The servants gaped, stopped their chores in their tracks, staring unashamedly as the crown prince strode through the kitchen. On his heels were the reigning King and Queen, whose smiles did little to quell the anxiety the Prince's focused stare elicited.
Breaking right, Prince Sherlock rushed down the hallway and took the spiraling stairs downward in great leaps.
At the bottom was a small door, the top curve barely reaching his height. With an excited, triumphant smile, he opened the door and swept inside.
The occupants of the room looked up from their work in surprise. Sherlock glanced from one to the other until his gaze landed on a girl in the far corner. A broad grin spread across his face and he hastened toward her.
Garbed in a thick apron over long-sleeves, her hair pulled back and covered with a handkerchief, the servant girl stared at him over the body in front of her, which she has obviously just about to prepare for burial. Her eyes were wide and fear showed plainly on her face.
'Y-your Highness,' she stammered, belatedly remembering to curtsy and fumbling in her nervousness.
'Did you think you could hide from me? That I wouldn't eventually figure out who you were? A pretty dress and mask can't disguise your intelligence and heart from me.' He skirted the table and lifted her head with a finger. 'Molly.'
She raised her gaze hesitantly, obviously fearing the consequences of her brash masquerade. But even in her fear, Sherlock could see the pride, the intelligence shining in her eyes, and knew that he had finally met his match. And at the ball his parents had thrown, against his wishes, with the hope for this very outcome.
Oh, he would never hear the end of it.
But as Sherlock did what he wanted to do from the moment he spoke with her at the ball all those weeks ago, and kissed her, one hand cradling the back of her head and the other wrapping around her slim waist, he knew she was more than worth the familial ribbing.
And as soon as he was able to convince her, she would be his wife.
Neither noticed the gaping servants or the proud Royal Family watching as Molly hesitated only for a moment, then kissed him back in kind, her arms coming up and around his neck. Sherlock yanked the covering from her hair and her brown tresses cascaded down, their softness tempting his fingers terribly.
Unable to hold back their smiles, they parted all too soon, hearts beating wildly. He took in the sight of her flushed cheeks, sparkling eyes, and felt his heart give a great leap right into her hands.
All along the woman he hadn't even known he'd been looking for was working beneath the stone floors of the castle all this time.
His Morgue Princess.
His future Queen.
His Molly.