Embarrassment coursed through Amadeus, his face hot and flushed, although part of that was from the whiskey. He promptly drank down the remainder, setting the glass down. Alone in the dining room, Amadeus held onto the back of the chair to steady himself. He’d seen Kit looking at him as she was almost ushered out and the hurt on her face struck a chord in him...In all the months he had been talking to her in the kitchen, he had somehow managed to keep all of the family secrets from her and in a matter of mere hours, everything had seemed to explode. The anger pent up inside him was like nothing he had ever felt before; Sam was the one who held his emotions in check, not the hot-headed one. That title belonged to his father...right? “God dammit!” Amadeus cursed and swiped his hand across the table, sending the empty whiskey glass flying, falling to the ground and shattering. He eyed it suspiciously, as if it would decide to put itself back together. His outburst left him feeling even more stupid than what he had felt when he had tried to stand up to his father just moments ago, but the anger that had been clouding his head turned to guilt and Amadeus made his way over to the broken glass. He shook his head, out of disappointment more than anything, and stooped to pick up the larger chunks. A passing staff member must've heard the shatter and opened the doors tentatively. “Sir…” Amadeus looked over at the door and nodded. He wasn't familiar with this staff member so there was silence while they picked up the shards together. “D-did you want another glass, Sir?” Amadeus, amused with how timid she was, shook his head. “No I don’t but I haven't seen you around before. Who are you?” He asked but the girl winced. “S-sorry. I’ve got glass in my hand…” She laughed it off but Amadeus grabbed her hand, forcing her to make eye contact with him. Amadeus’ gaze softened, the poor girl had the same lost look that Kit had when he’d first seen her.

“You know you don't have to help me pick up the mess that I’ve made.” Amadeus told her. “Come.” He pulled her to her feet, the difference between them both was obvious, but there were similarities in the way they walked, held their head and frowned. The girl, oddly enough, was dressed in oversized breeches, patched several times in the knees from the looks of the different coloured fabric and a plain shirt. If it wasn't for the fact she had come over to help Amadeus he wouldn't have noticed that she was dressed as a boy. “Why are you dressed the way you are? This isn't standard attire for female servants.” He stated, reaching up to the overhead cupboards at the bench where the waiters would typically have food platters, ready and waiting to be called over. “I...It’s the only stuff that fits me. I look funny, I know, but Mama said we couldn’t afford anything else.” Amadeus frowned, setting a medical case on the bench and pulling out some tweezers. “This might hurt…” He told her and plucked the glass swiftly, and then ran some water for her to hold her hand under. “The crown owes us.” The girl said, without any emotion. “My father fought in all of your father’s wars and crusades and never came home.” Amadeus frowned. “So you’re from the orphanage? Where’s your Mama? He asked her. “Mama said not to trust you, that you’ll be just as sly and cunning like your father.” Amadues laughed. “Well your Mama was right. I am sly and cunning, but I'm also charismatic unlike my dad...So from that, I gather you are from the orphanage.” The girl shut the tap and looked Amadeus dead in the face. “What’s it to you?” She asked him defensively. So much for that nervous show earlier, Sam thought. She reminded him a lot of himself, the more he thought about her attitude, the small mannerisms, particularly the shy persona. “Why does your Ma dislike my father so much?” He pressed, holding her gaze as the cogs in his mind turned. There was absolutely no way he had a half sister. “We’re siblings.” Amadeus pressed his pointer fingers to his temples and turned away. “No, I don't believe you. You’re lying.” He wasn't normally one to be so rude but it was always Andrea and him. Not to mention this little girl was almost half of his age. “My Ma was right, she told me you would say that. I can't believe you. You are just like your dad. Cause he sure as hell aint mine. Clean your own glass up. I’m out of here.” She scowled, shoving past AMadeus, despite how much space there was in the dining room.

Amadeus rubbed his face with his hand, preparing to give her a speech but when he opened his eyes, the girl was gone. Maybe he’d been hallucinating. Yes. That was it. He’d been seeing things in his intoxicated state. Slowly, Amadeus closed the medical kit and put it back into the cupboard. He paused, taking one last look at the glass but then decided to leave it. Sometimes he loved his entitled position. Pulling open the doors, Amadeus stepped out into the corridor, stretching as he walked over to the banister. Just last night the dancefloor below him had been filled with smiling faces and beautiful gowns, now it was empty, apart from a few staff who were dispersed to polish the floor. Amadeus turned around and learnt his back against the railing. He closed his eyes, imagining himself and Kit, dancing the night away; a smile cracked on his face. Kit had looked so stunning in her attire. He just wished the class system could be different. He couldn’t even make up a lie about her backstory, because all of the kitchen staff knew how talented she was; they’d all memorised her face. Amadeus sighed...If running away was an option, he’d do it in a heartbeat but it would mean leaving Arabella behind. His mother was dear to his heart, there was absolutely no way he could crush her like that. He knew the loneliness would kill her. How the hell was he supposed to know what he was doing…For a prince who had managed to lay low growing up, he had sure tampered with the dynamics in the royal family household earlier today. So Amadeus made his way down to the cellars, nodding to the staff hurrying around, and occasional hello here and there as he scanned the shelves, looking for the unlabelled whiskey. He grabbed a bottle, unscrewed the cap and took a long swig. It burnt on the way down but that was what he currently needed. He stopped only when he needed a breath, out the lid back on and left with the bottle in his hand. A few of the staff gave him disapproving side glances but they wesley chose not to say anything.

Amadeus was heading to his room, occasionally dropping to swig out of the bottle. When he got to his bedroom door, he paused, his hand on the handle as he sculled another mouthful, some of the alcohol spilled down his front, leaving patches on the front of his good shirt. He was hungry, and wanted some pastry. So Amadeus stumbled off down to the kitchens. He wasn’t inebriated, but by normal standards he should have been with the amount of liquor he had already consumed. Laughing at that thought, Amadeus slipped into the kitchens. Most staff he presumed were off serving lunch at another planned party of Arthur’s. The few who were still in the kitchen glanced up at Amadeus but ignored him. Amadeus waved to them, much like a little kid but they weren’t sure how to react to him. Somehow, Amadeus had managed to make it to the sleeping quarters for the staff. It wasn’t like he didn’t know where they were, he’d just never had any reason to go down to them before, but he wanted company, and the only person who was on his mind was Kit.

Madam Roslyn, red-faced and sweating, quite literally dragged Kit and Tobias back to the kitchens. Kit scowled as she was released, rubbing her ear where the kitchen matron had man-handled her and casting glances up the stone staircase they had just descended, as though half-expecting Sam to come stumbling after them. How many times over the past months had he walked those steps to come and talk to her, to smuggle a few treats or tease her for the paint remnants on her hands? But the prince did not appear, and Kit couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing. After what had occured, perhaps they both needed a quiet moment to recover. Kit tuned back into the present abruptly, as Roslyn continued to shriek about their breach of etiquette, lack of manners, bringing dishonor on her kitchen, embarrassing her in front of the king…

Tobias, for his part, had a hangdog look about him, head bowed in contrition, though Kit suspected at least some of that was for show. Kit too kept her eyes lowered, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel any kind of regret for speaking out of turn. It had done little to alleviate the situation, it was true, but she had glimpsed the hurt and anger in Amadeus the previous night, had only just begun to comprehend what he had endured. She knew, instinctively, that the king’s display in the breakfast room that morning had been only a taste of what he was capable of. And though the small outburst had been uncharacteristic, Kit felt like, strangely, she had begun to find her voice. So, Roslyn’s tirade was largely lost on her, though she pretended to listen in dutiful silence, offering mumbled apologies when it was appropriate. But her mind was elsewhere, not on her canvas or brushstrokes for once, but on a charismatic, troubled young man somewhere in the castle above her.

They were dismissed after receiving their punishments: dawn duty for the next month, the switch for Tobias, and confinement indoors for Kit. The last part barely registered with Kit: There were always ways of subverting Roslyn’s rules, and she was intimately familiar with the nooks and crannies of the castle. She’d find a way outside, a way to paint the sunset and capture the forest around her. And Tobias did not seem broken up about his punishment either.

“Dawn duty in the kitchens will be rough, I won’t lie,” he groaned after they had been released, kneading a ball of flour beneath his hands as Kit frosted some small pastries. “But the switch is easy enough to avoid. That old bat will forget she ever sentenced me to it by tomorrow, wait and see.” Wisely, he kept his voice lowered, for Roslyn still stomped about the kitchens, passing by their works tables with a suspicious eye. “One glass of sherry and she won’t remember a thing.” Kit was glad for her friend, who was as adept at her at getting out of things unscathed, but her attention remained elsewhere. Her frosted flowers came out sloppy, and she had to restart, cursing her own poor craftsmanship under her breath. She was still exhausted from the previous evening, though dancing with Amadeus had been well worth it. The colors in front of her swam, until instead of fake flowers she saw dancing bodies, the swirl and sparkle of ballgowns and decorated masks. The kitchen noise faded to a dull hum, replaced by remembered music and suppressed laughter, the hushed conversations she had shared with Sam. Memories she would hold onto forever, if they were to be her only ones.

Some time later, Madam Roslyn scuttled by once more, glaring, before disappearing at last back up the stairs, a small army of servants behind her, weighed down with platters of slow-roasted duck, poached eggs, tossed salads, an entire garden’s worth of roasted vegetables, lemon meringue pie, and Kit’s hastily redone decorated pastries. At last, the kitchens were mostly emptied, save she, Tobias, and a few of the others left with clean-up duty.

Exhausted, Kit wrung her hands on her apron, picking at the dried crust beneath her fingernails absentmindedly. She leaned against an oven, still cooling from her concoctions, and listened to see if anyone would be returning soon to give her more orders. But the kitchens remained quiet. As though reading her mind, Tobias gave her a knowing look and said, “Go. I’ll cover for you if the she-devil returns.”

Kit gave him a peck on the cheek, delighted with her friend. “You’re a dear,” she said. “I owe you one!” She scampered away, heading in the direction of the sleeping quarters she had emerged from that morning, intent on catching a much-needed nap. Behind her, Tobias shouted, “That’s two now!”

Still giggling to herself, Kit rounded a corner and ran, quite literally, into someone taller than she. The unmistakable tang of whiskey hit her, followed by a more unique scent, one she instantly recognized: an earthy, woody smell mixed with something like sugar. Before she could check herself, or remember that she was a kitchen mouse and he was the prince, Kit flung her arms around Amadeus, hugging him in a tight embrace. “You,” she said, breathing him in, and not wanting to ever let him go. After a long moment, she reluctantly released her hold on him, though she still held his hand, unwilling to quite let him go. “Come with me,” she whispered. She led the way to her shared bedroom, thankfully vacant at the moment, and quickly shut the door behind them. The room was sparse, with minimal furnishings, and Kit’s cheeks flushed with shame as she remembered the ornate rooms she had seen last night.

“It’s not much,” she admitted, moving to the other side of the small room. “Are you...are you okay? Can I get you anything?” Her hands clasped in front of her, then fidgeted with her servant’s attire, then caught a lock of her hair. She seemed incapable of staying still.