Into the Woods

There was little more consideration spared for Liza once Bella's eyes left her and the sounds of her footsteps faded down the corridor. Whatever befell the silver-haired vampire now, if anything did, was only the consequences of her treasonous actions. Some part of the maiden felt that the prince's fury was justified and that even she herself ought to be angry; Liza poisoned them both. Still her rational faculty told her that it was better for everyone to just let Liza go, that there must have been a reason for doing so whatever it may be. Surely, if she had meant to harm the prince or Bella, Liza would have done so already. It wasn't like she didn't have plenty of opportunity. Then nothing could warrant physically harming the prince in such a manner as the redhead witnessed, whether there was more to the story or not. Her heart still wanted to believe in the dashing young woman, but found it difficult. Once her attention was focused on Jaron, she noticed nothing else.

"I-" Despite that the prince bit back the sounds of his agony, Bella could still hear his bellowing from moments ago echoing in her ears. Her hand recoiled from his shoulder, hovering frozen in the air, with the convincing horror that she had struck him regardless of the fact that she barely touched him at all. As such, her first instinct was to apologize, and her mouth hung agape though only the one trembling syllable escaped. Henry's voice drew her panicked gaze, causing alarm to tingle like the pricking of thousands of needles over her skin. Of course, anyone with a basic understanding of fighting could understand that it was not she who had injured the prince. For all the wood cutting and axe swinging she had done, Bella wasn't strong enough on her own to pose any real opposition if the two ever got it in their minds to engage in a physical altercation. To say the least, her panic was irrational and there was no need of her acting like a child caught in the act of wrongdoing.

His large hand on her wrist caused her to flinch; however that split-second of dread subsided as he instructed her on what to do. It invoked a sense of duty, enabling Bella to remember why she charged out into the corridor in the first place, to help Jaron. She was on her knees, hands placed on his shoulder one on top of the other, applying her weight judiciously to keep his shoulder steady. The grinding of his bones sliding back into their proper place sent shivers down her spine and was honestly mildly sickening for someone who had never heard it before. Bella exhaled her own sigh of relief, sitting back on her heels as the prince stood. If only for a moment, she was back in that grand dream study, with a young Jaron offering her his hand.

The redhead stood in shocked silence in the young man's embrace. He was cool to the touch, even through the few layers of fabric they wore, something she hadn't noticed granted their physical contact was limited. It was like the first kiss of approaching winter, when the grass was crunchy underfoot with frost. Even so, she wasn't cold; on the contrary, her body was flushed with warmth. Her arms wrapped around him, eyes half-lidded with blissful catharsis. The feeling was the same as it had been in the dream, embracing him as the darkness was replaced by light. It was safe; it was home. It was everything she didn't know she wanted.

"I'm just glad you're okay." When finally they separated, Bella's hands lingered cursorily on Jaron's shoulders. She pulled them away with a faint pink tint on her cheeks and smiled. Her gaze slid away from him, stole back to his face. She reached up, timidly plucking a gray feather from his hair.
 
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If only for a moment, in one fell swoop, Bella's warmth dispelled the harrowing tension of which seemed to build in a handful of hours, yet had accumulated over the course of the past five days, within Jaron. His shock subsided and despite having returned to the woeful abode that was Inverness, it must have felt more like taking that first step into a delightful new home for the first time. Even Jaron's arm, which burned quite like it were being stung by a horde of bees, couldn't bother him even slightly; surely with Bella, he was invincible. His hands slipped down the back of her arms as she stepped back. He felt obliged to cup her elbows in his palms so long as her hands remained on his frame, as if she were testing him to see who would let go of whom first. He wouldn't dare to greet her eyes with his now, he couldn't bear it, not with her hands on him.

Only when she finally pulled them away did he pull his and look at her directly, albeit the knot in his chest did tighten and he braced himself as she reached for his head, relaxing as his brows furrowed and he followed the feather between her dainty fingers with puzzled eyes. "A feather?" Jaron asked, truly aloof where it came from. Somehow he missed the few hackles clinging to Bella's head and only needed to inspect the area for a second to realize they were riddled all over the floor. There were more than a few to choose from Bella's person, Jaron settled on the one clinging to her nightgown, just above her belly where it hung closer to her right arm. He plucked it off from there without so much as laying a finger on her and brought it towards his face for further inspection, studying its fleecy texture intently.

"This belonged to a goose?"
The Prince thought out loud, posing the question quite seriously, albeit not directed towards Bella. Yet, as he fixed his serious gaze on her eyes, they somehow relayed an answer; not one he asked for, but one he needed, that being just how ridiculous of a concept it was for such a question to conjure itself, all the more out loud and in someone else's presence. Bella had caught the prince with his guard down, that alone being no shy feat and the fact made itself apparent by curling his lips up into a smile, one that remarkably gave way to a reserved chuckle before Jaron let loose an unabashed and hardy laughter as he gave all the surrounding feathers another once over.

Henry watched in disbelief as Jaron embraced Bella but was quick to avert his eyes and make himself scarce out of respect. Stepping aside, he stood up straight in the typical uniform manner expected, albeit with clenched fists and turning his head slightly to gaze down the corridor in search of nothing. He only wanted to give Jaron and Bella as much privacy as he could whilst remaining at their side, ready to serve them in earnest, even successfully willing himself not to eavesdrop on the intimate words they shared with one another. However, the sound of Jaron's laughter was undeniable and even caused Henry to loosen up and unclench his fists, as if seeing the young man standing on his own wasn't already a miracle in itself, to hear him laughing was a spectacle in its own right. He secretly felt the sight of the star crossed pair embracing one another in good health was all Liza's doing, that she was to thank for it. Could he have peered into their dream himself and witnessed firsthand what transpired therein, he might have given Bella more credit.

"How do you feel?" Jaron asked curiously, he was nearly beaming directly at Bella's irises. It was a drab question but was all he could think to ask her now that they were settled back into themselves, their real selves. "Your highness," Henry intervened, finally turning to face the pair, "Perhaps Bella would like to get dressed first? You could catch up after breakfast." As good it was to see them, Henry was beginning to feel like a fly on the wall. Maybe the captain was speaking out of place, but it was more so in their best interest. Bella could hardly speak clearly earlier and the remedy he insisted she sipped to the dregs would take time to rejuvenate her body and jog her memory. Besides, if what Liza said was true, they had the rest of their lives now to catch up.

"Huh? Oh - right." Jaron stammered, put off by Henry's intrusion. Obviously the Captain meant well, however Jaron couldn't help but feel like the man had spoiled everything. The Prince tore his gaze from Henry's disfigured face, albeit he was now impelled not to look at Bella and it made his left eye twitch and his bottom lip quiver, he seemed quite disconcerted suddenly, being made as if he should avert his eyes away from Bella. She was all he wanted to see; she was fresh, she made the place glow. Henry was wrong, she would be with him no matter what, she said so herself and yet, it was such a sudden claim with no terms laid out for semantics, granted she hadn't the chance to make any clear. No, there were no terms. She said what she said and in all his misery, Jaron believed her.

The thoughts fell on Jaron like a ton of bricks, he grew visibly weary and only wanted to hold Bella in his arms again, it was a frustrating thing not to. Instead, the prince turned and made his way in the opposite direction, down the corridor whence Liza came, roughly brushing off any straggling feathers from his person.
 
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A bright, clear laugh erupted from Bella's chest comparable to the ring of a crystal glass tapped to announce a toast. It started as a giggle, bubbling up only to be muffled by her lips which she pursed to hold it in, prompted by the prince's question. The whole situation seemed ridiculous somehow, like it was straight out of a comedy or even a dream. Her amusement was clear in that brief moment of eye contact, try as she might to save face. She might have been able to if the prince hadn't smiled, much less started laughing; but once his laughter started, she could no longer suppress her own. There wasn't time for her to be surprised that the prince's composed façade cracked or for her to consider that it was her doing. The corridor was filled with the sound until the pervasive silence that loomed over the castle and all its gloomy opulence couldn't stifle it.

It was impossible to recall a time when Bella had laughed so hard that her stomach ached; then again, the ache she felt could arguably be attributed to hunger. As she met Jaron's gaze, it felt simultaneously like a weight had been lifted and like it was all a dream. Her copper brows furrowed as she contemplated how to answer his question, to articulate the ambiguous feeling to him; however, Henry interrupted her already jumbled train of thought, his words a taw thrown into a circle of marbles, scattering them. Bella's face fell, a soft barely-audible breath escaping her lips. Her eyes found a spot on the floor to stare at while her cheeks reddened at the first thought spared for the fact that she was in only a nightgown in front of His Highness. She dared not look at him again until his back was turned and he stalked back down the corridor in his usual doleful way.

A few minutes passed that the redhead lingered there, distant eyes locked on the corner after Jaron cleared it. Her arms crossed over her chest, hands grazing where his had touched. The light, dreamy sensation that characterized their interaction was gone, replaced by that familiar unnatural tranquility. Finally, she sauntered back to the bedroom, a few feathers wafting off of her hair and shoulders. The subsequent bath and splendid breakfast did little to lift her spirits. While Bella made a point to smile and engage as always to the best of her ability, she couldn't shake the anxiety that fluttered in her stomach. It was the sense that she wouldn't see Jaron again for some time, like in the days after she made her promise. He hid himself away for two weeks. What if he did so again or for longer? Bella was sure she wouldn't survive that long without answers to the dream.

The day was largely spent in the company of the children, around their studies of course. During that time Bella, visited the horses in search of solace. Nothing she tried could provide her with any ease, especially not as the details of the dream became clearer. She couldn't help but linger on the dance they shared, on the song that jingled like bells in the air around them. Since the day's game of charades was forgone due to exigent circumstances, they played chess instead. Bella could hardly focus on the game for worrying, or on anything else for that matter. All day, she resisted the urge to ask after the prince, only daring to inquire to Henry once before dinner. She supposed Jaron wasn't likely to come down, not that she would see him anyway, eating in the kitchen; although, it might have been some comfort to know he hadn't disappeared completely.

After dinner, the copper-haired maiden sat at the kitchen table, head in one hand while the other tapped the thick wooden slab like piano keys. Perhaps she could find relief if she could just get the song out of her head? She stood, looked round at everyone, and with a sheepish shrug offered, "How about some music?" Not even Bella herself could have said what possessed her to invite the others along to the den to listen to her playing now, granted she never had before. It was arguably due to life in the city, but she didn't particularly care to have an audience when she played. If they wanted to stop in and listen, that was fine; purposefully inviting them to was something else entirely. It was like being made to attend or be the guest of honor at a party. This time was different in a way she couldn't describe.

"I don't have a name for this song. It.. came from a dream." Bella explained, adjusting the skirt of her dress as she sat in front of the grand instrument. She placed her fingers on the keys, drew her hands back, and replaced them on different keys. The first few measures were tentative, transitioning into a soft slow
song. If only for its duration, that dreamy feeling returned.
 
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What the escritoire lacked in its size and opulence compared to the grand desk in Jaron's study, it made up for with the utility it possessed having not yet been demolished by the prince, magnified tenfold by the prince's compulsive urge to write, he felt. As expected the escritoire's craftsmanship was exquisite still, characterized by the delicate grooves of the edges, ornamental carvings spiraling up its legs and the matching fauteuil with upholstery so soft it could keep its occupant comfortable for hours on end. Despite having the rare distinctive quality of not being laced in gold, perhaps a trait of all the furniture within Inverness's so called cloud annex holding therein the highest floors of the castle, the escritoire spared no luxury. Sitting there, it was the first time Jaron could remember setting ink to paper outside of the exalted study he reduced to debris and rubbish. He had yet to step foot inside since Bella fainted after a severe reaction to an aggressive magic.

Jaron could not bring the fragmented pieces of his desk, chairs and cabinets to mind without subsequently thinking of Bella, usually followed by ruminations of the petty exchange they shared precedent of the maiden departing with no intentions of arduously hauling Farren into the accursed woods again. Already it felt like a lifetime lingered between that day and the present afternoon. How fortunate, the prince felt all of a sudden, that she would not only return but stay, as long as it would take at that. Surely until her skin dried up and her bones withered to dust, it seemed she would remain. With cause to rejoice, Jaron found himself pulled to the escritoire with ink and quill pen at the ready, near the castles peak, as if he could not help to ascend as close to the heavens as his body would let him, albeit surely Bella's embrace had already elevated his soul into the realm of clouds where wind, heat and water dictated the sky.

In his blooming disposition, the words wrote themselves upon the paper as if governed by their own will, reducing the prince to a medium.


Thy endless daze of endless days and all the ways to take them
In stride, they loop, another loop on the other side
I circled through them one hundred thousand times
I've written down everything, things I would tell nobody
Things I won't admit stay trapped in my mind as I sleep on my back
My body waking up before me, I was eager then
For nothing to end, in hopes that phantom eyes
would not find me again, such a bother these ghosts
Just mirrors that reflect
myself, an idea
waiting for everything to begin
Already dead by the time we met
Thy endless daze of endless days
Found song and grace drenched, the rainwater
could not smother her flames, how eyes could burn like the sun
in such dread, I wonder. Let nothing set her blaze asunder
from this place, my home, bathed in new radiant colors
I must have walked through it alive for the first time; let it burn me to death
That my soul might find the space where life begins, wherever yours went

This is what I would do to show you it's special now

Quite conveniently, unlike the west and east wings, the cloud annex sat right in-between, thusly sparing the writing room from being bathed in direct sunlight during the summer. As the sun rose from the east and fell below the west horizon, the writing room remained shielded from the god rays bathing the land in vibrancy, having only one window to boot. It overlooked the entirety of the rose garden, even the stables could be seen in the distance at the elevation, albeit only barely. Jaron sat there in the writing room, agonizing over the words he penned and paying attention to the feelings that evoked them as long as his body would allow him. He peculiarly likened the sensation of writing to that of having his dislocated shoulder pop back into its socket; that strong wave of relief followed by setting his feelings onto their proper place upon the paper where they could remain and be forgotten. His euphoria became too great, too unstable; he was flying so high the sun set his wings ablaze.

Clueless of how long he sat at the desk, Jaron finally hid behind the curtains of the rooms only window, shying away from the light as he peered outside. As if there to taunt him, he could see a head of red hair making its way through the garden. He watched Bella until she disappeared in the distance, refusing to look away from where he saw her last until she finally made her way back from the stables. "You're just too damn nice." Jaron thought, spying on the maiden as she made her way back to the castle. Will she really be there, no matter what? That was the question lingering in Jaron's mind, a question he was too afraid to ask himself. And how could he ask Bella? To question the legitimacy of Bella's promise would be to assert that he did not trust her, that her word meant nothing to him. Besides, she was right there, wasn't she? Somehow, despite seeing her flesh and blood walk through the halls of Inverness with his own eyes, the prince didn't believe so.

No, he didn't
want to believe so. He didn't want anything to do with her, with the curse, with the castle. He simply wanted to be free, for everything to start from scratch, fair and square. Watching Bella in concert with the piano, listening to the somber notes as they reverberated through the den, was bittersweet. "If you really cared about her, you wouldn't spend all day and night sulking in your room while she sits around worried about you." Liza's words rang back and forth in Jaron's head until he had grown deaf to anything else. He decided to face Bella headstrong, despite every one of his nerves and muscles screaming, begging to turn around and walk the other way. He needed to know, was she really worried about him, did she really care? More importantly, did he feel the same about her? Regardless, she brought him more comfort than he had ever experienced in his whole life, for that he had a debt to repay.

"That was kind of a sad song, don't you think?" The Prince professed as the songs final key dwindled into silence. His footsteps into the den were quiet, masked by dancing piano keys. Everybody gawked at the prince as he crossed the space between the door and the piano, save for Imogen, who shut her eyes to better absorb the notes Bella played. The housekeeper was so enchanted by the music, her eyes shot open and she shrieked at the sight of Jaron standing there suddenly beside Bella. "Excuse me!" Filled to the brim with embarrassment, she was the first to quit everyone's company, nearly dashing out of the room. The Prince stood there prim and proper, having dressed accordingly for his confrontation with the forge house maiden and her supple fiery hair. Despite having her blood to thank for his reinvigorated condition, he seemed like a blooming rose as he stood there, that is to say, he looked more alive than ever, perhaps more than he ever would.

The kindling, cackling firewood in the hearth burned pleasantly, the flames glowing upon Jaron's pale complexion, adding color to it slightly. He took his seat at the piano beside Bella,
"Must have been a bad dream." He added, hesitant to return her gaze in fear that doing so might prompt a verbal response from the maiden. She had played an objectively gloomy tune, albeit that was not to say Jaron did not enjoy it, or that her performance was disappointing. "Henry tells me, you're actually quite talented with the piano." He continued, not taking his eyes off the keys. The Prince spoke slowly, not sparing ample time in-between his sentences for Bella to form a response, not because he assumed Bella was slow, but so that she might linger on the words longer rather than anxiously ponder his intentions behind them. They had only been apart from each other for an afternoon and most of the evening and already the prince could feel the awkward tension between them resurface.

He wanted her to be genuine and cordial with him; to speak not because she felt pressured to by etiquette but only when she felt there was really something for her to say. As far as the prince cared, Inverness was her home and he was simply living in it. "Perhaps we could play something more...spirited?" He suggested, finally locking onto her gaze. Then, he figured, much like they did on the ezinime ballroom, that they might better understand each other if they communicated by a different means and simply began to
play the keys.
 
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Evening light gold-edged the rich red drapes, turning the velvet it touched to a ruddy hue. It dared stretch no farther than the luxuriant folds that muffled its vibrant colors, leaving the den in a cast of purple shadow, which the fire burning in the hearth caused to deepen and shiver and quake across each surface its light didn't flicker over. Bella's back was to the chocolate leather-upholstered sofa and chairs, one reason she chose this particular room as compared to the numerous others that had pianos and not least because it was such a room that she could actually remember where it was off the top of her head. The furniture wasn't oriented to give a direct view of her playing, either, a small added comfort to the awkward situation that was having an audience which she made herself in the first place. In some recess of her memory, tucked away so deeply it might have been covered in dust and cobwebs, was the recollection of her tutor declaring that music was meant to be shared wherever the opportunity presented itself.

Bella was not thinking back to lessons or the drawings on of her tutor, though she was in the blue and gold ballroom of her family's chateau in a sense. Her eyes were closed to the den and the piano beneath her fingers, opening every now and again to peek at the keys. What she saw was the distortedly large ballroom from her dream, the glorious gowns of the dancers around her reduced to blurred, slow sweeps of color as her eyes focused forward on the serious blue irises of a young man set in a child's face. The song flowing from her memory out of her fingertips kept time. She could feel her bustling skirts sway in the guided direction of each box step as she followed a young Jaron's lead; she could feel the velvet panel of his coat under her left hand and his gloved hand under her right. If only for the duration of the song, she could relive that feeling that she so longed after all day.

The ballroom faded as the final notes died, the toe of Bella's shoe releasing the sostenuto pedal that prolonged them as her fingers released the keys. Movement in her peripheral vision pulled her eyes away from the gleaming ivory and she half expected to see one of the children standing by her. The prince's voice registered before his person. Despite the hearth was behind her, the fire still found her eyes to set alight, perhaps due to the fact that they grew so wide at the sight of him. He was painted with living color, siphoning the cold marble from his being until all that remained of it was his striking features. He absorbed her, so much that Bella didn't even notice that Imogen fled the den, so much that all she could manage to do was shift sideways to allow him more room beside her on the padded bench. All day she worried that she wouldn't see him, that she wouldn't get to ask about the dream, that she wouldn't get to experience that feeling again. Now that he was there, she couldn't find any words with which to tell him so.

Perhaps words weren't necessary? The anxious tension was palpable, it was so thick. Then, it was possible that it was only Bella feeling that way and this was the culmination of her long day of worrying. Only did her expression change when the prince mentioned Henry, albeit only from one shade of surprise to another. Her initial shock was replaced with bemusement. In the first days she spent at the castle, she seemed to recall accidentally eavesdropping on a conversation the two men had about her whereas the piano was mentioned. Did he expect her to put Henry's money where his mouth was? That hardly struck her as his intention, especially when his gaze finally connected with her own.

"We?" Bella wondered distantly at the word. She didn't need to ask or even really think about what he meant in order to understand. She didn't need to look away from him. Her fingers adjusted themselves on the keys they never left and began to play of their own accord. When she finally peeled her eyes from Jaron, a smile crept its way onto her lips. They were dancing a different sort of waltz, one that made her heart flutter. At one point, she extended her reach to his side of the piano, her arm crossed over top of his. While uplifting, the song was slow. What better way to liven up a song than a little improvisation? Between the changes of tempo and watching Jaron's playing, Bella was beaming. She was comfortable, happy even. It was safe to say that she was in her element.

As the sun that was their song set, even the den felt bright and warm like a sunny afternoon. Bella found Jaron in the corner of her eye before turning her head to face him. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to see if she was in fact awake and not somehow dreaming again. Could something like this even happen outside of a dream? Well, why not? They embraced that morning - she could still feel his cool touch on her skin. Jaron smiled and laughed, too! Perhaps she ought to pinch herself to make sure the whole day hadn't been a dream? Her lips parted only to close again as she couldn't decide exactly what she wanted to say to him, her tongue twisted behind them with the thousand words that rushed to its tip.

"It wasn't... a bad dream." The redhead said finally. The atmosphere in the den was the same as it had been in the corridor; the rest of the room and its occupants seemed far away, like it was only the two of them. Her smile was without pretense or formality, genuine and congenial. "Even if it was, it was worth it."
 
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Jaron's hands, having taken a life of their own upon the keys, finally retracted, bending to his idle will such as they typically would. "Good, I'm glad." He replied. The meager four letter word he professed to be his feeling in Bella's regard did little justice for the range of emotions flooding the prince at that given moment when he turned to face the fiery redhead only as she began speaking to him. Truthfully, he was disoriented, quite as if there was indeed a flood of water, with fierce currents that made him their reluctant passenger, helpless to their power. It was all too similar. He could not breathe easy, he could not know for certain where he was being lead and above all else, it was a dangerous thing; to abandon the solid ground that was lonely seclusion and dive headfirst into the roaring waters that was Bella's company. No, certainly the meager four letter word brought no justice to the experience that was looking back into her eyes. Nevertheless, that was Jaron's secret. Maybe someday he could share it with her.

For now, the music and the joy it evoked from the two spoke for both of them, he felt. As the notes faded into the perpetual gloom of tranquil silence comprised of every square foot and inch of Inverness, the prince would have been content to sit there on the piano bench, staring at the black and white keys all night and would not have blamed Bella if she were to excuse herself without a word and carried on with the rest of her night without him, than to say another word to Bella, thusly dampening the aura of their song that now coated the den. Or so he thought, until Bella finally broke the silence between them and yet, the prince was not evidently hesitant to address the elephant in the room. Just as he returned to sporting the sharp jacket, smooth fabrics and cozy cravats typically expected of him, so to did that indifferent demeanor return and realize itself upon him, masking the merciless storm raging behind Jaron's statue-esque expression. Bella's words almost seemed to pass through one of his ears and out the other, finding little consideration in-between.

To tell the truth of it, Jaron was terrified. The way he found her, the way she looked at him, spoke to him, what she said, it wasn't simply perfect but better than anything he anticipated whilst spending all day building the courage to face her. The prince must have just as well been dreaming again, he too felt and after already having been convinced otherwise. At that, he turned to shoot Henry a dubious glance, eyebrow raised. The captain had not taken his eyes off of the prince since he sat down. When the young man turned to face him, he could almost feel the wind being knocked out of his stomach. Even Henry couldn't help to become enchanted by the sight of Jaron and Bella playing together and conversing, albeit timidly but just as friendly it seemed. The prince's glare carried such intensity, it was like the two had exchanged a thousand words in the blink of an eye. Henry sprung up from the couch instantly,
"Let's go!" he exclaimed, glaring at Amarinda, Tobias and Sophia as he spoke. "Bravo, bravo!" Landon cheered exuberantly whilst clapping a firm and fervent round of applause for Jaron and Bella's star crossed performance at the piano. Chuckling, the blonde stood up and placed a hand on Sophia's shoulder, "Come on little one, how about some hot chocolate and marshmallows?"

Bemused, Sophia's eyes instinctively shot at Henry, then back to Landon, assuming they had sprung some sort of test of discipline on her out of the blue. Landon simply beamed at the girl as he stood beside her, so she held Henry's gaze fast, brows furrowed. "Let's go." The captain insisted, gesturing to the door.

As Henry herded the kids out of the den, Landon couldn't help but double take at the star crossed couple or the hardy chuckle that escaped him as he looked away, ushering Sophia towards the door, his arm wrapped lovingly around the princess's back as he cupped her shoulder in his palm. Sophia kept her eyes trained on Bella until she stepped through the door. Jaron waited, seated still on the padded bench, until everyone disappeared from his peripheral, before he focused again on Bella, his back to the door still. His eyebrow fell, face assuming the façade of its previous disposition; blank and indifferent.
"You're not going to join them?" He asked her, albeit he posed his pronunciation of the words more so matter-of-factly, rather than as if he were asking a question. The prince eyed the ruddy velvet drapes as she spoke, then fell back upon the fiery maiden, taking her in, only averting his gaze to take note of the time on the gold pocket watch he pulled from his coat pocket. Not realizing he was forgetting to breathe, but otherwise seemingly composed, the prince took in a deep breath whilst sliding his watch back into his coat before setting his eyes on Bella's, "The sun should be setting by now." He asserted, "Let's go for a walk."
 
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A pensive silence fell over the den between Bella's words and Henry herding the children out of the room. It lent a thickness like honey to the air and filled the redhead's ears until the brief bustle of her audience sounded as though she had a pillow pressed over them. It was peaceful and the sense of comfort awarded by the song and the prince's company remained, yet that preternatural tranquility lacked something that she couldn't quite put a name to. Perhaps she oughtn't have spoken at all; although, she had hoped it would spark answers to the questions that circled over her head and made each hour stretch dreadfully long. Bella turned on the bench, swinging her legs round the side, to watch Henry and Landon usher a reluctant Sophia out the door with the promise of hot chocolate, offering the little girl a smile and a small wave. Jaron's voice registered clear and deep like the open ocean, unaffected by the muffled cotton quality of the atmosphere, drawing her attention.

"I don't really like cocoa." Bella murmured, a sheepish shrug pulling her bare shoulders towards her ears and deepening the hollows of her neck. It wasn't the reason she decidedly stayed put, as surely if she tagged along to the kitchen, she could easily make herself some tea; however, it was an honest response and the only one she could conjure. Her eyes followed the movement of the prince's hand, spying the golden watch before it slipped completely into his pocket. The last time she saw it, which also happened to be the first, just so happened to be the first and last time the prince suggested they take a walk. It was different then; there might as well have been a wall between them. Now, it seemed whatever barrier existed then no longer remained. Something changed. The strange, momentary reluctance to meet his gaze subsided as instantly as it had come, allowing her to return it as unabashedly as she had that morning and in the dream. A simple nod was the only response necessary.

The sun receded beyond the tops of the farthest trees, casting over the forest and Inverness a veil of shadow. Only the highest tower of the castle still caught what little light endured, setting its cool gray stones on fire. The sky overhead was already dark, a mix of bluish-black and deep purple dotted with stars. The clouds were an array of vibrant orange, pink, and lavender; the sky on the horizon was nearly the same hue as Bella's eyes. It was cool for a summer night and mostly cloudless, perfect for a walk in the garden and for stargazing. Bella walked beside the prince, head back to stare up into infinity. Her steps made little noise on the paved stone path despite the short heels on her shoes. The waxing moon watched them knowingly.

"It's a summer sky, but the night is autumn. Summer will be over in just a few weeks." Bella thought aloud to no one in particular, not looking away from the sky even long enough to watch where she was going. She clasped her hands behind her, nearly hidden in the pale turquoise skirts of her summer
dress that the moonlight turned a pale mint green. "I'll have been here.. two months?" Her eyes shifted down to glance sidelong at the golden chain of Jaron's watch, glimmering yellow against his jacket. Time was something she generally didn't think about since she began her stay. It was easier to take things day by day and to look no further than tomorrow. She looked up again at the stars, fancying she could imagine herself among them if she squinted.

"Oh! A shooting star!" Gasping, Bella grasped Jaron's sleeve in one hand and pointed with the other. The star itself was already gone and its tail zipped to catch up to it. There was only a small window of opportunity. "Quick, make a wish!" She clasped her hands together over her lips, fingers interlaced and eyes clamped shut. A few seconds passed before she opened them again, her heart beating fast, and found Jaron's eyes. What was it that made them so calming and yet so enthralling to stare into? They simultaneously answered her questions and made her question everything. If he was thinking the same thing, she would never know it.
 
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Safe from searing agony, the prince crossed the length of grass between the edge of the castle and the rose garden in stride, his eyes fixed on their path upon the smooth paved stone. He walked closely beside Bella, looking out for the both of them, stealing glances at her face in the meantime as she star gazed. She became like a mirror when she spoke, or better yet the ocean; the prince was at the mercy of her vast profound, still and reflective as it was. He could see in her remarks of the seasons that he was so unacquainted with her, just as she was with him. Jaron pondered how the differences between them were so at play to draw her closer to him and intertwine their lives. That was to say that Bella's whole life lead her to him, yet he could only be certain that what set them apart was bringing them closer together, perhaps making them more alike than he knew. In his current state, the prince felt there was not much about him worth getting to know and yet, wouldn't she feel the same, he wondered.

Jaron's eyes widened at the tug of his sleeve. He instantly assumed that Bella could hear his thoughts, half-expecting her to turn to him and say she didn't feel she was worth knowing about either. Following her eyes, Jaron thought he might have caught a glimpse of the raging stars tail end, unsure whether he had imagined it since Bella was so adamant that he should bear witness. He could not have reacted quickly enough, the prince seemed nearly horrified, albeit only briefly and that had fortunately subsided when Bella opened her eyes. Meeting her gaze, he averted his eyes to the sky for the second time since stepping foot outside, finally appreciating the pretty scenery Bella had refused to take her eyes off of. "I have too many wishes. I can hardly choose one." he admitted blankly, returning to Bella's picturesque face, "Should I close my eyes, too?" he asked just as blankly in an effort to please her, not terribly unfamiliar with the concept of wishing on stars.

It was reminiscent of his days before Inverness, albeit he could only recall how he wasn't meant to tell the wish out loud, lest he should hope for it not to come true. Jaron was quick to dismiss the notion of relying on magic stars to get things done, which he deemed superstitious to himself in that second. "Bella, if you ever need something, or want something, you tell me." He declared in his firmly resounding tone so seriously all of a sudden. He wanted to tell her to just go home, there wasn't a doubt in his mind she wanted to, he would be her shooting star then and send her off. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to push her away anymore, it seemed with the passing of time she was making it harder for him to do so. To make her feel unwanted and unwelcomed was such a dreadful idea now. "No matter what it could be, do you understand? Whatever it is, if you want it, I'll do everything within my power to make it happen." He said to her in a manner that made his authority appear quite clear, pressing a finger firmly against the center of his chest. Perhaps the prince was boldly beginning to bite off more than he could chew with his claiming to make Bella's every wish come true, he did consider that before opening his mouth, as he typically did when saying anything. However, if Bella were to reveal her truest desires, then the prince might understand her better as a person. Furthermore, it could make her intentions, her feelings, more clear. Simply put, he just wanted to know if he could make her happy.

"There must be something." He added as softly as he could, his expression unraveling its own stern tension. Jaron might have wished upon the star to know Bella's truest desires, if he cared to. Wasn't it more convenient for both of them to be straightforward and ask her directly? Granted, he might have demanded to know but he was at least confident she was not so extravagant that a prince could not satisfy her needs and desires. Or perhaps she was, the prince wondered, if so she certainly had him fooled. He could only hope it was not in her heart of hearts to travel, see the world and all its wondrous and far off lands and even if that was the case, he would like to know. She seemed to have made herself comfortable, at least well enough so in the time since she decided not to leave Inverness, especially with everyone showering her in warm amity, respect and admiration, like she were some perfect angel that could do no wrong. In all fairness, she did seem that way to the prince. Too kind, too selfless. Yet she dressed so quaintly still than what might be expected of a young lady from the city, especially one so familiar with music and dancing, and with access to what was arguably some of the finest clothes and jewelry in the kingdom, yet her body remained divested of such luxuries; she was clearly worth quite more than such ordinary fashion.

Jaron sensed Bella might not feel so comfortable confessing her deepest secrets then and there with him glaring her down like she were a tart. Musing upon her, he thought back to the only time he could remember Bella ever asking anything of him, at least since she had begged him to let her return home. Not wanting to upset her, he reluctantly changed the subject by reaching into his coat pocket. "To tell you the truth, I stole this." Jaron confessed as the gold chain of his watch dangled amid the dimly twilight dusk. With the click of a pocket-sized button, the round golden plate flipped open much like that of an ornamental locket holding precious memories therein, revealing numerals and clock hands pressed against a pristine white framework. With each passing second, the longer hand gradually ascended clockwise to the next minute. The time appeared to be eight-thirty four after midday. "You asked if my watch was a gift." He began, not taking his softened eyes off the hour hand, "The truth is, I stole this from a man living in the city. I don't know who he was, and I never paid him for it." Balling his hand into a fist, the golden casing closed shut. Jaron fiddled with the watch so that it sat in-between his fingers and thumb and Bella could see the workmanship clearly, "Judging by the engravings, I assumed he was a merchant." At a certain angle, when the shadows danced just right, she could make out the image of a ship at sea decorating the golden plate.

Jaron hardly let Bella notice the ship for herself before closing his hand into a fist again, hiding the watch beneath his fingers. He unhooked the chain from his coat with the other hand and proceeded to reach his arm outwards until his hand was nearly brushing Bella's chest before opening his palm and revealing the watch again, this time where she could see it more clearly, as it was nearly right under her nose.
"You want it? It's yours." He said, insisting the bold claim he made just moments ago. "You could have the clothes on my back, if you wish." He added, perhaps without the second thought he typically considered before speaking, "Just say the word."
 
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Long it seemed Bella gazed at Jaron over the tops of her hands, her lips working behind them. How easy it was to forget that he was a prince, when if for a moment, he divulged to her something about himself that only made him more relatable. Too many wishes could be said of anyone; although, it was reeling to think that a prince, someone who ought to want for nothing, had too many wishes. Yet the realization didn't return him to princedom in her mind's eye. It made him more human still and evoked a wave of sympathy; in retrospect, guessing what he might wish for was simple enough considering the massacre and his current situation. Perhaps he wished he could go back in time to stop it or even that it never happened? In truth, Bella's own wishes were arguably similar, albeit hardly realistic. Perhaps one day, the wish she made upon that star would come true. Pushing that aside, Bella let her hands drop with a smile, and shook her head.

"I don't suppose so. I've always done it that way, but I don't think closing your eyes is required to make a wish." Her gaze returned to the sky, watching the spot where the star had vanished. The moon lit her eyes from the rich body of a Vin Santo to a light Sauternes, lending them a fey quality that was not their own. "I have it on good authority that there are two things in the world that can grant wishes: shooting stars and butterflies. It has to be a heartfelt wish, though, or so I've heard." Mild humor twitched on the corner of her lips and there was a wry undercurrent to her words. Both her mother and governess had told her such stories, usually at the child's behest, after which she would go search for things to wish upon and daydream. Falling stars were few and far between, and as such, so were wishes upon them. Wishing upon butterflies wasn't something the maiden had done since she was a child, when they were abundant in the Montagnes' city chateau garden eight months out of the year. The garden here was strangely lacking in butterflies as it was in squirrels and other small animals that inhabited gardens everywhere else.

"Of course, the only butterfly I've seen around here grants trouble, not wishes." Bella thought, peeling her longing heavenward stare away to focus it on Jaron. They widened, clearly reflecting how taken aback she was by not only his sudden display of authority, but the words with which he implemented it as well. How convenient the night came to be in that moment, and Bella was glad for it, for surely Jaron couldn't tell that she was blushing even in the pale light of the moon and stars. Her head dipped downward, chin nearly pressed to her collarbone, until her copper fringe slid from where it was swept to the side and obscured any direct eye contact. He had become a prince again in an instant, leaving her scrambling for a response. If he had asked her before what such things she wished for, she would have told him, despite that fact she didn't think her wants or wishes were worth troubling oneself over. The only person who ever asked her what she wanted without limitation was her father, who would ask his daughters if there was anything he could bring them when he travelled for business. Hugh knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't care for jewels or dresses as her sister would; her tastes were more obscure for a girl. She favored books and the occasional bit and bauble or artisan piece. Before she was old enough to ride, he had brought her a carved wooden horse that she often played with. Those were not necessarily the types of things she still wished for however pleasing she found them.

"Something I want? What do I want? What do I like?" Her mind was blank. Her mouth opened and shut, her throat tight. She wanted to tell him that he needn't concern himself about her needs or wants, they were but trivial matters for a prince. Then she realized that there was his honor and pride as a prince to be considered, not to mention he was making a genuine gesture. It was unexpected to say the least, but no less appreciated. She only wanted to be helpful. "Oh, right! I should start with.." "Thank you." Bella brushed her hair from her eyes with the back of her index finger. It was all she could manage as she swallowed her self-induced panic. Still trying not to overthink it, the redhead might have missed what Jaron was talking about if he hadn't clarified. Her brain seized upon the golden trinket, more than happy to abandon the arduous task of second-guessing and trying to ascertain the philosophical meanings of "need" and "want" in favor of changing the subject.

"What a naughty thing to do. But who am I to speak? I was a pastry thief, myself." Bella raised an eyebrow at the prince's confession, amusement playing across her face. She bent forward to take a better look at the watch, barely managing to glimpse the engraving before Jaron's hand closed over it. For a second, she guessed that he was protective of it; however, he held it out so closely that Bella found herself leaning backward. She stole a brief glance between Jaron and the watch then gingerly took it between her index fingers and thumbs. Up close, she could better make out the image engraved on the front of the casing. "Oh, I think that's a cutter." She squinted over the boat. It was a small ship with a single mast and four billowing sails, three of which were small enough that they could have fit inside the fourth. The bow was tipped up by a large wave, its thin lines seemed to churn like stormy seas. The bowsprit reached all the way to the rounded edge of the casing where it broke into the pattern of interlocked swirls that framed the vessel. She turned the watch sideways, looking all around it and then on the back and even on the inside of the cover.

"Huh.. No initials. Usually a piece like this would be monogramed, as it's custom-made, either with the initials of the owner or the artisan. Papa's is, on the inside. The craftsman ship is very fine." The calculating look of a merchant's daughter left Bella as she placed the watch in Jaron's hand and closed his fingers around it. She smiled with not just her lips but her eyes. "Thank you, but.." She leaned in conspiratorially, her hand still holding his, and whispered, "I don't think they'll fit." Their eyes met as she leaned back, laughter gleaming in them like a twinkling star. Perhaps he ought to have thought better of that statement. "Really, I do appreciate it. More than I can say." Bella's hand slid away and she turned, observing the path in front of them. "I guess if, if there was something I would ask for this very moment, it- it would be.. answers." She nudged the toe of her shoe against the stone, hesitant to ask. So desperately did she want answers, but she would hate to bring it up only to have been wrong and to thusly look foolish. "I had the most insane dream. I kept forgetting that I was dreaming and yet.. I was sure that, well, that you were real. Then, so much of it seemed real sometimes, and--" Bella stumbled over what she wanted to say, unsure of how exactly to say it. She was evading Jaron's eyes, blushing profusely; however, by some miracle, managed to force herself to look at him. "Did I dream truly?"
 
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Talk of such petty theft only brought Jaron back again to the city; its labyrinth of alleyways and bountiful life, bustling sidewalks and richly established market squares. It may not have been so rich with culture as the citadel capital or perhaps Carthya's more distinguished coastal avenues such as Valford, bringing in foreign trade via ports and possibly more than his city had to offer, but to Jaron the idea was nothing more than semantics glossing over what really mattered. If being free to walk through the streets among his people was the important thing, then maybe the prince would wish for that freedom.

But the nostalgia Bella evoked in him made it feel like he was remembering the city, almost as if he were walking through it, for the first time. It was a dreamy feeling and like a breath of fresh air when he remembered it. If Jaron had to describe what being in Bella's presence felt like, he would feel it in the same way, too. The way she spoke enchanted the prince and he could barely focus on exactly what she was saying, like he were drifting in and out of a dream before Bella could finish her sentence.

She painted the city in the same vivid colors as it were to a young prince, like a doorway to the past, and in an instant deterred him from walking through it lest he should find himself distracted from her. Suddenly and somehow freedom was the least of Jaron's worries and he couldn't even realize the fact he had never shared the story of his watch with anyone before, having kept it secret up until the very moment. He could not help returning her smile albeit slightly as she restored his childhood treasure, perhaps not to its rightful place. Then his smile was almost as full as hers. As Bella's eyes left Jaron, he was nearly beaming at her. By the time they had returned, the prince met her amber gaze with somber despondence. She terrified him again, being so reserved about the answers she sought for, and Jaron realized for the second time that he could describe Bella's presence in a myriad of ways depicting sorrow and solace, likely in that order. He hoped she would be the first to ask, he wanted to see her reaction to the memory of them, to have her affirm that something special had indeed transpired between the both of them. As much as he hated to admit it, he was thankful for it. Surely she felt the same, she must have just said so to his face moments ago, after their song.


"I remember the long puffed sleeves of your ballgown - and our dance." Jaron began, turning away from Bella, luring her deeper through the garden towards its rosy arbor. He was avoiding her now with his eyes, lest he should lose his train of thought upon her. The prince's cold, indifferent façade melted away and he was as vulnerable as he was close to Bella; he walked so closely beside her they were nearly brushing arms. "I must have looked about as old as I was when I stole my watch, and you must have looked about as old as you were when you were stealing eclairs, or am I mistaken?" Jaron tried his best to tread upon the subject of the ezinime warily and hesitated to say anything more. Before he knew it, his legs were suddenly attached to the smooth stone paving beneath him and he could not move forward one more step. His eyes grew weary, fell low and his chin became heavy as he gazed down at Bella's shoes. "I love you, Bella." The words clawed at the prince's throat, begging to be free. His chest was pounding as pins and needles stabbed at the young mans fingertips. Yet Jaron would not dare show his hand and speak the feeling into existence. Maybe Bella felt the same and would return the gesture. Nevertheless it would be a selfish and rude thing to do and their ethereal evening would be spoiled by his own desires he felt were not worthy of her attention. This night was hers, as was every single one that would come after, as long as Inverness was her home. Jaron thought she deserved more than an empty castle and a forgotten prince.

"You're a fine dancer." He solemnly confessed whilst shoe gazing, still avoiding Bella's soft moonlit hair and her golden eyes "I hoped for the chance to tell you, when everything was back to normal. Now I have, and I'm thankful for it." And he was. Finally, Jaron realized Bella's company was priceless. The more he lingered on the fact, the sadder it made him. He was afraid he could never make Bella as happy as she deserved to be.
 
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Panic could not begin to describe the sensation that swept over Bella as she rotated her body in order to follow Jaron with her eyes more fully. It was as though the cool night slipped under her skin and into her blood and chilled her. Anxiety did the feeling little justice; however, it was not so overwhelming and grievous as dread. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Bella recognized the fear. The trouble was that she had no way to justify it. What was she afraid of? Her heart beat very much faster as the prince turned away, her body subtly shivering until her stomach drew painfully tight. In truth, she was scared of what he would say, of finding out the truth about the dream was not what she thought it was. She was scared that the moments she and the prince had shared were little more than a product of the dream, a figment of imagination. Just the possibility was saddening and made her heart ache in a way that she couldn't understand. Bella was only partially aware of this as she trudged along beside Jaron, unable to look his way.

If not for his deep intonation, the prince's words likely wouldn't have made it past the pounding of the girl's heartbeat in her ears. Her eyes, which she kept trained on the wall of roses on her other side, widened and stole a timid sidelong peek at him. The fear faded, leaving in its wake a warm tingling; and she released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, the weight lifted from her chest. So the dream had been true! It was relieving, uplifting. The quivering in Bella's stomach was replaced all at once with a fluttering, albeit somewhat dissimilar to the usual butterflies. It was warm, comparable only to the feeling of reuniting with someone after a long time separated and embracing them. As though to make sure this was real, she reached out to graze the tip of a finger against an exposed thorny rose stem. The sharp protrusions pricked her skin without breaking it. "What is wrong with me? I need to calm down." The thought came with the unpleasant memory of her wishy-washy doppelganger, who she vehemently denied was anything like her.

"Not at all. Spot on, actually." Bella half-smiled ruefully down at her shoes. "Were you very accurate, then? Oddly enough, I was not. At that age, my hair was much longer. It hasn't been that short since I first cut it." It hadn't occurred to her to think that accuracy wasn't the point of her much younger appearance in the dream, much less that it had some obscure meaning behind it. She took a couple of steps before she realized that Jaron's shoes were no longer in her line of sight and paused, turning on her heels to face him. The turquoise
shoes, which were a few shades darker than her dress and adorned with swaths of pink, swished softly on the stone. His compliment flushed her cheeks to very nearly the same hue. "I'm glad. I remembered the song before I remembered anything else. It was lovely, the dance, at least until - well.." The redhead rambled, not wanting to recall the details of the harrowing events after the music stopped. She could almost feel the weight of those ridiculous puffed sleeves on her arms.

"I'm just glad I was able to find you." The words were barely above a murmur, spoken with the relief and contentment of a sigh. The moon found the gentle curiosity in her face to limn in blue as she picked her head up and lifted her eyes. "Where did you go, after you found me in the tower? I half expected to find you in the woods, but all I found was a wolf-man and Red Riding Hood." A pale brow arched upward, her hair sliding as her head tilted a few degrees to the right. Being that Bella had experienced an absurd caper, it stood to reason that Jaron ought to have had quite the experience himself. Of course, mention of a wolf-man begged explanation, which she provided without apprehension. From finding Bell in the tower to meeting Lupo and the red-hooded girl, from meeting a mockery of herself and her family to the ballroom dance, and to the subsequent run through her childhood home Bella divulged every detail she could recall to the prince. If not for the awful tea that Henry gave her that morning, she likely wouldn't have remembered any of it. Some things were still fuzzy, for instance the reason she was so distraught while the two danced and the memory of her mother. The only inkling she had of the latter was the words to the song and she might not have even remembered that if she hadn't sang them with such hope that they would lead her to Jaron.

The tale they spun over the past five days lasted until they passed through the gate at the end of the garden and made their way across the expanse of green. In what might have been a moment of silence between them, Bella hummed the tune of the music box song that she didn't know had words before, as if committing the lyrics to memory. The notes dropped off on a wistful sigh with an undercurrent of longing. "I kind of wish I had my music box. I remembered, in the dream, my mother teaching me the words to the song. Heh! If I'd been tall enough to reach it, I probably would have stolen that, too; but it was already long mine by then. It's one of few things I really treasure."
 
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With Bella having safely traversed the grand measure of the rose garden alongside the prince, free from the likes of his undermining hostility and cruel indifference, it was perhaps safe to say that if it was not Bella who had tamed the prince, surely it was the aftermath of the ezinime. What Jaron had confidently proclaimed that morning to be an act against Bella's life somehow and suddenly felt like a distant fairy-tale. Of course Jaron would be quite adamant from now on when it came to who was serving Bella's and his tea as might be expected. He would sooner prepare it himself than let such a petty function threaten his peace of mind.

If there could be an exception, then only Bella could be in charge of the kettle. If anything, she had already proved how trustworthy she was. Two months of her time is a far cry from the nine years Inverness had spent hiding its cursed residents from the world, but her sacrifices are worth a lifetime and she already saved the prince's life on more than one occasion. Now she wove passed the grisly details of the nightmare they shared, making it out to be as if it were an inspiring folklore legend meant to be shared on moonlit walks. To Jaron's surprise, Bella painted the clandestine phenomenon of the ezinime's magic in such vivid detail, from Bell's lengthy blonde hair to the sneering wolf and back to the tower again when the fairy opened the bridge between them.


Despite being more than acquainted with divinations, Jaron was at a loss of words in his effort to recollect the adversities that lead him to the ballroom floor. It was not so much that he couldn't find the words, but more so how he couldn't care to. Then, perhaps it was the anxiety and dread of having been more than acquainted with the magic had sewn peril and entwined them. Of the numerous fates that made an eternity inside Inverness seem like a holiday. The prince wondered whether Bella was a pleasant conversation partner or if his adoration for her skewed his perception of the evening. He was sure she couldn't tell how vulnerable he was walking beside her; such little he had to say when he wasn't spewing venom at every and anyone in sight! He couldn't help shrugging off any questions Bella asked in regards to the ezinime. Fortunately she didn't seem to mind or be desperate enough to pressure him for answers, and Jaron realized he was much more content listening to Bella rather than speaking to her and couldn't bring himself to complain if she talked for the both of them, even if it meant he wasn't necessarily paying attention to what she was saying.

If Bella hadn't mentioned how she treasured her music box, Jaron might have forgotten hearing about it just as he forgot most of the surreal details of the dream and its esoteric nature, in spite of the overwhelming dread it brought him. "How could you say it was worth it when you have so much more to lose?" he thought to himself. He must have still been dreaming! As the prince walked alongside Bella under that star shot moon, he couldn't tell the difference anymore. Perhaps it was the rosy pink hue that veiled the ezinime's magic, but even that could be found there too blushed upon Bella's cheeks moments ago, only Jaron couldn't see it as clearly.


The raw emotion of Amarinda's violin cut through the air so sharply, Landon might have used it to cut a small chunk of butter. The expansive den made an excellent concert hall for the violins singing. Only an undisputed master of the instrument could have noticed the errors in Amarinda's performance, and there was not much therein to criticize. She knew this, which might have been evident by her skimpy half-curtsy once she had concluded the number. The pupils of her eyes hung almost unusually heavily towards the floor as she made her way to the sofa, just as they mostly had that morning, and any time she was ever stricken by the mood to play. The dukes heir had oddly worn her heart on her sleeve by performing for them and made no condescending quips or passive-aggressive remarks for the remainder of her time seated in the den, nor did she look anyone directly in the eye. In fact, she didn't say a word.

Sophia, grateful for the song being over, which she politely considered noise, decided it was the perfect time to let the cat out of the bag.
"For you." She affirmed, pushing the vaguely mysterious silk covered block in her hands into Bella's side. The red silk was tied together by pink strings that wrapped themselves around the block in a cross pattern, the knot at the center of its surface. It looked like a valentines day present and could have been many things. Sophia hoped Bella wouldn't surmise that it could be a book, which it was. She held onto the surprise for so long because it was quite exciting to her. Bella never really asked anyone for anything, at least not anything she couldn't live without. So when she did, it was special.

"Probably not special enough to make cinnamon buns." The princess would undoubtedly make cinnamon buns that day if she knew how, it was a much better welcome home present than an old book, she felt. The book was all she had to offer though, and it only took Bella having a near death experience for Sophia to finally fish it from her bureau. At least it wasn't dusty. "You said you'd like to have something to read, remember? I....don't know if it's any good. I don't know what it's about." She began excitedly, only to trail off towards the end of her sentence. Books and violin were not quite her cup of tea. Maybe there was a time she did enjoy them, but that was a time long passed. She was a kid, there was no mistaking it. But she wasn't the same kid, not on the inside, and especially not after the week she had.

Tobias finally spoke up, albeit his voice was a faint murmur despite him and Amarinda sitting on the tufted cushions of the armchairs just beside the sofa Bella and Sophia were on. He seemed to be going on about something that apparently seemed to only interest Amarinda, hence the quiet tone he spoke in. It was just the four of them in the den. Sophia, having missed her studies for the passed five days, was still in no mood to return despite Bella being safe and sound and right as rain. For some reason or another Imogen had given Sophia her blessing to take another sick day, which the housekeeper soon came to regret as soon as Amarinda found out. With Henry having skipped breakfast presumably in the prince's favor and Landon out of his jurisdiction, the kids sat there in the den as the hour hands fingered their way to noon and class remained suspended indefinitely.
 
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It was subtle amid Bella's rambling recollection of the dream, but she was not so dim that she couldn't pick up on Jaron's lack of want to discuss his experience. After the first couple of questions went unanswered, she made a point to try not to ask him any more, as he only contrived to uncomfortably avoid divulging any details. He did not come off as the talkative type in the first place; however, there seemed to be something else at play. Perhaps he didn't wish to remember the dream at all much less in any kind of vivid detail? Very well, then, Bella wouldn't force him. She would still be there, ready to listen, if he decided he wanted to talk about it. It was all she had to offer him and it was what she promised. Rather than allow their evening to be relegated to anxious silence, she spoke leisurely about whatever else came to mind.

Despite the long walk across the vast expanse of property and talking herself breathless, Bella found it nearly impossible to sleep that night. Five days of sleeping left her wide awake until the wee hours of the morning at which she finally dozed a bit, albeit uneasily. The redhead found herself again in that grand, blue and gold ballroom. Unlike in the ezinime-induced dream, excepting after the butterfly shimmer, Bella was her proper age. The ridiculous, beautiful riot of a dress was light as cobwebs hanging just off her shoulders, sparkling in turns beneath the twinkling chandeliers. All around her, dancing and laughing, were masked people in gorgeous and colorful raiment. In all of the smiling faces she pushed and shoved past, there was no sign of the person she sought. Only when she made it to the center of the dancefloor did the prince appear, offering his hand in the same pensive silence he carried himself in on their walk. They danced, staring into each other's eyes, not noticing the watchful stares of the party-goers dancing circles around them.

The end of Amarinda's playing snapped Bella out of a daze. Her copper head perked up from where it rested on her hand, elbow propped on the arm of the sofa, and she blinked half-startled. It was not as though she hadn't heard the song at all, but she felt guilty for spacing out when the young duchess made the effort to play for them. She clapped lightly, offering a "that was lovely" in honest praise. It reminded her of when her father used to play, before he sold his fiddle with the house and the rest of the family's non-essential belongings. A sharp corner in her side drew her attention to the princess and silk-covered bundle in her hands. It didn't take a genius to guess that it was a book, which indeed it was. The book was old but well kept, a little worn about the corners albeit the spine had few creases.

"Thank you!" Bella breathed, running her fingers over the cover as though it were a delicate flower. There was no such thing as too many books in her opinion; although, some had call to be more cherished than others. This was one of those. "I will treasure it always." She wrapped her arm around Sophie's shoulders, pulling the child into her side for a hug. It didn't take a genius, too, to surmise what the child wanted. As a sweets fanatic herself at the princess's age, Bella knew all too well that her adopted sister wanted the swirly delicacy she introduced. While the occasion wasn't quite right for cinnamon buns, she supposed a treat might be in order. To the kitchen they went, where the children were encouraged to help prepare a pound cake, golden-yellow on the inside and brown and flaky on the outside, spiced with a dash of ginger and orange peel. All the while, Bella's eyes strayed to the silver kettle and she bit her lip. She couldn't help but wonder about the prince since she had yet to see him. A surge of boldness had her reaching for it, preparing tea.

"I'll see you in a bit." The maiden said, her nerves causing her bravado to waver as she set kettle and cups on a tray. Only at the last moment did she take a couple slices of the cake before slipping out the kitchen doors. "Why so eager?" She asked herself, her steps sure on the stairs. Of course, the prince's whereabouts was only a guess; he could have been anywhere, hiding from her again. "Good morning, your Highness. Or afternoon." Bella greeted, hoping she sounded as sure of herself as she appeared. She placed the tray on the low table between sofa and chairs. "Would you like some tea? It's, er, my personal favorite blend." Though she asked, she didn't wait for an answer, pouring the tea anyway. She lifted the book Sophie gifted her from the corner of the tray and placed it beside her where she sank onto the sofa with a cup in her other hand. The tea was a pleasant blend of cinnamon and vanilla.
 
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Towering amidst the woods, its ascendancy truly unsurpassed far and wide, from the forbidden forest to the crashing waves of the southern coast, stood Inverness; its cold dusky stone puncturing the suns beaming rays, a gaping hole from the ground up to the sky. From the inside, the walls seemed quite like a throbbing wound to Jaron, especially being so enveloped in shadows as they typically were. Every so often when the strong abhorrent smell of iron imposed itself upon his pale nose, he wondered if the castles smooth stones were bleeding behind their dim candlelight. He was not so eager to share the theory with anyone, nor the fact that it was the reason he preferred to focus on the cackling of a hearth and the smell of its smoke. It wouldn't surprise him to hear that he had spent most of the passed nine years staring into a fireplace.

How such a desolate place, so dark and consumed by wicked evil, could linger and live, separated from the vibrant glow of the suns life by mere stone and drapery, was presently a mystery to the prince, philosophically speaking. Even the brilliance of magic arts and its respected achievements could not justify the fundamental laws of its own nature. Jaron could find no rhyme or reason for being condemned to hell on earth that would not end with disdain and regret for his legacy, that being all he felt when trying to make sense of everything. Rather than ruminate over things he couldn't seem to change or control, Jaron focused on what little solace he found in mediating upon the burning of firewood. Strangely enough, that comfort was something Jaron could make sense of, despite how the cackling hearth and smoke reminded him of the moonlit walk he shared with Bella a little over twelve hours ago.

If Bella had anything in common with the curse that kept her buried deep within the forbidden wood, it was Jaron's lack of being able to understand it without growing volatile and spiteful. He wasn't usually so eager to avoid notions of enmity in favor of tranquility, another sign of Bella, or perhaps the ezinime's influence, or a mixture of the two. He was self-conscious in the shift of his behavior, it was all so obvious. Bella had shaken Inverness to its core since she first stepped foot inside. When she rounded the corner of the door into the den bidding good morning with tea and cake in hand, Jaron had almost expected her to. Well, having picked up how the scent of her blood was growing stronger by the second, he did expect her to, albeit the tea and cake were a flattering surprise. Now even the walls of his majesty's dusky candlelit den seemed to be glowing, and the sun might have snuck its way inside Inverness after all. He could see the both of them in his gilded study again; young Bella appearing out of thin air, saving him from the dark pall and any eternal nightmares that might lie within it.

Jaron's body reacted first, he stood up from his padded velvet armchair facing the hearth and was on the other side of the table before he knew it. The bags under his eyes blended in with the shadows beneath the flickering firelight fluttering upon him and he finally shot Bella a dubious glance as if she had just told a bad joke, "You don't have to do this." The words jumped out his throat into the air above the tea and cake and they carried more substance in them than they conveyed. As glad he was to see her, he couldn't understand why she not only continued to live within Inverness, of her own volition no less, but now seemed to be actively trying to make some kind of difference. "You're not Imogen or Landon or Henry. You don't deserve to be here. Don't act like you do." Jaron continued sternly, mouth slightly agape having taken a mind of its own. He opened his mouth as if to say more, yet nothing came as he began to force himself to find some semblance of self restraint. The prince held Bella's gaze fast, his eyes begging for forgiveness as he took a seat in the armchair beside the sofa Bella sunk herself into. "Listen," he began, "This is too nice. I- don't deserve to be treated like this."

Jaron could see that Bella was obviously not attempting to pamper him like she were one of the infinite nameless servants at his disposal. Kindness radiated off of her, only someone so daft could not sense it. The genuine warmth in her gesture only served to intensify the prince's emotions as he processed them and sought to justify his worth. "This is real nice of you, but don't treat me like royalty." Finally, Jaron could feel the weight lifting from his chest as he let out a deep breathe he hadn't realized he was holding. He began to sink into his chair slightly and rested his head against its back, taking in the surreal glow that suddenly enveloped the den. The fatigue of another sleepless night caught up to him all at once and his eyes grew heavy. "I haven't been a prince in almost a decade. The kingdom has forgotten all about me...my family. Henry, Landon, Imogen....they treat me like a prince here because its all they've ever known. If they started acting any different, they would lose their minds before dinner."

The prince's eyes rested on the spongy cake before him as he began to ramble. With just enough sense left to catch himself, he brought his attention back to the point he was trying to make,
"I just want you to think of me as a friend, not a prince." Feeling the arms of sleep wrapping themselves around him, Jaron hunched forward with a slight gruff in an attempt to wrestle out of their grasp. "And you don't owe me anything either." By far the prince's most sentimental request lingered on the tip of his tongue as he hesitated to speak it into existence. "You can call me Jaron. Really, I would prefer it."

With every word the prince spoke he made himself out to be less and less like the one a drenched and shivering Bella met that fateful day she arrived to Inverness. In one fell swoop his façade had crumbled and it was almost clear just how strongly of an effect Bella's presence had on Jaron. She had hardly uttered a word and he was already confessing his bold ideas to her. A pensive silence fell upon him and perhaps his instinct not to wear his heart on his sleeve compelled him to quickly change the subject, "Were you going to read that?" he asked, feeling quite embarrassed all of a sudden having only just noticed the book in her hands. Was she simply being polite bringing him tea and cakes and only sought to read in the comfort of the den? The idea that Bella had happened upon the prince coincidently almost made him wince.

"It's a bit too dark I think." Jaron remarked. He was before the fire in a moments notice where a gold candelabra rested upon the hearth. Plucking a single candle pillar from one of the branches, the prince carefully bent forward, leaning a bit to the side to not bang his head against the stony hearth before sticking the tip of the candle into the flames, lighting its wick and subsequently every wick upon the pillars of candles nestled into their gold branches. Jaron set the candelabra upon the table slow and steady before taking his place on the sofa right beside Bella, though his eyes remained fixated on the gleaming flames of burning wax.
 
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If the stark shadowed nature of Inverness bothered Bella at all, she certainly didn't make it known. The lack of sunlit corridors and open windows could scarcely dampen her spirits, as if she was already quite used to traversing by rosy candlelight before she ever stepped foot in the castle. It was arguable whether or not she simply didn't mind or because the place no longer held the desolation and terror it did the first time she stumbled through the great metal doors. A mixture of both could safely be assumed; however, it was mostly the former. Firelight held a serenity for the maiden; it reminded her of peaceful evenings in the comfort of home. Likewise, her eyes had grown accustomed to it so that the shadows in the farthest reaches of the vaulted ceilings weren't as deep and she could make out the details they would otherwise have obscured.

The cautious happiness Bella gradually took up over the course of her stay faltered momentarily as the Prince addressed her. Perhaps she had been too bold to assume he even wanted tea, much less cake; she should have asked first. Before embarrassment had the chance to set in, he made clear that that was not the case. Her gaze rose from the tiny flicker of light reflecting on the tea in her cup to find Jaron's across the table. It wasn't difficult to see how he thought that way; although, the truth was that it was only meant to be a nice gesture as compared to pampering. The use of his title was something else entirely. It was dictated by not only society but general etiquette. To be granted permission to call him by name made her heart flutter in her chest, much the same way as when he called her a friend in the dream.

"This is nothing I wouldn't do for my own family." She assured with a tentative smile, brushed some hair back behind her ear with her free hand, though it didn't stay put. While the tea and cake was Bella's way of treating Jaron as a friend, it would have been a lie to say that it wasn't just a little bit special. In her mind, it was special in the same way that she displayed a special affection towards Sophie. That was not to say that it was a gesture made in the manner of siblings, far from it, in fact. It was special in an exclusive way, albeit one she couldn't so easily articulate in regards to Jaron. Of course, this only all occurred to the redhead briefly for Jaron seized the opportunity to change the subject.

"Oh, that's alright. I can see," she opened her mouth to say only to close it again. Jaron was already lighting a candle in the fireplace and she honestly would appreciate more even light to read by. "Thank you." With a sip of tea, Bella set the cup down and opened the book. She expected that he would return to the chair, surprised when he sat on the sofa less than arm's length away instead. Forcing herself to focus rather than stare, she turned to the first page. There was no title on the leather cover and no page bearing one either. There were a few tiny scraps of paper where it looked like a page had been ripped out. A few lines in, she stole a sidelong glance at Jaron. Part of her wanted to ask if he would like to read along; but if he did, she rationalized, he would have seated himself closer. Another part wondered if he was perhaps shy to sit closer, if he was interested at all. Rather than make things awkward by asking, Bella deduced a compromise might be to simply read softly aloud.

A hush fell over the den only a short way into the book, as a long night with but a few hours of restless dozing finally caught up to Bella. The first couple of times she caught herself nodding off, picking up her drooping head with a shake and continuing to read. Eventually, the arms of sleep embraced her as they had tried to claim the Prince and she slowly sagged sideways until her head rested against his upper arm. The book sat open on Bella's lap, though the pages had fallen back into their natural place. Melted wax pooled at the bases of the candlesticks, their shortened height an indication of the hours past. It was not all too surprising when she woke alone in the den in the early evening, laying across the sofa. The fire in the hearth was banked low, the candles on the table blown out, and Jaron was nowhere to be found.

Having slept a great deal of the day, it was not surprising either when the daylight had gone and Bella was restless. She took to the garden after dinner, strolling idly through the hedgerows as the sunset faded from vivid color to the gray of dusk. In the pensive silence, she couldn't help wondering after Jaron, whether he had attended dinner in the dining hall or holed himself up someplace. Her meandering search for calm led her to the stables; she greeted the horses, offering each a palm-full of grain and rub about the neck. Long and lastly she stood in front of Fritz's stall, scratching his withers. The black beauty reminded her of her own large stallion and she found being around him especially comforting for it.
 
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Jaron had no recollection of falling asleep. The many hours of the afternoon passing into the early evening transpired in a moments notice. The prince's face had grown as warm as one without a beating heart could. The warmth had spread itself from across his right cheek where the top of Bella's head was nestled against. Jaron could sense how much time had passed based soley on how replenished he felt physically. He thought it best to assume Bella were still asleep, lest he say anything with her dainty ears so close or he move too abruptly, inadvertently rousing the maiden from her awkward slumber. He couldn't help but wonder how they ended up there on the sofa, if she had consciously rested against him, or if perhaps it was a mistake. Gently, the prince slid away from Bella, albeit not without cupping his left hand beneath the side of her head and maneuvering his arm out from under her as he stood up onto his feet, doing well to set Bella down like she were made of thin glass and the sofa were a hard slab of smooth stone, even going so far as to brush her copper fringe to the side of her face with his fingers.

"You didn't mean to....did you?" Jaron curiously laid his eyes on sleeping Bella and continued to wonder if she had made herself so comfortable on purpose, maybe taking his request to be treated as a friend quite seriously. The prince truly had no idea. If it was a mistake, maybe she would find it embarrassing, maybe not. Jaron had easily forgotten the circumstances betwixt Bella and his self, albeit in his defense he had only just woken up. Still, he found himself staring down at Bella as if it were the last time he was going to see her in a long while. Perhaps he wouldn't, perhaps he was embarrassed and from this day forward would do well to avoid her no matter the cost, until she finally grew sick and tired and was finally gone. Surely if he knew anything about her by now, he could guess it wouldn't be so simple. Friend or otherwise, forgotten or not, he was still a prince, and Inverness was still his home as much as it was hers.

Jaron's head hung forward as he stood beside the sofa, continuing to survey sleeping Bella, eyes darting slightly back and forth randomly, not fixated on any of the qualities she had to offer in particular, but nonetheless transfixed by every detail. As he observed her there, he figured keeping her company as she lived out her days with them was the least he could do. In fact, it was the proper thing. The maidens home was not Inverness, as much as the prince reluctantly liked to think it was. In some ways, it could be, and on some days, it was, but it wasn't truly, at least not in the sense that it should be. Nevertheless, Jaron would do right by her to treat her as any home owner should treat their guest; making sure she's comfortable and keeping her company when she needs it. Besides, she brought him tea and cake.

It was hard to tell sometimes, but Jaron and Henry had yet to deprive the woods of all the wildlife therein. Bugs and birds lived freely in the forest, many caterpillars and ladybugs nestled in the shady moist pockets of soil beneath the gardens variety of flowers during the day. Robins, chickadees and even the occasional owl could be spotted every other day and night, surely more often should the Inverness residents get around to setting up a bird feeder. Despite having wings and a beak, feral chickens were not so easily let off the hook. "Hungry?" Henry asked casually. He had been quite lax that day ever since he stumbled on Jaron and Bella snuggled against each other in the den. He sat beside Jaron upon one of the gardens marble benches that typically spared no expense on ornamental designs but were few and far between, placed meticulously throughout the aisles of tulips, roses and hedges. "No, I'm fine." Jaron answered distastefully. It couldn't be anymore obvious that his stalwart guard had caught the two young and single castle residents in the den. Henry undoubtedly teased the prince the most, no matter how bitter or aversive the young man made himself out to be, likely because that was all he ever was. But for one reason or another, Jaron was beginning to understand that he wasn't doing so on purpose, or to be a nuisance. It simply made him happy to see Jaron and Bella getting along, and yet that was what bothered Jaron the most.

"I found you and Bella in the den today," Henry began, stating the obvious. Word had traveled so fast through the castle, the only one who didn't know Jaron and Bella were snuggled up together all day was Bella. "I was pretty worried at first, you both only just woke up yesterday. From the ezinime?" As Henry continued, the sound of his deep, stocky voice dwindled down until it was only white noise in the back of Jaron's head that he couldn't care to make out. The prince sat hunched forward, arms resting on his legs as he focused his gaze intensely on the slimy larvae across the pavement nibbling on the leaves of slightly pink but mostly red and yellow milkweeds. "Someday, that caterpillar will hang itself upside down from a twig or leaf, spin itself a silky cocoon and undergo metamorphosis, essentially becoming a monarch butterfly." He thought to himself. Those weren't his thoughts verbatim, but it was something along those lines.

"Your highness?" Henry began as Jaron abruptly stood up from the bench. Bella only need to open the kitchen door to the garden a smidge for Jaron to instantly catch the distinct scent of her blood as her skin touched the cool night air. Jaron slid his hands into his pockets, tilting and turning his head just enough so that Henry could barely make out each of his eyes. "Good evening, Sir Cardwell." Jaron remarked with a tone and expression Henry had never seen before. "What?" Henry furrowed his brows, had the prince stood up just to greet him? They had been sitting and talking for almost half an hour. As the burly steel clad man watched Jaron make his way further into the garden with each step, passing splotches of lavender, irises, hyacinth and other such blooming perennial, he didn't ponder the meaning of Jaron's words much, there didn't seem to be any. Then, he wondered if perhaps the prince wasn't trying to be polite?

As if things couldn't get any stranger, Jaron found himself outside the stables, the one place on the massive estate he never stepped foot in, not once, not a day in his life. Jaron felt quite awkward as he scrambled for a moment thinking of how he might approach Bella. The night before was a formal circumstance, one that lead into the garden. But in this case, Jaron had very well stalked her all the way out to the stables, essentially sneaking up on her. It would be quite obvious that's what he was doing, too. He could argue that the stables and horses all belonged to him, and so he could visit them as he pleases, and that he only happened upon Bella, but that was all a lie, or rather it had nothing to do with why he was out there. Perhaps his following her out there to keep her company was his tea and cake, and he were simply returning the gesture. But more importantly...

"You like horses..."

"Bella," Jaron forced himself to blurt out her name as he entered the stables. As embarrassed he was to have stalked Bella all the way out there, he hoped not to startle her and thought it best to get the stalking out of the way as fast as possible, the sooner the better. It would be painful, but quick, like cauterizing a wound to keep it from getting worse. The suspense, however, seemed to be the worst part and everything seemed to glow through dusky twilight as soon as the prince met Bella's eyes; she seemed to him approachable and friendly. Harmless, even, and so much so that Jaron could relax and almost felt silly for being so embarrassed. "Sorry, I don't mean to sneak up on you." He began, eyes locked on Bella's as he passed Dullahan and Piper on his approach. In a moments notice Jaron stood casually before her like they were old friends. Perhaps too casually as he allowed himself to get distracted by the black stallion who's long face and mane stuck out from the stall where he lived peacefully. Somehow Fritz found himself between a copper haired forge house maiden and Carthya's lost forgotten prince, albeit he didn't seem to think much of it. In fact, he enjoyed their company, especially Bella's, seeing as she was the one feeding and petting him.

Jaron positioned himself directly in front of Fritz. It was their first time meeting, yet something nagged at the back of Jaron's mind at the sight of the stallion that he could not discern. He couldn't even recall the stallions name. "Is this your friend? Hmm, what's his name?" Jaron asked, finally turning his attention to Bella. "He smells like shit." Jaron thought, having to refrain himself from thinking out loud; his mother would turn in her grave if he spoke that way around a lady, especially one so fond of horses! "Oh, I came out here because I wanted to ask you something." He said, averting his eyes back to Fritz as he spoke. For a second, his face almost felt as warm as it had just a few short hours ago. He turned back to Bella but with furrowed brows and a perplexed face, much like the one Henry had earlier. "Did you bake that cake?" He posed the question so seriously, as if someone's life were depending on whether or not Bella had participated in baking a brown flaky pound cake. Surely not, but Jaron's tone could have suggested otherwise. "It was pretty good." He finally confessed, averting his eyes away from Bella's. "I think.. I think it was the best damn cake I've ever had." It was such a solemn declaration, Jaron almost seemed to regret eating the damn cake.

He grew quiet and began to caress Fritz's neck; to tell the truth of it, Fritz brought the prince more comfort than the prince brought Fritz. He only began to pet the horse compulsively, that way he wasn't just staring at him. He wanted to ask Bella if she meant to fall asleep against him, but as he thought back to earlier, he could distinctly remember the book she was reading, how it sat open on her lap when he woke. How easy he overlooked such a telling detail. Obviously, she didn't mean to fall asleep on him. And yet, it was so terribly obvious how Jaron secretly hoped that weren't the case. As far as keeping her company, well, he felt about as charming and entertaining as a duck in a pond; not really engaging or anything to write home about. Jaron was starting to feel like Bella was the one keeping him company.

"You like horses...?" He asked after what felt like an hour, not taking his eyes off Fritz, still caressing his neck.
 
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All was quiet in the stables, the only sounds being that of the horses' breathing and the soft, meditative chewing of hay and oats. The peace here was simpler than the air of tranquility that hung over the castle or so it seemed. Perhaps the simplicity could be attributed to horses generally being easier to understand than people; or perhaps it was their sleepy placidity and the warmth shining star-like in their dark eyes. The copper-haired maiden wondered at this, her anxious nerves calming as she stroked the black Friesian's silky, flowing mane. Still, there was something lacking, a little hollow place inside that couldn't be filled by the amiable beasts - something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Instead, she rested her cheek against Fritz's sinewy neck, his illustrious coat soft against her skin. As her eyes fell on the reins, hanging nearby on the wall, the urge to ride broke over her. What better way to clear her mind than a long gallop, the fluid heaving and subsiding of the horse beneath her, with the cool wind in her hair?

"Oh!" Bella snapped to when her name rumbled clearly from the Prince's chest, startled by the sudden break of the silence. "Your--" Her voice stuck in her throat and she promptly closed her mouth before his title could leave it, lips pressing into a meek smile that begged forgiveness for the force of habit. She backtracked and corrected, "You surprised me." The words were intended just as honestly as they were to save face. It could be said that she startled like a rabbit, easily and with a jump. Her feet shifted her slightly to the side as Jaron approached to stand in front of the horse, eyes gold in the low light locked on his. Surprising yet, he didn't know the stallion's name; albeit, it wasn't in retrospect, given that Henry said Jaron hadn't been out to the stables since before he turned. He never got the chance to meet the glorious steed that was to be his gift, a terrible shame.

"I hope so." The redhead's voice wavered on a tremor of laughter, gaze turning musingly to the large dark eye. Any horse was her friend, the real question was, was she the horse's friend? "This is Fritz." The hand that wasn't on his neck moved to scratch under Fritz's whiskery chin, paused mid-scratch at the seriousness in Jaron's voice. Bella was instantly nervous and confirmed that she indeed baked the cake, wondering if something was wrong with it. As was apparently becoming a running trend, he turned her expectations upside down, complimenting the confection. It was so gravely spoken that the words didn't even register as a compliment, at first; instead, Bella's anxious overthought inserted itself. Her lips parted soundlessly in shock, eyes wide, stricken. Anyone who walked in on them might have thought the Prince had said or done something outlandish. Her cheeks colored as she turned her face back to Fritz and smiled, murmuring her thanks.

"I do, very much." If it wasn't obvious enough already, her love and admiration for the equines showed as clearly in her eyes as Fritz's reflection. "Do you ride?" She asked in a conversational tone, glancing at Jaron before she quite realized what she said. Of course, he more than likely didn't as he was, seeing as he couldn't very well be out in the sun; then, that didn't mean he didn't ride after dark. Bella herself had a few times. What she was asking was whether or not Jaron ever had ridden, or if he even liked to. Again she found the reins across the stable, bits gleaming in the moonlight. A grin brightened her face and she moved to snatch them from where they hung on the wall. It was a little odd for the hour, but surely Fritz was willing enough. Bella didn't bother with the saddle; once she led Fritz outside, she placed her forearms right behind his withers and vaulted onto his back. One hand on the reins, she extended the other to Jaron, a laugh bubbling up at her spur-of-the-moment idea.

The nighttime air was cool on her face; it pushed her hair back and roared past her ears at Fritz's break-neck speed. Bella pressed her knees gently into his sides to hold on, not the least bit insecure on a back so broad as his without a saddle. She sat closer to his shoulders than she might have, though not enough to obscure or hinder his ease of movement, so Jaron could sit comfortably behind her. There hadn't been any particular location in mind when Bella committed to the spontaneous venture, she only wanted to ride; as such, she let Fritz go where he may, the expansive estate zipping by them in shadowed blurs.
 
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"Once upon a time, nearly every day." Jaron recalled, cutting straight through the countless dark hairs coating Fritz's face as he peered briefly into the distant past, his minds eye sent there by Bella's wandering curiosity. His gut felt sore just thinking of the days he used to ride across the castle grounds. Eerily Bella abandoned any notion to pursue the topic in conversation, opting instead to say nothing and cross over to the reins instead, leaving Jaron to wonder if she could sense the pang in his gut her question provoked. In one way or another, she seemed to yearn for a change of scenery, luring the prince out of the stables. Already there was some unspoken agreement between them, Jaron sensed that perhaps Bella expected him to follow her and Fritz, which he did. After all, he had apparently walked all the way out to the stables just to compliment her baking, albeit the dessert was the furthest thing from his mind by the time she was hoisting him onto the Friesian.

Jaron maintained his dignity on their ride across the grounds, perhaps letting a lady take the reins when riding double was unconventional, but that certainly wasn't the case upon Inverness's moonlit field beneath the stars, and there would be no argument or question on Jaron's behalf in regards to the idea. Certainly there was nobody around to pass judgement besides the both of them if you didn't count the ladybugs and crickets hiding in the grass, but they couldn't care less and were too busy avoiding Fritz's galloping hooves. The prince trusted the copper haired maiden wholeheartedly, ideally clenching onto her waist with his hands just tightly enough to keep steady as Fritz's momentum sent the both of them bobbing up and down in tandem. They were riding together on horseback before he knew it, and he would've preferred if they went on forever. They were far enough into the field that the surrounding forests tree line marking the edge of the prince's estate was almost beginning to poke out above the horizon. It had only just occurred to Jaron briefly then that they seemed to be riding aimlessly. "This way," Jaron instructed whilst asserting control over Fritz, grasping onto Bella's hands so that his wrapped around the reins too, allowing him to confidently guide Bella and Fritz the rest of the way.

Shortly thereafter, Jaron lead them first towards a short hill hiding the base of a tall, thick and lonely oak tree; its spine reaching skyward as webs of branches melded to the sides stuck out, hiding bark behind a leafy shroud. The stump sat on the other side of the hill. On horseback, atop the hill and looking straight across towards the tree, Jaron was just shy of being parallel to the point at which it peaked high in the air. From there the leaves shrouded not just the outermost layer of the trees skin where crisp bark wrapped itself around all the wood, but still, calm water too, carving an outline onto the land where the vast grassy field gave way to mud, rocks and even ones own gleaming, somewhat cloudy reflection. The pond was a great enough distance that Inverness seemed like it could be plucked between Bella's index finger and thumb then subsequently dropped into a snow globe as a means of decoration. Reeds, lily pads and water lilies bordered the water, stretching towards the ponds center from some corners and others. From an aerial point of view, the pond was shaped like a watering can, if the can was a curvy rectangle. There was a thin creek too, that was the spout.

"Whoa, whoa!" At the prince's command, Fritz slowed to a light trot before making his way timidly down the short hill. "I think Fritz earned himself some rest," Jaron remarked almost playfully as they approached the water. With his left hand pressed on Fritz back the prince pushed himself off and onto the ground, his right hand clasped around Bella's still. Jaron didn't waste a second and stood ready to help Bella down. Fritz was just as eager, too, and made for the pond to have a drink as soon as he was free. "Have you been here?" Asked the prince, truly uncertain if Bella had ventured so far out into Inverness's pasture. As they climbed the hill and overlooked the pond, Jaron recalled the fortnight he spent secluded in his quarters that had only passed a little over a week prior. All the days Bella spent in the castle left to her own devices, bound to Inverness by her own volition. He could sense the maiden there throughout most of each day and night, not once laying eyes on her.
The oak tree stood there upright as it always had; calm and quite still, like the water resting in its shadow. The prince gazed towards the top of the grassy green bump protruding from the ground beside them. "I should have brought you here a long time ago." He asserted, a twinge of what ought to have been guilt or bitter resentment creeping in his tone of voice. "I'll sit up there sometimes." He confessed, gesturing towards the top of the hill with his eyes and brow.
 
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For all their similarities in size and build, Fritz was no Farren. Their manners were different, the way their bodies moved distinct enough from each other that Bella could easily distinguish between the two with her eyes closed. The black beauty couldn't replace the gentle dapple-gray giant; however, riding astride his equally massive bulk, face in the wind and eyes shut, Bella just as easily imagined herself with her beloved stallion. She could see the tall summer grass of the fields surrounding the dun-colored house, smell the sharp scent of it as it broke under his hooves. Fritz's hoofbeats fell perfectly in time with Farren's remembered gallop. Only when Jaron's hands closed around hers did Bella open her eyes, the illusion broken. Her heart fluttered against her breast bone as she looked down, fancying the smoothness of his hands and how well hers fit in them.

"I had no idea this was here." The redhead answered, examining the area briefly from the height of Fritz's back before swinging her leg over his shoulders. Her feet touched the ground with hardly a crunch of the grass thanks to assistance from the Prince, relinquishing the horse to his meanderings. They walked closely, as they had in the garden the previous night, so that the bustling skirt of the day's
dress occasionally brushed Jaron's leg as it shifted with Bella's steps. She looked questions at him out of the corner of her eye, a line forming between her pale brows. The undertone of his words concerned her. Was that regret? If so, why? Did this place, tucked neatly away in the far corner of the Prince's estate, hidden from the eye by the natural undulations of the land, hold some special meaning for him? He brought her here now, albeit she initially dragged him along on her wild whim. Was her being here with him significant? Her thoughts raced like the stray clouds that blotted out the stars.

"Why would you?" Bella wanted to ask, throat tight, though Jaron might have been able to read it on her face. Why should he trouble himself with her to such an extent as that? While he requested that she treat him as a friend, he was still a prince and she was just a girl. So little was she compared to him; she wasn't worth his time in the grand scope of things. The fact that they were standing so close now was only a result of other-worldly circumstances and was never meant to be in the first place. In spite of this, the former aristocrat's daughter found herself strangely happy. Jaron hadn't shut himself away; he was there with her, whatever his reason, and that was enough. Swallowing dry, she smiled and brushed her hair behind her ear. "I would have found it eventually. I just haven't wandered very far, before now."

A few sliding steps down the slope took Bella to the marshy bank of the pond. Moonlight dappled the area beneath the leafy canopy of the overhanging oak, finding the dusk gray of her dress to lighten to silver and turning the silk organza overskirt into mist. She took in the shimmering still water with a sigh of satisfaction, stooping to stretch a finger and touch the nearest blooming lily. In the patchy grass, alternating with mud, there were stones of numerous sizes and shapes, some of which were round and smooth on both sides. Plucking one from where it was stuck, Bella straightened and tossed it with a deft flick of her wrist, sending it skipping across the surface of the water. The lily pads and flowers surfed the resulting ripples, miniature boats on isolated ocean waves. She turned her gaze to the hilltop, pensive, started for the foot of the grassy mound.

Perhaps it rained at some point during the five days that the two slept, soft as the ground was, or it was simply waterlogged by the pond. The shadows under the oak tree did well to mask the still-slick mud; one wouldn't see it even if watching every step. As such, Bella didn't see the slick patch her shining silver shoe landed on. She only felt her foot slide swiftly back, out from under her, before she crashed wide-eyed into Jaron. "S-sorry!" She apologized sheepishly, finding her footing as quickly as she lost it. "I promise I'm not normally this clumsy." A bashful, laughing grin played off her embarrassment as she brushed her fringe from her eyes. Setting herself to rights, she continued to the top of the hill where she let out an awed breath. The castle was tiny at that considerable distance, small enough to fit in a music box. Removing her muddy shoes so as not to dirty her skirts, Bella sat, drawing her knees to her chest, to look out over the vast expanse of lush summer green that the night turned blue. "It's beautiful. It almost looks like the sea."
 
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At the top of his peripheral, the prince could see the moon glistening off the surface of the dark pond, as he often would. It was Jaron's hearth and home of the night; if he spent half of the past decade staring into a fireplace, then the other half was undoubtedly spent gazing upon the water. He never had quite decided which of the two he preferred over the other. On the one hand, there was the claustrophobic sensation that came with hiding from the sun within the castle walls all day. On the other, it was quite awkward to embrace the cool winds of the outdoors after the suns set being a creature of the night famously known for stalking its prey long after everyone and their grandmother have drifted to sleep. There was no winning, it seemed, and Jaron found himself again staring at Bella in disbelief, silently mulling over her words as she bent forward to poke an idle flower.

Yes, of course Bella would have found the pond eventually. He was well aware of her tendency to explore the unknown and could already see it, the long walks each night to the stables, tenderly caressing the horses with one hand as she fed them oats with the other, becoming more familiar with them with each passing day. She would find herself gazing out towards the fields each night, longing for some kind of change, for something to happen, something new, quite in the same way the prince held fast upon the flames of his warm hearth and its flickering shadows. Finally a burning desire for adventure would ignite itself in her and she'd mount one of the horse's as if they were her own and start towards the fields. Of course Bella would have found her way there eventually.

Surely there was still a home for her to return to and a family who missed her tucked on the outskirts of Esterwell where they hugged the woods. She could be there before sunrise, and yet there she was instead, skipping rocks beside the prince, not in any hurry to leave his company. Jaron was certain Bella would have found the pond eventually because he couldn't begin to understand why she would.
"Ho-oh!" Despite thinking deeply at length about her intentions, Jaron managed to forget she was right beside him once she crashed into him. "You're fine," was the most polite thing Jaron could think to say. He didn't dwell on it much and continued to walk beside her as if it had never happened. Just as Jaron suspected, Bella appeared to be mesmerized by the almost endless reach of the moonlit fields stretching well into the horizon. Even he couldn't deny how the view from atop the hill had captured him just as easily the first time he found himself wandering up there. Much like Inverness's walls, he did feel like he was seeing the vast fields for the first time now that Bella was there to accompany him.

"Your father was a merchant then?" Jaron couldn't help to ask as he joined Bella on the moist grass, albeit he posed the question in more of a matter-of-factly tone, like it were more of a statement. "Henry says you're from Valford." Bella was obviously familiar with sea, having lived by its coast. Jaron hoped not to let on how much he knew about her, the family business and the manor. That was Liza's doing, commerce was an honest trade after all, one that left a paper trail essentially. Despite that, Bella had given her fathers old business away the night prior. "Truthfully, I've never seen the ocean. I had no idea what boat this was until you told me," Jaron confessed, gesturing to the pocket watch suddenly in his hand, a gentle sheen dancing upon the the gold engravings as it had the night prior. Jaron was focusing on the cutter as Bella had called it, the boat. "I figured he must be a merchant, the way you spoke about monograms and craftmanship. Or perhaps you were a watchmaker?" He jested, focusing on her now.
 
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