Twelve-year-old Charlotte Christianson burst through the door of the servant’s quarters, startling Michael’s mother. Mary glared at her.

“May I help you, Miss Charlotte?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“Where is Michael?” Charlotte asked, foregoing all pleasantries.

“My son is not here.” Mary responded curtly, turning back to her work.

Now frantic, Charlotte sprinted back to the castle to find her grandmother.

Charlotte eventually found The Grand Duchess in her room, knitting and humming quietly to herself.

“WHERE IS HE?” Charlotte screamed at her grandmother.

“Where is who?” Aurora asked, not looking up.

“MICHAEL!” she roared.

Aurora ignored her.

“TELL ME!” Charlotte shrieked, balling her little fists up and shaking them in frustration. Her right hand accidently knocked a bottle off her grandmother’s vanity. Charlotte froze.

The Grand Duchess stopped, looking up at her granddaughter.

“That perfume cost more than you are worth.” Aurora sighed, standing up.

Charlotte cowered, realizing what she had done.

“I am sorry.” she whispered, backing up.

“Yes, you are.” Aurora responded, grabbing her left wrist.

The Grand Duchess tightened her grip on the squirming child as she brought one of her knitting needles down into Charlotte’s palm.