A/N: I'm starting this chapter about two days from my last update, so I'm feeling great. It's the weekend and I intend to get a great chunk of this chapter done so I could work on my L/J fanfic again (which is terribly behind schedule). For this chapter, my regular chapter goal is the same – 5 reviews. It's common knowledge that the more often you set your standards low, the more seldom you get disappointed.

Holly – Lol, I will keep updating until I finish the epilogue, don't worry.

Kadesh – Don't you hate it when that happens? When you haven't read something in a while and then just read the latest of it, and you get so confused? Blah… I should update faster.

Clargirl5 – Muahahahaha! Yes, I am aware that I am pure evil! And the thought of one update a month is quite horrifying, so I will try to update faster… I can't guarantee that it would work.

Vamp and Buck – G'day to you too. Lol, yes, I love describing the servants, especially Eder and Elaine. I just think they're completely awesome :-D You'll be seeing a lot of them in later chapters (but I doubt you'll be seeing Hedrick and Geslynn again)

Clavel – Oh crap, I love your fanfics! Especially the Love & Magic one… I read tons of fanfics, but I rarely add them to my favorites, and I never review them… thanks for sparing so much time for my fanfic, and I will update, that is certain. You'd better update your fics too, or else I'll knock you unconscious :-D

Lindlylou78 – Hehe, I know what you mean… sometimes I just get too lazy to do little things, like signing in or getting up for more water (which is where little siblings come in handy ::evil smile:: )

blueforest – Haha, don't worry, wine stains doesn't come off easily ::evil smile:: About your compliment on my updating… wow. You're a patient person… I wouldn't have lasted so long. But yes, you're right, some authors stop updating after 3 months or so, and if it's a good story, then that honestly SUCKS! Well, I'm not a fan of action, but I would say that at the part when the story-turning problem pops up, Rozenta goes through a lot. And don't worry… there's always fluff :-D

Arein – Lol, I haven't read anything by Tamora Pierce, but I'd like to. Yay! A book recommendation! Thank you for that :o)

TrudiRose – Thanks! I'm glad you like the details and descriptions… I don't know why I chose to make them so vivid :-/ I'm glad it's appreciated, though. Lol, Eszti would love it if the mysterious Gypsy decided to rescue her, but I'm afraid he doesn't really do a thing ::yet another evil smile:: Ah well… at least Clement enjoys her stay.

Mimi – Good luck printing this darned long story… honestly. When you run out of ink, please don't blame me :-D

rhiannon – Wow, by posting that review, you have wasted 5 seconds of my life. Thanks. And now, by responding to this, I'm wasting another 5 seconds. Thanks for that too. In case you didn't know, this story is fantasy/romance… keyword: fantasy. It doesn't have to be realistic, because it's fantasy. In this story, Gypsies DO wear purple, Eszti does wear numerous gold bracelets, and they steal and return. Why? Because it's fantasy. Honestly… if you're going to flame this fic, please check it's genre. Because when it's fantasy, the authors can do whatever they want.

Yes, your flame was that worthless, and no, I will not try to be nice about it. I am not a mean person, but I don't love flames either.

Fou Fou - Go right ahead (about the fork, I mean) and please don't mind if I join you. Lol, and to find out about the gypsy, you must read. And review, come to think of it.

starlight – Lol, I will update, so don't worry… or die. And I hope that this chapter came quick enough for you… I have too many lazy spells for my own good.

kerricarri – Yes, you did review the last chapter, and I apologize for not acknowledging you! I usually respond to the reviews first, and then write the entire chapter out ('tis a bad habit of mine), and I guess you had reviewed while the story was still under construction. Sorry about that! I'm including you now, so no harm done, right?

chandni – Hello again Mimi :-D Lmao, you just had to review twice, didn't ya? Ah well… no complaints here. I really don't see why you're so jealous because you're a great writer too, so please don't make me feel guilty by being envious! And thanks for sticking up for me there… obviously, rhiannon doesn't see the thick, dark, very solid line between fantasy and reality. Because if rhiannon did, then he/she would've realized that when I write a fantasy story, two plus two can equal fish and gypsies can wear purple. ::nods sagely::

I hope I don't fail anyone with this next chapter, and I keep my goal the same as ever – 5 reviews. You can manage that, can't you?

BTW: I was watching a very sad and romantic Filipino movie before I wrote this chapter, so now when I reread the chapter, I figured out it was actually just a load of romantic fluff itself! Romance, fluff, and sugar galore! (yes, that includes Rozenta and Clement… odd though, isn't it?)

- - - - -

Chapter 8: To Meet Another

- - - - -

My heart leaped into my throat, and a cry of joy nearly escaped me. Lady Miorelle and Lieron Dairin didn't look up at the odd sounds that I emitted. He was whispering to her, a sly smile growing on his face, and she giggled – an enticing, sultry sound. Although I would normally be repelled by their openness, the shock of seeing Lieron wiped me mindless, though hope lingered in my slowly emptying mind.

Finally, they glanced up. Lady Miorelle blushed at the sight of me, a light dash of pink spreading on her smooth cheeks, and she graciously slipped her hand from his grasp. She spared him a swift, sweet smile and hurried away. A silence grew between Lieron and I, for he knew me and I recognized him. There was no way that he could not have recognized me. If he didn't, then he couldn't call himself one of my people.

He sighed, staring at the door through which Lady Miorelle exited, inhaling a deep breath. Then he smiled at me, friendly enough, and I found my voice again. The silence was no longer too uncomfortable.

"She's a pretty little thing," Lieron said nonchalantly, finally looking at me and gesturing extravagantly at the gold-gilded doors. "Sweet, sensible, and pretty. Pity she has about ten other beaux, though… I wouldn't fancy being assassinated by any of them."

I laughed, remembering the time Lieron courted a woman in our camp, the most beautiful of her age. Nen had warned him several times about the woman's beaux, for she had a network. But Lady Miorelle was of noble bearing, and any assassination a beau of hers could pay for would be a nasty piece of work indeed.

Lieron beamed at me like an uncle would at a favorite, spunky niece; his smile was reeking of fatherly affection. He scrutinized me, examined the changes that life in the royal court had caused in me. His brow furrowed as he examined my face, and he beamed again, his forehead smoothing with pleasant realization. I beamed up at him in return, for I knew him to be expecting signs of favor from me.

"You look more and more like Contza every time I see you, Eszti," he said, swaggering forward and sitting casually on a chair near mine. He was referring to my Nen, for Contza was her name. Foolish feelings of flattery made my lips curl into a small smile; Contza was beautiful and remained so, though age had altered her features. She still possessed the same almond, dark-as-pitch eyes, the matching dark tresses, and the smiling lips that I inherited. Though subtle features in my face resembled my father, the people in my camp always said that when I smiled, Contza's beauty shone through. I had heard the compliment countless times, and still it proved forever flattering.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him, smiling and breathless. At the moment, he proved to be a beacon of hope. He used to live in my camp and perhaps could tell me of the happenings, though he left it a time ago to pursue wealth and traveling. If I was lucky, he might've stopped by the camp on his way here. It was not hard; Arvette Forest was vast and spacious and contained a constantly used path. If he did know about my Nen and Da, then I would praise him forever.

"Just visiting a friend," he replied nonchalantly, smiling a small smile. I knew that friend to be Prince Clement - and suddenly I remembered the friendship they had when he was prisoner. And my heart rose even higher; if he knew nothing about my camp, then at least his stay wouldn't be useless to me. He knew how it was to be imprisoned, and at least I could talk to him about it.

"I haven't seen Clement in so long a while, counting my money as I had been," he continued, slowly bringing his gaze around the golden dining hall. "Thought I'd put my gratitude into a visit. I didn't know I'd see you again, Eszti," he added, smiling his charming smile. He did not mean it to entice me – oh no, that would be rather sick – but just to have me feel more secure talking to him.

How could I not?

"I certainly didn't expect you, Lieron," I said quickly. "Did you see my Nen and Da or my camp near the Arvette Forest? Or rather, just anywhere? When Prince Clement releases me, I'd hope to the death that the camp would still be there. Would the camp settle elsewhere while I am still away?" I asked worriedly. They had done it once in the case of another family, and if it had happened to me, I would've died at the thought.

Lieron Dairin shook his head in thought, his brow furrowing slightly. "Knowing Contza and Brion, they wouldn't dare let it happen. And they'd search for you. Don't you worry your pretty little head, Eszti, they won't leave you. And you'd be safe in Clement's hands… he is quite the host."

Anger bubbled in me – just a tinge – and I took a deep breath to keep myself from yelling at no one in particular.

"He wouldn't let me go," I seethed, anger still bubbling. "He wouldn't say why. That isn't fair, Lieron… how did you get him to let you free?"

At this, he laughed uproariously. I was startled; was it the manner with which I asked him, or was the question that preposterous? I didn't want to sound like the whiney little baby I was beginning to imitate, but it wasn't fair in any possible way that I would be kept in a palace in which I certainly did not belong, and to be kept there only because a spoiled prince enjoyed my company. In my view, there was no reason to laugh at all.

"You are blossoming into a precious beauty, Eszti… did I tell you that?" he laughed, a twinkle in his eye. I turned and looked over at him, disbelieving. Did he just say that? Was I expected to take that as a response to my question? I raised my eyebrows at him, and he smiled in response. He still didn't answer my question.

"I'll ask it again, Lieron Dairin," I said impatiently. "Why won't he let me free? How did you get him to let you free?"

Lieron heaved a sigh and gazed up at my earnest face, and he sobered. I suppose there was a seriousness and desperation in my face that caused him to get serious; it was hard to sober such a man. That's why the people in my camp always thought him to be an idol for mischief makers and jokers everywhere. No one was sure if that was a definite good thing or bad thing.

"I'll answer the second question first," he said with a grin before shifting his seating position. "I had fun while I was here, actually. It turns out that Prince Clement was a bit of a lonely child, with barely any playmates his age. In place of those would-be playmates, he had servants and nannies and courtiers and teachers. He grew up that way, with a playful personality and barely anyone to play with. It's a sad thing, really, growing up that royal and rich. So when I got caught by the guards, Clement offered me a place in the castle, as a royal guest from another country. He said that he wouldn't truly penalize me, so long as I helped him with his bowmanship."

I smiled at that part; Lieron Dairin was certainly the best bowman in our camp, and the best hunter, and the best horseback rider. His looks practically shouted his talents. He was tall and lanky and had the keenest eyesight, and although his muscles didn't show, his big hands and firm way of gripping and walking told others that he was an experienced hunter.

Lieron smiled reminiscently in his memories, and his smile seemed on the brink of laughter. But of course, all of Lieron's smiles always seemed on the brink of laughter, although his lips didn't part. It was one of his most attractive traits, and it was one of the features of his that made it easy for him to make a friend; his smile displayed his sense of humor.

"So I helped him train, alongside with Sir Giovon… of course, he told the public that I was a foreign trainer from another country set by his parents – but his parents knew the truth about me and found it a funny thing that I would now be teaching Clement, but they kept it secret. Clement and I grew to be fond friends, as well as steadfast hunting partners. Have you ever seen him fight and hunt? The lad has some potential… he's good with horses too.

But back on the answer to your question: Clement is not a cruel person. We were at the height of our friendship in the first month and a half of my imprisonment, and I enjoyed my time here. But eventually I began to miss the old camp… I missed Brion and Contza, and Old Lyra… and Azalea." At this, his smile faltered slightly and his eyes fogged up; what was left of his smile was now sad, burdened with the pain of losing something so precious. "Ah, beautiful Lea… I wonder fate has done with her now. She must hate me now, and probably has another – moreover, someone more faithful and someone less selfish. Is it so, Eszti? Has she found another?" he inquired desperately, lifting his gaze and searching my expression for any hidden answers, as though I would know what had happened to his sweetheart.

The odd thing was that I did, but I couldn't find the heart to tell him; their love story had a sadder ending than he knew. At first, no one could understand why he had left Azalea so suddenly, when they were at their passion's best. Before he made the decision that broke Azalea's heart, there were even rumors that Lieron was considering engagement, and people marveled at his love for Azalea. She had to be one special woman if she could make Lieron change from a heartbreaker to a family man.

But when Lieron returned from his imprisonment in Clement's castle, there was something different about him. Returning to camp, he looked at everything as though he would love to continuing living among such people, but found he couldn't.

No one noticed at first except for Azalea… no one wondered why Lieron had seemed so sad. She questioned him about it one night, nearly a month since his return home, and it was then that he had broken her heart. He told to her that he learned there was much more in the world than he could dream of, and his adventurous spirit longed for a chance to explore it. He wanted to visit kings and queens in many different lands, wanted to fulfill his new dream as a traveler, one who never settled. He explained to her that he tried his best to forget his newly found dreams, to ignore them so that he could be happy in a life with her in the camp. But it was impossible, he found, to ignore these dreams, and so he was going to leave the Gypsy camp for good.

He ended his explanations by explaining that though he loved the idea of a life with her in their Gypsy camp, there were other lands and possibilities out there – in that great world past Merilian – and that he longed for nothing more than to see it. His last sentence told her that his dreams began to challenge his love for her.

And the last sentence, I knew for a fact, was what shattered Azalea's heart into a million pieces and had scattered the pieces in different parts of the world, never to be reunited again.

Lieron's smile was entirely gone now; his face resembled anguish carved in stone. At that very moment, I wanted nothing more than to tell him that Azalea was willing to give him a second chance, that she was well and still available, and waiting for him. My heart ached to lie, to say that she had forgiven him for his foolishness, and that her love for him remained as it had always been – impervious and plenty and eternal.

I could not tell him of her fate, but I could not lie to him either. But something in me spoke for me, in a thankfully neutral tone, and told him the truth.

"No, Lieron," I forced myself to say, although the impulse to speak was going to rip my throat in half. "She has not found another since you left. She still loved you, but couldn't believe what you did. She didn't know whether she should hate you or be faithful and continue loving you and wait for you. So her mind numbed with the ache of it all, and she went mad. At first she lost her sweet nature, and her beauty washed away with her happiness, and Azalea became irritable, bitter, and subdued. Then she lost her sanity, crying every night and hugging her pillow to her chest and praying that you would come back to her, and damning you at the same time. It was a hard time for all of us, to witness such a thing. Some of us prayed for her pain to end, and end it did."

Lieron's eyes, which had been transfixed and wide with disbelief and panic, did not change a bit. His brow furrowed again as he took in the information and he could've shaken me when I stopped my telling, could've gritted his teeth and demanded me to go on. I wouldn't have blamed him if he did. But he did not move as he let me go on with my tale.

"There was a day when everything was gray: the sky's usual radiance was dimmed and the sky was a sad grey hue, with only a tinge of periwinkle near the edges of the darkening clouds. No birds sang, and everyone awoke sad and disheartened, for a reason unknown to us. Mostly everybody was having breakfast with their families at the time in their tents, when someone began shouting for help. It came from the tent near the east edge of the camp, the one that Azalea lived in. Everyone eating heard the cry, and was panicked by it.

Myric, Azalea's brother – the one you never liked – came bursting into random tents, yelling that Azalea wouldn't awaken. Everybody was shaken, and those who knew her best – along with the committee – came rushing into her tent. I was not there personally, but my Da was, and he told us. He said that everyone crowded around her bed, and stared into her stony, sad, beautifully tragic face. Da said that her face was wet and cold, with tears from weeping, no doubt. The healer felt for a pulse, and her face fell when she felt nothing – only cold flesh."

I don't know what possessed me to talk in such explicit detail, especially with news of his lover's death. But it was as though I was living in a story, and it was as though by speaking in such an elaborate way, I turned Azalea's death into a story. I knew it was frightfully wrong, since the news could kill Lieron's emotional state, but I couldn't help it. It was as though I was telling the story to myself: as though I hadn't actually gone through it and was simply telling the occurrence to another.

I stopped there, for a lump had developed in my throat. I had known Azalea, though I was only twelve when she was still happy with Lieron, and I liked her immediately. She was sweet, and funny, and caring, and clever, and bright. The memory of her death brought me great sadness, and many tears, and the idea that Lieron had contributed to her untimely death brought me anguish and a slight feeling of betrayal. I had liked Lieron, too.

There was more, but it was only a flourish of words – basically what followed in her families and our families. I did not go on, however, for my eyes were already beginning to water, but I was a stubborn girl. I held my tears, and instead watched Lieron for any sign of sadness.

He continued staring at me for a few moments when I abruptly stopped the story, but did not protest. I suppose he had heard enough, as her sweetheart and her heartbreaker – and, if you were cruel enough to think that way, her cause of death. He was staring at me, but wasn't really – instead, he stared within himself rather than at his surroundings. Then finally, his gaze dropped to the floor, he blinked once, and then he buried his face in his hands, shame and guilt written all over his face.

I couldn't bear the sight; his display of sorrow and remorse was too much for my hard to withstand. Breathing deeply, I rose from my chair – completely guilty that I had to reveal the truth to him the day he came to visit a dear friend – and nimbly made my way across the room.

My hand was reaching for the golden handle on the door when I turned back and spared a final glance. His pose and expression was still the same: lost and guilty and in self-hatred. My heart throbbed. I turned back and opened the gold-gilded doors with barely a creak, and slipped through the threshold.

My spirits were lower today than it had been since I arrived at this wretched palace. Suddenly, Lieron's visit didn't seem so hopeful anymore.

- - - - -

The tears came when I successfully made it into the parlor without distraction, crankily slamming the door behind me and sinking into my favorite squashy armchair by the fire. I did not sob, nor wail, nor bawl, but the tears came silently, and in great long streaks down my cheek. Thoughts of Azalea lingered in my mind, walking arm in arm with Lieron or laughing with everyone else: a tall, dark-haired beauty, with a rare-for-Gypsies skin complexion: a light brown, almost fair.

Her black hair came down her shoulders in dark, loose ringlets, and her smile completed her beauty: it was humorous and sweet-natured at the same time. When I was twelve, there was never a time when she didn't succeed in making me laugh, and she was constantly winning my heart with countless tales of faraway lands. Nobody was surprised when they found she could tame Lieron, for she fitted him perfectly, and everyone believed them to be a destined couple.

But they weren't, and the story ended in death and despair. My tears came faster, and more forcefully.

I was so drowned in my silent tears that I did not notice when the door slid open, nor did I look up when a tall figure strode to my chair, his gentle but hesitant hand on my shoulder. I cried for half a minute more before acknowledging his presence.

The silence had treated me well, but a friend to talk to was more of a comfort.

Clement's hand left my shoulder (and inside, I found this to be a slight disappointment, although I mentally denied it) and he took the seat across mine: an identical armchair. He glanced at me awkwardly, afraid I would burst into soft tears again (men like Clement, I learned, weren't good with crying women), but his usually mischievous eyes were soft. This moment was one of those times when we forgot all our useless little squabbles together and found each other's company satisfying.

"Are you done?" he asked gently. I looked truthfully into his eyes – and almost got lost into them, actually… they were the most hypnotizing kind of blue I had ever seen in my life – and nodded, a slight motion of the head. He nodded in satisfaction and leaned forward slightly, so that when he stared into my eyes, he didn't have to look down.

"Care to fill me in, Rozenta?"

My returning nod was hesitant, but it still existed. So I cleared my hoarse-with-weeping throat and told of, in a hushed voice, Lieron's mistake and of Azalea's death. I didn't include so many details like I did last time, but I still spoke in a strangely aloof tone – as neutral and genuine as a witness's voice.

When I was done, Clement's eyebrows were raised a little in incredulity, but he said nothing about it. And for that I was grateful.

"But then," he said suddenly, "what made you cry? Was this Azalea related to you in any way?"

I shook my head offhandedly, not thinking on it too much. Or trying not to think on it. Although I was as stubborn as any lass could ever become, I was a soft-heart when it came to the despairs of others. I revealed to no one, of course, that I was empathetic, but some had already guessed.

And by the way Clement smiled, I was safe to infer that he guessed so too.

"Azalea was the perfect friend." I spoke in short sentences, feeling the tears readying themselves in my eyes. "Funny, creative, clever, and sweet. You could tell her anything and she wouldn't judge you – instead, she mended your problems. I loved her while she still lived, when I was twelve. But that was four years ago; I should've gotten over it a long time ago. I'm sorry I had to drown in tears like that," I added apologetically to Clement, whose smile widened.

"I don't suppose you'd want me to inform anyone of this, am I correct?"

Where remorse was, there was now anger. My temper was quick, but most of the time not-so-serious, and I was glaring at him for even suggesting so.

"You dare to do that, Clement Bernard, and I'll kill you."

"Bold statement to the future king, Rozenta. Even I wouldn't have dared to say such a thing."

I blanched slightly, but only for a moment. His threats concerning his being a prince still came up every now and then, but I stopped believing them. Still, they made me nervous. Everything he said in those threats were true, and could happen. I didn't want to think any further on the prospect of getting him too angry.

There was silence, during which I stared into the shape-shifting flames in the heart, buried in my own thoughts. Dimly, I was aware of his smile still on me, not even beginning to leave me. His eyes, too, bored a hole through me, and I was uneasy when I thought of how often he did that. Sometimes when we talked and there would be a moment of silence, he would stare at me relentless, stare into me, as though he were reading my very soul. Like a book.

I decided to speak again, and to stop concentrating on the fire. He deftly disguised his staring by appearing to look at the portrait on the wall behind me, tilting his head at the sight and scrutinizing it with almost-genuine interest. I smiled mentally; he was clever, I couldn't deny that, but I could be just as observant when I wanted to be.

"Why did you come to help me?" I asked suddenly, seizing him from his portrait reverie. He blinked and stared at me blankly, probably concocting a most brilliant excuse in his mind.

"Well," he said after that heartbeat's pause. "I came in here to see if Eder was around – the cook was looking for her, going on about some bet they had made some time ago – and you know well enough that she spends her spare time in here… with you, oftentimes. I saw you crying, and I am not a vindictive prince. I wanted to comfort you and distract you because, you see, seeing you cry like that was like a blow to the heart." At this point, his eyes were soft and twinkling at me, filled with startling concern. His smile had softened and seemed shaped only for me.

For a moment, I enjoyed his sincerity in his concern for me, and I honestly don't know why. But – snapping out of it – I realized that such thoughts were scary, that he was almost betrothed to someone else, and that I probably wouldn't stay here past a year. And that I definitely wasn't falling for him; oh no… I was too dignified for that.

"Very well-thought of words, dear sir," I said, my voice simply dripping with sarcasm and resentment. If I was falling for him – which would certainly never happen, oh no – it upset me that my heart was that easy to win, if I were to lose it to someone like Clement. The thought made me feel cantankerous.

"Very tactful, too," I continued. "Seeing as I hear no sincerity whatsoever. Still, I applaud you. I was, for a second, nearly convinced that you truly cared."

Mild surprise took over his face for a tenth of a second – and I just barely saw it – and on his face another tenth-of-a-second of pain followed. Still, he covered it up with exceptional skill – which I applaud him for – and smiled his usual lazy, roguish smile.

He stood and made for the door, but turned to give me a strange, thoughtful look. He tilted his head and asked, "Are we friends, Rozenta? Or do you truly hate me?"

I blinked; this was the last thing I expected from him. It scared me, also, that my answer was so hesitant. I opened my mouth and prepared it for a firm, unalterable "NO", but I found it impossible. Instead, a stream of words slid unchecked past my lips, and when I was done talking, my words played in my head and I mentally groaned with horror.

"I suppose so," I had said, in a voice that didn't seem too hesitant to be lying, although I dearly wish it had. "About being friends, I mean. You and I have our laughs, and it is actually enjoyable being around you. We have too much fun together and we understand one another too greatly to not be friends; and I don't hate you. You do things that I hate, I admit, but I can't really hate you. I suppose you could say that I hate you just as much as you hate me."

A sick feeling settled into my stomach when those words played in my mind; I suppose it bloomed on my face's expression too. Clement's eyebrows were raised at the speech, and he didn't look too sickened. His reaction to it was actually pleasant. But upon seeing my face, he couldn't suppress a laugh.

"Did I say that?" I asked quickly, trying to correct what I said. "Maybe I did, but what I meant was –"

He waved his hand dismissively and cut me off, still on the brink of laughter.

"I knew what you meant, Rozenta, and I do not resent it." He gave a final chortle and sauntered out of the room, leaving me to helplessly sputter in disbelief.

"Listen, I wasn't finished!" I exclaimed, my temper terribly piqued. I stood and banged at the door, yelling. "You cannot walk out when I am talking to you, Clement! You didn't interpret my answer correctly – you misunderstood it! Come back, you wretched prince, you!!"

I hushed and threw the door open, looking out into the end of the hall. He was turning the corner, and I caught a glimpse of his face – his laughing face. My hand itched terribly; I needed to choke something alive – particularly him.

He was out of hearing and sight for sure, now. I groaned appallingly, and loudly. I shut the door – not too softly, mind – and marched indignantly back into the parlor. I was still grumbling obscenities when I found my seat.

When silence followed, my mind wandered. What puzzled me most was why I had to give him such a flowery speech; it wasn't like I meant any of it! Oh no, that would be the last thing that would happen to me – to fall in love with Clement!

To fall in love with Clement was to voluntarily throw yourself into lake, not knowing its depth. It could be as deep as the ocean, or it could be up to your shoulders, and you had to know how to swim. Speaking literally, you had to know how to tolerate him without being harsh.

And I knew for a fact that I could not stand him; I don't know what came over me when I admitted that we were friends, because we weren't. And yet, I still said that. I needed a second to breathe and think of something else; Clement was not a topic in which both halves of my mind agreed, exactly.

But as I suddenly began to doze off, exhausted by the day's plights, one solitary image haunted my thoughts, though was not precisely a dream: Clement, riding beside me as though he had born to ride horses, laughing as his wavy dark hair flew back, grinning and laughing at the same time, and his cobalt eyes giving me a look that I unconsciously knew was a look only for me.

And while I slept, I smiled.

A/N: Ahh… the romance and gushiness of it. I don't know how I was able to fit a sad, anguished moment along with a sweet, tender, loving moment, but I did it. I don't know if I did myself justice on this chapter, but one can only hope. And btw, Clement's hair isn't long: short hair can fly back too when going at a fast pace.

Isn't it a marvel that Clement's managed to have Eszti in love with him, despite how stubborn she is? But it actually isn't hard to believe; had I been of age (and had he been real), I wouldn't have resisted falling in love with him either.

So review, bear with me as I struggle to keep the chapters coming with a decent pace, and DON'T FLAME!