"Well, uh, shall we head off to breakfast, then?" the king suggested.

Fiona was rather tired of the subject of breakfast. "I’m not hungry," she stated, pulling her hand away from Shrek and pushing herself up off the bed, prompting Shrek to stand as well. The princess took a few steps into the middle of the room, feeling like she had to put some distance between herself and the others lest she suffocate.

From behind her Fiona heard her mother object, "But, Fiona! You haven’t had anything in your stomach since night before last!"

"Th-that’s right, darling," Harold stammered agreement. "You really should eat."

Something in the king’s well-intentioned words nevertheless pricked one of Fiona’s frazzled nerves, and the distraught princess spun around to face him, reacting before thinking. "Oh? But Dad, isn’t this how your precious princess daughter is expected to look?" she taunted, holding her arms out from her sides and modeling her attractive figure. "If I eat … why, then I might gain weight! We can’t have that now, can we?"

The king’s awkward smile faded. Her words had struck home. He apparently realized that she was referring to their confrontation the previous morning, when he had looked with disgust upon her homely and rotund ogress form and said those hurtful words. Now Harold simply dropped his eyes and then looked away in shame, the seemingly forced joviality of his countenance yielding to a more genuine expression of remorse. It was a remorse that seemed to reflect something deeper than regret over his unfortunate utterances of the day before. Fiona dropped her arms and immediately started feeling regret at her own words even before Lillian’s sharply reproachful, "FIONA!"

"You’re right, Mom. I … I’m sorry, Dad" Fiona apologized sincerely. Harold looked up at her and smiled wanly. Fiona opened her mouth and began to say something else, but felt a catch in her throat. She quickly turned away, bowed her head and crossed her arms. "I … just need some time to … digest all this." She explained meekly.

"Ummmm … perhaps a compromise is in order," Shrek ventured. "Why don’t Fiona and I stay here so that we might … discuss the new situation, just her and I … and the servants can simply bring some breakfast to us?"

"Uh – yes – that sounds like a splendid idea," the king agreed, albeit without enthusiasm. "Fiona? Darling? What do you think?"

"Fine," she sighed resignedly, her back still to the group.

"What would you like to eat?" Harold asked.

She shrugged. "I’ll just have a bran muffin."

"But Fiona," Lillian said. "You really should have some fruit or something to go with that."

"Then I’ll have a raisin bran muffin," Fiona replied dryly.

"Fiooona," Lillian said, another rebuke – although a minor one – in her tone.

Fiona turned back around again. "I’m sorry," she said to her parents. "I’m … not quite myself today. Perhaps I’ll act less … like an ogre … later." She then turned away from them again and walked out onto the balcony.

Fiona propped her elbows on the balcony’s stone railing and looked about her. The morning sky was bright and sunny, seeming to hold out much promise for the day ahead. Except for a few small puddles, all evidence of the sudden and fierce rainstorm that had engulfed the kingdom the evening before had vanished. And soon those puddles too, she knew, would evaporate away, leaving everything looking pleasant and pristine, just the way people in this kingdom liked it.

Fiona glanced to her left at the giant letters set into the side of a nearby hill that made up the kingdom’s signature ‘Far Far Away’ sign. She frowned. So ostentatious, she thought. So showy. And so odd that she should think so. She didn’t remember having such thoughts before, when growing up. Back then, the sign impressed her. But now, things had changed. She was different. She wondered how much of that difference was due to her own maturity, and how much of it was due to Shrek’s influence.

Shrek had never consciously tried to change her. He had just gone on being himself, either assuming or hoping she’d share his interests and likes. And he was right. She did. Once she stopped fretting about what people thought of her or expected of her and opened her heart and mind and started being herself, it was remarkable how similar they were. She wondered if it surprised him as much as it did her. Of course, that was then. This was now. Things had changed.

Fiona looked away from the sign, and instead gazed over to her right. She peered over the castle walls and followed Romeo drive – awash with the traffic of pedestrians, equestrians, wagons, and carriages – as it wove its way down through the wooded hills, past a few stray houses and mansions, and eventually into the main town with its many busy businesses and tourist attractions. The people she saw were all too far away and too occupied with their own affairs to notice their princess looking down upon them from her balcony.

All, that was, except for one.

She spied the stranger standing along the road in a tiny clearing between some trees, a couple of hundred yards down the road from the castle drawbridge. He was turned so that he was facing the castle – actually, he seemed to be facing her. Fiona gave a little involuntary gasp – then chided herself. Whoever it was, he was surely just looking over the castle, admiring the huge and magnificent edifice. He was probably a tourist. But after a moment, she realized that whoever it was, he didn’t seem to be looking over the castle – he just seemed to be staring at this one spot – her spot. Fiona felt an odd, inexplicable tingling. She squinted, trying to make out the figure, wishing for her superior ogrid eyesight back. From what she was able to make out, he seemed relatively tall, broad-framed, with very dark brown hair. But that was the extent of what she could determine from this distance. As she stared more intensely, he suddenly lowered his head, then stepped out of the little clearing and back onto the part of the road where she could no longer see him for the trees.

"Fiona?"

Startled by the sound of Shrek’s voice – Shrek’s new voice – the princess gave another little gasp and spun back towards her bedroom – and found herself staring directly up into his face. He smiled down at her with that cocky smile, and Fiona felt herself blushing in embarrassment, although for the life of her she didn’t know what she should be embarrassed about.

"Your parents are gone, now," he said. "It’s just you and …" Shrek trailed off as he beheld her, and his smiling face morphed into an expression of concern. "Are you all right, darling?" he asked, reaching up to take her shoulders in his hands. "You look like you’ve just seen a ghost."

"Oh … no … I’m fine," she said, feeling oddly guilty. "I just feel so … overwhelmed by everything today."

The smiled returned to Shrek’s face. "That’s understood, dearest," he said. "But your terrible adventures are all over, now. You’re back home. You’ll re-acclimate yourself soon enough, I’m sure. It’s in your blood."

Shrek squeezed her shoulders affectionately, then released her and strode forward so that he was standing by the balcony railing beside her. He looked all about him, his expression at first one of awe, then a broad smile played across his face. "Great Heavens, Fiona! What a magnificent, glorious palace this is! Yours is surely the most envied kingdom in all the land!" He then looked down upon the same traffic of humanity that Fiona had been watching. His smile mutated into something else – almost a sneer. "Look at them," he said. "They look like ants down there, scurrying about on their little errands, trying to keep their heads above water as they play out their pathetic, hum-drum lives. Ants, indeed. And one day, Fiona, you shall be their queen. And I –" Shrek unconsciously tilted his head back and puffed his chest out haughtily. "I shall be –" Shrek glanced down at her and, seeming to catch the astonished expression on her face, quickly assumed a more humble posture as he concluded, "– honored to be of any assistance I can."

Fiona just stared at him for a few seconds. "You have changed," she eventually muttered. Then, after sparing a brief, almost involuntary glance at the now empty spot where she had seen the dark-haired stranger, she turned and went back into her bedroom.

"I’m sorry, darling," Shrek said, flustered. "But … isn’t this what you always wanted? Isn’t this what you were taught to expect growing up?"

Fiona turned to face him and had just opened her mouth to answer when suddenly an idea dawned on her like an epiphany. Of course! That explained everything! Her troubled, disgruntled features melted into relief, and then into coyness.

"You can stop the pretense," she teased. "I’m onto you, now. I know what you did."

Her blond companion’s face flushed bright red in embarrassment and guilt. "Wh-what do you mean?" he stammered.

His reaction only confirmed her suspicions. She giggled.

"My diary, silly!" she replied. "I know you read my diary! All those passages about what life would be like after I was rescued from Dragon’s castle. ‘Mrs. Fiona Charming.’" She laughed dismissively. "It’s what you think I still want, isn’t it, Shrek?"

This time it was Shrek’s turn to gawk at his spouse, his mouth slightly ajar. Eventually he was able to stutter, "You … mean … it’s not?"

"I know I should be furious at you for having read it unbidden," she said. "But … oh, Shrek!" Fiona suddenly dashed the few feet between them and threw herself against him. She closed her eyes and buried her head against his shoulder while wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. "I was just an obsessed little girl when I wrote those things, infatuated with the shallow image of an idealized prince. But you … you’ve made me a woman, Shrek. And you’ve shown me that true beauty, nobility, and gallantry lies within the soul."

Shrek tentatively wrapped his arms around her, then embraced her as well. "So … you … um … figured me out, did you?" he asked. "Um … am I … that transparent?"

"Oh, Shrek," Fiona sighed, then leaned back in his embrace, reached up with her left hand and cupped his right cheek. She examined his face for a moment, her expression like that of someone beholding the disfigured countenance of a loved one who’d been scarred in battle. "I’m so sorry. What I said the other night … I didn’t mean for you to do this. I didn’t want you to do this."

"There, there, Fiona," Shrek said, reaching up and taking her hand in his, then patting it comfortingly. He seemed to have recovered his composure. "If what you say is true … I mean, of course what you say is true … and so what does it matter what we look like on the outside?"

Fiona’s mouth contorted into a small, sad, rueful grin. "I’m afraid it matters to my parents," she said. "You were right. My appearance … my ogre appearance … did shock them, like it shocked everybody else. And when you made that ‘country club’ quip … I said they weren’t like that, but then there I was at that dinner, trying to make you out into some sort of land baron so you’d … so we’d … have more respect in their eyes. Or at least my father’s. Mom was more tolerant, but still … Well, anyway, you were so sweet to try to play along, even then. I’m so sorry."

"Oh, my pet, think nothing of it," Shrek said. "Besides, as you said, since our appearance does matter to your parents, this may work out for the best after all. We all seem to be getting along rather well now, don’t you think?"

"That’s true," she conceded. "Although my father is acting so strangely … and so deferentially."

"Well … perhaps that’s his way of dealing with this … most unusual situation," Shrek suggested. "Besides, he may be feeling guilty for the way he acted when we first arrived, and this is his way of expressing it."

"Perhaps," Fiona said, although she was far from convinced.

"So, you see?" Shrek asked. "If being in these human forms makes it easier for them, and for your subjects, then what difference does it make?"

"But Shrek! It makes a difference to us. We should be true to ourselves. I mean, inside, we’re still ogres!"

Shrek raised a surprised eyebrow. "We?" he repeated. "Fiona … surely you’re not saying that you still think of yourself as an ogre, are you? Or that you’d actually prefer that form?"

Fiona endured Shrek’s incredulous expression for a few moments, then turned away. She wandered toward the fireplace, head bowed in thought. Her eyes chanced upon the toy figurines sitting on the mantle – the knight, the princess, the ogre – and another rueful smile played upon her lips. She turned back to face him again.

"That’s part of why you took that potion to change us, isn’t it?" she asked. "During our argument, when I said ‘I made changes for you’, you thought I was expressing regret. That I was blaming you for turning me into a full-time beast."

"Well … I … um …" he flailed about, apparently at a loss for how to respond.

"It’s okay," she said softly. "I don’t mean to put you on the spot. What I said that night … I said in anger and frustration. And maybe … maybe I did mean it that way … along with that stupid ‘you’re acting like an ogre’ quip. I was … confused that night. I so wanted us all to get along, all the family that I love, as one loving family. I mean, isn’t that what happily ever after is mostly about?"

Shrek didn’t answer right away; from his expression he seemed to be pondering whether the question was rhetorical. Fiona sighed and turned back to the mantle. She reached over and touched the princess figurine as she had that night – only this time she touched it with a hand as pristine and delicate as the doll’s own. "And so maybe I was pining for a simpler situation, where everyone’s original expectations were met and there were no conflicts to rend us apart. For a time, maybe I was wishing for that picture-perfect world of my diary, without the complications inherent in our … unconventional marriage."

"But, darling," Shrek said. "That’s what you have now. We’re still together, but now we’ve eliminated those ‘complications’ that stood in the way of happiness."

Fiona turned back towards him. "But it’s ‘those complications’ that make up our relationship! The animal balloons and the weedrats and the mudbaths and that beautiful swamp home – that’s what we’re about, Shrek! In sharing things like that with you … things in your – in our – ogre natures … that’s where our happiness lies!"

Shrek stood, his mouth agape, gazing at Fiona as if she had suddenly grown a second head.

"I wish you wouldn’t stare at me that way," Fiona said, embarrassed and somewhat irritated.

Shrek shook his head slightly, breaking his brief reverie, then explained, "I’m sorry, dearest. But … I’m really rather surprised. I mean … I had thought that being back in your human form … a form which truly meets the description of ‘beauty divine’, if you don’t mind my saying so … would have been your preference."

Fiona sighed. "Not too terribly long ago … and for many years … you don’t know how right you would have been," she admitted. "And although our relationship shattered my preconceptions, I admit that being back here with my parents, back in my old home – in my old room, for that matter – shook what I thought were my newfound convictions. Suddenly I was torn between being your ogress wife, with the confidence and self-esteem you helped inspire … and being my parents’ daughter, with the self-doubts and feelings of inadequacy they – well, mostly my father – made me feel when in ogre form. So after yesterday morning when I couldn’t find you anywhere, I came back to this room and did a lot of soul-searching. Just who was I? What was I? Where did my true nature lie?"

Shrek cocked a curious eyebrow and took a seat on the edge of the bed. "And what conclusions did you draw?" he asked.

Fiona reflected on her long period of internal, emotional struggle from the day before, then a small smile played upon her lips "I didn’t draw them," she eventually replied, "I sang them."

"Pardon?" Shrek asked, somewhat bewildered.

"After a long time – hours, really – of reflecting on everything that’s happened to us, and before that to me, I was reminded of a song. It mostly seemed to fit, and so I sang it. It helped steady my resolve. As soon as I finished, I sat my tiara down on that desk – " here she gestured to her writing desk, left over from her childhood, upon which now sat her tiara beside her diary "– packed a bag and went down to tell my parents I was going out to find you and then we were going home." She blushed a little, then asked shyly, "Would you like to hear it?"

"Hear … what, darling?" he asked, apparently confused again.

Fiona looked back over at him. "The song," she replied, somewhat annoyed. Shrek usually wasn’t this dense.

"Oh! Uh, certainly!" he stammered, and then his face broke into a smile. He leaned back and folded his hands in his lap, apparently waiting for her to start.

Fiona shook her head slightly. Then she closed her eyes for a moment, recalling the situation – her thoughts and feelings – from the day before. Then she opened her eyes, looked at Shrek, and began to sing.

Fiona felt a touch of discomfort. Shrek watched her, a polite smile on his face. But that’s all it seemed to be: polite. Aside from that, his countenance remained static, almost plastic. She had hoped for more reaction – a chuckle at the reference to ‘layers’, if nothing else. Nevertheless, she pressed on to the chorus.

Shrek continued watching her with that placid, nearly disinterested expression. Frustration pricked Fiona’s nerves. She turned away and wandered towards her bookcase, again trying to retrieve her feelings from the day before. It was easier when she wasn’t facing him. After a moment, she idly ran a finger across some volumes of histories and fairytales sitting on one of the shelves as she began the next verse.

Fiona’s finger stopped as it came to rest against a picture she had propped on the bookshelf as they were unpacking. It was a picture taken shortly after their wedding. She and Shrek, ogress and ogre, were standing side-by-side, beaming blissfully contented smiles at the camera, he with one arm behind her, his hand resting on her broad hip, and she with one hand resting on his ample stomach. They were so happy then. Fiona had to choke back a sob, but then she concluded the song, her eyes fixed on the picture, her voice strong and emotional.

Fiona sighed, pried her eyes away from the picture, looked back over at Shrek – and then gaped. He wasn’t even paying attention to her. He sat there, an emery board in one hand, his full concentration on filing the nails of the other hand until he had them just right. After a moment he held out the hand whose nails he hand been filing, fingers splayed upwards, and examined his work. His mouth broke into a self-satisfied grin.

"Shrek!" Fiona gasped.

Shrek looked up at her, his concentration broken. It took a moment for him to focus on her, but then he smiled and said, "I’m sorry, dear. Are you finished?"

Fiona gawked at him for a few moments – not quite believing either his inattentive reaction or his sudden concern for personal grooming – then she just nodded.

"Ah, well," Shrek said, rising from the bed, "at least you know that’s all behind us, now."

"What?"

"No more painful decisions, darling," Shrek said wandering over towards her. He stopped before her, smiled again, and gave her a brief peck on the cheek to which Fiona was still too stunned to react. He then reached down to the desk, picked up her tiara, and turned it over in his hands, examining it. "You needn’t choose between your destinies," he said. "They’re both one, now. As it was meant to be."

"But … we belong –"

"With each other," Shrek finished for her. "Whether that be in a swamp, or –" Shrek took a few moments to settle the tiara back atop Fiona’s head, adjusting it so it sat just right, and then continued "– or in a gilded palace. Come."

Shrek led Fiona, who was still somewhat stunned, over to the mirror where she had first glimpsed her human form that morning. Now he stood beside her and put his arm around her as they gazed into it together.

"There!" he said. "That is what people will see. A handsome couple, with appearances that fit their station and placate the people’s expectations. And your father’s. Who cares what we’re like on the inside, eh? That’s none of their concern."

Fiona stared at their image for a few seconds; his jaunty, smiling face, and her own ashen countenance and shell-shocked expression. "So … that’s the future for us, then?" she asked. "Life as a charade?"

"Unfortunately, love," he replied, "sometimes, to get what we want in the long run, charades are necessary, however repugnant we find them to be at the time." As Shrek finished that thought his face took on an expression of distaste that, if nothing else, seemed to be genuine; which was more than Fiona could say for certain fitted many of Shrek’s recent expressions. She was just opening her mouth to respond when there was a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" Shrek called, turning towards the door.

"Your breakfast, Your Highness," came the response from the other side. The voice intoned a French accent.

"Ah, excellent!" Shrek said, striding over to the door. He opened it and a chubby middle-aged man with a thin moustache dressed in chef’s attire wheeled in a small table upon which sat two covered plates, four glasses, a bottle of orange juice, and a bottle of milk, along with fine silverware and embroidered napkins. Entering the room behind the man was a thinner, younger servant carrying two folding chairs.

"Where would you like this set up, Your Highness?" the chef asked.

Shrek thought for a moment, then replied, "Out on the balcony. The view of the kingdom is breathtaking from there."

Fiona noticed that again Shrek did not consult her. She sighed quietly.

The chef wheeled the table out onto the balcony. Once he stopped, the younger servant quickly set the chairs up on either side of it. The chef then lifted the covers from off the food, revealing a soft boiled egg in an egg cup with some toast on one platter, and a large raisin bran muffin on the other. The chef then bowed theatrically and announced with a flourish, "Voila! Breakfast is served!"

Shrek walked over to the table and examined the layout. "Yes, it all looks very good. Thank you. You may leave now."

"Oui, Your Highness," the chef said, bowing again. The other servant bowed deeply as well. Shrek paid them no mind, taking a seat as the two other men quickly and quietly left the room.

Shrek took one of the napkins, flapped it open and then spread it across his lap. He then looked over at Fiona, who still stood in the middle of the room, eyeing him. "Aren’t you going to come to breakfast … " Shrek began, then noticing her choice of food, added with a wry smile "… muffin cake?"

Fiona smiled meekly back and slowly made her way to the table while Shrek took the orange juice and filled the two smaller glasses. As Fiona took a seat at the opposite side of the table facing him he picked up his juice glass, held it towards her, and said with enthusiasm, "To happily ever after."

Fiona picked up her own juice glass. "To happily ever after," she responded, echoing his words if not his conviction. They then touched glasses and drank their contents.

"Now then," he said, putting his empty juice glass aside and looking down at his plate, "time to get down to business."

Fiona looked down at her own plate. Although she had not truly felt hungry up until now due to her conflicting emotions, the sight of the tasty-looking muffin triggered something more primordial within her and she felt her stomach constrict in a pang of hunger. Well, it had been quite some time since she had last eaten. She sighed, then picked up the muffin. She took a huge bite from it, nearly filling her mouth. As she chomped on it, she grabbed the bottle of milk and poured some directly into her mouth to mix with the food. She then sat the bottle back down and, as she continued chewing the mouthful, wiped some of the milky residue from her lips with the sleeve of one arm. A few chews later she noticed Shrek staring at her, his mouth partly agape and his face bearing that expression he had recently used when she had spoken of their ogre natures.

Fiona stared back, cheeks bulging. "Wha?" she managed to grunt.

"Oh … nothing," Shrek said, then hastily cast his eyes down to his own plate and the soft-boiled egg that sat in the egg cup there. He then took a butter knife and gently tapped around the top of the egg, just cracking its shell. Once he had cracked all around its top, he took his fork in the other hand and adroitly lifted the crown of the egg from its top and laid it on the plate beside the cup.

As she watched the delicate operation, Fiona stopped chewing and could only stare at her husband’s unexpected dexterity and manners. She had never seen him demonstrate such decorum before; in all previous meals they had shared together, just the two of them alone, he had heartily dug in and enjoyed his food with unbridled abandon. Not that he was sloppy. In fact, he kept an unexpectedly neat table, which was one of the things that had surprised her about the ogre. But he was hardly one for fastidious manners, believing that meals were for the consumption and enjoyment of food in a relaxed informal atmosphere, and his attitude was one that Fiona had readily and happily adopted herself. Well, until that dinner the night before last. Back under her parents’ roof and under their scrutiny, Fiona had – with some effort, and quite a bit of nervousness – returned to the careful manners of her youth. But Shrek had nothing to return to. She remembered with some pain how he had sat there then, so lost as how to behave, and so embarrassed when he made a miscue. Now, back alone with Shrek, Fiona had gladly returned to the informal ways she had grown accustomed to, only to find herself staring at a man demonstrating precise etiquette.

Shrek looked up to see her staring at him. "I’m sorry," he said, somewhat confused. "Did I open the wrong end of the egg? I know some people are sensitive about such things –"

Fiona shook her head and swallowed the bite that was in her mouth. The lump went down her throat hard. "Oh, no!" she answered. "I just … well, I didn’t realize you knew your way around egg cups."

He seemed to think for a moment, then shrugged. "My dear, seeing what a short time our courtship and marriage has lasted so far, I’m sure there are many things we have yet to learn of each other. But that’s all part of the adventure, is it not?"

"I … suppose," Fiona conceded. His words were true enough, and it had been an adventure she was looking forward to. Yet, once again, she got the chilly feeling that that adventure had just taken a turn towards a path that she didn’t care to pursue.

Shrek, however, seemed satisfied. "Very good!" he said, then picked up a small spoon and, with what almost appeared to be practiced grace, took a small bite of egg. Fiona just dropped her eyes to the remains of her muffin and sighed.

"Eat up, darling," Shrek urged. "We’ve got a big day ahead of us!"

Fiona looked up at him. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"After breakfast we need to travel into town and pick out some new outfits for the ball tonight," he explained. "We want to make the best impression … for the sake of your parents and courtiers, of course."

"Of course," Fiona echoed dully. She did not share Shrek’s sudden, uncharacteristic enthusiasm for the venture. She had hoped that his new behavior was an act, as he himself seemed to intimate. Yet watching him now, Fiona again wondered how far past the physical the tendrils of that potion had reached, and how much of the soul of ogre she married had been leeched away.

Then an odd thought struck her as she watched him dip another spoonful of egg from its shell.

What if this wasn’t her husband?

What if he was an imposter?

That would certainly explain this … un-Shrekian behavior, would it not? For a moment Fiona felt a spasm of hope. If that were the case, then that meant that Shrek could still be out there somewhere, her Shrek, in all his huge, misshapen, beautiful glory.

But the fleeting hope quickly gave way as her mind cast reluctant but necessary rational light on the premise. Yeah, right, Princess, she chided herself. He’s an imposter. An imposter who you ran into after being pointed in that direction by Donkey. And although Shrek might not be recognizable in his new form, Donkey certainly was. Or maybe Donkey was in on it. Uh-huh. Of course, that also meant that your Fairy Godmother was in on it, too; after all, she had vouched for this new Shrek. Oh, sure, why not? While we’re at it, let’s throw in your father too; after all, he was acting rather strangely this morning. That’s right, Fiona, they’re all in on it; one big conspiracy theory, all revolving around you. Can you spell ‘paranoia’, Princess? Hummm?

Fiona sighed as she grudgingly dismissed the idea. She finished the rest of her breakfast with precise manners and with reticence, and tried not to recall the memories of much more comfortable meals in the great outdoors with the pungent aroma of roasting weedrats wafting though the air and causing her mouth to water. It appeared that those days were gone, and she would be dining a little differently from now on. Fiona flinched as she felt another pang of loss.