She strode to the piano with timid steps. It wasn't like it was back home or alone in a quiet room away from the world. This was a room full of nobility and masters and the royal family of the country she so loved. This was beyond a simple concert. This was a crucible for her talents.

Her hands brushed the keys and she set her binder in it's holder. She spread the pages but felt her hands shake. How was she going to get through this?

"Allow me, dear lady."

Sir Rochester came to her side and arranged the pages for her.

"This piece requires even timing, I shall turn the pages for you."

She sat with her skirts flowing out to the side away from him.

"Thank you."

"What do you call this piece? It's clear you've written it yourself."

She turned to the small crowd and looked between Gladys and Petulia. Then turned her attention to her sisters. They seemed distraught but supportive. She couldn't leave them like that. So she smiled.

"It is called Take Wing."

She tensed and then relaxed her fingers, taking to the keys as she took a breath.

That morning in the piano room, the cool stillness of the air, and the sounds of early song came to her.

She played, relaxing as the notes moved her into another world. No games. No intrigue. No pompous feasts you had to check were not poisoned. No quips to be on guard for. No bullies or bigots or blatant cruelty. It wasn't in this world. This was a world just waking up. New and fresh. And it coaxed you from your bed to join with innocent nature.

She moved into the next portion and thought of that afternoon in the garden at home. Her sisters cries at the Royal Prince making his way there for tea. The twittering excitement that disrupted the lazy haze of the warm afternoon. The world was abuzz, and a key remained ringing through the movement.

The birds called out to each other, and she eased into their conversation. Nests and insects were all they were interested in. Even love came calling on that warm afternoon. Their amore so sweet and pure.

The evening slowly came, quieting the bustle of the day. She was transported to the palace gardens and the light dimmed. Deeper tones of night came on slowly, then all at once. Punctuated by starlight and budding calls of the evening. Everyone being tucked safely away, and only the gentle flap of wings to cover the children of their love. The hooting of the watchman. The chirping of the weather gauges. The stillness of the night rolling in to close out the day. Yet lingering so stilly as you didn't want to go back in doors so soon.

And finally, the fond farewell. A small sound reminiscent of the morning, a reminder that it was a parting only until tomorrow. And the ending chord flowing through the room.

She closed her eyes to hear the last of it. It was a piece she very much enjoyed, or else she wouldn't have written it. That was the point of her stories and songs. Why bother writing unless you wanted to hear it come to life?

Finally she opened her eyes once more and the small smile she held faltered.

The Dowager Queen was standing with her hand on the piano.

"Extraordinary..."

"Is it not so? And she plays with such feeling."

Sir Rochester seemed giddy. It was as if he'd found something worth his many years of searching. Something he didn't even know he'd been looking for. Chammielle stood and swept into a deep curtsy.

"Lady Kuchen, your playing sounded so unrehearsed and natural...and utterly transcendent. Tell me, who is the master your father hired to teach your ladies? Perhaps they could help my William?"

She found herself speechless and then heard Ianthe.

"No master, your majesty. Chammielle learned of her own volition. She sought out a player to teach her when she was six, and after only a year surpassed him."

Murmurs went about the room. Some unkind, speaking of the Kuchen House as if they were all cheapskates. Others reminding them that she was the bastard. Still, many agreed she had potential.

"Your majesty, I beg you allow me this one favor in light of this discovery after my own works were destroyed."

The Queen smiled, seeming to know what he was going to say. Chammielle remained quiet, wondering what sort of fate they were weaving for her. From the moment she'd walked up those steps, she'd felt like she had entered a realm of ancient mythological gods.

Perhaps she could only do what they wanted for her to do.

"Allow me to spend some of this precious time with Lady Kuchen. Such raw talent and creativity is very rare in my field of expertise. Should Lady Kuchen desire to have her talents refined, of course."

She placed a delighted smile upon her face and turned to her majesty. She hadn't forgotten this man had swapped books before the plot to destroy her could take place. There was a reason for him asking to be by her side

"I believe she can be spared. The next few days shall have many activities, indeed. But we would be happy to have you accompany her, Sir Rochester."

He bent at the waist and kissed her hand. Clearly delighted to have his request met. And then while everyone was still discussing her piece, he ushered her with her book held tightly in her arms from the room. Belladonna followed closely behind.

...

They found themselves in the piano room. Although it had been used only for meetings with Alfrina and composing, it seemed the right place to meet. Especially since Sir Rochester was clearly on their side.

"I take it Alfrina sent you."

She turned towards the stout man once Belladonna had secured the door, a smug smile on his face.

"Ah, the Duchess told me she didn't have time to inform you of all this. I must say, you played your part well, Lady Kuchen."

She looked him over. He'd at first seemed irate and pompous and then jolly and fatherly once things had calmed down. But now, alone, his rotund belly and features seemed less silly and amiable...and more ominous. It was unsettling.

"So what are we really up to?"

She crossed her arms over her middle. The afternoon was gone and she ought to be getting ready for dinner. But this was important, no matter how tired she felt.

He smoothed his chubby fingers over his waxed mustache. A mealy grin stretching his features.

"You are quite sharp. It's a shame you seem like such easy prey. Really there's more to you under those painted looks of yours."

He turned around, not giving her room for reply, and promptly sat at the piano. He let his fingers do the talking, with sharp jabs at the keys. And decided to go on a little chat with himself as he did so.

"Tis too easy, really. But I knew there was a reason I was called for. Tell me, how would you defend yourself should the royal guard come at you, hmm? If the whole kingdom went absolutely looney, where would you go? Would you stab anyone?"

A cold chill went down her spine.

"You're my combat instructor."

"Precisely. This piano bit is just my cover. They did a marvelous job threading me in here, really. A pitcher of wine? How quaint."

Her head whipped to Belladonna who was looking on edge. The man was making her uneasy as well.

"Was it not a ploy to destroy my writings?"

He played on and it sounded eerie.

"Oh, they believed it was. The simpletons. No, that was a planted idea. The real ploy was creating an opportunity for me to get into the palace. Me coming to your rescue was the bigger picture. Of course I had to seem put upon by it all. How was my acting? I simply had to think of a fool I once knew to bring up that outrage."

"Very believable. I almost fell for it."

His bushy brows shot up.

"And yet you didn't? Your performance was even better then. You'll be a quick study. I can tell."

She uncrossed her arms and moved closer, curiosity getting the better of her.

"Just how many have you tutored, Sir Rochester?"

"You'll be the first girl, if that's what you're wondering. The Duchess doesn't count, though she did learn a thing or two from me while I was locked away. It used to be mostly young men...but they've all died or been caught."

He plinked three clashing notes and then put his hands on his breech clad knees. A glint of sinister mischief in his eyes, and a proud smile on his face.

"You may call me Maestro. It suits me quite well, I can assure you. Your training begins this evening, but the lesson will begin at dinner with the Queen. All you need do is pay attention, and we'll see what you've learnt tonight."

A cold chill went down her spine. The world in her song clearly was gone from this room. Here sat a cold blooded killer. A devious man assigned to her. Now what could she possibly learn from him?

"Yes, Maestro."

...

"Now, don't you worry, my lady. This man would not be here without the Duchess putting him here. And she is very concerned with your and your family's well being."

Chammielle sat nibbling on her thumb nail as Belladonna arranged her hair. Alfrina had come to her room and vouched for the false master. He was here for all their safety, even if he seemed to be the type who would turn on them in an instant and murder them in their beds.

She hadn't said that bit about murder of course, but she was sure it was written in between the lines.

"I trust Alfrina, and I trust you. I can put my faith in the two of you even in the face of the Maestro."

"Your hair is done, and now for your dress..."

She'd moved to the bed but stopped.

"What is it, Belladonna?"

"Strange is all. Seems my lady's secret admirer has left you another present."

She looked at the gown, a brilliant creamy silver silk stitched with pink and red coreopsis. It fell off the shoulder in firm lines with a lace trim sticking up from inside the neckline. At the center of the folded down collar was a large pink broach with three pearls dangling from it. It matched all the jewelry she had received thus far, and she was beginning to suspect this admirer of hers was very rich.

That did not bode well for her ideal life of having access to a kitchen. A rich man might not want her to go anywhere near a kitchen because it's not fashionable. Then again, she would most likely be matched with someone right or influential anyway for Aster's sake.

"Oh dear..."

"Something wrong my lady?"

She shook her head and smiled for the woman, but not too brightly. She could be herself with her.

"I think my secret admirer is very rich. It does not bode well for me."

The maid laughed at that.

"Not well you say? I'd think any young lady receiving such presents would disagree with you. He's persistent in showing his affections for you."

Chammielle chuckled but it sounded like a sigh as she was dressed.

"You forget I'm a bastard daughter of a country Lord, Belladonna. It's the simple things in life I desire. Like being able to go to the kitchen whenever I feel like whipping up something. Or spending an afternoon in the town to enjoy a festival or a cup of tea in public. If the Queen matches me with a rich and persistent husband, I shall be utterly smothered and my life will change forever."

She was laced up a little more gently than usual, and she realized she was moping. Her maid was here to help her and her sisters while she was at the palace. Not listen to her moaning about how being rich will ruin her life. It was a tedious problem for her, but it must sound like having too much food in winter when others are starving.

"Sorry, it really isn't such a problem. Whatever happens, happens. I'll just focus on surviving this week."

"You can share whatever is on your mind with me, my lady. It'll do no good walking around here with a heavy heart."

The dress fully laced, Chammielle turned and hugged the woman.

"Oh, my sweet girl..."

"I'm sorry I didn't make you more cream horns when I was less busy."

She chuckled at that and held her tighter so they both shook with it.

"And add a roll under my chin? I see through you, my lady. Can't stand to see me steal your man."

"Oh no! My clever ploy has been discovered!"

They laughed and went over her look once more before they needed to be off. The shoes were rose pink suede, and the amount of pink in her wardrobe made it seem appropriate to add just a few more jewels. She chose the choker and the ring, as the two with the broach seemed very elegant. She caught herself in the mirror and smiled at her reflection. She looked like a princess.

She recited the words in her head as she surveyed herself.

I am beautiful. I am intelligent. I am strong. I am worthy.

Her fingertips went to the broach where it rested between her breasts. It was a very large pink stone. Most likely morganite or some sort of sapphire, a pink diamond of that size was unheard of. Still, it was a costly piece.

Whoever had gifted it to her, they at least thought she was worthy of it.