Along the dampened and dusty king's road the rickety wagon rambled on, this time away from the kingdom and the wild forest. Riss, a shape-changing gnome and sworn servant of the Enchantress, kept his eyes straight ahead on the path, fear growing in his heart.

He had failed Severa; he had lost the girl.

But it's not my fault, he thought over and over to himself. How could he have known they would be intercepted by the king's own son? How could he have anticipated that the prince would know the girl, and take her? What should he have done?

Surely the Enchantress would kill him for this mistake. She had been clear on how much she needed the girl.

The girl is useless now, anyway, Riss thought. She can't remember a damn thing. How could she be a threat to the Enchantress?

And so instead of following the fork in the road that would lead him to Severa's secret hiding place, he instead turned the wagon towards the path that would take him through the mountains.

I'm getting out of here, he decided. I don't want to know what she would do to me for this.

Throughout the years Riss had personally witnessed Severa's wrath. She had always been a power-hungry being, obsessed with restoring her family's line of power and influence, and then killing her own sister when she refused to give up her son for the cause. And then what she did to that boy—cursing him and imprisoning him for all of those years—on top of countless other murders. All for one cause: taking the throne and seizing power.

Her family was from a different land, and a different time, and their rule was a long-forgotten memory. But Severa had her mind set on changing that fate, and everyone who stood in her way became a victim.

Except me, he thought. I've only helped her and she hasn't killed me yet.

But her fury is unmatched; she will come after me. I would have to be in hiding for the rest of my life to pay for this mistake.

Riss brought the wagon to a creaking halt. He mulled over his two options: go forth into hiding, or go back and retrieve the girl. It would be a challenging task, no doubt. Even with his ability to change his form and identity; he would have to convince the girl to come with him willingly. Severa had cursed her to forget, and there were no more such tricks up her sleeve.

I'm not a hero, he thought. Nor am I clever enough to pull this off.

With a heavy sigh Riss pulled the wagon around the road and began upon the path that would lead back into the kingdom.

I can't believe I'm doing this.

I awoke to a soft and hesitant knock on my door. When I opened it I was surprised to find Stefan waiting there, partially hidden under the hood of a plain cloak.

"Stefan? What are you doing-"

"Shh," he said, putting his finger to his lips. "Sorry—were you sleeping?" he whispered.

"Yes," I said with a reluctant smile.

"The sun is rising," he said. "I was hoping you could show me something."

It felt like it had been years since I'd last seen the market. But there it was before us, buzzing and bustling in the rising sun, just as always. The food stands bore fresh produce and meats, the foreign merchants sold intricately woven rugs and fabrics, the bakers competed amongst each other for the softest, freshest bread in the city, and the villagers milled about in the burgeoning summer morning. To someone who had never seen the sight before, I could understand why Stefan's eyes lit up as he gazed around him. Maybe it was the same way I felt when I first stepped into his palace.

"Do you have any money?" I asked. "I know a place that sells lemon crepes with wild berries and cream. The best thing you'll ever taste."

"Yes, I have money," he said, laughing, "and I demand that you take us there immediately."

We ate breakfast together, sitting upon overturned barrels at the street side, watching the market's movements as the sun rose higher and higher. No one recognized Stefan, as he was dressed in commoner clothes, and so no one recognized me either. It was the first time either one of us could talk without the pressure and glances of everyone around us.

"So, what were you doing when you spent time here, in the market?" Stefan asked. "You made it sound like this is where you grew up."

"It pretty much was," I said. "After my father died, Lorna moved my bedroom to the attic tower and made me a household servant. I had to come here most days and sell what our garden produced to support her spending habits."

"You're not a servant, Mary. You'll never have to serve her again."

"I never want to see her again."

The prince and I wandered through the market, talking throughout the warm afternoon sunlight. He was curious about me—which house did I grow up in? What happened to my family? How did I fall under Lorna's imprisonment? He wanted to get to the bottom of it all, as if he were searching for an answer to a question he did not know. I told him everything, except about the fairy that helped me the night of the ball. There was something about that memory that held an indescribable darkness, as if I were afraid to acknowledge its existence, and I didn't know why. But it felt good to tell him everything—I had never before told anyone about my life. And even better—he told me all about his.

Being a prince was nothing like I had read in books—in fact, Stefan didn't even like being a prince. His father was overbearing, and he enjoyed most of his time away from the castle at school with his friends, far away in the mountains. His mother and father had long ago fallen out of love, and so his family was fractured and hallowed. He was never allowed to do what he wanted, and even the ball was an obligation that he was forced into, which is how we ended up meeting in the garden that night.

"I always looked up at your castle from my tower when the moon was out," I told him. "And just the way it glowed like a jewel in the night, warm and golden; I thought, how could anyone be unhappy there? And all the time you were unhappy there."

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful," he said humbly. "But it never felt like a home the way my school did, and it still doesn't, yet my father will not let me leave. He's suspicious of me."

"Well," I said, "he'll never find you here."

We had arrived at the bookshop, my favorite haunt and dearest secret. "This is my heaven."

We went inside and travelled up and down the rows of books, talking about the stories we've read. And then I came upon a book I had somehow forgotten all about—even though it was my favorite—

"Winter's Heart!" I exclaimed, grabbing the book off the shelf and gazing at it incredulously.

I opened it to the first page, my heart beating wildly.

"What's it about?" the prince asked.

I can't remember, I realized. But it was my favorite book!

My eyes scanned the pages, raking over unfamiliar words and names.

Belle.

"I—I don't know," I said uncertainly.

"Well then we must find out," said Stefan. "I'll buy it and we'll read it together."

I was lost in thought as we left the bookshop and stepped out onto the main street when I saw a familiar face in the crowd, and my eyes met with a very old friend.

"Old Mia!" I exclaimed, and abandoned the prince's side.

She was pushing a cart with the usual items, her small but strong frame wrapped in a light shawl. She barely had time to let me into her embrace before I wrapped my arms around her tightly.

'Mary," she breathed in disbelief. "I've been so worried about you! I can't believe you're here!"

"It's been unbelievable, what's happened since I left," I explained, "I am so sorry I left you. How are you?"

"I'm fine, fine," she insisted. "Things have been rather quiet since… since the night you left."

I raised an eyebrow in confusion. "So Lorna hasn't punished you in some way?"

Old Mia shook her head, her eyes filled with something I couldn't place. "No, my girl. Lorna is dead."

My insides froze. The joy and elation I had felt seeing Old Mia again drained out of me and was replaced with a slow growing, ice cold dread. "Dead? What happened?"

"She died the night you left," Old Mia said softly. "She was poisoned."

My mouth was dry, my lungs aching for more air.

"Hello," said Stefan.

"Forgive me," I said quickly, swallowing back my nausea. "Stefan—this is Old Mia. She has always watched over me; she is my dearest friend."

I didn't hear the words they exchanged, nor did I perceive much of my surroundings as my mind fell down a dark, dark hole.

Lorna was murdered. The night I left.

I killed Lorna. The fairy tricked me.

It was me. It was me who killed her. I knew it without needing proof—I should have known it all along. The fairy said my freedom came with a price, and Lorna would pay it. And now she was dead.

"Are you okay?" Stefan asked, placing his hand on my back to steady me.

"Those girls have taken over your house," said Old Mia. "It's time you take it back."

"I can't take it back," I said. "I don't want it."

Old Mia looked to Stefan hopefully. He seemed to sense there was something terribly wrong.

"Let's go back to the castle," he suggested. "We can talk in the gardens."

I promised Old Mia I would see her again soon, and so the prince and I left the market behind as the late afternoon sun dragged across the sky.

The kingdom was breathless with joy: the news had broken that the prince Stefan was alive, well, and better than ever. All rumors of him lying upon his death bed were dashed and replaced with an excited buzz: he was alive and in love. What better outcome could anyone have hoped for? The king's own physicians had cleared the prince of danger and after the citizens received a glimpse of the mysterious girl he had gone after, they were sure that love could truly cure anything.

King Peter, though, was not convinced. He stood upon his balcony and observed his son walking with the girl through the gardens. Their heads were bent low together as they exchanged secretive words.

She is beautiful, the king conceded. But why did my son risk everything for her?

The kingdom being happy was one thing, but the threat still loomed out there in the forest; the Necromancer and the Beast. Maybe the Necromancer was long gone; maybe he wasn't. But justice had not been served. And this Beast… well, in just a few days the tournament would take place and the king would name a champion to lead the Beast hunt. Stefan was strictly forbidden to participate in the tourney—and to the king's surprise, and surprising dismay, the prince hardly seemed to care.

In fact, he hardly seemed to care about anything at all anymore except for this girl, this girl named Mary.

He had abandoned all council meetings and appeared to be avoiding the king at every opportunity. When the king had told his son to choose a girl at the ball, he hadn't meant for him to take it this far. Stefan had always been a willful child—a trait the king himself had passed on to him. But this was different; his behavior was subversive.

He knows, the king admitted to himself. The prince was clever like his mother. Stefan suspected the truth: the king was planning on leaving the kingdom, and soon. The king needed Stefan to step up and take his place; there was simply no one else, and it was his destiny.

He'll fight his destiny, like I did, King Peter thought. I cannot let him.

The queen entered his chambers silently, her usually cheerful decorum put to rest. When it was just her and the king alone, they did not pretend to love each other anymore. She stood beside the king and glanced down into the gardens. Stefan and Mary disappeared behind the towering hedges of the maze.

"So, what is your plan?" She asked. "I know you're thinking of punishing him."

"He thinks everything is a punishment," King Peter said flatly.

"Why do you criticize him so? Why can't you just let him be happy? Just be glad that he's alive."

"I'm not punishing him," the king said tersely. "In fact, I'm going to give him what he wants. I'm going to let him keep the girl."

"Her name is Mary. Stop calling her 'the girl'. You sound like a pig."

King Peter ignored his wife's chastising. "They will marry. The kingdom wants it, he wants it, I assume she wants it too. Everyone will be happy: and then he will rule."

The queen raised an eyebrow. "Is it really that simple? Or do I sense an underlying motivation?"

"I need to speak with him, but he is avoiding me."

"How sad for you." The queen turned to leave.

"You could at least offer to help," King Peter said.

"How so?"

"Tell him to come see me. He'll listen to you."

The queen rolled her eyes and left without a word.

Deep in the wild forest a dark castle loomed, no longer hidden in the trees. Its gates were tightly shut, creaking against the wind as an evening summer storm rolled in. Just outside the castle a boy sat upon the garden steps, clutching to a sword with a raven hilt. He stared at it, deep in thought, as a single tear escaped his hazel eyes and slid down his cheek. The wind blew through his hair as the sky darkened.

Adrian looked up as a blackbird swooped down from the sky and perched itself beside him upon the steps. It tilted its head to gaze at him curiously. The bird had a secret, but it did not share it.