Too soon, he releases her waist and slowly rises. At her frown he explains, "We need to go in, for your reputation, and for mine." Her eyebrows shoot up. "What I mean is, I want to do this properly, in a way that reflects well upon all of us."

Belle ducks her head in a blush. "Are you saying you want to court me?"

Now it's his turn to blush. "If your father will allow it." He reaches out a hand to raise her to her feet. "Hiding from the world is tempting, but we haven't earned that right yet. I must show your father and your mother that I mean to respect the rules, so they will respect me."

She nods, smiling now, because he's revealed his intentions. "There will be time later for us to come back here." She links her arm in his. "Father and Mother will be in Petitions now, but we can sit in the back and when it's over, we'll tell them you're here."

He raises his chin determinedly. "And why." As they walk through the orchard, he asks, "What are Petitions?"

"It's when the subjects come to my father and ask his boon. It may be to settle a dispute or to grant hunting privileges on royal land—lately, it's often been not to draft their family members into the army. But that will end soon, thanks to your whistle."

"Thanks to your negotiations with the fairies. Stubborn little fireflies, I've heard."

She giggles. "They are. Father encourages me to sit in on the Hearings. He says to me, 'Belle, most people think the subjects serve the king. But the truth is, a kingdom survives only if the king serves the subjects.'"

"Your father is wise." He runs his tongue over his lips. "Belle, do you think he'll grant me this boon?"

"And me. He will grant it to me, because he knows I wish it."

He tightens his grip on her arm. "After we speak to him and your mother, I'll ask to be permitted to see you tonight. Then I'll go into town and get a room at the inn and wait for the appointed time."

"No." She's firm about this. "You are my friend and one of my father's advisors; that makes you a guest of the crown any time you're in Avonlea. You will stay at the castle."

He is equally firm. "No, Belle, I won't risk rumors. We'll do this the right way, chaperone and all."

She sighs in frustration. "Rules! If a princess can't be allowed to break them once in a while, what's the good of being a princess?"

"Let me honor you this way," he urges, lacing his fingers through hers. "And your parents. And myself—if this—if this feeling between us grows and leads to—more—I want—" he stutters, then sighs. "Belle, there will be criticism aplenty against me, where I come from, what I have, or rather, don't have, but there will be stories. . . .You need to be prepared for them. You need to know them, so you can decide if I'm. . . the man you think I am."

They stop under a blossoming tree. She tends toward impetuousness and impatience, they both know that, but there's pain in his voice that reins her in. Silently she gives him the time he needs to gather his thoughts and select his words. "Belle, there's a rumor about me—your father is aware of it. He chose to ignore it in deciding to accept me as an advisor, but it may be different—it must be different—when it comes to accepting me as a suitor for his child. And you may feel different about me too."

"If this is about your leg—" Her tone is defiant.

"It's true. The rumor is true." He pauses for her to take his declaration in, but she seems no less determined to deny the rumor's outcome. "Many years ago, when Milah and I were less than a year wed, I was drafted into the army to fight in the first Ogre War. Naïve as I was, I was delighted; I thought this would be a chance to make a name for myself. I looked around me and saw that war veterans were highly admired by young and old alike, their businesses thrived and their families were thanked. And there was a small pension that guaranteed each veteran an income. I thought the draft notice was a blessing from heaven, and so I went. But even before I arrived at the training ground, I realized my folly. The men and women with whom I walked the road to the training camp, some of them spoke about the price that the veterans had paid to earn that admiration."

She nods slowly. "The price can be disproportionately high."

"They had many battle stories to tell. I listened until I couldn't bear to listen any more, and then I stuffed my ears, but still, the stories continued. By the time we arrived at the training camp, I was trembling. But I told myself those were just exaggerated horror stories—until, on the last night of our training, as we were preparing our weapons for our first battle, I saw the dead and the wounded being carried in on stretchers. Belle, there were more of them than there were of us. I was horror-struck."

"I would be too. Anyone would be."

"I was given an assignment to guard a 'secret weapon.' It turned out to be a child in a cage—a child whose eyes had been sewn shut. Again, I was shocked: how could my superiors treat a child this way? Then I spoke to her and learned she was magical, capable of seeing glimpses of the future."

"A Seer." Belle had read about this secret weapon. The Seer's capture had taken a year to orchestrate; it was hoped that this child's power would reveal the ogres' plans and bring a quick end to war. The endangerment of a child—though some claimed a magical being shouldn't be considered a child—was thought to be well worth the price, if it resulted in saving hundreds of soldiers' lives.

"She said that she Saw my wife and knew her to be pregnant. My mind refused to believe; the Seer was an enemy, so of course she would lie. But my heart so wanted it to be true that I listened. She told me that my son would grow up fatherless because of the morrow's battle. I couldn't risk that. I'd grown up fatherless myself; I'd sworn that wouldn't happen to my children. And Belle, I was scared for myself, scared to die, even if it meant I'd be remembered as a hero."

"I would have been scared too."

"But you would have fought." He lowers his head. "That's a difference between you and me, a difference that matters. You have the courage to do what's needed, even at risk to yourself. I don't. I'm selfish."

"You have a child to raise. You need to consider him in all that you do."

"I am a coward, Belle. You have to understand that. If we're to be together, you have to find a way to tolerate that in me. You will have to forgive me, over and over."

"And you'll have to forgive much in me, too," she persists.

She is so young. They will have to move slowly in this relationship, if they are to continue as sweethearts as they reveal more and more about themselves to each other. Her stubbornness will get in the way, but she is smart and perceptive too; she will come to see he is flawed and scarred, just as all men are. He has no illusions as to her proximity to perfection, but he believes he can accept whatever annoying habits or undesirable traits she possesses. He learned a great deal about love and acceptance—though most of it was from raising Bae. He'd been a poor learner and even poorer listener with Milah. But he had learned; he could be grateful to Milah for that; and he is certain his relationship with Belle would be much happier. If there was to be a relationship.

"After I spoke to the Seer, I was desperate for a way to circumvent that future. I looked around me and saw that the wounded were being sent home, their service done. Home to their proud wives. Home to the children who needed them. There was a sledgehammer. I picked it up." A catch in his throat prevents him from continuing, but if he had, he would only have stated the obvious.

She makes a small, sad sound as she stares down at his cane. Before she can express her sympathy, he prevents her. "It was the price for my release, and worth it. It turned out to be a heftier price than I had first thought, one that my son has had to pay too. People have long memories when it comes to cowards."

"Hypocrites," she snaps. "They need to clean up their own backyards."

"Whether it's right or not, the fact is, it is. It's been a long and slow struggle to regain some respect—"

"The soldiers respect you. Your whistle will save lives."

A bitter smile twitches at his lips. "Ironic, isn't it? The people who have the most reason to despise me have been among the first to forgive me. I have some friends now, but most of Ramsgate still looks down upon me, and if your father and mother permit me to court you, the talk about us will only revive the embers of those old rumors. You need to think about this, Belle. It's not just what the rumors will do to you—I know you're strong enough to withstand them. You have to think about your kingdom. If the people disrespect your suitor, they will disrespect you, and the throne will be vulnerable."

"I disagree. They'll respect you just as soon as their loved ones start marching home, freed from this war by your whistle."

"Perhaps. But you need to think about the other possibility, Belle. For your kingdom, for your children." His voice lowers as he dares utter the last phrase. "Promise me you'll think about it carefully."

It's his first request of her, so, despite her stubborn refusal to accept his pessimism, she agrees to it. After all, there is always value in thinking things through. She slips her hand back into his arm. "Let's go inside now. We'll do this properly."

"Thank you, Belle."

He's smiling broadly as they come in the servants' entrance to the kitchen. She knows the whole truth about him now, and for the moment, she is undeterred. It's a good start. He's proud of himself for having found the courage to be honest with her. Courage is not natural to him, but love has made it accessible to him. He loses a half-step as he realizes that: it is love.

The cook Helena greets them both warmly as they come in through the kitchen. She offers them tea and fresh-baked rolls with apple butter; they sit down for a few minutes and chat with her as they refresh themselves. Her eyes dart back and forth between them, taking in all the information their body language provides, and she's so pleased with what she learns that she begs them to take slices of cake too. "Isn't that for the dinner tonight?" Belle wonders, then she explains to Rumple, "It's our monthly dinner with the gray men. We feed them while they complain about everything we're doing wrong."

"Well, yes, Your Highness, but I can bake another. This one turned out too nice for the likes of them," Helena leans forward to whisper conspiratorially.

Belle giggles. "Well, then, we must accept. But just a sliver. I need to be hungry at dinner, so I can focus on my plate and not the gray men."

Fortified, Rumple and Belle thank her and rise to leave. Helena's curiosity gets the better of her, and though it's pushy, she hints at the question she's dying to ask. "Ma'am, will Mr. Rumplestiltskin be staying? I can send a message to Ulrich to have a room readied."

Belle knows what she's really asking. "Perhaps. We must speak to my father first."

Helena claps her hands. "Oh, that's fine, ma'am, just fine!"

They chuckle as they pass through the corridors. "You've won over the people who count here," Belle surmises. "The soldiers and the servants."

"May I be so fortunate with your parents," Rumple replies.

Belle takes them into the Petition Room through a side door, since a line of citizens is clogging the front entrance. She leads him to a bench near the back, and as they squeeze through the audience to seat themselves, there's a low murmur and several people stand as they recognize her. Their smiles become frowns of confusion as they notice the peasant trailing along behind the Princess. So it begins. The first of the rumors will be spread across town by sundown.

They've come in in the middle of a plea by a farmer to reclaim water rights that he swears were granted to his family generations ago. The new owner of the property upon which the river is located is also present and he insists on charging a fee for the farmer to bring his sheep to water. Rumple finds the discussion fascinating—from the judgement he will learn much about the kind of ruler Maurice is, for while the humane thing, and the thing most beneficial to the community, would be to force the owner to grant free access to the water, the owner is within his rights to charge a fee. And who can blame a man for simply taking advantage of what belongs to him? The discussion is fascinating, but, Rumple thinks, a repeat can easily be prevented, simply by drawing up a contract. If the King doesn't think of this himself, Rumple will dare to whisper his idea to Belle, who can then share it with her father in private, so as not to embarrass His Majesty with a publicly made suggestion.

The King speaks in quiet with one of his hangers-on, then makes his decision. "It is known to us that the grandfather of Farmer Wallis had an agreement with the previous owner of the property. However, being no relation to the previous owner, and having bought the property outright, Arnot is under no obligation to honor his predecessor's agreements. To do so would be the honorable and neighborly thing to do, the sort of thing that I would feel obliged to recognize publicly, say, with a Good Citizen award and an invitation to the next Royal Hunt."

Arnot is a small, wizened man who it seems can barely chew his meat, hardly hardy enough to sit one of the King's tall hunters. It doesn't matter, though; the invitation alone would be enough to provide fodder for admiration for years to come. And for newcomers to town who may doubt Arnot's boast, there would be a Good Citizen proclamation to hang on his wall. Gray and bent as he is, Arnot is nevertheless sharp-witted, and he understands he's been backed into a corner. To refuse His Majesty's implied suggestion would be considered by some a sign of disloyalty to the crown—an insult, in fact, and one that a man would have trouble living down in a time of war. Arnot swallows hard, looking around at the audience, then clamps his mouth tight and nods.

"Very good. Citizens of Aramore, please recognize with me Good Citizen of the Month, the farmer Arnot. A proclamation will be drafted immediately." Maurice doesn't even have to nod at his lackey; the servant rushes off to do the King's implied bidding. Maurice leads the applause—polite and short-lived, for it's easy to see why Arnot has accepted this judgement.

There are many more disagreements for the King to settle, most of them, Rumple concludes, easily avoided in the future with the right paperwork. He knows the King has a cadre of legal scholars at his disposal, but apparently the common man has no access to legal advice. Rumple wonders if it would be inappropriate for him to make a suggestion to Belle that she and her parents consider the problem. He's sure she won't be insulted if he suggests it. They've worked so well together these years, feeding each other information, developing ideas together. Glancing out of the corner of his eye at her, he's so overwhelmed by the warm feeling flooding him that he squeezes her hand, but then quickly remembers who and where he is, and he releases her before someone catches him.

Not for the first time, he wishes she were a common woman.

The disputes over property, she listens to, and he can see her mind working on them, employing logic and education to come up with her own judgements. But he can feel her heart jump to the fore when a balding man, holding the hand of a toddler, approaches the throne, and he can feel the heat from her as her blood boils as the plaintiff lays out his case. He speaks hesitantly, staring at the floor, until the baby coughs, and then he seems to remember why he's come. "Your Majesty, this is my grandson. My girl, she's too ashamed to come. I'm ashamed too. But it should be him that's ashamed, for what he did to her, what he's doing to the boy!" He points at the kid, who is staring at the King and Queen in amazement.

"Who's the 'he' you're speaking of, citizen?" Maurice asks gently.

"The father. Goes by the name Odard, but his real name is Valamir. He done time in prison, that's why the name change. We found that out too late. My girl, she was young and foolish when he came to her with his fine clothes and fine words, and throwin' his money about. We didn't know then that he'd stole it. Anyway, he. . . they was bespoke; least, that's what he told her, and he gave her a ring. Come to find out, he stole that too. We was puttin' the wedding together." The man tossed his head pridefully. "Well, it's not that unusual, is it? They jumped the gun. They was to be married soon as we could afford it. We wanted to do it right, give her a nice wedding and a dowry. But he got a child on her and then he ran."

"Get him, Father," Rumple hears Belle hiss.

"Despicable," Her Majesty can be heard to mutter.

"Very despicable," His Majesty shares an angry look with Colette. "Such a man deserves a return to prison."

"That's what we figure too, the wife and me." The old man nods his head in satisfaction, then remembers to add, "Sire."

"He must be made to provide for the child," Maurice decides. "He can be given a job in prison and his income can be given to the child."

The old man snorts. "That's the only way we'll ever see a copper out of him."

"Where might we find him?"

"Last we hear, he's pickin' pockets in Humbart."

The King speaks a few words with a lackey, who nods and runs off. "A warrant for Odard, also known as Valamir, will be issued. He will be given a chance to defend himself." Maurice pauses to select his words carefully. "Citizen, it will be necessary that we hear your daughter's testimony, if we are to find Odard guilty."

"I can speak to her in private," Colette offers.

"The school," Belle whispers. "When the child is a few years older, I'll take him into my school. I'll find a job for his mother and she can work while he's in school."

Rumple sneaks one more hand-squeeze in.

As the last petition is heard, Belle squirms in her seat and moans under her breath. Rumple, too, is visibly angered by the story. Three shop owners and four customers approach the King together; wary, four soldiers of the Home Guard, who normally stand bored throughout these proceedings, set their hands on their swords and close ranks with the King and Queen. The petitioners come in righteous anger, but not against the crown; as one is quick to explain, their complaint is against a hack driver whose horse, already burdened with age, wheezed and hung her head in her traces, unable to haul the taxi up a steep hill. The driver attempted to push the mare onward, first with shouts and a whip, then he climbed down from his box and kicked the mare in the belly. She moved a few paces but gave up again. He'd then found a broken tree branch and beat her around the head. The customers had witnessed the commotion first and came flying out of the shops; shouting, they demanded the driver to end his tirade. The shopkeepers came next, two of them grabbing the driver by the arms and yanking the branch away. A third shopkeeper picked up the discarded whip and shook it in the driver's face; the others prevented him from striking. As they relate the details, Colette covers her mouth with a handkerchief.

Maurice's voice shudders as he confronts the hack driver. "Is this true, Wifrik?" The driver sputters and Maurice pushes, "Is this true? Speak now; this is your only opportunity before I throw your worthless ass in prison."

A counselor leans forward to whisper in Maurice's ear, and Maurice can be heard across the entire room to respond, "What? Are you sure?"

The counselor nods and steps back, his head hanging in misery.

Maurice recovers his poise and presses on. "Speak, Wifrik, you sorry excuse for a human being."

"Your Majesty has already decided my guilt," the driver whines. "What chance have I for a fair hearing?"

"How dare you speak like that to the King?" one of the shopkeepers spits.

"Perhaps you are right," Maurice admits. "I can see Her Majesty is equally upset, so I will leave this case to my legal counsel to adjudicate."

Maurice has three counselors, each with a different specialty in law, who stand by to advise him on Petition Days. They now rise from the table at which they usually await Maurice's needs and they flank the throne. The eldest among them nods at Wifrik. "State your case, driver."

"It won't do for me to argue that these 'good people' are lying," he sneers. "There's seven of them and one of me. Nor will it do for me to argue it was mistaken identity. They already said the incident in question happened in broad daylight on a public street."

"Public street," Belle murmurs. Rumple watches her eyes shift as she chases after an idea. "Seven. Shoppers and shop owners."

"But what will do is for me to remind you, Your Majesties, and you learned men, that that mare was my property."

"Was?" Belle gasps.

"I owned her free and clear. Paid cash for her, years back, and I got the bill of sale right here." The driver produces a crumpled paper from his coat and waves it about. He doesn't dare approach the throne, so the youngest of the counselors approaches him. The three legal experts bend their heads over the paper. "I can prove it too, if I have to. I can haul him in here, the guy I bought the horse from."

The chief counsel shows the paper to Maurice. "We accept this as a legitimate bill of sale, sire." Maurice groans and pushes the paper back at the chief, who returns it to Wifrik, who pockets it with a smug grin.

"If you're really scholars of the law," Wifrik continues, "you know a man has the right to dispose of his property any way he wants. I owned that horse; it's up to me what I do with her. They've"—he points at his accusers—"got no say in the matter. My property, my rights."

"It is true, sire," the chief counselor admits, "a man may dispose of his property as he sees fit, as long as he doesn't damage someone else's property in the process."

Belle hides her head in her hands. Rumple dares to rub her back, just once, then whisper in her ear, "What were you saying about 'public street'?"

Her head snaps up. "Excuse me, Rumple." She steps on his foot as she climbs over him and squeezes down the row. Once she's free of the crowd, she runs up the aisle, causing everyone on the dais to raise their heads. The guardsmen clutch, then release, their swords as they recognize her. "Your Majesties! Sir Waldef! May I speak? May I question these witnesses?"

"You are welcome, daughter," Maurice waves his hand at the shopkeepers, who bow slightly in homage to the Princess.

"Citizens." Belle spins to address the seven. "You saw this man beat a horse nearly to death. Where? Where did the beating occur?"

"In the street outside our shops, Your Highness," one answers.

"So say you all?"

Seven heads nod.

"At what time of day?"

"About two o'clock, Your Majesty."

"And was the street busy?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am. The sidewalks was crowded and there was walkers and some wagons in the street. It was a fair day, good for business."

"Until he came along," another witness complains. "Business dropped off right fast after that."

"Nobody could stomach what he done," a third adds. "In fact, some of my diners got up and left, their lunches untouched and unpaid for."

Belle's eyes glow as she points a finger at the restauranteur. "Would you say they were disturbed by this beating?"

"Course they were. Me too. Sick to my stomach."

"It's stupid too," someone says. "Stupidest business practice I ever saw, to beat the animal that makes your living for you."

"So you were disturbed too?" Belle asks him and he nods vigorously. She points at each in turn. "And you, you were disturbed?" She's consistent with her phrasing and Rumple catches on. He's proud of her; she has not allowed emotion to cloud her reasoning, and that has just won the case for her. "You were disturbed?" When the last has admitted to disturbance, she spins on the legal counsel. "Sir Waldef, Sir Demeas, Sir Leufroy, these citizens, every one, were disturbed by the act that took place on their public street. The beating caused a public disturbance, which is illegal and punishable by law."

"It also disrupted traffic," one of the witnesses volunteers. "I saw it. He was blockin' the street a good ten minutes. The wagons couldn't get around him."

"There. I leave it to you." Belle folds her arms.

"Very good, daughter, very good," Maurice approves.

The three legal scholars huddle, but it only takes a moment before they announce, "Wifrik, we find you guilty of creating a public disturbance and interfering with the progress of traffic. We revoke your carriage license permanently; you will be permanently forbidden from purchasing another animal, whether it's a horse or snail. Furthermore, we sentence you to three months of labor—mucking out the Avonlea Regiment's barns."

Wifrik stares open-mouthed at the King, who waves a hand. "Get him properly outfitted for his new job." Two of the guards haul the driver away.

"Well done, Your Highness," Rumple whispers as Belle returns to his side.

Now it's her turn to squeeze his hand. "Your little nudge helped me piece it together. We're a good team, Rumple."

"That we are."