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                THE ENTIRE PALACE HAD BEEN DECORATED IN CHRISTMAS ORNAMENTS. Tall evergreen trees stretched up to the vaulted ceilings. Train tracks zipped down the stairway railings. Stars and singing elves and fake snow and glowing light bulbs.

                Christmas had always been Rory's favourite time at the palace.

                Because if there was one thing her father knew, it was how to do Christmas right.

                Despite the majority of the population in Valeria having Christian origins, King William still announced the beginning of every Hanukkah, Diwali, Rohatsu, Eid and the Solstice. 

                Today, December 25th, was Christmas.

                "Rory," said Simon, pulling her behind a talking mechanical reindeer.

                Rory glanced up.

                "Amanda showed up at the hospital on the night of the Charity Gala," he said in a low voice. "She was looking for you."

                The warmth drained from Rory's face.

                "Did she hear about my donation?" Rory whispered.

                Money—money wouldn't help.

                But Rory's donation hadn't been about the money.

                After donating to the Joyful Hearts Foundation—a crisis for sexual assault and rape survivors—Rory had made an announcement.

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                WITH PARIS'S HAND ON HERS, RORY KNEW SHE HAD IT IN HERSELF TO STAND.

                Clinking her knife against her wine glass, Rory waited until the attention of the crowd was on her.

                "I would like to make an announcement," she said. It was the night of the Charity Gala—the night she had been waiting for these past six weeks. 

               This was her chance to make things right.

               "As you may have heard, I made a donation to the Joyful Hearts Foundation," Rory began. "But tonight, I have special news for you."

               The king's head had snapped up.

               Nobody had known what she was about to do.

               And Rory enjoyed seeing the way his fork clattered to the table, the only sound in the room, as she said, "In support of the victims who suffered from Declan's sexual assault, I am creating a foundation called the Royal Survivors."

               Silence.

               Silence, except for Paris's hand on hers, squeezing it.

               Support. Gratitude. 

               By creating this foundation, Rory was confirming the fact that Declan had been a predator. She was acknowledging what his victims had suffered. They had been paid off, of course, but this. 

                This was a gesture no one would forget.

                Silence—and then the ballroom exploded into applause. 

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                "WHERE IS SHE NOW?" RORY ASKED.

                 Simon shook his head. "I don't know—she disappeared when she realized you weren't there. She might be on her way here, but that's a landmine. Too risky. As long as you're here, you'll be safe."

                  Rory let out a breath—relief.

                  "This problem isn't over," Simon warned. "Amanda is Billie's sister. And ever since Billie passed away in that car accident, she's been waiting for this moment. Revenge."

                  The car accident hadn't been Declan's fault, but Billie had been drunk when it happened. A way to cope with the pain, her doctor had said. The pain of the trauma.

                  Now, since Declan and Billie were gone, Amanda was taking it out on Rory.

                  Rory shook her head. "It's Christmas, and I'm safe. We're safe. Let's just . . . let's celebrate the good stuff, alright?"

                 Something eased in Simon's chest, and Rory knew he was thinking of Alec.

                "Go on," Rory said, laughing. "Go find him. I know you want to."

                 Simon scowled. "Paris is waiting for you in the common lounge upstairs."

                 The common lounge. 

                 Rory thought of the roaring fireplace and the woven carpet and the hot chocolate machine. 

                 There was one thing she had to do first, though—a detour.

                 As Rory climbed the stairs two steps at a time, she passed by Ophelia. Who reached out and grabbed her shoulder.

                Rory wanted to shake away the royal secretary's touch, but she became perfectly still.

                "Your Highness," Ophelia said sweetly.

                "Ophelia," Rory said through clenched teeth.

                "Headed off to see your . . . girlfriend? Paris Young, right?"

                "Right," Rory said. "Anything you wanted to tell me?"

                "Oh, just a message from the king you can deliver to Paris," Ophelia said. 

                 Rory knew better than to believe anything Ophelia said, but she still grimaced. What message would her father need to deliver to Paris?

                 With a saccharine glint in her eyes, Ophelia said, "The king would like to ask Paris why she is not yet tamed."

                 Why who isn't tamed yet? 

                 Was she talking about Rory? 

                 Rory shook her head. It didn't make sense.

                 "Whatever," she said tightly. "I'll tell Paris."

                "See that you do," Ophelia said, her green eyes glittering, and she continued down the stairs. 

               Rory watched her for a moment, trying to puzzle out what the message meant, and then she brushed it off. Whatever it was, there was no reason to believe Ophelia. She trusted Paris.

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               EXCITEMENT BRIMMING IN HER CHEST, RORY moved to where Paris was sitting at the fireplace. A thick green blanket was wrapped over her shoulders.

               Cross-legged, Rory sat down next to her.

               She was looking forward to giving Paris two gifts.

               But before she could pull out the rectangular present from behind her back, Paris turned to her and revealed something in her lap. Coated in white tissue paper and glitter.

               "This is for you," Paris said, and Rory knew she wasn't blushing because of the fire in front of them.

               "You . . . you got me a gift?" Rory said.

               "I know we didn't say we would exchange anything, but I . . . I wanted to give this to you. You can unwrap it now, if you want."

               Rory slit open the white tissue paper. Her skin would be dusted in glitter for days, but she didn't care. Inside the wrapping—

               Inside the wrapping, there was a snow globe.

               Rory looked up at Paris, and she nodded encouragingly.

               Slowly, Rory lifted the snow globe until she could peer inside.

               There were little mountains surrounding a little lake. And on the little lake . . . 

               Two little people.

               Two girls.

               They were wearing skates, and they were so close it couldn't be mistaken as anything but a kiss in a winter wonderland.

              "Shake it," Paris said softly.

              Rory shook the globe, and a flurry of snow exploded over the scene.

              That day when they had snuck out onto the lake—Paris had created this snow globe with the lake and the skating and the mountains in mind.

               Their first real kiss, after five years.

              "You put our memory into a snow globe," Rory whispered.

              And for once, she was speechless.

              Nobody had ever given her a gift this thoughtful.

              Paris sniffled, and Rory realized she was crying.

              "It gets better," Paris said. "There's a little key on the bottom. Twist it."

              When Rory twisted the key, the two little figures skated apart, circling the ice. But at the end of each cycle, it ended the same way: the girls were always reunited in the middle, braced in each other's arms.

              Rory blinked furiously. Don't you dare cry, she told herself.

              "I don't think my gift can beat this," Rory said, giving her a watery laugh.

              Paris's eyes widened. "Rory, you didn't have to get me anything. That donation you made the other night, the Royal Survivors Foundation you started . . . that was the best gift you could have ever given me."

               Rory chuckled. "But I have something for you anyway."

               She pulled out the rectangular-shaped present from behind her back and handed it to Paris. Facing each other, silhouetted by the fire beside them, Rory thought for a moment that she had never had a better Christmas.

               Paris unwrapped the present, smoothing her palm over it.

               "A book?" she asked. "I—"

               And then she opened it.

               Page after page of Rory's drawings from the time she had known Paris until now. Loose pages of people Rory had seen on the train. Leaflets of friends Rory had seen. Classmates. Every single one of her sketches up until this moment. And there were portraits, faces, of strangers and lovers alike, but always, always, Rory had drawn Paris. In the space between her breaths, in the waking between day and dream. She had drawn Paris most of all, even when they hadn't been together. 

                "This is . . . this is so beautiful," Paris said, her voice breaking.

                "I know it's not as good as—"

                "This is better," said Paris. She set the sketchbook down, and she reached over the distance between them to wrap Rory in her arms.

                A hot, swollen kiss by the fire. 

                "Thank you," Rory whispered. 

                "No," Paris said. "Thank you, Rory. I never knew . . . I never thought . . ."

                 Finally, Rory managed a smirk. "I do have one more gift waiting, you know."

✫✫✫

                "THIS IS  THE BEST CHRISTMAS PRESENT YOU could have given me," Paris said.

               From where Rory was sitting, upside down, it was nice to know that Paris was still the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.

               "I'm glad you appreciate this," Rory wheezed. "It wasn't intentional."

               "Princess? Do you need help?"

               Rory grimaced. "Well, I'm strapped into a saddle, hanging upside down on a horse. You tell me."

               "You probably should have tied that right," Paris teased.

               "I was busy looking at a pretty girl," said Rory. "I got a little distracted."

               The stable boy helped Rory back up, and Rory didn't even have to look at Paris to know she was blushing.

                The king would like to ask why she is not yet tamed. 

                It was bothering Rory—more than she let on.

                Maybe Rory would mention something to Paris, after all. She would probably know what Ophelia was talking about, or they could laugh about how ridiculous it was.

               "You're ready to go," said the stable boy.

               Paris exchanged a glance with Rory.

               You're on, Rory thought.

               She kicked her heels into the saddle, and as the stable gates open, their horses galloped forward into the snow. 

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Someone tell me something exciting they're doing today!

I promise the ending is not as bad as I'm making it sound. Most of you probably already know I'm a sucker for lesbians who live happily ever after.

From the moon and back,
Sarai