Don't talk to strangers.

Oh, in the strangest dreams, walking by your side
It is the hole that you impose upon your life
When you're out, loneliness, it crawls up in the ground
It's what you feel, but can't articulate out loud.

Blaine watches the silent trees long after the flawless man disappears, hoping that he would return just as magically as he had first appeared.

But he never does.

Blaine doesn't know why his heart clenches painfully, but it does, robbing him of breath. He inhales slowly, letting out a shuddering exhale. The day has grown colder and mist floats from his mouth, twisting and curling in the dimming light.

The trees seem to look down upon him in sympathy as he moves through them and remounts his horse, hands tightly fisting the hard leather of the reins. He clicks his tongue and the horse surges forward. Blaine just lets it run; only guiding it in the right direction.

The trees suddenly stop and the horse splashes through a narrow creek before bursting out into a clearing blanketed in tall, thin grasses. Wind blows through the clearing, sending the grasses rippling like water. In the distance, he can see the grey smoke from the camp tint the darkening white sky and is suddenly struck with the overwhelming need to just run away.

He doesn't want to go back to the camp.

He doesn't want to go back and see his father. He doesn't want to go back and pretend like he's comfortable commanding his friends and being superior. He doesn't want to go back and try to be like his brother because he can't. He can never be like Cooper, he's just not good enough.

He just wants to dance with that man in the forest and pretend to be oblivious of the world around him. Ignorance is bliss, isn't it? And anyhow, Blaine can't stop thinking about that man. Can't stop thinking about bright blue eyes and laughter like the ringing of bells. Can't stop thinking about how his own heart had fluttered at the man's smile.

This reaction may seem premature, but in this land of stark contrast and heightened emotion, you cannot simply fall into love. Love is a plummet. Love is a dangerous plummet only attempted by a few daring to betray tradition. And those willing are few, for love turns us all into fools. And Blaine will not be immune to that truth.

But more on that later.

For now, Blaine shoves these ridiculous thoughts aside because matters of the heart can be treacherous, especially to a prince betrothed to duty.

Banners flutter weakly above the sprawl of red tents. Smoke rises from amidst the encampment and settles above the camp like a thin grey haze. The clattering of metal mingles with the voices of the men and horses and fills the crisp air. The twilight cloaks the encampment in dimming light, the incoming darkness promising the end to yet another day on the road.

Soldiers on guard rise quickly, spears raised, but they relax when they recognize the Prince. They salute as he approached and move to take his horse but he just waves them off tiredly, leading his mount to the makeshift stables that have been set up.

He unsaddles the grey-white horse, brushes it over quickly, and secures it to a post before swiftly striding off into the camp.

As he walks, deep in thought, he almost runs into someone who stands in his way. He looks up annoyed and recognizes the soldier.

"Where are you going?" Sam asks, eyebrow raised.

"To get food?"

"No, you are off to the medical tent so they can clean your wound."

"But I'm fine-"

Sam interrupts, "Well, it's my job to make sure your royal person isn't harmed, Prince Blaine Anderson."

Blaine rolls his eyes at the addition of the title and opens his mouth to retort when his friend eyes him, "I...Fine."

"Well said," Sam replies with a smile, "Now go."

Blaine claps him on the shoulder and hurries off. The medical tent is large, and he ducks inside. The physician on duty calls a greeting from where he stands in the corner, looking through a chest of supplies. Blaine sits on a cot and carefully removes his shirt.

Upon seeing the ugly cut on the prince's side, the physician rushes over, kneeling in front of him. "Prince Blaine, you have to be more careful than this," he reprimands.

"I know, I know. But it's just a scratch."

"Well, next time make sure you come to me first, so I can make sure it doesn't get infected."

Blaine winces as the physician pokes at the long cut now scabbed over. "Of course."

"Good. I think you are right though, fortunately it is not very serious but I'm going to remove the scabbing anyways and clean it just in case. It'll heal faster that way and there will be less scarring."

Biting down on his lip, Blaine nods and looks away as the physician gently peels away the ragged scab. Blaine can feel a small trickle of blood as it traces down his side, warm and wet. The physician wipes some of it away with a damp cloth, dabbing at the cut softly.

Suddenly, the flap of the medical tent flies open and King Anderson strides in, brows furrowed. His hair is a steel grey, but no colder than his frigid hazel eyes.

"Where the hell were you?" he demands, stopping in front of Blaine, where he's seated on the edge of the cot. "The hunting party returned hours ago."

The physician looks up from his work, his face measured but his eyes betraying their shock. "My Lord, surely this can wait-"

The King ignores him, looking expectantly at Blaine.

Blaine draws in a breath, wincing slightly as the physician dabs again at the cut, stemming the small trickle of blood. "I just went for a ride after the hunt," he answers calmly, "I was not aware that you needed me, Father."

"I can't have you wandering off so close to King Burt's castle. We are but a day's ride away-"

"But the celebrations start in three days," Blaine can't help but protest.

"I have matters to discuss with King Burt so we must arrive early. And you have to be presentable."

Blaine opens his mouth, words on his tongue, but he thinks better of it and looks down at his feet. "Of course Father. I apologize for my foolishness."

"You will not partake in any other... excursions...No more scouting missions or hunts. You are to stay in camp and behave like a Prince unless ordered to do otherwise. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Father."

King Anderson looks his son up and down for a second before turning and striding out without another word, leaving Blaine wondering how in seven hells he'll manage to look for that mysterious young man in the forest again. Wait, no, forget about that man.

The physician releases a breath and turns back to his work, continuing to clean the jagged cut in silence before securely wrapping it with white cloth. He silently helps Blaine back into his shirt and Blaine rises shakily, doing up the remaining laces.

"I suggest you go sleep now. You will probably be able to remove the dressing by tomorrow, until then be careful," the physician instructs.

Blaine nods and mutters a quick thank you before heading out, leaving the physician alone in the tent, shaking his head sadly in the flickering torchlight.

Blaine picks his way through the temporary camp, looking forward to catching a little sleep before the last leg of their journey tomorrow. Most of the soldiers have already curled up in their blankets and fallen asleep, and the night is quiet. The moon glints off the blades of swords and knives clutched in tight hands, for no matter how safe, this land remains a stranger to the visitors. Those on watch pace the outskirts, sharp eyes trained on the still trees, and Blaine gives them a swift salute as he passes. The embers of the fires flicker and crackle softly, mingling with soft snores of men. He passes his tent with barely a glance and instead, as always, makes his way to his unit, where his friends have already fallen asleep. Picking his way through the blankets and sleeping forms, he sees Sam and Wes shuffling in their sleep and beside them an empty sleeping space, blankets already unfurled. Blaine smiles, they know him so well.

He lies down upon the course blankets, their roughness familiar to his skin. Unbuckling his sword belt and slipping off his cloak and jacket, the Prince settles down, making himself comfortable. Sleep already lurks on the edges of his mind and quickly, it carries him into darkness.

The next morning, dawn breaks over the trees and the camp rises from slumber. Blaine stretches out sore muscles and rubs the sleep from his eyes. He quickly washes and dresses into suitable clothes, removing the bandage from his wound, relieved to see it looking improved.

No words need to be said, and the men just nod to each other and roll up their blankets before setting out once again, packing up supplies and saddling their horses efficiently. To these horsemen, riding is easier than walking so there are no complaints or groans of discontent. It is simply ride. And ride. And ride.

Blaine's horse trots beside Sam's black mount. They ride silently, Blaine's eyes straying to the trees more often than not.

"What are you looking for?" Sam asks.

"Hmm... What?"

Sam sighs, "What are you looking for? You are staring at those trees as if you expect something to come out."

"Oh it's nothing. Um... It's just seeing so many trees in the same place is new."

"We've been riding in the forest for days, it's nothing new actually. But fine, don't tell me."

Blaine rolls his eyes but stays silent, trying to ward away the hope of seeing that mysterious man again.

The sun shines above, glittering upon armor and blades. Everyone is fully dressed because King Burt and his men would see them arriving from quite some distance and at King Anderson's orders they had to be presentable.

And quite a magnificent sight they were.

A castle eases into view, stones spires and towers rising out of the foliage. Those at the top shout excitedly as the visiting delegation appears, shining in the afternoon sun. Red flags and cloaks flutter in the wind, the vibrant color made brilliant in the light. They are instantly recognizable and messengers are sent down to King Burt to inform him that the horsemen of Arenor have finally arrived.

Tall doors lurch open and Blaine looks up at the guards standing high on imposing walls. There is a large expanse of field between the wall and the outlying houses of the town. There, tents have been assembled for the guests. Most of the men dismount and begin to settle into the camp, but Blaine remains mounted, following his father and his entourage to greet King Burt.

The dirt road melts into rock until the horses' hooves clatter noisily against cobble-stone. Residents of the houses step outside and open their windows to watch as the royals and their guards wind their way up increasingly cramped streets and almost too quickly, the castle looms overhead. The pale stone is bright in the winter sunlight and the towers reach their greedy fingers into the clouded mist overhead. The throne of Eleweth is housed in a relatively small castle in comparison to others that grace these lands. But it is perhaps the most beautiful. It seems to rise out of an outcropping of rock, its towers capped with dark shingles. However, one tower out-climbs them all, and there sentries stand day and night to keep careful eyes on the town and the surrounding land. Balconies adorned with blue flags make slender curves around the building, accessible through large, arched windows. In the summer, the castle would be cradled by flowers and greenery, but now most trees just stand bare against the stone except for the tangling ivy which provides splashes of color.

Guards in shining armor and sweeping blue cloaks dip their heads respectfully, approaching the group and taking their horses when they dismount. King Anderson does not even acknowledge them, and hands the reigns to a guard briskly before turning and walking to the front doors. Blaine dismounts swiftly and hands the reigns to a waiting attendant with murmured gratitude.

The front doors, laced with silver, swing open and Blaine steps into the chilled castle, blinking his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light of the hall. The only light that is offered comes streaming through large windows, those with stained glass sending kaleidoscopic patterns of color on the pale floors. Above, the arched ceiling rises high, painted with peeling illustrations of heroes long at peace.

Their footfalls clip on the polished floors as they are lead to the thrones where King Burt awaits. When the guests approach, surprisingly, he steps down from the platform and moves to greet the guests with a smile. He is dressed simply and he has a kind face. Kinder than that of Blaine's father. Blaine was beginning to think that a coronation leaves a permanent scowl on the face as well as a crown on the brow. Apparently that is only King Anderson. But King Burt looks older than his father, circles underneath his eyes and sorrow lines revealing what his smile attempts to conceal.

Blaine respectfully bows beside his father until the King beckons them to stand. "Welcome to Eleweth, honored guests."

"It is an honor to be here, King Burt. May I present my son, Prince Blaine," King Richard replies professionally, "I am afraid that my eldest son, Crown Prince Cooper, is unable to attend, seeing as I left him in charge of matters of state back in Arenor. He offers his apologies, as do I."

The King waves off the apology, "That is perfectly understandable." He turns to smile at the Prince Blaine, looking him up and down, "I am happy that you could attend."

"It is a pleasure," Blaine says carefully.

"If all is well, you shall finally meet my son on his eighteenth birthday, when we are sure he is free from Proditorem's prophecy."

King Anderson moves closer to the King Burt, asking in a quiet voice, "Is Prince Kurt well?"

"Yes. But he has remained hidden for years and has no idea who he is. I dare not risk any rumor of his whereabouts. I haven't seen him since he was a child. It is safer for him if he knows nothing."

"I understand. Now, there are matters I wish to discuss with you."

"Of course." King Burt turns to Blaine, "Feel free to explore the city. If there is anything at all you require, simply ask."

Blaine smiles, "You are most gracious my Lord."

"The castle is hosting the annual Winter Masquerade tonight. I would love it if you and your men could come. The delegation of Camelot has already arrived and King Arthur will be bringing his men to join in the dancing."

"It would be an honor my Lord. The Riders of Arenor will attend."

All you want is someone onto whom you can cling

Your mother warned of strangers and the dangers they may bring

Your dreams and memories are blurring into one

The scenes which hold the waking world slowly come undone

You'll come undone

Kurt runs through the trees, weaving through the trunks, leaves and branches crackling beneath him. His heart beats in his chest, flying faster than his feet. Get away, get away, he thinks, get away, get far away before you turn back and do something stupid. A variety of possibilities of "something stupid" flicker through his mind, and he finds himself imagining how the rider's lips would feel against his own...

What the hell is happening to me? Kurt thinks. The man looked nothing like a wizard or sorcerer. But if magic wasn't the explanation, why is Kurt feeling this? It shouldn't be possible for your soulmate to just appear from the trees. Love at first sight doesn't exist. True love doesn't exist. Both are concepts that are nothing but fairytales in Kurt's mind.

And fairytales aren't real.

Wait, soulmate? Where did that come from?

What was wrong with him?

He slows, breathing in small pants, and finds his way back to the cottage. The door swings open at his touch with a familiar creak. "Flora? Fauna? Meriwether?"

Only the silence replies and Kurt heads up to his room. His mind replays the scene over and over. Maybe I fell and hit my head? Maybe I imagined the whole thing? Perhaps I'm going mad. That must be it.

He sits on a rickety chair and kicks off his boots, and thinks. Recreating the image of the handsome man of the forest. Imagining impossible scenarios.

It seems as if his mind is just full of crazy ideas nowadays. Although the man was someone he had never seen before, Kurt can't help but realize that some of his characteristics were vaguely familiar. The confidence of his stance. The vibrant color of his cloak. The way he danced and the clear sound of his voice. Kurt knows nothing beyond this cottage, but still he is able to create magical scenes in his head and find similarities between them and the life he's living. He shouldn't be able to even to imagine them, let alone find them familiar. Your imagination and your memory feel different, and Kurt can distinguish between the two. So how come some parts of his imagination are blurring into his memory? He sits and thinks, rekindling the impossible scenes of dancing figures, roaring fires, and cavernous halls and gives them substance until they flit about like a permanent déjà vu in his mind.

Kurt collapses back onto his bed. Head cushioned by soft pillows, he lets his mind replay those vivid scenes over and over. Those moments seem so real. Could he really have only imagined them?

"Kurt! Are you here, dear?" Flora's voice emanates from below.

"Coming!" he calls back and bounds down the stairs, unable to shake the unease from his mind.

The fairies are bustling about with bags, filling up soft wood cabinets with items from the market.

"All the wood you could ever want is stacked outside."

"Thanks dear," Fauna says fondly, rushing up to Kurt and pulling him down to her height. Even then she has to go on her tip toes to kiss his forehead. "My my, isn't someone getting tall."

Kurt simply smiles and Fauna frowns. "What? No joke about me shrinking this time? What's the matter sweetheart?"

Kurt turns away and nervously runs his fingers through his hair. He chuckles humorlessly, "Oh nothing. Just silly. It's nothing."

All three women freeze and turn to their slender ward. Fauna takes another step closer to Kurt. "Kurt honey, you know you can tell us anything."

After a second Kurt spins around to face the three and chuckles again, looking at the floor, twiddling with his fingers nervously. When glances back at them, his confused blue eyes shine brightly, "Have you been lying to me?"

"What?"

"Have you been lying to me? It's just..." Kurt looks away again, studying the grains of wood on the ceiling intently, "It's just I keep getting these flashbacks, or whatever the hell they are and they don't make any sense and I'm just so confused all the time and I..." His feet shuffle on the floor restlessly, and the women just watch frozen in place, "Am I really an orphan? Did you really just find me on the steps of the cottage when I was a baby with no memory of anything? Because those flashbacks are sure as hell memories of something."

"Kurt sweetie..."

He looks up at them, his gaze steady and only his voice trembling slightly betraying his anxiety, "If there is something I don't know, I need you to tell me right now."

Flora, always the strongest¸ goes back to unpacking the bags, "There's nothing Kurt."

"I don't believe that."

"You just haven't been getting enough sleep."

"BECAUSE OF THIS!" Kurt shouts. He unclenches his hands and breathes in deeply, regaining some sort of composure. He lowers his voice and pleads softly, "Please I need to know." He fixes his eyes on the softest of the three, "Fauna?"

Fauna bites her lip nervously, "Sweetie I need you to understand that this all for your own good. We're just trying to keep you safe..."

"I am almost eighteen, I deserve to know. You have no right to keep anything from me."

Flora pushes past Fauna briskly and stands looking up at Kurt, addressing him firmly, "Fine. Yes, there is something we must tell you, but we will tell you on your birthday. Until then, we have to protect you-"

"I don't need you to protect me anymore!" he yells, "I can protect myself!"

Unfazed, Flora sets her shoulders, "Not from this you can't."

Meriwether, silent until now, steps between the two, "Enough of this. We have to tell him."

"Meriwether-"

"Stop this Flora. Kurt honey take a seat."

After a moment, Kurt wearily obeys and sits drumming his fingers against the table.

"Kurt, you are a prince."

The drumming stops. "You've got to be joking." Kurt chuckles, "You are joking? Right?"

"If only. Maleficent, curse that wretched bitch, cast a spell on you when you were only a child, and in order to protect you, we were ordered by your father to protect you, because of our... capabilities." Meriwether snaps her fingers, and Kurt's eyes widen as a wand appears in her hand, and the tattered peasant dress is replaced by a beautiful blue gown. Wings sprout from her back, and she hovers a few centimeters from the floor. "And so we hid our magic and kept you here, concealed from the world... and Maleficent."

Unable to decide whether to faint or simply just die of a stroke, Kurt instead chokes on his own air and Fauna rushes to fetch him a glass of water. He gulps and sets the glass down carefully, before his shaking hands drop it.

Fauna rushes over, and strokes his hair gently, "I know it's a lot to take in dear but we had no choice."

He swallows, "My father? My mother?"

"Your father, King Burt, lives in the castle on the hill where he is naturally, the King. Your mother died of the plague years ago, and so the King married the Lady Carole," Meriwether answers steadily. "I'm sorry, Kurt."

Kurt takes in deep breaths, calming himself. Holy shit holy shit, not what I was expecting, he thinks but manages to slow his heart rate. He rolls his shoulders back, sitting straighter.

"So I have a father and a stepmother."

"And a stepbrother, Lord Finn."

He nods his head, biting his lip. "I need to see them," he mutters.

Flora approaches in her now ruby red silks, saying firmly, "Out of the question. Not until your eighteenth birthday."

"I never said meet them, I just want to see them. Please." Kurt begs, "I have to see my family." He thinks for a minute, and blue eyes light up at a sudden epiphany, "What about the Annual Winter Masquerade held at the castle? No one would see my face and everyone is invited. I could see them but they wouldn't know me. I wouldn't even get close, I promise."

Flora sighs, "It's too dangerous Kurt. What if something happens? All of this would be for nothing."

"Please."

"No. Enough. Now you know. Do you have any more questions?"

He did. Hours were spent at the table and Kurt was reintroduced into a life he had no memory of as the daylight sank and darkness swept across the kingdom.

Kurt feigns a yawn and Fauna smiles fondly, "Okay enough for today. Off to bed with you." The boy nods sleepily and climbs up to his room, lying on his bed after completing an elementary moisturizing routine for his skin.

There he lies in silence, and after a bit he hears the unmistakable sound of a key sliding into the lock, and turning with a click, sealing him into the room.

They weren't going to take any chances.

But Kurt had already anticipated this. He was going to that ball, in some way or another.

Once everything is quiet, Kurt silently slips out of his bed. He looks down at his simple work clothes with a sigh, he would have to go like this and then somehow acquire a suit and a mask on his way to the ball. Stuffing his pillows under the thin sheets to recreate an albeit lumpy decoy, he steps across the wooden floorboards carefully, avoiding those he knew creaked. Kurt approaches the windowsill and slides it open with a wince as it grates softly. Once there is just enough room, he squeezes through, worn leather boots scrambling for purchase.

Slowly and carefully, he painstakingly picks his way down the side of the cottage. His foot slips and he suppresses a scream. Exhaling and swallowing nervously, he continues until the ground is but a few feet away. Peering down, he takes a deep breath and jumps, rolling to his feet gently on the moist grass.

"An impressive display of agility," a voice remarks from behind him.

Kurt spins with a gasp, heart caught in his throat. Before him stands Meriwether, dainty hands on her hips. "Meriwether..."

"Don't start. I know what you're doing."

"I'm sorry but I have to-"

"Of course you do," Meriwether interrupts, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, "Why do you think I insisted on telling you?"

"So you're going to let me go?"

"Looking like that? Absolutely not." And then, with a swish of her wand, Kurt is clad in a simple black suit, perfectly fitted. Even the silk undershirt is black, and the completely black outfit contrasts sharply against his pale skin. In his hand is a simple silver and black mask. His hair is perfectly coiffed and clean. "Now I know it's simple, but you don't want to draw too much attention to yourself."

Kurt looks down at himself in awe, jaw hanging open, "It's perfect," he breathes.

"Of course it is, it's a product of my magic," Meriwether sniffs, "Now close your mouth before a bug flies in." Kurt's mouth snaps shut and Meriwether continues amused, "I'm going to transport you to the ball because there's no way I'm letting you ride at night in the forest where dangers lurk in every shadow. At the stroke of midnight, you will be transported back here. Make sure you aren't in sight of anyone because it will look a little odd to see a person vanish. The stroke of midnight. No more. No less. Don't forget."

"Where are the glass slippers and the pumpkin?" Kurt jokes with a smile.

Meriwether smirks, "Off you go little Prince." She lifts her hand.

Kurt closes his eyes. He hears a clear snap breaking the silent evening and then there's a rushing sound and suddenly everything is still. Hesitantly he opens his eyes and finds himself in a darkened alley. Taking a deep breath, he steps out and walks into the cobble-stone streets. Horses' hooves clatter noisily against the stone and Kurt gasps as he looks up, where a giant castle looms overhead, so much larger than he had ever possibly imagined. He spins around and sees villages riddled at the base and the fluttering lights of fires glowing dimly in the distance. Beyond the lower town, giant stone walls surround the castle village, and he can see the faint figures of guards keeping their eyes on the horizon.

It's like a figment of his imagination.

Or is it his memory?

Turning back to the palace, he is swept into a stream of guests who hurry into the tall gates. All are dressed in cloaks, and Kurt finds a deep blue one on his shoulders. Flora would have a fit, Kurt thinks with a smile, Going to the masquerade without her permission and wearing blue. They approach tall doors which are shut. The crowd is crackling with anticipation and the people around him talk excitedly in hushed tones.

"This year's masquerade is supposed to be the best yet, with all the visiting delegations arriving for the Prince's eighteenth birthday celebration attending," a lady whispers to her friend in front of Kurt, who leans forward to catch their conversation.

"Do you know which have arrived?" her friend asks.

"Camelot arrived yesterday, and I heard that riders from Arenor arrived this morning."

The friend squeals in excitement and Kurt tunes them out and studies the crowd around him and the palace door, intricately designed with silver.

A large boom resounds. A hush falls over the crowd and Kurt can hear giant bolts sliding open. And then with a loud creak the doors are thrown wide and a golden glow shines from within.

Securing the mask on his face with a deep breath, Kurt steps forward into the cavernous hall, the heat from roaring fires chasing off the chill. In front of him, the ladies shed their cloaks and reveal brilliant dresses stitched with gold and embroidered with silver. He watches as they throw back their hoods, revealing shining curls that fall across bare shoulders and step delicately onto the dance floor where the other guests have already taken a partner and wait for the music to begin. Both are instantly coupled with masked gentlemen who take their hands with a bow and lead them off.

The sounds of a thousand violins fill his ears. White marble steps, covered in thick, red velvet carpet lead down to the grand ballroom. Assaulted with a wall of color and sound, he beholds dancers twirling below in elaborate costumes, their feathered headdresses waving around in a dizzying display of colors. Ivory white to deep crimson, gowns skim the ballroom floor, while violins sing softly, mingling with the operatic voices of the singers performing on the large wooden stage. But what holds his attention are the masks in every shape and size, some held daintily on long wooden rods, others tied with silk on hidden faces, displaying only small glimpses: a flash of shadowed eyes, rouged lips pulled in a small smile, a painted eyebrow. The identity is left to an excitable imagination.

He is so bewildered that he doesn't notice the lady approaching until she's in front of him. She wears a stunning scarlet gown with a daringly low neckline. Her gold mask is tied delicately around her face and crimson lips are twisted into a smirk. Long dark curls cascade down her tan shoulders and she stands with her chin high. A devil in a red dress. With a raised eyebrow she extends a gloved hand.

Well, here goes nothing. With a deep breath, he smiles and takes the hand delicately. Together they make their way to the dance floor where the music takes a rhythm and the couples begin to move. The song is beautiful and rises into the lofty heights of the hall. The scene, the music, the people, it is magical. Intoxicating.

Somewhere in the animated haze, Kurt notices a raised platform where thrones are set. Two taller ones are in the centre, and upon them two people with shining crowns. The King and Queen. Catching his breath, Kurt studies the King intently. He is widely built, with broad shoulders. A gold crown sits atop his balding head, and a smile never seems to leave his face for too long. A great longing seizes Kurt and he tears his eyes away from his father and they land on the Queen, the Lady Carole. But to the left and right of the royals are more unmasked people in magnificent finery, with crowns atop their heads.

Confused, Kurt turns to his dancing partner, "Who are those beside the King and Queen?"

The lady looks at the platform for a second before responding, "Where have you been? Under a rock?" Kurt still looks confused so she continues with a sigh, "To the right of the Lady Carole are King Arthur and Queen Guinevere of Camelot. And the man speaking with the King is King Anderson of Arenor. Now what business do you have with the royals? Just focus on the dance before you step on somebody's toes."

Kurt simply laughs and leads the lady into another twirl before she is caught up in the arms of a slender blonde and he falls into the arms of a tall man with green eyes. Soon, his partners meld together and he loses himself in the dance until the original purpose of his visit is forgotten. He has seen the father he lost.

But now, he wants to see the world he lost.

For what seems like hours, he is passed from one hand to the next, caught up in a whirlwind of music and laughter that leaves him breathless, a whirlwind that never stops. Propriety is left uninvited to stand in the cold air just outside the door. He feels infinitely powerful; beyond anything he could think or tell. Kurt isn't simply a peasant living in a forest miles from life. He isn't even a long lost Prince. In those precious moments he can be anyone and do anything, no questions, and no answers. He and those who spin around him, creatures better found in fairytales than in the harshness of reality. The moment is too exotic, too otherworldly, to warrant the reality of human emotion.

Maybe fairytales are real.

When the song finishes and the dancing pauses, cloaked attendants, their faces covered in white, offer wine, which slips down his throat like silk. Every taste, every moment, and every emotion impossibly magnified.

The hall quiets as everyone catches their breath. But before long, the figures move again in search of a new stranger to begin the dance at hand. Breathless, Kurt scans the crowd for a potential partner but then there is a tap on his shoulder and he spins to find a man in a black suit much like his own, most of his face hidden by an ivory mask with gold highlights, but he can see hazel eyes twinkling in the torchlight. A vibrant scarlet cloak is draped from his shoulders and it rustles as the man bows and extends a tan hand.

"May I have this dance?"

Don't talk to strangers.