Valdr lay with his head nestled against her breast, his arm thrown over her body, his fingers gripping her hip while he slept. If she had slept at all, it did not feel like it. Her eyes stung, her mouth bitter and dry, the flesh of her thighs stinging and wet. She gazed down at him, disgust turning her empty stomach. She pushed the memories of last night from her mind as they tried to flood in.

Gods, how far she had travelled only to return here to this?

This is different. I am different.

Theodan, I need for you to come for me now. I cannot fight this war without you anymore. I am weak. I am not who you think I am.

Valdr's dagger lay discarded on the table by her head, dormant and quiet, no longer the instrument it became in his hands. She reached for it now. It was light in her grip, lighter than it looked. When she brought it closer the light streaming in through the large windows turned its blade from dull yellow to bright gold.

She looked down at him, at his beautiful, depraved mouth soft with sleep. His soft pale throat open and unprotected. How much blood would pour from it, she wondered. Would it arc across the chamber as Torrik's had? Would it be warm as it covered her? She tried to imagine how she would feel after it. Elated. Powerful. Free.

Would he still smell the same after he was empty of the blood of Gods which ran hot and wild inside him? The same blood that ran inside her? Her heart pinched at the thought of his slowing to a stop. At his eyes losing their green fire. At his lips moving for the last time.

She thought about what would happen next. Ravol would come first, of course. He'd scream for the Nati, scream that the king had been murdered, before ordering she be put in chains at once. How many lords would speak for her then? Would the last few who stood on her side turn on her finally? She could see no reason they would support her then. With Valdr dead, Dacian would see no pardon either. She would see no trial. A public burning, surely.

Then, with Panos lost to Leoth, who would rule Calate? Pagel? Ravol himself? The thought sickened her. Frightened her.

'Where would you cut me, love?' he asked, his voice heavy with sleep. He turned his head to look up at her. Then pressed his mouth to her breast to kiss her. She lowered the blade.

'I thought about slicing open your throat while you slept,' she admitted.

He smiled, almost proud. 'And then what? Would you open your own?' Another soft kiss, lower this time, on the flat of her stomach. 'They would roast you alive otherwise.' She made a move to get out of bed, but he pulled her back, a provocative look in his eye.

'Valdr, you do not want your wife to find me here?'

He laughed. 'Gods, you do not think I care? Anyway, it is unlikely - Ravol says she is in some kind of sleeping trance. Have you ever heard of such a thing? She has apparently not opened her eyes since her collapse at the council. Mayhaps she won't wake at all,' he sighed, burying his face in her neck. 'Which would certainly make everything far less bothersome for me.' When his hand tried to move between her legs, she pressed her thighs together, denying him. He pulled his head up to look at her.

'I pity her,' she said.

'But of course you do. Your heart is soft and female.' She let him kiss her, though kept her thighs firmly closed to him. He moved his mouth down her neck. 'Do you know she wishes to be you? She told me that the first time we met - she really was dreadfully in love with the princeling.'

A stab of guilt punched through her and she thrust him off and slid out of bed. On the floor she found her discarded gown and pulled it on hastily.

'You will pardon Dacian today? Make his innocence known to the rest of the lords?'

He sat propped up in the centre of the bed now, yawning. 'If I must.'

'You must. You need him and his men by your side, Valdr, now more than ever. You cannot afford to sow divisions, have your sea forces resent you. And, he is innocent.'

'Is he?' Valdr asked, fixing her with a dark look. 'I see the way he still looks at you, as though even now he lives in hope of you being his wife. As though I would consider it.'

She scowled at him. 'And yet you considered giving me to Torrik's feral offspring.'

He stiffened. 'I let them think I would consider it, Fara, there is a difference. Nothing would convince me to give you to another.' Then, in a smaller voice. 'For you belong to me.'

She bit her tongue and turned from him to pull closed the laces of her gown, walking away from the bed.

'In any case, Dacian should be married by now. I will look into that as soon as I return to Prissia.' Only Valdr would think it important he marry off his lords while planning to go to war. 'Perhaps Delphine would agree to it...' he mused.

She spun to face him. 'You would marry Dacian to your mistress?' The thought made her feel cold, though she did not know why. 'He would never agree to that.'

She tried to imagine it: Valdr's icy courtesan and Wyllan did not strike her as a suitable match.

'He need not like it, but if it is what his king commands of him, then he will agree to it.'

A knock at the door startled her.

'Who is it?' Valdr called out

'It is I, your grace,' Ravol shouted back.

'Come in, Ravol.'

When she glared at Valdr, he merely shrugged before dragging a hand through his hair. Ravol entered the chamber from a secondary door to Fara's right and so did not see her where she stood between the chaise and the fireplace.

'Your grace,' he bowed. 'You look well rested and at ease this morning. Shall I have your morning meal sent up?'

'Yes, I am famished, Ravol. Tell me how the preparations go for our return to Prissia?'

'Exceedingly well, sire. Your carriage and steeds are being prepared and the Nati are ready to go whenever you are. The Zybar set off at first dawn, as expected.'

'You mean they didn't even say goodbye?' Valdr joked, causing Ravol to titter unbearably. 'Ensure to have my carriage arranged for two - my sister will travel with me.' Valdr's gaze found hers then and Ravol turned.

She saw him tense, paling slightly, before he worked hard to recover the air of ceremony. It gave her a slight flare of satisfaction to see how much her presence here enraged him. It was pathetic, of course, but given how empty and rotten she felt inside, it was a minor triumph all the same.

'Princess...'he said, bowing lower than he did when Valdr was not present. 'Shall I also have your morning meal brought here?'

'Yes,' said Valdr.

'No, I am not hungry,' She lied. 'Tell me, Lord Ravol, how is the lady Dura. Has she awoken?'

Ravol looked surprised by her question. 'Ah, she has, your grace,' he turned back to Valdr. 'She awoke some time ago, sire, and is eating a light broth. We have not told her yet of her father's... demise, and she has not asked about it.'

Valdr looked openly disinterested.

'I would like to visit with her before we leave for Prissia,' Fara told Valdr. 'Though I'm sure she would far rather a visit from you.'

Ravol looked from Valdr to her and then back again, waiting.

Finally Valdr shrugged, nonchalant. 'Visit with her if you please.' He climbed out of bed and entirely naked, he strode to the chamber pot and relieved himself.

Ravol cleared his throat and glanced away politely. 'Ahem, very well, I shall advise Lady Dura to expect you, princess. One would assume she will wish to prepare herself.' He said this with a pointed look. 'Anything else you require of me this morn, sire?'

Valdr looked casually over his shoulder. When he found Fara's eyes, she widened them, urgently. Looking back down into the chamber pot, he gripped himself and shook.

Then, with a sigh, he turned. 'Summon Lord Dacian to me. He is herewith cleared of any wrongdoing in the death of Torrik of Zybar by the Leoth Elyon of Lethane. Have something drafted and bring it to me for my seal.'

She thought she saw a glimmer of chagrin pass over Ravol's face, but again it melted away almost instantly.

While Ravol remained to discuss the wording of Valdr's writ stating Dacian's innocence, she excused herself from the chamber.

***

The great hulking Zybarian who stood guard outside the lady Dura's chamber gave her an openly hostile glare. He stood almost as tall as a Leoth, she thought; prominent muscles and gigantic hands, with black inkings drawn across his neck, forearms and wrists. If she hadn't spent time amongst the most fearful race in the land, he would cut a frightening sight.

'The Lady Dura is expecting me,' Fara told him, holding her head up. Perhaps she'd posted him outside to refuse her entry? She didn't know if Dura wanted to speak with her or not. The maid had said only that Lord Ravol had advised her of Fara's intent to visit with her.

Fara had also asked whether the Lady Dura now knew of her father's death, and the maid confirmed she did.

Now she waited for the large Zybar to deny her entry, but after a few moments of staring down at her sullenly, he moved to open the door and stepped inside.

'Fara of Calate, my Lady,' he said in a gruff voice. A gruff voice which was respectful, tender even. No sound came back from within, but he looked round at her and motioned for Fara to enter.

She stepped tentatively inside and turned to find the solemn figure of Torrik's daughter sitting on a stool by the window with a book open in her lap. She closed the book gently and stood.

'You may leave us Daegar,' Dura said, and the enormous male behind her backed out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.

Dura of Zybar stared at her, her large grey eyes wide and unblinking.

'I am sorry for the loss of your father,' Fara said.

A frown creased the girl's brow. 'Are you? For it appeared you hated him more than any other - perhaps even more than the Leoth who killed him.'

'Then, I mis-spoke. I am sorry for the pain you feel at his loss.'

At this, Dura nodded, before moving across the chamber toward the fire where two seats sat facing each other, a small table in between set with a teapot and two cups. Dura took a seat. 'I had them bring yellow pepper tea; Lord Ravol told me it was your favourite.'

Fara smiled a small hidden smile. She hated yellow pepper tea. Not only that, but it caused her skin to itch and flare with angry pink blotches after so much as a taste - something Ravol knew. She moved to sit across from Dura, who reached forward to pour two cups of the sweetly spiced tea.

'Lord Ravol's knowledge of those close to Valdr is unparalleled.' Fara remarked as she lifted the cup and pretended to sip, not wanting to embarrass her.

Dura gave her that same wide-eyed stare. 'But I suppose you know him best of all.'

'Lord Ravol?'

'Valdr.' She said his name as though he were a God, sending a hollow ring of dread through Fara's entire body.

Lowering her cup to avoid Dura's eyes, she said: 'Yes. I suppose I do.'

'He loves you dearly.' Her voice held a note of something painfully soft.

Do you know she wishes to be you? She told me that the first time we met.

A flare of protectiveness rose in Fara suddenly for this soft, pale girl who sat across from her. Sold like a timid mare to a cruel master. It was pity and guilt, but it was something else too.

It was that she reminded her of Cassi.

'I know you have many reasons to hate me, Dura. Many and more - and for that I do not blame you. I know you have even less reason to trust me now given what you see as my part in your father's death, but it is my hope that in time you will come to see that I am not your enemy. In fact, I would very much like it if we could be friends, sisters even. Men surround us on all sides and not all of them look with kindness and favour upon the hearts of women.'

The girl looked partly stunned, partly frightened. Gods, how did she survive a night beneath Valdr and yet still gaze at the world with all the terror of a fawn in the face of a hunter?

She blinked her gigantic eyes once, then again, then took a deep sip of her tea. 'Friends,' she repeated. It sounded like a question. 'Sisters...'

'Yes, whatever it is you wish.'

Dura nodded, but it was not with acceptance, it was with contemplation. Then: 'Lord Ravol told me you asked Valdr to cast me aside. He also told me I should be wary of you should you come to me offering friendship. That I should trust what my heart told me about you.'

Heat rushed to Fara's cheeks as she cursed Ravol once again.

'I did,' she admitted. ' I asked Valdr to cast you aside. But it was before... and it was because I did not trust your father. Did not trust that your marriage to Valdr was anything but an attempt by him to gain even more control of these four realms.'

'And now my father is dead.' She said it with no emotion at all. She said it as one might say which color gloves fit best with a particular cloak.

Fara said nothing. It would be impolite for her to point out that which was so glaringly obvious, surely?

'Dura, Lord Ravol is a snake in the grass of Valdr's court and I urge you to be careful where you step while he slithers around you. For he will bite when you least expect it. Do not take your eyes from him for a second.'

'I see,' Dura said, her expression beguilingly innocent. Then, as though she had just thought of something. 'But Valdr trusts him implicitly? He is his closest advisor, is he not?'

'Yes. But the Nati exist only to protect and serve the king, and Lord Ravol will stop at nothing to ensure the king sees him as indispensable.' Valdr knew Ravol's nature, knew it completely, understood it completely, for he had moulded it and shaped it to be exactly as he needed it to be. 'But I will agree with him in one thing: you must trust what your heart tells you about those who offer a hand of friendship to you here, if you mean to call it home.'

Dura listened intently, then lifted her cup to take another sip of tea. 'I will think on all that you have said, princess Fara.'

'Just, Fara please,' she smiled softly.

'Then I too will be just, Dura.' She sat forward and placed her cup on the small table, then knotted her hands together on her lap. 'I must admit I feel quite daunted at the thought of Prissia; I've heard so much about its ancient beauty.'

'It is very beautiful, but do not let it daunt you. It is only a castle of brick and glass.'

'Built by a god,' Dura exclaimed. 'Does the sunlight turn it a thousand colours, as they say?'

Fara nodded, caught up in Dura's excitement then. How long had it been since she'd walked its walls? 'If you look down upon it from the Everwood forest, it sparkles more colours than you can count.'

Dura gasped. 'What was it like to be a child in such a place?'

She kept her face as impassive as she said: 'It was like nowhere else on earth, I suppose.'

'And tell me of Valdr as a child? Was he very naughty? I suppose he was just as handsome as he is now. Were you as close as children?' She rushed, guileless excitement on her face. 'Zhoron and I are not close at all... we were raised apart, strangers. He with my father. I with my nurses and Leterae.'

Fara ignored the questions about Valdr and focussed instead on what seemed to excite Dura most. 'I am sure Prissia will live up to your expectations. I will give you a tour of all of my favourite parts as soon as we arrive if you'd like?' And keep you safe from the horrors which lurk behind its chamber doors and in its shadowy corners.

Dura nodded, then bit her lip nervously. Fara's heart almost stopped, for it was such a Cassi thing to do, and it pained her, not only because it was a reminder but because she had all but forgotten that it was a Cassi thing to do. She only stared at Dura a moment, breathless.

'I want very much for Valdr to know that I am loyal to Calate.' She cast a hopeful look up at Fara. 'Despite what those who have his ear may think of my father.'

It was a plea to her, to Fara. One she could not refuse.

'Valdr knows,' she said.

She looked startled. 'He does?'

Fara nodded. What Valdr had in fact said was that Dura was entirely in love with him, but it did not feel like a lie then to say he thought her loyal. It felt like a necessary comfort for this girl who was alone in a new realm without a single friend to guide her.

'And I am certain Calate's people will come to see that loyalty before long.' With that, Fara moved to stand.'I will leave you to prepare for your journey. It is painfully long. I wanted only to ensure you were well... after the council... after...' she still could not say the words out loud.

And then, even more surprising, the smallest sliver of guilt at Torrik's demise.

'I am well, I thank you for your visit,' Dura said, rising to her feet. 'I had hoped that Valdr might come, but I suppose there is much for him to attend to now.'

'I am sure when we return to Prissia you will see much more him.'

'Oh, I hope so.'

Fearful of such circumstance, Fara dipped her head and turned toward the door.

'Your statement before the council, before my father,' Dura's small voice rose up again. Fara turned. 'I thought it was... magnificent. I have seen no one - no one but your Leoth commander - speak to my father in such a way.' She sounded awed. 'It was true: he was a cruel man. In fact, all you said about him before those lords was true. He wanted you dead. Had commanded his men to bring you to him so he could see it done. But the Leoth Commander defied it.'

'I was lucky to escape your father's cruelty,' Fara said.

'I was not so lucky.'

'I'm sorry.'

Dura straightened. 'I will look forward to drinking tea with you again in Prissia.'

***

The sun hid behind the swollen grey cushions of cloud as she sat in the King's carriage thinking of Dura of Zybar. Should she still call her by that name? Just, Dura. Sweet smile. Wide, innocent eyes.

Gods, Cassi my sweetling, I miss you.

Did any still call her Fara of Azura? Was that name lost to her now? As Galyn was lost to her now?

Then, because her mind was the only place she could voice it aloud, she tried on another: Fara of Leoth. It sent a warm feeling up from her fur-lined feet to spread across her middle, soothing her. Fara of Leoth. She closed her eyes and lost herself to an image so powerful it stole her breath.

As the door of the carriage was thrust wide, she opened her eyes. Valdr climbed inside and sat across from her, letting out a tired sigh.

Finally, they could leave this place.

She had not seen him since this morning and she looked at him now to gauge his mood. He had been groomed and polished, his skin scrubbed and cleaned, and he wore a long coat of smoothed leather, black leather gloves and boots. Immediately, he moved to undo the gold buttons of his coat.

Outside they pulled the screens down one by one, enclosing them both inside. Then she heard the Nati herald the king's departure.

Valdr leaned forward to open the small compartment beneath his seat and lifted out a bottle of wine. He removed the stopper with his teeth before taking a generous mouthful, then held it out to her. She shook her head, and he shrugged, then took another drink before shoving the stopper back and setting the bottle between his thighs. He fixed her with a heavy look.

'How did your audience with Dacian fare?' She asked as the carriage lurched forward.

'Tell me, do you ever think of anything but Dacian?' He asked darkly.

She sighed. 'Trust me, Valdr, Dacian barely enters my thoughts. It is your rule I am thinking of.'

He raised an eyebrow, skeptical, then slouched further back in his seat and shoved one boot on the seat next to her, legs spread. 'Then let us trade: how did your audience with my wife fare?' A cruel smirk played at the side of his mouth.

'Of course you had your shadow lurk and listen....' she rolled her eyes and hurried through her mind for anything which she may have said to cause his mood to turn to what it had now. There was nothing. She'd insulted Ravol, urged Dura to tread carefully around him, they'd spoken briefly of Valdr.

'You called him a snake,' Valdr said, amused.

'He is a snake.'

'Perhaps, sister, but he is my snake. His poison mine to unleash where I will it.'

She fixed him with a look. 'Then unleash it far from Dura, Valdr. She is young and alone and she certainly does not understand who it is they have given her to as a wife.'

He grinned. 'If I recall correctly — and I do, always — it was you who said she was far stronger than she appeared.'

An awful flutter moved over her. 'I was wrong. She is little more than a girl —a girl who wants desperately to please and love you.'

He smiled a wicked smile he knew would trouble her and pulled the stopper from the bottle and drank deeply.

She glared at him with disgust and turned to pull up the screen to stare outside. A few moments later she heard him sigh before he moved to kneel on the rug covered floor in front of her.

'Don't be angry with me, you know I hate it,' he said, pouting.

She looked down at him. 'Then promise me you won't hurt her,' she whispered.

'Hurt her?' He sat up, looking genuinely puzzled.

'You know exactly what I mean, do not pretend otherwise.'

Without breaking her stare, he reached down to slide his hand beneath her skirts.

When his fingers found the raw cut at its apex, which wept for him still, he made a soft noise. She flinched at the cut of pain.

'You mean like this?' He asked, his voice low.

She only glared at him.

'Or... like this?' His gloved fingers found her opening, and he pushed two inside of her. She tried to close her thighs to him, but this time he forced them apart, overpowering her. Then he lifted her skirts to bury his head beneath them.

She reached for the screen and pulled it closed. fisting a hand in his hair while the other clawed desperately at the seat. She closed her eyes as the pleasure built.

Even though she fought it with everything she had, everything she was - she always did - it was still not enough. A gasp escaped from her.

Before her mind scattered, she thought of Cassi. Of how many times she wished she could have changed places and taken upon herself what the Gods had cursed upon Cassi.

Now, perhaps for Dura, she could do it. Could save one weaker than herself.