#pixal in the cinderella dress

[parachutingkitten]

Pixane Cinderella AU so my two favorite ace couples can be one in the same-

[only-lonely-stars]

A Bride for the Prince (Chapter 6 - Hide and Seek)

[Prologue] // [Chapter 5 of 9] // [Chapter 6 of 9 - you are here!] // [Chapter 7 of 9] – (FFN) (AO3)

Part of the @ninjago-fairy-tale-au!

Summary:

Once upon a time, there lived a faithful and hardworking girl named Pixal Borg, who worked every day to satisfy her demanding stepmother. For years, she cleaned and cooked, giving no argument, until the day came when she met the prince. A Pixane Cinderella retelling.

Chapter summary:

The third day of the festival arrives, and Zane asks an important question.

On the third day of the festival, Pixal acted as she had the two days prior, her family none the wiser. The previous night, she had concocted a plan for her day, and she was determined to see it through.

As first order of business, she helped her stepmother and sisters prepare for the festival and saw them off. Columbine and Begonia spat yet more biting remarks about Pixal and how they were to catch the prince's eye, but Pixal shrugged them off. Unbeknownst to them, they meant nothing to her; the prince could not care less.

As they were about to leave, Amaryllis stopped Pixal in her tracks just as she was about to turn and go back to her basement room.

"Pixal, wait."

"Yes, Stepmother?" Pixal asked, dread roiling in her stomach as her traitorous mind told her every way Amaryllis could have learned her secret.

"I want you to be studious in your cleaning today," Amaryllis said. "Prince Zane may show interest in one of your stepsisters yet today, and should that be the case, I will not be shamed by a dirty home."

Pixal faltered for a moment. "I understand."

"See to it that the estate is spotless!" her stepmother continued. "I have not missed how things have deteriorated in my absence. Scrub until even the floors shine."

"I will," Pixal responded, the lie sitting on her tongue with its coppery taste. "Enjoy the festival."

"We will," her stepmother retorted. Then Amaryllis turned and left, entering her carriage and settling herself between her bickering daughters. Within mere minutes, Pixal was alone once again, and the next part of her day's plan could begin.

For her second task, Pixal pilfered another forgotten gown from one of her sisters' closets and donned it. This gown was unlike either previous one, having more fabric and detailing than either, and it flattered her figure such that she scarcely recognized her reflection.

The gown was a pale blue, embroidered with white and green thread in an intricate pattern on the skirt and sleeve hems. Pixal twirled in front of the mirror, watching the hem as it swirled and turned. Unlike the others, this dress was quite low-necked, yet not so low as to be uncomfortable nor too revealing– completely ladylike in all aspects, but so lovely that Pixal scarcely believed either sister could discard it. However, that worked to her benefit, so she thanked them for it. After she was satisfied with her choice, she donned her snowflake necklace and did her hair, making her appearance into that of a proper lady.

There was but one final addition to her person. It was a blue scarf the color of ice, made of a gauzy fabric, which Pixal set in her pocket for later use. It had belonged to her mother, Astrid, and she had almost forgotten about it after Begonia had snatched it for herself when they were children. Now, however, she would be taking it back.

As the third and final step in her plan, she needed to transport herself to the festival. Pixal took her spellbook and another bunch of herbs and prepared her spell, creating the plume of sparkling smoke with which she had become so familiar. She stepped in without reserve, boldly facing the smoke as it enveloped her, but then stopped short on the other side.

Despite everything being identical to the previous day, at least to her knowledge, Pixal was nowhere near the pavilion where she had found herself the previous two days. Instead, she was by the jousting arena, across the festival grounds. While the location was not as it had been the previous two days, it would be workable.

A smile made its presence known on her face as she reasoned through the matter. If things progressed today as they did the previous two, then this was the most convenient place to be when she returned, since she could stay to watch the tournament. Perhaps she would be able to watch the evening jousting and see the prince there! Then she could give him a favour and somehow be able to watch him joust with it, showing it off to all those who attended.

Once she realized how her thoughts had turned, embarrassment filled her. The prince was not a quarry for her to pursue, and she knew that very well. She had to remember that he was simply someone with whom to share the last day of the festival. She would not delude herself into thinking that she could somehow cultivate a real relationship with him, nor develop feelings. That would end poorly and painfully. As such, she would not allow herself to hurt either of them in such a manner.

After hiding the spellbook, Pixal wondered what she should do next. It was most logical for her to return to the pavilion where she had met Prince Zane both days prior, to continue the pattern. It was a fair walk from the arena, although manageable, and would not be a hardship. By all reasonable estimation, she would have to travel quickly if she were to get there as early as she had been the day prior, so she did not delay in beginning her trek.

As she had suspected, the time it took Pixal to walk to the pavilion was long enough to throw off her timing from the prior day. When she reached it, however, she found it just as it had been the two previous days, filled with whirling colors and people. Though she found it less tempting, it was nevertheless still enticing, and she considered joining the dancers for a few moments. She searched the crowd and saw no sign of the fair-haired prince, and her heart sank.

Pixal looked everywhere in the nearby area, but did not see Zane. Her heart sank the longer she searched, but she did not allow it to discourage her, and searched more carefully. A little while later and after seeing her distress, an organizer for the festival came up to her and cleared her throat.

"Pardon me, young lady. Are you looking for someone?" the woman asked, her gravelly voice sounding aged.

Pixal turned in surprise, then nodded. "Yes ma'am."

"Might I be of some assistance?" the woman asked, silver hair close to falling in her face as she smiled.

"Perhaps." Pixal smiled self-consciously and looked down, a light blush dusting her cheeks. "I fear you would judge me for my answer."

"Nonsense, dearie. Tell me about your trouble."

"Very well." Pixal looked up to meet the woman's gaze. "I'm looking for his Highness, Prince Zane. I had the pleasure of meeting him the previous two days, but not today, and I expected to find him here."

The woman nodded knowingly. "Of course. Every marriageable lady here seeks to meet him– that is understandable."

"It isn't like that!" Pixal protested, raising her hands. "I simply wish to talk to him– I know he would never consider me, nor I him."

The woman hummed in contemplation. "Ah, very well. I can help you, young lady, but you must help me first."

"What kind of help do you require?" Pixal asked. "I can do whatever you need."

The woman beckoned her near. "Come with me, and I will tell you. If you are so considerate of the prince, then I'm sure you will be very happy to help me with this task…"

-----

On the third day of the festival, Prince Zane found himself anxious as he waited for the day to begin, unable to focus due to his preoccupation.

He woke early in the morning, fretting about how best to present himself. He washed himself in freezing water, dressed, and visited the memorial to his brother. The sun was barely risen, but he left the castle anyway, eager to supervise and perfect everything before the time came for him to meet up with Lady Pansy.

For several hours, Zane burned the time he had by working, hoping to ease his nerves. Despite everything that would assuage him, he found himself adrift on a sea of anxiety, so incredibly unlike himself. He tried to reason through it, and for a little while it worked, but only so long as he did not stop to think about Pansy.

When the time came, Zane rushed to the pavilion, although doing his utmost not to appear too quick to arrive. His heart beat loudly in his chest, louder with every step, every breath feeling colder even as he grew warmer and warmer.

When he arrived, however, Pansy was not there.

Concern worked its way into the prince's mind as he searched, looking into the crowd of dancers as he tried to catch a glimpse of her fair hair. Where was Lady Pansy? From what he could tell, it was not her habit to be tardy.

Perhaps he had come too early. They had not set a time to meet, and he had been awake since before dawn.

The city clock tower struck ten, discarding that idea. It was not too early, for this what when they had met the day before. Still, he did not find her.

After a little while of searching, Zane went to explore the near area, hoping to spot her. As he went farther from the pavilion, the sound of the music faded, replaced with speech and children's laughter, distracting yet not unpleasant. The latter grew louder as he walked, and Zane stopped to look at its source.

A hundred feet from him, a crowd of children laughed and cheered, having been playing games. They crowded around each other and pushed toward several adults who supervised. These adults were giving them treats- candied fruit, toys, flowers and more.

As Zane watched, he smiled. Then, his heart began to race, as he noticed one of the adults had the fairest hair he'd seen that day. The woman turned to speak to some children in his direction, and Zane knew immediately that it was Lady Pansy. She smiled and spoke to the children, giving them treats and paying compliments that sent them into happy peals of laughter. When her basket of gifts was empty, she put it aside and spoke to an old woman with gray hair, who dismissed her.

Pansy turned, but then paused as she caught sight of Zane. She smiled, and Zane had to smile back. Cautious of the children under foot, he approached her, and when he reached her, he kissed her hand.

"Lady Pansy. I was wondering where I might find you," he greeted.

She smiled, embarrassed. "My apologies, your Highness. I did not intend to make the task difficult for you."

"It was no issue for me," he replied, already putting his trouble finding her behind himself in favor of the current moment. "You are a lover of children?"

"I am. They have such potential," Pixal replied, glancing at the children playing with a smile.

"They do." Zane smiled back. "I take it that you volunteered to help?"

"Madame Mystake asked for my help, and I could not say no." Zane's smile made Pixal feel lighter than air, and she did her best to hide just how happy it made her feel. "Do you love children, too?"

"I do, though I fear I am not as capable with them as you are, my lady."

"Perhaps so, perhaps not." Pixal looked off into the distance, in the direction of the dancing pavilion. The sun reflected off her snowflake necklace, and its appearance brought a smile to Zane's lips. "There have been many things during this festival that I am not accustomed to."

"The same is true for me. A festival of this magnitude is rare." He offered his arm. "Perhaps, if I might be so bold, you would accompany me for its final day?"

"I would be honored, Prince Zane," Pixal said, taking it.

"You may call me by my given name if it makes you comfortable, Lady Pansy."

"You wish for me to call you such?"

"Indeed."

"Then you may call me by mine, Zane."

The two shared a smile. "Very well, Pansy." With that, the two set off.

-----

For several hours, the two walked and talked, just as they had the previous two days. They spoke of many things, not the least of which family and love, although never in such terms as toward the other. Throughout the day, they spoke of all lovely things, and shared many anecdotes from their lives. Questions were frequent, and answers were entertaining. However, Pixal felt as though she could not truly share some things, for shame of her true position in her household, so she carefully told her stories as to not betray her status.

Despite Pixal's carefulness with her stories, however, she found herself ever closer to the prince. For the majority of their time together, they walked arm in arm or side by side- if not those, then they sat right next to each other, no farther than a few feet apart. Their tendency toward connection was unmistakable.

As their day passed, Zane took mental note of the qualities he saw in Lady Pansy. She was reserved, yet had interesting opinions and did not hesitate to speak her mind. She was clever and wise, yet did not boast in herself. She was hardworking, yet gentle, and though strong, not brash. In every aspect, he saw the most remarkable things, and in such fell deeper into admiration for her.

As the sun reached its zenith, high above the earth, Zane knew it was time to ask her one of the most utilitarian of his questions. Thus, as they sat together underneath a maple, he brushed her hand with his to catch her attention.

At the touch, Pixal turned to look at him. He seemed anxious to some degree, though she could not fathom why.

"Pansy," he began, his usual surety missing from his voice.

"Zane? What is the matter?"

"I must ask you a question, though I fear I should have asked this earlier of you."

"I am sure your timing is no issue," Pixal assured him. "What is your question?"

Zane felt chilled, but pressed on despite how belligerent he felt, and took her hand in his. "Pansy, if I may be so bold as to ask, you have not told me your family name. Might I know what it is?"

For a brief moment, Pixal's heart stopped. "You wish to know my family name?" she clarified.

"If you would let me know it, yes. I wish to know of your family."

Pixal could not meet his eyes, her mind racing. "I do not mean to assume, but Zane- Prince Zane- there would be but one reason for asking in this context. You couldn't possibly mean such a thing. It does not make sense."

"I know what such a question means." He sought out her gaze. "Lady Pansy, you are a most remarkable woman. It is a pleasure to simply know you, despite how slim our time has been. I would think no more nor less of you for your name."

"No, you most certainly would think differently." She broke away from him again. "I cannot tell you. You cannot know."

Zane's heart sank. "Pansy…" he uttered, the name sounding like a plea.

Pixal's heart clenched in her chest, the sudden reality of emotion clearer than a summer sky, her mind the eye of the storm. "Zane, you are a prince. My prince. If you are to- to consider a lady, she should be from some high and respectable station! I have no such thing."

"I do not care for station! Neither does my father." Zane took her hand in both of his. "Pansy, he declared this festival such that I might meet someone fitting, regardless of background."

"That matters little to me, either, but you would not find a proper lady in me, should you know my family. You would not see the woman you wish to see."

"The eyes deceive. Pansy, do you think I am shallow?" he asked, pain in his eyes.

"Of course not, your Highness." She drew away from him. "You are a man with integrity. I am not a lady to meet such a standard."

"How many times must I say it? The standards matter little to me." He put both of his hands on one of hers, enclosing it.

"I know this," Pixal said, looking down at their hands. "Nevertheless, you deserve better than me."

"I hardly believe such a woman could exist."

Pixal looked up sharply, and the intensity of Zane's gaze was nearly too much to bear. So much emotion was on display, she could not comprehend it, only knowing that it was tender, with his heart on his sleeve. She sighed, breath catching in her chest, feeling as if her spirit was caught in his gaze.

"You are not the kind of prince I believed our kingdom to have," she said after a few moments.

Zane chuckled, caught off guard. "What kind would you believe, Pansy?"

"None so willing to follow what he seeks, despite rebuff," she responded, a smile pulling at her lips. "Zane, you are… extraordinary."

"As are you," he responded. He gently raised her hand to his lips, kissing it. "Pansy, is there no way I might convince you? At the very least, I would like to continue our friendship, even if you wish for nothing more."

The gesture made Pixal feel flushed, and she racked her mind for an answer. She had no heart to deny such a plea, but no strength to allow him to see her true colors.

"I suppose there might be one way," she eventually whispered.

"What might it be?" he asked, hope coloring his voice as it bloomed in his chest. His grip on her hand became stronger.

She sighed gently, gears in her mind turning quickly as she concocted a plan. She spoke softly as she told him. "If you are able to find me, then you may know my name."

"Find you? Where? How?" He bowed his head toward her, ever so slightly.

She smiled despite herself. "I live on an estate not far from here. If you are able to find me, then you shall know." She tried to ignore how guilty it made her feel to grant him such a task, and worse, for him to still not know her first name– the one she still kept.

Zane contemplated this answer, wondering about her motivation but finding no sufficient answer. "You wish for me to seek out your home...?"

"That is correct." She nodded. "If you find me, then you shall know my name- then, too, you will also know all the other things you seek."

"I accept your challenge," Zane responded at length. He looked into her eyes and their emerald hue, memorizing the patterns of their variation. "I will find you, Pansy. No matter the difference in station, I believe we are compatible."

"You and I are compatible?" she parroted.

"That is what I said."

"Oh."

He laughed quietly. "Is that your only response?"

She blushed, her traitorous heart beating loudly in her chest. "Zane, I do not know what to say." The distance between them seemed small, and for a few moments it felt like she did not need to hide. "You are… simply incredible."

"As are you," he murmured. "If I may I even say it, you are the most beautiful flower I have ever laid eyes upon. If pansies are to indicate thoughtfulness, I can think of no more fitting owner of such a name."

She blushed and looked away. "You flatter me, Prince."

"Perhaps." He smiled. "I will find you, Pansy."

Her heart clenched in dread and anticipation. "I'm sure you will." She looked back at him, unwilling to consider her emotions any further. "Tell me, the day is still young. Might we enjoy it a little longer?"

"By all means." He offered his hand. "It would be my honor to continue such a fine day with you."

"The honor is mine." She took his hand and they both stood, so close and yet so far apart. "It is a privilege to have met you at all."

"I must say the same."

-----

The day's hours came and went, their daily pattern uninterrupted by the chaos in the hearts of men and women. Birds sang, the clouds drifted, and the wind blew. Even the insects kept to their habits, with bees in hives and ants in nests. Mankind was not so affected, either, for the festival continued in its pattern, with cheerful people doing business and having fun. Dancers danced, merchants bought and sold, and celebrators milled about.

For the rest of the day's younger hours, Pixal and Zane still did not part. Despite how much time they had spent together the past two days, they found themselves to be closer still, unwilling to attend to any business besides each other. Despite the mysteries between them, each found their bond to be enticing enough to tempt half-thought impulses which they studiously ignored. Several times that day, Pixal found herself needing to re-fasten her hair clip, finding it loose and slipping from her hair. Despite her troubles, however, it did not fall.

Throughout the day, they talked and walked, often stopping in shaded places. At one point, they returned to the pavilion for a few dances. Faster than either would have liked, the hours passed.

When the sun dipped near the horizon and the bell tower rang, both knew it was time to separate. At that time, Pixal took Zane's hand, deciding to ignore the inevitable.

"You are jousting again tonight, are you not?" she asked him.

"I am." Zane turned his hand to clasp hers. "Will you watch me?"

"I will. I have something for you." She smiled and put her free hand into her pocket, pulling out her blue scarf. Melded with white and sparkled with silvery thread, one of her last mementos from her mother, it sparkled like ice and snow.

Zane looked down at it, then up at her. "You would favour me?"

"I would." She put the scarf in his hand and clasped his fingers around it with utmost gentleness. "I do."

Zane held it gently. "You honor me, Pansy," he said, voice hushed like prayer.

"It is the other way around." She smiled. "Care for it well?"

"I will." Zane folded it gently and put it in his pocket.

"I will watch your jousting, and I wish you luck." With that, she threw caution to the wind and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Now you may show the world."

The smile on his face made Pixal's heart race. He brushed a lock of hair from her face, his touch gentle and light, almost worshipful. "I will, with pride." Then he took her hand and kissed it. "I will find you, Pansy."

"I know you will," she responded, trying not to dread such time as he was right.

-----

After leaving Pansy's side, Zane moved quickly. Their parting had taken longer than he expected, but he still had a bit of time before he had to begin jousting. As such, he hurried to prepare himself, but he could not stop smiling.

The day had not gone entirely to plan, he supposed as he entered the arena. Pansy had been so resistant to telling him her family name, to the point that she had fully refused to do so. He wondered what it could mean. Was her family disgraced, or of low stature? Perhaps she believed the caste system was valuable, and such, she was not of high enough upbringing to be an acceptable princess. If such an idea was the reason, then he simply could not believe it, for she was too well-mannered to be such.

What was the reason, then? Embarrassment? She clearly did not dislike him, nor was she reciprocating his advances out of fear of refusal. No matter how he framed the idea, he simply could not find a suitable reason for her refusal.

With so many thoughts swirling in his mind, Zane entered the room where he was to dress himself with his armor. There, Cryptor awaited him again, already holding the armor.

"There you are, Prince Zane!" he greeted. "You have cut your time closely today."

"My apologies, Cryptor." Zane bowed his head hastily. "I was preoccupied."

"I'm sure you were." Cryptor stepped forward, holding out the first pieces for Zane to step into. "Were you with Lady Pansy again?"

"As a matter of fact, I was," Zane replied, buckling on the armor.

"That would be the explanation, then. Would it not?" A smile was evident in his voice, even though Zane could not see him.

"Yes," Zane admitted.

"Have you learned about her family, then?" The advisor brought the next piece for Zane to don and buckle. "You were most adamant to do so when we spoke yesterday."

Zane hesitated. "No, but I will learn it soon."

Cryptor sighed. "The festival is nearly over, and I doubt the lady would stay past the jousting to speak to you, no matter how willing or unwilling she is. How will you find a chance?"

"She asked me to find her, Cryptor. She said that if I did, she would introduce me to her father." Zane sighed faintly. "Unfortunately, I do not know why she said to do so."

"Perhaps because she is ashamed?"

"Perhaps."

"Have you any leads, then? Something to start your search?"

Zane ran down the list on his fingers before putting on his gauntlets. "She lives near the city, in an estate. She mentioned no family, but fair hair and green eyes is a rare combination. That should be at least enough to narrow down my search."

Cryptor buckled on his breastplate. "If it is not, you will not find her. I trust that you know that."

"I do." Now fully armored, Zane took his lance in his hands. "I also know that she is not fully against the idea."

"How might you know that? She has not yet given you a favour."

Zane smiled. "In that, dear Cryptor, you are mistaken." He took Pansy's scarf from his pocket.

Cryptor examined it in interest, feeling the soft fibers. "I stand corrected. This is a fine gift– she could not possibly be from any lower station than a minor noble."

"I agree," Zane replied, tying it to the lance. "I have no reason to suspect she is of low stature, but even if she was, I would not think any less of her."

"Then you will look for her?" Cryptor asked. "Even if the nobles of our kingdom find fault with her?"

"I choose my bride, and no other," Zane responded, taking the opportunity to mount his stallion, Shard. "They will simply have to accept the lady I choose."

Cryptor smiled. "You are more certain about this decision than many I have seen you make, Prince Zane. The confidence suits you well." He put a hand on Zane's knee. "Have a good joust, your Highness."

Zane nodded in thanks, bringing down his visor. "Thank you, Cryptor. For everything."

"You are most welcome, though I suspect I will be helping with your search."

"Most likely." Zane chuckled, the sound echoing in his helmet. "The lady is elusive."

"She is indeed." With that, Zane trotted onto the jousting field, to the sound of the cheering crowd, lifting Pixal's favour high into the air.

-----

The sound of the festival crowd was loud enough to shake the earth. It was an unabated roar such as Pixal had never heard, louder even than the bear that had once wandered onto the Borg estate, and fiercer than her father's cry of war as he drove it from the property. She covered her ears as she adjusted to the feeling.

The jousting tournament had been going on for a while before she arrived, yet there was still a place low in the stands where she was able to stand. Unbeknownst to her before she found her space, she was near the king's viewing box, making space rare and highly sought. However, not one man nor woman inconvenienced her, nor asked for her to move, which she considered providential. From her vantage point, she saw every joust at a prime view.

The first of the few jousts Pixal saw was between two experienced knights. The first knight bore a favour in the form of a red veil on his lance and a crest belying the Gordon family– it was emblazoned with stars and moons, with a mace in the center. The knight had to be Sir Cliff, patriarch of the family. The other bore no favour that she could see, yet held his lance high. His crest was that of the Powers– a compass and quill next to a pike, making him none other than the newly-knighted Sir Clutch.

The jousters came at each other at the sound of a loud bell, lances raised. Sir Cliff scored a solid hit on Sir Clutch's shoulder, but the knight did not fall. Instead, he rolled his shoulder as they came about for the next impact.

The next strike was Clutch's, upon Cliff's chest plate. The sound of the strike rang out, and the crowd cheered. In his reeling from the force, he tumbled and fell to the sand.

Pixal marveled as Cliff got up and dusted himself off, the joust already over. He bowed to the king's viewing box and then to the crowd before re-mounting his horse, then rode off to an opening in the wall and exited.

The speed of the joust took Pixal by surprise, even as the crowd lauded him. She watched in quiet awe as Clutch took off at a canter, circling the arena and raising his lance high. When he came closer, she realized he had a minimal gray scarf tied to the handle of his lance. Then he pointed it at a lady in silver in the stands, indicating she was the owner of the favour.

Pixal froze. She had given Zane a favour, thinking it was anonymous, and had not told him where she would be as she watched. Would the prince find her and single her out? Her family would know she had lied if they saw her. Would they recognize her scarf? How could she do anything to protect herself from their wrath?

As she contemplated this, a flash of silver caught her eye. Another knight entered the arena, clad in shining silver armor, more ornate than any she had seen before. It boasted strong, artisanal plating, and the pauldrons bore a crest. So too did the shield, and as he neared, she recognized the falcon and falling snow. Finally, upon his lance was tied a blue and white scarf, matching the paint of his crest.

Pixal's heart caught in her chest. There was Prince Zane, in all his glory, bearing her favour proudly. Strong and resilient, despite being hidden from head to toe, he was the model knight. The crowd grew wilder than any she had heard so far, and she heard murmurs from women near her about the scarf. Some shouted, others whispered, and all mentioned Pixal's scarf.

Zane canter around the arena, circling to a place before the king's box- and despite his lack of knowledge, before her. Pixal watched as he paid respect to his father, and resisted the urge to wave at him, giving away her position. Nevertheless, it felt like his gaze was fixed upon her, and a chill ran up her spine.

After the few moments had elapsed, Zane turned and went to his mark, where he waited to joust against Sir Clutch. According to a herald, they were one of the final pairs for the tournament, and it was to be Sir Clutch's last joust of the night.

A bell sounded, and the two were off, Pixal's heart beating faster than their horses' hooves.

With a mighty clang, Zane's lance struck Clutch's chest. Clutch was knocked back, but stayed astride his steed.

The crowd cheered. Pixal whispered a silent prayer for Zane.

The second attack was much like the first, loud and majestic. Clutch was struck on the helmet, and his head turned fiercely, but he did not fall. Both jousters stayed upright.

Zane returned to his mark at the sound of yet more thunderous support. Pixal watched her scarf flutter in the wind.

The third attack began, and this time Zane was struck, the blow glancing off his pauldron.

The crowd gasped as he was pushed back in his saddle, and he put a hand to his shoulder. Pixal breathed a quiet prayer as he looked as if he was to fall. Then, after a moment, the prince righted himself, triggering more cheers, and Pixal sighed in relief.

The fourth attack came with undeniable finality, as Clutch was struck fully in the chest and fell to the side off his mount. From the force of his attack, Zane continued forward, circling around the rail central in the arena.

Pixal watched in openmouthed awe as Zane slowed to a stop, the crowd quiet. He turned his steed around, and the horse neighed in the empty air. The prince was still for a few moments, and then slowly raised his lance, scarf fluttering.

The crowd exploded into cheering. Pixal applauded him, heart pounding, as he came before the king. Zane looked up at his father and bowed his head. The king raised his hand in approval, clearly proud. The crowd celebrated again.

A smile crept into Pixal's face as she watched Zane. For a few more rounds, he jousted several knights. Not once did he fall, and only once more did he stumble, completely sure in his skill. The crowds celebrated him every time, and every time he would circle back toward his father, as if he knew she were up there, watching. At the end, he spoke in the ear of a servant, who ran from the field, and she wondered what he said.

To Pixal's joy and dismay, the tournament did not last forever. She knew she was on borrowed time, for her family would return home soon, so she readied herself to hastily leave the arena. As such, she was just about to escape when the king made an announcement, hushing the crowds as he dismissed the same servant from before that had been whispering something to him.

"My people, I thank you for your enthusiasm for this tournament," the king began. "I hope that you have enjoyed the festival!"

The crowds roared in appreciation.

"Good, good! There is one last announcement for you, on behalf of my son, Prince Zane." Pixal's heart caught in her throat as she struggled to spy the king's smiling face. "He would like to inform the world that he has chosen a lady, but that he cannot find her."

Chaos exploded in the arena. Pixal heard several cries from nearby women. She watched, heart pounding, as the king explained the prince's search for her.

"Now, my people, please. I will tell you what she is like, that you may help my dear son. The lady he is seeking has the fairest of hair and green eyes. He does not wish to disclose her name– let it only be known that the name is short. He seeks to return her favour, as thanks for the luck it brought him. Anyone who aids in her discovery will be handsomely rewarded."

Throughout the announcement, the crowd stewed in mixed confusion and excitement. After it finished, they vocalized their emotions, such that the king could not calm them. Pixal smiled to keep up her charade, but it hurt to breathe as she listened. Before order was restored, she took her opportunity and left the stands as quickly as possible, running to find the place where she had hidden her spellbook.

Despite her clear memory, the search for the spellbook was not easy. When she at last found it, the stands were mostly empty. Her family was doubtlessly on the way home, before she was, and were likely to return soon! It was clear that her time was running out.

After casting her spell and returning home, Pixal wasted no time in tearing down her charade. First she ran to her sister's room, returning the gown and jewelry like she had found it– not a difficult task, given how messy her stepsisters were. Second, she ran to her own room, taking down her hair and hiding her fine things in the wallboard, which seemed to be looser than it once was and swung quite freely on the connecting nail. Third, she grabbed her cleaning supplies, going for the dirtiest of jobs in order to hide how clean she was and how she had just arrived.

For a little while, a hesitant peace descended upon Pixal's mind as she cleaned, the repetitive tasks soothing her. She began to be able to reason through the ways she would be able to hide, should she need to do so, in order that Amaryllis would not realize her deception.

Finally, Pixal came across a task that she was not strong enough to do, having spent all her energy at the festival, and decided it was the proper moment to use magic to aid her.

It was not until she asked for its help that she realized her enchanted hairclip was gone, fallen from her hair.

[only-lonely-stars]

A Bride for the Prince (Chapter 8 - Truth)

[Prologue] // [Chapter 7 of 9] // [Chapter 8 of 9 - you are here!] // [Chapter 9 of 9] // [Epilogue] – (FFN) (AO3)

Part of the @ninjago-fairy-tale-au!

Summary:

Once upon a time, there lived a faithful and hardworking girl named Pixal Borg, who worked every day to satisfy her demanding stepmother. For years, she cleaned and cooked, giving no argument, until the day came when she met the prince. A Pixane Cinderella retelling.

Chapter summary:

Pixal is stuck, but not helpless. Zane is curious, but not easily tricked.

The sound of the Shard's hooves was a brittle crunch on the gravel paths of the towns outside the capital city, dully fading into the repetitious pattern of sounds that characterized travel. Clouds drifted across the sky, unchained to earthly matters, unlike the wishes of the prince. The prince in question, Zane, sighed lightly, as familiar with the feeling of riding as with the reason for his travels. So far, the search for Pansy had been fruitless.

The prince looked to the side, where Cryptor rode with him on his own trusted black steed. "Tell me, Cryptor. How far is it to the next town?"

"Quite near, your Highness– it should be over this hill. Be patient."

"I have been patient."

"What irks you, Prince Zane? Travel has been smooth today."

"We have found no success in finding Lady Pansy, despite our efforts," Zane muttered, focusing ahead once more. "The process has become tiresome."

"May I remind you that you were the one to acquiesce to her challenge?" Cryptor asked, a smile in his voice as they came over the hill, where a town and an overlooking manor came into view. "As it is, we have finally reached today's final destination. Perhaps your travels will end today."

Zane smiled wryly. "I shall hope so, but I doubt we are so fortunate. There may yet be more places to look."

"Perhaps. However, you are not the sort to be discouraged."

"I do not normally take on such challenges."

"That is most certainly true."

At last, the two came to the front of the estate. They tied off their horses outside and went to the door of the manor, the dark wood tall and imposing. Zane knocked firmly on the door before stepping back, hands folded behind him.

After a few moments and a a shushing sound, the door opened to reveal an older woman, with graying auburn hair. As befitting noble station, she wore finery, though it seemed somewhat overdone. At the sight if Zane, she smiled widely and curtsied.

"Prince Zane! What an honor it is to have you here!"

Zane bowed his head in greeting. "The honor is mine. Might I be speaking with Lady Amaryllis Borg?"

"Yes, I am she." Amaryllis seemed to preen at the recognition, however minimally. "Might I know the nature of your visit, your Highness?"

"My advisor Cryptor and I are traveling to meet the nobles near the capital. I take it you have heard my father's announcement from the festival?"

"But of course. Please come in, your Highness. My daughters are so eager to meet you."

Without delay yet with slight trepidation, Zane and Cryptor entered in, and Amaryllis showed them to the parlor. Two girls came shortly to join them, each with auburn hair and extravagant dresses to match their mother's. Like her, they curtsied in greeting.

"Prince Zane, good day!"

"Good day, your Highness!"

Amaryllis smiled and introduced them, the picture of perfection. "Your Highness, meet my two lovely daughters, Begonia and Columbine."

Zane bowed his head in greeting to each lady again. "It is a pleasure to meet you, ladies."

"To what do we owe the pleasure of a personal visit?" Begonia asked.

Zane defaulted to his usual explanation. "I'm sure you have heard my father's announcement from a few days ago, yes?"

"Of course!" Columbine exclaimed. "We were watching the jousting matches."

Zane noted this fact as Cryptor took over the explanation. "We are looking for the lady his Majesty mentioned. Might you know any lady who fits her description?"

Begonia shook her head. "Not naturally, I am afraid. I know some ladies who like to wear wigs and such; I myself do it."

"What? You do?" Columbine asked. Then, she jumped slightly. "Ow! Begonia!"

"Girls," Amaryllis said, voice somewhat tinged with exasperation. She turned to Cryptor and Zane, hands clasped together. "Sir Cryptor, Prince Zane, do you have any way to gauge whether a lady is the one you are searching for? Perhaps we can inform you more."

Zane nodded. He placed his hand inside his jacket and took Pansy's scarf from his pocket, where he had kept it close to his heart. Though loath to give it to another, he showed them the fabric. "This belongs to the lady in question. I cannot disclose her name."

"But of course, my prince. That would be too easy to pretend. Might my daughters examine it?"

"I see no reason why not," he said, though hesitant. He gave it to Amaryllis, who showed it to Begonia and Columbine, placing it in their hands equally.

Begonia gasped. "This is my scarf!"

"That cannot be! Was it not mine?" Columbine asked, accusatory.

"No! It came from Pixal, remember? We were girls. I brought it to the festival!"

"What? You brought-"

Cryptor cleared his throat, politely interrupting the bickering girls. "Pardon me. Pixal, you said? Who might she be?"

Columbine laughed loudly. "Oh, you see, she is our maid!"

"This used to be hers."

"I see," Zane interjected, distinctly feeling as if this information was key, though he did not know how. He put his hand in his pocket and grasped a small object, only to bring Pansy's hairclip into the light. He held it up. "Tell me, do either of you recognize this object either?"

The girls exchanged the scarf for the hairclip. Secretly, Zane found himself extremely glad to have the scarf in his possession again. The was no recognition in their eyes, even as they turned the hairclip over, examining it.

"No, your Highness."

"I do not recognize it. Is it important?"

Cryptor and Zane exchanged a glance, equally wary. Both considered these answers carefully, knowing that Pansy would know it. "Not particularly," the prince said after a moment. "Never mind it."

"Oh, of course." Columbine returned it, smiling widely, as if her enthusiasm would win favor. For a moment, Zane felt like a cornered beast.

As the prince's concern slowly grew, Amaryllis stepped in. "Prince Zane, that scarf belongs to the lady you seek, correct?"

"It does."

"I believe you have found her today." She gestured at Columbine. "My daughter, Columbine Borg."

Zane paused. He had seen this woman before, but she was not Pansy; she had tried to favour him on the first day, but he had rebuffed her. No, Pansy was different, with gentler features and intelligent eyes. She was not an accomplished liar. Surely this was not her.

Zane shook his head. "I am afraid not, Lady Borg. Please forgive me saying so, but you must be mistaken. Are there any other ladies in your household, perhaps?"

Amaryllis seemed surprised, but she grit her teeth. "No, your Highness. It is only me and my daughters. We do not even have any women on staff."

"Not even the lady named Pixal?" Cryptor interjected.

Begonia and Columbine laughed. "Pixal? Of course not. She is no lady."

Zane's mind whirred quickly as he considered the validity of Columbine's earlier claim to the scarf. "Do you know where I might find her? The search must continue."

"I see no reason why you would want to," Amaryllis said. "She was not even at the festival."

"I only wish to meet her," Zane began.

Just as he was speaking, a loud banging sound was heard, drowning him out. Every head turned toward the entryway, where it originated, to see a strange sight.

Across from the parlor, a previously closed door was open slightly, swinging on its hinges. Strange yellow fog drifted across the floor from underneath, rolling in waves. For a moment, it was still, but then it was flung open fully. In a flash of sudden movement, an indistinguishable womanly figure dashed into the adjacent hallway from the room. Her fair hair flew behind her as she ran, and within only moments she passed out of view entirely.

Zane looked at Amaryllis in alarm. "Lady Borg, do you know who that was?"

"I have no clue," Amaryllis grit. "Perhaps it was the cat."

"That was no cat." Zane stood. "Please forgive the intrusion, but I must investigate."

"Your Highness, please, you need not do so!" Begonia protested.

"It may be an intruder."

Columbine shook her head. "You do not need to protect us, Prince Zane."

"Perhaps, but I have a duty to protect the people of this kingdom, especially the women." Zane stepped into the entryway, toward the hallway. "Please, I will only be a minute."

The sound of protest fell on deaf ears as Zane followed where the woman ran, each passing second filled with more trepidation, and suspiciously, hope. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place.

-----

Inside the basement, Pixal sat on the floor in defeat. The door which once was her security was today her jailer, keeping her in the room within which she once hid.

Pixal cursed her stepmother's actions. The woman had known her secret, and now she would use it against her, though not in the way she intended. She did not know that Pixal did not wish to see the prince. In imprisoning her, she had just ensured that observant Prince Zane would find her, and then surely despise her deception. Things had gone wrong, and if Pixal did not fix them, it would all be over.

Slowly, Pixal rose to her feet. There was but one way she could right this; escaping before Zane had a chance to find her.

She went to her bookshelf and pulled out a thin book, lacking any markings. She opened it and flipped to a certain page, which was dog-eared. Upon the page was written a charm, intended for unlocking doors. If she was able to cast it, then she would be free. It was like the spells she had used before, which she was thankful for, and required only two things: a complex rune, and the words spoken aloud. The rune had to be written on the door, and Pixal dreaded to think of what Amaryllis would do when she found it, but escaping was more important.

After a few minutes of rifling through her room, Pixal at last found a piece of charcoal from the fireplace. It was large and unwieldy, but it would have to suffice, so she began without hesitation. She quickly began scrawling the rune on the door, with its wide lines and strange characters covering half of the door.

As Pixal wrote, she heard sounds of conversation, and rushed to finish. "This is my scarf!" she heard Begonia cry as she wrote the last bit of her rune, and she gasped quietly. Her heart rate spiked as the conversation quieted and continued in the parlor across the entryway.

When the rune was done, Pixal threw the charcoal down on the floor in panic. For a moment she considered staying in the room, but disregarded that idea quickly and decided to take the risk and escape. Without dallying any longer, she grabbed the book and stood back a few feet. Then she cleared her throat and raised the book.

"Ostium, aperta!" she chanted.

The moment the words left her lips, a yellow glow came from her rune, illuminating every line. It shone brightly, nearly blinding her, but faded quickly. After that, yellow fog began to drift from it and under the door.

For a moment, Pixal thought she had done the spell wrong, and that nothing had happened. Then, a loud bang came from the lock and the door unlatched itself, hanging freely on its hinges.

Pixal closed her book and took a deep breath, preparing herself. She breathed a silent, wordless prayer. Then she bolted, throwing the door open and running into the adjacent hallway, toward the kitchen and its back door where she could escape.

Panic coursed through Pixal's veins as she ran for the kitchen, hoping and praying to every power that she was not seen. When she reached it, she shut the door behind herself as silently as possible and dashed to the garden door.

Pixal grabbed the knob and tried to open it. She pushed as hard as she could, but it was blocked from the other side such that it would not move an inch. Despite the urgency of her situation, she tried every method to open it and clear the blockage, but found no success.

Finding herself trapped, she finally gave up. It was then that Pixal considered her other options. What could she do except hide or leave by the kitchen door, where she would be seen?

She stepped back from the garden door, hoping that she could attempt to leave, but then heard the approaching sound of her family's protesting voices and footsteps. Then she froze, and for the first time found herself hoping and praying that Amaryllis managed to keep whoever was there from seeing her.

Having no time to find a place to hide, she stared at the kitchen door as it slowly opened.

From the other side, Prince Zane gently swung the kitchen door open, hand resting on his pocket where a knife was hidden, seeming concerned. He looked around as if to see an intruder, but did not even see her. After a few moments, however, he opened it fully.

At the sight, shock filled every inch of Zane. Before him stood Pansy, dressed in a working woman's dress of gray cotton, fingertips stained black with charcoal and a book in her hand. Devoid of any finery, she watched as if she was a cornered animal, startled eyes wide, so unlike when they had met.

Pixal watched as Zane entered. "Pansy?" he breathed.

"Your Highness," she edged, curtsying.

"It's you," he said. "I found you."

"I think you have me mistaken for someone else. My name is not Pansy."

"I do not think so. You are she, are you not? From the festival."

"No. I don't know what you're talking about," Pixal protested, shaking her head.

Amaryllis pushed her way in scarce moments later, followed by her daughters and Cryptor. She sneered at the sight of her stepdaughter, but covered it quickly. She came to stand near Zane.

"Prince Zane, this is Pixal, the maid. Surely she is not the person you are looking for...?"

Zane stepped forward, nearer to her, a question in his eyes. "Your name is Pixal?"

"...It is." Pixal drew back slightly. "My name is not Pansy."

Zane paused. "Lady Pansy told me that, if I found her, I would know her name. You are just like her in every aspect."

"She– she is my sister."

Columbine gasped in outrage. "Your sister?! You have no sisters!"

Begonia smacked Columbine on the arm. "Shush!"

Zane looked at them, and then at Pixal, his face displaying some indecipherable emotion. "I am missing something."

"Yes, you are, your Highness," Amaryllis interjected. "Pixal cannot possibly be the lady you are looking for. She is no lady at all."

Zane came forward to where Pixal was. "Pixal, what is your full name?"

Pixal looked at him in trepidation. Then she looked away, to see the others watching her. Her stepmother's face betrayed thinly veiled rage. Her stepsisters were outraged, watching in shock. Zane's advisor, likely the one named Cryptor, seemed curious, and did not seem to judge her.

She looked back at Zane. He was sincere, and he looked for all onlookers to have his heart on his sleeve. His gaze pierced her, and the spark of recognition was unshakeable.

In only a few moments, Pixal came to an inimitable conclusion. There was no way to hide any longer, no matter what she tried. Zane knew, as did her family, so the only path was acceptance. She squared her shoulders, forcing herself to be confident. She looked Zane in the eyes, and then curtsied.

"It would not befit me to lie," she said, briefly glancing at Amaryllis. "My name is Pixal Borg, but my given name was Pansy. My mother, Lord Borg's first wife, called me Pixal."

Immediately, a smile came to Zane's face, as bright as the sun's rays. "You admit you are Pansy!"

Pixal had to smile in return, though it was hesitant. "I am she. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say she is me."

"Yet you are the same woman." Zane laughed quietly.

Amaryllis shook her head. "No!" she exclaimed, drawing the attention of both. "You are not this Lady Pansy. You were here every day of the festival, all day. You swore to me you were!"

Zane looked back to Pixal, and she raised her chin, confidence surging. "No, Stepmother. I apologize, for I lied to you as well. I was not here."

Amaryllis reached into her pocket and pulled out the snowflake necklace, which she let hang from her hand. "You said you purchased this here! You could not possibly have gotten to the festival alone without a carriage."

"You do not know everything about me," Pixal retorted. "You do not know my secrets. I have my own ways that you have never heard of."

At the sight of the jewelry, Zane came over to Amaryllis. "Might I see the necklace?"

Amaryllis grit her teeth again and placed it in his hand. "Of course, your Highness."

Zane lifted it so that he could see the pendant. He smiled and turned to Pixal. "I believe you and I both know where this came from. It seems I have even more of your property to return."

Despite herself, Pixal laughed quietly. "Even more, your Highness? Is it not only the scarf, too?"

"No. Let me show you." Zane took something out of his pocket. He took her hand and pressed it into her palm. She looked down at it and gasped.

"My hairclip!" You have it– how?"

"You dropped it outside the arena." Zane smiled. "It was when you gave me your scarf, as a favour."

She laughed in disbelief and fastened it in her hair. "I scarcely believe it. I believed this to be lost forever..."

"I suppose I have yet another piece of jewelry belonging to you." Zane presented the necklace to her in his hand. "May I?"

Pixal nodded. "Yes, you may." She turned, and to Begonia and Columbine's continued shock, Zane fastened the necklace around her neck. Then he gave back her scarf.

"I believe I have finally returned your favour, Lady Pixal." He turned to Cryptor. "Cryptor, the search is finished."

Cryptor smiled knowingly. "I shall wait for you at the gate." Heedless of Amaryllis' attempts to interrupt, he said something quiet to her and led her out of the kitchen, Begonia and Columbine eventually following behind.

The two watched them go, and once they were in private, Zane turned to Pixal.

"Pixal, please, tell me. I found you, just as you asked. You know why I wished to find you."

Pixal's breath caught in her chest. "Prince Zane, you cannot still wish for such a thing."

"Yet I still do. Your choice is valuable, more so than mine. I will not pressure you, but I must know." He took her hand in both of his. "Pixal, I have never met a woman as extraordinary as you– nor could I."

Pixal's face felt hot, but she ignored it, in favor of an embarrassed smile. "You speak so highly of me."

"I only speak the truth, especially to such intelligent and beautiful women as yourself."

At his comment, she ducked her head. Slowly, she looked up at him through her bangs. "Zane, are you certain? You know who I am. You know I am no lady."

"Have I not already told you that such things mean nothing? You are Pixal. You are the flower who captured my attention. There is no need for anything more than that."

She blushed. "Very well. You are so sure, Zane. Ask your question."

Zane smiled and took her hand. He held it in his, as gentle as could be.

"Lady Pixal Borg, will you have me? Will you let me take you with me, will you stay with me? I can think of no woman more fitting for the role than you, nor would I ever want to."

For a few moments, Pixal found herself unable to speak. As patient as ever, Zane waited as she hesitantly brought a hand to his cheek, briefly touching under his chin. Finally, she found her words.

"Yes."

Another bright smile broke upon Zane's face. "Yes?"

"Yes." She smiled back, her embarrassment suddenly replaced with joy. "Yes, I will have you, Zane."

Zane laughed. "Oh, Pixal!" Before she could react, he swept her up in an embrace, and she laughed as she was caught unawares.

"Zane, please!" she cried as he lifted her, both laughing. "Put me down!"

For a moment he did not, loath to let her go, yet when he did it was not without care. Then the two were transfixed, gazing into each other's eyes. Slowly, they drew together.

Only inches apart, Zane paused, suddenly hesitant. "Pixal, may I kiss you?"

She smiled, cupping his cheek gently and for once finding herself fearless. "Yes. You may."

With those words, the space between them was no more, replaced with a tender kiss. It conveyed that which they could not express in words– Pixal's fear, Zane's hope, and their shared joy at their connection. It was short and sweet, not nearly enough, but it was perfect. They did not part for a few quiet moments; when they did, they remained as close as they were before, almost touching.

"I am sorry for deceiving you," Pixal murmured. "I was afraid. I do not have high station. and feared it would make me unacceptable."

"Perhaps right now, but you will be a princess. You do not need to worry." Zane smiled, and she could not help but reciprocate. "Pixal, I have never once felt a connection to anyone like I have with you, noble or peasant."

"Neither have I. I have never once felt… compatible, to use your words. You are fascinating, Zane."

"As are you. The privilege to share a life with you would be more than I could ever earn."

"Let us be glad you do not have to earn it, nor the truth." She drew back, smiling just as brightly. "You wished to ask my father for his blessing. He is here, though ill with a cold. You may ask him now, if you so desire."

Zane nodded, and took her hand in his. "Lead the way. Let us not delay any longer."

[only-lonely-stars]

A Bride for the Prince (Chapter 1 - The Hairclip)

[Prologue] // [Chapter 1 of 9 - you are here!] // [Chapter 2 of 9] – (FFN) (AO3)

Part of the @ninjago-fairy-tale-au!

Summary:

Once upon a time, there lived a faithful and hardworking girl named Pixal Borg, who worked every day to satisfy her demanding stepmother. For years, she cleaned and cooked, giving no argument, until the day came when she met the prince. A Pixane Cinderella retelling.

Chapter summary:

Pixal Borg is a dedicated student and a creative problem-solver, but her life never seems to get any easier...

In the Borg household, life progressed in its norm, as every family member expected it to.

Cyrus Borg worked long and hard, creating inventions and conferring with inventors from every corner of the Central Commonwealth. His second wife, Amaryllis, lived as a queen and headed their estate, doting on her daughters Begonia and Columbine as if they were incarnate angels. Pixal, for her part, toiled daily to do the chores and housework, eager to please the spirit of her mother even as her stepmother and sisters tormented her. In the little free time she had, she worked on her own sorts of inventions and sciences in the safety of her basement, to which she had been cast when Columbine had taken custody of her old bedroom.

One day, as was his habit, Cyrus gathered the women of his household before he left on yet another business trip. He asked each of them a question.

"My dearest, what gift would you like me to bring home when I return?"

Each gave a separate response.

"I would like for you to bring home a bolt of fine western silk brocade, so that I might have an evening gown made from it," Amaryllis requested, gently smoothing the taffeta fabric of her skirt.

"I want many strings of pearls!" Columbine demanded, pulling on the chain of her gold necklace.

"I want the most beautiful set of combs you find, with gold and silver inlay," Begonia cried, stroking her long locks of auburn hair.

Pixal was silent when Cyrus came to her. Concerned, he took her hands in his. "Pixal, my daughter, what gift would you like? Your sisters and stepmother have asked for such beautiful things. Would you like me to bring you those, too?"

Pixal shook her head. "No, Father. I do not want gold or jewels. My only wish is that you might find something small and rare– a flower, or a locket. Something with a story, that I might hear it."

Cyrus smiled and kissed her forehead. "Of course, Pixal. I promise, I will bring you a rare treasure, with a magic all its own."

Once all his goodbyes had been said, Cyrus departed from the Borg estate, and the women went back to their lives, with even more resentment toward Pixal because of Cyrus' greater love for her.

-----

After several weeks of travel, Cyrus Borg eventually returned to his estate, laden with gifts. Just as he had promised, he brought back fine fabrics, stones, accessories, and garments for them, all paid for with the money he had earned from selling yet another invention. When he parceled them out, he gave each many things. One such item was a beautiful purple dress with white and red embroidery and matching shoes, given to Pixal. Along with it, he also placed a little box in her hand.

"What is inside?" she asked, opening it.

"It is a silver clip. I searched far and wide to find it for you, my daughter. The man who sold it to me promised that it has a magical property, but he could not explain it. You will have the pleasure of learning from it."

Pixal took out the hairclip and examined it. It was plain silver, with no adornment of any kind, save for a tiny engraving of an ancient symbol. She smiled and put it in her hair, which it seemed to blend with, the color nearly identical. "Thank you, Father. I will cherish it." Once he had given out his gifts, Cyrus and Pixal talked for a long time about his travels.

When he had gone to bed, Columbine and Begonia came to see Pixal in her basement. She had laid her new dress and shoes safely away, hidden behind a loose wall panel, but still wore the clip. Her stepsisters came up to her, smugly adorned in their new finery, fingering them with pride.

"Your clip is so dull, Pixal," Begonia said. "I've never seen such a useless hairpiece."

"Why would you ask for something like that?" Columbine asked incredulously. "At least the dress makes sense."

"I do not want finery," Pixal said, meeting their eyes with eerie intensity. "I wish for utility instead, even though you do not understand why."

"No wonder you are a maid, Pixal. Nobody in their right mind would ask for something so useless and claim it's useful."

"With that strange name, could she be anything else? Really, Pixal, it's a wonder Father puts up with you."

The two stepsisters snickered to themselves. Pixal only watched them and was unafraid. Eventually they tired of her and left, claiming to have other things to do. Only then did she take out her hair clip so she could examine it.

The clip was indeed simple, as if it were a cheap gift. For a moment, Pixal wondered if it had been a scam. However, her father had trusted, the vendor, so perhaps it was true. With her nail, she traced the engraving. It was a complex character of an ancient script, perhaps Old Shintaran. She went to the library with it and pulled out a book of history, which she opened to a section on Shintaro, the elusive northern kingdom.

It was as she had thought. The symbol was magical, with an incantation to match. Slowly, she sounded out the symbol, which was a word.

"Salva me in opere..." The clip began to glow in her hand. Pixal's eyes widened, and she glanced at the translation again for guidance. The symbol was used for tools to help the user in work. Magical items that used it would be able to do all sorts of things– saddling horses, cleaning dishes, and lifting heavy furniture were all examples. Knowing this, she looked back at the clip. "Close the book," she told it.

The clip began to shine brighter, and an apparition of light burst from it in the form of a hand. The hand went to the book and closed it gently, then disappeared. Once it did, the clip laid still and silent once again.

Pixal beamed at it, knowing her father had spoken truly. She re-fastened it in her hair and asked it again. "Salve me in opere. Put the book away and dust the shelf."

Just like before, the clip began to glow, and two apparitions burst from it. Just as she had instructed, they did the work asked of them, disappearing into the air when they were finished. Pixal gazed in amazement as they worked, faster than she ever could. This tool was more invaluable than anyone could tell her, but clearly more valuable as well. She could not tell her family– not even her father, who would entrust the knowledge to her stepmother. Instead, it would be her secret.

-----

Days and weeks passed, and Pixal slowly learned more about her magical tool. Just as the book had told, the clip could do incomparable things. It washed dishes, cleaned, retrieved things, and more. However, it was not infallible, so she eventually composed a mental list of restrictions, which she kept in the forefront of her mind. The clip could not be used without the trigger phrase, could not lift or move anything weighing more than fifty pounds, and could not be used more than twenty times per day. If she commanded it to do something it could not, it would do nothing, as if it were never magical at all. Knowing this, she began to use it well.

Over time, Pixal learned to use the clip for the most time-consuming work, so that she might use her energy for the quicker things. With the time it afforded her, she began to read copiously, learning as much as she could about mathematics, the sciences, histories, the arts, and politics. Whenever her father would ask her what she desired after his travels, she would ask for literature and heavy tomes, such that he carried a trunk just for her gifts during each journey. Her thirst for knowledge was great and rarely abated, such that she would often spend her nights reading by candle light. In envy of her father's love, however, Begonia and Columbine began to tell Pixal to do more and more work for them, so that she would be unable to educate herself so thoroughly. Amaryllis encouraged them, and slowly, Pixal took on all the work of the hired help, who were thus dismissed.

Unbeknownst to everyone, however, Pixal began to learn from her tomes the quiet ways of magic. She learned of wards and spells, hexes and curses, and all manner of charms, and slowly became a novice mage, even as her workload grew.

-----

NOTE:

For the rest of this fic, underlined sections are meant to be "magic words." (That is, things translated into Latin with Google Translate, because I was being lazy. If I wrote this fic today, instead of 4 years ago, I'd go the J.R.R. Tolkien route and actually make up a fictional language... but I'm not about to go back and change my old works just to fix it.)

Salva me in opere = "Help me in my work"

[only-lonely-stars]

A Bride for the Prince (Chapter 5 - Uncontested Connection)

[Prologue] // [Chapter 4 of 9] // [Chapter 5 of 9 - you are here!] // [Chapter 6 of 9] – (FFN) (AO3)

Part of the @ninjago-fairy-tale-au!

Summary:

Once upon a time, there lived a faithful and hardworking girl named Pixal Borg, who worked every day to satisfy her demanding stepmother. For years, she cleaned and cooked, giving no argument, until the day came when she met the prince. A Pixane Cinderella retelling.

Chapter summary:

The second day of the festival comes around, with Zane and Pixal spending every minute of it together.

On the second day of the festival, Pixal did not ask at all to attend.

When her stepmother and sisters left, she put on a great show of sadness, pretending that she would be forlorn. Her stepsisters jeered, thinking they had won some great victory, and Pixal bore their cutting words with a ducked head. Amaryllis likewise threatened, warning Pixal of the consequences if she left the estate. Before long, they had left, girls conversing all about their plans to meet the prince properly that day while Pixal watched them go.

Once they were gone, Pixal immediately went to her sisters' rooms. In Begonia's closet she found a lovely dress of white and gold, which she had worn in many months, with a sweetheart neckline that dipped low yet was not scandalous. It fit Pixal perfectly, and she happily twirled, so that its skirt flared out, the white fabric reflecting the light in almost blinding intensity. Upon it she laid her new overskirt, such that the gown looked perfectly new, unlike either of her sisters' garments– another layer of anonymity. The final touch was her jewelry and her hair, not having any makeup with which to decorate her face.

In the mirror, the lady that looked back at her smiled, hopeful and light. So unlike Pixal, with jewelry and styled hair, she looked like a proper socialite. She watched the skirts flare out as she spun, and thought she had never looked so lovely, knowing she might never see herself like this after the festival. To her glee, her stepsisters would never know, and today would be a wonderful day for her.

Once she had dressed herself in borrowed finery, Pixal left for the festival, a spring in her step and her spellbook under her arm. Just like the previous day, she brought herself there with the power of her enchanted smoke. She found herself near the dancing pavilion, just like the previous day, and hid her book. Then she was drawn by the sound of music and laughter.

At the pavilion the dancing was quick, even so early in the morning. Instead of immediately joining, Pixal decided was content to at least watch the dancers for a while, until she heard an announcer's voice crying out a message at the end of one of the musicians' sets.

"Hear ye, hear ye!" cried the herald. "There shall now be a contest! Gentlemen, ladies, pair up. The finest dancer from each side will be crowned King and Queen of the Dance! Mind you, an ornamental title." The crowd laughed. "Long live King Julien; may the best dancer win!"

Pixal looked around. Sure enough, a few people were filtering onto the pavilion– men and women in their prime, and some children and elders. Whom could she pair with, when she had again come alone? Everyone seemed as though they had already chosen.

As she surveyed the competition, she spotted a tall and fair-haired man approaching her, seemingly intent on asking her to be his partner. While he neared her, she noticed that he looked familiar, but for a moment she could not place his name. However, his face became recognizable when he came very close, and she realized with a start as he neared her.

Prince Zane cleared his throat and smiled. "Good morning, my lady Pansy."

-----

On the second day of the festival, Prince Zane was even more tired than the first, yet he found himself happy to be such.

Part of his exhaustion was due to the previous day's tournament, as was always the case with such events. His joust had been near perfect, so the opponent had fallen within the first few strikes. It was clear that Zane was the most skilled jouster of the night, but the impact still left his shoulder sore and reeling. This was not to say that the audience had not enjoyed watching, for that could not have possibly been the case.

After it was done, Cryptor had pulled him aside and warned him of some rumors that he had expected. "How could the prince not have chosen a lady he fancied yet? There were so many to see," people had asked. Zane had sighed and told Cryptor the truth, to the advisor's understanding.

It was true that he had no favour, of course, but it was not a source of shame for the prince. There had been no shortage of ladies who offered, some more surreptitious than others– he distinctly remembered two sisters with matching auburn hair, decked in ornate flowery gowns and gaudy jewelry that practically dripped from them, frantically offering anything they could. It had been a particular struggle to turn the many ladies away, but nevertheless he did, knowing his favour would only be for a lady he was truly considering for courtship. Then he had jousted, free of any womanly marking, as if advertising his openness with no small amount of self-consciousness.

There was only one woman whom he had asked for her favour. She was the fair-haired Lady Pansy from the dance pavilion, with whom he had spent the afternoon. She had been intelligent, well-versed in sciences and every manner of humanities, and modest, not having been anything like the frantic ladies he had turned away while jousting. In fact, she had not even considered giving him a favour until he asked, and even then she did not give one. So unburdened with material things, she had only wished him luck. How could a lady like her have come to the festival?

The memory of her made him smile, a warmth blooming in his chest as he made his plans for the day. If he were only able to meet her again today, perhaps he would know if she were the one he was meant to choose. Perhaps she was royal material– if she was, maybe he would feel that connection once again.

With those very thoughts in mind, he had made his way to the dance pavilion early that festival day, in hopes that he might catch a glimpse of her. He searched the crowd, looking for a flash of purple or of her light hair.

As he hoped, there Pansy stood, looking even lovelier than the day before. Just like yesterday, he found that she was at the pavilion, having just arrived when they announced the morning contest. She was wearing a splendid golden gown, her hair pinned back with that same silver hairclip, eye-catching and yet attracting no attention. Instead, she seemed content to watch the dancers, smiling appreciatively.

Zane decided he would ask her to dance as soon as possible, but found no pause in the music, so stayed himself. It was about when he decided to ask her to dance without any more delay when the herald announced a contest, in which the best dancers would be honorary royalty. A more perfect opportunity could not be found, so he strove to speak to her. He came toward her, his heart beating hard against his ribcage, determined to ask her to dance again.

When he was within a few feet of her, he cleared his throat to catch her attention and bowed, careful to be at his most poised. "Good morning, my lady Pansy."

Pixal turned and curtsied, appearing surprised surprised by his approach. "Your Highness! Good morning to you as well."

Zane smiled, mentally taking note of her grace, even in such an unfavorable position– the mark of a queenly woman. "If I may ask, do you intend to take part in the contest this morning?"

Pixal looked wistfully at the pavilion, and then back at him. "I would like to, yes." She seemed lost. "Do you, your Highness?"

"I would, yes." Zane looked over and back, just like she had. "I must admit that I quite enjoyed our dances from yesterday. May I be so bold as to ask if you have chosen a partner yet?"

She shook her head. "I have not. I came alone, again."

Zane's heart beat fast, and he felt hot, filled with anticipation. Though neither knew, Pixal felt the same, her heart racing as she tried to push down her girlish hopes.

From the dredges of his chest, Zane gathered his courage. "If that is the case, would you be interested in another dance with me?"

"I do not wish to impose," she edged, hesitant even in her excitement. "I'm sure there are many ladies who would wish to dance with your Highness."

"Then it is most unfortunate for them that I do not wish to dance with another woman." He offered his hand. "The choice is yours, my lady."

"If so, then I accept." She took his hand, cherishing the touch of his cool hand. "It would be my honor to dance with you again."

Together, the two walked to the pavilion, where a series of dancing groups had formed. Each was a set of four– two gentlemen and two ladies, facing each other. Each group was given a number, which was to be their identifier for the contest. Pixal memorized theirs, which was eight: her lucky number, perfectly balanced and square.

When all the contestants were assembled, the herald cried out again. "Let the dance begin!"

The dance began simply, with every dancer in each group putting a hand together to create a four-pointed star. From there, they stepped in and out, weaving together seamlessly as the music kept them in time. In and out, skirts swayed and coattails danced.

At one point, Zane took Pixal's hand, and they passed through a narrow corridor of other dancers. Each other pair did the same after them. After that came a spin, after which the dance started again, smiles upon everyone's faces.

Throughout the music's many rounds, Pixal and Zane's eyes rarely left each other, and time seemed to disappear into the music. They shared many smiles, the routine actions of the dance quickly becoming a backdrop between them as they cherished the synchrony. However, within only a few minutes, the music faded away and the herald cried out again.

"The first round ends here! Groups one, ten, five, and four are to be removed. Thank you for your beautiful dancing!"

The named groups left the pavilion, with no lack of laughter among them, as the elderly and children mingled. When only six groups of four remained, they closed in on the center of the floor. Then the music started again, a little faster.

In the succeeding dances, things became more complicated. The dance moved faster and faster with every bar, with quick spinning and united movement becoming all that could be seen.

Pixal found herself laughing as Zane spun her in and out, the feeling of her hand in his growing ever more natural. They stepped and turned in time, mimicking and mirroring each other with remarkable ease.

It felt impossible, but Pixal knew that their connection was nothing short of miraculous. Zane likewise thought so, unknowing of her reasoning, and for a few short seconds thought it was possible for him to not be so set on a life of bachelorhood. Such was the way that both completely lost track of the dance and its time, until it came to a sudden end.

As they caught their bearings, they noticed that only two other dancers remained on the floor, those being another pair. At this realization, Pixal's blood ran cold. Anyone could see her with the prince, including her family. Would they torment her more for her situation? However, the prince seemed to be completely at ease, ignoring the eyes drawn to them. He was no doubt comfortable with attention, as he coolly smiled at her and surveyed their surroundings.

Just as she began to wonder how she might explain her situation, however, she was startled out of her reverie by Zane.

Prince Zane had been looking around, watching the herald as he prepared his horn for the announcement of the victor. Seemingly sensing Pixal's stress, he looked back to her, and he took her hand gently. As if he were just remembering his manners, he kissed the back of her hand, lingering only moments before letting her hand fall again.

"For competition or not, it was an honor dancing with you, Lady Pansy," he whispered. Her cheeks darkened, but before she could respond, the herald began to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you very much for your participation!" he cried gleefully. "Your dancing was beautiful, but there can be but one Queen." He looked between the two couples on the floor. "Our ever-wise judges have made a decision."

Pixal looked at the other couple, a pair of an older man and woman, deceptively nimble for their ages. Then she looked back to the herald, who held up a small piece of paper.

"The winners of the festival dance competition are the young lady in the gold and white dress, and her partner!" he announced. Pixal looked around as she heard a smattering of applause, and then curtsied as Zane bowed. The herald beckoned her forward and set a crown of flowers on her head. He asked her name, which she whispered in his ear.

When he had had heard it, the herald presented her to the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the Lady Pansy!"

-----

After receiving her congratulations, Pixal quickly vacated the pavilion alone, feeling as if she had been dancing on air. Just like the day before, dancing with the prince had been nothing short of magical, and today was just like it in that manner. She could not believe the chances of him seeking her out! If she ever told them, Begonia and Columbine would think that she was bribing him, or otherwise buying his favor.

As she caught her bearings, a sinking feeling made itself known in her chest. She was Pixal, not Pansy any longer, and it felt dishonest to give him a name she no longer wore. If the prince knew she had lied, he would no doubt be disgusted with her behavior, she thought. How would she face him again, if she was to see him in the future? One does not simply lie to nobility, much less royalty.

As she thought about it more, the idea made her feel sick. However, she was unable to tarry on it for very long, as she spied the prince nearing her. Despite her traitorous heart, she walked toward him, attempting to push down her discomfort. There they stood alone, looking at each other.

Prince Zane smiled as he saw her, and it was so handsome she could not help but smile back. "Prince Zane, I must thank you for the dance. You were magnificent."

"As were you, my lady. It seems we have good chemistry."

"That it does."

"How did you learn to dance? You are most skilled."

"I taught myself, from books and stories." She took off the flower crown, examining it. "I do not feel fit to wear this crown," she added halfheartedly.

"If not you, then who might?" the prince asked, smiling. "Your talent is unmistakeable."

"You flatter me."

Zane laughed quietly. "I speak truth, and truth alone." He took the crown from her hands and set it gently on her head, arraying it so the blooms framed her face. "I am more than willing to be without a crown for the day, if a lady like yourself would wear it instead."

For a moment, they stood there, not knowing what to say. He felt a blush crawling up his neck, and while it embarrassed him, he finally gathered his courage and spoke again.

"Have you seen the extent of the festival grounds yet?"

"I have not," she admitted.

"Would you like to see them, then?" The prince offered his hand.

Pixal took it, enjoying the newly familiar feeling. "...I would love to."

-----

Throughout the morning and afternoon, Pixal and Zane did not part any more than they had to, close at hand to each other most of the time. Like the first festival day, they talked at length about any number of topics, whether they were delving into minutiae about their favorite topics. However, they also lapsed into comfortable silence, only to be broken when he had to skirt a situation where he would be recognized too much, much to their amusement. They spent the day walking and talking, relaxing in gardens and playing games.

At one point, the two came upon a set of merchant stalls laden with all sorts of lovely things. With a shared smile, the two looked upon the things on display. Pixal paused as she saw a gold necklace, made of a fine chain decorated with a snowflake pendant that spun and sparkled in the light. As she examined it, Zane came up next to her.

"What are you looking at, lady Pansy?" he asked.

"This necklace is beautiful," Pixal said with a smile.

He smiled back at her. "It is."

"Fragile things like this are so lovely." She took it in her fingers, gently handling the metal. "They do not always last."

The merchant came up to them. "Ah, my lady, you have good taste. That article is one of my finest creations."

"It is beautiful," Zane interjected. "Did you make it yourself, sir?"

"I did indeed. I ask three gold pieces for it, if you wish to buy it." The merchant's eye twinkled.

Zane paused, considering it. He glanced at Pixal. "What do you think? It is a lovely necklace."

She smiled, ignoring how her stomach flipped. "It is. If you were to give it to someone, I imagine that lady would be touched."

"Very well." With a smile, he took a few coins from some hidden pocket and placed them in the merchant's hand. Seemingly noticing the delicacy of the situation, the merchant said nothing, only nodding his head as he stepped back into his stall.

Zane looked back to Pixal. "Do you like it, lady Pansy?"

She nodded hesitantly. "You need not buy me such a gift, your Highness..."

"Nonsense. It would only make you look more beautiful."

She ducked her head in slight embarrassment. "Very well."

"May I?"

"Yes, you may."

The prince smiled and walked around to behind her. He laid the necklace across her neck, cool metal resting lightly, and clasped it behind her neck. When he was done, she turned to look him in the eyes.

"Thank you."

He smiled graciously and asked if she would like to continue on, and so they did.

That day, laughter was no rarity between them, even as such tender moments came to pass. Both felt peace with their situation, happy to spend the day together and knowing that such a thing was a rarity at best in their lives. Pixal thought such a feeling could not come again, and so cherished that second day, not thinking a third would come. Zane likewise cherished the second day, wondering if perhaps this was the feeling he could always have, unaware of her misgivings. However, they eventually reached the point where they had to part, when Zane was to join that day's tournament.

"My lady, I asked you this question yesterday, so please forgive me for repeating myself."

"Questions are so rarely negative things," she responded with a smile. "By all means, Prince Zane, ask."

The sound of his title from her mouth was not an unpleasant one, but he did not tarry on thinking about it. Instead, he took her hand. "Lady Pansy, for tonight's tournament, would you honor me today with a favour?"

Her eyes grew wide, and for a moment she could not meet his. "I'm sorry, your Highness," she began, "but I have no favour for you. I did not realize I would receive the honor of seeing you again today, much less you asking for one."

He nodded, resignation creeping into his mind, though he ignored it. "Very well, my lady. I understand."

She impulsively took his hand in both of hers. "Please understand, Prince Zane! If I had a favour I could give you, I would." The look of resignation mixed with hope upon his face made her heart clench. "I will have one tomorrow, if you would wish it," she added, if only to wipe away the puzzlement he seemed to feel.

The prince smiled in understanding, emotions clearing in favor of appreciation. "Very well; I shall be patient for you. Forgive me for asking such a distressing question." He kissed her hand, gentle and lingering a little too long. "Thank you for a wonderful afternoon, my lady Pansy. I hope to see you tomorrow, for the final day of the festival."

"The honor is mine, Prince Zane. I shall see you tomorrow?"

He smiled, sincerity filling his every fiber. "Yes, but please, my lady– call me Zane."

She turned her head in curiosity. "What does Zane stand for?"

The prince laughed quietly. "It stands for peace, freedom, and courage in the face of all who threaten the Commonwealth– other than that, nothing." His smile turned self-conscious. "I am just Zane."

"Very well…" She smiled at him, examining his eyes and how they reminded her of shattered ice. "I shall see you tomorrow, just Zane."

"Likewise, my lady."

-----

As he entered the jousting arena, Prince Zane could only say one thing definitely: Lady Pansy was the model woman he was looking for, and he would not waste time on the final festival day in asking to court her.

In his mind, Pixal met every criterion he had previously thought about. She was intelligent, clever, wise and well-versed, but also funny and engaging. In all these ways, she reminded him of his mother, the late queen. Unlike all the women he had met in these two days besides her, she never once pestered him about his royal life; her only questions had been simple and curious. "Have you enjoyed traveling to the other kingdoms? Do you do much diplomatic work? Have you met many interesting people?" Every answer was easily given, and they seemed to only fuel her interest, which made him ever more happy to converse with her. He scarcely thought he could find another lady like her.

He stifled a quiet laugh as he entered the jousting arena, composing himself for his public appearance as he thought of her questions and jokes. If he could only ask Lady Pansy's family name, he would ask her father for the chance to court her. As it stood, he could not, only knowing that she was unpromised to anyone. However, that would change, for he would ask.

When he reached the stables, he ran into his advisor Cryptor, who was waiting for him with his jousting armor and his horse, a white stallion named Shard. Upon seeing his face, Cryptor greeted him with a sly smile.

"My eyes deceive me, Prince Zane! You look as if you have had a wonderful day. I can scarcely believe it."

Zane smiled back. "As a matter of fact, you should." He entered the paddock. "You would laugh if I told you what has happened today to make me so happy."

"Perhaps, but perhaps not."

"I was with a lady today." The prince flushed a tiny bit. "I met her yesterday, too, but did not think to tell you."

"Is that so?" Cryptor seemed amused. "What might this woman's name be?"

"Her name is Pansy, and she is the most interesting woman I have seen this entire festival." Zane began to put on his armor, still smiling. "There is never a lack of conversation. She is clever and intelligent, more so than many I have known."

"Might this woman be beautiful, too?" his advisor asked, laughter evident in his voice as he helped Zane don the heavy metal plating.

"Absolutely." Zane turned his head away, sighing deeply. "I do not think anyone could compare."

"You seem completely smitten, your Highness. Could it be that the prince has finally seen the light?"

"You say that as if I was blind before."

"You were, to the wonder that is the fairer half." At that comment, Zane rolled his eyes, and Cryptor laughed. "It is good to see you so happy."

"As soon as I can, I'm going to ask her father to court her," he admitted.

"I imagine he would not say no. Who is her father? One of the nobles?"

Zane did not answer, putting on his gauntlets.

Cryptor frowned. "Prince Zane, do you not know?"

He nodded. "I do not."

"How can you know she is the right woman to consider, then? Would her station not be a matter of concern? You are of royal blood, after all."

Zane shook his head. "My father does not care about station, and neither do I. If she is the one, she will be right, and nobility need not apply." Zane put on his breastplate with a satisfied click.

"Very well." Cryptor paused. "Does she know you are royalty?"

"She does, but it did not change her behavior. It was as if she were unburdened with care for any station." The prince smiled again. "In fact, she displayed no aversion in the slightest."

It was then that Cryptor asked his most burning question. "If she is so open to the possibility, then why do you have no favour for tonight's joust?"

The prince's face fell and he ducked his head to don his helmet. "She had no favour to give me, but it is no matter. I will ask her again tomorrow; she has promised to bring one."

Cryptor chuckled. "Tomorrow will be a busy day for you."

A determined presence fell over Zane. "So it shall."

-----

The night of the second festival day, Pixal again spelled herself back to the Borg estate, quickly hiding her spell book and overskirt away, as well as the dress and jewelry she had borrowed. She let her hair down and tied it back as she did normally. After she had finished and begun to clean, it was not very long before Amaryllis and her stepsisters entered the house, and she met them in the entryway. Like the day before, her sisters had no idea she had been there, but they complained to each other anyway.

"The prince had no favour again! He doesn't like any of us ladies!" Columbine whined.

Begonia scoffed. "Didn't you hear the rumor? He was dancing with some woman this morning, and then they walked off together!"

Pixal tried to hide her reaction, but a warmness spread through her, knowing that she had bested them in secret. "Is that a bad thing, per se? Perhaps they were having an enjoyable conversation."

"You don't understand, you stupid maid!" Columbine cried.

"He's supposed to meet his future wife, that's what this whole festival is about. If he's talking to just one, then he's already made up his mind!" Begonia shouted. "He'll announce a courtship!"

Her stepsister's words struck her. "Surely not," Pixal returned quietly. "The prince could yet show interest in anyone."

"You're only saying that to make us feel better." Columbine pouted. "Just you wait. He's going to announce that woman as his bride-to-be and I'll be a spinster forever!"

"You? I'll be the spinster!"

From there, their complaining devolved into yet more bickering, and Pixal hastily excused herself.

Pixal ran to her room in the basement, seeking privacy in which she might think about what they had said, her mind reeling and her heart pounding. When she at last reached her dusty room, she ran to her secret compartment and pulled out a little paper-wrapped parcel. For a moment, she was still, but then she unwrapped it quickly and let the gold necklace Zane had given her fall into her hand.

At the sight of it, she closed her eyes, holding it to her heart as she desperately tried to still her heart's beating and calm herself. How could she have been so blind as to not see what that gesture meant? Giving such a gift was the most obvious thing a man could do to show his favor for a woman, short of asking to court– or more brazenly, expressing it with a kiss.

She blushed brightly at the thought of reserved Prince Zane kissing her, and after considering it for a few moments, she forced it from her mind. Such a thing would not happen in any world.

There was one more matter, which filled her with hot shame. She almost cursed herself for her actions. Once again, she had refused him a favour, for the second day in a row. If she had known it was a question asked from romantic intent, she would have made sure to have something for him, even if it was at least a kinder rejection. How could her reaction have not hurt him? Prince or not, could she not at least humor him for a day? A romance with a prince, however short-lived, would not come a second time in life.

As she considered these things, she slowly wrapped the necklace in its paper once again, hiding it in the wallboard.

The third day of the festival was coming, and she was determined to make it perfect. She would have a favour for him, knowing she had something perfect but had forgotten about. Indeed, she would go to the jousting tournament, even though she had not so far, and cheer for him as a lady would. He might not be able to choose her for her lack of status, but she could still have one more day of enjoyment with him, to tide her over by his memory, and to humor his deep kindness.

That night, Pixal again went to sleep to thoughts of the reserved Prince Zane– no, just Zane, which stood for nothing. A smile crept onto her face as her mind whirled. Thoughts turned to dreams, which echoed and repeated her memories, creating a tapestry of emotion and dancing and laughter and conversation. She slept soundly and softly, and despite her misgivings, she did not once wake, her mind content to allow her to imagine.

[only-lonely-stars]

A Bride for the Prince (Chapter 3 - Preparations)

[Prologue] // [Chapter 2 of 9] // [Chapter 3 of 9 - you are here!] // [Chapter 4 of 9] – (FFN) (AO3)

Part of the @ninjago-fairy-tale-au!

Summary:

Once upon a time, there lived a faithful and hardworking girl named Pixal Borg, who worked every day to satisfy her demanding stepmother. For years, she cleaned and cooked, giving no argument, until the day came when she met the prince. A Pixane Cinderella retelling.

Chapter summary:

The ladies of the Borg estate prepare to attend the festival, and Pixal gets creative.

As the king's festival drew closer to hand, the Borg household was thrown into a flurry of excitement and activity, such that there was no rest for anyone, especially Pixal.

Amaryllis was swept up in the excitement of the coming days. She sent for the best tailors, cobblers, jewelry makers, and more, so they might flatter her daughters with their work. Over the days, each came in his or her own turn to their estate, laden with tools and materials. They practiced their crafts with ease, creating beautiful gowns for Begonia and Columbine, which matched gorgeous new shoes and lovely jewelry. Bedecked in beautiful fabrics and jewels in such number, the two of them paraded around with aloofness, as if they were simply "nice." To Pixal in particular, they flaunted all their finery, in hopes of making her envious.

Amaryllis encouraged her daughters to ask after Prince Zane as if they were royalty, using the prestige of the Borg name to make themselves worthy candidates of his affection. One of her daughters was bound to catch the prince's eye eventually, and she would spare no expense in achieving such a goal, if only to raise one of them to royalty.

As they prepared and pranced, Pixal went about her days with little concern for them, doing her best to ignore their antics as tamp down any envy. However, she too was thrown into a flurry of work, and the excitement seized her too. The work they created in their excitement was such that her books were soon to collect dust, and she was displeased with such a possibility, but her mind wandered to possible ways to enjoy the festival herself. With such a thought in mind, she worked as quickly as she could, using her ever-growing vocabulary of spells to help her whenever her family could not see her. Her clip in particular was used copiously, to do immense amounts of laundry and clean rooms in half the time it would have taken her.

Eventually, however, the excitement got the better of Pixal as well, and she began to dream about the festival in greater amound. Only a couple of days away, it was to be a three-day affair of enormous proportion, only one hour's travel from the Borg estate. It was rumored that there would be games and shopping, and that the prince himself would be participating in each day's jousting tournament. He would take the favor of some lady and parade it high, so all the kingdom might see that he had taken interest in a woman to be his princess. Pixal thought it sounded almost foolish, as the prince would likely take a favour from every possible candidate, but nevertheless her heart beat quickly at the thought.

The day before the first festival day, Pixal built up her courage and sought out Amaryllis in the estate's gardens.

"Stepmother?" she asked.

At the sound of her voice, Amaryllis turned to her and frowned in distaste. "What is it, Pixal? Why are you disturbing me?"

"I have a request." Pixal folded her hands and nestled them in the folds of her skirt, intent on appearing meek. "I would like to go to the festival with you."

Her stepmother looked her up and down, appraising and disdainful. "You want to go to the festival. Do you even have anything to wear?"

"I do."

"It is not rags, is it? You must try to have a little dignity, Pixal."

"I do not only wear rags!" Pixal protested. "I have a dress to wear."

Her stepmother looked unimpressed. "Very well, then. If you are to go to the festival with us, you must prove that you deserve to attend. I will not have some dirty servant girl parading the Borg name through the mud."

"How must I do that?" Pixal asked, trepidation making her stomach churn.

"As you go about your day, you must do it without being touched by a single speck of dust. No member of my household may embarrass me with a poor appearance. If you are at all dirty, you may not attend with us. Go, clean yourself up. If you cannot do that, you cannot go."

Pixal agreed and left her stepmother's presence quickly. When she could, she washed herself carefully, scouring the dirt from her fingernails and the dust from her hair. Then she donned her cleanest day dress and continued with her day. Unfortunately, as she worked, she encountered her sisters.

"Pixal, there you are! I need my necklace polished," Begonia simpered. "It has corroded, see? You must use your strongest, blackest polish." She put the dirty necklace into Pixal's hand.

"Pixal the maid makes herself known! What an opportune time," Columbine crowed. "I need you to clean my bedroom. It's filthy!" She shoved a dusty, dirty shift into Pixal's other hand.

Pixal sighed. "I cannot do these things today. I need to stay clean, or Stepmother will not bring me with to the festival."

"That sounds like a problem for you to handle," Columbine said.

"We could always tell Mother that you aren't doing any work at all," Begonia threatened.

"What would she think if she heard that? So selfish."

"You had better do it!"

Pixal sighed again, wishing to every power above that she was not put in this situation, but unable to protest. "Very well..."

So she went and did as they had told her. Her hands became blackened with polish, and she could not clean it away from under her fingernails. As she cleaned, she became covered in dust, which she was unable to completely sweep away. The evening approached, and she only grew ever dirtier, having no time to clean herself up before the next task that was thrown upon her by her stepsisters. Her hope diminished every hour, but finally she found a time to slip away in private, right before her stepmother was to inspect her.

In the washroom, Pixal took out her hairclip. She had saved its uses that day, in hopes that she could do this. She took a deep breath. "Salva me in opere… make me as clean as snow."

Within moments, the clip began to glow, and an apparition came forth from it. It cleaned her and her clothing, and when it was done, one would think she was royalty if not for her plain dress and hair. She examined herself in the looking glass and smiled. Surely her mother could not find fault in her magically clean looks. Though Amaryllis hated her, she could not deny her this.

When Amaryllis saw Pixal, she frowned deeply, and for a moment, Pixal thought she had done it. Amaryllis examined Pixal very closely, but found nothing, searching even the smallest things. When she was done, she shook her head. "I see that you were very careful. You are perfectly clean. However, since you are, you were no doubt also lazy, to be so untouched. A lazy girl cannot come with us to the festival– I would be shamed!"

Pixal stared at her in shock. "I was not lazy, Stepmother! I polished Begonia's necklace and I cleaned Columbine's room, plus all my usual chores! I did everything asked of me!"

"None of Begonia's necklaces needed polishing, Pixal. Even if you did, your hands would have been blackened! I see no polish on you." Amaryllis glared at her. "Furthermore, Columbine's room is always clean. If you had been told to clean it, would you not be covered in dust? You must not have done that either."

Pixal fumbled for an explanation. "I scrubbed my hands and changed my clothes, Stepmother. I was very careful!"

Her stepmother looked at her in unmasked exasperation. "I'm sure you did. You will not be coming with us. This conversation is over."

-----

The next morning, Amaryllis, Begonia, and Columbine all left for the festival. Each was decked in finery– lovely dresses, jewelry, and shoes, each brand new. They laughed as they prepared, and the two sisters twirled and flounced their skirts, sure that they would catch some noble eye, if not the prince himself, and marry into riches and luxury. Both came to Pixal in turn and taunted her before piling into their carriage, jeering.

"It's such a shame you can't join us, Pixal. You could have met the prince!"

"Really, it truly is. I can't imagine how dreadfully boring it will be here, home alone."

"Meanwhile, we will be meeting Prince Zane and sweeping him off his feet."

"More like he will be sweeping me off mine!"

"He won't pay attention to you! I'll be his favorite!"

Still bickering, Begonia and Columbine climbed into the carriage. Amaryllis hung back for a moment, and Pixal's skin crawled. "Perhaps if you were more industrious, you could come," Amaryllis said lowly, and then she entered. Then they were off, and Pixal was left alone at the estate.

Pixal sighed as she watched them go. Deep in her heart, she knew there was no way they would have let her come, anyway. She would not be able to go with their knowledge or approval...however, she knew a way she might go to the festival without them. If she did, she might have some fun; she would be free for a day, would she not? With that dream in mind, she went back to her basement room.

When she arrived, she pried open the loose wall board and took out her purple dress and shoes, which she had received when her father gave her the clip. She donned them carefully, gingerly clasping the bodice around her stays. Just as she had hoped, they still fit her perfectly, and were in the same condition she had received them. Happily, she spun around, watching the skirt twirl out.

With her first difficulty solved, Pixal began to ponder the second. Her family would not notice if she did not clean for one day, but she had to be able to leave, or it was pointless. Thus, she needed a solution. As she pondered her situation, she wandered the estate. She passed by the road outside, and then an idea struck her.

Ten minutes later, with a spell tome in her hand, Pixal came back to the road. She opened the tome to a specific page, and then pulled some kitchen herbs from her pocket. She placed them on the ground and began to recite a spell from her book, carefully checking the pronunciation before she did so. "Ut me ad requireris..."

Immediately, the herbs began to smoke green and blue, creating a plume that rose high into the sky. It sparkled with magical energy, glowing slightly. It seemed as if all else around it became slightly darker, but it did not trouble her. With a deep breath, Pixal closed her tome, pocketed the extra herbs, and walked into the column of smoke.

-----

When Pixal next opened her eyes, the smoke was gone. She stood in a small clearing, behind some sort of stall. She took a few steps forward and looked around. Sure enough, she was at the festival! Her spell had worked!

She ran back to behind the stall and put the cloth over her book, nestling it in a little hollow with some more herbs. If it stayed hidden all day, she would be able to return easily. The festival was waiting for her, and she would spend all day, knowing her family would not return until long after nightfall.

Having set her course of action, Pixal turned to face the road. Her family may have denied her, but Pixal would be attending the festival despite them. For the first time in a very long time, she would have some time for fun on her own– freedom was hers for the day, and she could do whatever she wished, if she only knew where to start.

-----

Ut me ad requireris = "Take me to the festival."