At the Kirkland Estate, Arthur had taken to the bottle. After Toby had discovered his father had given away Braginski, he refused to speak to him. He was sent to live with Mr. Karpusi for awhile.

Alfred kept to himself and rarely left his room. Often, he was lie down in his comrades bed and wrap himself in the covers. Savoring the fading aroma of woody peach that still lingered. Some nights he dreamed of Ivan sitting at the desk, studying, only to awake and find himself alone. The chair empty and an awful pang in his heart.

"Alfred, join me for dinner." Arthur spoke from outside the door. "Please."

It was difficult to drag himself from the mattress. He was dressed sloppily, his shirt un-tucked and half buttoned. When he opened the door, Arthur fell into him, a drunken mess. It had become the norm.

"I will eat with you, but, you have to promise not to sexually harass me." Said Jones. "You touched my junk last time."

"You walk around with your chest exposed." Arthur grumbled, his face flushed. "If anyone is to blame, it is you."

In the dining room the table was still set for four. Alfred sat next to Kirkland, sighing. He helped himself to a hunk of roasted chicken.

"Bon jour!"

Both Alfred and Arthur were startled.

A man with a scruffy chin pushed open the kitchen door wearing an apron. He was blonde and had a thin nose. Cheerfully, he sat down a plate of potatoes in front of Kirkland.

"I thought you were dead." Murmured Arthur, stabbing at his food with a fork.

"Poo." The man pouted and untied his hair. It cascaded down to his shoulders. "I was merely sleeping. Beauty like mine, mon amour, requires la beauty sleep."

"Why are you here?" Grumbled Arthur, sounding annoyed.

"The Highness requested my services." The man said. "Where is Antonio these days? I visited his house, but, he was not at home."

"Dead."

The Frenchman was stunned.

"So, it was you two. I saw the news, but, I did not even think you and Antonio were involved." He said sorrowfully, taking a seat. "A pity. He was a good man."

"Yes, he was." Arthur agreed. "Williams has evidence against me. I had to give into the Queen's demands."

"I see." The man took notice of Alfred. "Who is your servant boy?"

"Oh, I apologize Alfred. This frog, is an old acquaintance of mine, Francis Bonnefoy." Grumbled Kirkland. "Also, he is not my servant. He is a guest that, by law, I own."

"Alfred F. Jones." Greeted Alfred.

"A pleasure to meet you." Francis smiled. "I see you wear glasses. I am a world renown surgeon, I could fix your vision for you. Most recently, I replaced a young soulless' arms. It was the first time performing such a surgery and except for slight skin tone differences, they function just fine, as long as his body does not reject the transplant."

"Ivan." Alfred's eyes widened. "The patient, how was he, ph-physically? Uh, did he speak to you at all?"

"Um, not really. He only exchanged greetings with me, although, he was a little over weight."

"Over weight?" Chuckled Alfred. "No signs of, a-abuse?"

"Non. Well, nothing recent at least." Bonnefoy replied, glancing to Arthur. "I assume this patient is someone you know?"

"Yes. Alfred and him were held at the same facility, I purchased them together." Kirkland explained, sipping at a bottle of whiskey. "Giving up custody of him was part of the agreement with the Queen."

"I see." Nodded Bonnefoy.

"Is there, a-any more you can tell me?" Asked Jones, he spoke soft.

"Non, I am sorry." Said Francis.

Alfred stood and pushed in his seat.

"Wait, Monsieur Jones." The man stopped him from leaving the room. "I have to check up on the patient, tomorrow. Is there anything I could pass on for you?"

"Can you?" Alfred's face illuminated. "Um, if I write him a letter, can you give it to him?"

"Oui, but of course." Francis smiled at the youth's enthusiasm.

"Thank you. I will get one ready." Thanked Alfred, hurrying off to his room.

"Good kid." Bonnefoy said, exhaling deep.

"Yes, he is." Agreed Arthur. "I feel guilty about what has happened. What reason would she have for wanting him?"

"He is very attractive." Francis shrugged. "Perhaps, she fancies him?"

"I doubt physical attraction was the only reason."

"Perhaps, but, the Queen hardly ever shows her true couleur." Francis poured himself some wine. "She is actually a quite frightening young lady."

"Hah!" Snorted Arthur, amused. "You mean, psychotic. Whatever she has been injecting herself, must be rotting her brain."