CHAPTER CONTENT WARNING
- suicidal thoughts [referenced past ideation]

The sun was almost below the horizon, and the street lamps were being lit. The ex-prince stuck to the shadows as he made his way through the city. It was about a half-hour walk from the harbor to the castle, giving him plenty of time for reflection.

One would think a cluster of twelve landmasses would make for an interesting country, but they'd be wrong. Everything about the Southern Isles was dull and drab, right down to the uniform layout of the islands: any seaside settlement was a port for fishing and trading, inland lay mines and farms, while the coastal cliffs were ideal for fortresses and castles. Even though Købense was the capital, the only thing that distinguished it from other cities was the royal palace. Not that it was much of a distinction: the place was so dreary that the grandeur of royal balls looked like makeup on a dead body. Bernard the First had valued function over form, and it showed in any architecture built under his direction. At least one bleak structure "graced" every isle, as Bernard had made each of his twelve sons the governor of their own province after the successful unification of the islands. Since then, it had been said that a Westergaard prince would always have a place in the kingdom.

Except me. He was the first thirteenth prince the royal line had ever born. The only thing I was ever 'first' to do. He wasn't even the first Westergaard to be disowned, though no one knew much of the original occurrence. There had been only a passing mention of it in the archives stored in the royal library. Hans had spent countless hours there, reading everything that might possibly be useful. He had even taken it upon himself to comb through every memoir of past royalty. He'd gleaned a lot of information, including the unsurprising impression that the Westergaard name, while respected, had never been viewed with affection. It was appropriate, since Westergaards weren't anything close to affectionate.

Conversely, Leone's family was practically the dictionary definition of the word.

Dinner had been delicious, as expected. Lentil soup, pasta with red sauce, pork roast, carrots, potatoes, and two loaves of bread were spread over the table when he entered the main cabin. The casual conversation put him at ease, as the family included him without making him the focal point. Hans admired how they simultaneously kept him involved without overloading him. It also worked to his benefit, since being the center of attention was undesirable. The more inquiries they posed, the more likely he would be discovered.

It didn't take long for Hans to notice that Leone took after Mirella, while Natalia was a more extreme version of Vincenzo. Mother and son were responsible for most of the dialogue, with the patriarch interjecting a few well-placed thoughts. Natalia did not speak unless directly spoken to, and offered a paltry few words in response. Vincenzo and Leone accepted her short answers, satisfied that she'd at least uttered a small sentence. Mirella, on the other hand, was determined to drag her daughter into the discussion. Hans found himself wondering if this was normal or merely because they were entertaining a guest.

Either way, the older woman didn't have much success. Her daughter kept her replies to-the-point, after which Leone would gladly take over. Natalia, meanwhile, seemed far more interested in anticipating "Lars'" needs than contributing to the confabulation. Hans' hand had moved toward the bread, and she'd immediately picked up the basket to bring it within easy reach. As soon as he'd taken a slice, her other hand was holding out the butter. A quiet "Thank you," and "You're welcome," were exchanged underneath the household chatter. The pink flush that appeared on the young woman's cheeks somehow complemented the smile that accompanied it. Hans had returned the expression before being distracted by Leone's vehement declaration of his hatred for broccoli.

Hans couldn't help the small smirk that crossed his face as he walked. While Leone's outburst had been amusing, the ex-prince was more focused on Natalia's action. It was a small gesture, but yet another piece of evidence indicating she was happiest when helping others. That certainly bodes well for me.

Natalia was his target, but he knew the rest of the family was also eager to assist. The items he carried were a testament to that: a cinch sack over his shoulder and a basket in the crook of his arm. The sack contained his old clothes and boots, while the basket held the remainder of the food in tightly-lidded tins and jars. He had, once again, been invited to stay the night. However, he declined the offer, saying he was unsure of his schedule and needed to return home. Upon his refusal, Mirella hastily set about preparing the basket for him, while Vincenzo retrieved the sack.

As "Lars" had told Leone when asked, he wasn't certain when he would be able to visit again. Hans then reassured the disappointed face that it would be sometime soon, and Leone's cheeriness returned. Hans shifted his load. It was an odd feeling, knowing that Leone was looking forward to their next meeting. In fact, the whole family appeared glad at the promise of a future rendezvous. I suppose it's nice to have people who enjoy my company.

The castle loomed in front of him. It punctuated the awareness that the happy little family was the opposite of his own in every way. A lack of compassion and large quantities of offspring dominated the Westergaard bloodline. "Happiness" was measured by the only two things that mattered: power and prestige. Hans knew the only reason his kinsmen even cared about his past misadventure was because it had sullied the Westergaards' reputation. Had he succeed in Arendelle, his relations would have simply shrugged at the fact he'd needed to kill to obtain the throne. "By any means necessary" had been something of a mantra for the royal family since the founding of the country. He was the only one to fail so miserably at upholding it. I guess I can count that as another 'first' for my record.

He approached a small door in the wall that surrounded the castle grounds. Set with stone to match its surroundings, it was impossible to spot if you didn't already know it was there. Even if someone did find it, they'd have a difficult time opening it. There was a series of buttons, disguised as cracked pieces of stone, that had to be pressed in a specific order to unlock the door. It had been Edvin, Bernard's eldest son and successor, who had commissioned the wall and arranged for the secret door. In his memoirs, Edvin admitted to using the door to sneak out undetected while carrying on an affair. It was quite possibly the most shallow of reasons for ordering such a contraption, but Hans couldn't criticize it too much. After all, the hidden door was preferable to any of the gates, and that was before he'd lost his title. No one had ever been especially warm to him, but since his demotion, the gate sentries usually outright harassed him. There were a few exceptions, but those simply cast contemptful glares instead. Still, he endured the harshness to protect his secret. If he used the passage regularly, someone might investigate how he was completing his jobs when no one ever witnessed him leave the grounds. Thus, over the past year, the only times he'd traveled through were when he'd gone to the cliffs and considered jumping (the probability of failure being the one thing that stopped him). At least I now have a more pleasant reason to use it.

It was almost a straight walk from the door to the corner of the castle he now called "home." Stone steps descended a narrow dug-out, ending at a heavy wooden entryway with the dungeon on the other side. It, like his cell, had been unlocked since the soldiers grew tired of escorting him everywhere. He merely needed to complete his labor and be present for his weekly assignments in order to be left alone. Of course, prior to last night, he never had anywhere else to be.

Upon his return from Arendelle, he'd been thrown into the cell closest to the stairs leading up to the guards' quarters. It had no window, but the gridiron wall let light filter in from the cells across the hall. At least the wind wasn't quite as loud on the interior side of the dungeon. Every cell was unlocked, so he could have his pick of any one of them. With his luck, though, the sentries wouldn't bother checking any other cells and instead sound the alarm that he'd escaped. Besides, there weren't enough differences between the cells to bother settling into a new one. They were identical save for the window and wind. A little wider than his arm span, each cell's only furnishing was a bed (if one could call a board anchored to the wall a "bed"). With his increased freedom, however, he had added extra mattresses, blankets, and pillows to the bed, as well as a table, chair, washbasin (complete with a mirror, razor, scissors, soap, and rags), and spare buckets. All the items had been collected from either the other cells or the palace rubbish disposal.

The task of delivering his weekly assignments had been designated to a lieutenant by the name of Jesper Gunst. One of the few royal guards who didn't intentionally increase the ex-prince's misery, he always followed the same routine: make sure Hans was there, deliver the week's assignments, and leave. Lieutenant Gunst also didn't appear to care about Hans' additions to his cell. Even so, Hans hid his basket between the two short stacks of buckets and stuffed the sack under his pillows. He didn't want to chance being caught in a state of undress while changing into his old clothes, so he wrapped himself in one of the thin blankets and sat in the chair. With nothing more to do until Jesper arrived, Hans' thoughts turned to his newest undertaking.

Unlike his previous attempt to better his life, this idea did not necessitate marriage; it merely required some acting on his part. Currently, he fully expected his newfound benefactors to cut him off as soon as they discovered he was disgraced royalty guilty of high treason. However, if he could get Natalia to fall in love with him, there was a possibility she would continue to provide for his basic needs even after the truth was revealed. It wasn't a certainty, but he should take the presented opportunity.

With what he'd told Natalia of "Lars'" past, he expected any further inquiries to be few and far between. The biggest threat to the plan was a citizen exposing him before Natalia developed true attachment. In that regard, he had to work fast. But, on the other hand, Natalia would surely shrink away if she felt he was too forward. The whole affair would be a matter of precise in-the-moment timing, knowing whether to forge ahead or back off.

The worst-case scenario was that, when the plot inevitably unraveled, his punishment would increase in some unsavory fashion. However, he couldn't picture this family raising so much of a fuss that his brothers caught wind of the scheme. Even if they did, the Westergaards wouldn't care that foreign peasants were incensed by the ex-prince's deception (though certain brothers were likely to arrange some sort of retribution for their own amusement).

The best-case scenario was Natalia falling in love with him while she and her family remained ignorant of the truth. The foreigners would eventually leave, the strategic pursuit would end on a pleasant note, and he would return to the repetitive grind with some new clothing options. While there was a chance these altruists would sojourn in Købense another time, he would deal with that scenario if it arose.

When weighing all the potential outcomes, he had nothing to lose.

"That's it?"

Natalia gave her brother a quizzical look. "Yes. Why?"

The family of four occupied the dining chairs for their nightly Scripture reading (which they had neglected the previous evening due to Vincenzo's late return and Lars' visit). However, before they began, Natalia shared what she'd learned of Lars' past with everyone. She'd been rehearsing the announcement in her head ever since she'd informed Lars of her intent, and she wanted to get it out as soon as she could. Her father and mother nodded during the brief explanation, as though this confirmed their expectations, but Leone seemed to be waiting for an admission that never came.

"I don't know," he sighed in response to his sister's question. "It seems like there's more to him than that."

"What makes you think so?" Vincenzo asked.

Leone scratched his head. "Hm, I can't really explain it. It's just a feeling I got when I met him."

"Was this before or after you ended up as filthy as a stray dog?" Mirella inquired with a bemused smirk.

Natalia held in a giggle as Leone flashed a sheepish grin. "Uh, before."

"Mm-hm. Well, even if you're right, we should still accept what he's told Natalia and leave it at that." Mirella's decisiveness was accentuated by her straightened back, squared shoulders, and folded hands. "If there are things in his past he'd rather not discuss, we mustn't press the point."

"But how will we know he doesn't want to talk about them if we don't ask him?" Leone protested.

His mother squeezed her still-folded hands. "If he doesn't want to talk about something, then he's not going to talk about it." Mirella was clearly irritated with Leone for continuing this line of reasoning. "What exactly would you ask him, anyway? 'Lars, are you hiding something from us? The impoverished nobleman story just doesn't seem to fit you.'"

"I wouldn't say it like that!" Leone snapped, glaring at his mother.

"Eh-hem." Vincenzo purposefully cleared his throat, locking eyes with his son first, then his wife. "You both have good points. On the one hand, we want Lars to know that we're here for him no matter what his life has been like before. Sometimes a person needs a little nudge before they reveal their troubles to others. On the other hand, we don't want to be suspicious of him for no reason, nor make him think our aid is dependent on him telling us things he doesn't want to share."

Mirella and Leone both stared at the table in contemplative silence. Natalia's hands relaxed, freeing a now-crumpled corner of her apron. It had been years since her father had needed to diffuse a family argument. This tiff was nothing compared to those memories, but the squabble had still unnerved her.

"What do you suggest?" Leone finally asked, raising his eyes.

"Give him general encouragement so he knows he can talk to us about anything," Vincenzo advised. "Don't ask him questions about his past out-of-the-blue, but if the topic is appropriate for a particular conversation, go ahead and broach it. If he doesn't respond, then drop the subject."

"Do—" Natalia stopped herself as soon as she realized she was speaking. A sentence had nearly tumbled out of her mouth without forethought. On rare occasions, her voice would get ahead of her brain, which, at the very least, resulted in burning embarrassment. Sometimes she was able to halt her speech before anyone noticed. Unfortunately, this wasn't one of those times.

"Go ahead, Natalia," her father encouraged.

"No, never mind, it's nothing." Now that she'd reflected on what she'd almost said, she absolutely didn't want to say it.

Mirella raised an eyebrow. "It was important enough for you to start talking, so it's not 'nothing.'"

Her mother's tone was soft but stern. Natalia knew her parents weren't going to end the conversation until she'd spoken. She swallowed and forced her jaw to move.

"Do... Do you think we should tell him... about us?"

She tried to speak clearly so she wouldn't have to repeat herself, but the words came out mumbled anyway. Judging from her family's faces, however, they'd all understood her perfectly.

Her parents looked at each other as if engaging in an inaudible discussion. Her brother became very interested in the texture of the table. Natalia found her hands tying a knot in her handkerchief to match the one in her stomach.

Vincenzo's voice broke the uneasy silence. "Our history is not something for casual conversation. However, it's also not something to deliberately hide. I trust we are all capable of discerning a proper context for such a revelation. And, if that time ever comes, it would be best to do it as a family, if at all possible." He paused to examine the dour faces before adding, "Don't forget, it's an example of the grace and sovereignty of God." He tapped the Bible in front of him. "We're far from perfect, and we've been through a lot, but we had to go through those trials to be where we are now. And we're much better off, praise the Lord."

Her father was right. Natalia smiled as joy returned to her parents' faces, then glanced at her brother. Leone was smiling, but it wasn't his usual grin. Behind the happiness was sorrow, and she again regretted mentioning their past.

Leone caught his sister's gaze and instantly brightened, any trace of sadness disappearing into cheer. "So, Pappa, what passage are we reading tonight?"