"Even the good things?" I asked.

He nodded. "Even the good things," he said. "If they didn't, how could we appreciate them for their worth?"

"I'll miss Willem, too. And Mom and Dad, but especially Will," I decided. "We're always fighting, but he's a good brother, and he'll make a good King and better husband, I think."

"Is your brother engaged?" he asked. "What did I miss at the Hunt?"

"No," I said. "Will isn't engaged, but I'm sure he will be soon. You know how our family is."

"To whom?" he asked. "I hadn't known he was courting anyone."

"He's not," I said. "Not yet, but Mama said that he could marry Mr. Henrik and not have to give up the throne to do it, so I–"

"He's confessed to Mr. Henrik?" he asked.

"No, not yet," I said.

"But you said that he'd be married soon?"

"Willoughby," I groaned. "Look at him. Look at Mr. Henrik. Look at the way they look at each other. Tell me, where is the lie?'' I asked.

"I see your reason, but I... I need to sit down." His brows went up. "I'm happy for him. That is a weight he's carried for so long. I'm happy for them both. I had no idea they were seeing each other outside of their sessions."

"What sessions?" I asked.

Willoughby paused. "Nothing important. Painting. Will commissioned him for classes and some sort of collection."

"Classes? Collection? Of what?" I croaked.

"Landscapes, I believe."

"Are there any other secrets that you're keeping?" I asked.

He glanced at me. "She asked the knight?"

"...You're very good at your job, Ser," I told him. "I will be very happy for and not at all envious of anyone who should have you are their sentry next."

"Thank you for saying that," he said.

"So my brother is learning to paint?" I asked. "And these artworks... You're telling me that he's commissioned our painter to paint a bunch of pictures for him?" I shook my head. "Tell me you love someone without telling me you love someone."

Willoughby yawned. "Is that what you wish your message to say?" he asked. "Cause I could just say that?"

"Oh, no," I worried. "Oh, Willoughby, oh, no!"

"What!? What is it?" He perked up.

"I... I told him I was in love with him."

"The Duke?"

"No! Kristjan!" I said.

"You told Kristjan you—"

"Oh, my God. I'm going to draw you a picture at this point! Do keep up! I told Askar that I was– er, that I had been in love with Krist. That I... That I had wanted to be his wife."

"Why would you say that?" my knight asked.

"It was in the middle of se—ahhhh. Eesh. Sorry." I stopped.

"Nice save," he muttered.

"I meant, it was not like I specified who he was at the time. We were speaking candidly about my ex. I said that I... Well, it's time, Ser."

"Time for what?"

"Time you knew."

"Knew what?" he pressed.

"I..." I hung my head. "I slept with Kristjan."

"Recently?"

"What? No!" I croaked.

"So just before, then, yes?" he asked.

"You... knew?"

"Princess," he said.

"But I didn't tell you that? I didn't say that we–"

"You sobbed for months, Eliza. I am a grown man; I have seen women with heartbreak. It hits differently when there's... a physical bond, but this good."

"Good? How?" I begged.

"Your Duke knows," he said.

"Yes. I told him."

"And yet he's still here," he added.

"We established that!"

"Eliza. It means he seems very honest in what he wants with you."

"Did he tell you what he wants? In particular?" I asked.

Willoughby grinned. "You must understand that men are creatures of actions, not words. The man said he wanted to court you," he said. "And here he is, courting you. And to my understanding, he said more, didn't he? His Grace specifically said he was your match in every way. Did he not?"

"You Blades are not but gossips, aren't you?" I accused him. "When did Ser Elías find time to share that with you?"

"That bit came from your mother," he said.

"My mother knows!?" I gasped.

"Yes, and everyone else here agrees with him."

"They do?" I asked. "But I–"

"And if men are of action then—"

I smoothed my skirt, feeling his blade still fixed to my side. The stutter in the moment was not lost on Ser Willoughby.

"What is that?" he asked.

"What is what?" I lifted my hand to my hip.

"Are you wearing a knife there?" He knit his brow.

"Uh," I shrugged. "Well, yes. How did you know that?"

"Because you touched it. People touch their weapons; it's something we look for... When did you get a knife?" he asked.

"It's a dagger," I explained. "A Gosil Blade."

"A Gosil Blade," he repeated.

I moved, hiking my skirt a little to retrieve it. "It's Askar's," I said. "Or it was."

"He gave this to you?" he asked, pointing to it.

"Is that so hard to believe?" I asked. "It's not like I stole it!"

"Why am I up so late, constructing messages when he's already given you his dagger?!"

I paused. "Do you... Do you know what giving me his dagger means?"

"Of course I do. I was stationed in Crild."

"What does it mean?" I thought to ask.

He scoffed playfully but then realized I was serious. "Eliza," he sang. "Don't mess with me; I'm worn out."

"I'm not messing with you. I haven't had the courage to ask him," I confessed.

He stopped. "Really?"

"Yes!"

"Men... Men in Gosil give their daggers to their wives."

"Truly?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied. "And then their wives give the daggers to their sons."

"Their wives... This is the Dowager's blade?" I realized. "Oh! Then she knows... she..."

"If you're meaning to ask if his mother knows that he intends to marry you, and she knows you have that blade, then once again, resoundingly yes. Everyone seems to accept this but you. Even Askar himself."

"Do my... Do my parents know this?" I asked.

"I have no doubt your father is familiar with Gosil Blades. He's a blade connoisseur. He has friends in Gosil. And yes, he likely told your mother."

"Oh, my God!" I cried. "And no one thought to tell me?!"

"I would have assumed that the Duke told you of its significance when he presented it. There's a whole rite involved. It's like an engagement ring."

"He— He gave me this to fight off bears!" I cried.

"Oh, Princess." Willoughby grinned.

"It's not funny!" I whined. "It's not! He gave this to protect myself with!"

"Yes, quite the metaphor, isn't it?" he asked. He laughed. "You have nothing to worry about. This man is hook, line, and sinker, yours."

"How can you be sure?" I whispered.

"Because. He only has one blade."

"I thought he'd buy another!"

"Ha!"

"Why is that funny?"

"Tell me," he said, stifling his laugh. "Has he yet?"

"Not that I'm aware of, but I've only just left."

He nodded, "Right. You let me know when that happens, yeah?" Then he shook his head, open-mouth smiling like a fool.

"Willoughby! I demand, no, I order you to tell me what you're laughing about right this instance!"

He sighed. "Eliza. He won't buy another one."

"But what about his rites?"

"Sorry, I should have explained. Men and women exchange daggers on their wedding night. The husband gives his wife his as proof of his devotion. She is always safe behind his blade. He is always there to make sure of it. Yeah? And the wife, she gives him a new one in return. It represents a new cycle. Usually, they're custom-made. They have something engraved into them that is special to the pair."

"Oh, God," I moaned.

"This shouldn't upset you. Giving away his blade is a major declaration for a Goslin man to make. Anyone who sees you with his dagger knows you are his."

"No, I..." I frowned, chewing my lip. "I promised Ser Nikolai that I would pay him for his escort in the form of a dagger... that I had made for him by Father's blacksmith."

"And I assume you told Askar this for some reason?"

I nodded. "It's bad," I said. "Isn't it?"

"Well, I mean. Essentially the man declared he would take no other wife but you, and then you declared you'd give a dagger to another man. It does feel bad."

"Oh, my God! You have to help me fix this!" I cried.

"How am I supposed to do that?" he asked.

"Willoughby!" I hissed. "Tell me what to say!"

He started laughing, and I started smacking his arms and chest, whimpering.

"Oh, my God," he boasted. "Fuck me, woman. Stop hitting me!"

I stared at him. He cleared his throat.

"Sorry." He shrugged. "I mean, it is sort of funny. Yeah?"

"Hilarious, I'm sure." I folded my arms. "What would you say in my position?"

"Do you want to marry him?" he asked plainly.

"Y-Yes."

"Then 'I love you' would be a start. 'I love you, not your cousin, not Ser Nikol-ha-ha-hai!'" He wiped an actual tear. "I'm sorry, it's just so sad."

"Damn you, Willoughby. You're doing nothing to soothe my nerves! I'm so sick I might die!"

He shook his head. "Oh, man," and sat down next to me. "Alright," he breathed. "Then how about... 'I wear your dagger every day?' Hmm?"

"That sounds better... That sounds like something I can say." I ran with it. "Tell him: 'I wear your dagger every day. At night, I keep it close to me, and I think about... the first time I saw it. About when you gave it to me, and about how every moment since I've... felt safe. Safe and brave.' What do you think?"

He nodded. "I think he will appreciate the message. Do you not wish to add your affection?"

"...I told Krist that I loved him. He didn't say it back; he said... nothing. And then when I tried to apologize for it, he told me, that's when he told me I was too much. I cannot bear to hear that again."

"I am sorry he said that to you," Willough said. He gestured to the pillow. "I don't believe the Duke would, but I understand your hesitation. Get some rest. Tomorrow is a new day."

"Ser?" I asked. "What inn is Askar staying at?"

"Princess, I would not tell you that for all the custom-designed daggers in the land." He didn't even try not to grin.

I scoffed, throwing one of my pillows at him. "Just go!" I moaned.

He caught it and threw it back. "I'll see you in the morning. Alright?"

"Whatever, fine," I sang, burrowing beneath the covers.

"Think of happier things," he said. "I'll go see your Duke, and tomorrow you'll take the day for yourself. Friday, we'll face Lord Beck together, and then we'll leave him in the past where he belongs."

"Thank you..." I swallowed. "I know you don't appreciate the praise, but... I don't know where I would be without you."

He gave me a half-assed nod. "Nor I, you. You forget you saved my life."

"No," I told him. "You saved mine."

"Good night, Eliza."

He shut the door.