So these were Alek's parents.

While it was evident Alek took after his mother when it came to looks, he certainly took after his father when it came to projecting a demeanor of icy indifference.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here," Alek said.

"A Drosselmeyer has always been in attendance at the Christmas Gala," his father replied, "a tradition I couldn't allow to be broken because my son was shirking his responsibilities."

Alek said nothing, simply glared at Ephraim Drosselmeyer as though if he willed it hard enough, the man would simply disappear.

"What your father means to say," the woman interrupted, "is that we were concerned something might have happened and came to inquire after your health. We got into contact Ms. Avery who assured us everything was fine."

"Is that so?" Alek asked, looking pointedly at his father.

The man said nothing.

"Mother! Father!" Arabella's voice rang out over the heads of those nearest to them. They all turned to see the bobbing tower of red hair as Arabella maneuvered through the crush of bodies traveling between a garden terrace and the dance floor. "It's so lovely to see you."

"I could say the same thing about you, Arabella," Helena said causing Arabella's smile to falter for a moment. "What have we told you about coming here and bothering your brother?"

"He doesn't mind," Arabella said with a pout.

"You'll be returning home with your father and I in the morning," Helena declared, "and I won't hear another word about it."

Arabella looked towards her father, "Papa, please-"

"You heard your mother, Ara," he said, his voice stern but warmer than it had been when he had addressed Alek. "We'll pick you up first thing so make sure you are ready to go."

Arabella looked like she wanted to argue further, but one look from her father and she lowered her head in defeat. "Fine, but I shall hate you for the rest of my life," Arabella announce dramatically before disappearing back into the crowd in a flurry of green silk taffeta.

"That child is going to be the death of me," Helena said with a heavy sigh. She turned back towards Alek before her gaze settled on Claire. "Now then, who is this charming young lady?"

"This is Miss Claire Bronte," Alek said, "Claire, this is my mother, Lady Helena Drosselmeyer and my father, Lord Ephraim Drosselmeyer."

"Please, call me Helena," the woman said, reaching out to take Claire's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Ephraim's gaze swept Claire from head to toe and he smirked, leveling a stony glare towards his son. "What's this? Have you managed to drive away every noblewoman in Avala that you must resort to bringing common trash to royal events? Have you no sense of pride? No sense of family honor? Does the Drosselmeyer name mean so little to you?"

"Ephraim!" Helena gasped, cutting him off mid rant

Ephraim looked like he wanted to say more but didn't. Instead he turned sharply on his heel, muttering something about getting a drink, and waded back into the crowd.

"Alek, your father, he-"

"It's alright, mother," Alek cut her off briskly, "you don't have to keep making excuses for him. Have a lovely evening." He offered her a short bow. "Come on, Claire," he grabbed hold of Claire's hand and pulled her in the direction of the terrace. Claire didn't fight him, she was too taken aback by what was said.

Alek lead her down a narrow flight of steps to a decorated garden whose flowers continued to bloom even though the sun had long since set. He didn't stop until the music became a distant memory, barely audible over the sound of the wind whistling through the trees. Snow drifted down around them in slow, lazy spirals and though it was cold, Claire barely felt it.

"I'm sorry about that," he said, taking a deep, steadying breath.

"It's alright," Claire said quietly.

"No, it's not," he protested, lifting his gaze to meet hers. "My father he ... he's always been a hard man, always had such high expectations, and no matter what I did to meet them, to excel even, it was never enough. I always fell short, I..."

"I'm sorry, Alek," Claire murmured. Seeing how much it hurt him made her heart ache in her chest.

Alek looked towards her, a sad smile playing across his lips. "You aren't common and you aren't trash," he assured her, his hand rising to cup her cheek. "You are frustratingly stubborn, nosy, and argumentative."

"Gee, thanks, that's so much better," Claire replied with a smirk.

"But you are also smart, and beautiful, and witty... and no matter how hard I tried to deny you, somehow through sheer tenacity, you managed to worm your way into my heart..."

"Alek..."

"Shh," he said, leaning in, "No more interruptions."

Claire barely had time to reconcile what he meant with what was about to happen. His arm slipped around her waist, pulling her against him as his mouth closed over hers. She leaned into the embrace, savoring the warm softness of his lips against hers as she slipped her arms around his neck.

When he finally drew back, just enough to break the kiss, Claire felt breathless and lightheaded.

"Why did you stop?" she asked causing Alek to chuckle.

"I don't know about you, but I needed to breathe," he said, brushing his thumb over the curve of her cheek.

"Breathing done," she announced, rising on tiptoe in an attempt to steal another kiss. Alek held her at bay, pressing a light kiss to the tip of her nose. "Well I suppose we can add feisty to your list of traits," Alek declared.

"Good or bad?"

"Still under consideration, but leaning towards good..."

Claire laughed and Alek pulled her into a tight hug.

"Thank you, Claire," he said softly.

"For what?" Claire asked.

"For being you."

The ride back to Viridian street was much quieter. The knowledge that she would have to return home in the morning had caused Arabella to grow sullen. Draz had shed much of his finery the moment the carriage door closed and sat beside Arabella with his waistcoat unbuttoned and both his topcoat and cravat lying abandoned somewhere on the carriage floor.

They hadn't seen Alek's parents again and Claire had a feeling that was not a coincidence. Not that she minded much. Helena had been nice enough and Claire cared little for Ephraim, not just because of what he had called her, but because of how he treated Alek.

"Did you have fun?" Alek asked quietly, his hand curled in hers.

"Yeah," Claire replied with a nod.

"I saw you talking to your parents," Draz said, "I could only imagine what was being said."

"My father decided to target Claire to try to hurt me," Alek replied with a shake of his head.

"He what? What did he say? I'll punch that smug smile off his face the next time I get the chance," Draz declared hotly.

"It was nothing," Claire interjected, "and certainly nothing to get into a fist fight over."

"You're too nice, Claire," Draz grumbled, slumping back in his seat. "It doesn't matter, I don't need a reason."

Claire shook her head, resisting the urge to smile. She opted to gaze out the window instead, not wanting to offer Draz anything that might encourage his brutish behaviors.

The countryside had slowly but surely merged back into the bustling city that reminded Claire so much of home and yet still seemed so alien.

The light snow that had begun earlier in the garden at the palace, fell more steadily now, coming down in fat, wet flakes that quickly coated streets and sidewalks, rooftops and walkways, and all that lay in between.

When the carriage rolled to a stop in front of Alek's house, he paid the driver and the group quickly made their way inside and out of the cold. In the foyer they stomped the snow from their shoes and shook it from their outer garments so as not to track it through the house and make more work for Ms. Avery come morning.

Arabella didn't even say goodnight, simply wafted, ghost-like, up the stairs towards the second floor as though she were facing the executioner come morning rather than her parents.

"The next time there is a ball, I'm going into hiding," Draz declared before ducking into his room and closing the door with a heavy thud.

"Arabella will be so disappointed," Claire mused causing Alek to laugh.

"She'll survive," Alek said with a smirk. Claire reached out to open the door to her room. "Now, what about you?"

"What about me?" Claire asked, hand resting on the knob.

"Are you going to need help getting that dress off? What with my sister off pouting in her room," he said, stepping closer, his hands coming to rest on her bare shoulders. "it's a sacrifice and a hardship I shall have to endure... but I'd be more than happy to help."

"Aleksandr!" Claire exclaimed, feeling the heat rushing up her neck to blossom in her cheeks, "what kind of woman do you take me for?"

"One whose arms are not long enough to pull all those laces free?" Alek offered, giving the ribbon in question a light tug, his grin growing wider. "I'm just trying to be helpful, what did you think I intended to do?"

Claire fell silent, her cheeks growing hotter.

"Oh... well I never... what kind of man do you take me for? Draz?"

"What, I- ... w-well no," Claire stammered, her cheeks blazing now. There was laughter in Alek's eyes which only made the entire awkward situation that much worse. She knew it was better to concede than to continue fighting a losing battle. "I'm going to bed, thank you for a lovely evening, goodnight Alek."

"Goodnight, Claire," Alek called out as she retreated into the quiet sanctuary of her bedroom.

The next morning seemed to dawn earlier than usual, at least it felt that way. Claire refused to attribute it to the fact that she had spent a good hour tossing and turning after Alek had left the previous evening.

Instead, she blamed the stiffness in her injured leg, though in reality it wasn't all that bad. The fact that it was sore after the previous evening's festivities really came as no surprise, and Claire knew that once she was up and moving the muscles would relax and her leg would feel better.

As Claire lay there, drifting in and out of sleep, she found herself fully awoken by the sound of arguing. Pushing the heavy blankets aside, she made her way over to the bedroom door and opened it just a crack. Seeing no one, Claire moved further down the hall, her curiosity getting the better of her. As she drew closer to the source, the door to Arabella's room swung open unexpectedly causing Claire to panic and dart into the nearest room just as Arabella stormed out, her mother hot on her heels.

"We've been over this already," Helena Drosselmeyer insisted. "You need to return home, your father is insistent."

"But it's so boring in the country," Arabella whined. "I hate it there, none of my friends wish to visit me and there aren't any gentlemen callers."

"Your father has already arranged a match for you," Helena reminded her. Claire watched as Arabella stomped her foot and clenched her hands into tight fists.

"And I already told you that I do not wish to marry him," she stated.

"Why ever not? He's a perfectly fine match, he is handsome, well mannered, and comes from a very old noble line," Helena said, ticking off each trait as though she were shopping for groceries.

"And he's boring, all he ever wants to talk about is politics, he doesn't know any poetry, and he hates the city and going to parties, mother, I will die if I have to spend my entire life in the country knitting socks!" Arabella cried.

"Oh nonsense, Ara, it's high time you grew up and started acting more like a woman and less like a child," Helena snapped. "Now your things are already packed up and loaded into the carriage. Your father has business with the king so you and I shall be going on ahead..."

Whatever else Helena said was lost as she pulled her wayward, pouting daughter towards the other end of the hallway.

Not wanting to leave too soon and risk exposing her presence, Claire turned to examine the room she had take refuge in. It wasn't a room at all, but a narrow staircase leading up to another, closed door under which shone the pale yellow glow of a light.

I have a study in the attic, the stairs are right through that door.

Was this the same door Alek had indicated earlier as being the one which lead to the attic?

Was he awake?

The light seemed to suggest that he was, but there was only one way to know for sure.

She expected the stairs to creak in protest beneath the unexpected weight, but no sound rose from the sturdy planks of polished wood. As she neared the top she started to hear things: soft mechanical whirs, the rhythmic plunk of metal striking metal, the hiss of steam being released into the air, and beneath it all, very faint, the soft tinkle of a music box.

At first Claire wasn't sure she heard it at all, but as she reached the upper landing the sound grew more prominent, though still buried beneath the thrum of tiny machinery plugging along.

Beyond the first door there was a narrow hall and second door, this one hung part way open, as though it had not been closed with enough force for the latch to catch.

Peering through the gap, Claire could make out part of what appeared to be a small, circular room. The floor was covered in mismatched rugs of varying sizes and colors, the walls were lined with shelves laden with books, papers and various odds and ends.

Easing the door open further she saw a cluttered desk with even more books and more papers sitting in haphazard stacks that defied gravity.

Past the desk was a small fireplace where a low fire still burned and she stepped around the door her eyes finally settled on who she had come to find.

Alek lay there sleeping, his body draped across the full length of a faded, dusty green chaise lounge which had clearly seen better days.

It made her wonder just how long the thing had been up there, and how long Alek had been using it as a makeshift bed.

He had changed from his ball attire into a pair of simple black slacks and a white button up shirt that was only partially buttoned. One arm was slung over his face, shielding his eyes from the room's meager light.

It was the most casual she had seen him and she felt a little guilty, as though she had stolen a glimpse of something she wasn't meant to see.

In his other hand, which rested curled against his chest, he held a small ceramic jewelry box. It was from this box that the music Claire had heard now drifted.

She leaned in closer, each metallic tine producing a new note, each rotation of the drum creating a haunting symphony that both captivated and sadden Claire.

Alek shifted unexpectedly, mumbled something Claire could not understand, and let out a heavy sigh. Deciding it would be best if she left, Claire slowly began to back away and towards the door. She'd come back later, she decided, when Alek was awake and aware of her presence and she didn't feel like an intruder.

She was nearly there when her hip brushed against a pile of books, upsetting the stack and causing them to spill across the floor.