Charles had never considered himself a stupid man, but Sadie Adler had a knack of making a fool of anyone. He couldn't take his eyes off of the poster she'd initially handed to him.

Charlotte gestured to the table and the three of them sat on the wooden chairs, except Charles because he couldn't move. He was still trying to absorb the truth. He felt stuck in place as the conversation continued around him.

Sadie began to bounce Nora on her knee before she answered. "Well, I started looking for this princess about a month ago. I hadn't heard head nor tail of her before then, and honestly wouldn't have been interested if not for this fella Langton."

"Langton?" Arthur asked. "Who's that?"

Sadie scowled over Nora's head. "Another bounty hunter who usually sticks to New Austin. The bastard stole one of my bounties out from under me. It weren't even a good payout, he just did it out of spite for having some competition now. So, I decided I'd go after one of his that I knew he's been hunting for a real long time, this princess no one's seen in over fifteen years."

Arthur's brow furrowed as he concentrated. "Now that I think on it, I've seen that poster up in Van Horn. Think I even ran into a feller searching for her, but that was a few years ago now. Can't say I ever thought it was a worthwhile endeavor to participate. Seemed like it was already a crowded field back then."

Sadie nodded. "It still is, and every drunk down there has their own opinion of the missing little princess. Some say she'd been kidnapped, some say she'd gotten eaten by wolves, and some say it had actually been an assassination attempt successfully covered up. Most don't think she's alive."

Charles finally got his tongue working again, and asked almost accusingly, "Then why did you?"

"I came across what I strongly believe to be her personal effects at the fence's shop. He had a trunk with some royal crest, but more obvious was the I.K.Z. on the side."

IKZ. Isabeau Katharina Zinsmeister.

"There was also a doll, and a ratted out dress. Suspected him for a few days, but other than those items, there was nothing concrete, only a whole hell of a lot of small clues."

"Why did the fence have those things?"

Sadie shrugged, and Nora managed to grab hold of one of her braids, promptly sticking the end of it in her mouth. "He wasn't sayin', real tight-lipped kind of fella. But that was what got me curious, because he weren't the only one. Them townsfolk will talk all day long about their theories, but as soon as you dug a little, they snap their mouths shut and become a little less friendly."

Charlotte cradled a mug of coffee as she mused aloud, "That's certainly strange. Were they protecting her?"

"Could be. That bartender in Van Horn, oh boy, she got real touchy when I started poking around. Kicked me out her establishment, in fact." Sadie gently pulled her braid from Nora's mouth. "Unfortunately for them, that only fueled my curiosity. I started talking to different people in town, anyone really. The stable master was willing to talk, as long it was under the pretense of interest in his ponies."

"What did he tell you?" Charlotte asked.

"Oh, he was real informative, though he didn't realize it. Got him talking about his horses and he started on some yarn about every damn one he's ever raised, purchased or traded." Sadie eyed Arthur. "Sounds like he had your Jane for a few days even."

Arthur blanched while Charles frowned at the idea. That was near two years ago when he'd dropped off Jane so Arthur could jump on a train and pursue Charlotte.

Charlotte looked surprised as well. "He remembered us?"

"Mostly the horse, not you two," Sadie corrected. "If someone had the patience to sit through his yapping, I'd tell you to worry. But there was too much information to make any connection to you. Anyway, his favorite horse to go on about seemed to be some gray Nokota with a white face. He said he'd sold it to some local girl. I didn't think much of it at the time until, lo and behold, what did I find wandering the woods?"

Charles knew: Falmouth. Sadie had been a thorough investigator, but she'd mostly been incredibly lucky with her timing. Only a few days sooner, her search would have led nowhere—or if Irene had left from Saint Denis instead of making the trip up, she would have been long gone and Sadie's trail would have run cold like everyone else's.

"Thought I was closing in on this princess when I found her horse."

"You were," Charles told her. "You were right behind us in the woods for a few hours."

"I was pissed when you managed to shake me. I was sure it was the girl I was following, but I had no inkling you were there too, Smith."

Charles wondered what would have happened if Sadie had caught up to them. Would they have blindly gotten into a shootout with each other without even knowing their connection?

"You never did explain to me where she is. Seemed like you two have been close, but she ain't with you now."

Charles grimaced. "She's left the area."

If all of this had come to light when Irene was still with him, would she have stuck around? Or would she have been frightened into leaving sooner?

"You want help tracking her?" Sadie offered.

"No." Irene had made the reasons behind her actions clear without saying a word. Charles unfolded his arms and strode to the front door. "I need some air."

Charles left the company, striding down the hill towards the river. Through all of Sadie's explanation, he had to admire her dedication and persistence of her investigation. She'd definitely chosen a profession she could excel in. If the Pinkertons had her on their team, no gang would survive long with her on the hunt.

Charles reached the bottom of the hill and stopped next to a jutting boulder taller than him. He took a moment, leaning his forehead against it. He stood like that for several minutes, the coolness of the rock calming him and letting him get control of his spinning mind.

He didn't know what to think of all of this. More than anything else, Charles felt blindsided. In his hand, he still had the missing persons poster Sadie had given him. Charles turned around, leaning his back against the boulder. He examined it again, without his friends surrounding him to witness his reactions.

Princess, of Luxembourg...

It was absurdly clear now why Irene been so unwilling to reveal her identity. She had a highborn title from a far off country, both of which Charles could hardly comprehend.

Irene, a princess. It seemed so unbelievable. He'd assumed she'd been ashamed of being an outlaw. How could he judge her so incorrectly? She was damn near the furthest thing from a criminal.

He tried to reason with himself that there would have been no way for him to guess the truth. If she had been 'kidnapped' at a young age, she'd only lived the lifestyle of royalty for a few years. He wondered how much of it she recalled.

Disappeared at age 5 during a royal visit to the United States...

She'd told him the story of when she went missing. Her brother—Duke of Luxembourg, he had to remind himself—had thrown her into her own trunk, and left her behind in the woods, intentionally or not. Irene was lucky the right kind of people had found her and raised her. But why hadn't they turned her in when they realized the truth?

...birthmarks on her right hand and left cheek...

He nearly groaned aloud as he mulled over that detail. He understood her averse reaction to him seeing what he thought had been injuries. Birthmarks. The one on her cheek was prominent enough to be the one unmistakable identifying mark that could expose her.

She must paint over it daily or more to cover it up because he'd never noticed either one until yesterday. However, anyone who had read her poster would recognize her easily with that knowledge.

She was this lost princess, but it didn't explain everything. How did this Hahn person fit into all of this? What about the ring?

Charles had questions upon questions, but without Irene here, there were no answers. He blamed himself fully. She'd been skittish since she'd found out Hahn had been asking for her at the cafe. Every step of their journey she'd been reluctant to continue. Charles had convinced her to come out here. He'd persuaded her not to abandon Saint Denis, the life she'd built there...or him.

That's what stung the most. He didn't know what else he could have done to gain her full trust, to prove he would make sure nothing would happen to her under his protection.

She was a princess. She was a waitress. She was just Irene.

Charles sighed deeply, and then heard gravel crunching under boots behind him. He turned to find Arthur walking across the pebbled shore towards him.

Arthur stopped near, looping his thumbs on his belt. "Sadie's headin' out. She ain't much for goodbyes so I don't expect her to stop down here first."

Charles nodded. Quiet fell between them, filled by the sound of the tumbling waterfall breaking the stillness of the river's surface. A light mist rolled over the water, which rippled where fish glided underneath. Birds he couldn't see chirped to each other in unbroken chatter from the woods to his left. A breeze lingered in the trees, gently waving the branches.

"Peaceful out here, ain't it?" Arthur remarked. "Some days we even see moose."

Knowing Arthur hadn't come here only to speak on the beauty of the nature surrounding them, Charles said, "I'm not much in the mood for talking, Arthur."

"Sure, sure. I understand," Arthur replied. "You've got a lot to take in."

The wilderness around once again diverted his attention. Geese huddled together on the opposite bank, unperturbed until a coyote trotted confidently too close to them, spooking them into flight.

It was a rare occurrence, but Charles felt like he'd burst if he didn't uncage some of his thoughts from his mind. Maybe he did feel like talking. Compelled enough, he blurted, "I'm a fool."

Startled, Arthur turned his head. "Now, I wouldn't go that far. You're about the wisest man I know."

He stared stonily at the river. "I thought Irene was my future, Arthur."

"Hell, maybe she still is."

Charles shot him a look of disbelief, and then held up the poster. "After this? Even if I knew where she was, with who she is, there is no chance."

"Why, cause she lied to you? We're all liars, Charles."

"No," Charles denied, "because she's royalty."

"Didn't you say she's a waitress?"

"She's someone," Charles argued. "I'm not."

Charles had told her he didn't need to know the particulars of her situation. He thought he would accept her no matter what she'd done. If Irene had been running from the law, they'd have something in common. But now? He wouldn't even consider himself in her league. She existed in the opposite position of him, seen upon by society with favor rather than revulsion.

"Hell, Charles, you can't look at it that way. Besides, you told us she was trying to live a different life."

That had been before he knew she wasn't running from the law for crimes. Charles shook his head in denial. "She was right from the start. I shouldn't have involved myself."

Arthur released a long breath. "I've felt the same about with Charlotte from time to time. Her family's the kind of folk we used to rob without a second thought. Wealthy, beyond what I could've even imagined. I didn't feel worthy of her. But I learned you can't think like that or you'll miss out on what's best for the both of you."

Charles didn't answer him. This was different. It wasn't only about wealth, but her title in society. She chose to be a waitress now, but what about in the future? What if she decided one day she wanted to re-enter a more catered, comfortable lifestyle? He couldn't follow, and he could never provide a similar alternative.

"Shit, this girl's got you twisted up something fierce, don't she? I ain't never seen you so down on yourself."

Charles didn't know what to say that.

"My offer still stands, if you wanna go looking for her. You said she had family in Van Horn."

Charles thought about it. One of the women who helped raise Irene would probably have some answers. But it wasn't all about the secrets for him. Charles wanted to learn more, but he wanted it from Irene. The problem was, Irene had made herself scarce. He had to come to terms that Irene had left so abruptly for a reason: she didn't want him following.

"No, Arthur. This is how it is."

"Well, like I said before, you're welcome to stay as long as you need. Charlotte and I can set up the second bedroom for you."

"I should go," Charles said, deciding in that moment. Arthur had given him a lot to think about, but he wasn't sure if any of it mattered.

"I mean...there's no rush, is there? If you ain't goin' after her?"

Charles looked at his friend then, lifted out of his descent into melancholy. Arthur's tone implied he wanted him to stay longer. He realized that Arthur probably didn't get many visitors up here. He had Charlotte and the baby, but Charles knew how nice it was to see a friend every now and then.

Charles smiled and agreed, "There's no rush."

XXXXXX

Charles spent the next few weeks at Willard's Rest. As the time passed, he could admit to himself that it was beneficial to be around friends. He and Arthur took a few relaxing days fishing at the river, catching enough for a week's worth of meals.

Unexpectedly, Charles ended up spending a couple of evenings entertaining little Nora by himself. He was unused to being around small children, but he managed it for Arthur's sake.

Arthur woke one morning with a fever, and a persistent cough. Charlotte moved Nora's crib to the main room, collected a quick agreement from Charles to keep an eye on her before she threw her time into the difficult task of nursing Arthur back to health.

It was an unsettling couple of days, but Charles helped where he could. For Nora, he fed her with the food Charlotte had prepared ahead of time, put her down for her naps, and changed her when necessary. It was all new to him, but with Charlotte's calming instruction, it was made easier.

While the toddler slept, Charles handled the chores around the house. He brought water up from the well, gathered herbs in the garden, and cared for the horses.

When Arthur's fever eventually dropped to normal, and his coughing fits subsided, he was able to move around the cabin again. He tried to put on a show of strength, but Charlotte persuaded him to lay down for frequent naps since it was obvious he was tired.

While the relapse lasted only a few days, it was enough for Charles to see the true struggles the couple faced. There could come a time when Arthur would be sick like this every day. It was a miracle he had a woman like Charlotte who took the illness in stride, and seemed undaunted at the prospect of having to face it.

By the end of the month, once Arthur regained his strength, Charles felt it was time to leave. While they'd been accommodating, he could sense Arthur and Charlotte wanted their privacy again, but were too polite to tell him to leave.

On the day of his departure, Charlotte wrapped up some of the fish he and Arthur had caught and cooked. He gave her his thanks for the meals and the room, and earned a grateful hug from her for watching Nora.

As he and Arthur walked to the stable, Arthur told him, "Well, it's been a pleasure having you around."

"It's been a pleasant stay," Charles said agreeably.

"You ever need a place, make sure to stop by."

"I will."

"Where you plan on going from here?"

It'd been the question Charles had himself been mulling over the last few weeks. "I think I'll head back down to Saint Denis. Earn a little more money before I move on."

"You gonna look for this girl of yours?"

For the most part, Arthur had avoided asking him questions like this during his stay. Charles took a moment to answer. He eventually replied in a murmur, "It's best I forget her."

Arthur turned his head and eyed him skeptically, "But you love her, don't you?"

"Yes." He'd believed completely that she was his guiding light, and he'd put his heart on the line. But these last few weeks apart from her made him come to accept she didn't feel the same way.

"Did you ever tell her that? No offense, Charles, but you ain't exactly an open book."

That threw him somewhat. Had he openly told Irene he loved her? He answered hesitantly, "Not in so many words..."

Charles believed he had made his feelings clear to her, even if he hadn't said so in a plainspoken manner. He'd knelt in front of her, vowing to keep her safe. Had that not been enough?

He shook his head, brushing off the second-guessing. If he started having doubts, he'd spiral into indecision again. It was best he stuck to his choice to put the whole thing behind him.

Arthur stopped as they reached the stables. He paused before he swung the half-door open. "I know hurt, and you've got the right to it, but don't let it consume you."

Charles nodded in agreement. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Well, whatever happens, I hope it all turns out for you."

"Thank you, my friend. You and Charlotte have made this easier for me."

They entered the stable, Arthur greeting both his horses, Jane, and a draft horse called Viejo. He gave them pats and carrots he'd brought down from the house.

Charles went to Taima first, doing much the same, patting her, looking her over, and murmuring a greeting. But when he grabbed his saddle, it was Falmouth he threw it on.

Arthur saw what he was doing and asked with confusion, "You ain't ridin' Taima down?"

"Actually..." Charles turned from Falmouth and faced his friend. "I wanted to ask if you would take her in."

Arthur's eyebrows shot up. "Take Taima?"

Charles' mouth twitched at the reaction. "Yes. At least, for now."

Arthur's brows knitted together next. "You sure about that?"

Charles had thought about it with careful consideration in fact. He wanted what was best for Taima, and right now, she didn't need to return to a city. She deserved to be out in the country, getting some exercise in the open air.

Charles explained, "She doesn't like being cooped up at the stables in Saint Denis, and I don't know how long I'll stay down there. Besides, I know you'll take good care of her."

"'Course. She's a great horse. But only if you're sure."

Arthur's eyes were on Taima, clearly more than willing to accept. Charles smiled at him. "It'll give me a reason to come visit from time to time."

"You know I'd love to have her here. Always did admire this horse." Arthur stepped towards him and clapped him on the back. "But you don't need a reason to come up here, brother."

Charles liked that he had somewhere to go if he needed, but he was ready to make his own way again.

When he left Willard's Rest, his heart was lighter than when he arrived.

XXXXXXX

It was a mistake to return to Saint Denis and months later, Charles didn't know what the hell had compelled him to come back in the first place.

Originally, he'd had a calming trip down. He'd felt more himself traveling alone, if a little more starkly aware of the absence of a companion than ever before. To pass the time, he set about training Falmouth to respond to different whistles. He paid closer attention to her personality, noting her reaction to nearby predators.

Under normal circumstances, she wasn't as skittish as when she'd run away from the Murfree attack. Gunfire, however, did have her pulling against her reins until he steadied her. But, all in all, she was a well-tempered horse.

When Charles reached Saint Denis, he stabled her, continuing to pay Eckhart for a stall. He knew why he kept her. Some small, secret part of his subconscious wanted to believe Irene would come back for her.

He returned to his apartment, a place to lay his head, but not one he would consider home. And now, it was even less inviting than he remembered. Every flaw stuck out to him in a way that hadn't bothered him before.

The walls were crumbling, the wallpaper shredding, the uneven wooden floors creaked at every step, and there was a leak in the ceiling in one of the corners. When he'd moved in, those details hadn't mattered. The bed's mattress had been new and there was even running water and a working stove top, conveniences Charles wasn't used to, ones he might even call luxury.

Inevitably, he recalled what Irene had said of his apartment. Bare. It was, as he'd found no need to put any personal touches on the room.

Charles threw himself back into work at the lumberyard. He was surprised to find Irish still employed, all of his vision of leaving Saint Denis behind for some scheme put on hold as his 'business partner' had been jailed for one reason or another. Since his plans hadn't come to fruition, Irish immediately started trying to recruit him instead. Charles ignored him day after day, but he was a stubborn bastard.

Grueling manual labor filled his days, but even with Irish's nattering, the lumberyard wasn't enough to keep Charles' mind preoccupied. He started seeking additional jobs, no matter if the pay was a pittance. He couldn't allow his mind free to roam. When it did, he had too many thoughts of regret and remorse of what could have been.

Sometimes, he walked down to the stables to continue his training with Falmouth, but this horse only served to remind him daily of her.

For months, he avoided the Belle Helene Café.

Instead, he began spending any spare time at Doyle's tavern. Gradually, his one whiskey after a long work day turned into two, and then more. Eventually, he sunk into a nightly ritual of drinking until he felt nothing. The days blended together so well, he wasn't sure if it was weeks or months that passed, only that he was stuck in the same numbing motions.

As much as he tried to stay away from the café, fate had other plans for him. One evening, when he was only a third of the way to oblivion at the tavern, someone he recognized called his name while he sat at the bar.

"Charles Smith!"

He turned on the bar stool to find the waitress Daisy marching up to him, nostrils flaring. She was dressed provocatively, and he could guess at the type of customers she served at this saloon.

"Hello, miss—"

The moment she reached him, Daisy smacked him in the shoulder none-to-gently. "You bastard!"

The hit didn't hurt, but it surprised him. He rubbed his arm and stared at her, asking, "What did I do?"

"What did you do? What did you do?" She repeated in agitation. "Where the hell is Irene?"

Hearing her name struck him like lightning, straightening his spine. He swallowed. "Irene?"

"Last time I saw you, you made it seem she was in trouble. Then you two disappear without a word. Best thing I could hope for is the two of you eloped. And now, months later, you've turned up without her." She glared, drawing closer as if to intimidate him. "You better not have hurt that sweet girl."

"I didn't," he told her firmly. "Irene left Saint Denis."

"What do you mean she left? Where?"

"I don't know."

She narrowed her eyes on him with suspicion. "Why should I believe you?"

"It's true." He couldn't keep some unhappiness from creeping up in his response. "She could be anywhere."

Daisy studied him for a long moment as if trying to determine his honesty with a look. "She left for good?"

Charles nodded, ignoring the pinch in his heart at having to confirm it out loud.

"Do you know how I can reach her?"

"She didn't give me that information."

Daisy eyed him again for awhile before she finally blew out a breath. "Well, shit."

Silence fell between them, growing awkward with every passing second. He didn't know what else to say. He could hardly tell her the truth, that her coworker was a princess on the run.

"Somehow," Daisy said, "I had a feeling she weren't staying here long. I just wish I would have known she was leaving."

"Me too," Charles replied, his stomach turning.

"If you hear from her, let me know."

Charles nodded tightly, but didn't meet her eyes. He thought she had moved on when she added bluntly, "And pull yourself together, Mr. Smith. You're lookin' like a dog rolled in shit."

Charles lifted his gaze, but Daisy had already walked away. He turned to stare at his reflection in the mirror behind the bartender. She wasn't wrong.

With his growing, unkempt beard, and the furrow of his brow, he was starting to resemble his father when he'd begun to drown in his own misery. After Charles' mother had been taken, his father had lost control of his will, of any interest in his son, and any semblance of sobriety. Ironically, these days Charles could understand with more clarity his father's desire to sink from the world.

The conversation with Daisy and the revelation of his nearly repeating familial history had left Charles feeling hollow. Irene's abandonment had gutted him more than he'd initially realized. But Daisy was right that he had to pull himself together, and Arthur had been right to warn him about not letting his hurt consume him. Charles did not want to follow in his father's footsteps.

After that night, Charles decided to cut out his visits to Doyle's tavern completely. Unfortunately, that left him to face the darkness of his thoughts sober.

He tried to move on, tried even to find another woman to replace the affections Irene had bloomed in him, but the idea didn't make it past a thought. It took time for him to grow comfortable around women and he didn't have the energy for it these days. Not to mention, he had no interest in putting his heart on the line again. In truth, he had no interest in anything.

For a city brimming with people, Charles had come to see Saint Denis as empty. When he walked the streets, he felt no connection with it or its people. As had been his entire life, he didn't fit in anywhere. Not his mother's tribe, not the Wapiti, and not with a woman who had him seeing a dream, if only half-conceived.

When he had been with Irene, she'd helped him cross the bridge from his loneliness, to a path of a fulfilled life. Now, he was back to square one.

The Van der Linde gang had been the first people to take him in as a friend, and treated him with respect. And he did have Arthur, but they weren't at the same milestones in their lives.

In spring, Charles received a letter from Arthur informing him of the birth of a second child, another daughter who they named Lila. Charles should have made plans to visit, but when he eventually wrote to Arthur of the intention, it was during a time when the family left on an extended trip to Chicago to visit Charlotte's family. Through it all, Charles felt as if he were getting left behind.

He used to be able to embrace his loneliness, but now that he'd had a taste of what could be, there was no going back. The gang had showed him he could thrive with friends of his own, and Irene had showed him love was possible. But now, he had neither. He knew he should leave Saint Denis to find something else, but he didn't know where to go next.

No.

Charles wouldn't lie to himself. He waited in Saint Denis for Irene. He wanted her to come back and he couldn't stand his own inaction in this situation. When it came to moving on, he tended to get stuck, and this time was no different. But the life he was living currently wasn't enough. Something was missing, and he needed a change.

One afternoon, in the middle of summer, Irish tagged alongside him for a few blocks after work. He'd lately started badgering Charles once again about the back alley fights. He claimed there was an opening, and the money would be easy.

Charles didn't bother to answer him as he crossed the street and left Irish behind.

"It'll be worth it to you," Irish called to his back, "I can promise you that, friend."

It's not worth your life.

Charles tried to block the memory of Irene's voice from his mind, to keep reminders of her at bay, but he failed, and that night he dreamt of her. Even asleep, her scent, her voice, and her touch were nearly tangible. The vision of her tormented his senses, rising in him a want that couldn't be satisfied.

When Charles awoke the next morning, he couldn't remember the specifics of the dream, only that Irene had been in his arms and he had been content.

When Charles had met Irene, he'd thought he was beginning to understand what had always eluded him for years, the means to obtain a life worth living. But, in the end, it had been taken away. To him, it was nothing more than proof he was born to hurt and suffer, a sentiment he'd been familiar with since he was thirteen. He was sick of it. He wanted control of his existence again. But if it was pain he was predestined to experience, he'd do it on his own terms.

Irene hadn't wanted him in those alley fights. She'd pleaded with him to not involve himself. But she wasn't here, and she didn't care.

So the next time Irish brought up the back alley brawls, Charles didn't see a reason to say no.