The rusting door to the cell creaked open, the ominous sound reverberating through Clara's bones. The guard holding the door ajar gestured for her to pass.

"The door will stay open," said the guard. His tone was formal, but Clara could detect a hidden layer of concern for her. "I will be right outside, Your Majesty. Well within reach."

"Thank you," Clara said. "But I do not think Mr. Corlynch is planning on doing anything warranting your intervention." She smiled gratefully at the guard as she stepped into the dimly lit cell.

Hugo Corlynch sat on the cell's single cot. He was hunched over with his arms draped over his knees; a chain hung between his wrists, keeping him secured. Upon hearing Clara enter the cell, he snapped his head up, and surprise washed over his sullen expression.

She couldn't bring herself to greet him. Not after yesterday. Instead, she simply set a basket on the floor. It was within reach of him, but he did not grab for it.

"There is food in it," Clara said. "And warmer clothing then what you currently have on. It can get rather cold down here."

Corlynch licked his lips, moistening the cracked skin. "Why?" he finally asked.

Clara swallowed, then winced as she felt the bandage on her neck stretch from the movement. Corlynch eyed the bandage, and shame flickered across his face.

That was what Clara needed to see to continue. A reassurance that he had some semblance of remorse for his actions. "Because I do not believe you are an evil man," she said.

Corlynch stared at her. "After what I did to you?"

Clara clenched her fists. "Yes," she said tightly. "You have suffered a great deal. You lost your wife in a horrible way, and for that I am deeply sorry. Your actions were driven by hunger, grief, and desperation. There was a selfish need for revenge too, but I do not think that makes you as evil as some would believe."

Corlynch mulled her words over, picking at the shackle on his wrist. He gave his head a disbelieving shake. "I have heard that you are a woman of virtue and honesty. I suppose the talk was true." He frowned at her. "Why the prince? Why would someone like you marry him?"

"He is your king now, not the prince," Clara reminded him coldly. She thought for a moment, wondering how she could possibly explain how she saw Eric to a man who hated him so much. "I did not know him prior to his curse. When I met him, he was already trying to remedy his past mistakes. He was ashamed of who he had been and gave up nearly everything for his people. Despite who he had been before, and how you see him, he truly is a selfless person." She tilted her chin up. "And now, after reclaiming his kingdom's freedom, he has driven himself to exhaustion to repair the damages done. Is forgiveness for someone so changed such a difficult thing to ask?"

Corlynch frowned. "His current actions cannot erase past sins."

"If you refuse to forgive him, why should your actions be dismissed?" challenged Clara. "Are your threats of murder to be pardoned, while my husband is not?"

Corlynch shifted uncomfortably. He brow creased, and a haunted look shadowed his eyes. "But my wife…" he muttered. "She…my wife is gone…what am I to do?"

"I am sorry for your misfortune," Clara said carefully, slightly unnerved by Corlynch's change in manner. "And I am sorry that your children suffer." She held out a hand imploringly. "Please, tell us where they are so that they can be brought here and cared for until your release."

"The king is releasing me?" There was genuine surprise in the question, enough to bring focus back to Corlynch's gaze.

"A doctor will examine you this afternoon," said Clara. "His assessment will determine where you are released to."

Corlynch slumped at that. "So my children…"

"We will look after them," promised Clara. "But you must tell us where they are."

A long moment passed between them. Then Corlynch let out a sigh. "There is a glen southwest of the Gingerbread Village. They were to stay there until I returned."

"Thank you," Clara said in relief. "They will be taken care of."

"And this was your idea?"

"No. It was my husband's."

Corlynch's eyes widened in surprise.

Clara raised an eyebrow. "Is mercy such a hard thing to expect from him?"

Corlynch twisted his hands, suddenly unable to look Clara in the eye. "After what happened yesterday…"

"You didn't do what you had fully planned to. Because of your children. Love is a powerful thing, Mr. Corlynch. As is forgiveness."

Corlynch nodded, looking uncertain.

"I'll leave you to your breakfast," said Clara. She began to turn towards the cell door.

"I'm sorry."

Clara paused.

"For what I did to you," Corlynch said. "I…I still have yet to rid myself of the hate I hold for your husband, but for what I did to you…I am sorry."

The memory was still so fresh in her mind. If she dwelled on it too long, she could still feel the cool blade against her throat. Hear Eric's pleas to take him instead…kill him instead of her…

She sucked in a breath. "Thank you," she said, her voice trembling faintly.

Corlynch did not say anything further, and Clara left the cell, the guard locking the door behind her. Feeling unsteady after the confrontation, Clara pressed her folded hands against her mouth, breathing deeply. She looked towards the passage leading back to the main levels of the castle, and stared in surprise.

Eric was standing there, leaning against one of the passage walls. Seeing Clara exit the cell, he straightened, a whisper of relief passing over his face.

"How did you know I was here?" Clara asked. She walked over to him, distancing herself from Corlynch's cell.

Eric smiled wryly. "Telling Major Mint where you were sneaking off to was a mistake. He couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it."

Clara let out an irritated sigh. "I suppose he wasn't the wisest person to confide in."

"No, probably not." Eric tilted his head. "I would ask what you're doing down here, but the open cell door made things pretty easy to hear."

"Eavesdropper," accused Clara.

Eric shrugged.

"Exactly how much did you hear?"

"Enough," said Eric. He grinned. "I appreciate you defending me."

Clara gently smacked his arm. "Oh, hush."

Amused, Eric took Clara's hand and led her down the passage. "But Clara." His tone was heavy, weighed down with concern. "You shouldn't have come alone."

"There are plenty of guards, Eric."

"I know. But seeing Corlynch so soon after what happened…" Eric sighed. "You didn't have to do that."

"Of course I did," said Clara.

He brought her hand to his mouth, kissing it. "Yes," he agreed proudly. "I suppose you did. Your moral high ground is hard to keep up with sometimes," he teased.

"You try, dear. That's the important part."

Eric chuckled. "Thank you. I think." Worry dipped his mouth into a frown as he studied her face. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Clara smiled tiredly. "Yes." Then her demeanor changed, and a sudden urgency flashed in her eyes. "Corlynch told me where his children are. We must find them."

"Yes, I heard. I assume you want to lead the search?"

"Of course," said Clara. "They are probably scared to death. I'm certain Rodolph or the major would only frighten them further into the woods." She looked at him hopefully. "Will you come, too?"

"If you think I should."

Clara tugged on Eric's sleeve, straightening it. "I do."

"Then I will."

/

All five children were in the glen, huddled beneath large tree roots that twisted above the ground. Clara and Masha approached the children first, leaving the men on the other side of the glen with the horses and wagon. Eventually, they were able to coax the children out with promises of food, and the reassurance that they would able to see their father.

The eldest was a girl no older than eleven; in her arms she held a toddler girl. The other three, two boys and the girl Clara recognized from the other day, ranged in ages from five to eight. They were filthy, dangerously thin, and in desperate need of proper clothes.

When they arrived back at the castle, meals and baths were given. The eldest sibling, Peony, was the first to ask after their father. Clara promised that they could see him that evening, though she worried how they would react to seeing their father in a cell. So she had Hugo Corlynch temporarily moved to a meeting room near the dungeon's entrance, where he was closely guarded as his children visited him.

Over the next few days, the children mostly kept to the guest chambers of the castle. They were exceedingly shy, though Peony's wariness carried a particularly sharp edge of suspicion. Clara and Masha were the ones to tend to them most, and eventually the children warmed to the two. Peony, though, seemed determined not to harbor affections for anyone beyond her family.

By the end of the week, Corlynch had been sent to an institution Clara and Eric hoped would give him the proper help. Ebba Jerkins, a woman who helped weave the baskets for the monthly donations, offered to take in the Corlynch children. She already had two children of her own, but since Eric promised he would pay for their expenses, she readily agreed.

It was late morning, and Ebba Jerkins was expected by the end of the afternoon. Clara was busy helping Masha tend to the younger children, but preparing them to leave was turning out to be a multi-hour endeavor. With most of the work he had planned to do already completed, Eric wandered through the castle corridors without a real destination in mind, content to be alone with his thoughts. He pushed open a door and stepped through it, not paying attention to where he was. Hearing the click of his boots on the hard marble floor made him pause, and he glanced up to see that he had ended up in the main ballroom.

Light poured through the massive windows lining the eastward facing wall, enhancing the gold-trimmed patterns set into the tiles beneath his feet. Against the opposite wall was a stage meant for performers and musicians, where a lone grand piano now sat unattended. The massive room was mostly empty – save for the lone girl sitting in the middle of the dancing floor.

Peony was facing away from Eric, her legs crossed beneath her and her hands holding something in her lap. For a moment, Eric considered leaving the room to give her privacy. But then she turned around and stared at him with piercing brown eyes that seemed far too mature for an eleven-year-old.

Unsure what to say, Eric approached slowly. "Hello," he greeted.

Peony did not reply. She watched him with a distrusting gaze, her hands tightening on what Eric could see now was a doll in a pink ballerina dress.

"That doll is very pretty."

Peony pushed the doll out of Eric's line of sight. "I didn't steal it."

"I know," Eric said, taken aback by her defensive tone. "Was it a gift?"

"Yes." Peony slowly moved the doll back into her lap. "From the queen," she said quietly.

Eric smiled. "I assumed." He gestured to the floor. "May I sit?"

Peony bit her lip. "I guess."

"Thank you." Eric lowered himself to the tiles, careful to keep a few feet's distance between the two of them to not alarm her.

"How long do we have to stay with Mrs. Jerkins?" asked Peony.

"I'm not sure," Eric answered honestly. "But she's a very nice woman. You and your siblings should get along fine there."

"And my Papa? When we will see him again?"

Eric cringed. "I don't know."

"You're the king," the girl said. The statement teetered between being a simple statement of fact and an accusation. "Shouldn't you know?"

Eric sighed. "It's not something that can be set with a definite period of time. It will depend on him, and how well he responds to the help he's getting."

"The help you think he needs."

Eric eyed the girl, surprised by the anger in her voice, if only to hear it from one so young. "Do you think I gave him an unfair judgement?"

Peony hesitated. "I…I heard what he did. To the queen." She bit her lip. "Some servants were talking about it while I was…in the kitchens."

Ah. Masha had been complaining about a missing tray of muffins the other day.

Peony twisted a lock of her doll's hair around her finger. "He's not a bad man," she said quietly. But the defense of her father seemed uncertain, as though she wasn't sure what to trust anymore.

Eric sobered, wondering how he could possibly explain the complicated reasoning behind her father's actions. "Your father is…troubled," he finally said. "But he will get better. You will see him again, I promise."

Peony nodded, tears welling in her eyes. "I don't want my brothers and sisters to know what he did," she said, her voice shaking with emotion. "They probably wouldn't understand anyway, but…I don't want them to hate him." Then she pressed the doll against her mouth and began to sob.

Eric hesitated, unsure how she would react if he touched her. But he couldn't just sit there and do nothing. Slowly, he reached for the girl. When she didn't shrink away, he pulled her against him, holding her as she wept.

"It will be alright," he said softly.

Peony sobbed until she had no tears left to give. When she finally moved away from Eric, her face was red and her eyes puffy. Giving her a sympathetic look, Eric held out a handkerchief he had pulled from his pocket. She gratefully accepted it and wiped at her face.

"Now," Eric said. "I want you to promise me something."

Peony looked at him curiously. "What?"

"That you won't carry the weight of resentment in your heart. Towards your father, or your mother's death. You have siblings that look up to you, who need you. You must not allow your heart to harden from grief. There certainly is reason for sorrow, but you must allow time to heal you."

Peony sat silently as Eric's words sunk into her. She turned his handkerchief over in her hands, inspecting it as she contemplated his request. Then she gave a firm nod.

"Good," said Eric. "Now, should we try and find your siblings? Clara has been showering them with gifts all morning, and I know for a fact that there is a box specially marked for you."

Peony nodded and handed the handkerchief back to Eric. Eric stood and held out his hand to Peony. She hesitated, then allowed him to pull her up.

"You know," commented Eric. "I've seen a lot of dancers perform here, and I think you've got the perfect feet for dancing."

"Really?"

Eric nodded. "Definitely. There's dance troupe that performs here often, and I think you would be perfect for it. Do you want Clara to ask if they have room for one more?"

"But I can't dance," Peony said, fear flickering over her face.

Eric bent and cupped his hand to the side of his mouth, as though preparing to tell Peony something only she was privileged to hear. "Can I tell you a secret? Clara couldn't dance either when I first met her. She was so nervous. But she learned quickly, and I know that you can too. What do you think?"

Peony grinned, her face glowing with the first expression of true happiness he had seen on her. "Yes," she said in soft wonder. "Oh please, yes."

"Wonderful!" He began heading towards the ballroom doors, but he paused and gestured for her to follow. "Come on, let's hurry and find Clara before she gives your siblings all of the treats Masha made."

Peony clutched her doll to her chest, a cautious smile curving her mouth as she walked to Eric's side. "Okay."