In the morning, Cordelia's eyes shot open long before the sun had risen over the snow-capped mountains. Today the village children would be coming into the castle grounds, and Cordelia could not contain her joy. It was like trying to stop a waterfall. She sprang from her bed and danced around her room, trying to dress without help—an impossibility, but she endeavored to try regardless.
Cordelia sank to the bed after trying to, without success, dress herself for the day and had nearly abandoned her effort in favor of her peasant disguise when Anna eased the bedroom door open and stared aghast at Cordelia.
Cordelia begin giggling at Anna's face and the image that she, the princess of the Lyaern, presented, and soon both the princess and the chambermaid had dissolved into one hysterical fit of laughter.
"Oh, Anna," Cordelia sighed, trying to hold back her laughter, "but you should have seen your face."
"I'm s-sorry, miss," Anna choked out between wheezes, "Let me help you."
In very short order, Anna had Cordelia stylishly dressed and her raven hair perfectly coiffed atop her head.
"Anna," Cordelia said staring at the transformation from sad, street waif to the princess and heir of her father's kingdom, "you are a magician that you can take this complete mess and turn it into a princess."
Anna smiled demurely, "You're lovely, m'lady, so 'tis no hard matter."
"And you're just a flatterer!" Cordelia teased as she danced out of her room and down the hall.
The children were huddled together in the library when Cordelia found them, looking much like lost lambs without a shepherd. As she neared, their faces broke into wide smiles, forgetting themselves they ran to her and nearly tackled the princess to the ground. They giggled for many moments in the great hall until a disapproving servant made his appearance and scared them back into the library.
Soon Cordelia had the children organized by age and had begun reminding the children what they had previously learned. When she felt that they had had enough review, Cordelia asked some of her more competent pupils to help instruct some of the younger ones while she tackled the task of beginning reading with the very little ones.
After almost two grueling hours, Cordelia chased the children out into the garden for a rousing game of hide and seek. Cordelia began by seeking, making a great show of bumbling all over the grounds without finding a single child until finally one of the gallant older boys decided to rescue Cordelia by coughing loudly and obviously.
"It's okay Princess," Karl whispered to her conspiratorially. "I know you're pretending not to find us."
"Do you?" Cordelia laughed, "Then I need to do a better job seeking, if you think I'm pretending." In truth, the older children, it seemed, were experts in the art of stealth while the younger children, though diligent in effort, were easily spotted. Cordelia rather liked the challenge of finding the older children, so she ignored the little ones, hoping that they would enjoy their chance to hide. "Both you and Lars would make excellent spies for his majesty."
Karl beamed up at her before loudly beginning to count. The game was on again, and as Cordelia darted off, she racked her brain, trying to consider the most ideal hiding place that would accommodate her dress.
From his position in the castle, Hans observed the princess thoughtfully. It was not often one saw such caring behavior from one born to privilege, and Hans considered briefly what kind of queen the lady would make one day. When he had met her years past, he had cynically assumed that the compassionate, young girl would eventually be swept away by the splendor of her life and would quickly abandon the ties she had tried to forge with the common folk. Clearly, Hans' assumptions had not born the fruit that he had so confidently foreseen in his youth. Nay, in fact, Princess Cordelia was a paragon of wit, grace, and compassion as she cared for the very children who were often ignored or employed at early ages to help alleviate the hunger most families had come to live with.
Hans contemplated the assumptions he had made while still young and embittered, and he saw reflected in them a young man whose mistrust and bitterness had caused many of his own obstacles. What would have happened if he had embraced the Lord's will for his life rather than questioning Him? Hans had gained nothing railing against his Maker for designing him in what he considered to be inferiority. For all his pains, Hans had only shut himself up from the Maker and any others who might have befriended him. He had seen friendship as suspicious and unbelievable, so when the offer of it presented itself, he had done his best to destroy it before it could hurt him. Now, he saw that he had only hurt himself. He had been formed this way on purpose, Hans surmised, and as usual Hans was tempted to ask the Maker, "Why?" Unfortunately, "why" was not only the question that Hans could not answer, it was the very question that the Maker, it seemed, would not answer, though he had challenged Him with it for much of his life. No, Hans would likely never know why, but now that question no longer tormented him as it once had, and though it still rose to his mind at times, Hans was content to leave his troubles in the mighty hands of the Maker.
Hans looked down at the accounting he was supposed to be attending to and frowned slightly. This was not an ideal endeavor for him as his proficiency with numbers was somewhat lacking because of disuse, but Hans knew that he was as knowledgeable as many others in the same position. What mattered to his employer was that he could read, write, and balance the accounts sufficiently which was a skill not taught to many.
Hans thanked the Maker that his mother had seen fit to give his mind employment when she could get only halting physical work from him. Hans' inability to do manual labor was an enormous cause for concern, and Hans had almost been cast out of his home for fear that he would be a leach to his family. Just as his father had been ready to give the order, however, Hans' mother had an epiphany. Why not apprentice him to a steward for a time so that Hans would be able to also contribute to the family? Everyone was well-satisfied, everyone, that is, except for Hans.
Hans had hated being a steward, despite his ability to pick up the skill quickly, so he had resisted proving his proficiency with it so that the old steward would give up on him and cast him aside. Fortunately, Hans' plan had backfired, and now, Hans was grateful that the old man had seen more than even Hans' own parents. His old Master had seen his keen mind and ability and coaxed the learning out of him. It was a pity that the old steward had died, forcing Hans to put up with a younger man in his place, a younger man who had despised the crippled hunchback and had looked for any opportunity to remove him. Hans now found it amusing that he was now engaged in the one job he had despised so passionately, and not only was he working as a steward, but he enjoyed it. Hans bent his neck to the task at hand, doing his best to ignore the merriment that leaked in through the window.