"Eric?"

Eric cast an apathetic glance towards the sound of his name. He was sitting in the bay window of his bedchamber, his head wearily leaning against the glass panes. His arms were draped over his bent knees, giving his posture a melancholy appearance that mirrored the gray overcast sky outside.

Elizabeth thought he looked absolutely miserable. He was pale, but Elizabeth hoped the pallid tone of his skin was merely due to the dreary lighting brought on by the weather. There were dark circles beneath his normally vibrant eyes, evidence of his lack of sleep.

He had not taken his father's death well. Elizabeth supposed she shouldn't have expected him to, not after hearing how poorly he had handled his mother's passing as a boy. Nevertheless, seeing him like this was difficult.

She grimaced. "Eric, dear, you cannot stay in here forever."

Eric's gaze lingered on Elizabeth a moment longer. He turned back to the window, staring out at the mountains beyond the castle grounds.

Elizabeth crossed the room slowly. She hesitated, then carefully settled herself onto the edge of the seat built into the bay window. The fabric of her dress pooled out onto the cushions, brushing Eric's boots. She frowned at the gloomy shade of her skirt. She had never liked wearing black. Even now, with the entire castle in mourning, she despised doing so. Why emphasize the already suffocating depression seeping out of every crevice of the place? She eyed the dark color of Eric's clothes with a sinking heart. Black was not a favorable color on him either, if only for what it represented.

"Are you going back to your world soon?"

Elizabeth blinked at the question. It was an unexpected break in the silence, and the tone of it was heavy with a bitterness Elizabeth hadn't anticipated. She looked at Eric in confusion. "I was not planning to just yet."

Eric shifted his tired gaze back to hers. "Why? It's been a month since the funeral. I thought you would have left by now, with nothing more keeping you here."

Elizabeth frowned. "Do you think so little of our friendship? Your father was very dear to me, but he is not the only person here I care about." She reached out and grasped Eric's hand. He flinched, but did not pull away. "I love you just as much as I did your father, Eric. I have no intention of abandoning you so soon after his passing."

Eric's face contorted with mingled doubt and gratitude. He swallowed heavily. "I…" He gritted his teeth, guilt soaking his expression. He gave his head a small shake, dispersing the words he had intended to say. Glancing away, he tugged his hand free of Elizabeth's.

"What is it?" Elizabeth gently prompted, watching his face closely.

Eric clenched his hands. His jaw trembled, and he worked it open slowly, forcing the words out with a pained reluctance. "I…" He voice was small, like a child admitting a wrongdoing they had committed. "I had not realized the extent of his disappointment in me."

Sorrow filled Elizabeth at the confession. She leaned forward and placed her hand alongside Eric's face. "Eric, you know that your father was proud of you."

"Was he? Is that why he passed his power onto Lord Mauscher? Forgive me, I mean Viceroy Mauscher. How dull-minded of me, forgetting his new title."

"Temporary title," Elizabeth reminded him weakly.

Eric gave a bitter laugh. "Yes, until I am 'deemed worthy' of the throne's responsibilities."

Elizabeth sat back. There was a dark sarcasm lacing Eric's words she had never heard from him before. It unnerved her, hearing such a morbid tone coming from the usually jovial prince. She opened her mouth, but Eric continued before she could interject.

"Not that I ever cared about the throne, obviously." His hands tightened on his legs. "But it was such a wonderful surprise, hearing about my father's complete lack of faith in me only hours after his death. The major timed that perfectly, as always."

Elizabeth pressed her lips together in frustration. She had not been pleased with Major Mint's lack of tact in informing Eric of the king's decision to pronounce Lord Masucher viceroy so soon after his father's death. She knew the major had done so not out of malicious intent, but to carry out the king's wishes in his usual dutiful manner. But that did little to ease her anger with the man, and Elizabeth had given the major a firm piece of her mind on the matter shortly afterwards. Unfortunately, though, the damage to Eric had already been done.

"Eric," she said gently. "Your father loved you. He always had faith in your abilities to rule; he simply wanted to be certain that you were ready for the role before taking it on. It is not an easy one – you know that."

"I should be ready. I'm twenty, Elizabeth," said Eric sullenly.

"Barely."

"Still more than old enough for it. Father had been nineteen when he was crowned."

Elizabeth sighed.

Eric picked at a loose thread from the stitching on the side of his breeches. "It's not even about being king," he said quietly. "It's…it's the thought that he died thinking that I…that I wasn't good enough." His eyes shone with unshed tears, and he blinked hard, forcing them back.

Tears brimmed Elizabeth's own eyes. She shifted closer to Eric and placed her hand on the back of his head, pulling him into an embrace. He let out a shaky breath, leaning heavily into her touch. "You still have much to learn, Eric," she murmured, affection softening her pained tone. "Being good enough for something and being ready for it are not the same thing. Do not let your grief confuse the two."

Eric tightened his grip on Elizabeth. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head and released him, allowing him to lean back against the window. Uncertainty still clouded his expression, but the utter despair that had blanketed it before seemed to have lessened somewhat.

There was a sudden knock at the main door to the bedchamber. Eric started at the noise, and Elizabeth's hand flew to his, covering it in an almost protective manner.

"Your Highness?"

Elizabeth immediately recognized the deep voice of the head of the royal guard, Rodolph. She relaxed, freeing Eric's hand.

Eric sighed. "Yes?"

The door opened, and Rodolph peered inside, his expression stoic – as usual. Though there did seem to be a hint of concern in his eyes as he looked at the prince. "His Excellency Viceroy Mauscher has demanded to see you in the throne room, Your Highness."

"Demanded?" repeated Eric with a frown.

"His wording, not mine," Rodolph said. There was vague disgust in his tone, though it was not meant for Eric. It vanished quickly, and Rodolph straightened, shrouding any lingering emotions on his face.

Eric's frown deepened. He exchanged a glance with Elizabeth, who looked equally wary at the summons. Then she gave a curt nod and stood, brushing out the wrinkles in her skirt.

"Apologies, my lady," said Rodolph. "But the viceroy insisted on the prince coming alone."

"Did he?" Elizabeth said, a fierce glint flashing in her eyes.

Eric stood. "It's alright," he said to Elizabeth. "I don't mind speaking with him."

"He hasn't bothered conversing with you more than twice in the past month," said Elizabeth suspiciously. "What could he possibly have to say to you now?"

Eric shrugged, looking exhausted by the question. A month ago, Elizabeth would had expected him to make some light-hearted quip, most likely at Mauscher's expense. But now, he looked barely able to hold a proper conversation, much less spout jokes.

She looked back at Rodolph. "The viceroy was quite clear on his desire to see the prince alone?"

Rodolph nodded. "Yes, my lady."

Eric laid his hand on Elizabeth's arm reassuringly. "I'm sure it will be brief." He gave her a soft smile. "Thank you. For staying."

She wasn't sure if he meant during the past month, or remaining here while he went to the throne room. But she returned the smile, the expression tainted with worry for him.

Eric crossed the room, nodding at Rodolph as he walked into the corridor. Rodolph hesitated, exchanging a nervous glance with Elizabeth. Then, shaking his head, he followed Eric, letting the door shut behind him.

Elizabeth stared at the closed door, biting her lip as apprehension swelling within her. Something was wrong. Long minutes passed, and the debate in her mind made her unease grow to an unbearable level.

Letting Eric meet with Mauscher alone was a mistake.

She set her jaw, her decision made. Her steps fast and determined, she strode to the doorway and into the corridor. As she did, the anxiety within her amplified with a sudden swiftness, and she quickened her pace.

Let me be wrong. Let everything be alright.

She was almost to the throne room.

Distant cries of alarm and the stampeding of panicked footsteps dashed away any remaining hope. She burst into a run and turned the corner, only to jerk back against a wall to avoid being trampled by group of at least a dozen courtiers.

"What is it?" Elizabeth rushed forward, grabbing onto the sleeve of a duchess she did not remember the name of. "What's happening?"

The woman tore free with a frightened wail and stumbled down the corridor.

"The viceroy!" cried a nobleman. He clutched his disarrayed wig against his head in one hand, eyes wide with horror. "He's gone mad!"

Terror shot through Elizabeth. "The prince!" She lunged for the man's arm, trying to slow his retreat. "Where is the prince?"

The man shook his head frantically, then dashed after the others fleeing down the corridor.

Elizabeth raced towards the throne room, elbowing aside panicking courtiers as she shoved her way through the bedlam. "Eric!" she shouted. "Eric!"

"Lady Elizabeth!"

Elizabeth spun around. Rodolph was running towards her. "You must flee with the others!" he exclaimed.

"Rodolph!" Elizabeth rushed forward to meet him. "Where is Eric?"

"Still inside the throne room," said Rodolph. He glanced over his shoulder. "He managed to get out of the way in time when the viceroy first attacked. Mauscher missed him with the scepter and hit a duke instead. Then everything erupted into chaos. Mauscher's men captured the prince; I tried to get to him, but I was pushed out by the crowd –"

Elizabeth shoved him aside and ran towards the throne room's open doors. Nearly all of the court had emptied from it by now, and Elizabeth could almost see beyond. But there was no sign of Eric. "Eric!"

Rodolph grabbed Elizabeth's wrist, yanking her to a stop. "It's too dangerous! You will only be turned too, as my men who tried to protect him were."

Elizabeth looked at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

Rodolph glanced warily at the throne room. "I have never seen magic like that. The king had never performed such spells, not even on his enemies…" The words trailed off, and Rodolph stared down the corridor, his eyes haunted by whatever he had seen.

Elizabeth gave Rodolph a hard shake. "Rodolph, focus! We must get to Eric. If they had only captured him, there may still be a chance."

The ferocity in her words seemed to snap Rodolph out of his stunned state. Determination seized him, and he nodded. "Come," he said. "We will take the private entrance to the throne room. Though I do not know how we will get to the prince unseen."

"I have a few tricks up my sleeve," said Elizabeth darkly. She cast a glare at the throne room's doors, then looked expectantly at Rodolph.

Rodolph gripped the handle of the sword hanging from his belt. "We must make haste." He turned towards a corridor branching off the one they were standing in and ran down it, Elizabeth following close behind.

/

Elizabeth had not seen what curse Masucher had cast upon Rodolph. He had sacrificed himself to ensure that Elizabeth had escaped with Eric's enchanted form, and in the mayhem following, there had been little time for her to do anything besides flee.

She had only been successful in escaping because of the tunnels Eric had shown her in the years past. As a child, he took great delight in leading her through all of the castle's secret passageways he had discovered. The king had shown her a few as well, but it ended up being one of Eric's tunnels that she escaped down. The memory brought tears to her eyes, and she tightened her grip on the precious bundle in her arms, swallowing the sobs that threatened to spew forth.

How could everything have gone so terribly wrong?

/

Maushcer's men had thoroughly infected Parthenia. By the time Elizabeth had emerged from the secret tunnel, the capital was overrun by the invading troops. News of the missing prince must have reached them, for no building was left unscathed in their violent search attempts.

It would be impossible for Elizabeth to get to her usual world traveling passage entrance. Instead, she was forced to leave the city behind, disappearing into the forest for safety.

The next closest world traveling entrance she knew of would take nearly a week to reach on foot. It was a slow journey, one hindered even more so by the need to stay hidden. Yet with the help of friends she had made throughout Parthenia over the past years, it was not an impossible task. She refrained from telling those who assisted her of the contents of the bundle she kept by her side, unwilling to endanger them with such knowledge. Though curious, none of them pressed for information about it.

Eventually, she made it to the entrance. Concealed in a well-hidden cave, it was one not yet discovered by Masucher or his men. She passed through to her world easily, praying there was no magic trail left behind that could lead Masucher to her location. She concealed her path as well as she could, then made her way to her house.

/

Weeks passed, but she could not break the enchantment on Eric – even trying to weaken the spell proved to be futile. It throbbed with a dark aura, strong in the hatred it had been cast with.

The days grew colder as winter progressed into December, and hopelessness began to fester within Elizabeth. Yet she refused to give up. She could not. Not on Eric. The son of one of her most beloved friends. The boy who brought so much light to Elizabeth's life. The boy who had made his father smile on the days no one else could, and who was the cause of so much laughter within the walls of Parthenia's castle.

She already lost his father. She refused to lose him.

But what else could she do, with nearly all of her options having run out?

She frowned, staring out the window of her parlor. Snow had begun to drift down from the sky, covering the world in a thin layer of white powder. Across the street, a young boy and girl were running about and laughing as they tossed snowballs at each other. The boy was wearing a wool hat much too large for him, and the girl wore a thick scarf, over which spilled long blonde hair. The wavy locks shone bright gold in the afternoon sunlight, strongly reminding Elizabeth of her niece.

Elizabeth froze.

Clara.

Clara. Elizabeth straightened, exhilaration surging within her. There was no definite proof, but Elizabeth had wondered for some time now if Clara had been gifted with the same talents she possessed herself. There had been a few moments that had seemed telling, but it hadn't been enough for Elizabeth to be certain. Clara had brushed off any odd happenings as strange coincidences or vastly good fortune, but Elizabeth was prone to think otherwise.

Now it was the only hope she had. Perhaps there was something within Clara that could break the enchantment. Something special, that set her apart even from Elizabeth.

Christmas was less than a month away. It would be the perfect opportunity – a Christmas gift would raise no questions from Clara's grandfather. Besides, Elizabeth would need the time to make the travel arrangements.

True hope rose in Elizabeth for the first time in days, and she smiled broadly. Christmas Eve then. She turned away from the window, rushing to her study to write a letter to her uncle.