January 1

10 am

Well, it's a new year and a new life. I have just finished my first breakfast service and I'm about to plan the schedules for cleaning the castle and receiving food deliveries. As I was searching for parchment, I came across this empty book and I couldn't help myself – I had to claim it for a diary. My head is just swimming; in less than 24 hours my entire life has been turned upside down and I need to write it all down to make sense of it.

Last night I was with Papa and his knights, trying to stay informed. My job, as always, was twofold: look pretty and keep up morale. As it was New Years Eve, my father instructed me to dress as if nothing had changed – even though the castle was deserted and we sequestered ourselves for our safety.

We received news that Avonlea had fallen, and all hope seemed lost. Our message for help for the only one who could save us had gone unanswered. The knights claimed we were doomed. I tried to do my part to rally them, to keep my father's spirits up, but he was crestfallen and we reached our greatest point of desperation.

Which was of course the perfect time for him to make his entrance.

And what an entrance he made. We heard a knock on the door and unbolted it, only to discover no one there. And then from behind, we heard, "Well, that was a bit of a letdown." We turned quickly and there he was – sitting on my father's throne.

The mighty Rumpelstiltskin.

He immediately intrigued me. He bargained with my father I suppose, for I was too busy observing him to hear what was said. I had heard so many tales that I wasn't sure what was fact and what was fiction. He was shorter than I imagined for someone whose mere presence evokes such fear — only slightly taller than myself. I was surprised to find that I was not afraid of him. Cautious, yes, and definitely curious, but not afraid. I had heard about how he had made his skin impenetrable, and it glowed with a gray intensity I never thought possible. This being — whether man or beast — had … gravitas. Yes, that is the best word to describe it. Even though he cackled and made jokes, he had more gravitas than anyone I had ever encountered before.

He did not look my way once, so I was surprised when he announced that the price for saving the village was me.

Now I was afraid. A pretty girl being bartered like a slave has a certain purpose, and that life I would not wish on my worst enemy (who incidentally is Betsy Peadie, but that's a story for another day). Gaston's arms instantly shielded me as he announced our engagement. He might as well have said, "I have dibs."

Thankfully Rumpelstiltskin clarified his purpose. He needed a caretaker for his estate.

Now that was a different story! I could save my entire village by doing an actual job - a job that wasn't about looking pretty and trying to keep everybody upbeat! Here was a respectable position requiring a certain skill set, work ethic and hard labor. No longer would I hear, "Oh Belle, we have people to do that for us" or "You'll ruin your pretty hands." It would be nice to be useful AND save my family and friends from peril.

So he gave me his word, and I gave him mine.

As he put his hand on the small of my back and steered me away, I did not welcome his touch, and I began to question if I had made the right decision. But it was one I stood by.

Within the blink of an eye, we reached his castle and he hustled me inside, leading me to "my room": the dungeon. I was flabbergasted. I had just committed myself to being his caretaker, and he was locking me up? He cackled, locked the door and left me in disbelief. Upon reflection, I realized this was a tactic to remind me of the initial ground rules: he is the jailer and I am the jailed. As if I needed reminding.

This morning he retrieved me from the dungeon and brought me to the kitchen in a separate section of the cellar. His kitchen was typical for a bachelor: nothing was organized. It was functional and not too horribly dirty, but obviously lacking a woman's touch.

He led me into the scullery and stopped at the sink and an indoor water pump. He tapped his fingertips together with refrained glee. "Pump water for tea, thinking about the tea as you pump it."

I did as he commanded, and the resulting water was the perfect temperature for tea.

He cackled at the astonishment on my face. "A spell of mine to provide water at the temperature at which it's needed." He pointed to my feet. "Now take off your shoes."

His odd requests were making me nervous, but I slipped them off.

"What do you feel?" he asked.

"The stone," I answered in confusion. His eyebrows rose and then I realized what he is after. "It's warm – in the middle of winter!"

"It's called radiant heat," he explained. "Another spell of mine. Keeps the floor at a consistent temperature all year round. Also keeps the castle's drafty stone walls insulated."

I bit my lower lip and shook my head in wonder. "That's ingenious!"

He tapped his fingertips again and looked at the ceiling with mock demureness.

"Follow me to the collection room. And bring the tea!"

His collection room doubles as the dining room – and it's one of the rooms he took me through last night to reach the dungeons. As I served him tea, he instructed me on my responsibilities. I tried to make mental notes of everything he said I needed to do - and not appear as nervous as I felt.

But then he ended his to-do list with, "And skin the children for their pelts."

I immediately dropped the teacup.

He grinned at my reaction. "Just a quip. Not serious," he clarified, followed by his trademark cackle.

I smiled and relaxed slightly – until I bent down to grab the teacup and noticed its chip. I nervously showed him and apologized. I had a feeling I was headed back to the dungeon.

He looked perplexed at my nervousness. "It's just a cup," he dismissed.

It's just a cup. I sighed with relief, and at that moment I knew I'd be fine. He had a sense of humor and a sense of perspective, traits that had been severely lacking in the people within my own castle walls. If he could laugh something off, maybe it was OK for me to as well.

I returned to the kitchen to see what I could scrounge for breakfast. This was my first real assignment, and I had to show my worth.

I made his breakfast, placed it on a tray and brought it up to him just as he was finishing his tea.

As I approached, he said, "You know, dearie. This better not be an attempt to poison me. Because it won't work."

He wasn't the only one who could quip. "Not on my first day," I wryly announced. "Maybe next week."

I stepped several paces back to give him his space while observing his reaction.

He stared at my creation for a few moments and did not speak or move. I cringed. He picked up the spoon. Finally he broke the silence.

"What is this?" he asked.

"Hot porridge," I answered, my courage fading. "With orange slices on the side."

He picked up his spoon. "No, I mean this." He pointed inside the bowl.

I peeked inside to see what he was referring to.

I'd given the most dangerous and feared being in all the land a bowl full of porridge — with a molasses smiley face in it.

I felt my cheeks flush at how ridiculous that sounded.

"Um, a smiley face?" I said tenuously. "You, um, are supposed to mix it in for flavor."

He tasted a small spoonful, tapping the tip of his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

I wrung my hands. "Is everything all right?"

"What? Oh yes, yes, dearie. I just didn't expect … this."

I winced and stepped forward to explain myself. "I know it's not eggs and bacon, but this is my first full day and your pantry is fairly bare. I will need to get in touch with people from the village for food deliveries. Set up schedules. I'll have whatever you request tomorrow."

He licked the spoon upside down in his mouth and pulled it out slowly. "Fine, then I'll put in my request now."

I stood at attention, waiting to hear what he had to say. His eyes met mine.

"I will have this exact same breakfast tomorrow. Just as it is."

I gasped and grinned at my success. "Really? Smiley face and all?"

"Smiley face and all."

I pursed my lips in a grin, a trademark of mine since I was a child when I need to quell my delight for propriety's sake. But it didn't stop me from taking the liberty of sitting on the table. Luckily he didn't object.

"This porridge is what my mother used to make when I was a child. It's her special blend of ingredients to promote health and ward off sickness."

He picked up an orange slice. "But I don't get sick."

I tried to quickly think of a comeback. "Well, even if you don't, it's best to eat the right foods when you can."

"And you know this because …" His voice trailed off and he motioned his hand dramatically to get me to finish his sentence.

"Because I read books."

He stared at me with a dumbfounded expression.

"What? I like to read."

He shook his head and blinked. "Nothing, nothing. That's not a statement I would have expected from a woman bedecked in yards of satin."

I chuckled. "Oh, don't let the dress fool you. I'll take a book over a ballroom any day."

He scooped another spoonful of porridge into his mouth. He has a unique way of eating it, turning it so the food falls on his tongue and then pulling the spoon down and out of his mouth.

"And what kind of books? Romance novels, I suppose."

"Oh no," I shook my head. "I've only read one and it was one too many. The only interesting character felt too deeply and it destroyed him from the inside out. It was supposed to be a lesson on emotional decorum and the benefits of courtly love." I snorted. "But the supposedly evil knights always fascinated me more than the 'good' ones."

He tilted his head and looked at me curiously. I looked down at my feet in embarrassment and steered the conversation away from romance altogether, the last topic in the world I wanted to address with him.

"I read whatever I can get my hands on, which isn't much because my father has tried to encourage me into," I cleared my throat and fluffed my dress, "more appropriate behaviors for my station. My latest acquisition was a fascinating biography about the Iceni warrior queen Boudicca. I thought knowing about her and her tactics might help in case the ogres attacked, but I didn't get a chance to finish it before … well, before coming here."

He chewed and swallowed his last orange slice. Then the corners of his mouth turned upward. "Yes, I saw you holding that book and sneaking glances at it before I made my appearance. I thought you were trying to impress one of your father's knights – or be one of them. And the former seemed more logical considering that dress."

My eyebrows rose. "You were watching us? For how long?"

He ate his last few scoops of porridge and dabbed his mouth with his napkin before answering. "I always assess potential situations thoroughly before making any deals."

I looked at him shrewdly. So he had been paying attention to me in some capacity; it just hadn't seemed that way at the time. Last night I feared that he made the deal because he liked the way I looked. But was he instead seeing me as someone learned that he could talk to for company? I was surprised at how much this idea appealed to me.

He broke my reverie by pointing to his empty dishes expectantly. I blinked, hopped down and began to clear the table.

"And will I see another smiley face at lunch?" he asked.

"Perhaps," I answered, trying to sound mysterious.

"From what I've seen from you so far, you will probably use prunes as the arrangement." He frowned and stuck his tongue out in disgust.

I leaned forward at his joke, my eyes glancing at the empty porridge bowl, and then into his eyes to show the glimmer in mine. "Oh no, not at all. Those were already in the porridge."

A smile slowly grew across his face. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head, seemingly impressed. I left the room with my head held high and tried to quell my laughter. And now I'm here writing in you, dear diary.

This has definitely been an interesting first morning.