only known of her for a few hours, but he'd seen enough in her dealings with the rest of the town that if people treated her the way the King just had she would have been the one to teach them a lesson. But he was the King. And even he knew that if she did that, it would probably be the last thing she ever did. And fortunately, she seemed to understand that too as she knelt down before the crowd of royals.

"Now apologize," the King urged, looking down at her as if she was a child. "Apologize, or this will be the last bit of flour we'll take from you. There are other millers out there."

It took every ounce of control he had in his body not to come forward and save the girl right then and there. He understood her, he felt for her, he knew that they both knew what the King would never understand and that was simply that it was their kind who did more living and understood the world far better than he ever would. She was no child. Next to the King, he was the one who was the child. But the girl was important to his future, a key puzzle piece in finding his son. As much as he wanted so badly to step forward, take that woman by the hand and use their combined powers to teach the entire Kingdom a lesson they wouldn't soon forget, he knew that he had to remain where he was. If she answered something wrong, she wouldn't be executed now. He could save her later.

"I beg your pardon, Princess Eva," she finally spat out in a stiff voice.

Something in his stomach that was clenched let go at her words. Good. It had all but killed her, but it was good. She'd given the right response.

"Stay down until we have passed," the King ordered as the girl, the one with the hair so high he was shocked her eyes weren't pinched at the corners, smiled with pride. "You are where you belong."

Except she wasn't. She was smart, so of course, she stayed right where she was, kneeling on that floor as the royal party turned and left her in her pile of flour. She exuded magic. It poured out of her with a ferocity he'd only ever recognized in his own curse. She was powerful. And despite her station, she was strong, life hadn't quite beaten her down yet, that much was evident as he watched her eyes turn to flame while she watched the party go. She was determined, which was good because he was going to need that-she was going to need that if she was to rise above her station to become a Queen as the prophecy suggested. And that anger, that pain that she felt right now…he could work with that. He didn't quite know how yet, but he knew he could work with her.


I initially was not going to have Rumple witness this scene, but instead, just watch her go into the castle and come out angry. Then I decided if he'd watched her up until that moment there was no reason he would stop. And besides, I thought witnessing this chapter would help him feel a little more connected to her. I thought it would help him to see himself in her which would make him more sympathetic and her more attractive.

Big thank yous to Enomisje, Grace5231973, and Jennifer Baratta for your comments on the last chapter. One thing I hated about writing this was that I felt like the introduction to Cora went on and on and on and never stopped! If you are feeling that way I apologize but offer you this consolation prize, next chapter is certainly one of the top ten important chapters in this fiction. Lots of connections get made for the future and I'm hoping you'll like how they get made! Peace and Happy Reading!