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Marigold emitted a wistful sigh as she leaned back into the cushions of the sofa holding the now-cold mug of tea. Fatigue lined her eyes as she fought back a yawn.

“I loved that story,” she said. “That was the best one yet.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Hilde smiled, happy to have put her in a better mood.

But it was late. And Linnea would have her head for keeping her up far past her bedtime. There was a doctor’s appointment in the morning. Though her sister hadn’t returned from work yet—she called and said she had to stay another shift—Hilde was certain she’d want her daughter in bed at a decent hour. Now, it was approaching midnight.

“We best get you up to bed now.” She rose and motioned for Marigold to do the same.

She frowned. “Do I have to? How about another story?”

Hilde chuckled. “It’s far too late for that. We’ll have to save it for another time. Come on.”

Reluctantly, Marigold peeled herself off the sofa, placing the half-drunk tea on the coffee table, then trudging toward the stairs. Suddenly, she halted and turned back.

“But, auntie, you didn’t tell me the whole story.”

“I didn’t?” Confusion edged through her. There wasn’t much she left out.

“No. What about Leopold? How did he know to find Bella and her father in the Hall of Justice?” Her brows drew together with sincere concern.

“Oh, well, that’s an easy one. Dickens, you see, was magical and had watched over Bella, her father, and her household from the moment Leopold sent him to find out more about them.”

“He was the mysterious benefactor, wasn’t he?” she asked.

Hilde nodded. “He was.”

She wrapped her arm around her niece’s shoulders and started her for the stairs once more. As they headed up, Marigold yawned.

“But…what happened after they got in the carriage? Did her father get his merchant business back?”

“Of course, he did. Enzo Rinaldi was a resourceful and smart man. After he was exonerated, he rebuilt his ships. He started sailing the seas once again, looking for rare treasures for Bella.”

Enzo Rinaldi became the most successful merchant in Port Leclare. His business boomed. He had a whole fleet of ships with a thriving business there in port while Bella remained at Hawthorne Hall running the estate. They never rebuilt the home in the port, though, as Bella preferred to remain close to Leopold.

Another yawn. “Did they live happily ever after? Did they get married?”

“They did marry. Afterward, Bella sold Hawthorne Hall and moved into the castle with Leopold and Dickens.”

The wedding was small, intimate, lovely. They married under a bower of roses in the gardens at Thornhurst Castle in the late Spring.

They had four children, filling the once lonely and silent halls with music and laugher and a lot of love between them all. Leopold never reclaimed his title as king, preferring to remain nothing more than a nobleman who spent hours in his extravagant library. Bella taught her children how to read and write, and one precocious young lady inherited her magical gift—the gift of reading strange languages.

Dickens remained stoic and, eventually, the children referred to him as Uncle Dickens. Something he, at first, resisted but quickly accepted when he realized he was as smitten with them as he was with Bella.

A lovely family.

At the top of the stairs, they turned into Marigold’s room. She dressed for bed as Hilde pulled back the covers. Then she helped her brush out her long golden hair.

“Someday my prince will come,” Marigold said, sounding wistful.

“Perhaps he will.”

“And he’ll be just as handsome as Leopold.”

“I’m sure he will,” Hilde agreed. She tucked her into the bed and kissed her forehead. “Good night, sweet girl.”

It was hard to turn and walk away when all she wanted to do was watch over her for the rest of the night. But her energy was fading, and she knew she had to return to her own home soon.

“Aunt Hilde?”

At the door, she paused, her hand hovering over the light switch. “Yes?”

“Do you think I’ll ever fit in with those other girls?”

Her initial response was no. She didn't belong with those mean, envious girls. One day, Marigold would understand that.

But she didn’t want to tell her that. Instead, she smiled and nodded. “I think some day you might. Good night.”

She flipped off the light and closed the door behind her. Her heart ached for the girl. She had to tell her the truth. Marigold needed to know. Because in the morning, when she awoke, her arm would no longer be broken. The bones would knit themselves back together into one piece. As if it had never happened.

Linnea thought keeping the truth from her was protecting her. Hilde knew differently and someday, when the time was right, she’d tell her. The time was almost right.