"I've come across a few like you

Daring and brass, cunning too,

I know you've traveled for my tale

Of a young princess – her handsome male

So sit, sit, I will tell you now

This time-worn story, nothing's afoul

There comes a time when one must spill,

A secret, within great power to kill,

So come on in, dust off that snow,

It is time for earthborns, like you, to know,

I've brewed some of my Yuletide Tea.

It goes well with the story, you will see."

In the soft sands of another life, two children played yet another round of hide and seek in the laze of a hot summer's day. They were antithesis' of each other, both of looks, personality, and of social standing. The girl was a porcelain princess, with stark blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, and a pale complexion. The boy was a native ruffian, with ruffled ebony tangles, emerald cat-eyes, and an olive complexion.

They rounded each other out, coming in hard where the other was soft, smoothing each others edges, sharpening each others corners. Where she was all elegance and dignity, he was all sharp-tongued and outspoken. Where she was timid and shy, he was daring and adventurous. Where she was kind, he was brass. Where she was royal, he was common. Where she was revered, he was spat upon.

For several years, they played together. It was mostly when the girl's elder sisters were in their lessons, not able to entertain the youngest of the household. It was a short friendship – probably lasted all of three summers – but in those three summers, the two were inseparable. Secrets, whispers, shoves and laughter passed fluently between the two, and they made quite the stir among the help. Many of the maids gossiped about the boy's quite influential hold upon her, claiming he would turn her into a ruffian just like him. Word of them spread like wild fire, eyes watched them like a hawk, and tongues clucked in pity. It was undignified for a respectable girl to play with an aboriginal.

But few knew of what went on inside; they were caught in the appearance of their relationship, when in reality, the girl nor the boy was affected as such. He brought out the best and worst of the girl. She brought out the best and worst of him. They worked like clockwork, mischief and pranks ensuing. Along with many tussles and bruises.

Most often they would bicker – fight incessantly like lovers – and they would return to the castle sprayed in mud and scrapes. It was a common sight the help witnessed, and many of them could pin down exactly what ailment it was from afar. The girl's beautiful blonde hair would be coated in the dark stuff, cheeks high in color as she spouted off the most nefarious of curses upon her playmate, most likely nursing a skinned elbow. The boy would just be grinning cheekily, equally as dirty and injured, but quite delighted in their adventures; he would know she had a good time, and that he wasn't out of a friend just yet.

This is the story of a princess:

Angeline Alavian Elenor von Ducherry, formally of the Eliasia Kingdom. She was the youngest and prettiest daughter of the formidable Ducharry royal family; her great-great-great grandfather had ascended the throne and founded the youngest Kingdom. She came from a long line of nobility, her blood and breeding pure as a snowflake.

This is the story of her lost love:

Nico Runatokane of the Eliasia Royal Stables. He was the eldest of three brothers, two of which died from typhoid, the other who had been sent to live as a butler. His great-great-great grandfather had rebelled against the conquistadors, and had been slain for treason against the new Kingdom. He came from a long line of traditions, his blood and breeding as dirty as the mud he tussled in.

And this is finally the story of a dappled gray stallion:

Zephyrus of Stall 154. He was the last offspring of the famed racing mare. His great-great-great grandfather is unknown. He came from a long line of royal horses, his blood and breeding as pure as the racetracks.

And this is finally the story of how it all came together, a beautiful rendition of forbidden desires, of a temptress' golden apple, of a friendship, of a ball and something more.

And this is the story of how it all fell apart.

Author's Note:Please read poem at beginning. And hey, be a beautiful person and check out my profile! :)

This story will be a quick one, sort of like a one-shot, sort of like a short story. Less than ten chapters.

But If you like quick romantic one-shots, go and check out my story: Shattered Encounter. I promise you you'll enjoy.



" Excuse me?" said the girl, caught off guard.

" You heard me," said the voice, harsher, sharper than even her mother's chastising tones. It shocked her, startled her. The boy – for it was most definitely a masculine voice, sure, steady, and a beautiful tenor – sounded irritated. " Get your hands off Princess Angeline's horse, put them behind your head, and step away. I will not ask more than once."

" I don't think you know exactly who you're talking to," continued Angel, her voice haughty and prim. Her slender hands reached towards her hood, but then hesitated. Her whole evening had been compromised by the intrusion of an irritated stable boy; no doubt news of her night visit to the stable would be the freshest gossip among the servants tomorrow morn. Better to frighten him off then to let her true identity be known. " I suggest you turn away now, and forget this entire encounter, and I'll let you live."