A pleasant aroma stirred his senses. The ex-royal blinked in confusion at his unfamiliar surroundings, until the events of the previous night flooded his memory.

So it was real after all.

Part of him had expected to wake in the alley, the kind strangers nothing but a hallucination crafted by a mind on the brink of death. It was a relief to find himself in a much healthier state.

Something actually went right for once in my life. Disaster must be around the corner.

Realizing he had no clue as to the time of day, he leapt out of bed. Leaving the nightclothes in a tidy pile after his hurried change, he climbed the stairs and popped the hatch. A startled gasp escaped his lips as the heavy door was yanked from his palms.

"Lars, you're awake! How'd you sleep? Are you hungry?" Leone beamed down at him.

"Good morning, fine, and no." Hans didn't bother hiding his irritation at the unexpected greeting. In actuality, he couldn't remember when he'd last slept so well, and his stomach certainly desired whatever Mirella had cooked.

"Well, I'm sure you'll be hungry after you see what's for breakfast!" Leone let the door fall to the deck as he practically skipped to the main cabin.

The jubilation of the foreign young man was aberrant to Hans, who expelled a forceful puff of air in annoyance. How can anyone be so damn chipper?

Poking his head above the opening, he guessed it to be around eight in the morning from the sun's position. He was usually up before five. Being an early riser was the result of years of conditioning by maids — under the king's orders — that princes shouldn't be lazy and "a head-start to the day puts you ahead in life."

Such an inane axiom.

He crossed the deck with another glance at the sky. He was tardy for his "duties" — the manual labor that was part of his punishment. There was no spot for food in his schedule. Just stop in, say 'Thank you,' and leave.

"Good morning!" the family chorused upon his entrance.

Strange.

"Good morning," was all he got out before an elated Mirella flitted to his side.

"Excellent timing! We were just about to start breakfast. Have a seat!" She tugged his sleeve while motioning to an empty chair. The table was arrayed with fruit, hard-boiled eggs, ham, sausage, diced potatoes, porridge, and toasted bread. The smell was making him salivate.

"Thank you for the generous offer, but I must be off to work now." He took a step backward.

"You can't work on an empty stomach!" The mother's incredulous squeal made Hans wince. He could only imagine the resulting hysterics if he told her he'd gone without breakfast every morning for the past eleven months. "Eat, eat!" she ordered.

I'm already late. If I'm to be locked up for that, I might as well be satiated. He let her guide him to sit in front of a full plate.

"Scho haut hoo ewe hoo?" Leone spoke with his teeth sunk into a thick slice of toast. He released the now-soggy bread after noticing his mother's disapproving glare. "I mean, 'so what do you do?'"

Hans had already mulled over dozens of scenarios in order to prepare himself to perpetuate the persona he'd previously presented. The best plan was to be as truthful as possible without giving away his identity. "I'm a stable hand," he answered before crunching his own piece of toast.

The ex-royal stole a glance at Mirella, expecting her to comment on this revelation. The garments she'd laundered yesterday weren't typical of someone with such a lowly career. Mirella, however, was preoccupied with cutting Leone's ham into little pieces after catching him attempting to shove the whole slice in his mouth.

Leone tore his eyes away from the pork, his appetite for conversation greater than his one for food. "Sounds fun! Do you like it?"

Hans paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. No one had ever asked him that before. Throughout all his various pursuits to equip himself to be the best king possible, not once had anyone ever cared if he enjoyed what he was doing.

He felt Leone's expectant stare boring into him. "I like horses better than people," he replied before completing his fork's journey. That's always been true.

"Enough talk, Leone," Mirella scolded. "Let him eat."

Leone pouted as he stabbed his potatoes. "You wouldn't tell Natalia not to talk to him," he whined.

"That's because Natalia speaks with purpose!" their mother shot back, her knife punctuating her point.

Hans' attention diverted to the young woman. She was concentrating on her plate, but, judging by her fuchsia ears, hadn't missed a word. Hans smirked behind his toast. Natalia noticed his gaze and attempted a polite smile, only for it to turn into a yawn that she hid with her handkerchief. Hans refocused on his food, but observed her peripherally. She stifled another yawn before massaging her bagged eyes. She must not sleep as soundly as her brother.

Hans cleaned his plate twice in record time. Dabbing his mouth once more with the thin cloth napkin, he rose from his seat. "I'm sorry to eat and run, but I do need to leave. I don't have adequate words to thank you for your gracious hospitality."

"Think nothing of it," Mirella declared with a wave of her hand. "Come visit again soon!"

"You're welcome here any time, Lars," Vincenzo affirmed.

Hans hesitated in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder at the four. Their happy, smiling faces were waiting for him to concur. It was hard to believe such people actually existed.

It's only because they don't know who I am.

"I need my clothes," Hans stated as though that was the reason he'd lingered.

"They're not fully dry." Natalia's lamenting tone made it sound as if she was personally at fault.

"Why don't you leave them here for today?" Mirella suggested. "You can retrieve them tonight, after you join us for supper."

"I couldn't—"

"You could and you can and you will, right?" Leone bounced up and over to Hans until the brunette was two inches from the redhead when uttering the last word.

Hans' eyes roved over the hopeful faces anticipating his response. If they're going to keep offering...

"Well, if you insist," he agreed with a modest smile.

"Of course we insist!" the sprightly matriarch proclaimed. "Now, run along before you're late!"

Hans gave an appreciative nod before heading out.

Two hearty meals in a row had put some spring in his step, despite his unpleasant destination. Even if he wasn't arrested upon arrival, the work wasn't something to look forward to. He'd grown used to it as the months passed, but that didn't mean he reveled in the tasks.

The former prince was the target of a few quizzical double-takes and one sneer, but that was far less than he usually received. Everyone else ignored him as they would any other passer-by. Hans wondered if his alternate wardrobe was the source of this variation. It seemed he was unrecognizable without his "trademark" attire.

"You walk too fast!"

Unless someone was already accustomed to his current apparel. He looked back to the familiar voice.

"What are you doing, Leone?"

"I'm coming with you!"

Hans stopped dead in his tracks. "You're what?!"

"Coming with you! To work! Normally I help Pappa, but he said he has the day off since he was so late getting home last night. So I decided to help you instead!" The foreigner's whimsical excitement was peculiar, to say the least.

He makes it sound like he's heading to a party, not giving up a free day to muck horse stalls. "Have you ever even done any stable hand duties before?" Hans' skepticism was palpable.

Leone's bright smile didn't fade. "No, but you clean the horses, their gear, and their stalls, right? It can't be that hard to learn!"

Hans rubbed the back of his neck as his mind churned. While he mainly worked at the palace stables, his brothers had hit upon the genius idea of renting him out at half the price of a free man. Today was one of his "hired" days, as he'd been told earlier in the week. Another stroke of good fortune. A private stable would raise far fewer questions than a trip to the palace for this uninformed apprentice. However, it would only take one reference to anything about him, and "Lars" would be no more.

"I don't need help, and even if I did, you can't just waltz onto someone's property and tell them you're there to work." He resumed his journey.

"We'll just see about that," Leone countered with an impish grin as he trotted to catch up.

"Go home."

"You can't make me!" Leone stuck out his tongue.

A low growl emanated from the ex-royal's throat. Slugging the impudent punk might do the trick. Then again, so would telling him the truth. No sense in brawling over it, just let him tag along. When he finally figures it out, he'll abandon me and report back to his family. Then they'll burn my outfit, along with anything I touched. On the bright side, I won't have to continue this charade. At least I got some food and clothes out of them.

"Don't get so lost in thought you can't find your way back," Leone twittered.

Hans raised an eyebrow at his obstinate companion. "Was that your attempt at cleverness?"

"It sounded good in my head," Leone defended.

"Hmph."

Hans returned his attention to their surroundings. They had passed from the crowded inner city to the more spacious outer ring. Arriving at the correct address, Hans noted the relatively small estate. It likely employed only one butler, one maid, and one groundskeeper (who must have been given the day off).

An elderly servant met them at the gate. "You're late," he stated as he ushered them through.

"Completely my fault there, good sir. I just couldn't start the day without breakfast!" Leone chortled.

The butler was not amused. "And you are?"

"Name's Leone! I'm helping out my buddy here for the day." He clapped Hans' shoulder and gave it a jostle.

The old man frowned. "Will it cost extra?"

"Nope, there's no charge!" Leone assured him. "I'm 'in training' anyway."

"Very well," the butler conceded. "Don't go near the main house and be done by afternoon tea."

"You got it!" Leone chirped with a quick salute.

The two were left alone at the stable.

Leone turned to Hans. "So when's afternoon tea?"

Hans shook his head and entered the barn. Locating the tool rack, he reached for a rake, but drew his hand back upon touching the wood.

"Something wrong?" Leone questioned.

"My gloves..." They had been washed and dried with everything else the previous night. In the craziness of the morning, he'd forgotten them.

"Oh, right!" Leone fished into his left-hand pants pocket. It was only then that Hans became aware of the metal container in his grip.

"What's in the box?"

"Lunch!" Leone declared with a smile as his free hand extracted a wad of material from the cavity. He held it out to Hans. "Here." It was a pair of brown leather work gloves.

Hans blinked in surprise as he removed the gloves from Leone's open palm. "I'm astonished you remembered to bring gloves with you."

"Oh, I didn't," Leone laughed as he grabbed the shirked tool. "I don't wear gloves. Natalia asked me to give them to you."

Hans slid one on. It was a perfect fit — snug, but not too tight. He pulled the other glove on as if it would be different, but it was a match. Odd, I thought Leone and Vincenzo had larger hands. A quick examination led to a startling realization.

"These are brand new."

Leone was twirling the rake. "Are they?" He caught the handle and gave the pair a once-over. "Hm, yeah, looks that way."

Hans flexed his fingers as he inspected the craftsmanship. The nearly imperceptible stitches were in evenly spaced rows. The inner lining felt like silk (though blue was an odd choice of color). The cuffs were straight and looked the same from every angle. Someone had put careful effort into their handiwork. Wait...

"Leone, did Natalia stay up all night sewing these?!"

Leone had already moved halfway across the stable. "I don't know. There's a curtain dividing our room, and I fell asleep right after she came in. Seems like something she would do, though." He turned the rake on the hay of an empty stall.

Hans flipped his covered hands back and forth as he examined them, trying to wrap his mind around it. She must have been so enamored after our little exchange that she made me a gift.

"So are you going to show me the ropes, or am I going to have to figure it all out on my own?" Leone acted stern, but the upward tug on the corners of his mouth gave him away.

"Turn you loose with no instruction? Now there's a terrifying thought."

Contrary to Hans' expectation, Leone was teachable — as long as he wasn't engrossed in anything else. Hans rapidly realized the formula for success was to ask Leone to repeat and demonstrate whatever the ex-prince had just described. On top of that, Leone did appear to be actively curbing his short attention span to focus on his work. Of course, that didn't stop his chatter.

It was a Westergaard trait to not waste words, at least amongst themselves. When it came to outsiders, Hans had learned early to say only what was necessary to earn favor. What that meant depended both on the person and the situation. It could be anything from keeping the interaction as brief as possible to making small talk for hours. Personally, he hated pointless jabber. Of course, he would never say such a thing to someone who quite clearly enjoyed being long-winded about nothing. His old self would have mirrored Leone's love of conversation, but the former prince no longer had the desire to push himself to impress anyone. Natalia had been simple: charm that resulted from both natural talent and honed skill was easy to dust off and use at will. Forcing himself to engage in dialogue was another matter.

Besides, Leone hadn't seemed to mind Hans being short with him that morning — he had simply bounded off to the breakfast table. If he was always so easily distracted, Hans could probably get through the day with hardly a word. The former royal kept his ears open for any useful information, but didn't engage his coworker despite the man's frequent inquiries. Hans ignored any questions unrelated to the job, at which point Leone would change the subject. He prattled on about the differences in weather between the Mediterranean and North Atlantic, every sport in existence, and his mother's cooking.

"Phew!" Leone wiped his brow on a rolled-up sleeve. "Speaking of good food, all this manual labor is making me hungry! Let's take a break!"

Break? Hans hadn't planned on one, having never allowed himself even a moment of rest on the job before. He went down his mental checklist. They were much further along than he'd anticipated. "I suppose we can afford a brief—" He stopped short when he realized Leone was already at the well pump. The prince-turned-stable-hand released an exasperated groan.

As he waited for his turn to wash up, the oddity of the circumstances struck him afresh. The whole affair would be unthinkable if he were still under guard. Initially, he'd been supervised around-the-clock. The sentries that oversaw his labor had been especially unpleasant, "encouraging" him whenever he appeared to slack off. A few months into his new life, there had been a mix-up in the guards' assignments, leaving him without a chaperon. A more foolish man would have attempted an escape, but the disgraced prince knew better. Even if he did manage to slip away unnoticed, his family would never allow him to remain free. A lost convict of his notoriety would make the crown look incompetent and further sour foreign relations. He would be hunted down, hauled back to the Isles, and disciplined with severe harshness. With that assurance, the once-royal man had carried on with his duties. When the lapse was finally discovered, he'd already retired to his cell for the night. After ascertaining that he had indeed completed his tasks, the soldiers left him alone with increasing frequency. Now, nearly a year into his sentence, he hadn't had an escort in months. One wrong move, though, and that was sure to end.

Hans wiped his wet hands on the small towel Leone produced from the tin box. Taking advantage of a stranger's charity wasn't exactly a punishable offense, but his brothers would use any reason to increase his burden. At the very least, they would put an end to any kindness that benefited me.

"This one's for you!" Leone waggled a wrapped sandwich under Hans' nose.

"Ugh," the former royal grunted as he pushed the package away.

Leone knit his brows and scrutinized the offending bundle. "What? Do you not like sandwiches?"

Hans grimaced. While that word was faintly connected to the incident he'd most like to forget, it was the item itself, not the memory, that had triggered his revulsion. His body had grown used to receiving only one meal a day, and it was taking a while to digest the large amounts of rich food he'd recently eaten. The thought of more food made him queasy. "I'll just have some water."

Leone shrugged. "Alright, I'll leave it in here in case you get hungry," he announced as he exchanged the sandwich for a canteen and tossed it to Hans. The auburn-haired man sipped from the container as his colleague tore into his lunch.

"You said you usually help your father. What does he do?" Hans timed his inquiry to end between bites so Leone wouldn't start babbling through a mouthful.

"Well, normally we ferry freight all over the place. Special jobs where the client wants speedy delivery they can't get with the big, scheduled companies. Right now, though, Pappa's helping a friend expand his business. They're figuring out new shipping routes, the best cities to have storefronts in, and all that kind of stuff. I run errands for them, like posting letters or fetching maps." Eager to return to his meal, the foreigner's teeth ripped off a hunk of sandwich so large it stuck out through his lips.

"Your family must be well-traveled," Hans stated. Leone nodded vigorously as he chewed with chipmunk-esque cheeks. Hans pretended he didn't notice. "I'm sure that makes life a tad less dull," he mused before taking a drink.

The ex-prince hid his jealousy. He had taken every opportunity to leave the wretched islands, including a four-year tour with the naval forces that began shortly before he turned sixteen. Yet no matter how many times he left, he was always made to return for one reason or another. Thanks to the events of his last voyage, he would never leave the city, let alone the Isles, ever again.

"A lot less!" Leone paused for a swig from a second canteen. "It's great, seeing new places and meeting new people! You should come with us the next time we set sail!"

If only it were that easy. "I have responsibilities I can't abandon." Hans was careful to appear nonchalant.

Leone's puckered frown was almost comical. "Well, it's a standing offer, should your situation ever change."

Hans gave a bemused grunt. "Do you make a habit of inviting complete strangers to live with your family?"

"Hmmm..." Leone looked up, giving the question serious thought. "Nope, you're the first!" he finally exclaimed with a wide smile.

I don't know if I should be especially insulted or exceptionally grateful. "That's surprising, considering how welcoming you all are. In any case, I appreciate the sentiment." Regardless of his true feelings, the latter was the better mask to wear.

Leone vocalized something incomprehensible through the sandwich crammed in his oral orifice. Hans raised a condescending eyebrow at his conversation partner, who gave a muffled apology before gulping down his food. "If there's anything you need, don't be afraid to ask. We'll help you in any way we can."

"Why?" The question slipped from Hans' lips without forethought, and he internally berated himself for it. He shouldn't provoke any reconsideration of the offer.

Leone wiped his hands on the still-damp towel. "Well, I guess there are a few reasons, but the biggest one is our faith." Upon seeing Hans' arched brow, he added, "Have you ever heard the parable of the Good Samaritan?"

"I read it once when I was a child." Scripture had been required study material for all the princes when they were young, but was replaced by more important subjects when they became adolescents. "The moral is to be kind to strangers, yes?" That makes sense. One never knew when a random person could become the most important cog in the machine.

Leone rocked his head side-to-side as he considered Hans' summary. "It's more like, 'Show mercy to others, even a near-dead stranger you just happen to pass by.'"

The message sounded ridiculous when rephrased, but he had to admit that it was a precise description of the prior evening's events. "So you helped me because of a story?"

The brunette curls wiggled as Leone shook his head. "My family and I helped you because we're Christians," he gently corrected. "That parable is just one of many passages where we're commanded to love others with sacrificial love just as Jesus did."

Hans let out a dry laugh. "Ninety-nine percent of the populace would label themselves 'Christian' and they all would have left me in that alley."

Leone frowned. "You don't know that, but let's assume you're right. It's easy to claim the name of Christ. It's a lot harder to follow in His footsteps."

The former royal knew from experience that even the most sweet-tongued people were fickle at best. Still, Leone and his family had already proven themselves, hadn't they? Don't be so naïve! They think you're an unlucky gentleman, not a fallen prince.

Hans knew he risked revealing himself, but he needed to test the waters. Just how far does their 'Christian charity' go? "I can understand helping everyone from loved ones down to unfortunate strangers, but a criminal deserves whatever harsh treatment he receives."

Leone gawked as if he'd just been slapped across the face. Hans hadn't thought his statement to be anything unusual, but it had definitely caught the foreigner off-guard. Does he know about me? Was he surprised to hear me condemn myself? Leone's shock lasted mere seconds, since he quickly busied himself with sipping from his canteen. He looked to be deliberating his next words — which, from what Hans had witnessed thus far, was extraordinarily rare.

Leone exhaled slowly before speaking. "People who break the law have to be punished, otherwise there would be no justice. However, it's wrong to gloat over convicts or find joy in their suffering. They're still human and they can still receive eternal forgiveness. 'For there is no difference: for all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God; being justified freely by his grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus.'"

Hans couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Are you honestly saying you wouldn't treat an inmate any differently than your own flesh and blood?"

Leone leaned forward, now calm and self-assured. "I trust the Holy Spirit to guide me in how close I allow anyone, including a criminal. I'd bunk with him and call him my brother if that's what I was led to do."

Idiot.

"You're a strange one, Leone," Hans sighed, pulling his gloves back into place. Leone chuckled softly as he stretched, but didn't retort.

Speechless twice within minutes? I can't tell if that's good or bad.

Hans stood and surveyed the stable yard. "We need to finish our work." He plucked a shovel stuck upright in the mud and resumed his tasks.

Leone hopped to his feet. "That's right, we have to be done by afternoon tea!" He snatched up his shovel and began to help. "So, what do they usually serve with tea here? Scones? Biscuits? Cookies?"

Hans was somewhat relieved that Leone had gone off on another random tangent. The tension had dissipated, though questions lingered. The ex-prince still wasn't sure whether or not the foreigner knew the truth. Perhaps he was keeping mum until he could play the situation to his advantage. Or maybe he was simply that gullible. Either way, the man seemed determined to continue extending his assistance. I'd be a fool not to take it.

Author's Note: Scripture reference: Romans 3:22b-24 (KJV)