"Stop! Stop!" I begged.

My heels stuttered in the dirt, nearly forcing me atop every twisted root littering the thicket's floor. Askar grabbed my side, righting me.

"It's alright," he breathed. He was gasping like me. "It's alright," he said a second time.

"I cannot breathe," I panted. My hands rested on my thighs as I craned over, and then I vomited.

"It's alright," he repeated. He pulled my hair back and held it in a makeshift pony.

"You keep saying that," I tried to manage. For a moment, I waited to get sick again. "Either you don't know what 'it's alright' means, or you're trying to placate me," I argued. "Neither are encouraging, you should know."

"I'm sorry," he said.

I looked up at him, trying to catch my wits. "I can't breathe," I repeated. "We've been running too long."

"I know." When Askar let go, his hands found the back of my neck, and he repositioned me to meet his eyes. "Are you hurt?"

"Emotionally? Or physically, sir?"

He tsked. "If you can joke, I'll take it you're fine."

"We have to go back," I told him. "We need to help Ser Willoughby."

"Your knight is better off without us," he said. "And he has my Blades to help. What we need to do is keep moving."

"Keep moving?" I cried. "And leave them to die? I will not!"

"Did you not notice that your Blade broke his concentration when you appeared in that clearing?" he spat. "Or was that lost upon you in all the excitement? Do you think having his princess so very close to danger helps him to survive?"

I struggled to find anything to say. "N-No."

"No. It does not. That's why we're moving. That's why I told him I would take you. What were you even doing there? You're supposed to be in Locke or on your way back home!"

"I could do without the scolding," I said. "I was there to— I ran toward the danger because I didn't want you to be brutally murdered by a dragon!"

"There was no dragon!" he snapped. He swung his hands into the air on either side of us. "Do you ever do what you're supposed to do?"

I folded my arms. "Don't you dare take this moment to discipline me, Duke! You forget I am your superior!"

"If that's the case, then act like it!" he quipped.

I gasped.

"We're on my side of the sea now, Princess. You do not belong in a field of swords! If any of those bandits had realized who you were? If you had stayed any longer? If I had fallen? Your knight? If we had failed to protect you?!"

Every statement he tried to form ended the same way, with a heated, cagey breath and an attempt to form another. I watched him as he gestured viciously at every thought.

"If you had been hurt?!" he cried.

Possessed by a boiling fury of my own, I grabbed the Duke's lapels and drew myself into his rage, into a messy kiss. He broke away.

"What the Hell are you doing?" he asked.

"I don't know!" I confessed. "I'm just extremely turned on by how angry you are at me right now!"

"What?!"

"I don't know!" I paced one way and then the other, touching my cheeks. "I just can't believe that happened. My heart is rioting! Those were bandits!" I said. "Like real bandits!"

"As opposed to phony ones?" Askar laughed, frustrated. He stopped me from moving. "And you are very lucky you were not killed."

"D-Do you think our knights will be?" I asked.

He paused.

"Askar! Please!"

"No," he decided. "I think their purpose is to fight."

He didn't seem sure, or at least I wasn't, and that sensation ruptured my resolve. I felt my lips quiver at the thought of Ser Willoughby's death, and I fell into the Duke's chest.

"I don't want them to die!" I whined.

His arms came around me, and for several moments all there was to hear were the birds and crickets that sang around my sobbing.

"I killed a horse," I whispered.

"You what?" Ask lifted me by my chin.

"One of the bandits... he tried to hurt Ser Willoughby. I-I killed a horse so it would fall onto... I did not want him to hurt Ser Willoughby. I couldn't let him hurt Ser Willoughby!"

"That was quick thinking," he said.

"But he didn't deserve it," I whined. A tear fell down my cheek. "He didn't deserve it! He was innocent!"

"The bandit?" he asked.

"The horse!" I yelled.

Askar understood, if but slowly, I thought, by how his expression changed.

"Eliza..." he said. "All creatures serve their purpose."

"I don't know what that's supposed to mean!" I dropped to the ground, my skirt billowing around me.

I sparred with it, punching the air out from under it, and when it deflated and joined me in the terrain, I buried my face into my hands and groaned.

"God! What have I done?" I prayed. "I'm so very sorry."

He crouched in front of me. His thumb swept beneath my eye, clearing the evidence that anything was wrong. He laid his forehead to my own.

"All things serve their purpose," he whispered. "Animals, men. For better and for worse. You did nothing wrong. You likely saved your Knight's life."

"At what cost?" I begged.

He softened. "At the cost that was paid."

He forced me to stand and took me by the hand, walking us deeper into the woods.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"To find a stream," he said.

"What? Why? Because it'll lead us somewhere?" I wondered.

"No."

A little longer, we heard the trickle of water close by, and he followed it.

"Come with me," he said.

He stepped into the creek, but I hesitated at its bank. We were still linked by hands, our arms a bridge between planes.

"Your Highness," he said.

"My shoes will get wet," I told him.

He glanced at his already soaked boots—the current passing over them.

"So take them off," he said.

I slipped out of them; why, I wasn't sure, but then I took an uncertain step into the water. It was cold, no, frigid, and the intensity dared to be too much. I clung closer to the Duke, snaring his shirt into my hands.

"Why am I standing in cold water, Your Grace?"

He smirked, craning closer. "Because apparently you only listen to me."

I rolled my eyes, letting go and turning to step out of the brook, but he clipped my fingers as I went, and that part of me made the other twist back around to find his eyes.

"Water is what keeps us living," he said. "It washes the soil clean; it washes our bodies, our food, our world when it rains. It brings a seed to life; men use it to save their souls. Some bid farewell to their bravest soldiers as currents carry them on to their Gods, but no matter where it flows, it cannot be stopped. There is no sin or stone it cannot erode given the want."

His words hung between us. He offered me his hand once more.

"Will you pray with me?" he asked.

"Pray for what?" I said.

"For the horse and his purpose," he replied.

Something split inside of me. "W-what?"

"I see the burden his death has left upon you, Eliza Rose. Let me help you bear the load."

A hawk cried somewhere near it us. I trembled, but after a moment, I took his grip.

Askar gave me a meek smile, followed by, "Do you trust me?"

I nodded, but I didn't speak, and he slowly pulled the dagger from under his shirt. He turned my hand over and placed it flat against the skin.

"Am I supposed to cut my palm?" I asked.

"Your palm would be rather stupid," he said. "You wouldn't be able to use it for some time."

"But I'm supposed to cut myself?" I asked.

"No."

For some reason, he removed his shirt, and for some other reason, that made me nervous. But not in an awful way, in something weird. Curious. The linen sank into the water, pooling at his feet. The pinks and crimsons that had stained its pastel hue began to fade.

He took my free fingers and brought them to the scar I'd seen before, the one he said had been a boar. But then I realized it hadn't been the animal who'd marred his body at all.

My voice was small. "You did this to yourself?"

"Our days are ordained, Princess. They are decided by God far ahead of our birth. Call it Fate or religion, or whatever it is you find your comfort in, but know that you are not enough to change what's already on the course—the current. The horse you killed was always going to die. But. I want to offer you the chance to honor its purpose— its service to you and Ser Willoughby's life. Only should you want it."

"By cutting myself?" I asked.

He shook his head. "By cutting me."

"What!?" I took the dagger and resheathed it in his belt. "I can't cut you!" I cried.

"Blood is the holiest of tributes for a sacrifice, especially when it is so profound. You are hurting, and I want to give you a chance to balance that pain."

"But you didn't kill the horse; I did," I said. "If this is penance, I should be the one to hurt."

His hand settled over mine. "It is not penance; it's prayer. Respect for life. And this is a practice in Gosil, which is not your land," he said. "As Duke, I will bear the mark for you."

"Ask..."

He left me to find his blade, and impulsively, I tried to take it from him. In my attempt, it bit into my finger, and through the sudden jolt, a clean line of red emerged to form a puddling stripe.

"Ow! Fuck!" I whined. "There! Are you happy? There's your blood, you fiend."

He collected my hand and looked it over.

"At least it wasn't the palm," I muttered.

He lost a quiet laugh, but he stayed focused on the mark. He twirled the blade between his fingers and deftly used it to mirror the cut for himself.

My eyes shot wider. "Why would you–?"

With one hand, he picked up his shirt from the stream; with the other, the injured one, he coiled around mine. Then he covered our cuts with the wet cloth in what was likely the only clean patch of it. I looked at the rest of the shirt, blood from bandits– I wondered if any of it was his and let my eyes wander for the answer. He was unmaimed by any blade beyond his own.

He closed his eyes, holding tight.

"We thank you, Lord, for this water to help us mend our souls," he whispered.

There was an intangible electricity between us. I was dreadfully dumbfounded by the rite, but then I remembered that I had been warned by Ser Nikolai. Weird about death, he'd said. Thinking of him brought back the memory of Willoughby's face in the clearing. He was so mad I was there. I wondered if he had murdered Ser Nikolai for bringing me or if the bandits had beaten him to it.

"And what about our knights?" I asked.

"What about them?" he said.

"Should I cut a line for each of their sacrifices? Or will one large one suffice?" I struggled to stay reserved.

"Our knights are not dead," he told me.

"You don't know that," I argued. I felt my jaw lock at the words. "There were so many... And poor Willoughby... Poor bastard likely always knew I'd get him killed."

"Ser Willoughby is not dead," he replied.

He wrung out his shirt and slung it over his shoulder, then brought my finger to his mouth to kiss it.

"Let's keep moving, Your Highness." Askar stepped out of the creek, helping me out.

"Wait!"

"What is it?" he asked.

I splashed through the brook to collect my shoes. Then I carried them back and slipped my hand into his.

"Why did you wear heels anyway?" he asked. "Did I not leave you in boots?"

"It was a whole thing. Nikolai was passing me off as his wife and–"

"Who is Nikolai?" he asked.

"Oh. He's... Ser Nikolai." I checked back the way we came; my answer became quieter and sad. "He's that post guard. I hope he's okay."

He hummed. "I see. Then I do know him. I didn't recognize his name at first."

"Yes." I smiled. "He told me you stop by sometimes."

"So he brought you here? How did you convince him to change course?" he asked.

"I may have paid him," I said.

"Then I hope he was worth the gold," he muttered.

We started to walk. Askar looked at the sun, then ushered toward the west.

"I didn't actually pay him yet," I said.

"Ah," he nodded. "Then you're robbing the man?"

"No!" I croaked. "I'm... I paid him on a promise."

"A promise?" he asked. "To each their own, I suppose. What did you promise Ser Nikolai?"

I stepped over a log, and then I missed Brutus, even though he had damaged my behind. "How far must we walk tonight?" I asked. "Do you even know where we are?"

"We're near Blythe," he said.

"Yes, I know. He told me so much," I said.

"Your Nikolai?" he asked.

"Yes, the knight," I reminded him.

"At the post? Or?"

I tightened my hand in his. "On the road," I said. "Why is that strange? We did converse."

He shrugged. "What was the promise again?"

"That I would buy him a dagger." I pursed my lips. "What else would I have to promise?"

Askar swallowed. He didn't answer.

"Your Grace!"

"My duchy is, unfortunately, a journey from here. We should be...." He narrowed his eyes, shielding his brow from the sky with his hand. "A couple of hours from someone who can help, though."

"That's not so bad to hear," I said.

"There are a lot of farmers out this way. This is the main area affected by the fires."

"Oh, well that's bad, if there is a dragon," I said.

"Aye."

"I never said I was sorry," I said.

"Sorry?" He helped me down a steep sink in the ground, a hill of sorts, that brought us to a narrow, barely visible trail. "For running into danger?"

"Bah," I said. "Sorry for that as well, though in a more specific way, not sorry. I still maintain that I did nothing wrong with that. I was worried for you all."

"You ignored your guard's advice and followed him into a trap with bandits. Nearly got killed. Nearly killed him in the process. Nearly killed me and my party–"

"I did no such thing!"

"Princess," he pressed.

"Fine," I nodded. "I did all that. Likely more, and I am sorry, sort of."

"Sort of? That's heartfelt."

"What was I supposed to do?" I snatched my hand from him.

He stopped, and we faced off.

"Listen to you all die?" I spat.

He opened his mouth but didn't speak.

"Is that what?" I asked. "Absolutely not."

"Your Highness," he started. "I did not mean–"

"I may be the daughter of royalty– of a King, yes, but His Majesty is a swordsman first! You said it yourself, the very best swordsman in all the land. And he is! My father is the best Blade in our nation; he is the best Blade in your nation; I'd bet he was the best swordsman in any nation! Nay, the world!"

"What does that have to do with–"

"Do you think he did not teach me to survive?!" I fumed. "Daddy has defended my mother, the Queen, from twice as many dangers and without help! You think because I am a 'lady' that my father, his knights, my brothers, or my mother let me grow up without being able to manipulate a sword!? And, sure! If we are talking greatswords, they are maybe too large for me to handle, yes! Maybe! But that does not matter! Not really! Size will not prevent me from fighting when I can fight, Duke!"

"Eliza–" he tried.

"If I were the kind of person who hid behind my sex and could stand there and do nothing while someone around me perished or even just cried for help, then I would throw myself off of the nearest cliff, or swallow poison, or otherwise eradicate myself for the dishonor and cowardice that would leave inside of me! Am I impulsive? Yes! But am I willing to let people die around me and not intervene?! Absolutely not, Duke!"

He said nothing.

"That's it?!" I cried. "You've nothing to say this time?"

"I wasn't sure if you were done," he said.

"Ooohh!! You infuriate me, Duke!" I yelled.

"Stop calling me Duke!" he said.

"Make me, Duke!"

Askar seized my hand as it danced around me; he lugged me toward him, and we collided in a heated crash of lips.

His chest strained beneath my desperate needing, and then his hands started to unweave the tie that held my dress together in the back. We kept kissing until he had unclothed me, and I had stripped him, and we were both an entangled bind within the brush.

He pulled me onto his lap the way we'd spent our first night together, and he was inside of me before either of us slowed down to think.

With a hard, angry thrust, he bucked me into his frame.

"Ah!" I cried.

Ask plunged deeper the second time and then the third, and I bit at his flesh, sinking my teeth just above his collarbone. His voice was serious. It was more than commanding. It was–

"Call me Askar or nothing else," he hissed. The order drew the air from my lungs as he gave another to follow it. "Now say it, Princess. Ask. Ar."

"I–" I bit my lip. It was too much to allow him the pleasure.

"Do you think that I won't stop?" he asked. To his word, he pulled out of me, stealing my solace.

"What!" I cried. "No? I haven't–"

"Say it," he whispered.

"Askar!" I cried.

He grinned.

I realized that I had fallen for his trick.

"That was cruel," I sang.

He disagreed, lulling me toward him with an all-consuming kiss.

"Please," I begged him, my mouth rolling off of his. "Please, I want to feel you."

We laid back into the grass, and he turned me onto my stomach, running his hand down my spine, drumming every notch of it. I didn't know what sort of plant I was writhing in; I didn't care. I breathed into it and lifted my hips for him.

"Please," I gave him. "Don't leave me like this."

"Say it again," he said.

"Askar, please," I begged.

His palm fastened to my hip, and he rose to his knees behind me. I said nothing else, and he was in me.

I took the Duke to his hilt, and he delivered blow after blow until I had to find my hands for bracing. His chest met with my back, and one of his hands cupped my breast. It was impossible to track where he ended, and I began.

I moaned, my pleasure promising to surge in moments. "I–I–" I sang for him.

He used my hair as leverage to bend me back far enough to kiss, and when we parted, he was strict. "Say my name."

"Askar," I breathed.

He released my curls and found the peak of my sex with two fingers. They were the catalyst. I called his name once more as my arms gave out, and I fell into the green. He continued to make love to me for a few moments longer, then drew out of me and finished on his own.

After that, he hooked his arm around my waist, and we fell onto our backs.

I looked at him. "I'm sorry I called you Duke."

"That's alright," he breathed, shutting his eyes. "We worked through it, I think."

I scoffed, crawling further onto his torso, tracing his shape, and trying to resist the buzz that he had instilled in my every thought.

"A good place as any to make camp, I think," he said.

I was too busy pressing pecks into his chest. "Askar means Ash, yes?" I asked.

He quirked a brow and opened a single eye at that. "I thought we said that?"

"We did; I just... It's simple, but I like to think of names, and what they mean, I guess." I laid my face on his skin. I could hear his heart beating. "For instance. Daniel, Ser Willoughby's name, means 'God is my judge,' and Nikolai's is 'the people's victor.'"

"Yes," he said.

"It took me a while; I've never heard your name," I said.

"You seem–" He stopped.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Do you...? Are you? You and Ser Nikolai," he started.

I sat up and looked down at him, a wiry grin tempting my lips. "Are you jealous of Ser Nikolai?" I asked.

"No."

"Oh." I laid back down.

"Just... You've called him by his given name a few times now," he said. "I thought I should ask."

I reappointed myself above him. "You are jealous!" I laughed. "Oh, that's rich. Have you met the man? Oh. That's right, you have."

"You're the one defining the fellow's name," he argued. He sat up as well, scooting back a bit.

"Because I know it already, and I was trying to impress you. Nikolai was my grandfather's name," I told him. "That's why I know its meaning. And there is no ulterior motive behind defining a man's name. It's just something my father and I have always done. Etymology."

"I see," he said.

"I don't know his last name if it helps; I could only work with the first. How could you confuse that for–"

"Do you know mine?" he asked.

"Your what?"

"My surname," he said.

"It's Löff. Which, now that I am hearing it, Löff means leaf."

"Yes," he said.

"That makes your name Ash Leaf."

"My parents were free thinkers," he said.

"Wooow," I dragged out. "You must feel very silly anytime you say it together like that?"

"Silly? No. My name was my father's name." He started to get up and get dressed. "But I suppose Eliza has some special significance?" he asked.

"You could at least feel silly because of your jealousy," I told him.

He took a long breath but didn't confirm it. "I'm not jealous," he muttered.

"Fine, Ash Leaf." I pointed to his bracers as he put them on. "With your ash tree markings."

"As I said, Askar was my father's name," he replied.

"Mmhm. And what was your mother's?" I asked.

"Her name is Lillian," he said.

"Lillia–Oh, my God, as in Lily!?" I lost my mind laughing, going as far as to slap my knee. "Lily Leaf? Oh, my God."

"I missed the part where you told me what Eliza meant," he said.

"Sorry," I tried to quell the snicker. "Sorry... Eliza means 'God is my oath'... Whatever that translates to, I guess it's no better than... than Lily Leaf."

"I'm not certain you have the right to judge my mother's name; you told me your name was Rose if you remember?"

That made the joke funnier. "Oh, God. Can you imagine if it was? Rose Leaf is even worse!"

Ask fastened his belt. He didn't say anything right away, but then, "Rose Leaf, eh?"

It took a second to realize why he had asked me that, and then all hilarity of the moment was lost. "I-I said that out loud, didn't I?"

The Duke handed me my dress. Neither of us said anything else until he had fastened the back for me, and the ambient melody of the forest was eating me alive.

"I'm sorry, sir," I whispered. "I got carried away."

His fingers combed through my hair, smoothing it.

"So," he said. "My name's meaning is important but not yours? I think 'God is my oath' is just proof you're destined for greatness."

"I'm sure you're only saying that to appease me," I joked. I forced myself to face him. "I was named after my grandmother," I said.

"Is that right?" he asked. "I think I knew that? And your grandfather's name. Your family is well-known."

"I would be shocked if you found us strangers. I was certain their engagement was world news."

The air was thick between us, and I was embarrassed by my slip. Somewhere in the back of my mind, Kristjan's voice nagged at what was supposed to be a joke. I couldn't believe I'd said Rose Löff. Leaf, but...

"Excuse me," I said. I started trudging through the leaves and brush, searching all around.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm looking for a ledge," I told him.

"What? Why?"

"To throw myself off of," I explained.

"You Highness," he said. He pulled me back to him. "Relax. How is your hand?"

I glanced down at it, having forgotten of the cut.

"It's fine," I said. "It barely hurts."

"Good." He ran his thumb over it. "Let's direct our attention to finding a better camp. It's a bit bumpy here."

At his guidance, we moved to a flatter grade. It wasn't too far from where we'd been, only half an hour toward our destination, but by the time we had arrived, it was growing dark.

The Duke and I slept curled next to each other in a weave of limbs. His face fit the nook between my ear and neck so well that it felt predesigned. And maybe it was the near-death experience or the chill of the season's air; maybe it was something in the water or the stupidity it had taken to merge my name with his, but I felt a warmth within his arms.

I felt warm, and I felt safe, and despite my attempt to dispel Kristjan's voice reminding me that I was moving too fast for a righteous man, that I was too much, I wondered what the life of Rose Löff would look like, and I allowed myself to fall asleep to that.