Antony awoke the next morning, the sunlight streaming into his bedroom seeming garishly bright in the face of the pounding headache he had. He groaned and forced himself to sit up, drowsily reaching for his shirt and slipping it over his head. He pulled on his boots and stood, going to the sideboard table in his parlor where someone, Fulton most likely, had placed his breakfast.

There was a knock on the door.

"Yes?" said Antony, wondering who would be at the door at this time of the morning.

The door opened and a man, probably about Antony's own age, stood in the entrance, his hands resting at his sides. He wore the clothing of a servant.

"Can I help you with something?" asked Antony, confused.

"My name is Parker, Sir," said the man, bowing his head respectfully. "I'm here on Princess Therese's orders."

Antony was momentarily confused, but his aunt's words soon came rushing back to him. She had told him that if he refused to find himself a manservant, she would take it upon herself to find one for him. Antony examined the man before him and decided that he seemed nice enough.

"I'm afraid I won't give you much to do," he told his new manservant.

"That's alright, Sir," said Parker. "If you don't mind my saying so...It would be a nice relief. I usually work in the stables, Sir."

"Rule number one, Parker," said Antony, after taking a sip of water from his goblet. "You don't need to call me 'Sir' every other sentence. Other than that, I believe we shall get on alright."

Parker smiled. "Thank you, Sir."

Antony rolled his eyes and turned back to his breakfast, while Parker crossed the parlor to the bedroom to make the bed.

After he finished eating, Antony went to the next room to see that Parker had finished making the bed and tidying up the floor. "Alright, Sir?" he asked.

Antony nodded, making a mental note that he would have to be careful not to give Therese the pleasure of knowing that he was actually enjoying having a manservant. "Wonderful, Parker," he said, aloud. "Thank you very much."

Parker nodded. "Is there anything else you have need of?"

"Nothing that comes to mind."

"Then I will take your breakfast dishes down to the kitchen. If you have need of me, you need simply to send for me. I will return this evening to assist you in getting ready for the winter gala." He bowed and left.

Antony sighed and crossed to the mirror in his dressing room, examining himself in it. He attempted to smooth his hair and straightened his shirt, putting on his belt. He splashed some cold water in his face and hoped he didn't look as horrible as he felt.

He left his bedroom and made his way downstairs. He nodded to Fulton as he passed and then continued on, past the throne room, past the portrait hall, past the library. Pausing before a huge door, he took a deep breath and steeled himself before pushing it open and continuing down the hallway, his footsteps echoing on stone. At the end of the hallway, he took a torch from its holder and opened a second door, descending a long flight of steps. At the bottom, he nodded to two guards, who each took hold of a handle and pulled the reinforced double doors open.

Stepping through, he continued on his way down another stone hallway and through another set of double doors.

The guard at the main entryway to the prison looked up from his desk and stood abruptly. "King Antony," he said, bowing. "You're here to see him, I assume?"

"That is correct," said Antony, tersely. The man nodded and took a set of keys from a hook on the wall behind him, unlocking a door and leading Antony through it and down a long hallway lined with cells, all currently empty. Through several more doors were the high security cells. The guard led Antony to stand before one of these cells.

Antony held the torch before him, illuminating Jonathan's living space. The palace of Astoria was not unkind to its prisoners, but it was not overly merciful either. The space was small and uncomfortable.

Jonathan sat on the small, hard cot at the back of the cell, his arms crossed and his expression bitter.

"Jonathan," said Antony, simply.

Jonathan looked up, making no move to speak, his gaze bitter and angry, but underneath it all, tired, as if Jonathan were weary of living.

"What have you come for, Antony? To gloat? To rub it in my face? To show me how far I've fallen?"

Antony swallowed his grief that his brother had come to this and shook his head. "I've come to tell you your fate."

"It's taken you longer than it should have. We both know you wouldn't kill me."

***

Jonathan eyed his brother warily from his place behind bars. There was a part of him that looked at his brother and hated what he stood for, but there was another part of him that compared this man with the little boy who had once so admired him and wished that both of them could return to simpler times. But we can not, for both of us have gone too far on our own separate course. Stop thinking about these things, Jonathan. Thinking them is dangerous.

"You are correct, Jonathan," said Antony, calmly, after a few moments. "And is it wrong to show mercy to one's own brother? What you do not seem to realize is that I hold your life in my hands. I would be no better than you if I were to so quickly cast you off and make the decision that your life is worth nothing, that you would be better off dead."

Jonathan laughed bitterly, his eyes wild with hatred and pain. "Perhaps I would be! I have seen so much more than you will ever see, Antony!" He was on his feet now, striding to the bars that separated  him from his brother. He gripped them and stood face to face with Astoria's king, watching as his brother regarded him calmly from the other side. "I have suffered as you never will," he hissed. "You have no idea, the things that this world can steal from you with its coldness and its dark. And I? I know! Because over the years, it has weathered away my conscience, my ability to love, my ability to do anything but hate. I feel that I am no longer capable of feeling!"

He allowed his hands to fall to his sides. He looked up, his dark eyes finding his brother's blue ones and seeing the sadness there.

"What do you have to say, brother?" he spat. "If I were to die, it would be a neat solution to the problems of your empire, wouldn't it?"

Antony shook his head. "Your sentence is lifetime in prison, Jonathan. You will remain here, guarded day and night, for the rest of your life. Perhaps the kinder thing would be to kill you." He sighed. "But I cannot. I will not. You see, Jonathan, there is part of me you might call foolish. That is the part that, even after all you've done, loves you. I may denounce you in name, but by blood, you will always be my brother, and nothing you say or do will change that. And, no matter how foolish or stupid of me you may think it is, I still hold out hope that things can change. People can change for good, just the same as they can change for worse."

Jonathan felt a stab of grief and hope slice through his pain and darkness, but he pushed it away, watching as his younger brother held his head high, the crown he wore glinting in the torchlight. Antony was every inch the king that Jonathan had never wanted to be.

But what did he want? He claimed to want the throne, but he had already had it. It wasn't that. It was revenge. Revenge against the expectations he had had to hold up under and the abuses he had had to endure under Rupert.

***

Antony watched his brother as he looked up and met his eyes.

"How can you still claim to love me, after everything I have done?" he said quietly. "I have lied, stolen, cheated, and murdered. I murdered innocent people. Your friend, Kade? You can tell him that I murdered his father, personally, after he wouldn't give me the information I wanted."

Antony flinched slightly. Oh Kade... he thought. I'm sorry.

"I fight against everything you believe about the empire of Astoria! I tried to kill you! You knew it, too! You knew I wasn't just fighting to injure you, I was seeking to make a killing blow! I fought against the empire of Astoria long before I was king! I hated Rupert! I hated the empire he ruled! I am no better than he is now!"

He paused and Antony waited for him to continue.

"Can you still love me after all my sins are laid out in the open? Can you still care about me? Can you still want to call me brother? It would be easier for you to wish me dead!"

Antony regarded his brother calmly, and then nodded. "That's the strange thing," he remarked. "It would be, wouldn't it?"

He turned away and began to walk back down the hallway.

Antony said nothing more as he exited through the door at the end of the hallway and made the long return journey back upstairs and into the light of the palace, his head pounding and his heart sad.

***

Meredith sat at her window seat and looked listlessly out over the snowy courtyard, the walkways cleared for the already arriving winter gala guests. She sighed and rested her forehead against the cold window, her eyes following the frost that swirled in beautiful patterns along the edge.

She still hadn't revealed to her mother and her older brother that Antony now knew their secret. She was too afraid. She felt, lately, full of fear. After seeing Antony's reaction to what she had told him, she was imagining the worst. She and her family were now at his mercy, and while the Antony she knew was fair and just, this Antony would be driven by grief, pain, and the grudge he still held against Borgavia for his father's death.

She took a deep breath and stood, leaving her room, grabbing her cloak on the way out and pulling it around her. She needed to get outside for a while. She hoped the fresh air would clear her head. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she almost ran into Antony coming around the corner.

As he realized who she was, his expression of apology turned to a frown. She tried to read what he was thinking but, as he had before he had ever opened up to her, he was keeping his emotions closely guarded. The only thing she sensed from him was displeasure and annoyance.

"I'm...sorry..." she muttered. He nodded and made to move around her, but she took hold of his arm.

"Wait..." she said. He jerked his arm away as if he had touched something hot, but turned to look at her all the same, crossing his arms.

"Please," she said, quietly. "I just want to know that my family will be alright. Whatever you decide to do with me, please promise me that you will be merciful to them."

He raised one eyebrow and looked at her quizzically.

"Just what, exactly, do you imagine I'd do to you?"

"At the worst, kill me. At the best, remove me from my job," she whispered, meekly, feeling heat rush to her face. Being this close to him was hard.

He was silent for so long that she dared to look up at him. His mouth was set in a firm line and he was watching her carefully. "Isabella would have my head if I took your job, for I am sure that she will see this situation differently than I. You will continue life in much the same way as you did before."

She knew that he didn't mean that things would be the same as they were before she told him. No, this 'before' referred to the time before he had kissed her, before he had told her he loved her. Before she was there when he came in from the rain. Before the portrait gallery. Before the East Wing window. Before the carriage ride. Before they danced. Before any of that. Before, when she was nothing but his cousin's lady's maid and nothing else.

She nodded, sadly.

"Thank you, Sire," she said, her voice quiet as she curtsied and hurried past him and outside, trying to hold in her tears, unaware that he watched her until the door closed behind her retreating figure.

***

Antony stood ramrod straight as Parker knelt at his feet, carefully polishing his boots. His gaze was fixed on the window, his eyes following the progress of the small figure making her way to the door. He frowned and turned away.

"Parker," he said. "Do you mind closing the drapes? I have a bit of a headache and the light is somewhat bothersome."

"Of course," said Parker, standing and crossing the room where he closed the drapes, cutting off Antony's view of Meredith.

"Thank you, Parker," he said, tiredly.

Parker nodded and returned to polishing Antony's dress boots.

The clock chimed, five times, the signal for guests to start making their way downstairs in the next half hour.

Parker finished with Antony's boots and stood. "Very nice, Sir," he said, taking Antony's suit jacket from where it lay across the back of a chair. "If you please..."

Antony held his arms out and Parker assisted him in pulling the jacket on.

"Thank you, Parker," said Antony, doing his cuff links. "That will be all."

Parker bowed and departed.

Antony sighed and, soon after, made his way downstairs.

***

Meredith watched Isabella's face. She had just told her everything. Isabella knew who she really was: nothing more than the daughter of the man who had killed Isabella's own father.

She averted her gaze, staring at the floor. She expected Isabella to react as Antony had. She had not expected the hug that Isabella now bestowed on her.

"Oh, Meredith!" she exclaimed. "I'm so sorry."

Meredith felt tears beginning to sting her eyes once more. She forced them back and shrugged, returning Isabella's hug. "I suppose nothing can be done to change anything."

Isabella pulled back and studied her, before sighing. "Antony, for all his good attributes, can be surprisingly stubborn when it comes to letting go of a grudge. He allows himself to be blinded by pain. He keeps everything inside and doesn't let things go." She frowned. "However, I know one thing. He has allowed himself to put up walls to keep out everyone except for his family and even we cannot scale them all. But you, Meredith...You were able to break past that and he has never loved anyone the way he loves you. The fact that you've kept this secret from him this whole time will hurt him, yes, but I think he still loves you, deep down. It is a mark of how much he loves you that this has caused him to hurt this way. Give him time."

Meredith sighed. "I don't think he will ever trust me, or care for me, again."

She watched as Isabella stood. Eventually, she stood too. "I wish your mother wouldn't insist on my attendance."

"She was too invested in choosing your dress. Aside from that, she knows nothing of the situation between you and Antony."

Meredith looked at the ground dejectedly as she and Isabella made their way out the door and downstairs to the palace's grand ballroom.

***

"For your own good," said the tall figure, his eyes narrowed maliciously. "You must learn your place."

The young boy cowered under the figure as the man brought his whip across his bare back. He swallowed his tears, knowing that they would be seen only as a sign of weakness. They would only result in yet more strikes of the whip.

He felt as though the pain were a part of him and he absorbed each blow. It reached the point where he felt numb, the pain piling up until it felt like a weight pressing on him.

"Stupid boy," said Rupert, recoiling his whip. "Maybe next time you'll learn."

Twelve year old Jonathan forced himself to hold his head high and acknowledged his uncle, leaving the room as soon as was possible.

Thirty year old Jonathan awoke with a start and forced the memory of the dream, a thing too close to the reality for comfort, to the back of his mind.

He smirked. Sawyer would arrive tonight and, within hours, he would be free from this place and all the bad memories it held within its walls.

A part of him wondered why it felt as though his heart wasn't in it.

***

Antony found himself watching Meredith when she wasn't looking. He thought she looked beautiful in the dress that his aunt had helped pick out for her. She was dancing with Lord Andrew. He found himself noting that it was the third time they had danced. He frowned and forced himself to turn away.

He found himself facing Isabella, who was looking rather peeved about something.

"What's wrong?" he asked her. "You seem upset."

"Upset? I'm more than upset, Antony. I'm angry."

He rolled his eyes. "I suppose you're going to tell me why?"

"What's wrong with you?" she said, her words sharp.

"I beg your pardon?" he said, frowning more deeply.

"Look at you! You've gone and broken Meredith's heart, merely because she loved you enough, trusted you enough, to tell you her greatest secret."

"If you've only come to yell at me on her behalf, you might consider saving your breath."

"You're a fool, Antony," she said. "You're too blind to see just how much she cares about you."

"She seems to have moved on well enough. Look at her dancing with Andrew for the third time tonight."

"I see you've been keeping count."

"I see you've made it your personal mission to pry into my business."

She glared at him. "Sometimes, Antony," she said. "You can be such an idiot."

With that, she turned on her heel and marched off, moving through the crowd of people and exiting the ballroom.

***

Sawyer made his way down the hallway.

"You have no permission to be here!" said the guard standing before the door. "The king's orders were that no one should come down here without special permission." He drew his sword.

Sawyer lazily pulled back on his bowstring and let his arrow fly, the head finding it's mark directly in the man's chest. "I consider that permission enough," he drawled, continuing on his way. Each guard he came across met the same fate. Their swords were useless when he could simply shoot them down, picking them off from a distance. He smirked as he reached the corridor containing Nathan's cell.

"It's good to see you, Nathan," he said, smirking, his teeth glinting in the flickering torchlight.

"Sawyer," said Nathan, nodding.

Sawyer wondered at the seeming lack of enthusiasm from his commander. The man seemed positively blank.

"What's the matter with you?" he said, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Having second thoughts?"

"No," said Nathan, shaking his head. "Of course not. Let's go."

***

Isabella stormed through the hallway and towards the main stairs. Antony could be so frustrating sometimes. She felt that he was being entirely unfair to Meredith.

Then again...

Both he and Meredith had been hurt. She needn't have been so harsh with him. She supposed that, perhaps, she should return and apologize to him.

She sighed and turned, going back down the flight of stairs she had just ascended.

Just as she reached the bottom, she heard footsteps to her right, from the direction of the throne room. She frowned. As far as she knew, there shouldn't be anyone there.

"Hello?" she called, taking a few steps towards the dark corridor. There were more footsteps.

She moved a bit further down the hallway, straining to see in the darkness.

Suddenly, someone struck a match, the sudden light leaving her momentarily blinking until her eyes adjusted and she found herself face to face with two men.

"Well, well, well, Nathan," said one. "If it isn't the princess!" He grinned maliciously, before thrusting a handkerchief accompanied by a cloying scent over her nose and mouth. She held her breath, attempting to push his hands away and gain freedom. Eventually, she was unable to keep from inhaling and, when she did, she felt momentarily dizzy.

And then she was falling...into blackness.

***

Meredith was dancing with Lord Andrew again. He had been most polite, fetching her a drink, treating her to several dances, and attempting to cheer her up, recognizing her dampened mood but not knowing the reason.

Every time they danced closer to the head of the room, where Antony stood, she glanced up and watched him.

This time, she looked up just in time to see a guard hurry in and make his way to the king's side, where he said something in Antony's ear. She watched as Antony immediately went pale and gave the guard orders, hurrying out after him as he did so.

She hardly had time to worry whether or not something had happened, because the warning bells, heard all the way from King's City, made it very clear.

***

Evan rubbed down the king's horse, Emery, carefully, stopping to stroke the animal on the nose when the horse nudged his arm.

"Sometimes," he said. "I wish that people were like horses. Then things wouldn't be so complicated." Emery whinnied in reply and Evan sighed, continuing with his work.

He began to whistle quietly, Emery looking up once to study him, and then returning to his oats.

Evan stopped whistling, suddenly, straining to hear. Was it simply his imagination or had he really heard the creaking of the door?

He had almost written it off to his imagination when he heard it again: the unmistakable creak of the stable's main front door. Emery neighed anxiously.

"Shh," said Evan, comforting him.

Evan could hear quiet footsteps near the front of the stable. Emery's stall was near the back. Evan glanced at the horse, willing the animal to keep quiet, and stepped softly out of the stall and over to the stand where the king's saddle was kept. Evan knew that King Antony kept two daggers in one of the saddle bags and Evan hoped he could use one, if the intruder were indeed a thief or someone of that nature.

He slipped one of the blades out and held it in his hand, admiring it. He briefly wished that he owned such a weapon. The quality of its craftsmanship was magnificent.

He continued quietly forward, towards the front doors.

At that moment, the floor creaked beneath the intruder and Evan raised the dagger. "Who's there?" he demanded. "Show yourself!"

A match was struck. Evan tried to see, but all he could make out with his maladjusted vision was the outline of two men. One of them broke off and hurried out of sight. The other raised his bow and arrow and shot. Evan dodged the first two arrows and had almost reached the man before him, noting the bundle at his feet that had a surprisingly human shape, when he felt a blade embed itself in his back.

He stumbled forward, falling to the ground just a few feet away from the intruders.

"You shouldn't have tried to play the hero," said the tall, thin man. He laughed, mirthlessly and, although Evan tried to stay awake, he found himself unable to.

He used his last thought to hope that his family would always be safe with King Antony's kindness.

The last words he heard were, "Get two horses and tie up Princess Isabella. Hurry up, before all the guards arrive!"

He blacked out.

***

Antony ran outside, the sound of the warning bells interrupting the cold stillness of the night. The guards were spreading out to search the grounds after Therese had come, worriedly, to Antony and told him that she could not find Isabella.

He slipped once on the icy brick walkway, caught himself, and let out a deep breath before running onwards to the stables. It seemed logical to him that Jonathan might try to get a horse to escape on and so, with the entire palace guard combing the rest of the grounds as well as the roads to King's City and beyond, he made his way to the stable's double doors. His heart sank as he neared them, the fact that they remained swinging open only seeming to confirm his suspicions.

He drew his sword from the sword belt he had hastily put on in his hurry to get outside and stepped forward cautiously, pushing open the door and entering the dimly lit stables. All the lanterns had been extinguished and the floor was shadowed, the corners of the building dark.

He lowered his sword only slightly and continued onward.

He froze at the sound of someone groaning.

"Hello?" he called out. "Is someone hurt?"

The only response to his question was another groan, eminating from a stall in front of him and to the left. He hurried forward, reaching the stall in moments and pulling open the door to reveal a man, face-down on the ground, his shirt and the straw around him bloody. Antony hurriedly knelt beside him, rolling him over until he could see the man's face.

Evan.

Meredith's brother.

He pushed that away for now. The man was injured, and there seemed to be no doubt who had done it.

"Evan," he said. "Do you know who it was that hurt you?"

Evan groaned, but shook his head. "I don't know who... it was. One of them was tall and then. The other was... about your height, and more muscular."

"Did they have anyone with them?"

"There was... a bundle. It looked like maybe they... had someone tied up."

Antony's heart sank. Isabella.

"Do you know if it was Princess Isabella?" he asked.

Evan moaned and nodded. "They said... 'tie up Princess Isabella" just before... I blacked out. The thin one... stabbed me."

Antony turned him on his side, examining the wound. He realized, quickly, that Evan had already lost a great deal of blood. Aside from that, the position of the wound made it seem liable that the knife had punctured a lung.

"I tried...to stop them, Sir," said Evan, gasping, coughing. "But they..."

"I know, Evan," said Antony, his words heavy. "You did your best."

"I'm...sorry," he said, again. "Please...I trust you to take care of my family. I think...that they trust you, Sir. Please..."

"Your family will be treated well," said Antony, after a moment, feeling that Evan had no idea that his sister had just given away their deepest secret.

Evan nodded. His eyes widened and he struggled for breath. He was fighting death with everything in him. Antony remained kneeling next to him, unsure of what to say, what comfort to offer. "It's going to be alright, Evan," he finally said. "You can just let go. I promise I will take care of your family."

Evan nodded, took one more deep breath and relaxed, suddenly, against the straw, his eyes staring blank and unseeing at the ceiling.

Antony simply sat there for a few moments, staring at the body before him. Evan was Evan no more. He reached forward and closed the man's eyes, carefully, before standing.

Evan had tried to rescue Isabella, had tried to defend the stables from an intruder. Although he had failed, the man had given his life.

Antony left the stables, the weight of all that had happened this night resting heavy on his shoulders as he made his way back across the courtyard and into the palace.