"Saw a meow," the little boy said.

"Excuse me?" Truss frowned at the little boy. Hyacinthe. "Why are you telling me..."

"Was owwange," the little boy insisted. He smiled wide.

Twelve months, and only twelve months, was all it had taken for Hyacinthe to begin adopting a vocabulary. He went from one word -- Nana -- to several hundred words. It probably helped to have Liddy constantly chattering away at him, no matter what Liddy was doing alongside the chatterings.

Even climbing trees couldn't seem to rid Truss of the child. Not that he ever seemed to climb far. Or transform into a faerie light and fly away. It was as though part of him wanted to be found.

He hated that part of himself.

"An' da owwange meow was..." he pointed to his smile.

"Happy." Truss's deadpan didn't even deter Hyacinthe. It never had. Hyacinthe's insistence on talking to or at Truss had quickly become one of Truss's least favourite things. Loch and Liddy were always perfectly happy to listen to the toddler's gurgling, whether or not they were intelligent. But Hyacinthe preferred to seek out the one person who had no desire to play companion.

"Yah!" Hyacinthe clapped his hands and jumped once. To Truss's immediate pleasure, the jump ended with the child toppling back onto his butt. To Truss's displeasure, however, the fall didn't phase him at all. "Yah! Appy! Appy meow!" The child stood up and started to spin in circles beneath the branches of the tree Truss had tried -- tried! -- to hide in.

"You're going to get dizzy," Truss said, the same deadpan still in place.

"Yah! Yah!" Hyacinthe agreed.

How the child had ever existed in the stuffy human palace was beyond Truss. He was a free spirit, even at three years of age. A free spirit that was constantly making a break for the deeper woods.

It was lucky for Hyacinthe that the Wood seemed interested in keeping him safe. It was luckier for Hyacinthe that Truss was usually sitting somewhere from where he could see the attempted escapes. He didn't want to be there, but he was always watching Hyacinthe, to be sure of his safety.

Hyacinthe, as predicted, did get dizzy, and then he fell on his ass again.

Truss snorted.

"Appy!" Hyacinthe chortled, victorious.

Truss realized, belatedly, that the little monster hadn't been after someone to listen to his report of an orange cat, after all. He'd been after Truss's sour expression. That pulled the frown right back in place.

"Appy! Appy!" Hyacinthe toppled himself backwards and started to roll back and forth on the forest floor.

--

It was a matter of time. Twelve years of it.

The only time that had passed, to that point, had been twelve months.

Three, four times added to itself, made up the number twelve. Surely the Altissi would have seen something notable in that. Something worth remembering in the Annals of Forevermore, or whatever they called their recorded histories.

For Truss, it was twelve long months that would only lead to twelve longer years. Eleven, he supposed, once the twelve months had passed.

For Loch, twelve months there was simple twelve months anywhere. He was with his brothers, but apart from his family. The child made it more bearable to be away from his family.

For Liddy, twelve months was a beautiful, wonderful period in time in which he got to watch as a sad child grew into a happier child, forgetting Nana and learning to fill his mouth and tongue with new and happier words.

For Hyacinthe, twelve months was enough time to forget the palace, the King, the Usurper, and Nana's death. Not Nana, herself, though. Nana he would remember for as long as his small mind was able, even as bunches and bunches of new information tried to drive Nana out of his mind. Even as small adventures turned to larger adventures. Even as he lived among magic in the Wood.

Nana was always slowly fading from his mind, though.

The comfort and warmth associated with her name was almost gone, already.

--

Loch and Liddy jumped in tandem when the quaint little cottage's door burst open.

They were all set to rebuke Truss when he opened his mouth, preemptively interrupting them. "I want rid of him!" Truss had the aforementioned 'him' under his arm. "I want rid of him and I want rid of him now! All he does is wander off into the woods! All he does is garble his words together and tell stories and... and it's as if he doesn't take any corrections seriously."

"Appy! Appy!" Hyacinthe said, clapping his hands clumsily. He seemed completely unaffected by Truss's shouting. And he seemed positively thrilled to be handled like a sack of potatoes.

"No, not happy!" Truss told him.

"Yah appy! Yah!" Hyacinthe blew a raspberry.

There was a tense moment where Loch and Liddy both thought that Truss was going to throw the child across the room. It dissolved into Truss scowling more darkly and simply dropping Hyacinthe on the floor. "Truss, no!" Liddy said, a moment to late.

"Truss, no, what?" Truss demanded. "He's fine. He's still laughing!" Truss motioned towards Hyacinthe with a measure of confusion that seemed to render his annoyance and anger inert for a blissful moment. It was not to last, though. He curled both hands into fists, visibily made himself breath ten even, steady breaths, and then turned to leave.

"Of, for the love of the Lady," Liddy clicked his tongue. He'd learned that from their mother. "Truss, you can't just dump him and disappear on us!"

"Why am I always watching him?" Truss asked from the door. "You two are the ones who like him! I think he's just a bag of snot, tiny bones, and horrible, incessant laughter."

"He likes you," Loch broke in.

Loch always had a sedate way of talking that demanded that attention be paid to it. Which was why Liddy and Truss both turned their attention to him. Hyacinthe's chortling died down to giggles as he, too, turned his attention to Loch.

"He likes all of us," Truss scoffed.

"He likes you best," Loch said. He didn't put a lot of emphasis or backbone behind the words. But then, he didn't have to. They were spoken as fact, and they were fact.

Truss narrowed his eyes. Liddy nodded at Loch, then turned to Truss as he continued to bob his head up and down.

"Oh, stop that," Truss said. He walked back over to Hyacinthus, nose wrinkled in disgust.

Hyacinthus, giggling, rolled onto his back and extended his arms to Truss.

"I hate you, little beast," Truss hissed. But he squatted down next to the three-year-old and lifted him by his armpits as he screamed in glee. Both of them stared at each other for a moment. Truss wasn't amused any more than he had been when he came in and dropped Hyacinthe, but Hyacinthe was still giggling.

Rather suddenly, the little boy stopped giggling and imitated Truss's expression, complete with the nose wrinkled up in disgust.

Truss barked a laugh, then tucked the kid under his arm, in a mirror image of how he had walked in. "I guess I'm on baby duty, still," he said. He sighed in a manner that said plainly 'I am suffering and I blame you for it,' then turned to the door.

Liddy raised his eyebrows. "That was a quick turnaround," he said.

"Oh, there's still time for me to drop the brat here and stomp out, like I was originally planning," Truss threatened, a hand on the door knob.

"No, no, carry on. We were just discussing whether the cottage is quite big enough for a family of four, is all," Liddy said. "Very boring. He wouldn't like it."

"Family," Truss scoffed, glowering over his shoulder at them.

"Famwy," echoed his child-shaped sack of potatoes.

"Family," Loch intoned. And that was that.

--

The King Anthelm, in the months after he had commended his son to the wisdom and safekeeping of the three Altissi, began to purge his kingdom -- and any willing outlying kingdoms and territories -- of spinning wheels.

"What are the people to spin on?" the Regent asked.

"That is a problem for another day," the King said. "The problem for today is that the Heir's waking life hinges on the removal of spinning wheels from the Kingdom."

The Regent looked unconvinced. "There are other fixes to be had, Anthelm." He received a sharp look for the familiarity that the name, lacking title, evoked, but he pressed forward. "The boy doesn't have to be the only heir."

"I know what you are thinking, and I advise you to think carefully before you speak your next words," the King said.

"Mirielle did not have to be the end of your world," the Regent said, as gentle as he could manage. "And Aurore does not have to be the end of your bloodline. Come now, I stand to inherit the throne from you if the boy does not. And if not me, my own son. I have three, so far, and I've been wed twice..."

"That sounds advantageous for you," the King broke in. "Why would you want me to remarry and produce an heir if, in not doing so, I would leave the throne to you and your blood?" he turned, slowly, to look the Regent in the eye. He was grayer than ever, especially in the colour of his hair. "Leave me be, please. No great tragedy will come of the end of my family's rule. I simply wish to save my son..."

"Think on it," the Regent broke in, interrupting just as he'd been interrupted. "Meet with some eligible Ladies and Princesses. Look at the options spread before you. Give yourself a chance at new happiness."

They stood there, looking at each other, for a long moment. The King on the dais and the Regent three steps lower.

"A chance at happiness," the Regent said, even quieter.

"I will save the son I have," the Kind intoned.

"Anthelm, please," the Regent stepped up one of the dais steps. "Anthelm. Why waste the effort? He's safe in the wood, far from the spinsters and spinning wheels, already. And he is so hard for you to look upon, anyway. What is the point? Why would you force yourself to suffer Mirielle's passing over and over again like this?"

"I love her," Anthelm said. More man than King, in that moment.

"Loved!" the Regent said, foot still on that first step. The word echoed around the empty hall and then stopped short for the almost startled silence of the two men. The Regent cleared his throat and glanced at the dais steps. He stepped off that first step and back away from the dais. "Loved, Anthelm. She died. You can't change it. It has been three years, do you want to be wrapped up in her death forevermore?"

Silence reigned over the room again.

"If it would please you so," the King said, without any sign of pleasure. "You may arrange a few meetings. But only a few. I won't have thousands of women paraded past me, in hopes that I would take one from the line and into the chapel."

The Regent bowed, if a bit stiffly. "It would please me," he said.

Neither man were relieved or pleased, however. The argument only left sour tastes in their mouths and grey veils over their eyes, affecting the vibrancy of the mid-year world. The King looked even grayer, then, at the end of the conversation.

The Regent turned and left. He passed a tradesman, inevitably there to be reimbursed for his confiscated, and subsequently destroyed, spinning wheel. Or his wife's spinning wheel. It had to be about the blasted spinning wheels. Everything was.

The Regent turned up his nose, or nearly did, at the tradesman and the people who were behind him, still waiting for an audience with the king. Beggars, most of them. But not the kind that were destitute or in need. The kind who wanted handouts, even though reimbursement for the spinning wheels was due for each principality. They would be sent to the governing lords and ladies to be distributed under the meticulously documented spinsters and at-home spinners. None of those people inherently needed to be there.

More troubles for an already troubled King. That was what the line of well-off beggars represented.

--

"Removed from the palace?" the Usurper barked a laugh that even his crow servant thought a bit ugly. Ugly more in intent than in voice, however. "Desperation is driving them, then. Have you found my Cursed Prince? Where are they keeping him?"

The crow, then in a form equitable to the human form, took a cautious step and a half back. "No, Maleficar," he said.

"No, of course not," the Usurper said, breezily rather than with the ire and acid that might had been expected of him. "I didn't think you would have, really. You were sent to the palace. What reason did you have to go on a chase when you knew I would be awaiting your retort? No. No, of course not. You were smart to return with word."

"Thank you, Maleficar," the crow said. He was no less fearful, while being praised. He cowered and fiddled with his slender fingers . He knotted and unknotted his fingers in patters that looked less that natural, waiting for dismissal.

The only safety from the Usurper Maleficar was in safe dismissal. His moods were otherwise far to unknowable and fickle. Many servants did in fits of mania that the Maleficar never even tried to reign in. He liked the unpredictability, one might assume.

"Oh, be you gone," the Usurper scoffed, bidding his servant to go." I have no carnal appetites to sate, today."

It was a relief to hear that, and the crow wasted no time in scurrying from the room.

The Usurper took a moment to appreciate the haste of his fearful servant, then turned in his throne to look at the crow who stood above the others. For the moment, he was a bird, perched on the back of the Usurper's personal, black throne. "Find him," he said with a wave of his hand. "Find my Cursed Prince. I won't have the likes of him slipping out between my fingers. I require the ability to watch my Curse take hold and kill him."

The crow shifted, looking from the Usurper to the window. Shall I go now, or is there another task which you have yet to give unto me? The bird asked, his words an echo without true sound or voice.

"Hm. Pluck up the other servant and make him never return to my sight, Finnley, dear," the Usurper mused. "And then find his report and bring it to me. I just about forgot to check up on dear King Anthelm, and the state of the kingdom! Then you may either set down to rest for the night, or you may leave on your mission to find the Cursed Prince."

The crow bowed, as well as a bird was able, and flew off through the door that lead from the throne room, rather than through the window, as he would have done in order to start his personal mission, as given by the Usurper.

--

Though the spinning wheels had begun being confiscated the day after the Prince's late christening celebration, the actual destruction of those selfsame spinning wheels had yet to take place in the capital and largest cities.

The rural towns had had bonfires in the center of their main squares, though. So that the spinning wheels would not clog up any of the official buildings. Those official buildings were, after all, much smaller in rural areas.

The burning. That was what the King latched onto. A public burning.

Word was sent out that all spinning wheels were to be dealt with in that manner. Invariably, the people were displeased. But they had been displeased from the moment that the spinning wheels had been condemned. A public spectacle could only help, not make matters worse.

"Ale and limonata," the Regent suggested. "For any man, woman, or child who pleases."

"Ale and limonata," the King echoed. He way grayer all the time. At the rate he was fading out, in colour and in liveliness, the King was more likely to be remembered as Gray than Great. "Yes. Appease the appetites of the crowding vagrants."

The Regent winced. Of late, the King's words were harsher and less well-thought. No government wanted a leader at the head if that leader spoke ill of their subjects. "My lord," the Regent said, a parental warning in his tone.

"Appease them," the King dismissed.

And so, the people were appeased. Ale, limonata, fire-eaters, jesters, and a foreign caravan's bazaar were the capital's attractions, and the people were pleased, even as the spinning wheels were doused with something foul-smelling, and lit. Right there in the Square. If anything, the ale and limonata, and the vendors of food items, had made it so that the people grew only happier with the blaze.

Cracklers and sparklers were lit up and offered to children, fire eaters were replaced with dancers and pantomimes. The Capital was alive for the day and night. Alive and festive.

But not the King.

The Regent celebrated with the people, even contributing wine from his personal collection to the jollies. The King had holed himself up in the palace, as always. A Gray and Absent King on a rough and unlovely throne. A Mourning King.

He wasn't much of a King at all, anymore.

But no one felt they should say this. Not yet.