The prince's final words haunted Myrielle as Fredrick escorted her down the moonlit path. She was already reflecting back on the terrible conversation, and obsessing over just how easily Bella had prevailed with her seduction; was beauty really the only way to bag a royal?

Myrielle's failure to win at playing the 'smart card' was a societal plague, and one that would go on to affect womankind for centuries to come. Society of course would refute this malaise with occasional profiles on 'smart girl crushes,' but for every one of those, there was a 'Maxim Hot 100' list and a Victoria's Secret fashion show that supported the age-old outlook: trophy wives would always be in style, and intelligent women were a threat to the male ego.

Or most male egos, anyway.

Fredrick could see that Myrielle had a lot on her mind, and none of it seemed encouraging based on her cloudy expression. He glanced around and noticed Gianni heading down the path.

"Lavatory break," Gianni whispered before disappearing into the night.

Fredrick nodded and once Gianni was out of eavesdropping range, he directed Myrielle to an area secluded by trees. "Let's take a little break before returning to the others; you seem tired and I wouldn't want you to faint."

She frowned at him. "Excuse me?" After putting her heart or brain on her sleeve and being painfully rejected, Myrielle was on edge and triggered by the notion of seeming weak. "I do not need a fainting couch," she said, clenching her fists and ready for a fight.

At the sight of her fists he was tempted to back away but stayed strong. "That was only my formal suggestion," he said calmly. "The real suggestion is...maybe you had a tough time with that cretin and could use a few minutes for a break."

She relaxed her fists. "That's actually a nice idea."

A few seconds passed in the melody of chirping crickets, as Fredrick scrambled for something to say that might put a smile on her face.

"He's horrified of losing his hair," he blurted out.

She raised an eyebrow. "The prince?"

"Oh yes. He has an herbalist concoct these oil and vitamin treatments I administer once a week." He cringed at the thought of the intensive scalp massage that was due in another two days. "And whenever he finds a loose hair on the floor or on a pillow, I hear him screaming throughout the entire east wing."

She laughed. "You have to be exaggerating."

"Not at all!" he insisted. "And sometimes...in the middle the night...I fantasize about cutting all his hair off in his sleep. I'd never do it of course, but..." he looked deep into her eyes, "...it's crossed my mind, and...I've never admitted that before, not to anyone."

Myrielle was at once surprised and comforted by Fredrick's dark admission; it was nice to know that she wasn't crazy in her difficulties to connect with the prince. She suddenly had an idea. "Look at the stars," she said.

He gazed upward. "Okay, looking..."

"Isn't it fascinating to look into the vastness, and know that we aren't at the center of it all?"

He seemed confused. "Are we not at the center then?"

She explained Galileo's theory just as she had to the prince, and was curious to know if his reaction would be the same.

"It seems impossible," said Fredrick. Myrielle dropped her shoulders, realizing all men were the same. "But most new discoveries seem impossible at first."

Myrielle's face lit up. "Do you really mean that?"

He seemed thrown off by her surprise. "Of course I do; it's astounding what we learn through progress as time goes on, and in this case...to know that we're a small part of a much grander scheme."

Myrielle needed direct confirmation. "So you don't think learning is for stupid people?"

He laughed. "Certainly not; learning is how we got here, and how those who come after us will get wherever they're going."

Something happened in that moment to Myrielle, something that made her plan to marry a prince seem a little bit confusing. Whatever that something was, it gave her the urge to keep this conversation going. "If you had to choose between losing an arm in a tiger attack or being ten feet tall, which would you choose?" It wasn't current events or the arts, but it was the first thing that popped into her head.

Fredrick stared at Myrielle for a long moment, trying not to laugh while at the same time rather stimulated. "Hmm...on the surface it seems like an obvious choice. And yet..."

She shook him playfully by the arms. "And yet what?"

"Well of course you wouldn't want to be attacked by a tiger and subsequently have your arm ripped out of its socket; who would?"

"Only a madman," she confirmed.

"Indeed; but when it comes to height, there's a line after which being taller is no longer a benefit. And ten feet tall?" He shook his head. "The consequence of that would mean never fitting into rooms, never sitting down for a meal with loved ones...it would almost be a sentence to an isolated life." He stared into the distance sadly for a moment, before meeting her gaze with intensity. "So rip off my arm, tiger." He nodded bravely. "I'm ready."

Myrielle laughed; she was charmed and delighted and had almost forgotten that he was 'Fredrick the servant.' The prince's servant. The immediate gut-punch back to reality was the harsh reminder she'd needed; it told her to take whatever she was feeling and put it into a box. And then burn the box. And then bury the box's ashes.

Fredrick studied her troubled expression. "Is everything okay? Did I answer the question incorrectly?"

She managed a little smile. "You didn't but we should probably head back."

Fredrick was suddenly desperate to keep the moment going. He didn't have any clever 'would you rather' questions in his arsenal, so he thought back to all the stories he'd read, and tried to conjure up what a leading man might say. What he ended up with was a mental catalogue of Shakespeare's complete and tragic works.

"Why do you want to marry him?" he blurted out. The influence of Shakespeare was clearly present in the devastating question that could only lead to romance suicide.

Surprisingly she had an immediate answer. "It's a little more complicated than want," she said. "Sometimes it's about an opportunity, and the benefits for others that might come from it." The benefits to her family were more glaring and important than ever. "Be honest, Fredrick; is there anything good about the prince?"

Fredrick considered the list of the prince's most amazing qualities. In one and a half seconds he seemed to be done. "He has a much better metabolism than his father."

They both laughed. And then she sighed. "No jokes, Fredrick!"

He shrugged. "I don't really know what to tell you; he's not evil..."

She smirked. "That wasn't really the question."

"Then the real answer is something you wouldn't like."

She nodded. "This probably all seems pretty crazy to you, but all I can say is there's too much at stake to give up."

"That's understandable," he said, despite not really understanding.

She started pacing back and forth with something heavy on her mind. "I guess the only question is...even once I get rid of Bella, will I have a real chance? Is it worth what I'm planning to do?"

Fredrick seemed concerned by her cryptic description. "What exactly are you planning? Does it have to do with the ingredients you requested?"

She wouldn't look him in the eye. "Like I said before, the less you know the better."

Fredrick was starting to realize that no matter how many moments they shared, Myrielle would always re-focus on her goal, and that goal had nothing to do with getting close to a servant.

"I guess we should probably head back then," he said, realizing the moment had passed.

She glanced at the path and her expression changed. "I suppose you're right..." she said strangely. "Just hold on for a moment while I...adjust my shoe." It was a strange thing to say since the shoes she'd worn had no laces to actually adjust, and it was stranger still when she put out her hand for assistance. "Will you help me up?"

He took her hand and pulled her up, but instead of letting go she held on. She stared at their hands in fascination, slowing down time while they conducted the energy that makes humans feel so alive.

Then she studied his eyes.

And then she touched his hair.

And then she kissed his cheek.

When she'd started this little physical experiment, she'd felt like an intrigued researcher in a lab coat. But now? Now she was a hot-blooded woman who was feeling all the feelings.

Fredrick was stunned by the cascade of physical contact. "Why...why did you do that?" he stammered.

"Why does anyone do anything?" she said in a trance-like way. "To connect with other humans...to make existence matter." She regained her alertness. "It's what separates us from farm animals." she went on. "Like pigs." Her expression darkened. "Which he compared me to."

He squeezed her shoulder reassuredly. "He has a phobia of being trampled by pigs."

She smirked. "You're lying to make me feel better."

"No I'm not; when he hears a pig squealing he drops into the fetal position and rocks back and forth for twenty minutes."

She shook her head in amazement. "He's a freak, isn't he..."

Fredrick smiled knowingly. "The more you get to know him, the more you'll see..."

Myrielle followed him down the path, and as he brought her back to the other contestants and left to resume his duties, she started to realize that not all princes were created equal, and that not all people were defined by their title...

[WRITER COMMENTARY: This chapter is an ode to having feelings for someone you can't have. Haven't we all been there? Well I sure have, and it's one of those things that feels amazing and torturous all at once...ISN'T LIFE GRAND?!?!? Hahaha--->**laugh of despair** Well I hope you're enjoying the drama so far, thanks for reading!]