The sound of the Shard's hooves was a brittle crunch on the gravel paths of the towns outside the capital city, dully fading into the repetitious pattern of sounds that characterized travel. Clouds drifted across the sky, unchained to earthly matters, unlike the wishes of the prince. The prince in question, Zane, sighed lightly, as familiar with the feeling of riding as with the reason for his travels. So far, the search for Pansy had been fruitless.

The prince looked to the side, where Cryptor rode with him on his own trusted black steed. "Tell me, Cryptor. How far is it to the next town?"

"Quite near, your Highness– it should be over this hill. Be patient."

"I have been patient."

"What irks you, Prince Zane? Travel has been smooth today."

"We have found no success in finding Lady Pansy, despite our efforts," Zane muttered, focusing ahead once more. "The process has become tiresome."

"May I remind you that you were the one to acquiesce to her challenge?" Cryptor asked, a smile in his voice as they came over the hill, where a town and an overlooking manor came into view. "As it is, we have finally reached today's final destination. Perhaps your travels will end today."

Zane smiled wryly. "I shall hope so, but I doubt we are so fortunate. There may yet be more places to look."

"Perhaps. However, you are not the sort to be discouraged."

"I do not normally take on such challenges."

"That is most certainly true."

At last, the two came to the front of the estate. They tied off their horses outside and went to the door of the manor, the dark wood tall and imposing. Zane knocked firmly on the door before stepping back, hands folded behind him.

After a few moments and a a shushing sound, the door opened to reveal an older woman, with graying auburn hair. As befitting noble station, she wore finery, though it seemed somewhat overdone. At the sight if Zane, she smiled widely and curtsied.

"Prince Zane! What an honor it is to have you here!"

Zane bowed his head in greeting. "The honor is mine. Might I be speaking with Lady Amaryllis Borg?"

"Yes, I am she." Amaryllis seemed to preen at the recognition, however minimally. "Might I know the nature of your visit, your Highness?"

"My advisor Cryptor and I are traveling to meet the nobles near the capital. I take it you have heard my father's announcement from the festival?"

"But of course. Please come in, your Highness. My daughters are so eager to meet you."

Without delay yet with slight trepidation, Zane and Cryptor entered in, and Amaryllis showed them to the parlor. Two girls came shortly to join them, each with auburn hair and extravagant dresses to match their mother's. Like her, they curtsied in greeting.

"Prince Zane, good day!"

"Good day, your Highness!"

Amaryllis smiled and introduced them, the picture of perfection. "Your Highness, meet my two lovely daughters, Begonia and Columbine."

Zane bowed his head in greeting to each lady again. "It is a pleasure to meet you, ladies."

"To what do we owe the pleasure of a personal visit?" Begonia asked.

Zane defaulted to his usual explanation. "I'm sure you have heard my father's announcement from a few days ago, yes?"

"Of course!" Columbine exclaimed. "We were watching the jousting matches."

Zane noted this fact as Cryptor took over the explanation. "We are looking for the lady his Majesty mentioned. Might you know any lady who fits her description?"

Begonia shook her head. "Not naturally, I am afraid. I know some ladies who like to wear wigs and such; I myself do it."

"What? You do?" Columbine asked. Then, she jumped slightly. "Ow! Begonia!"

"Girls," Amaryllis said, voice somewhat tinged with exasperation. She turned to Cryptor and Zane, hands clasped together. "Sir Cryptor, Prince Zane, do you have any way to gauge whether a lady is the one you are searching for? Perhaps we can inform you more."

Zane nodded. He placed his hand inside his jacket and took Pansy's scarf from his pocket, where he had kept it close to his heart. Though loath to give it to another, he showed them the fabric. "This belongs to the lady in question. I cannot disclose her name."

"But of course, my prince. That would be too easy to pretend. Might my daughters examine it?"

"I see no reason why not," he said, though hesitant. He gave it to Amaryllis, who showed it to Begonia and Columbine, placing it in their hands equally.

Begonia gasped. "This is my scarf!"

"That cannot be! Was it not mine?" Columbine asked, accusatory.

"No! It came from Pixal, remember? We were girls. I brought it to the festival!"

"What? You brought-"

Cryptor cleared his throat, politely interrupting the bickering girls. "Pardon me. Pixal, you said? Who might she be?"

Columbine laughed loudly. "Oh, you see, she is our maid!"

"This used to be hers."

"I see," Zane interjected, distinctly feeling as if this information was key, though he did not know how. He put his hand in his pocket and grasped a small object, only to bring Pansy's hairclip into the light. He held it up. "Tell me, do either of you recognize this object either?"

The girls exchanged the scarf for the hairclip. Secretly, Zane found himself extremely glad to have the scarf in his possession again. The was no recognition in their eyes, even as they turned the hairclip over, examining it.

"No, your Highness."

"I do not recognize it. Is it important?"

Cryptor and Zane exchanged a glance, equally wary. Both considered these answers carefully, knowing that Pansy would know it. "Not particularly," the prince said after a moment. "Never mind it."

"Oh, of course." Columbine returned it, smiling widely, as if her enthusiasm would win favor. For a moment, Zane felt like a cornered beast.

As the prince's concern slowly grew, Amaryllis stepped in. "Prince Zane, that scarf belongs to the lady you seek, correct?"

"It does."

"I believe you have found her today." She gestured at Columbine. "My daughter, Columbine Borg."

Zane paused. He had seen this woman before, but she was not Pansy; she had tried to favour him on the first day, but he had rebuffed her. No, Pansy was different, with gentler features and intelligent eyes. She was not an accomplished liar. Surely this was not her.

Zane shook his head. "I am afraid not, Lady Borg. Please forgive me saying so, but you must be mistaken. Are there any other ladies in your household, perhaps?"

Amaryllis seemed surprised, but she grit her teeth. "No, your Highness. It is only me and my daughters. We do not even have any women on staff."

"Not even the lady named Pixal?" Cryptor interjected.

Begonia and Columbine laughed. "Pixal? Of course not. She is no lady."

Zane's mind whirred quickly as he considered the validity of Columbine's earlier claim to the scarf. "Do you know where I might find her? The search must continue."

"I see no reason why you would want to," Amaryllis said. "She was not even at the festival."

"I only wish to meet her," Zane began.

Just as he was speaking, a loud banging sound was heard, drowning him out. Every head turned toward the entryway, where it originated, to see a strange sight.

Across from the parlor, a previously closed door was open slightly, swinging on its hinges. Strange yellow fog drifted across the floor from underneath, rolling in waves. For a moment, it was still, but then it was flung open fully. In a flash of sudden movement, an indistinguishable womanly figure dashed into the adjacent hallway from the room. Her fair hair flew behind her as she ran, and within only moments she passed out of view entirely.

Zane looked at Amaryllis in alarm. "Lady Borg, do you know who that was?"

"I have no clue," Amaryllis grit. "Perhaps it was the cat."

"That was no cat." Zane stood. "Please forgive the intrusion, but I must investigate."

"Your Highness, please, you need not do so!" Begonia protested.

"It may be an intruder."

Columbine shook her head. "You do not need to protect us, Prince Zane."

"Perhaps, but I have a duty to protect the people of this kingdom, especially the women." Zane stepped into the entryway, toward the hallway. "Please, I will only be a minute."

The sound of protest fell on deaf ears as Zane followed where the woman ran, each passing second filled with more trepidation, and suspiciously, hope. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place.

Inside the basement, Pixal sat on the floor in defeat. The door which once was her security was today her jailer, keeping her in the room within which she once hid.

Pixal cursed her stepmother's actions. The woman had known her secret, and now she would use it against her, though not in the way she intended. She did not know that Pixal did not wish to see the prince. In imprisoning her, she had just ensured that observant Prince Zane would find her, and then surely despise her deception. Things had gone wrong, and if Pixal did not fix them, it would all be over.

Slowly, Pixal rose to her feet. There was but one way she could right this; escaping before Zane had a chance to find her.

She went to her bookshelf and pulled out a thin book, lacking any markings. She opened it and flipped to a certain page, which was dog-eared. Upon the page was written a charm, intended for unlocking doors. If she was able to cast it, then she would be free. It was like the spells she had used before, which she was thankful for, and required only two things: a complex rune, and the words spoken aloud. The rune had to be written on the door, and Pixal dreaded to think of what Amaryllis would do when she found it, but escaping was more important.

After a few minutes of rifling through her room, Pixal at last found a piece of charcoal from the fireplace. It was large and unwieldy, but it would have to suffice, so she began without hesitation. She quickly began scrawling the rune on the door, with its wide lines and strange characters covering half of the door.

As Pixal wrote, she heard sounds of conversation, and rushed to finish. "This is my scarf!" she heard Begonia cry as she wrote the last bit of her rune, and she gasped quietly. Her heart rate spiked as the conversation quieted and continued in the parlor across the entryway.

When the rune was done, Pixal threw the charcoal down on the floor in panic. For a moment she considered staying in the room, but disregarded that idea quickly and decided to take the risk and escape. Without dallying any longer, she grabbed the book and stood back a few feet. Then she cleared her throat and raised the book.

*"Ostium: aperta!" she chanted.

The moment the words left her lips, a yellow glow came from her rune, illuminating every line. It shone brightly, nearly blinding her, but faded quickly. After that, yellow fog began to drift from it and under the door.

For a moment, Pixal thought she had done the spell wrong, and that nothing had happened. Then, a loud bang came from the lock and the door unlatched itself, hanging freely on its hinges.

Pixal closed her book and took a deep breath, preparing herself. She breathed a silent, wordless prayer. Then she bolted, throwing the door open and running into the adjacent hallway, toward the kitchen and its back door where she could escape.

Panic coursed through Pixal's veins as she ran for the kitchen, hoping and praying to every power that she was not seen. When she reached it, she shut the door behind herself as silently as possible and dashed to the garden door.

Pixal grabbed the knob and tried to open it. She pushed as hard as she could, but it was blocked from the other side such that it would not move an inch. Despite the urgency of her situation, she tried every method to open it and clear the blockage, but found no success.

Finding herself trapped, she finally gave up. It was then that Pixal considered her other options. What could she do except hide or leave by the kitchen door, where she would be seen?

She stepped back from the garden door, hoping that she could attempt to leave, but then heard the approaching sound of her family's protesting voices and footsteps. Then she froze, and for the first time found herself hoping and praying that Amaryllis managed to keep whoever was there from seeing her.

Having no time to find a place to hide, she stared at the kitchen door as it slowly opened.

From the other side, Prince Zane gently swung the kitchen door open, hand resting on his pocket where a knife was hidden, seeming concerned. He looked around as if to see an intruder, but did not even see her. After a few moments, however, he opened it fully.

At the sight, shock filled every inch of Zane. Before him stood Pansy, dressed in a working woman's dress of gray cotton, fingertips stained black with charcoal and a book in her hand. Devoid of any finery, she watched as if she was a cornered animal, startled eyes wide, so unlike when they had met.

Pixal watched as Zane entered. "Pansy?" he breathed.

"Your Highness," she edged, curtsying.

"It's you," he said. "I found you."

"I think you have me mistaken for someone else. My name is not Pansy."

"I do not think so. You are she, are you not? From the festival."

"No. I don't know what you're talking about," Pixal protested, shaking her head.

Amaryllis pushed her way in scarce moments later, followed by her daughters and Cryptor. She sneered at the sight of her stepdaughter, but covered it quickly. She came to stand near Zane.

"Prince Zane, this is Pixal, the maid. Surely she is not the person you are looking for...?"

Zane stepped forward, nearer to her, a question in his eyes. "Your name is Pixal?"

"...It is." Pixal drew back slightly. "My name is not Pansy."

Zane paused. "Lady Pansy told me that, if I found her, I would know her name. You are just like her in every aspect."

"She– she is my sister."

Columbine gasped in outrage. "Your sister?! You have no sisters!"

Begonia smacked Columbine on the arm. "Shush!"

Zane looked at them, and then at Pixal, his face displaying some indecipherable emotion. "I am missing something."

"Yes, you are, your Highness," Amaryllis interjected. "Pixal cannot possibly be the lady you are looking for. She is no lady at all."

Zane came forward to where Pixal was. "Pixal, what is your full name?"

Pixal looked at him in trepidation. Then she looked away, to see the others watching her. Her stepmother's face betrayed thinly veiled rage. Her stepsisters were outraged, watching in shock. Zane's advisor, likely the one named Cryptor, seemed curious, and did not seem to judge her.

She looked back at Zane. He was sincere, and he looked for all onlookers to have his heart on his sleeve. His gaze pierced her, and the spark of recognition was unshakeable.

In only a few moments, Pixal came to an inimitable conclusion. There was no way to hide any longer, no matter what she tried. Zane knew, as did her family, so the only path was acceptance. She squared her shoulders, forcing herself to be confident. She looked Zane in the eyes, and then curtsied.

"It would not befit me to lie," she said, briefly glancing at Amaryllis. "My name is Pixal Borg, but my given name was Pansy. My mother, Lord Borg's first wife, called me Pixal."

Immediately, a smile came to Zane's face, as bright as the sun's rays. "You admit you are Pansy!"

Pixal had to smile in return, though it was hesitant. "I am she. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say she is me."

"Yet you are the same woman." Zane laughed quietly.

Amaryllis shook her head. "No!" she exclaimed, drawing the attention of both. "You are not this Lady Pansy. You were here every day of the festival, all day. You swore to me you were!"

Zane looked back to Pixal, and she raised her chin, confidence surging. "No, Stepmother. I apologize, for I lied to you as well. I was not here."

Amaryllis reached into her pocket and pulled out the snowflake necklace, which she let hang from her hand. "You said you purchased this here! You could not possibly have gotten to the festival alone without a carriage."

"You do not know everything about me," Pixal retorted. "You do not know my secrets. I have my own ways that you have never heard of."

At the sight of the jewelry, Zane came over to Amaryllis. "Might I see the necklace?"

Amaryllis grit her teeth again and placed it in his hand. "Of course, your Highness."

Zane lifted it so that he could see the pendant. He smiled and turned to Pixal. "I believe you and I both know where this came from. It seems I have even more of your property to return."

Despite herself, Pixal laughed quietly. "Even more, your Highness? Is it not only the scarf, too?"

"No. Let me show you." Zane took something out of his pocket. He took her hand and pressed it into her palm. She looked down at it and gasped.

"My hairclip!" You have it– how?"

"You dropped it outside the arena." Zane smiled. "It was when you gave me your scarf, as a favour."

She laughed in disbelief and fastened it in her hair. "I scarcely believe it. I believed this to be lost forever..."

"I suppose I have yet another piece of jewelry belonging to you." Zane presented the necklace to her in his hand. "May I?"

Pixal nodded. "Yes, you may." She turned, and to Begonia and Columbine's continued shock, Zane fastened the necklace around her neck. Then he gave back her scarf.

"I believe I have finally returned your favour, Lady Pixal." He turned to Cryptor. "Cryptor, the search is finished."

Cryptor smiled knowingly. "I shall wait for you at the gate." Heedless of Amaryllis' attempts to interrupt, he said something quiet to her and led her out of the kitchen, Begonia and Columbine eventually following behind.

The two watched them go, and once they were in private, Zane turned to Pixal.

"Pixal, please, tell me. I found you, just as you asked. You know why I wished to find you."

Pixal's breath caught in her chest. "Prince Zane, you cannot still wish for such a thing."

"Yet I still do. Your choice is valuable, more so than mine. I will not pressure you, but I must know." He took her hand in both of his. "Pixal, I have never met a woman as extraordinary as you– nor could I."

Pixal's face felt hot, but she ignored it, in favor of an embarrassed smile. "You speak so highly of me."

"I only speak the truth, especially to such intelligent and beautiful women as yourself."

At his comment, she ducked her head. Slowly, she looked up at him through her bangs. "Zane, are you certain? You know who I am. You know I am no lady."

"Have I not already told you that such things mean nothing? You are Pixal. You are the flower who captured my attention. There is no need for anything more than that."

She blushed. "Very well. You are so sure, Zane. Ask your question."

Zane smiled and took her hand. He held it in his, as gentle as could be.

"Lady Pixal Borg, will you have me? Will you let me take you with me, will you stay with me? I can think of no woman more fitting for the role than you, nor would I ever want to."

For a few moments, Pixal found herself unable to speak. As patient as ever, Zane waited as she hesitantly brought a hand to his cheek, briefly touching under his chin. Finally, she found her words.

"Yes."

Another bright smile broke upon Zane's face. "Yes?"

"Yes." She smiled back, her embarrassment suddenly replaced with joy. "Yes, I will have you, Zane."

Zane laughed. "Oh, Pixal!" Before she could react, he swept her up in an embrace, and she laughed as she was caught unawares.

"Zane, please!" she cried as he lifted her, both laughing. "Put me down!"

For a moment he did not, loath to let her go, yet when he did it was not without care. Then the two were transfixed, gazing into each other's eyes. Slowly, they drew together.

Only inches apart, Zane paused, suddenly hesitant. "Pixal, may I kiss you?"

She smiled, cupping his cheek gently and for once finding herself fearless. "Yes. You may."

With those words, the space between them was no more, replaced with a tender kiss. It conveyed that which they could not express in words– Pixal's fear, Zane's hope, and their shared joy at their connection. It was short and sweet, not nearly enough, but it was perfect. They did not part for a few quiet moments; when they did, they remained as close as they were before, almost touching.

"I am sorry for deceiving you," Pixal murmured. "I was afraid. I do not have high station. and feared it would make me unacceptable."

"Perhaps right now, but you will be a princess. You do not need to worry." Zane smiled, and she could not help but reciprocate. "Pixal, I have never once felt a connection to anyone like I have with you, noble or peasant."

"Neither have I. I have never once felt… compatible, to use your words. You are fascinating, Zane."

"As are you. The privilege to share a life with you would be more than I could ever earn."

"Let us be glad you do not have to earn it, nor the truth." She drew back, smiling just as brightly. "You wished to ask my father for his blessing. He is here, though ill with a cold. You may ask him now, if you so desire."

Zane nodded, and took her hand in his. "Lead the way. Let us not delay any longer."

*Latin for "Door, open!"

A dream is a wish your heart makes...