It happened in the flurry of an instant. There was a murmur of words; a shaking hand reaching through the thick summer night for a pair of wide blue eyes. Flashes of color drove away shadows, and the blue eyes disappeared into a pool of white light. The light pulsed and dissolved. Footsteps grew fainter with distance, leaving the blue eyed one alone.

...the sound of feathers filled the night.

The summer air was heavy with the scent of flora and humidity. In an effort to combat the heat, the servants had opened every reachable window of Amaranth House. It would have been a fitting name for the place, were it not called ‘house’; amaranth flowers grew in abundance in all the surrounding land, and the structure itself was ancient and strong to the point of immortality (as the amaranth flower is thought to be). But Amaranth House was not, as it would seem, a house. It was the manor estate of the late royal family of Devaney. Devaney had new rulers now, whose power had been acquired by some shady means, but Amaranth House still functioned as it had in older days. The new regime did not control its lands yet, if only because none in the government knew of its existence. In the deep south of the country, Amaranth House was secluded not only by its geography- it had long been a secret of the late royalty. The King and Queen had used it as an escape from court life- a summer retreat free of nobles and troubles. Though the King and Queen would never return, it would be wrong to say there was no royal blood left in the shades, or treetops, of Amaranth.

“My Lord, please!” The head butler of Amaranth House stood beneath a great willow, squinting up into its branches, frustration evident on his wrinkled face. He repeated his call twice before the rustle of branches indicated his words had reached the intended ears. At last relief breathed onto the old man’s face as a boy jumped from the lowest branch to land safely on the ground. “Lysander,” he sighed as the boy dusted himself off, “when will you learn not to try and stop this old heart before God wills it?”

Lysander, with all the confidence that came with his sixteen years responded, “When will your old heart learn I’m not going to fall?” The teenager laughed as the butler rapped him lightly on the head. “Even you’ve said I have all the grace in the world, Horatio.”

“You can thank your mother for that, but I’ll never know how you manage to pull it off,” Horatio, struggling with his façade of a disciplining elder, turned away from the tree and Lysander and began the walk back to the House. “Come on then. Cook is waiting.”

“Just a minute, I’ve got a snack for my friends,” Lysander called, already running in the opposite direction. These ‘friends’ were in fact geese, who lived in and about a small lake by the willow tree. They waddled over to greet Lysander as he stood by the shore, pulling a piece of bread from his pockets. He broke it into pieces and scattered it amongst them, watching with fond eyes as they pecked and squabbled over the crumbs. He squatted down to pat the nearest on their heads, and they looked up to see if he had more for them. Laughing, Lysander shook his head and squawking their disappointment, the geese shuffled back to their daily business.

“Lysander,” Horatio said beside him, having finally caught up with the boy, “it’s already past five. We want to be inside before dark,” he said meaningfully, putting a hand on Lysander’s shoulder only to be brushed off.

“Alright, alright,” Lysander grumbled, and Horatio winced at the noticeable change in the teenager’s mood. He hated to see the lively boy with such a sour expression on his face. This was all for his own good – everything Horatio did was always for Lysander’s own good – but it hurt to see the boy like this.

Luckily, Cook always knew how to fix a moody Lysander; a smile appeared on his face as soon as he stepped into the kitchen, recognizing the smell of his favorite desert. “Cook, you made tarts,” he exclaimed, hugging her around the shoulders like a child clinging to his mother.

“Aye and shepherd’s pie too,” Cook said, beaming, “but you shan’t be having it down here. No, up to the dining hall with you- and wash your hands!”

Though the only one dining was Lysander, Amaranth House’s staff treated each dinner as a grand affair. Horatio insisted it was to keep their skills sharp, but in secret it was just so that Lysander could have every comfort in the world. The teenager had lost his parents at a young age, and bore scars of Devaney’s rebellion that went deeper than most knew. In an effort to protect Lysander, Horatio had not told him anything more of his past than that Lysander’s family had owned the house for a very long time, and this was why he lived there. If word got out that there was still royal blood in Devaney... Horatio feared what would become of the boy. He had always pitied Lysander, but that pity grew to affection as Lysander became older. Horatio was the only father-figure he had, and the old butler was determined not to let the boy down. And so, each night it was Horatio who set the long mahogany dining table with utmost care and precision. Lysander dined on expensive china plates with designs in pure gold, and ate with silverware studded with amaranthine rubies. Lysander himself never saw any reason to bring such high class cutlery out when it was just him eating, but he had lost the argument to Horatio so many times that he eventually dropped it.

“Shepherd’s pie,” Horatio announced, serving Lysander as another servant pushed his chair in.

“Looks delicious,” Lysander grinned, putting a forkful into his mouth. “And of course, tastes delicious. Tell Cook she’s done it again.”

Horatio bowed, smiling inwardly at Cook’s knack for knowing just what to make to cheer the boy up. He excused himself while Lysander ate. Just as Horatio was about to exit the dining hall, the glint of the sinking sun caught his eye. Surveying the dimming landscape outside from the ceiling length windows that lined the hall, Horatio cleared his throat.

“My lord, the sun is setting. When you finish dinner would you–”

“I’ll be in my room, Horatio, don’t worry.” Lysander interrupted, and Horatio could not make out his expression for the distance. Lysander’s tone was even, but that didn’t indicate anything.

“…yes, my lord.”

Horatio did not see Lysander again. He was told that Lysander had left immediately after dinner to his room, saying he was not to be disturbed. Horatio honored Lysander’s wishes until the sun was replaced by the full moon, and the old grandfather clock struck half past midnight. He bid goodnight to the rest of the staff before hurrying to the Eastern wing. Horatio knocked twice on Lysander’s door, not expecting any response. He sighed, and creaked open the door.

The room was silent and dark. There was no candlelight, but the curtains had been drawn open to reveal large windows that allowed plenty of moonlight to filter in. Lysander was not in his bed, and his clothes were in a pile on the floor.

“My lord… Lysander. Are you here?”

In response the pile of clothes twitched. Horatio rushed over to help. “Let me help. Sit still.” Horatio separated the clothes, until a swan shrugged free and fluttered to sit by the window.

The swan was obviously sulking. Its head was turned away from Horatio, glaring at the moonlight instead. It was a large bird, pure white except for the black around its strangely blue eyes and the orange of its beak. Horatio stood and went to sit by the bird, trying to pat down a stubborn feather on the back of its head. The swan shrugged away and waddled, albeit with grace, to sit in the corner.

Horatio and the swan sat in silence for the rest of the night; Horatio dozed off at some point between two and three. He woke with the first rays of dawn in his eyes, before another bright light filled the room.

When the whirling of color and light faded away, Lysander emerged, clad in a pure white nightgown. He tottered to the bathroom, picking up his pile of clothes on the way.

“Lysander-”

“In a minute, Horatio. I hate this dratted gown. It feels like I’m wearing a pillow,” Lysander grumbled as he shut the bathroom door.

Author's Note: Hello everyone! :D I hope you enjoyed the first chapter (prologue, really)!

This will be loosely based on the Swan Princess/Swan Lake story, and I mean loosely. As in, the only thing alike is that the main character turns into a swan thanks to a curse. Everything else is pretty much different (lol, the main charrie is a boy, pretty big difference there).

I might change the title. Still debating over that one.

Feedback is love-love-loved!