Madeleine clutched her notes for her father tight in one hand as she walked up the staircase. When she entered his study, she flung them down on his desk, and he looked up with a puzzled expression.

"Is something the matter, Madeleine?"

"Just read them," she said.

He rose his eyebrows a moment but then looked down at the pages in front of him. He read the first few with little interest, but when he reached the fourth one, he stopped and looked at her.

"Ah. He told you."

"You're behind it," she said, looking into his gaze without flinching. He wasn't going to get the best of her this time. She wanted information, and she wouldn't leave without it. "Why? What did you tell Thaddeus to make him turn on Ivan?"

Her father straightened the papers on his desk and skimmed through the last two before folding his hands on top of them. "What makes you think it was anything more than petty jealousy that made the younger prince turn on his highness?"

"I'm not a fool, Father," she said, coming closer. "Why else would you still be so interested in Ivan? You have a plan, and I want to know what it is. And if you were so invested in the final battle of the war, what were you doing at Autumn Festival?"

This last question was more personal, but it had been bothering her ever since Ivan showed her the contents of Thaddeus's journal. She was sure the A Thaddeus mentioned was her father—A for Arthur, and the final entry in the journal confirmed that he was gone for the end of the war. She wasn't hallucinating when she saw him after she fell in the fire. He'd been watching her, and she wanted an explanation.

"I suppose you've read, or at least know about Thaddeus's journal?"

She saw her father smile and knew her face must look shocked. She didn't mention the journal in her notes. She wanted it to be Ivan's secret, to give him a chance at actually finding the truth.

"But your failure to mention it is concerning to me. Obviously the content cannot have been very explicit, or you wouldn't have so many questions for me. However, your decision to hide it makes me question where your allegiance lies."

Madeleine said nothing. Her arms gripped the chair in front of her to hold herself steady, and she tried to keep her face blank.

"Why did you keep it a secret? Are you trying to aid Ivan in discovering the truth?" he asked. When she didn't respond, he went on, "Madeleine, I secured your position at the castle in exchange for a job. If you cannot perform that job, I can remove you from your position. Is that what you want?"

Madeleine shook her head. If she lost her position, she wouldn't be able to help Ivan. She would never see him again. She couldn't bear that.

"How do you know about the journal?" she asked finally.

"I have other informants in the castle. More reliable ones, it seems. Now, you want to keep your job?"

She nodded mutely.

"Good. No more secrets then. What was the prince's impression of the journal? What did it say?"

She hesitated, not wanting to say anything to her father, but she didn't have a choice anymore. She wasn't going to win. She could never win with him.

"It was clear that Thaddeus was involved in a plan the king didn't know about, but he never said what the plan was. He identified a few people by initials. First initials, I think. You were A."

Her father folded his hands, putting the tips of his forefingers together and leaning back in his chair. "Not too troubling. I'm sure the prince has plenty else on his mind to stop him from digging too deeply."

"He deserves to know the truth," she said, feeling hot anger spread through her body. Ivan was one of the kindest people she knew. He didn't deserve this.

"What do you think would happen if he did? Do you think once he found out my involvement with his brother, he would stop there? He'd find a trail to you, and he wouldn't let you off easy just because you're his maid."

"He trusts me," she said quietly, but she felt her anger draining through a small hole of doubt.

"Does he? Do you think after Thaddeus's betrayal he'll ever really trust anyone? You're better off with me, Madeleine."

She shifted suddenly on her feet, giving a disbelieving laugh. "With you? Since when have I ever been with you? You don't tell me what you're planning. You give me this job and expect me to report to you on Ivan's behavior when I have no idea what to watch for. You told me personally that you owe me nothing, and when you saw me fall at Autumn Festival, you just stood there and watched me burn!"

For a moment, she thought she saw some emotion flicker across his face, but it was quickly replaced with his usual unreadable stare.

"After you fell unconscious in the fire, how do you think you got out?" he asked at last. His voice was very quiet.

She stared at him, not comprehending.

"Who do you think pulled you from the flames and beat them out?" He rolled up his sleeves and Madeleine saw scars there. His forearms were covered in familiar red splotches. Her hand instinctively flew to her cheek where her own scars began.

"To answer your question, Madeleine, I came to Autumn Festival because I heard my daughter would be dancing for the white rose."

She blinked, still disbelieving. "But—you—"

"I wouldn't have let you burn to death. Whatever you think of me, I'm not a monster."

Madeleine stared at his burnt arms and then into his dark eyes. Her own were filling with tears, so she couldn't see his expression and he looked away from her quickly. Her lip was quivering. She thought he hated her, that she meant nothing to him. But he pulled her out of the fire. He came to watch her dance. He wouldn't do that for someone who meant nothing to him.

"How did you know that I was dancing for the white rose?" she asked after blinking back tears. This didn't change everything. He still sold her to the castle, threatened her, manipulated her.

He shrugged. "I knew about your fire dancing for years. I suppose you thought it was your secret. When you started burning practice fires near your mother's grave, I was bound to notice. I didn't see every dance, but I followed your career."

"Why?"

"Curiosity, I suppose. Though I must say I was disappointed by your final performance."

That was more like what she was used to. "Yes. Because I'm not White Flame. Are you going to tell me how you knew her?"

Her father gazed at her across the table for a long moment. "No," he said finally.

She was not satisfied with this answer, but no amount of questioning seemed to get any more answers from him. Soon she claimed she should be going and left the room, jumping when she turned and saw Blair standing in the hallway in a white dressing gown.

"Eavesdropping, Blair?" she asked, tilting her chin up.

Blair seemed flushed as she crossed her arms over her chest. "No. I just heard someone in the hallway, and I wanted to see who it was. What are you doing here? Don't you have work at the castle?"

"It's my day off."

"And you chose to come see your father on your day off? I thought you hated him."

"I do," Madeleine said, though she felt unsure saying so now. She couldn't forget what he'd just told her.

"Then why are you—" Blair started to speak but Madeleine interrupted before she could finish.

"Blair, at Autumn Festival, when I fell, do you know who pulled me out of the fire?"

"No," Blair said, blinking. "When people started saying it was you, we didn't believe them at first. When we came to see, you'd already been pulled out and a doctor was there. Why?"

"Just wondering," Madeleine said, starting toward the staircase, but Blair called out again.

"Madeleine, wait!"

She turned back around and Blair looked embarrassed but like she clearly wanted to say something. "What?"

"I think your father—he… oh, never mind."

"What about him?"

They looked at each other and then both heard the sound of the lock clicking in the door behind them.

"We shouldn't talk out here," Blair whispered. She turned around, and Madeleine followed her down the hall into her bedroom. When the door was closed behind them both, Blair clicked her own lock.

Madeleine looked around. It was strange to be standing in her stepsister's room after these months away. Before she always rushed in and out after doing her cleaning. Now she looked at her stepsister's room with more of an observer's eye. It was very clean. Everything seemed to belong in its place. She noted the yellow flowers in a vase on the nightstand and the invitation with gold lettering. Her eyes scanned the words and caught "riding with his highness" before she looked away.

"Why did you ask me about Autumn Festival?" Blair asked.

Madeleine bit her lip, trying to decide if she could tell her stepsister. Hating her father was one thing they always had in common, and if Blair had some idea what her father was up to, she wanted to know. That meant she'd have to be honest too.

"He told me he was the one that pulled me out of the fire. And he had the burns to prove it. I thought I saw him there when I fell, but I thought he just watched me burn." Her lip was trembling again. She didn't like to think about that moment, lying there in the fire. She'd never felt so worthless.

Blair did the service of looking away. "I saw him at Autumn Festival too." She glanced back at Madeleine. "I didn't say anything because I figured he deserted the army. I didn't want to hurt my mother anymore than she already had been."

Madeleine nodded. She knew her father was not the best husband Edith could have asked for. He was absent from nearly the moment they married.

"Rafe said before that he saw your father with those lords in the forest, and he's so secretive. He's always up in his study. He hardly ever comes down. Sometimes other men come talk to him. Once he left in the middle of the night for a few hours. I saw him out my window. Do you have any idea what he's up to?"

Madeleine shook her head. "No. Has he given any clue what it's all about?"

"Whatever it is, he's using up all our money. And Mother thinks he's trying to manipulate me. Pushing me to marry Prince Ivan. I don't believe her. At least, it's what I want anyway. I want to get us all away from him. If he thinks my marriage will get him closer to the crown, he's wrong. I won't let him near us."

Madeleine watched her stepsister, saying nothing. She always assumed Blair to be entirely selfish, but now she didn't sound that way. It made sense that she would want to marry Ivan. It was a chance to change things.

"When Prince Ivan was here after the riot your father kept talking to him about what the people really want—like he thought we should go back to war. I don't know if that's important." Blair paused. "What does he talk to you about when you come see him? You've never talked much before."

"He… asks me questions," Madeleine said. "About what's happening at the castle."

"Madeleine, are you a spy? You realize spying is a crime, punishable by death?"

"No, it's not like that," she said quickly. "I'm not spying. I—I don't know. I don't like it, all right? But he says he could throw me out if I don't answer his questions. I don't tell him much. I don't know much. I'm just a maid."

Madeleine felt her heart hammering in her chest now. She shouldn't have let that slip. Blair could easily tell someone. But there wasn't any proof, she told herself. Blair didn't know that she wrote things down. Answering some questions wasn't that incriminating.

"I would think you would know a lot, being so friendly with the prince."

"What do you mean?"

Blair crossed her arms. "Just that he couldn't stop talking about you when I went riding with him." She looked as though she had just tasted something very sour and amended her statement. "I mean—he did stop talking about you. But he was the one that told me you come home on your days off to see your father."

"Why did he tell you that?"

Blair shrugged. "I don't know. He just mentioned it in passing, thinking I knew. He said you were always upset after seeing your father. He seemed concerned about you."

Madeleine tried not to acknowledge the suddenly fluttering feeling in her stomach or the warmth spreading upward to her cheeks. Her smile did not go unnoticed by Blair.

"I don't know what you're playing at," her stepsister said sharply. "It's not very seemly to carry on with a man who's going to marry someone else."

Madeleine winced, and the fluttering feeling subsided. She thought of retorting that Ivan wasn't engaged yet and she knew quite well that he had no desire to be, but that would only validate Blair's point that there was more between them than there should be.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she forced herself to say calmly. "I'm a maid. We're friendly. That's all. You needn't be so jealous. I should be going." She stood up and started to the door but stopped when she got there.

"Blair, if you find out anything else about my father, I want to know. I'll be trying to get to the bottom of it too. And please don't tell anyone what I told you."

Blair hesitated and Madeleine thought she might refuse, but finally she nodded. "I won't."

Madeleine breathed a sigh of relief as she shut the door behind her. She hoped she could trust her stepsister, and maybe they could be useful to each other for once.

The weeks until the ball passed faster than Ivan expected. Every time he thought about it, he started to feel anxious. He had hoped that somehow everything would change in these weeks and he'd suddenly be prepared to get married, but he felt the same as always, and now there was less than a month and a half to go.

In fact, everything was the same as always. He still attended meetings with his father that made him feel uncomfortable and inadequate. His lessons had improved things on a surface level. He sounded more confident when he spoke, and he did understand how the country was run a bit better, but it still wasn't easy to find something to say, and he knew the lords still whispered about him when they thought he couldn't hear.

He hadn't found out anything more about Thaddeus either. Madeleine came to his room for a few minutes most nights, and they sat on his bed together and talked it over. They made a list of all the lords who came into court and tried to analyze their behavior, whether they might have been involved. More often than not, it ended in laughter rather than any relevant observations.

"Ivan, if you want real answers, you're going to have to ask questions. Tell people what's in here and ask who he was with at the end of the war," Madeleine said one night, tapping on the journal that lay between them on the bed.

"I know," he told her, but he didn't do anything about it. Despite his previous resolution, a part of him didn't want to find out answers. He didn't want anything to change. Things weren't wonderful right now, but their familiarity was comfortable. If the worst things he had to deal with were lords whispering about him during meetings and reports of rioting subjects, that wasn't so bad.

But he knew it couldn't go on forever. None of it could. He resolved to consult General Wescott about the journal soon. The riots, however, did not seem to have an easy solution.

"Two riots in Saimes in the last two days!" the king exclaimed after dinner one night. "People calling the soldiers cowardly for cleaning up the roads instead of fighting and calling us cowardly for getting what we wanted out of the war and leaving them to suffer."

Ivan looked at his father. King Nicholas slammed his wine goblet down on the table, and red liquid flew out and splattered on the floor.

"Have they already forgotten what war was like?" the king shouted. "We put a stop to the fighting! To all the death and horror. Is that not enough?"

"You're agitated," Queen Sidonie said, coming to her husband's side. "Things will seem better in the morning. Come to bed."

With a sigh, the king got to his feet, taking his wife's arm. He looked at Ivan and Rafe seated next to him. "I'm sorry for my outburst. But if either of you have any ideas for making the people happy, it would be appreciated. Something has to change."

"Of course, your majesty," Rafe said as the king and queen left the room.

When they were gone, the room filled with a tired silence. Ivan stared into the wine goblet in his own hand, wanting to go to his room. He'd been reading through Thaddeus's journal again, and he found that his brother's words hurt less this time around. He almost enjoyed it—his brother's humor, Thaddeus's voice seeped out of every line. When he was reading, he could forget what happened in the end and focus on the good parts.

"Maybe we should go back to war, if it's what the people want," Rafe said next to him.

The red wine in his goblet suddenly looked like blood. Ivan glanced at Rafe but said nothing.

"It would make them happy," Rafe said.

"I don't think it would," Ivan replied, "not in the end." He was tired of this conversation. At every opportunity, Rafe tried to convince him that going back to war would solve the country's problems. Ivan didn't believe it, and nothing would change his mind.

"But your father's right," Rafe insisted. "Something has to change. You can't keep ignoring the people forever. Either you appease them, or it won't just be riots you'll be dealing with. It'll be a revolution."

Ivan didn't usually take Rafe's claims seriously, but he hadn't thought of a revolution before. If the people weren't happy, there was no reason they couldn't find another leader.

"There has to be another way," he said quietly. "My engagement—"

"Do you think your engagement is going to make that much of a difference?"

"I hope so," Ivan said. He downed the rest of his wine, ignoring how much the color reminded him of blood. He didn't like to think about war. Even if there was good reason for it, he wasn't sure he could hold a sword again. It would bring too many memories to the forefront of his mind.

When he finished he stood up, leaving the goblet on the table. "I'm tired."

"Ivan, your father would listen to you. I know you don't want another war, but you have to win your people over before someone else does."

He hesitated but shook his head. "I won't do it."

His room was dark when he got there, and he fumbled around the table searching for candles. Once they were lit, he sat on his bed for a few moments before hearing his door creak open. It was Madeleine, and she looked surprised to see him.

"Oh! You're up already," she said. "I'm sorry I didn't have the candles lit for you. I thought you were still with Rafe."

"I just came up," he said. "Madeleine, did you know there have been riots in Saimes the last two days?"

"I did hear that, yes," she said, shutting the door behind her and coming farther into the room.

"Rafe thinks we should go back to war, to make the people happy," he said.

"I wouldn't listen much to what Rafe says."

He looked up at her, frowning slightly. "Why?"

She seemed flustered a moment. Her scars turned red and she opened her mouth without speaking. "It's just he hasn't looked very well these past few weeks. I'm not sure he ever sleeps."

Ivan nodded. Hardly a day went by that he didn't see dark circles under Rafe's eyes, and more often than not he was unshaved and looked exhausted.

"I don't know what to do," he said at last. "He's right that people are unhappy and something has to change, but I don't how to change things."

"You could talk to them," Madeleine said quietly.

He looked up at her quizzically. Talking hardly seemed like a solution to the problem.

"It's easy to be angry at someone you never see. If you went into Saimes and actually talked to them and asked them about themselves, maybe they'd change their mind about you."

"And be caught up in another riot?" he asked. "You saw what happened at Gathering Day. I'm not particularly good at speaking."

"But you've been practicing," Madeleine said. "It wouldn't have to be a big speech. Talk to people individually and listen to what they have to say. You can be good at that." She smiled as she stepped toward the door.

It wasn't that bad of an idea, he supposed. If he went by himself with no unnecessary fanfare, maybe he could talk to them. It still sounded daunting, though.

"Madeleine!" he called out before she left. "If I did go, would you come with me?"

"I hardly think it would be proper for you to go walking about with your maid, your highness. But if you went on my day off, perhaps you'd see me in the village." She winked as she shut the door behind her, and he leaned against his headboard with his hands beneath his head. Perhaps it wasn't a bad idea at all.

Thank you for reading! And as always, I quite enjoy reviews.