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Chapter Text

A little more cerulean here… Now just a touch more white to blend it out… Neal pulled his brush away from the canvas and surveyed the piece. He smiled softly to himself. It was perfect. He took a deep breath and looked out the small window of his tiny attic bedroom. He felt a knot in his stomach looking at the castle. He thought his painting was perfect, he just hoped it would be good enough for the king and queen. 

The royal family was hosting a grand event that evening. Weeks ago they had called for artists throughout the kingdom to submit their finest work, the greatest entries would be prominently featured on the castle walls, and the artist whose work was most liked would be granted a job as the royal family’s personal artist. They would be commissioned for portraits, frescos, and any other art the family desired, potentially even offered room and board on the castle grounds. Neal had no delusions that he would actually win , he wasn’t talented enough for that. But he hoped he was good enough to at least have his art displayed at the event. He just wanted other people to see it, even for just a brief time. 

Neal stood from his easel and set to work carefully and meticulously cleaning his brushes. He always took such meticulous care of his paint supplies. They were beyond precious to him - painting was the one thing that brought him joy and made his life with his step-father and step-brother bearable. The supplies had been expensive, and difficult to come by. If he broke a brush or spilled paint, it could be months before he was able to replace what he had lost. Neal heard the tell-tale creak of stairs behind him and felt a chill run up his spine. He dropped his brushes and rushed to throw a sheet over the canvas, hoping to keep it from view and thereby protect it from the intruder, but he was too slow. Matthew, his step-brother, caught the sheet mid-air and ripped it from Neal’s grasp. 

“What’s this, Caffrey?” 

Neal sighed at the use of his last name, Matthew’s favorite way to remind him that he didn’t belong - he wasn’t part of the family . “It’s nothing, Matthew.” Neal silently pleaded with him to go away and not cause him any trouble today. 

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” 

“Well it is. Please give me the sheet. I’ll come downstairs in a moment.” 

Matthew tilted his head as he walked closer to the painting, taking in all the details and the brushwork. Neal swallowed thickly, the knot in his stomach growing larger the longer Matthew looked at his art. “It’s not bad,” he finally admitted. 

Neal let out a breath of relief. He had expected Matthew to tease him, or to do something cruel like take the painting from him. That was usually how their conversations went. “You really think so?” He asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Matthew nodded. “Yeah. It’s good work, Caffrey.” He turned to look at Neal, and something in his expression made his blood run cold. “It’s a shame, really. I think you might have had a chance at winning, if you could go.” 

Neal hesitated a moment. “I… I can go, father said-” 

“He’s not your father, Caffrey. And yeah he did say that, didn’t he? Well he changed his mind. And you don’t have anything to enter anyway, I mean, you can’t show up empty-handed, can you?” 

Neal swallowed, his eyes flashing between Matthew and his painting, the knot in his stomach growing larger. “What do you mean?” 

Matthew smirked at him, shrugged his shoulders, and in one quick motion he drew his arm across the canvas, leaving a large gaping rip through the middle of it. He twirled his dagger between his fingers, the sunlight glinting off the blade, then tucked it neatly back into his waistband. 

“ NO! ” Neal screamed, his arm outstretched towards the canvas, but it was too late - the damage was done. Neal dropped to his knees feeling utterly defeated. He had worked on that painting for weeks, he had been so proud of it. And Matthew had destroyed it in mere seconds. Neal couldn’t help the tears from falling down his cheeks but he desperately tried not to sniffle - he didn’t want to give Matthew the satisfaction of knowing how much he had gotten to him. 

Matthew laughed. “Really, Caffrey, it’s just a measly painting. You’ll make another.” He started to leave but stopped himself and turned around. He swiped his thumb over his chin thoughtfully. “You know, for good measure…” With that he reached out and pushed the easel over, knocking it prone. It hit the ground with a loud crack and splintered, bits of wood flying out in every direction. A large piece skittered across the floor and came to rest against Neal’s leg. “Come downstairs when you’re done crying. It’s breakfast time.” 

Neal clenched his jaw as he listened to Matthew’s footsteps departing. He let himself grieve for a few more moments before he gathered himself and stood up. He looked over his easel to survey the damage. One of the legs had a large crack running up it, but he might be able to secure it with some rope… But no, the bottom crossbar where the canvas sat was broken completely off and split in two. There was no way for him to salvage it. He wouldn’t be able to afford a new easel for at least a year, if not more, but there was always another way. It wouldn’t be as easy, but he would find a way to keep painting. 

He took a shuddering breath and finally picked up his canvas. He gently ran his fingers along the gash, wincing like he was in physical pain, as if Matthew’s knife had cut clean through him as well. He might be able to fix it, the cut was clean for the most part, not jagged, which would make it easier to line up, repair, and paint over. But it would take time to do it right. Two days, at minimum. It certainly wouldn’t be ready for the event at the castle that evening. 

Neal sighed and steeled himself, pushing down the grief and anger inside him. Matthew had said that his step-father had changed his mind about letting him go to the castle, but surely he was just trying to get under his skin. Maybe one of his other pieces of art was decent enough to submit. At the very least, he still wanted to attend the event to see the art from around the kingdom. He needed to get downstairs to make breakfast if he didn’t want that chance ripped from him as well. He would be on his best behavior and do whatever it took to stay in Matthew and James’ good graces. 

***

Neal felt James’ eyes on him as he served plates to him and Matthew. It killed him, having to be nice to Matthew and serve him breakfast after the morning’s events, but truthfully this was his life. Matthew’s cruelty towards him was an everyday occurrence, the only thing new about it was the ways in which he would decide to torment Neal. James and Matthew made it very clear neither of them liked Neal or wanted him there, but after his mother passed away he had nowhere else to go. They were stuck with him and resented him for it, and they made sure he never forgot that fact. 

Despite his circumstances and far from ideal living conditions, Neal refused to let their treatment of him turn him cold. Every morning, he greeted them with kindness and warmth. Every day he cooked their meals for them, did their laundry, and kept their home clean and tidy. He worked as hard tirelessly to make his presence as little of a burden as possible, hoping it might make them hate him just a little less. It was an exercise in futility - no matter how much Neal did, their treatment of him remained the same. 

Neal bit his lip, waiting patiently for Matthew and James to finish their breakfast. He wanted his step-father in the best possible mood today, and that meant anticipating his and Matthew’s needs. His breath hitched when Matthew shoved his plate away, half eaten, and gave Neal a wink before he disappeared back up the stairs. Neal swallowed nervously, desperately wanting to follow him, but he didn’t want to risk upsetting James by leaving the table before he was finished.  

Crashing sounds started echoing above them that made Neal wince and his stomach clench. Matthew was up to something, and the anxiety it was causing made him feel nauseous, but he didn’t dare move from his spot. James took his time, watching Neal out of his periphery. Finally he put his fork down and met Neal’s eyes. The younger man stared back, feeling nervous and vulnerable. He opened his mouth to speak, but a particularly loud crash made him flinch and he closed it again. James stared at him, almost like he was daring him to say something. 

A few moments later, the sounds subsided, and Matthew reappeared in the dining room - splashes of paint covering him. Neal felt like he was going to throw up, his heart pounded in his chest. That was his paint, his paint was on Matthew’s clothes, which meant that he had been in his room, doing something with his art supplies, and- Matthew winked at him and sat back down, a smear of paint rubbing off on the fabric of the chair. 

James finally spoke. “Matthew tells me you want to go to the castle tonight.” 

Neal bit his lip, feeling like this was a trap but unsure of the way out of it. “...Yes sir,” he said.

James hummed thoughtfully. “You can go…” Neal sucked in a breath. “If you clean your room, first.” 

He frowned and glanced at Matthew, who was grinning like the cat that caught the canary. “...My room is clean, sir.” 

James raised an eyebrow. “Is it?” He looked over at Matthew then back at Neal. “I wouldn’t be so sure. You should check on that. It looks like you might have had a spill or two.” Neal felt himself pale. His paints… How was he ever going to replace them? If he still had the primaries at least, maybe he could work with that for the time being. “I don’t want to see a speck of paint anywhere in this house. Including on that chair. You get that done… Then you can go.” 

Neal met Matthew’s eyes and clenched his jaw. He felt a whirlwind of emotions bubbling up inside him. Anger, hatred, confusion, sadness. Neal did so much for them, to try to make up for being a burden on them, he couldn’t understand why they had to make him so miserable and hurt him so badly. Neal felt his emotions threatening to get the better of him and quickly closed his eyes, willing them down, calming himself. He let out a slow and shaky before he looked back at James. “Yes, sir. I understand.” 

“Good. Clean these plates up.” 

“Yes sir.” Neal stood and gathered the dishes. He took them into the kitchen and washed them, making sure to get them clean despite everything in him screaming at him to get upstairs and check on the damage. It was like he could feel the paint drying as he stood scouring the dishware, every second that he took would make it that much harder to clean up whatever mess Matthew had left for him. 

When he finally finished cleaning and made his way up the stairs, Matthew and James had left, likely headed to town before the festival at the castle that evening. Neal tried desperately to remain calm as he surveyed the damage - it was so much worse than he could have imagined. The easel was now broken completely in two, his other paintings had been ripped from the walls, some were even slashed from the wooden frame stretching the canvas, and his precious paint covered everything. All his clothing had been pulled from the wardrobe, including the waistcoat he had planned to wear to the castle that evening. Splashes of brilliant colors adorned the fabric, the walls, even his bed and furniture. His beloved works of art now had huge splotches of paint covering them. 

Neal felt himself begin to tremble, then his knees gave out beneath him and he crumpled to the floor, his face buried in his hands. His paintings and artwork were destroyed, his precious paint splattered over everything he owned, his clothing ruined. It was too much. Neal shook with the effort of trying to keep his emotions contained, but his eyes fell on the painting he had finished that morning, with the gash running through it, now covered in bright splashes of yellow and red. His eyes stung as the tears finally cascaded down his face. He hugged himself tightly, the sobs teating through his body, cries forcing their way out of his lungs. He would never be able to repair the damage Matthew had caused. He would have to throw everything away and start from scratch. All of his paint, his canvas, his easel, even his clothing, all of it had been destroyed. He had nothing. The one thing that had brought him a modicum of joy violently wrenched from him. 

Neal let himself sit on the floor and cry until there were no tears left. His eyes burned as they dried, he sniffled and wiped at his eyes and cheeks, trying to pull himself together. 

“Chin up, kid. It’ll be okay.” 

Neal whirled around with a start. A short balding man with glasses was leaning casually against his bedroom wall with his arms crossed. When, and how, did he get there? “Who are you?” Neal asked.  

“The best thing that ever happened to you.” 

“What? How did you even get up here?” 

“I have my ways.” The stranger uncrossed his arms and pushed off the wall. He walked up to Neal and held out his hand. “I’m your fairy godfather. But you can call me Mozzie.” 

Neal stared at the stranger’s outstretched hand, blinking slowly. “You’re my… what ?” 

“Like I said, just call me Mozzie.” He dropped his hand and walked around the room. “I’m not gonna lie, this will be a tricky one. I think we can manage though.” 

“Manage what? What are you talking about?” 

“Do you want to go to the castle tonight or not?” 

“Of course I do, but I-... I can’t. All my clothes have paint on them, and all my art was destroyed. My step-father said I have to clean this all up before I can go, and there’s n-” 

“Do you want to go or don’t you?” Mozzie asked, cutting him off.

Neal swallowed and nodded. “I do.” 

“Okay, then stop talking.” 

Neal frowned and shut his mouth. He watched as the mysterious man walked around his room. He held one hand up to his chin, his other hand supporting his elbow. The man had rings on every finger and wore the strangest clothing Neal had ever seen. 

“Okay, I think I got it. Click your heels together and say ‘there’s no place like home.’” 

“What?” 

“Sorry, wrong story.” 

Neal shook his head, trying to comprehend what was happening to him. Mozzie cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together. “And… abracadabra!” He waved his fingers around. Neal looked at him like he’d grown a second head. But suddenly, before his eyes, the paint started gathering itself back together . He watched in amazement as his clothes began picking themselves up and floating back to the wardrobe, the paint pooled and poured itself back into its jars, and his canvases stitched back together. After a few moments, it was like nothing in his room had ever been touched by Matthew’s hands. 

Neal was in shock. He watched with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open. “...How… How did…?” 

“Fairy godparent, try to keep up.” 

Neal stepped up to his painting, the one he had finished that morning, now returned to its place on the easel. The splashes of pink and yellow were nowhere to be seen, and the large gash had vanished, like it was never there. Neal turned the canvas around, inspecting the back for a seam. He ran his fingers over the smooth, flawless canvas in awe. “You fixed it.” He felt tears welling up in his eyes again and he sniffled, trying to choke it down. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me yet, we’ve still got a lot of work to do.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You can’t go to the castle looking like that . You need style, class… You need a makeover.” 

Neal frowned and looked down at himself. “Well, no, I was going to wear… I have a waistcoat, and a clean shirt…” 

“Okay let’s see it.” 

Neal went to the wardrobe and pulled out the nicest clothes he had. It wasn’t much. He had a basic white shirt with a frill on the wrist, and a decent pair of black trousers. The waistcoat was sleeveless, a faded dark grey that likely once was black. It was missing a button, and lightly frayed in places, and it was extraordinarily plain. He finished the outfit with a pair of boots that were worn incredibly thin. 

Mozzie stared at him. “This? This is what you’re planning on wearing to the castle ?” 

“It’s the nicest thing I have,” Neal said meekly. 

Mozzie sighed. “Okay. Put it on.” 

Neal complied, changing into the clothing. He took great care when doing up the buttons of the waistcoat, not wanting to lose any more of them. When he finished dressing he spread his arms and looked up at the man. “How do I look?” 

“Terrible,” said Mozzie. 

Neal frowned. “What?” 

“Stay still.” Mozzie twirled his index finger in the air and Neal’s clothing started tingling against his skin. He looked down and watched as his boots shifted from dull and frayed to lustrous and smooth. The hole in his trousers stitched back together and Neal could feel the fabric changing from thin and cheap to something much thicker and stronger. The frills on his sleeves grew longer. The waistcoat shifted to a beautiful, brilliant shade of blue, with silver accents and a silver damask pattern covering the velvet fabric. The missing button replaced itself. His head also began tingling and Neal realized something was happening to his hair as well. 

Once the process was complete, Mozzie looked at him expectantly. “Well? Go take a look!” 

Neal smiled and rushed to the mirror in the corner. He looked… He looked regal . His hair was cut and neatly styled, and his outfit looked like that of nobility, not a commoner like himself. He barely recognized the reflection staring back at him. “This is… Incredible. Thank you, ” he said, his voice wavering with emotion. 

Mozzie smiled and waved a hand at him. “Oh it’s nothing.” 

“Why? Why me?” 

The man’s expression softened and he looked down. “You’re one of the good ones. You deserve it.” 

Neal swallowed thickly and looked at his reflection again. He ran his hands over the waistcoat, reveling in the feeling of the fine fabric beneath his fingers. He brought one hand up to touch his hair gently. 

“Stop that, you’ll mess it up!” Mozzie complained and Neal pouted at him. Mozzie narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. “Actually… I think it’s missing something.” He snapped his fingers and Neal felt a weight on his waist and lower back. He turned back to the mirror and felt a flush creep up his neck. Attached to his waistcoat there was now a skirt, open in the front but transitioning to long and billowing in the back, with a short train. It was a satin fabric the same color as his waistcoat, that sparkled with hundreds of pinpoint flashes. Neal took hold of the fabric and held it up, his thumb rubbing over it. It was textured, not smooth, and Neal realized the glittering effect was due to the small glass beads covering the surface. Underneath the beads, the fabric bore the same damask pattern as the waistcoat, though much more subtle. The pattern was the same color, but made of a slightly raised velvet, only standing out upon close inspection.

“I can’t wear this.” 

“There’s a ball tonight, isn’t there?” 

“Yes, but-” 

The man twirled his hand at him. “Now you have a gown.” Mozzie had a mischievous grin on his face, like he was particularly proud of himself. 

“I cannot wear this!” 

“You can and you will.” He walked closer and tugged on the waist of the skirt slightly, straightening it out. “Besides… The prince will love it.” 

Neal flushed and stepped back. He turned to look in the mirror again. “I look ridiculous.” 

“You look incredible. Trust me.” Neal sighed and looked down at the skirt. “Look, if you really want to take it off, it’s easy enough to remove.” Mozzie demonstrated, undoing the two small buttons on the front that were tucked under his waistcoat, and pulled the skirt away. “See?” 

Neal looked in the mirror, then looked back to the skirt. “...Okay,” he agreed softly. 

Mozzie fastened the skirt back in place. “Easy access for later.” 

Neal pushed him away, flustered. “Okay! That’s enough! I’m going now.” 

“Oh, right. The last thing you need.” 

“There’s more ?” How could there possibly be more for the man to give him? He had already done so much, far too much for Neal to ever repay in a hundred lifetimes. 

“Your transport. Come!” Mozzie turned and walked down the stairs. Neal carefully removed his painting from the easel - not only whole but in better condition than it had been that morning. He removed it from the wooden frame gently and rolled it up with care, placing it into a wooden tube, then he followed the man down the stairs. When he stepped out the door he stopped still, his mouth open. There was a carriage outside. Not a plain carriage either. A fancy carriage, ornately carved, with a velvet lined interior. A beautiful grey and white horse stood in front, with strange markings that reminded Neal of some other kind of animal he couldn’t put his finger on. 

“... We don’t have a horse,” he said bluntly, at a loss for what else to say. 

“I know.” Mozzie smiled and stroked the horse’s nose fondly. “This is Estelle. She’ll get you where you need to go.” 

Neal felt his eyes beginning to water again and he sniffled then cleared his throat. “I don’t understand. All of this, for me? Why?” 

“Like I said, you’re one of the good ones.” He gave Estelle another pat then opened up the door of the carriage, beckoning Neal inside. “Your carriage awaits.” 

Neal took a deep breath and stepped in, pulling the skirt around him. He held onto the tube containing his painting like it was a lifeline. “I don’t know how to thank you.” 

“No thanks necessary, just enjoy yourself.” He started to close the door, then stopped and pulled it back open. “Oh! One more thing. You only have until midnight, and then all of this-” he gestured vaguely around him “goes poof .” 

“Why midnight?” 

“I don’t know, man, I don’t make the rules.” He shut the door and clapped his hands twice. Estelle started walking, leading the carriage away and to the castle. 

Neal felt the carriage lurch into motion and he leaned back against the tufted velvet. He tried to wrap his head around the last couple of hours. None of what had just happened felt real. It was like a dream. He held his painting close to his chest and peeked out the window, watching as they got closer to the castle. His stomach was in knots. He was actually going to the castle. He would submit his painting and possibly even get to meet the royal family. He swallowed thickly. 

I hope it’s good enough, he thought to himself as the carriage carried him onward. 

Chapter Text

Neal watched as castle servants hung his painting on the castle wall, now adorned in an ornate gilded frame, and thanked them for their help. He took a deep, shuddering breath as he admired his work, the frame and the torchlight of the castle making the colors somehow look even more vivid. He was still having a hard time comprehending the events of the day. What had started out as one of the worst days of his life had very quickly shifted into the best, and he was still reeling from it. The last several hours hadn’t felt real, and he worried he was about to wake up in his bed to find it had all been an incredibly vivid dream. If it was, he hoped he would never wake. 

He heard footsteps behind him and pulled himself out of his thoughts, stepping back to admire the painting one more time. He was particularly proud of this one. It was his view from his attic window of the castle at dusk, the rolling green hills in the foreground and lights shining in the windows from the distance. The sky where it met the horizon was a soft pink that transitioned to lavender and faded into a deep blue at the top of the canvas, stars dotting the sky and the moon in the sky overhead. The level of detail was extraordinary, more minute details revealing themself upon closer inspection, down to the brickwork of the castle walls and turrets. 

The source of the footsteps paused next to Neal, and he heard the man next to him take a sharp intake of breath as he looked over the painting. Neal watched with nervous anticipation as the stranger leaned in, taking in all the details. “This is exquisite,” he murmured. 

Neal smiled softly. “You think so?” 

“Yes. It’s beautiful. I would love to meet the artist.” 

The man stood back up and turned to face Neal, and he felt himself take another shuddering breath. This man was handsome beyond words, with beautiful amber-colored eyes, reflecting the dancing light from the nearby torch. He was dressed in the finest clothing Neal had laid eyes on; he was clearly some kind of nobility. Neal smiled to himself. “Thank you,” he said smoothly, his own clothing helping him to act much bolder than he felt at the moment.

The man beside him looked stunned for a moment and tilted his head just slightly. “It’s you?” 

He nodded once. “Neal,” he said as he held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

A slow smile turned up the corner of the man’s mouth and he reached out to take Neal’s hand. Neal noted how much softer and smoother the other man’s hand was compared to his own, in turn making him realize his own hand must feel so rough to him in comparison. Then the man brought Neal’s hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it gently. “The pleasure is mine, Neal.” 

Neal gasped, realization dawning over him. The clothes, the soft hands, the mannerisms, it all added up to one conclusion. He felt ashamed he hadn’t realized it sooner. “Y-you’re the prince!” 

The man chuckled, not letting go of his hand. “I am. And you are quite the artist.” He stared intently into his eyes, and something in Neal was determined not to act coy with him. He gave the prince a slight shrug, prepared to protest that there were many other artists here much more talented than himself, but he was cut off. “No other art in here has caught my attention the way yours has.” He squeezed his hand gently. “Or the way you have,” the prince added. 

Neal swallowed thickly, feeling a flush creep up his neck. “Thank you.” He wasn’t sure if it was the clothes, the sight of his painting framed in gold, or maybe just a part of the spell Mozzie had used on him, but he felt much more bold and confident than he ever did around James and Matthew. He took a chance and rubbed his thumb over the prince’s knuckles and the back of his hand, admiring how the soft skin felt beneath his fingers. 

“I hope you’ll give me the honor of a dance this evening,” the Prince asked, his hand still applying firm but gentle pressure, like Neal might run away if he let go. 

He nodded cordially. “It would be my pleasure, your highness,” he said smoothly. He tipped his head, closing his eyes, and gave him what could only be considered a cross between a bow and a curtsy. 

The prince smiled. “Call me Peter,” he said and gave Neal’s hand one more kiss. He held his lips there for a moment, making eye contact with Neal once more, before he gently let his hand go and walked back in the direction he had come. Neal watched him go, delighted when he turned back around once he had gotten a few paces away. The prince winked at him then continued down the hall. 

Neal couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. He had met the prince , and he had liked his painting, and asked him for a dance. He was nearly certain he was dreaming now, but he was going to cling to it for as long as he could. 

*** 

Neal stood at the side of the ballroom, watching the dancers move across the floor with grace. It had been a long time since he had danced, but he still remembered when his mother had taught him. They would spend hours dancing through their home, waltzing together from room to room. That was before she had married James, and before she had gotten sick... He cleared his throat, pushing the memory from his mind. He had only led when he danced with his mother, but he felt confident he could follow the prince with ease. That was, if the prince still wanted to dance with him. As more time passed since their meeting in the hallway, Neal became more and more certain that the prince would have changed his mind, that he was imagining the chemistry he had felt between them. He was momentarily living in the clouds, and it had all gone to his head, allowing him to live in this fantasy; the castle, the ball, the spell the-... The spell.

He looked up to check the clock at the edge of the room, trying to gauge how much time he had left before he would need to leave, but before he could make out the hands on the clock face he felt a firm grip on his shoulder. Neal sucked in a breath, taking all his self control not to jump at the sudden contact. It was James, he had found him, and now he was going to- 

The hand on his shoulder guided him to turn around and he found himself staring into those beautiful amber eyes once more. “There you are,” said the prince. “I was beginning to think you ran off before giving me the dance I was promised.” 

“No your highness, not yet,” Neal said with a smile, shaking off the moment of panic he had felt. 

“Hopefully not at all,” he countered. He held his free hand out with his palm up in invitation.

Neal placed his hand in Peter’s and allowed himself to be led out onto the dance floor. The prince slid his hand down from Neal’s shoulder to his waist and pulled him in close. He felt himself beginning to flush, sensing eyes on him and the prince from throughout the room. “People are staring,” he said softly. 

“I don’t blame them,” Peter said. He leaned in close to whisper in Neal’s ear. “You’re stunning.” 

He swallowed thickly, willing the blush to stop spreading. The music began and Neal was surprised at how easy it was to follow the prince’s lead through the dance. They moved effortlessly across the floor, and it was like everything else melted away. Neal’s focus narrowed to the prince and only the prince, his light touches and pulls letting Neal know exactly what to do and where to go. He felt the skirt billowing around him and knew it must be a sight to watch the two of them dancing so freely and fluidly. They felt so in sync, like they had been dancing together their entire lives. 

“You’ve danced before,” Peter said, more as a statement than a question. 

“With my mother,” he admitted. “It’s been a long time, though.” 

“She taught you well.” 

“Would you like to see how well?” Neal asked mischievously. The prince narrowed his eyes slightly, tipping his head to the side. Neal took the opportunity and switched their roles, no longer following and suddenly leading the prince. It surprised him how easily it came back to him, and how easily the prince followed his lead. 

“That was very bold of you.” 

“You didn’t seem to mind,” Neal said as he led the prince into a turn and spun him back into his arms. 

Peter smirked. “I don’t. But I can’t exactly let my court see me allowing myself to be led by a commoner now can I?” 

Neal swallowed but had no time to react as the prince quickly switched roles with him again, leading Neal in an impressive spin that sent his skirt twirling around him. The song ended, and to Neal’s complete surprise, the prince dipped him nearly to the ground, supporting his weight with a hand on the small of his back, his other hand clasped around Neal’s. 

Neal heard gasps from throughout the room, followed by a moment of stunned silence, before a round of applause rippled through the patrons. As the prince lifted him back to his feet, he glanced around and realized the dance floor had cleared of everyone aside from them. He felt a small surge of pride, until his eyes caught sight of Matthew and James among the crowd. He leaned in close to the prince. “I could use some air, could we take this outside?” 

Peter kept his hand where it rested on Neal’s back, fingers pressing gently in like they might be able to keep him there by his side, and led him out to the terrace. Neal leaned against the balcony and let out a breath. He bit his lip then looked over at the prince standing next to him. “How did you know?” 

“Your hands are rough,” Peter answered easily. There was no hint of judgement in his tone at all, nothing that indicated that he felt Neal was beneath him. “You’re dressed like nobility, but a noble’s hands would be soft.” 

“Like yours,” Neal answered. It wasn’t what he meant to say, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. 

“Like mine,” the prince agreed with an amused tone. 

Neal hummed thoughtfully and looked out over the courtyard. Despite the darkness of the late hour, the castle grounds were breathtakingly beautiful. Below the terrace was an open courtyard leading to an expansive garden. Beautifully carved statues adorned each corner of the garden, with a narrow pool of water running the length on either side. In the center was a large fountain surrounded by a circular pool. Neal couldn’t make out the details in the darkness but he could tell it was a masterpiece, skillfully carved. 

“Does it bother you? That I’m a… commoner?” 

“Not at all,” the prince said evenly. “Truthfully, I’m rather intrigued by it.” 

Neal turned to look at him. “Intrigued? Why?” 

“I don’t know what that life is like. I can’t imagine it, as I have no reference for it. Most of my life is… within these walls.” He looked down at Neal and pulled him closer with the hand still around his waist. “I would love to hear your story.” 

Neal broke his eye contact then, looking away shamefully. “No, you wouldn’t.” 

The prince cupped his chin with his free hand, gently guiding his face up to look into his eyes again. “I would.” 

Neal swallowed thickly, his eyes searching the prince’s. Out here, away from the brightness of the ballroom, his eyes were darker, more brown than amber. “Next time.” 

“Promise?”

Neal nodded, as much as he could with the prince’s fingers still under his chin. He licked his lips, and Peter’s eyes flashed down, tracking the movement. He parted his lips, letting out a breath. Peter leaned in, closing the gap between them, but just before they made contact, the clock in the ballroom began to chime. Neal froze still with panic. It couldn’t be midnight yet, could it?

“Neal?” asked the prince, concern on his face. 

Ten… Eleven… Twelve… Oh no. Neal quickly turned away, out of the prince’s hold. “I’m sorry,” he said as he began running. 

Peter chased after him. “Wait! Neal, stop!” 

Neal ran faster, through the crowded ballroom, through the palace, down the hallways lined with art. He didn’t even pause a moment to look at his painting, or remove it from the wall to bring it home with him. There wasn’t time. It would have to be a gift, one small thing for the prince to remember him by. 

His heart raced as he ran. He could feel the spell fading away, his boots were no longer thick and protective but thin and ragged. His pants turned lighter, thinner. His waistcoat faded from the brilliant blue and silver to the dull grey-black. He burst through the castle doors, running down the steps, but the skirt, the one thing still somehow intact, caught on the wrought iron railing, jerking him to a stop. The wind was knocked out of him as his momentum was cut short. Neal turned and tugged desperately on the skirt, willing it to come loose. 

“Neal!” The prince yelled as he came through the palace doors. Neal gave the skirt one final tug with every bit of strength he had. There was a loud ripping sound, glass beads falling from the skirt in glittering flashes as they fell to the ground and bounced all around. Neal nearly fell backward as the skirt finally came free. He turned and ran down the stairs as fast as he could. The prince had nearly caught up to him, but he was smaller, lighter, and far more used to running. Estelle and the carriage were nowhere to be seen, but he didn’t have time to get into a carriage anyway. The prince was too close behind. He headed for the treeline and dashed into the woods, knowing the thick forest would give him cover. 

He didn’t dare stop. He kept running until he was out of breath, twigs and branches whipping at his face and arms. Once his legs would no longer carry him, he collapsed on a nearby fallen tree, struggling to catch his breath. He listened hard for any sounds of the prince close behind him, but he heard nothing aside from the sounds of the forest. Insects chirped, the leaves rustled in the breeze, and owls hooted their displeasure at his presence. No sound of footsteps or anyone calling his name. Neal relaxed, realizing he had made it out and away from the prince. The beads of his skirt caught his attention and he looked down and frowned. It had ripped where it had been caught on the railing, a section of it had been torn off completely. He might be able to fix it, if he could find some similar materials, but he didn’t know where he’d ever be able to find glass beads to replace the ones he had lost. 

Neal sighed in defeat. It was silly to think about repairing the skirt; he would never have any reason to wear it again. He would need to keep it hidden from Matthew and James forever, they could never find it. He briefly considered removing the skirt and abandoning it there but he couldn’t bring himself to part with it - he needed something to hold on to, some proof that this night was real and not in his imagination. Neal removed the skirt and folded it carefully in his arms, trying to prevent any more glass beads from falling. He sighed and hugged the skirt tightly to his chest. The whole night was already fading, feeling farther away and less real, like the whole thing had been an elaborate fantasy. 

Neal looked around the forest and realized with concern that he had no idea where to go. He knew these woods generally well during the day, but at night everything looked different. There was no way to tell which direction led back to the castle, and which led to his home. He felt his heart rate begin to rise, panic beginning to well up inside of him, when he heard the calling of a pigeon from the end of the tree trunk he had been sitting on. He looked at the bird curiously. Something about its markings looked familiar, but he couldn’t place why. 

The bird cooed at him again, then took flight. It circled Neal three times before flying off into the forest. After a moment it returned and began circling Neal again, then flew off in the same direction. Neal decided to follow, since it was clear that was what the bird wanted. After all, he didn’t have any better options. Neal walked in silence, the bird leading him through the trees. Finally, after what felt like hours, the treeline broke and Neal found himself just a few paces away from his home. The sky was just starting to lighten, meaning Neal had been walking in the woods all night. He would need to change and clean himself up quickly, and hopefully he’d be able to make it through the day without looking too tired or earning the wrath of James and Matthew. 

Neal looked at the bird fondly. “Thank you,” he said. The pigeon cooed and circled him again. Neal held up his hand and the bird landed lightly on his fingers and cooed once more. Finally, in the early morning light, he realized why the markings seemed so familiar to him. They looked oddly similar to the strange markings he had seen on the horse. “Estelle?” 

The bird trilled happily and gave his hand a gentle nibble. Neal chuckled. “Thank you, Estelle. I’ll leave some breadcrumbs out on my windowsill for you, okay?” Estelle cooed once more then took off, flying back into the forest. 

Chapter Text

Neal could feel Matthew’s eyes on him as he moved about the dining room, cleaning up their breakfast. He knew he looked rough. He had a few scratches on him from running through the woods, and he was certain there were bags under his eyes. Thankfully his adventure into the forest had also messed up his hair, so he hadn’t needed to put too much effort into making it look like he had never left. Even so, he had to fight to keep a smile off his face all morning. The night kept replaying in flashes; his dance with the prince, their meeting, the prince’s compliments on his art, and his eventual flight. 

Matthew’s eyes narrowed. “How’d you do it, Caffrey?”

“How did I do what?” He tried to keep his tone even, but after the wonderful night he had, Neal found it difficult to be so amenable to his step-brother. 

“Clean the place up so well. There’s not a speck of paint anywhere. And don’t think I didn’t notice that hunk of wood is back in one piece.” 

Neal shrugged as he picked up the plate in front of James and turned toward the kitchen. He didn’t want to lie, but he also didn’t know what to say in response. He couldn’t exactly tell them that a man claiming to be his fairy godparent was responsible. 

Matthew snorted. “Fine. Keep it to yourself.” 

“You know,” James said. “There was a very mysterious stranger at the castle last night. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Neal?” 

He stopped in his tracks, his hands still holding the remnants of their breakfast. “No, sir,” he said evenly. 

“He seems to have disappeared. The whole kingdom is out looking for him.” 

Neal summoned every ounce of willpower he had to keep his breathing steady, keep his face blank, and remain calm. “Did he do something wrong?” 

“No, nothing like that. Seems the prince was quite taken with him.” 

Neal nodded once. “I hope he finds him,” he said, allowing himself just the slightest of smiles, turning up the corners of his mouth. He surprised himself with how much he meant it. Did he really want the prince to find him? Living here, dressed like this? Would he possibly still be enamored with him if he knew the true Neal? 

“They say his name is Neal,” James said pointedly. Neal stood very still and swallowed. He didn’t dare look up or meet his step-father’s eyes. “I think that’s quite the coincidence, don’t you, Matthew?” 

“I do,” Matthew agreed. “What do you think, Caffrey? It couldn’t possibly be you, could it? Obviously you were here all night, cleaning the place up.” 

Neal took very controlled breaths, his heart pounding in his chest. If he looked up, if he made eye contact, they would know. They probably knew already, but he couldn’t move. He was rooted to the spot, part in terror, part because he just didn’t know what to do. He was desperately trying to think of a way out of this. 

After a few very tense moments, James finally spoke. “You’re right, Matthew. It couldn’t have been our Neal. He had his hands full here. Right?” 

Neal nodded again. “Yes sir, that’s right.” 

“When you’re finished cleaning up from breakfast I want you to go down to the cellar. There’s a bottle of wine I’ve been saving and I think it’s time to open it.” 

He hesitated before he answered. “Yes sir.” The cellar. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been locked down there. After the last time, James had changed the knob and made sure there was nothing Neal could use to pick the lock again. He’d still managed to make it out, after some time and effort, but he had realized things were much safer for him if he pretended to let the room hold him and only snuck out to eat in the middle of the night, when Matthew and James were fast asleep. 

Neal finally stirred himself into motion and entered the kitchen. He set the dishes down in the washbasin carefully before he finally let himself collapse in a heap on the floor. They knew, they obviously knew. What were they going to do to him? Would they just lock him in the cellar for a few days, or did they have something much worse planned? His mind swam thinking of the atrocities he might be subjected to, interspersed with thoughts of the prince. Was he really out looking for him, or did James just say that to be cruel? To get his hopes up? 

Neal shook himself and pulled himself up from the floor. Whether or not the prince was looking for him didn’t matter. He belonged here, with his step-father and step-brother, and he had duties to uphold. They would take their anger out on him in some horrible way, but he would be fine. He was always fine. After James and Matthew were through with him, he was certain the prince wouldn’t want him anyway. 

He kept repeating that to himself as he finished his morning chores, steeling himself for whatever horrors awaited him in the cellar. Even though he expected it, he still jumped at the  slamming of the door and clicking of the lock, leaving him in complete and total darkness. Neal turned around, pounding on the door. “Please let me out, James! Please don’t keep me down here!” 

“What I said about the prince is true, you know,” came the cold voice from the other side of the door. “He really is out looking for you. Going door to door, apparently. So I’m going to make sure he never finds you. ” 

Neal heard footsteps retreating as he continued pounding on the door, but it was no use. He closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down and think through the situation. He had gotten out of here before, he could do it again. He just needed to think. He patted himself down but he knew it was useless, he didn’t have anything in his pockets he could use to pick the lock. But maybe there was something in the cellar he could use.James had been thorough last time, but Neal held on to the hope that something useful remained. It would be hard to find anything without any light, though. He would need to feel around and hope to find something in the dark. 

Neal carefully felt his way down the stairs in the darkness, willing his eyes to adjust. Right as he reached the bottom, he heard a clattering noise from just outside, and he remembered with relief that the cellar had a small window. He felt along the wall, his hand stretched up high to feel for the fabric of the curtain. Finally his fingers closed around cloth and he pulled, hard. Light flooded the small room and he blinked several times, his eyes adjusting to the brightness. 

The window was small, too small for him to fit through. There was also a creature fluttering on the other side of it. Warmth spread through his chest as he recognized the grey blur fluttering outside and pecking at the glass. It was Estelle. He turned and surveyed the cellar for something he could use to reach the window. 

There were shelves full of dust-covered bottles of wine, crates stacked up in the corners of the room, and jars full of various substances Neal wasn’t sure he wanted to know the contents of. The cellar walls were made of stone, the floor of dirt. Neal carefully stacked some of the crates beneath the window and stood on top of them. He pulled on the window as hard as he could, but it didn’t budge. It had probably been years, decades even, since the window had been opened. He put all his weight into pulling, and finally with a loud pop the window released and flung open, causing Neal to fall to the ground.

Estelle took her chance and flew in through the small opening, barely large enough for her to fit through. She settled on the floor next to Neal. “Estelle, what are you doing here?” he asked her. She tilted her head and cooed at him. “You came to rescue me, huh?” He looked up at the window. “Some rescue attempt. Sorry, I don’t have any breadcrumbs for you.” Neal sighed and looked back up toward the door, a thought occurring to him. “Hey Estelle, do you think you can find something for me?” The bird cooed. “Find me something to pick that lock with, okay? A piece of metal, long and thin. Can you do that?” 

Estelle tilted her head back the other way, then took off, flying out the tiny window. Neal sighed. Of course she couldn’t do that, she was a bird. He leaned back against the wall and began absentmindedly sketching in the dirt with his fingertips. A few minutes later the bird flew back through the window and dropped something at his feet. Neal picked up the slender metal objects, his eyes wide. “Estelle, where did you find actual lockpicks?” The bird cooed at him. “Don’t answer that.” He stood and held up his hand again. Estelle fluttered to perch on his finger. Neal stroked her gently and rubbed under her chin as she fluttered her wings, leaning into his touch. “Thank you, again. I owe you.” 

Estelle trilled and nibbled his finger affectionately before she took off again, flying out through the little window. Neal smiled after her and looked down at the gift she had brought him. He froze as his eyes fell over the sketch in the dirt. It was the prince. Neal had been sketching the prince. He closed his fingers around the picks and brushed his foot over the sketch, erasing all traces of the drawing. 

He dusted himself off and moved toward the stairs, ready to free himself from his prison, but a noise outside gave him pause. He listened, straining his ears. It sounded like… hoofbeats. No, it was definitely hoofbeats. Multiple sets of hoofbeats. He swallowed thickly, his heart swelling. It couldn’t be, it wasn’t possible that the prince was here. How could he have possibly found him so quickly? Neal pushed down the emotions bubbling up in his chest, not daring to allow himself to hope. There had to be a different explanation, he was certain of it. He quickly moved from the stairs back to the little window, standing on the crates to try to see outside. 

The horses came to a stop and Neal saw a pair of boots hit the ground. He could hear footsteps from closer to the house, likely James and Matthew, coming out to greet the procession. “Your highness,” came James’ voice, and Neal’s breath hitched. It was the prince, the prince was here . “To what do we owe the honor of your visit?” 

“I’m looking for a young man who was at the royal ball last night,” said Peter.  

Neal swallowed thickly as he watched, unable to turn away. 

“We were at the ball, your highness. Is it perhaps my Matthew here you are looking for?” 

Neal heard a sound between a laugh and a snort, and he couldn’t help the small smile that played on his lips. 

“No, certainly not either of you. He was wearing clothing matching this fabric, have you seen anything like this before?” 

Neal sucked in a sharp breath. His skirt. It had gotten caught in the railing and torn, and… Peter had kept the piece he had left behind. He turned from the window and dashed up the stairs, eager to pick the lock and get to his room, to the skirt. Hopefully Matthew hadn’t found it already. His hands shook as he placed the instruments in the lock. He took deep, shuddering breaths, trying to calm himself enough to focus. 

“I can’t say that I have, your highness. We wouldn’t be able to afford fabric of that quality. I’m sorry that we can’t be of more help.” 

“I have it on good authority that a young artist lives here. Could I speak with him?” 

The lock clicked open at the same moment Neal felt his stomach drop at the prince’s words. He stayed still, straining to hear James’ response. There was a tense silence in which Neal could feel each of his heartbeats in his chest. “I’m afraid you must be mistaken. It’s only myself and my son here.” 

Neal didn’t wait to hear the prince’s response. He threw open the door and flew up the stairs as quickly as he could to get to the attic. His room was in disarray, and he felt his stomach drop once more. Clearly Matthew had been searching his room, looking for something; he had probably been interrupted when the prince arrived. He dropped to his knees at the side of the bed and pried up the loose floorboards, sighing with relief when the blue fabric glittered back at him. He pulled it out carefully, hugging it to his chest for only a moment before he ran back down the stairs. 

Peter had mounted his horse once more and was just starting to leave when Neal burst through the doors and yelled “Wait!” 

The prince stopped his horse and turned around, his eyes wide. He smiled warmly when he saw Neal running out of the house. He quickly jumped down from the saddle, and Neal took a moment to catch his breath. He gave the prince another bow-curtsy combination. “Your highness,” he said with all the charm he could muster. 

“Neal,” Peter answered, and Neal marveled at the awestruck tone of his voice, like he couldn’t believe he had found him. Neal couldn’t quite believe it either. He held out the folded skirt. “You were looking for this?” 

Peter took the garment in his hands and held the swatch of fabric to the skirt. “It’s a perfect match,” he stated, his eyes staring into Neal’s rather than looking down to confirm. 

Neal swallowed. “Yes, it is,” he said breathlessly. 

They looked into each other’s eyes that for a long moment, James and Matthew and the royal guard all melted away, and for just a few seconds Neal’s entire world narrowed down to just the prince, just like it had when they were gliding across the ballroom. Without warning Peter reached out to Neal, the hand holding the skirt wrapped around his waist and pulled him in, while his other hand gently cupped his jaw and tipped his chin up. Before Neal could register what was happening he felt the prince’s lips on his own. His surprise lasted only a moment before he melted into the contact, kissing him back deeply, one arm coming up to hold the prince’s shoulder while the other cupped the back of his head. 

When they finally pulled apart, Peter pressed their foreheads together, his thumb running over Neal’s cheek in adoration. “I’m so glad you found me,” Neal said faintly. 

Peter smiled and kissed him once more, briefly. “I always will,” he promised. He led Neal gently towards the horse and got back in the saddle, pulling Neal up in front of him, with an arm around his waist to steady him. 

That seemed to finally stir James and Matthew out of whatever shocked stupor had come over them. “Where do you think you’re going, Neal?” asked James. 

He tensed, a shock running through his spine at the words. How could he have forgotten that they were there, watching him with the prince? How could he have forgotten that he owed them. He lived there after all, it was his responsibility to take care of them, just like his mother had asked. He moved to get back down, but he stilled when Peter put a protective hand on his hip, keeping him in place. Neal turned back slowly to look at the prince. Peter kept his eyes on him, not bothering to turn and address James properly. “This man is now a part of the royal staff.” 

“What?” asked James incredulously. 

“He’s being appointed as the royal artist. He’ll live at the castle, where he won’t want for anything.” 

Neal swallowed, staring into those beautiful amber eyes that seemed to see right to his very soul. “Really?” he asked in a small voice.

“If you want to,” he answered softly, matching Neal’s soft tone. “Unless… If you’d rather stay here, I’m not-” 

“I want to,” Neal said quickly. “I want to. Please.” 

The prince smiled and seemed to sigh with relief. As if Neal would ever give up a life with the prince for the horror he lived in here. “As you wish,” he said and kissed him again. The prince took hold of the reins, the arms around Neal feeling strong, warm, safe, and like home. He leaned back against him as they made their way back to the castle, to Neal’s new life. He saw movement above and looked up to see a pigeon circling overhead, singing happily. Neal smiled and mouthed “thank you,” at the bird, who trilled and flew away into the treeline. 

And they lived happily ever after. 

The End