Any doubts Tomas may have had about Dove being the missing princess disappeared the moment he saw her brother. The prince had the same blue eyes, the same fair hair, and the same fine boned features - only with a more masculine turn. They could have been twins if Tomas didn't know the age difference. It dawned on him that he really had been playing bodyguard to a princess.

"A spy, you say?" The sharp voice jolted Tomas's mind back to the present. The prince was speaking, and suddenly Tomas realized he had been wrong in assuming Dove's brother shared her eyes; these had none of her gentleness.

"Yes, your Highness," said one of the guards who had brought him here. It was the angry one, much more subdued now in the presence of the prince. "We found him trying to sneak out of the city before curfew. He was on his way to report his findings."

Tomas bristled at the accusation. He was about to defend himself when one look from the prince stopped him. He had seen looks of that sort before from other authority figures. It meant "hold your tongue". He almost spoke up anyway, but the prince spoke before he had the chance.

"Rather silly of our enemies to send in such a suspicious looking spy." He tilted his head. "The hair really does give it away."

Angry - as Tomas had taken to calling him - cleared his throat. "Well, your Highness, he was clever, see. He had his hood up so no one could see nothing." A self-satisfied look spread across his face. "Not that it fooled us, of course. We knew there was something up with him. And so there was!"

"Ah, yes, a hood. What an impenetrable disguise!" A small smile had worked it's way onto the prince's face. It was infuriating. His cold eyes met Tomas's again."You don't seem to be the most competent spy, I have to say."

Tomas couldn't hold it in any longer. "I'm not a spy!" he exploded. "These two buffoons have no idea what they're on about!"

"Is that so?" asked the prince as the guards beside him made sounds of displeasure at being called buffoons. "Then do you deny that you were out before curfew was over? Do you deny that you are from Pommern? Do you deny that you are here gathering intel? Do you deny that these guards had a right to arrest you as they did?" At some point during his outburst, he had risen to his feet. The smile had slipped from his face. "And do you dare deny that your country declared war on us when you kidnapped our princess?" His voice had risen throughout his speech, but at the last line he was scarily calm again.

Tomas was momentarily stunned into silence. For an instant, the prince's eyes had lost their coldness, replaced by a blazing fire. But almost as soon as it appeared, it was gone again.

"I cannot deny that I am from Pommern, as you well know." He tried to keep his voice level. Shouting now would not help his case. "And if I was out before curfew ended, it was without my knowledge. Perhaps I was suspicious looking, and these guards had a right. But the rest..." And here Tomas paused, meeting the prince's eyes. "The rest I can easily deny."

The prince's face seemed etched in stone as he lowered himself back into his seat. "Then you also deny knowing nothing of my sister? Since you deny her kidnapping, of course."

At the question, Tomas froze. He swallowed hard and looked at the floor before answering. When he did answer, it was slow and deliberate. "That I cannot deny." He lifted his head and then added, "Your Highness."

The prince's face was unreadable. He didn't even blink. Tomas could almost feel the room growing colder the longer those eyes rested on him. The light filtering through the blue fabric of the tent only added to the effect, intensifying the chilling stare. Tomas silently wished for him to say something, anything. He already knew that with a single sentence he had doomed himself. But still he awaited the confirmation.

"Then you have denied none of it." The silence shattered under the dagger-like voice. "I do not know who you are, or if you are indeed a spy. But until I make a decision, you will be staying in this camp under guard." Finally, blissfully, the prince's eyes shifted away from Tomas, landing instead on the guards. "Take him away."

Angry was the first to move, grabbing Tomas's arm. This prompted Jaks to do the same. Tomas was the last to respond to the command. He had blown his chance. Hadn't his entire goal in coming to Lucerne been to find Dove's - Mirabel's - family? And here he was, standing in front of her brother, and he had done nothing. He was such an idiot. Why did he have to be so cryptic in his answer? Why hadn't he explained? He had to do something.

And so he resisted the tug of the guards. "You don't understand," he began, unthinking. "I know-"

"I said, take him away!" The prince's voice was like thunder, and the guards quickly obeyed, dragging him towards the door of the tent. He tried to protest - he had to make them understand! - but it was to no avail. The face of the prince disappeared behind a blue flap of cloth as he was pulled away. He had failed.

Prince Tristen ran a hand down his face, allowing himself to slump a bit in his seat. The encounter with the strange man with the dark hair had exhausted him. Whether or not he was a spy, or anything for that matter, he didn't know or care. He simply couldn't deal with it anymore.

He had sent his own guards out soon after the man had been taken away; he needed to be alone for a while. His face still burned as he thought of his careless outburst, of how he had slipped up in calling Mirabel his sister instead of 'princess'. Now was not the time for sentimentality. Something about the dark haired man had enraged him. His blood hadn't boiled like that since he had first been told of his sister's abduction. Or perhaps since the news had made him so rashly declare war.

A sigh escaped his lips. He had never expected his father to agree to the declaration. It was more routine for him than anything, all part of the act. Hear bad news, sit in on the council, insist on war. The ritual had become commonplace for him. For goodness' sake, he had even demanded war on Winterthur once! But never in all those years had he meant the brash demands as he had that day. And of all the days for his father to agree, it had to be then. He would have stopped urging for war long ago if he had thought his father would ever agree; after all, why would he? A groundless call for war from his reckless, careless son?

Tristen closed his eyes and leaned back. It was his own fault his father and others thought of him that way: the arrogant prince who never paid attention in his lessons and never cared much for politics. It was a fruitless act. It gained him nothing but lack of concern and unfavorable attention. But it had always served his purposes. And now that act had brought him here. Heading a war, recruiting soldiers, trying to prepare them for battle, and now giving trial to supposed spies.

The thought of the spy made him angry again. Everything in his manner had been disrespectful. And yet... there was something about him. As if he knew more than he was saying. Tristen allowed himself to picture the scene once more, the man's incongruently green eyes pleading with him as he was dragged from the tent. He had left Tristen curious, he had to admit. He wanted to find out what the man knew.

But he couldn't go now. He would have to wait. Following after the prisoner he had only just sent away would look odd, and he didn't want to start any whispers around the camp. And he still needed to calm himself before speaking to the man. He would not allow himself to slip up in front of him again.

Tristen heard a sound from outside the entrance to the tent and immediately straightened in his seat. By the time the flap flew open, his facade was back in place; a carelessly amused expression on his face, confident posture, and a hand idly tapping away as if in boredom.

"Your Highness." It was one of his guards. He gave a short bow before continuing. "Lieutenant Anke's patrol has returned and is ready to report."

Tristen waved a hand. "Send him in." It was convenient timing, he thought. A patrol report would be just the thing to distract him from his thoughts of the spy.

The tent Tomas was taken to was much smaller than the prince's. The color was the same, giving the same wash of blue light over everything - although 'everything' wasn't much. Aside from a table and a few chairs, the tent was empty. What it had been used for prior to Tomas's arrival was unclear. The chairs weren't even properly organized around the table.

Tomas himself had been tied to one of the poles that supported the tent. He shifted his wrists in discomfort. The rope was beginning to rub, and he didn't doubt he would soon have marks to match those of Dove's when he had first found her.

He sighed at the thought and rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension in his muscles. He supposed the one bright side was he could at least sit on the floor. A chair would have been preferable, but none were close enough to the pole. He only hoped his sleeping arrangements would be a bit different. That is, of course, if he was still here by nightfall. The day had only just begun.

He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there when the tent flap opened. A man stepped inside, closing it behind him before looking at Tomas. Tomas's jaw clenched instinctively; he recognized the fair hair and the hard blue eyes.

The prince had come to visit.

Tomas decided to let the prince speak first. Why was he here? Had he decided Tomas was a spy after all? Or had he decided against the idea?

But the prince simply held his eyes, seeming to appraise him for a moment. Finally, he strode across the tent and dragged a chair closer to Tomas. He sat in it, leaning forward to meet Tomas's eyes. The seat was much higher than where Tomas rested. Tomas couldn't help but feel a little annoyed; this was Dove's brother?

"When you were brought before me earlier," the prince began at last, breaking the tense silence. "You could not deny any knowledge of Princess Mirabel." Tomas tried to keep his expression unreadable, though it was still odd to hear her true name.

"And yet," the prince continued, "you denied all other accusations. Explain this."

The faintly bored expression the prince had worn throughout their previous meeting was gone, replaced by something more intense. Yet he seemed to be trying to hide this intensity, something Tomas couldn't understand. Was he pretending not to be interested?

Instead of asking, he simply bowed his head before responding. "What I tried to explain, before being taken away by your men, was that I know your sister - strange though that may seem." When the prince said nothing, did nothing but furrow his brow, Tomas continued. "When I met her, she was already in Pommern, although clearly not of her own free will. Her hands were tied." Tomas saw the prince's jaw clench, and quickly continued. "I had no idea who she was; she had no voice to tell me. I knew only that she was a lost girl who had found herself in a bad way." He met the prince's eyes as firmly as he could. "I tried to help her."

The prince still said nothing, though the effort of holding his tongue seemed difficult. And so Tomas told him the whole story. After all, if anyone deserved to know what had happened to her, it was her brother. He told him of how he had taken her into his home and cleaned her up; how they had cared for her for a few days before going into town to find someone who knew how to read her words; and of how he had lost her in the fire, finally coming to Lucerne only to discover the girl had been none other than the missing princess.

When he finally finished, the prince stood in silence for a long while; at some point during the story, he had stood and began pacing the tent. "Why should I believe a word you say?" he finally said, his voice smooth, the edges hard. "My men believe you are a spy, sent from the enemy. Why wouldn't a spy have clever lies?"

"I think we have already determined, Your Highness, that I wouldn't be such a competent spy," Tomas replied, surprised at the steadiness of his own voice. "Nor, as my mother often tells me, am I a very good liar."

The prince barked a wry laugh. "I suppose you wouldn't make a very good spy, no. But I'm still not sure I trust you. After all, you would have me believe that my sister somehow escaped her captors, fled in a mad dash through the woods, and happened upon a kind hearted stranger who was willing to help her." The prince began pacing again. "Now tell me, doesn't that sound just a bit too convenient? How did she escape, for one? I find it hard to believe she could overpower them. And you say she had her hands tied still!

"And even if I do believe you, what then? You have no proof of who kidnapped her, or where she is now. I can't very well take my troops and storm through the country looking for her; it wouldn't look good. So tell me, mysterious stranger, what good does your ludicrous story do me if it is true?"

Tomas stared at the prince. He had turned away, clearly not expecting an answer. His posture had slumped, and, as Tomas watched, he dragged both hands across a downcast face. This was not the arrogant man who had taken a seat in the chair across from him.

"Tomas," he said, speaking his own name quietly. It seemed loud in the silence following the prince's words. "Not 'stranger'. My name is Tomas." He wasn't sure why he felt the need to tell the prince his name. Perhaps, he realized, it was because he didn't know the prince's name either.

But the prince simply turned and gave a short nod. His face had hardened again. "I'm afraid I must go. I will have my guards bring you something to eat." With that, the prince strode out of the tent, not sparing another glance for Tomas. And he was left there, staring after the man he found so impossible to read.

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A/N: Super long chapter this time, eep. I almost split it, but I felt it all needed to be together. Let me know how you liked it! Especially Tristen... he is an odd character to write. Don't forget to comment and vote, and I'll see you next time! xx