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What's in a name?	By : jinna1979 Category: Fairy Tales, Fables, Folklore, Legends, and Myth > Fairy Tales Views: 16599 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction,I do not own Rumpelstiltskin. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons,living or dead, is purely coincidental

Chapter List
- 26
- 27
- 28
It took nearly week to clear the palace of blood and bodies, and another week before there was any meaningful chain of command. The king’s advisors that had survived that bloody day had all banded together to try and gain a semblance of order. As for Rousset, he was, at the moment, the head of the chain of command. While a part of him might have wondered how he even came to be the leader of anything, the other, rational part of him knew that as the former king’s heir, this was his rightful place.

When he had first laid eyes on the carnage that was littered throughout the castle halls, he had turned green and immediately expelled the contents of his stomach. As a leader, this would have been a sign of weakness, but at the moment, there was still so much chaos that no one took heed. After all, Rousset wasn’t the only one who was sickened by the sight of blood and bodies scattered every which way.

He had only exited his workroom that day to examine the damage when a bloodied guard had come to retrieve him, informing him that the king was dead, and the action was over. Many may have took Rousset’s actions as cowardice - after all, he had essentially been holed up in his workroom while people were killing themselves left and right. Yet Rousset saw his actions as practical. The fighting had nothing to do with him, and he had no real sense of loyalty to his uncle. Moreover, the only weapon he had on hand was a dagger. It would have been the height of foolishness to go out in the fray, unarmoured and carrying only a dagger. His gift was his mind, not his swordsmanship.

Though the guard that fetched him informed him that there was no more fighting, Rousset had his doubts when he first laid his eyes upon the mayhem of bodies. Instinctively, the sight had made him want to run away - after he threw up of course. But the guard had looked at him expectantly, expression blank despite seeing the content of Rousset’s stomach on the floor. Rousset found himself wondering how the guard could tolerate the sickening metallic odor of blood and viscera mingled with the expelled contents of their bowels. It was the worst thing he had ever smelled - worse even than the time he had disguised himself to explore the outskirts of the city where the most impoverished citizens lived. There was blood enough that Rousset could easily imagine what the walls would look like red, instead of grey. He decided the grey was preferable.

Following the guard, he was led to a large room with a massive rectangular table in the middle. He immediately recognized it as the cabinet room, where the advisors and king gathered to discuss issues related to the kingdom. The room was thankfully largely free of blood. It seemed that the various soldiers found nothing of interest here. About seven or eight people were seated at the table - less than a third than there usually was. Most of them looked wide-eyed and frightened. Only the head of the guards seemed to have any semblance of calmness. In fact, his expression was disturbingly cold and contemptuous. He tilted his head as he acknowledged Rousset’s presence. If Rousset were the king, that head tilt should have been a deep bow. Not wanting to appear like a frightened rabbit in front of the arrogant guard, Rousset schooled his expression into one of calmness. He did not feel as though he were in control, but he was willing to pretend. Based on everything he had read, in situations of uncertainty and fear, it was best to act confident. That and he had to remember not to blabber.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked, a trifle loudly, but at least his voice did not waver and break.

  “Well, erm…. my Lord, the king has been killed, alongside many nobles,” said one of the frightened looking advisors. “Confirmed dead are Lord Dubois, Lord Mercier, Lord Dufour, Lord Renard, Lord Guillot, Lord Moulin and Lord Benoit. There are still many bodies left to be identified.” Rousset paled as he heard the news. A number of those nobles were some of the most influential, powerful men in the kingdom. Their deaths could possibly destabilize the power structure of the kingdom. However, a number of them already had heirs to continue their family name. Rousset nodded as he considered the information.

“How did this happen?” he asked. He was proud that his voice was still calm, and still commanding. He may have been pale, but he hoped he did not appear weak.

“I believe it was the gold, my lord,” another advisor spoke. “Apparently it turned back into straw. It seemed to drive the nobles into a frenzy, and they and their soldiers banded together against the king.” As the advisors spoke, Rousset noticed that guards were coming in and out of the room, whispering words to their chief.

  “Yes, I’m sure it was the gold,” said another advisor, who could not help the slight tremble in his voice. “There was… some looting… but no sight at all of any straw-like gold. Only ordinary straw.” Rousset considered this information. When he had first met Millicent, he had been surprised by her friendly, though rather overwhelming presence. However, she did not strike him as deceptive. In fact, she did not strike him as magical either. What could any of this mean?

  “And Millicent?” Rousset asked. There were a number of confused looks. Apparently, despite knowing that Millicent spun straw into gold, few knew her actual name. “The girl who spins straw into gold. Where is she?”

  “She was nowhere to be found, my lord,” said the advisor - this one had rather striking white hair, in that it seemed to float upwards around his head. “It’s possible she may have been killed. There are many, many bodies we cannot identify. Mayhap…” The advisor’s eyes widened as he considered an idea. “Mayhap the gold turned back into straw because she was killed!”

  “Interesting theory. But did you not say that the fighting broke out after the gold was turned back into straw? Why would one want to kill the girl considering her abilities?” Rousset’s mind was whirring as he spoke. How did all this information fit together?

  “Revenge?” A dark hair advisor, with a remarkably full beard suggested. “The king had many enemies. Killing the girl could have been a means to cripple his wealth.” Rousset nodded. The idea made a lot of sense. The king had many, many enemies, and not all of them were power or money hungry.

  “Was there any chance the girl could have run away?” Rousset asked, wanting to cover all possibilities. “Did anyone spot anything suspicious before all this happened?” The advisors looked at one another, as though hoping someone had answers. Rousset was looking steadily towards the head of the guards. If anyone knew anything, it would be him. The arrogant man seemed to size Rousset up with his eyes before he spoke.

  “The morning of the wedding, one of the guards was arrested and tortured by the king. The fool had left his post - guarding the queen’s chambers. His shift was the night before the wedding. On the day of the wedding, as you may recall, the girl was discovered to be missing, and a search was called. If she was in the palace that day, it would have been impossible for her to escape. Yet if she attempted to run away during the night, which would be the most reasonable assumption, then it is a possibility. An unlikely one. There were so many guests in the castle before the wedding that guards were all working double rounds. Unless she had the power to make herself disappear, she couldn’t have run away.”

  “As far as anyone knows, her only ability was turning straw into gold,” a grey haired advisor said. “I recall that when she first arrived, she was thrown into the dungeon. I saw it happen myself. If she could have disappeared, surely she would have at that time.” All the advisors seemed to nod and consider this tidbit of information.

  “So at this point, the most likely possibility was that she was killed in an act of revenge,” Rousset stated thoughtfully. He could not help but feel saddened by this notion. Millicent had been Carine’s friend, and she did not deserve to die due to being caught between the king and his enemies. It was strange to think that such a vibrant girl would never smile again. When he saw Carine again, he would have to tell her and console her. Wait - did he just think ‘when?’ More like ‘if.’ He had to get Carine out of his mind. Now was not the time to become mopey about her absence.

The advisors all seemed to be in agreement. The idea was appealing in that it so neatly wrapped things up. But there was still other business to attend to.

  “What of the servants? Are most of them still alive or did they get killed in the fray?” Rousset asked.

  “Many of them were imprisoned by the king when they failed to find the girl, so a good number of them are still alive,” the wispy white haired advisor said. Rousset nodded.

  “Free them and have them clean the castle. The bodies that have been identified can be sent to their families for burial. The ones that are unidentified should be put in the bailey until they can be identified. Those that cannot be identified should be sent outside the city to be buried. Dead bodies can bring infestations and plagues. We must deal with this problem immediately.” Rousset was proud of the calm command in his voice. It seemed that he could do this after all. The advisors all seemed relieved to have someone in control, and the head of guards spoke to his officers to ensure that orders were carried out.

  “Is there anything else that anyone would like to mention?” Rousset asked, meeting the eyes of all the advisors. None of them spoke. “Then we shall reconvene tomorrow. By then, we should know more.”

Though it may have seemed that Rousset was immediately in control after the bloodbath that wiped out the king and many of the nobles, this was not the case. There were still a few powerful nobles that lived, and they too were attempting to gain command of the situation. There was too much chaos immediately following the battle, and communication was difficult. The powerful nobles had an air of power, and since the whole castle knew the king was dead, people were desperate for someone to listen to, who could tell them what to do. These nobles were busy trying to take inventory of the situation. One of the concerns that was foremost on everyone’s minds was who was alive, and who was dead.

Of the powerful nobles that still lived, there was Lord Armand, Lord Derrien and Lord Dupond. Lord Armand and Lord Derrien had been political rivals and long-time enemies. They often had conflicting goals, and rarely ever saw eye to eye. As for Lord Dupond, he had been loyal to the king. Lord Armand and Lord Derrien were both highly ambitious. Given the chance, either would have attempted to seize the throne - no matter that the treasury was empty, and the the city in chaos - power was more important. Lord Armand had been very rich, and had loaned a great deal of gold to the king. As such, he had not gotten his money’s worth when his gold was returned as straw. However, loaning all that gold had paid off in another way. Afterall, that very king was now dead, and moments of chaos were the perfect time to act and seize control. Lord Derrien had not loaned gold to the king - rather, his method had been to do favours, some of which were extremely unsavoury. It never hurt to have the power to potentially blackmail the king, not that he would necessarily stoop to such levels, unless it was extremely advantageous to do so. Sadly, there was no way the king could pay him back directly, but indirectly, the king’s death was a satisfactory way to have a favour returned. After all, that made it so much easier to make his way to the top.

As such, for Lord Armand and Lord Derrien, finding out who was alive and who was dead was of the utmost concern. They needed to know whether this new political landscape was populated with allies or with enemies. Lord Dupond and the same concerns for another reason. He was an older noble, with a personality that many would have sneeringly described as boring, but in fact, he was responsible, and not particularly power hungry. Many resented him - afterall, he was a powerful man - but his methods of gaining power had not been through intrigue. Rather, he was forthright and trustworthy. He cared more about his own demesne than he cared about attempting to seize anyone elses. Yet somehow, his good acts meant that he was often rewarded with more and more land. Certainly, there were many who did not like Lord Dupond, but there were many more who respected and looked up to him. After the carnage at the castle, he had gained a measure of power not because he craved influence over others, but because he it seemed like the best way to give the people a sense of order and safety. For Lord Dupond, knowing who was alive and who was dead was important because he needed to know the way the winds would blow - information in times of chaos was the best way to protect his own estates.

Rousset was not aware of the actions of Lord Armand, Lord Derrien or Lord Dupond until a few days had passed. His second meeting with the advisors had not been particularly fruitful. All the servants were working as quickly as possible to sort through the bodies, and identify personages. Though the advisors should have been more diligent in seeking out information, they spent more effort sorting out their own issues, and trying in small ways to grasp a bit more power, now that over two thirds of the advisory body was dead. Rousset would not have been surprised - human nature was human nature and those near the top tended to be those who looked out for themselves. As for the head of guard, though he was ordinarily as sharp-eyed as a hawk, and keen to pick out anything of suspicion, he was too preoccupied with trying to account for all the guards as well as maintaining some degree of security. There was still far too many soldiers whose allegiance was ambiguous for him to be comfortable. Mentally, he wished that all the nobles and their cursed guards had been slain on that fateful day. It would have been so much easier. But there were no thoughts in his mind about slacking off. Curiously, he felt inclined to obey the heir’s commands. Something in that boy’s steady eyes brooked no argument.

The third meeting of the cabinet brought wind of the suspicion that more than one noble was attempting to solidify a base of power in the castle. Several names were thrown around - mostly those of the nobles that were still unaccounted for - however, the head of guards was able to confirm that Lord Dupond was one of them. Rousset wanted Lord Dupond summoned immediately. However, he was also aware that while he may have been the heir to the king, it did not mean the nobles would acknowledge him as such. He would not officially be king until the coronation, and while it may have been tempting to have the coronation immediately to cement his status, it would also put him in a great deal of danger. It would mean that his subjects were more focused on an event that was largely a formality, rather than focusing on gaining stability and information. On the other hand, a coronation could quickly weed out who was loyal to him, and who was not.

Rousset decided to take the risk, and ordered Lord Dupond to the cabinet. This would be an early test of sorts, to see how willing the nobles were to listen to the heir of the king. Rousset was in a state of nervous suspense for most of the day, wondering what the outcome of his summons would be. Remarkably, he managed to hide all his fears, and his advisors were coming to respect the gangly young man for his steady air of assurance. They never would have imagined that the quiet youth that previously stayed holed up in his room could possibly be so confident and - dare they say it - commanding. It helped Rousset that he did not ever truly feel at ease around them. It put him on his guard, which meant that his tendency to blabber on was suppressed.

Fortunately, the missive sent to Lord Dupond had been received, and the noble decided to pay the young heir a visit. He was aware that this could be construed as an act of allegiance, and he was wary about leaping past the portcullis too soon, as the saying went. He did not want to take sides when there was yet so little information, but he was also aware that taking measure of the young man would provide some light to chase away the shadows of his ignorance. Naturally, he had heard that the young heir was taking his advisors in hand, and interestingly, even the arrogant head of guards seemed to obey his commands. Lord Dupond had always been proud of his ability to take stock of someone’s character, and he would put his ability to good use when he met the young heir. He was aware that he had met the heir when he was but a lad, but the heir had left a scant impression.

There was a knock on the cabinet room door, and despite his anxiety, Rousset did not flinch. His palms may have been sweating, and his stomach in a knot, but he sat at the head of the table, tall and firm, and ordered the doors open.

  “Lord Dupond,” the advisor who had opened the door called out, announcing the man’s arrival. The noble was broad and tall, with dark hair streaked with silver. He was flanked by two guards. Ordinarily, a noble visiting the king would never bring armed soldiers into his presence - this then was a silent statement: Lord Dupond did not acknowledge the heir as king, but by obeying the summons, he was showing a willingness to consider his position, and to take measure of the heir.

  “Take a seat,” Rousset called out from the table gesturing with his arm, and his voice once again sounded a bit too loud to his ears. Rousset did not stand when the noble arrived - that would have meant giving the noble too much deference. Lord Dupond’s expression did not change, but he inclined his head in acknowledgement, and took a seat to the boy’s left, his guards moving to stand a respectful distance away at the wall. Already, he found himself interested in the boy. His posture said much. The heir’s sat fairly straight in his chair, but not so straight as to convey a rigid fear or anxiety. Neither was he so relaxed as to seem disrespectful or insolent. It was true that he was rather gangly, and upon first glance, he did not have an imposing presence, but his voice was as steady as his eyes. It was interesting to see a boy of his age who did not flinch or look away in the face of direct eye-contact. Those eyes seemed to say ‘I am not afraid of you.’ No, it was more than that, they seemed to say ‘I have no reason to even fear you.’ How interesting.

  “I am sure you are well aware that my uncle is dead,” Rousset said. It was important to establish the grounds of their discussion, and share - as much as possible - what each party knew.

  “Indeed, my lord. Many have been killed.” Lord Dupond decided it would be best to be non-committal. There was no reason to give away more than necessary.

  “We have identified eleven lords that have been killed.” Rousset noticed that Dupond had used an honorary. It seemed the man was playing it safe by being respectful.

“Eleven!” Lord Dupond exclaimed. Rousset found his response interesting. Apparently Dupond did not even know this much. There was no reason yet to be revealing the names of the dead.

  “Yes, quite regretful. We have already identified most of the bodies, but there are some that are beyond recognition. But perhaps more interesting than who is dead is who is alive.” Of course, Rousset knew this was the question on everyone’s mind. He found himself suddenly grateful that one of his intellectual interests was learning about all the noble houses, and their political positions. It was unfortunate that he had not involved himself firsthand - knowing someone on paper was different than knowing them face to face. He was aware, of course, that Dupond had been loyal to his uncle. He was also aware of Dupond’s reputation of playing safe. Nonetheless, seeing the man in person was quite fascinating. Instead of reading someone else’s perspective, he could gain his own.

As for Lord Dupond, he was considering the heir thoughtfully. There was no questioning the intelligence in the boy’s eyes. Curiously, Lord Dupond could imagine himself being willing to kneel down and acknowledging the heir as the rightful king. He had immediately noted that the advisors did indeed defer to him, and though the head of guards looked as arrogant as ever, the man kept his post with rigid discipline. It said a great deal that that particular dog seemed well leashed. He knew the head of guard’s character well enough to know that the man would listen to no weakling.

Time to take a risk then, and reveal something he knew. “My Lord, I am certain of one noble who is alive, but there are whispers of more. It is said that Lord Derrien is consolidating his power.”

As are you, Dupond, Rousset thought, though he did not say it out loud. Though he was not yet king, such open discussions could easily cross the line into treason. However, it was interesting to note that Derrien was alive. The man had a dark reputation, and his uncle had always seemed wary of him. It seemed that Derrien knew things about the king, that the king did not want revealed. Moreover, unlike Dupond, Derrien was most certainly ambitious. It seemed there was a little termite trying to undermine the integrity of his power structure. He had to make sure the termite stayed small and weak then. His intelligent mind was already excited by the prospect of the challenge.

Lord Dupond watched the heir carefully. He knew he was good at reading people, and it was unnerving to discover that he could not tell whether his piece of information was one that Rousset was aware of, or if Rousset had been ignorant. Yet, the unreadability of the heir only increased Lord Dupond’s estimation of him. The previous king had kept rule using fear, but this boy - well, this boy had wits.

It was fortunate for Rousset that the power structure was a patriarchy. If Dupond had ever witnessed his stuttering, red-faced interactions with women, he would have gained an entirely different impression of Rousset. As it was, Rousset had earned Lord Duponds respect.

“Derrien’s enemy is Armand,” Rousset said thoughtfully. Armand was definitely not among the confirmed dead. However, he could have been among one of the unidentified dead. Rousset had mentioned his name hoping to get a reaction out of Dupond, but Dupond seemed ignorant in the matter. If anything, Dupond was looking at him expectantly, as though he believed Rousset had information.

If indeed Armand was alive, it would be an immense advantage to Rousset’s position. He could play off the rivalry between Armand and Derrien, and neither was likely to gain an upperhand, unless one party had taken more damages in the fighting than the other had. It was of utmost importance then, to discover Armand’s whereabouts.

In the meantime, Rousset needed to discover where on the map Dupond’s loyalties lay, before dismissing him. “The information you have provided has put you in good stead,” he said, taking a commanding position which was becoming increasingly automatic. “My coronation will be planned for less than a fortnight hence. You will be there.” In truth, the last statement was meant as a question, but stating it as a question would be a weakness. He needed to gauge Dupond’s response for an answer.

Lord Dupond decided it was time to take his chances, and throw in his chips. He would gamble on this young boy. “Yes, my lord.” He stood, and his bow was deferential. When he met Rousset’s eyes, his expression seemed to say ‘don’t fail me.’ For Rousset, it was good enough.

When Dupond finally left, Rousset wanted to melt into his chair, but with all his advisors watching, there was no chance to relax. He did not know how he was even doing this. Where had this side of his personality come from? He certainly did not feel like himself. Rather, he felt as though he was trying to channel the kings of old - to pretend to be them, and to do what they do. It seemed to be working out rather well, but he missed his relaxed and easy conversations with Carine, where he did not have to guard every single word that dropped from his mouth. Would this ever end?

With the head of guard’s troops becoming increasingly organized, gathering information was getting easier. In the following days, it was discovered, to Rousset’s relief, that Armand was indeed alive. He was not certain whether Armand and Derrien knew of each other’s activities, but it was important to speak to both of them, and moreover, to speak to them together. Doing so would mean they would be so on guard in the presence of their enemy that they would pay less heed to Rousset. It would be a good opportunity to watch them.

As days passed, chaos became order. By the time Armand and Derrien were summoned, they were increasingly aware of Rousset’s position in the castle. In the previous days, Rousset had summoned many of the lesser nobles, and his confidence and commanding actions had gained him their fealty. The stray soldiers whose lords had been killed were either sent back to their lands to follow their lords’ heirs, or they were drafted into the king’s guard. The bodies had been cleared away, and most of the blood had been scrubbed and scrubbed again until the walls were once again grey. Unfortunately, many tapestries were too bloodstained to be salvaged, and Rousset decided to have them thrown out, rather than to have to stare at the brownish splatters that covered them.

The atmosphere in the castle had also changed. Initially, the imprisoned servants were deeply grateful to Rousset for freeing them, but when they realized what they would be tasked with, that gratitude turned into dismay. Sorting bodies and cleaning bloodstains was not what any of them had imagined they would ever have to do. However, Rousset was always respectful, although distant, and the servants gradually lost their fear. Nonetheless, something about Rousset inspired them to obey - perhaps it was just the sight of him, constantly wandering the halls with the head of guards, diligently working, or perhaps it was that look in his eyes - strange for one so young - that commanded obedience. Whatever it was, the servants liked him, and took to calling him ‘your majesty’ rather than ‘my lord.’ This had not gone unnoticed by the nobles, and though it was unspoken, it meant that in their minds, they too thought of him as ‘your majesty.’

Thus, when Armand and Derrien were summoned, they knew they were at a disadvantage, and yet, they still nursed the hope in the breast of gaining more power. Their ambition blinded them, but they were also blinded by the desire to tear out each others throats when they finally met the heir in the cabinet room.

The exchange was interesting - for Rousset at least. He could tell immediately that both nobles hardly acknowledged him. They were far too wary of each other. Of course, he did not hesitate to fan the flames between them. If they were so foolish as to wear their emotions so openly, then it only made sense to take advantage. On some level, Rousset found himself wonder where such thoughts had come from. Was this what it meant to be king?

Lord Armand’s and Lord Derrien’s enmity turned out to be their downfall. So desperate were they to ensure that the other did not gain more power, that both ended up giving their allegiance to Rousset. Both of them had only taken a cursory examination of him - all they saw was a gangly teenager. In their minds, they thought, ‘better a young lad I can manipulate behind the scenes, than my enemy on the throne.’ Rousset knew he would have to treat both of them with care. Fortunately, he had the fealty of the majority of nobles. There were a few nobles who opposed him, but they had long fled, to nurse their wounds in their homeland. They would have to be dealt with later. In the meantime, Rousset had a coronation to plan.

Carine eventually found a lovely little house that was a small ways outside of town. It was a bit run down, and stood between the town and the forest. There was a small vegetable patch in the front that was getting overrun with weeds, but Carine looked forward to the challenge of tackling it. The house had only one large room and an upper loft that could be reached with a ladder. Carine and Olivie slept downstairs, where they could be close to the fire, while Millicent took the loft. In the first few weeks, the group had been preoccupied with cleaning and fixing up the little house. It was fortunate for all of them that they did not fear spiders or other scurrying little creatures. The mice were more of a problem, but Carine, who did most of the shopping in town, was given an orange kitten by a friendly chandler. Millicent was still too deep in her grief to have the spirit to visit town. She was willing to spend her energy fixing the house, but felt no inclination to socialize. It was rather disturbing to see her brooding, or to be aware of her swollen eyes, which marked the silent tears that she cried. However, she generously left her wooden chest open, and gave Carine leave to take as much as she needed.

Though Olivie was initially too frightened to visit town with her sister, she struggled with the oppressive misery of Millicent and eventually worked up the courage to go to town with Carine. As for Carine, she had been surprised by the friendliness of the townsfolk, and their friendliness in turn resulted in her being warm and open with them. She had explained that the father of her unborn child had died - to her, it was a lie, but if only she had known that she was telling the truth. The townsfolk seemed to accept her explanation. Carine took particular interest in the tradesmen, and they understood the unspoken message of her attentions - she was looking to apprentice herself. Taking an apprentice was always a risk - it was a long term investment to teach someone a trade, and the investment did not always pay off. Fortunately, Carine was in no hurry to find work. She was willing to do odd jobs for people around town to get a sense of what she would enjoy. Eventually, she decided to apprentice herself to the chandler, in part because the job interested her, and also because she happened to like the master chandler, who seemed to have a particularly empathic nature.

Whilst in town, Olivie had managed to meet a girl her own age. Olivie was initially extremely cautious and hesitant about the other children. But the girl stood out because while all the other townsfolk were oblivious to the balls of light that followed her, the girl could see them. As Olivie came to know more and more of the townsfolk, it was extremely startling to discover that there were people, other than Olivie, Millicent and the magical man who were actually nice. A part of her wondered whether it was all a ruse, but the kindness of the townsfolk did not falter, and slowly, she learned to trust. She still felt immensely sad that the magical man was gone - perhaps not as sad as Millicent, but more sad than when her mother had kicked her dog, and it ran away. She wished he would come back. It troubled her that Blossom and Petal had faded, but she was glad they were still ‘alive.’ She had tried speaking her feelings to her sister, but Carine seemed to brush her off whenever she brought up the magical man. Millicent was almost completely unapproachable. Fortunately, Olivie had met Eloise, who was properly sympathetic, and moreover, she could tell that Eloise envied Olivie for having Blossom and Petal, which made Olivie feel extra special. Eloise especially liked to pet Petal and listen to Petal’s purring, but no matter how much attention Eloise gave to Petal, Petal always followed Olivie home.

With Carine and Olivie spending more and more time in town, Millicent found herself increasingly alone. However, the aloneness seemed to suit her. She could sense Carine’s impatience with her sadness - Carine seemed to think that the ache in Millicent’s heart should have long healed, even if, on the surface, Carine always treated her with kindness. Olivie was too timid to approach her. Millicent was thankful that there was so much that needed to be done at the house. It kept her mind and body occupied, and temporarily numbed the pain in her heart. Besides, she wasn’t actually entirely alone - she had Mr. Buffles, the orange kitten to keep her company. The kitten seemed to have taken a liking to her, and slept with her in the loft every night. Sometimes, she felt that the sound of its purring was the only reason she was able to close her eyes and sleep.

Whenever she wasn’t occupied, Millicent was thinking about the magical man. This did not strike her as being particularly strange - after all, he was her friend and he had recently left her - presumably forever. Why wouldn’t he constantly be on her mind? It wasn’t until Carine happened to idly bring up her long ago fey lover, that Millicent realized she had not thought about him at all. The idea had stunned her - she remembered a time when the pain was more vivid, and she could not imagine forgetting him for a moment. Yet that was exactly what had happened - he had completely slipped her mind. She wasn’t really sure what to do with this bit of information. Perhaps there was nothing that could be done. Perhaps she could only resign herself to the loss, as hopelessly miserable as that sounded. It wasn’t like her, to give up. Millicent felt as though she hardly recognized herself, most days.

Over three weeks had passed before the small house was sufficiently fixed up that Millicent found herself with a surplus of free time. Working on the house had been rewarding. She felt as though she had accomplished something tangible. She even had some new callouses to show for it. Yet now, more than ever, she was stuck with her thoughts. Where is he now? What might he be doing? Does he spin straw into gold on his free time? Is he alone, or has he met someone else? Does he think of me? Naturally, such thoughts brought her no solace. She began wandering the woods again, as she did in her youth. This portion of the forest was further north than where she had grown up, but the she recognized the types of tree, shrubs, and flowers. She decided she would make it her mission to find a pretty little pond, like the one in her childhood. After all, Olivie still hated taking baths, and Millicent had promised to show her a sparkling pond to change her mind. In the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt to collect some herbs, that she could dry and eventually sell.

In a strange way, she felt like she was back where she had begun, except older and sadder. Her innocence was long gone, broken by the cruelty of the outside world. But losing her dear, dear friend hurt far more than losing her innocence. It was like a strange sort of deja vu, to be wandering the woods, looking for someone, but not finding them. Only this time around, she had gotten a goodbye message, telling her that even if she searched, she would not be able to find him. Still, in a small way, the woods soothed her spirit, and provided a balm for her broken heart. Oftentimes, she would simply sit at the base of a tree, and listen to the birds sing, while watching the leaves tremble in the wind.

Carine had once asked her where she went, and to be polite, Millicent had invited Carine and Olivie out with her. At first, the woods seemed to interest them - they grew up on the outskirts of the city, and a forest was like a completely different world. But then, Millicent would just sit at the base of a tree, and seemingly do nothing. The novelty wore off quickly for the sisters, though Olivie seemed to be able to amuse herself, chasing Blossom and Petal through the thicket. After that, they mostly left her alone to wander as she wished. Sometimes she would return back at the house with a bundle of herbs, sometimes some wild fruit. Other times, she came back with nothing but a thoughtful, distant expression on her face.

As for Carine, her pregnancy was progressing rapidly towards its late stages, and although she had started her apprenticeship, she was often tired and worn out.

“It will be a relief when this wee thing is out of me,” she complained often. She also frequently mentioned her swollen feet, and aching back. Millicent expressed concerns about whether or not Carine should be having more bedrest.

  “After all, it looks like it will come any day now,” she said, glancing at Carine’s enormous belly. “Wouldn’t it be better to be in bed for that?”

  “That’s the way of noble ladies, who can afford to lay about for a month. My mother was working until the day that all of us were born.”

  “Just because your mother did it, it doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.” Millicent replied, skeptically. “I’m sure you can take some time off of your apprenticeship, and start again after the babe is born.”

  “Well, the master Chandler said the same thing, actually.” Carine seemed rather sheepish to be admitting this. “But it feels good to learn the trade. If I had to lie in bed, I’d go mad! There’s nothing to do. When we moved here, we purchased all our clothes new, so there is nothing to mend.”

  “You don’t have to mend anything. Couldn’t you just… well….rest?”

  “Do I look as though I need rest?” Carine’s expression was so stubborn that Millicent burst out laughing.

  “Based on your snappy replies, I suppose you seem as though you have plenty of energy yet. But honestly, Carine, you do look exhausted.” Carine sighed.

  “I appreciate your concern, miss Millicent, but I’ll be alright. If you have a problem, just address it to the wee babe that refuses to leave my belly.” Millicent laughed again, but let Carine have her way.

A/N: If you've made it this far, please review! :) I hope Rousset's side of the story isn't too boring. I got a little carried away
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