Disclaimer: I own nothing.

The Prelude

Part Five

It did not take long before Richard realized that his hunt for Able Matthias was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated. He didn't even know where to begin his search; he could ask around about the man's whereabouts, but that would raise the risk of being detected, and he didn't know how Matthias would react. It could all end in violence, and his plans for revenge would go up in smoke.

For the first two weeks after the assassination, he holed himself up in the study, pacing and pouring over strategic journals that may have held detailed accounts of similar situations. He took council with Walter often, but his mentor only voiced his dislike for the whole endeavor.

"You're either with me or against me, Walter," Richard stated one such morning, snapping shut a small, thin tome that had been of little use to him. "I don't like this situation any more than you do."

"I'm just saying that vengeance won't bring them back."

"This isn't about vengeance!" the younger man snapped. He slammed the book down on the desk with a hollow 'smack' and seethed. He couldn't bring himself to look his mentor in the eye as he went on, "Those people—that man that tried to kill my entire family is still out there. He could try again; maybe not now, maybe not until a few years down the road, when everything has calmed down, but he could strike again. This isn't about vengeance—this is about protecting what I have left."

"Hm." Walter ran a hand over his growing beard, and then through his short, graying hair. "I understand. Just think of your mother, though—she's so distraught already. I'm afraid of what it would do to her to bury another child-"

"I'm not going to die, Walter," Richard snorted.

"You don't know that; you can never know for sure."

"You're either with me or against me, Walter. Which is it?"

The rain pounded harsh against the windowpane, punctuating the silence that now wafted around the room. Walter's jaw flexed and tightened beneath his beard, and for a moment, Richard was afraid of what he might say. But then the aging man gave a small sigh.

"What am I supposed to do, abandon you?" He chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head. "We both know that's never going to happen. I'm by your side—always."

The boy smiled. "I know. Now, back to business…"

"Have you ever thought of going undercover?"

"Too risky. Besides, I'm the prince—everyone knows my face."

"That's why when you go undercover you wear a disguise."

"Don't be cheeky, Walter. Besides, what good would it do? We still have no idea where to start looking, and using knights to forcibly acquire the information would only send Matthias further into hiding, and we're likely to get false information, anyway."

Silence fell again and Richard went about his business of trying to find another possibly unhelpful book to flip through. Walter watched from his spot in front of the large mahogany desk for a long while before the boy looked up at him with slight surprise.

"You're still here."

The larger man brushed aside the comment with one of his own: "It just occurred to me that I never have taken you on a tour of Industrial."

Richard wrinkled his nose, his blue eyes holding something akin to disgust at the very thought. "That's where Reaver has built his factories. I can see the smoke rising from the stacks if I look out my window. I can just imagine the whole place covered in soot—why would anyone want to go there?"

Walter laughed at that. "Oh, your mother would never let it get so bad as that. She co-owns those same factories, remember?"

"Yes, well, you know that I never approved of her decision to accept that bilge-rat's offer."

"I think it's time you saw it." At Richard's still hesitant expression, he offered, "You may get some ideas on how to find your missing man."

The prince considered it. He didn't know how taking a stroll through the poorest district in Bowerstone would help with much of anything, but he knew that twinkle in his mentor's eyes. Walter knew what he was doing; he had a plan, which was more than what Richard could say for himself.

"Alright. I trust you. But I'm taking a bath straight afterwards."

***FABLE*III***

Elena was a very intuitive child, but it didn't take intuition to know that everyone in the castle was upset. Her mother rarely ate; she was starting to look pale and wan, and the gray hairs on her head were beginning to stand out more than ever. Mama was sad, and Elena knew why.

She was still too young to fully understand the concept of death, but she knew that most of her family wasn't ever going to come home again. It made her upset, too.

She missed Papa, with his scratchy, stubbly beard and constant smile. She missed Anne and Martin, who always knew how to make her smile, and she missed Angela, the only one who really knew how to lift Logan's spirits. But they were all gone now, so their job of making everyone happy fell to her.

Happiness, however, seemed out of reach for everyone in the castle. Even Jasper and the other servants were slow to do their work, their eyes swollen from tears and energy sapped from lack of will to do much else but cry. The air of mourning was thick and heavy, and little Elena could see that everyone was suffocating.

So, when the rain lightened and the clouds parted, she didn't hesitate on tugging on her brother's trousers. "Logan, the rain's gone! Let's go out and play!"

Despite his own grief and pain, in the weeks since the majority of his family's deaths, Logan had never once denied his little sister anything. The two had clung to each other for support, and it was clear that he felt some sort of responsibility for her care, as if she were the last thing he had to hold on to, even though he still had his mother and elder brother as well. Besides, giving her someone to play with gave his mind a break from pain, and allowed him to enjoy himself and forget his worries.

But today was different. He was more tense than usual, and he responded to Elena's request with a simple, "It's muddy outside."

"That's the best part," the girl countered, and she caught sight of his lips, now marred slightly by a long, vertical scar, quirking upwards in a secret smile. Her little plan was working, it seemed. "And it's sunny!"

"Wouldn't you rather stay inside and play with your dolls, or something?"

"No, not really. I wanna play outside with you."

Logan cast his eyes upward with a silent plea to the heavens. "I don't want to play today, Elena."

"Why not?"

"Because," he began, searching for something to answer her with, "because I'm reading."

"That's boring."

He snorted. "Is not."

"Why don't you read outside while I play?" Elena compromised, tilting her head to one side the way a dog would when questioning a certain sound.

"Because it's wet and muddy and cold—I don't want to go outside, Elena."

She huffed, crossing her little arms over her little chest. "Fine! I'll just go by myself!" And then she stormed out of their room and down the hall, her tiny feet slamming angrily against the floor with every step she took.

Again, Logan turned his gaze to the ceiling. Dear Avo, why couldn't he have just a moment's peace? He sighed. It wouldn't be wise to allow his sister to go outside unattended. Especially if she were to run about in the mud; she could slip and fall.

But he was worried about his mother. She did not look at all well, and he wanted to be there for her should she need for anything. It was the least he could do. After all, it was his fault she had lost so much that night. If only he had told Father about the man he'd seen before the opera had begun, then none of this would have happened. But he had dismissed what he had seen and kept silent, and now he had lost almost everything.

He wanted to admit his guilt, to tell his mother what had really happened, but he was afraid of what she might have said. He didn't want her to hate him like he hated himself, even though he was sure that he deserved the hatred of the entire kingdom.

What could he do, but watch his mother suffer in silence? He didn't know how to comfort her, he didn't know what words to say. He wished he could go to Richard for guidance, but the two had never been close due to Logan's shy and anti-social personality, and he was sure his elder brother was quite busy. What could he do? He didn't know.

With a sigh, he sat on the edge of his bed, tracing the intricate pattern upon the blue quilted covering with his forefinger. His arm hurt. It had been hurting for hours now, but he didn't want to say anything about it. There were more important things on everyone else's mind, and they needn't be bothered by something as menial as his broken arm. Besides, it had already been set and bandaged and put in a sling—there was nothing more to be done, and there was no reason to complain about it to anyone.

Perhaps he should have gone outside—he was depressing himself. A little sun could do him nothing but good, and a bit of mud never hurt anyone.

As he exited the room, he cast a wayward glance over at the four-poster bed that his mother now occupied. She slumbered peacefully for once. Good. After two weeks of no sleep at all, she could use a good, long nap.

Carefully, he picked his way toward her, avoiding the discarded decorative pillows that were strewn about the floor. She slept on her back, with her head turned in his direction and one hand on her stomach and the other on pillow beside her nose, fingers slightly curled. He took in the plains of her face, noticing that her eyelids were red and puffy and her skin was pale, waxen, and sickly. Her lips, once red and full, were chapped and thin. But she looked so peaceful now, Logan noted. She slept as if nothing had happened at all—no nightmares, no dreams. He envied her; while she had finally grasped an escape from the worries and pains of the day, he was granted no reprieve. His sleep was filled with images of screams and exploding carriages, so much so that he was at the point where he was afraid to sleep at all.

She breathed, even and deep. A limp red-gray curl of hair slipped from her forehead and into her eyes; gently, he tucked it back behind her ear and then planted a soft kiss upon her cheek, careful not to wake her. At least he had her and Elena and Richard. At least they were left.

He felt confident that she would be fine without him. She was only sleeping, after all, and there was a surplus of guards roaming about the castle grounds. And only Avo knew what kind of trouble Elena could get in to if left to her own devices. But as he turned to go, long, nimble fingers enclosed gently upon his wrist.

"Logan," his mother crooned softly, her voice rough with sleep and exhaustion.

"You should sleep," he warned her.

Her thinning lips stretched into a smile. "Come, let me hold you a while. Then I will sleep."

Logan obediently climbed onto the bed and lay beside his mother, her arms wrapped lovingly around him. He had grown accustomed to this—it seemed as though his mother never wanted him to leave her side since that horrible night. Not that he minded the attention.

"I can't tell you how glad I am that you're here," Maegan murmured, stroking his black hair.

He didn't reply. It wasn't that he was not glad that he survived the explosion. It was just that his brother, sisters, and father had not.

The queen's face contorted suddenly in inner pain and she hugged him closer to her. It was only when she pulled back that he noticed the tiny specks of wetness on the shoulder of her shirt. Tears. His tears. She wiped the remaining drops from his cheeks with a gentle thumb and looked him very seriously in the eye. "We'll get through this together, the four of us."

He gave a non-committal nod. He could only hope that her words were true.

***FABLE*III***

Elena was hopelessly lost.

She was terribly afraid, standing in the middle of the hedge-maze within the garden. Luckily, it was closer to the afternoon than it was night, but that didn't help the fact that she had no idea where she was or how to get out.

She wished Logan had come outside with her. He would have known what to do. But as it was, she would have to either keep wandering around, calling for help, or wait for someone to realize that she was missing.

She hugged her beloved stuffed bunny rabbit, Mrs. Cloverdale, to her chest. It was her only comfort in times like these, when no one was around to hear her cry. She buried her face in the soft stuffed animal.

She had been playing on the back steps to the garden when she saw a hooded woman standing at the entrance to the maze. She had an eerie prettiness about her, and Elena fancied that she was an angel, and when the women disappeared into the maze, she ran to follow her. She managed to keep a lock on the stranger's red and white robes, calling out for her to stop every so often. But her cries went unheard, just as they did when she cried now for help.

The angel had been a demon.

Elena sucked on her bottom lip to keep from crying, hugging Mrs. Cloverdale tighter. "Somebody help!" she hollered again, making her way round yet another corner only to find the way blocked by a dead end. "Anybody…"

"I'm here. It's okay."

She whirled in time to see a boy with short chocolate hair and ruddy cheeks standing there, a hand extended towards her. "It's okay," he said again, his face serious. "I know the way out."

Hesitantly, she took hold of his hand, and then they were on their way. He couldn't have been much older than her; he was only a smidge taller than she was. She swore that she had seen him somewhere before, because his plump face and soft green eyes were so familiar.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Elliot, the gardener's son." Ah, that explained it. "I used to get lost in here all the time, until my dad showed me the way. You're the princess, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am…"

He smiled gently, comfortingly. "What are you doing here, Princess?"

"I was playing, but then I got lost." She looked down at her rabbit, chewing on her lip in embarrassment.

He frowned. "You were playing all by yourself?"

She nodded once.

"Don't you have anybody to play with? No friends?"

She puffed her chest out indignantly. "I do too! I play with my big brother Logan all the time! It's just that he didn't feel like playing today because of the mud."

"Brothers don't make good friends." He took note of her dirtied dress and dirt-smudged face. "I don't mind the mud."

"Logan's the best friend I've ever had!"

"Have you ever had any friends beside him?"

"Yes! Well… no. I've always had Anne, or Angie to play with…" Her voice trailed off and she looked down. "But they died."

He was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry." Then, as if to change the subject to something lighter, he said quickly, "You and I can be friends."

"But you're a stranger."

"No, I'm not. I know your name, and you know mine. We're not strangers anymore."

Clever, she thought, smiling. "Alright, let's be friends."

He paused. "You don't like to play 'tea-party', do you?"

She grinned as they emerged from the maze, hand in hand. "Never."

"Good," he said, releasing her hand, "Because I like to play…TAG!" and he smacked her arm before darting off in a random direction.

Stunned, she stood there for a moment, watching him retreat from her with a mad grin upon his pudgy little face. Then her face reddened and she gave chase, "HEY! No fair! I wasn't ready!"