A white uniform. Of all the things he could wear. They gave him a white uniform. The buttons were gold. The embroidery was a navy blue. His kerchief was red. He ripped it off by the front and threw it on the ground as he walked up the stone steps to the castle. No one was around to tell him to put it back on, so he figured it was the appropriate time to dispose of it. It wasn't really his thing, anyway. Neither was the groomed hair or shaved face. But he allowed it. It was her night. She deserved the best. So he was going to look his best.

The doors to the ball room were wide open, pouring out the intimidating light from the party inside. He could smell the food as he walked through the threshold. It was incredible. Women dressed in lavishly decorated gowns, men in fine tailored suites, servants with silver trays… But it just didn't feel right. His eyes scanned the room for something familiar. Something he could cling to. If he stood in front of the doorway looking confused for too long, they might just escort him back out. Not that he would complain.

Just as he felt his palms sweat, he caught a glimpse of a white dress. The back was open. Her hair was braided on top of her head with curls falling lightly in her face. And she was wearing makeup. His heart leapt from his mouth, tumbled down his chest, and splattered right in front of his feet. There wasn't a chance in hell he could speak to her. Not like this.

Luckily, the serving table was a few feet away. The bottles of wine seemed more welcoming than anyone else in the room. Without asking or waiting for a glass to be poured, Ben grabbed a bottle. He popped the cork down with the top of a spoon and began to pour its contents into his mouth as it fizzed over. The butler behind the table raised his brow at him. But Ben continued to chug without shame.

"I'm a little nervous," Ben gasped when he came up for air.

"I'd say," the butler said smugly and walked away.

"Tough crowd," said a familiar voice.

Ben spun around to see Walter chuckling to himself.

"I can't be here, Walt. I just can't."

"Don't be brash, boy. This is what most people dream of! Take advantage of it. You are one of the most important people here."

"Then why is everyone staring at me? No one has even attempted to approach me."

"They probably don't recognize you without that rat's nest on your head."

Ben didn't say anything. He just continued to look around the room with wide eyes. Walter turned around to observe, trying to get a better understanding of Ben's anxiety.

"Did you see Elle?" Walter changed the subject.

Ben grinned a little with a huff. "Oh, did I ever. It's odd seeing her without dirt on her face."

"It's been quite some time since we started this. She's a grown woman now."

Once again, Ben fell silent. Walter knew he wasn't going to get anywhere. He just hoped Ben wouldn't lean on the bottle too much for support. He gave a gentle pat on his shoulder and walked back into the crowd, leaving Ben to search for another outlet.

And then he saw her again. She was smiling. Laughing. Dancing. There was a hand clasped around hers. His heart rattled inside his rib cage. Jealousy was never something he was familiar with. So he had no way of containing it. It could have been anyone, really. It wouldn't have been so bad. But it was him. How? How could she be enjoying herself in his presence? Surely, it was a front. But the thought alone was enough for him to grab another bottle and leave the room.

There was that image again. The one of her at the banquet. And where was he? Ben was standing there like a scared little boy, posting up against the wall. He didn't even have the courage to call out to her. The people around him were those of wealth and stature. He was but a lowly captain who had never been recognized until now. Not like Eleanor or Walter. Maybe Page was right. Maybe he should have just left Bowerstone.

Ben rubbed his temples in confusion. He threw his bottle into the fire place. It roared in fury matching that of his own. He wished he was drunk enough to stop thinking. When he first met Elle, she was wading through a swamp dressed liked a mercenary. He had been used to seeing her dirty, tired, and lonely. Never once had he seen his Queen so happy.

"Ben?" said a feint voice on the other side of his door, accompanied by a light tapping.

As if things couldn't get worse. He hunched over the table and listened quietly as Elle leaned on the door. She pressed her cheek against the cold wood. Would he stir on the other side? Was he asleep? Or was he even there?

"It's just me," she whispered.

He closed his eyes. Maybe if he pretended he was sleeping, she would go away. He ignored her persistent fingers, still brushing against the door. She gave one final sigh before she retreated down the hallway. Ben leaned up, wondering if it was worth the trouble to talk to her now. He stumbled to the side, nearly knocking the candle off his bed side table. He sat back down, quickly realizing he wasn't sober enough to speak to her clearly. Yet, he wasn't drunk enough to forget her. The bar was starting to sound welcoming.

"Reaver?" she blurted. "You're kidding, right?" Page said with fury.

"I know… I can't…. I can't," Ben slurred his words with slight laughter. "I took a shower for this."

She raised her mug to him before taking a drink. "And shaved. I'm sure you're uniform looked nice before you got here."

"I had to climb out the window," he hiccupped.

"What the hell for? You're an adult, Finn. You can walk out whenever you want."

"She… she was at my door. After the banquet. I couldn't face her after I just ignored her."

"See that's- that's why I'm not invited to things like that."

"That made no sense…" Ben paused. "You're jealous, aren't you?"

Page laughed. "Why would I be jealous of your fancy clothes? Pretty and dancing aren't really my thing."

"Yeah. I remember."

"Don't go soft on me, Finn. You knew what you were up against."

Ben finished his drink and slammed on the bar. He tapped it twice to notify the barmen a refill was needed. The man hastily scooped up his mug by the handle and bustled over to the cask.

"Haven't had enough?"

"Not yet."

Page glared at him. "Ben… you can't fix anything until you know what exactly it is what you want to fix. Remember that. And be realistic next time."

Ben waved her off as she tried to tell him goodbye. She couldn't be more ridiculous. The name Finn meant nothing if he didn't know what he wanted. He was the most honest up-front man he knew. Nothing stopped him from getting what he wanted. He had it once… it was there in his hands. Her face was gazing up at him with wide eyes as he planted his lips on hers. Then the crown was on her head and the throne at her feet. Everything changed. No more card games. No more stories to tell. It was over.

He still had hours before sunrise. His eyes hung heavy but there would be no sleep. Not tonight. His mug was placed back in front of him, solving all of his problems with its very existence. He began to take gulp after gulp, still unable to forget her smiling face. He ran his hand down his face trying to shut out the world but only caught his reflection in his mug. The longer he stared at himself, the more shame he felt.

A table in the corner of the room interrupted him. It was just out of his peripheral vision but he could very well guess. Three men. Two of them were about the average size. One was rather large. They roared in laughter. Ben couldn't really even say what it was they were discussing. Their words were murmured as he lost himself in his gaze. Their laughing echoed, ringing in his ears. He stood up abruptly from his chair. It had no effect, of course. They only continued to slap each other on the shoulder. But the bartender shot Ben a look while polishing the bar top.

"I would say it's a bit loud in here. I've had quite enough of that this evening," Ben stated to him, rather loudly.

The men quieted to a chuckle. He had their attention now. The bigger man rubbed his nose, rather large and placed well on top of an unruly mustache. Hands firmly in front of him on the table, he too rose from his sit. Ben turned to face him.

"It's a bar, mate. Sit down and have another drink. If you think you can take one."

"I've already got one," Ben replied snidely. He picked up the handle and slammed down what was left against the back of his throat. "But sure, I'll have another."

The man shook his head with a laugh. "I don't think I've seen you around here, boy. I certainly don't know of anyone dressed like that walking into this tavern unless they were lost. You sure you even need to be here?"

Ben clenched his fists. "Oh, you haven't heard of me? Let me introduce myself. Benjamin Finn of the Royal Army. But my friends call me Captain Finn."

"Should I salute you? Shake your hand?" he made a quick waving gesture. "I do believe you are lost. There's a nice fancy party at the castle for you. You should probably get moving or you'll be late."

Ben began to roll up his sleeves. As he did, the man's two friends stood up. One almost fell from his chair before doing so. But Ben didn't look up from his task. With each fold, he could feel his shoulders tightening more and more.

He hated when this happened. The taste of something awful. The taste of metal. It overwhelmed his mouth and before he could stop it from happening, he sputtered onto the pavement. He could barely make out between the dark circles a puddle of red forming in front of his face. He could also see two white specks that he could only assume were his teeth. He tried to get up, knees on the ground, his toes slipping from underneath him. He felt a foot on his back.

"It would best if you just lay back down. Don't move until my footsteps are just an echo."

His burly voice was a feint over the sound of his breath and beating heart. His knees and elbows shook under the weight of the boot. He crumbled onto the hard cobblestone road. Some would think after being knocked down enough, he would just lie down like the beaten dog he was. But Ben, always laughing at the face of danger, did just that. He rolled over on his back side, knocking the man's foot away. The man lowered his brow as a confused look came over his face.

"You can't humiliate me any more tonight than what I already was the second I walked into that bar."

Agreeing that enough was enough, the man began to walk down the street. Ben rested his head on the cold ground. He stared at the sky above him. He wondered how late it was. He brought his had to face. One black eye with a cut furnished above his left brow. A broken nose, a cut on his fat upper lip. He brought his hand down his neck, over his collar bone, and clutched his side. Possibly a broken rib or two. It was nothing he couldn't handle. His shirt had been torn and one of his boots came untied. He stood up just to witness the barman snuffing out the candles illuminating the tavern sign.

"Don't even think for a second you're getting back inside," he said and scuttled into the doorway, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Well," Ben said out loud.

Not really knowing what to say after that, he decided he would have to travel back to the castle. It was a long walk. But it was quiet. Morning was near. Anyone who was out and about had already made it back home. He was the only one left. He was just a straggler wandering in the final remains of the night.

Ben had already decided he would have to enter the castle through the side when it came into his sights. He prepared himself for the worst and began to climb over the wall. He came to a crash on the other side, knocking his untied boot off his foot. He grabbed it without any intention of putting it back on. He made his way through the garden while disregarding any bushes that came in front of his path. He had made it up the stairs right in front of the door. The kitchen was just on his right. But a room on the second floor above it had a little light shining through the window. He hesitated. He stood there trying to force his mind to make a decision. Just when a decision came to mind, it began to rain.

Elle sat quietly on her sofa. She had a light blanket wrapped around her shoulders and no shoes on her feet. Her hair was in a loose braid draping over her shoulder. She twirled it around her fingers as she scanned the book in her other hand. She paused briefly and turned the page. Just as she began the first word, she heard a loud bang in the hallway outside her door. She shut the book quickly and ducked onto the couch. She had been scolded enough by everyone in the castle for her lack of sleep. When it was quiet again, she sat up. She moved lightly on her feet toward the door. There were footsteps. She could tell they were awkward… stumbling. She opened the door.

Ben had just steadied himself on the wall when her door opened. All he could do was smile. And he wasn't sure if it was his face or his dignity that hurt worse. Her mouth opened wide. But whatever it was she was going to say, she didn't say it. She just widened the door and stepped back inside. Without a word, Ben followed knowing he would be reprimanded if he didn't.

"Shut the door," she said.

He did.

"Sit," she demanded, pulling a chair around from her desk.

He did.

"Elle, I-"

"Don't. Just don't."

So he didn't. He sat silent in the chair cradling his boot in his lap. He watched as she took a handkerchief from her desk drawer. It was white satin and lace. She brought it to his face. When she did, he flinched and drew a sharp breath into his mouth.

"It will hurt worse if you move."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Are you?"

The silence continued as she wiped the blood from around his eye. It was blood shot and swollen, though it would probably get worse overnight. She placed her hand firmly on his shoulder. He let her lick the tip of the cloth and proceed to wipe the dried blood away. When she finished, she touched the good side of his face and turned it toward her.

"How many?"

"Three."

Elle nodded. She walked back over her desk and rummaged through it.

"Elle, you really don't have to."

She let out a sigh. "This is my fault."

"No…" he began to say. But the rest just wouldn't come out.

"I shouldn't have asked you to do this. It's too much."

She stood up and placed a hand on her hip. Of course she had no thread or scissors or even a knife. Ben turned his gaze away from her. He glanced over to the couch where she had been resting.

"Isn't it a bit late to be reading?"

She knew she could snap a witty remark back toward him. As much as she wanted to, she knew he had been through enough. She walked back over to him, kerchief still in hand, and continued to examine his lip.

"It was my mother's."

"Anything good?"

"Not yet. I thought it was her dairy of some sort. But all I can really make of it is that it was more of a log. You need stitches, Ben."

"And I will get them first thing in the morning. You've had a busy day. You should get some sleep."

Ben rose from his chair. He placed his boot on the floor and crammed his foot back in it. She watched as he looped his laces with his bruised hands. Elle let him take a few steps away from her before she spoke.

"I can't sleep, Ben."

He stopped just after he reached the couch. He put his hands on top of it. Elle made her way back to her comfortable place on the cushions and looked up at him.

"You still have blood on your face. And I think I might be able to do something about that lip. Please. Just sit with me," she patted the cushion next to her.

Ben paused but decided to stay awhile longer next to Elle on the couch. She began to slave away at his face again. After a time, she went to a cabinet on the back wall and pulled out a silver bottle. She dabbed her kerchief on the opening. As she went to put it away, she stopped. Looked over at Ben. Then made her way back. She handed him the bottle and watched as he took a quick shot.

The alcohol burned on his open wound and he continued to take small drinks as she worked her way down his face and eventually to his lip. He tried not to look at her. But he couldn't help taking small glances every now and again. Her skin was pale but he could still make out light yellow markings on her face and arms. Her lips were cracked and she would nibble on it in concentration from time to time. It was the bags under her eyes that struck him most.

"Life of a Queen not treating you so well?"

Eleanor shook her head with a smile. "You have no idea."