Claire found herself awake and wandering in the soft gray of predawn, that hour or so where the sun sat on the edge of the horizon before finally peeking over and washing the world in a warm, orange glow.

It had been two days since the nutcracker had been turned back into a prince, two days since anyone had seen him, two days spent stealing what time she could with Alek, storing the moments away like snapshots to be viewed later.

They would serve as a reminder of her time here, something to assure her that it hadn't been a dream.

Lost in her thoughts and not paying much mind to where she was going, Claire soon found herself on a narrow stone path. It meandered in a lazy, looping fashion through one of the many gardens surrounding the palace, one that Claire had not yet had an opportunity to visit.

There was no hurry to her steps as she strolled along, running her fingertips across leaves that were such a dark shade of green they looked black in the early morning gloom. Overhead bare branches arched, entwining with one another to form a natural lattice work upon which thin slivers of snow rested, glittering like diamonds.

Thick vines wound their way around the trunks of trees and their heavy branches. The vines were decorated with large blue and white flowers which were just beginning to unfurl and open as the sun broke the horizon.

Pale, golden light spilled forth to paint the gray scene bright with sunshine. Claire turned her face to the sun, enjoying the warmth as it pricled across her skin and chased away the chill that she hadn't realized was there until it was gone.

"Good morning," Claire said aloud, to no one in particular. Which was why she was surprised when she received a response.

"Good morning indeed," the voice replied.

Whirling around on her heel, Claire saw a young man emerge on the path behind her. There was a moment of confusion in which Claire stared at the stranger, puzzled by his presence there. It was obvious he was not fae even at a glance.

This was followed quickly by one of realization that caused her breath to catch in her throat and her cheeks to grow flush with embarrassment.

"Your highness," she managed, offering an awkward courtesy that was more a bow.

Rollan chuckled, his entire face seemed to light up with amusement, everything except his eyes. They were still distant, hinting at the anger she'd witnessed days before. Everything else about him had changed, from the disheveled state of his blond hair which was now combed neatly, mostly straight except where the ends curled against his collar, to his clothing which, like hers, she suspected, had been borrowed.

The fae were a slender bunch, both the men and women, so the clothing didn't quite fit Rollan. The fabric strained and pulled tightly across his back and broad shoulders as well as his wider hips and stockier legs.

He was handsome, there was no doubt about that.

"Please, call me Rollan," he insisted, offering a short bow, "you are Claire, right?"

Claire nodded, her hands wringing her skirt nervously between her fingers.

"I've heard stories of your daring, Miss Claire, and I owe you a great debt of gratitude, my lady," he said, bowing again, this time deeper and with more of a flourish. Claire felt the flush on her cheeks grow warmer.

"Oh, well, I'm sure they were exaggerating," Claire declared as he rose back to full height. He wasn't much taller than she was, but Claire still felt overshadowed and overwhelmed by his presence.

"I am beginning to wonder if they weren't doing the opposite," he mused, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I heard you will be leaving us soon."

Claire shifted her eyes and nodded. "Tonight," she said, releasing the fabric of her skirt from her anxious grasp. She began to try to smooth out the wrinkles that had formed. She could hear Arabella in her mind, complaining about Claire's lack of respect for fine clothes.

"That is quite unfortunate, I had been hoping for a chance to talk to you more, to learn more about you," he said thoughtfully, crossing his arms behind his back. "This might sound strange... but the other night, when Elysia broke the spell, I saw you there and I felt that somehow I knew you."

"Believe me, it's not the strangest thing I've heard during my time here," Claire assured him, though his admission did give one something to consider.

"Walk with me?" he asked, offering his arm to her. She hesitated a moment, a part of her anxious to seek out Alek and Draz after being reminded of how much little time she had left.

Recalling her own curiosity, however, Claire closed the distance between them and slid her arm through Rollan's.

He closed his hand over hers and lead her on a leisurely stroll down the path.

They walked in silence, Claire uncertain how to converse with a prince and whether or not the questions rolling around inside her head were too personal. As if reading her mind, he broke the silence.

"Speak your mind, Claire," Rollan insisted. "It's been a while since I've had a conversation with anyone. Twenty five years I believe."

There was an undeniable bitterness lacing his words and Claire looked over at him.

"That was something I wanted to ask you about," Claire said at last. He nodded, encouraging her to continue. "What was it like? Being stuck inside that doll? Did you... were you..."

"Was I awake?" he finished, studying her intently.

Claire nodded.

"No," he said at last, "at least, I don't think I was. It doesn't feel like I was, but since I've been a man again, I've been having dreams that are impossible to simply be a figment of my imagination."

"How can you be sure they're not?" Claire asked with a slight cant of her head.

"Because..." Rollan began, his voice quiet, "because you're in them, along with others I've never met."

Claire felt her heart skip a beat. How could he possibly dream about her? They'd only just met, if one didn't count making eye contact across the crowded courtyard. "I don't understand," Claire replied with a frown. Rollan chuckled again, this time it reached his eyes chasing away some of the darkness that had been lingering there.

"That makes two of us," he said.

"Why did you look so angry that day?" she asked, feeling more confident now. The moment she asked the question, however, his smile faded and his gaze shifted away.

"Does it seem so unreasonable?" he asked. There was a stiffness to his tone that made Claire worried she had angered him. She realized, however, that any anger he felt was not directly related to her, or her question. She shook her head.

The hand resting over hers contracted slightly, squeezing her fingers as though seeking strength or comfort. She lifted her free hand to rest over his and felt the tension ease. "When my father died," he continued at last, "people were in shock, we were all in shock. He wasn't perfect, he had his faults, but he was good and kind, and he was fair. He lived for the people, something my mother never quite understood. Perhaps that was why she resented him, because he seemed to care more for the people than his own family."

"Do you believe that?" Claire asked before she could stop herself.

"I used to," he admitted with a grim smile, "I used to believe everything my mother told me, but now... now I'm not sure about anything anymore."

He paused and Claire was left to wonder why he was telling her all of this. They didn't know one another and it all seemed so deeply personal. The only reason she could come up with was that he needed to tell someone, like purging the infection from a wound left too long to fester.

"They said it was a sudden sickness that took him," he pressed on, his voice sounding distance now, as though he were lost in some far off memory, "but my father had always been a healthy man and I couldn't recall a day where he had taken to bed with a fever or some other ailment. I began to investigate and discovered that my uncle, who seemed to have taken his brother's death the hardest, was responsible."

Claire felt her heart squeeze in her chest. To be betrayed in such a fashion, to have someone you trusted and loved do something so horrible, she could only imagine how that might feel.

"Worse yet, when I went to confront him in his chambers, I was surprised to find he was not alone," his voice had grown quiet now, so quiet Claire found herself leaning in closer to listen, "my mother lay beside him, curled against him, asleep, with a soft smile on her face. It was not the first time they had lain together, they were too comfortable, too at ease with one another."

"I wanted to kill him right then, to kill the both of them, but Master Drosselmeyer stopped me," he concluded, the far off expression on his face fading as he looked back towards her. "He had also discovered my uncle's treachery and suspected there was more behind it, that my uncle had not acted alone. He feared if I disposed of my uncle before they could figure out the true culprit, whomever it was would never be found giving them the opportunity to strike again."

"Alek?" Claire questioned.

"No, not Alek, he was merely a boy then, barely seven years old if memory serves," Rollan said his expression thoughtful. They stopped walking, having reached the end of the path. Rollan didn't seem to notice, or, if he did notice, didn't seem to mind. "It was his father, Ephraim, who served as Master of Magic within the courts at that time."

At the mention of Ephraim Drosselmeyer, Claire frowned. "I bet he knew," she grumbled, shaking her head slowly.

"Pardon?"

"Oh... nothing," Claire replied, "What is it you intend to do now?"

"My uncle has sat upon the throne unopposed for twenty-five years," Rollan declared, a fire returning to his voice, "He is a murderous rat and I intend to see him removed from power and made to pay for his crimes."

Claire nodded, that seemed reasonable given the circumstances. She wasn't entirely certain how things worked in such a system, but she suspected what he intended to do wasn't going to be easy to accomplish.

"Claire, can I ask you something?" Rollan asked, looking towards her.

"Of course," Claire replied with a light smile.

"Are... are you sure we haven't met? I can't shake this feeling that I know you from somewhere," Rollan declared.

"Just while you were a nutcracker," Claire replied, "I'm sorry, Rollan."

Before either of them could say more, the sound of approaching footsteps drew both their eyes towards the path behind them. A young fae woman appeared, breathless and red faced, as though she had been running for miles. Claire recognized her as Iva, the fae that had been tending to her needs over the past few days.

"Miss Claire," she said, sounding relieved. "I've been sent to fetch you by Master Drosselmeyer."

"Is everything alright?" Claire asked, extracting her arm from Rollan's as she turned to face Iva fully. Her heart began to beat faster as the thought that something might have happened. Iva's smile helped calm her nerves.

"Of course, Miss Claire," she said. Iva's gaze shifted and she seemed to realize for the first time that Claire was not alone. When she realized it was Prince Rollan, Iva's face grew hot and she bowed quickly. "I apologize, your highness..."

Claire heard a quiet chuckle float up from behind her and she turned to see Rollan watching with amusement.

"I'm sorry, your hig- Rollan," she corrected herself when he began to shake his head. Her stumbling caused the small smile on his face to grow. Before she could finish, Rollan was waving her away.

"Go on," he said, "I've taken up enough of your time."

Claire nodded and turned to leave with Iva who was dancing anxiously from one foot to the other. She paused and looked back at Rollan who was still watching her from where she had left him at the end of the path.

"It was nice getting to know you, even if it was only for a short while," Claire said to which Rollan simply nodded. Claire turned and followed Iva back down the winding stone path.