Ever After

Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls, and the only part of Ever After that I own is the book and the DVD (both of which I stole off my older sister).
Thanks to my Beta, LoVe23 - she fantastic!

"Meetings"

Lorelei Hayden – Rory, for short – knew the downsides of being part of the lower class incredibly well for an eighteen-year-old girl. The misfortunes of being a servant – or rather, a slave – had been drilled into her mind for the past ten years or so. Rory had lost track of how many years had passed since her stepmother Sarah Olsen had entered her life, and she had been cursing the day since it had happened.
I use to enjoy watching them eat their dinner, she thought, as she paced down the aisles of the library, the familiar, rich scent of the books hanging in the air, I remember telling my father it was like a dance. Now I hate everything about them. I suppose Jacinta isn't so bad. But Elizabeth and Sarah so awful. I never disliked a person as strongly as I dislike them. Rory realised how much trouble she would be in if Sarah ever discovered through her multiple spies that kept track of Rory's movements that she had been in the library while she was supposed to be helping Emilia and Jane set up their stall at the market place while the Olsens were attending Mass at the Notre Dame Cathedral where it just so happened the infamous royal family of France would be attending the Sunday morning ritual. For months now, Sarah had been attempting to have Elizabeth introduced to the Crown Prince of France, Tristan. So far, all attempts had gone unnoticed, but Sarah was patiently waiting for the day that he would finally take notice of her beautiful, eldest daughter. To be honest, Rory found the dealings of her stepmother and Elizabeth to be of no interest to her, not to mention anything that concerned her.
If the Prince suddenly finds himself in an arranged marriage to Elizabeth, while feeling sorry for him, there is nothing I can do about that situation. Besides, he is more than welcome to my stepfamily, for once they move into the castle, I am able to have my beautiful home all to myself again. She continued to pace the aisles, waiting for the ringing bell to signify that Mass was over and she was to hurry to the marketplace and pretend that she had been helping Emilia and Jane all along.
Jane did say that Sarah would be gone for most of the day, Rory reminded herself, brushing her fingertips against the old, worn spines of the books, her eyes devouring the titles and wondering what it would be like to be privileged enough to read them. For Rory, simply looking at books was not enough. She had to read them, to analyse them, and be able to memorise it, word for word. She sighed, and pulled out the only book she had read among the library's large collection – Utopia.
"Paradise," she whispered, flipping the pages quickly and letting the book's scent rise through the air. Her father's last present before she died, and the first present he gave her as a married man. After repeatedly reading it every night in front of the fireplace before sleep came to her for the past twelve years, she could easily recite the book, word for word. She began to think of what would be paradise for her.
For my parents to still be alive, Rory thought, and to be able to have memories of them tucking me into bed, kissing me, hugging me, or telling me stories. For Sarah getting her wish and marrying Elizabeth off to the Prince, and then leaving for the castle. And then she came to the most realistic one.
This library. And a wish that I would never have to leave it. She let out a small sigh, and replaced the book on the shelf, surrounded by worn, leather-bound books with golden titles.
But unfortunately, I can't. A bell began to ring outside, and Rory realised with a start that Mass was over. It's time for me to go.
The King of France had never heard anything more preposterous in his life.
"Marry for love?" he barked out at his son, watching in satisfaction as his son flinched.
"Why should I marry somebody who I do not love, and who obviously does not love me?" he insisted, turning around to the Queen. "You agree with me, don't you, Mother?" he asked. The Queen let out a theatric sigh.
"People have said it before, sweetheart. You were born to privilege and with that comes… specific obligations. I'm not the first Queen who has said it to her son, and I highly doubt I shall be the last."
"I'm sorry, but I refuse to marry her," Tristan told both of his parents. "I am going to meet somebody who doesn't want to marry me simply because I am the Prince of France, and who is not going to marry me for she is a Princess or a Lady of Court and I am a Prince, but because I can communicate with her and enjoy her company." He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.
"Well, he's a theatrical romantic with his head in the clouds," the King told his wife seriously. "I'm quite certain that he's related to you." The Queen scowled, and followed her son out of the room, leaving the King alone with his cartography.

The atmosphere in the marketplace was one extremely different to that of the library. It was fast-paced and uptight, and rather than the musty smell of books, the only thing Rory could smell at the moment was chicken poo and straw, occasionally mingled with sweat. Possibly hers.

Well, it was hard work chasing those run away chickens, her mind justified. She grabbed a chicken closest to her and began to walk over to the cages, when she realised there was a customer waiting. She quickly put the chicken in the cage and wiped her hands on her apron, before turning to the customer with a fake smile plastered on her face.
I'd rather be anywhere but here, she thought, her teeth clenching and hands tightening on the wooden surface in front of her. Her eyes went wide with shock when she registered who was standing in front of her.
"Y-y-your Highness," she stammered, rage filling her when she realised how weak her voice sounded and how it trembled slightly. It wasn't too noticeable, but Rory prided herself on being a person who wasn't dazzled by royalty or celebrities of any kind. This, apparently, proved her wrong.
"Shouldn't you still be at Church?" she questioned, pleased to find that she had full control over her voice once more. The Prince gave her a lazy smirk.
"My parents went to an earlier Mass this morning," he informed her. This information made Rory contented, although the feeling was quickly replaced by guilt at how happy she was at Elizabeth's misfortune.
Bad Rory! You should be horrified and angry. Once he meets Elizabeth, he'll want to get married as quickly as possible. And that will mean you get the house, once and for all. To yourself. Don't you want that? Or, do you think that despite all their mistreatment and cruelty, that you enjoy their company?
Rory suddenly realised that the Prince was attempting to engage her in conversation.
"I beg your pardon?" she asked, feeling her cheeks flush in embarrassment.
"I asked you what your name was," Tristan told her.
"Oh, it's, uhm. Mary. I mean, Lorelei Hayden. Rory, for short."
"Well, Mary," he said, his voice teasing, "when I was told that there was a pretty girl working in the marketplace, he never told me how beautiful she just so happened to be." Rory's cheeks went, if possible, even redder, and she quickly looked around for something to change the subject. Her gaze fell on the withered fruit and vegetables before her, and she pulled a face.
"I would offer you some fruit and vegetables to buy, but I suppose that not only is there enough at the castle for yourself and your family, but it's actually food that is actually edible," she said, waving her hand at the food before her and wrinkling her nose in distaste. "It's hard to produce crops when there are only three people to do all of the workload," she added quickly. "Although… I suppose there is always the chickens," she finished with a cheeky grin.
"While I would love to buy something from your little stall and perhaps assist you in hiring more 'human resources,' I am going to the Baroness Olsen's house for a family lunch." Rory felt a stab of disappointment.
It appears that Sarah's attempt in matchmaking wasn't foiled, after all. Oh well. The sooner the pair get married off, the sooner I shall be free from my cage…

"Am I allowed to enquire into how you managed to met my kind employers? At Church, perhaps, or in the marketplace?" Rory asked, a mischievous glint in her eye.
"The Baroness Olsen is your employer?" Tristan asked, curious.
"Not only that, but she is my stepmother. Not something I am overly proud of, but I enjoy Jacinta's company nonetheless."
"I thought we were talking about Sarah," he said, becoming more than a little confused. Rory laughed.
"Jacinta is Sarah's daughter. She has another daughter, Elizabeth, who is a few years older than Jacinta."
"Ah. So then I take that it is Elizabeth my parents are planning on marrying me off to?" Tristan asked her. He knew it was inappropriate for a Prince to be talking to somebody of her social standing, but he found her highly intriguing, and a person he was able to talk to. She also appeared to overlook the fact that he was the Prince of France.
"I never heard anything about that," Rory frowned. "And I would expect that Sarah would be rather excited by it. A person of your social standing being married off to somebody of a lower class. Shouldn't you be marrying the Princess of Italy, or a person along those lines?"
Somebody with prestige, power, money, and etiquette… everything that Elizabeth doesn't?
"I couldn't believe it, either," Tristan said. "But apparently, my parents are eager for me to marry Elizabeth, despite my protests."
So the Prince doesn't agree with this. Maybe Sarah's plans won't be going as smoothly as she hoped, Rory couldn't help but wonder. She glanced up at the sky, to see how long it would be before lunchtime. No matter how interesting she found the Prince, Sarah would kill her and bury her in an unmarked grave in the apple orchard if it was revealed that it had been her fault he had been late to his first meeting with Elizabeth.
"It shall be lunchtime soon, and I presume that it is when you intend to dine with the Baroness," she told him, cringing when she heard her voice come out clipped and formal. "I suppose you should go back to Castle Hartford and change for your meeting with your future wife."
"I suppose I should," he reluctantly agreed. "I believe I will be seeing you very soon, Mary," he added, before leaving. Rory watched him go, slightly disappointed, but mostly relieved.
I cannot be falling for the Crown Prince of France. Firstly of all, it's inappropriate. Princes and servants do not get married, ever. It is unheard of. Secondly of all, even if it wasn't so unusual for royalty and servants to become engaged, it is highly doubtful that he would fall in love with you, anyway. Thirdly of all, a five-minute conversation with a person does not constitute a relationship, let alone a romantic one. And fourthly of all… imagine what Sarah would do to you if she found out! Rory couldn't help but admit she was more than a little afraid of Sarah – she surprisingly held a lot of power, despite her daughter's having next to none, due to her royal bloodlines, and Sarah always followed through with what she said she would do – and if Sarah found out that Rory had fallen in love with the Prince (and vice versa), then Rory knew that Sarah would promise to eliminate Rory from the game. And despite all Rory's romantic notations, her life was something she was not willing to compromise.

Tristan wandered away from the stall, disappearing into the busy Sunday crowd. He seemed to be in a daze, and wasn't paying very much attention to where he was going. He knew that he had only spoken to Lorelei Hayden for five minutes or so. He also knew that she was a servant, and that relationships between royalty and servants were unheard of. But he also couldn't help but think she was the most intriguing, educated young lady he had ever met, and it amused him slightly to imagine the uproar that it would cause in Court when he announced to his parents that he had found who he would marry – but she just so happened to be at the bottom class of Paris' social ladder. And while he was mulling through all of this, he couldn't help but remember how near the end of the conversation she had suddenly distanced herself from him, and he couldn't help but hope that it meant that she was interested in him, as well.

"Elizabeth," Sarah called impatiently, marching along the upstairs corridor of the Olsen manor. "The royal family will be here any minute! What is taking you so long?" She opened Elizabeth's bedroom door and let it crash against the bedroom wall. Elizabeth turned away from the mirror, and waited for her mother's reaction.
"Oh, Elizabeth, you look radiant!" her mother declared delightedly, her annoyance and anger instantly vanishing. Dressed in a scarlet dress made of velvet and half of her straight blonde hair pulled away from her face and held back with a black clip, Elizabeth already knew that she looked beautiful. Now all she had to do was wait for her audience.