Gilbert paced his room. He knew who he wanted to marry. He knew as of that afternoon.

He had been hunting in the woods when he came across a beautiful girl singing. Her voice was astounding, but hauntingly so. She herself had blonde locks, and big brown eyes. But her clothes...

She was obviously a peasant. And his father would never let him marry her. But one could wish.

His father, the king, was a bit cruel. He was a complete miser, and hated when someone of status and power married someone 'below' them.

Gilbert sighed, flopping on his bed. Maybe his father would let him marry her. Well, either that or he could kill his father. It may have made him seem as cruel as the king, but it was the only way he could marry for love.

He turned on his side, hearing the door open. Great. Right when he was in the middle of contemplating murder.

His advisor and right hand man walked in. "Sire, please tell me you're not thinking about that girl in the woods," he said.

Gilbert sighed. "Alexander, I can't help it! Did you see her? Hear her? She looked like--" the prince cut himself off. He couldn't bring himself to say 'The girl who I saw when Henriette de Noailles was beheaded'. The woman had been the palace seamstress, until she died. Gilbert knew her well, but didn't know the girl whom he assumed was her daughter very well. They had met on one occasion, and he only tried to comfort her. He doubted she even remembered him.

Alexander nodded, seeing that Gilbert didn't want to say anything more. He left, seeing a small girl come in to prepare Gilbert for the ball.

He smiled at the girl. "Hello Rosalie," he said kindly, ruffling her hair. She looked at him solemnly, then beckoned him away.