I seriously love you all. Everyone who reviewed has been so good to me, and I am so totally touched! (Yes, I am a valley girl, still.) Ana Mei, my love! You finally read! Yeah, I'm not influenced by shoujo plotlines in the least. The wonderful Onomatopoeiaman has offered to be my beta, my editor (who ever thought I'd have an editor?) and help me with this project, so hopefully I won't have to repost different versions as I fix errors.

Yes, I know, get to the sex, yadda yadda – I want to write it too, believe me! Unfortunately, I have to torture the boys just a bit more. I'll give you smut soon enough.

- o -

The Perils of Dancing Princesses – or, a Most Humble Sequel

Chapter Three – In Which Jake Is Told The Truth

"You know … I used to be a princess."

Meta's back was still turned to Jake as she picked up a pot from the mantle, her handling of it contemptuous. The fire in front of her made the edges of her form glow.

Jake's instinctual reaction to this was, quite obviously, to run. Growing very still, he contemplated avenues of escape; he was, however, hindered by the fact that his brother was still upstairs.

The other part of his brain was, due to his curious nature, rapt. Because of this, Jake found himself uttering a strangled "Really?"

As soon as he had said it, the part of himself that wanted – badly – to run away rounded viciously on his curiosity. Oh, you idiot! His self-preservation screamed. You don't learn very well, do you?

Meta turned to him, a strange smile on her face, the small pottery pot still cradled in her hands. Alarmed, Jake leaned a little bit away from her, eyes widening, spectacles about to fall. Nervously, he glanced to the door.

Walking slowly closer over the five feet that separated them, Meta's smile increased in intensity. "Even you, the famous Jacob Grimm, think I'm insane, don't you?" she emphasized his name cruelly. "Here I am, the wife of a fiddler, in a tiny wooden cottage, my finest possessions broken pottery." She slammed the pot down on the wooden table, the glint in her eyes not entirely due to the fire behind her.

Paralyzed by the abrupt change in the woman's behavior, Jake leaned even farther from her intimidating figure. She stood, both hands on the top of the pot, glaring at it. With escape out of the question, Jake was faced with only one choice: Placation.

"I don't think you're insane," he managed feebly. When her gaze jerked to his, still loaded with mad intensity, he almost cringed. "It's … it's quite possible, really."

Meta glowered, drawing up to her full height. "'Quite possible' … hnn. I don't care if you believe me or not, you'll still do as I ask." At this point, she opened the pot in front of her and cautiously reached in. When she withdrew her hand, she was holding a tiny, delicately sculpted gold branch, no longer than the length of his hand.

"This is yours if you do as I ask. My … husband got what he wanted from my family, but I still care for my sisters." She twirled the branch slowly between her fingers, making it glitter in the firelight.

"Your sisters?" Jake repeated eloquently, readjusting his spectacles. He was slowly realizing that this woman, most likely, did not wish him immediate harm.

"I have eleven sisters, Master Grimm, who were not subject to as rough of treatment as I was. I was the prize in a contest, a contest which my dear husband won."

Jake was at a loss, confused and still frightened. "Madam, I am afraid I still don't understand…." He broke off as the woman sneered at him again.

"My sisters and I were basically trapped in the castle, every day of our lives, for as long as we could remember. One day, the youngest of us heard music coming up from the floor, under a carpet. When we moved it, we found a trapdoor. We followed the passage it led to, which opened out onto the bank of a lake, a lake we could never find without going through the trapdoor. There were men waiting for us." Meta fingered the branch again, watching the light play over the leaves. "Princes, knights, men of valor and intellect – or so they appeared. Across the river, they said, they had a grand hall with fine wine and musicians. We could not resist. The night passed in a blur, and in the morning we found ourselves back in our beds, exhausted, our shoes worn to ribbons."

Jake was enthralled, unconsciously leaning closer to the woman telling the tale. When she glanced back at him, he recalled his position and straightened, clearing his throat.

"Every night after that," she continued quietly, "We went back. Each morning was the same, our memories vague and our shoes with holes. After several weeks, the rumors among the maids reached our father's ears. We could not tell him what happened – the youngest was especially remorseful, but we couldn't bear the thought of not being able to go back. We were under a spell, compelled to go back each night. My father, King Francis, was advised to hold a contest, in which any man who found us out would be able to marry one of us. You can, I hope, figure out for yourself who accomplished this, and who was condemned o marry him."

Jake blinked for a second, his mouth working a little before he said, "Is this true?"

Meta glared at him. "I am proof in itself, Master Grimm. I have heard the stories of you and your brother. You will do this thing I ask," she commanded, "that you go and break the spell from around my sisters as well. My husband did not break the spell, but simply removed me from it. I still feel the pull, so I know my sisters continue under its influence. You will go save them."

The groaning of the ladder startled them both, and Meta, after throwing Jake a significant look, replaced the pot and branch on the mantle and resumed her scrubbing.

The fiddler appeared at the bottom of the ladder and beamed at Jake, followed closely by Will. "Well, Master Grimm, everything is in order upstairs. Can I offer you some hot apple cider before you sleep? Some wine, perhaps? Meta! Bring-"

Hurriedly, Jake interjected, moving to stand beside his brother. "No, thank you, fiddler, but I am very tired." He offered an awkward, apologetic smile. "Long day, and all that."

Will threw him a confused look. "Alright Jake, you may be tired, but I would love some cider before -"

Jake gripped his arm, hard, breaking his brother off. "I'm sure you're just as tired as I am, Will, and need to sleep." He met Will's gaze with what he hoped was a significant look. Stop being difficult, Will, and come upstairs. Now.

To Will's credit, after only a second or two, he decided to do as Jake wished. "Ah, it is true, I am exhausted. Thank goodness for you, brother, taking such good care of me. Even if cider would have been much appreciated." He grinned at the fiddler and shrugged his shoulders. "Thank you again, friend, for all you have done. We wish you – and your exquisite wife – a good night." With that, he stiffly climbed the ladder again, Jake at his heels.

- o -

As soon as they were upstairs, Will threw himself on the single straw pallet and glared at Jake, not saying a word. The small round window behind him illuminated Will with a cold light, barely edged with the orange glow from the fire downstairs. Jake sat on the floor next to the pallet – there wasn't much room in the dusty, cramped loft to sit anywhere else – and removed his boots, listening carefully. After some moments he heard the fiddler and his wife go to their bedroom, closing the door. Waiting several moments more, he practically held his breath until he heard Will speak.

"They must be asleep now, Jake. Tell me what the hell this is about, and why it couldn't have waited for a hot cider."

Jake turned to meet his brother's angry gaze, unsure how to begin. "While you were up here, Will, the fiddler's wife … well, she …"

Will pushed himself upon an elbow. "Did she flirt with you? Well done, Jake! What did she do, beg you to take her away from her boorish husband? Or was she more forward than that, even?"

Jake looked at his brother in amazement. "She did nothing of the kind, you slow-minded … ugh, never mind. She asked me to do her a favor, and told me the most implausible story. The thing is," he confided, scooting up on the pallet beside his brother, "It might actually be true."

Will snorted. "What did she tell you? That she was a damsel in distress?"

"… Effectively, yes."

"So she did ask you to take her away from her boorish husband!" Will sat up, interested now.

Jake moved so that he was eye level with Will, about six inches away. "No, she told me that she used to be a princess, and that her sisters were still under a curse. She asked me – and you – to go and release them from the spell." Jake tried not to sound excited. He wasn't even sure if he really was or not, but Will would be even more adverse to the idea if he thought Jake was off in a fantasy world.

Will sighed, sounding long suffering and tired. "I thought we were through with this, Jake." He ran a hand through his hair, and moved to take off his boots as well. "Look, life is not a fairy tale. Life is life, and we just have to get through it the best way we can. We'll head back to town in the morning, travel back to Berlin, and take jobs as librarians or something." Boots taken care of, he shrugged off his jacket and started unbuttoning his vest, all the while not looking at Jake.

Jake was, during Will's little speech, seething. "How can you say that?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

Will finally discarded his vest and looked at him, moving to take his brother's hand. "Jake, did she say what country she was a princess of?"

Jake thought. "She said her father was King Francis …

"Of Austria?"

Jake practically growled. "Do you know of another?"

Will flopped back in his former position, sprawled out on the bed. "This is insane. She's insane, and lucky the poor man downstairs married her. And you, my brother," he looked up at Jake, still seated on the edge of the pallet, "Are insane if you believe her."

"How can you not give any credence at all to her story? Deny any possibility, after what we were just through? Trees moved! A queen, long dead, came back to life! You died and came back to life! I saw you, Will!" Jake stood up violently and paced over to the window, wrapping his arms around himself.

He heard the straw pallet rustle and the floorboards creak as Will came slowly up behind him. He closed his eyes as he felt a hand on his shoulder, and tried to control his slight trembling.

He was not prepared when Will wrapped his arms around Jake's waist and buried his face in his hair, holding him almost desperately. Breath catching and eyes wide, Jake tried to remain very, very still. He could feel Will's pulse through his back.

Will snuffled into his hair and squeezed his arms tighter. "You did bring me back, Jake." Will moved his head to bury his face in the crook of Jake's neck. "I just don't want to see you hurt again, chasing after something that isn't there." He sighed, his breath floating past Jake's ear. "You always chase after things that aren't there."

With Will pressed flush against him, holding him, the words were even harder to take; Jake silently struggled against tears as the import of the words took hold.