Nixiesocean: Okay, a HUGE thanks to Ardelis Mercy for reviewing! Thank you! It was so nice to log on and see all those reviews! Unfortunetly, I really don't want to respond to all of your reviews (he he). But I'll respond to all the chapter 21 reviews.

Responses:

Rush of Waves: Um, yeah, so this is definitely a cliffie. Then again, I love cliffies. They're fun.

Narnialover: Um, I'm glad you love all my stories. (:-D) Anyways, yes, Katharine won't have any girls (sorry!). It'll work out, you'll see. Of course Asnarinith can't go away yet! He's a recurring villain!

Scoutcraft Piratess: Awww… what fun would it be to allow them to raise kids in peace? What a boring fairy tale!

Ardelis Mercy: Well, I can't really take credit, I was taught them in choir, and decided to use them. The one that starts out as "Himmel und Erde" is actually a German song. (:-D). And yes, Katharine will only regain her strength by having a girl, but (gasp) she won't have any!!! Oh no! Looks like a decedent of Queen Katharine will have her strength! I'm updating!

Read, enjoy, review and I'll post the sequel sooner…

Epilogue

I had heard yelling from the halls. I had run to get it. Then, Averill's personal cleaning maid, Fiona, ran from the room, tears streaming down her commoner's face and a rosy blush. I had stopped her with a royal order. She knew enough to obey my royal orders. I ushered her back into Averill's rooms. He saw her and grew angry.

"She's a tramp! Get that trash out of my rooms!" He screamed. Alan, who most often sided with Averill was looking between us nervously. He then looked at Averill.

"Ave, come on. She can't be! Plus, if you don't stop yelling Mother will come and you know her temper!" I was surprised by Alan. Normally, he's a pain. Now, he was helping me!

"Averill Jones!" I heard an imperious voice call. I rolled my eyes. Now you've done it, I thought. "What is this ruckus?" She saw the silently crying Fiona. "What's wrong, child? I don't have my sons treating servants so poorly! Speak up!"

I spoke for her. Fiona's a commoner. Commoners can be killed for speaking against the royal family. "Averill called her a rude name, what was it, oh, a tramp. I'm sure it was worse, but that's what I heard. He refused to have 'that trash' in his rooms. Alan tried to get him to quiet down and settle it ourselves but-"

"I came. Understood. Now, Averill, what have you to say for yourself? It seems you're a bit of trouble, no?"

He glared at me. "I called her nothing of the sort-"

"He did too!" Alan said, interjecting. "He called her a tramp, trash and a b-"

"ENOUGH!" Mother yelled. "Averill, you are outnumbered, what have you to say for yourself?"

"She led me on, shaking that commoner's butt of hers. She told me she could make me feel manly-" Until now, Fiona had been quietly crying. Just then, she burst into loud tears. "Shut your mouth, Trash!" He looked and Mother and blushed. Nothing like getting caught in the act!

I bit my lip nervously. Mother was very angry with Averill after that. Everyone said Mother had the worst temper. My feet tapped on the hard wood of the stairs. The queen was a lady of deep midnight-black hair and a fiery temper. Knights knew Mother as Sir Eric, though I'm not sure why. Mother has an uncle by the name of Eric. He's long gone. He leaves and comes back every so often. Father says its because he likes to wander. Mother's formal name is "Queen Katharine the Second" -she's the second queen to be called Katharine- "and the Lovely."

I don't think so. I think Great-Uncle Eric likes to leave to get away from us all. He's always in a bad mood, slamming his sword in its sheath far too hard, always hitting the dummy harder than necessary. I heard light footsteps behind me. I turned. Ceara, my best friend, came into view. Only she made such light footsteps. We three were fifteen, an age known for silly comments and fickle emotions. I never quite got over the fluttering feeling in my stomach around the pretty Ceara.

She hated anyone but Aram and I. Men were continually proposing to her. It annoyed her. Maybe its because she draws more attention from the people than Aram and I. I'm always at awe with her startling blue eyes and silvery hair. Before she could talk, I blurt out, "Hey." Kind of lame for a guy that's in love, huh? I'll level with you: I hate romance novels. I like history.

"Hey Ade," She said, sitting with me. "What's wrong?"

She always knows Aram and I apart. We don't know how. We can't fool Mother either, but Father? Father's easy to trick. All I have to do is go outside and hit the dummy while Aram looks interested in a book. Dad will call Aram 'Ade' and Me 'Aram'. It's funny. We haven't done so in a long time.

I have a lot less muscle than Aram now.

I couldn't lie around her either. She would know. "Mother's mad."

"Is she?" Ceara asked politely. I nodded. "What now?"

"Averill called a female servant a…" I refused to speak the word. "A tramp." Averill's twelve and a 'jerk' as the servants say. Alan, the youngest of us, is eleven and a royal –no pun intended– pain. "Alan jumped on him, telling him Mother would be mad. The maid, her name's –I think– Fiona, ran out, blushing. I stopped her, knowing Mother would want to talk with her. She curtsied and stopped, knowing I was the second-oldest."

"And cooler-headed than your brothers." Ceara added quietly.

I smiled. Everyone said I was the better of the two, but I shrugged it off, saying that I was just the hermit-son. I would say 'Aram's better. Look at his fighting. He's a decent study!' Of course, he also has Mother's temper.

I fear being on the wrong side of it. I was once, when I took a tin soldier of his, and I got a black eye and scratches. Lady Cyrun, Ceara's mother, had given me an ointment, so it didn't leave a scar, but really, when you think about it…

I sighed. "So, I'm waiting here, trying to think of funeral plans for my brothers."

She put an arm on my back. It was hot where she touched. "Sweet Ade," My ears perked up. "You'll be fine. You'll be a wonderful advisor."

I don't want to be an advisor, I realized suddenly. I wanted to do something amazing with my life. That drive would be in me a long time, burning quietly and slowly.

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Taken from the journal of Prince Averill. Translated from Calanese (The native language of Calain) by Scribe Thomas for Queen Katharine during an inspection of Prince Averill's rooms.

23 Winter's Heart

Journal,

I hate him. I hate him! He's always telling Mother the truth. Why can't he ever pick on Alan? Sure, Alan's a pain, but Aram-Ade hates me! Aram-Ade. I rather like it. The only time you can tell the pair of brown-nosers apart is when its morning. Ade never uses a sword. Aram does. Aram's cooler than Ade. Ade's a pain! Ade's always pushing me around, telling me what's not good that I'm doing. Can't Aram-Ade ever be nice to me? Can't I ever please him? No! Of course not. Ade's a "golden boy". He's loved be Father. Anyone can tell, despite how much Mother assures us that they love us all the same.

No. Such lies, my parents spread. Why would they love us all the same? We're four boys. Mother's always wanted a girl. I don't like girls. Girls are a pain, like that commoner wench Fiona. She's a (a startled scribe spills a big blot of ink on the paper)! I don't know how Mother puts up with such trash. Commoners, they're slaves, all of them. Commoner wenches, what good are they? Nothing, except maybe (another inkblot). Sheesh. Mother's so biased. Women! Trash! (blot)(blot)(blot)! Why can't Father see what uselessness women provide?

Don't even get me started on that wretch Ceara! She's a silver-haired freak. I hear the palace healers talk. They know she's not normal. Why does Father insist on keeping trash in this palace?

You know what I think? I think it's high time we took out the trash!

Averill

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Taken from the journal of Prince Alan. Written in a shaky hand.

24 Winter's Heart

My friend,

Averill got inn troubl trouble twoday 2day. Hee sais says its becuz Mother is angree angry with himm him. I do not no if this is troo true. He's alwayz geting in troubl trouble. Mother sayz says my spelling is not god. I will get a scribe two rite in this journal latr later.

Taken from the journal of Prince Alan. Written in a more formal writing.

Written on the 24 day of the month called Winter's Heart

Journal,

Averill is in trouble. He says it is because Mother is angry with him. I do not know if this is true. He is always getting in trouble. I cannot say whether or not Averill is innocent. I believe he is not. Averill is rarely innocent. I cannot say much more. The scribe is- The entry abruptly ends.

Written in a shaky hand.

Good By,

Alan.

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Taken from the journal of Prince Ade. Written in a nice hand.

24 Winter's Heart

Journal (Since I do not call my journal a Diary),

Averill is angry with me. I know why, though. He's a brat, more spoiled than Alan now. Alan's annoying, but Averill takes that to a new level. I don't know why we fight so much. Maybe it is because we're nothing alike. We fight over the smallest things, like how to treat the servants. How else but kindly? There are far more servants than royals! They can revolt at any time, why treat them poorly?

Maybe I'm empathizing too much. Truly, though, we need to please them. I know one day (hopefully far in the future) the royalty will crumble. It's happened before. Look at The Empire. The Royal Family treated their servants badly, and a revolt occurred, placing the current countries on the map! I feel one day it will happen to Furde. I hope I'm not alive then – it will be bloody.

Onto happier things. Ceara, the daughter of Lady Cyrun and Lord Bamien was comforting today. She makes me, the second prince, feel needed. I can't explain how, or why, but she does. There's something peculiar about her, that much I know. Oh, how I wish she'd notice me more! Not as a friend, but maybe, as something more? No – banish the thought. I'll have to marry for family power, Ceara, though the daughter of a decently rich family, isn't what my mother would approve of. She fights for women's equality, like Mother, but in a different, subtler way. Instead of whacking men with sticks, she protests the styles of women. She wears dress tunics and breeches instead of formal gowns and lace. She reads and writes instead of sewing. My mother is far more direct.

I've noticed a change, a small one, in the women of the court. They follow Ceara's lead – ever so slightly. They speak of psychological things. I know because Ceara tells me. Whenever a manservant or a man walks in, they immediately turn to speaking of lace and needles, never betraying their real intent. Mother's noticed. I'm not quite sure, but I have a feeling that Mother approves of Ceara unconsciously. She tries to run her down in public, to secure her position as co-ruler, but doesn't want to admit that Ceara changes things. What am I saying? First, Mother doesn't, then she does? I need to stop writing. I have a book to read to calm my emotions.

Farewell,

Ade.

P.S. Maybe life will be more interesting when I'm older. Everyone says life's no fun until you're older.