Xavier leans against the wall of the building across the street from Mireille's shop, glaring angrily at the broom, which stands guard outside the tiny shop as though it were a palace sentry. What in blazes was that?! Perhaps this is the tyranny she referred to? How can she live like that, subject to a broom? he wonders. And yet, for all that, she has a point. It really is unfair for me to take her away to her doom at the hands of the Queen...but what choice do I have? If I do not comply with the Queen's orders and return tonight, she herself will come here tomorrow, and then we are both done for.
Still, he is quite uncomfortable with the idea of taking Mireille to the palace by force. Although he has only just met her, he has already found her both intelligent and beautiful. Indeed, he has never before seen a woman with such a perfect figure, such ivory skin, such luminous black tresses, or such breathtaking green eyes. Her face is not delicate, but it is nonetheless beautiful and strengthened by inner grace, determination, and fortitude. Truly, it would be a pity to subject such a work of art to the Queen's tyranny....
"All right, broom. Can we negotiate?" the Prince asks his adversary. The broom takes on a haughtier stance but does not move to attack, even as the Prince approaches. "Good. I shall not attempt to take her to the palace tonight, but there are a few things you must understand. The Queen herself will come here in the morning if Mireille is not in the palace tonight. I am only trying to make this easier--"
"You are only being a coward," Mireille calls scathingly from inside the house, "and speaking to a broom as if it's better than me."
"Your broom will not let me near your door!" Xavier protests, trying ineffectually to get past the broom.
"Maybe you should take a hint and GO AWAY!"
"I am only trying to help you! Do you want the Queen to be here tomorrow?"
"Well, not particularly, but it could be entertaining, and defying her to her face ought to be good fun."
"You, Mademoiselle, are completely out of your mind!"
"Maybe so, but I'd rather be out of my mind than Her Majesty's servant."
The broom smacks Xavier over the head to punctuate Mireille's point.
"Your broom could accompany us, if you would like. I have been looking for a new security guard." The broom gives him a sharp pole to the gut while Mireille laughs. "OOF!"
"There's your answer, Xavier. Really, you harm only yourself with your persistence...."
"I am aware of that," he replies through gritted teeth. "But why can you not see that I am only trying to help?"
"If you really wanted to help me, you would be riding back to the palace to lie to your mother about my skills instead of arguing with me here."
"But lying is against my principles, just as working for her is against yours."
"That's absolute balderdash. You lie to her all the time. What's one more?"
"Watch your tongue, Mireille."
"You're just angry because I'm right and I'm bold enough to say such things to your face."
"Easy enough with your broom and your cottage between us. Who is the coward now?"
Mireille leaves the house and stands on the front doorstep, thoroughly angered by that remark. "Have off, Isaac, please," Mireille asks the broom politely with an elegant curtsey. The broom reluctantly flies into the house. "You were saying...?"
Xavier just stares at her in shock. "Are you a witch?"
She laughs. "No, but the last seamstress of Adrennes was. She never removed the magic from the broom, whom I've named Isaac, before she was executed. He has a mind of his own, but he usually listens to me. I don't know why."
"You are a very strange girl."
"Perhaps. I'm certainly unfit for palace life, especially with her. Come now, Xavier, wish you truly to subject me to such a fate?"
He sighs and moves to the edge of her rickety front steps. "No, but I fear it is inevitable. The Queen will stop at nothing to get what she wants."
"I'm not scared of her."
"You know her not. Please, Mireille, listen to me! If you keep this up, you will certainly get hurt, and I have no desire to see that happen."
"Then prevent it. Stand up for me. I'd do the same for you."
He gapes at her in shock. "Why?!"
"Because it's the right thing to do."
He just stares open-mouthed at her, his amazed dark amber eyes on her calm, sure green ones.
"You amaze me," he breathes after several seconds. He starts up the steps, and Mireille tenses, eyes turning wary. She has something wild about her in that instant, which only intrigues him further. "What? What is the matter?" He advances closer to her and she backs up, pressing herself against her front door while fumbling for the latch. "What? I swear I shall not hurt--"
"Don't touch me!" she hisses, pressing herself even tighter against the door as though hoping the house's magic will allow her to pass through the wood like a ghost. A ray of moonlight illuminates her small frame and Xavier is suddenly struck by how slender and frail she truly seems. The fear showing plain in her features only highlights this discovery further.
"I was not intending to do any such thing," Xavier replies, confused. "I just...I...never mind. I apologize." She stares at him as though he is a swamp monster or some other horrible creature. He backs up two steps, and she visibly relaxes, which only confuses him further. "I do not understand...."
"You've no need to." They stare at each other in silence for several moments. "I think you should go."
"But the Queen--"
"Bollocks to the Queen. I've no place with her." Xavier's jaw drops, unable to believe the words from the young village woman's lips. "I don't care what she thinks, what she says, or what she does. She can't break me. Have I made myself clear?" The prince nods numbly, still at a loss for words. "Good. Now, go to the inn two blocks over. They'll take care of you."
"My horse and my travelling companion are there now, thank you. I will see you in the morning."
She arches an eyebrow, perplexed. "Will you?"
He nods and smiles. "My honor will not permit me to allow a crazy village girl like you defy the Queen to her face alone. I shall be here when you open your shop in the morning."
She smiles rapturously at him, making it nearly impossible for him to avoid staring openly at her beauty.
"Thank you, Your Highness." She sweeps a small but still elegant curtsey, and in the back of his mind he wonders who taught her such a mane. He opens his mouth to question her use of his title, but closes it as he realizes that it is her way of telling him that he has earned her respect. Unable to come up with an adequate reply, he simply smiles and leaves. Mireille giggles slightly once he moves out of earshot and goes back inside, marvelling that she has somehow made friends with the prince of the realm.