Maren was sitting in her favorite spot in the garden.  It was reasonably secluded as it was a good way into the gardens, but still visible from the main stretch of lawn. She was pretending to read a book, but was actually meditating. Maren liked meditating in the gardens because it added just the right amount of distraction to make it more challenging. She pretended to be reading because it was far more socially acceptable than sitting alone and staring blankly in the distance.

But, because she was actually staring blankly in the distance, she did not notice Prince Donovan had arrived until he said her name.

She looked up at him and was suddenly unsure how he wanted her to greet him when others were likely watching. They were supposed to appear to have been lovers for almost two months, and a curtsy would be entirely too formal for that. But any other greeting would be uncomfortably familiar for her. 

He seemed to sense her dilemma and offered his hand out to her. She decided that was acceptable and put her hand in his. He kissed it and said, "My lady."

"Your Highness," she said.

"You have found quite a pleasant spot in the gardens," he observed.

"I have been enjoying it," she said.

He looked somewhat uncomfortable for a moment and then asked, "Would you come with me? I'd like to have a word with you."

"In private," he added as she glanced at the bench beside her.

"Ah...yes, that would be fine," she said, feeling rather uncertain. Their last exchange over breakfast had ended civilly enough, but she had no idea what he wanted from her now. She very much hoped she had put the whole "almond incident" to bed.

He offered his arm, and they walked into the palace, nodding and smiling and greeting courtiers as they went. Once they were inside his apartment, she moved as though to sit in the receiving room—it was neutral territory, after all – but he stopped her.

"Would you come to my sitting room, please?" he asked.

Maren looked at him in surprise, he had never asked her to his private quarters.

"I do not want any servants to overhear us," he said by way of explanation.

Maren kept looking at him, she was not thrilled at the idea of going into his sitting room, but as he had sworn her an oath, she really couldn't object without being monstrously offensive.

She nodded and followed him into his quarters. His sitting room was similar to hers, although a good bit larger. It had the quality of a room that was lived in, versus hers that had the impersonality and sterility of guest quarters. It was decorated richly but not garishly, with comfortable-looking leather furniture and polished wooden tables holding lamps. The effect was rather pleasant.

"Sit wherever you like," he told her.

She chose a place on a sofa that was situated between two armchairs. It was indeed comfortable.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked, going over to what must've been a bar.

"Do I need one?" she asked. She rarely drank alcohol apart from wine with dinner, but she had a feeling a drink now would be medicinal.

The Prince laughed wryly and said, "Probably."

That sounded rather ominous to Maren. A thousand terrible possibilities of what he might be about to tell her popped into her head. She pointedly decided to ignore them.

He handed her a glass half-full of a dark, reddish-brown liquid.

"Brandy," he told her.

She took a sip; it was excellent brandy.

The Prince sat down in the armchair closest to her.

She resisted the urge to ask him what she really wanted, which was, "What for each and every god is going on?"

He was quiet for a moment, seemingly unsure how to begin. She waited.

"I expect you are—or have been, rather—wondering why I...chose...you," he said.

That was something of an understatement.

"I assumed you had a reason," she said.

He nodded. "I did, and I think you'll agree it was a fairly good one. But, if I tell you the reason without some explanation beforehand, I'll sound like a madman."

She gestured for him to continue, very curious about what he might say.

"You know the Darkness first presents at thirteen?" he asked.

She nodded again, this time with a wry smile of her own. She vividly remembered her own thirteenth birthday.

"Of course, it's the same for the Light, isn't it?"

She nodded, wondering where he was going with this.

"When a male member of the royal family turns thirteen—he is required to display his power before the Court," the Prince explained.

"Oh," she said. "That sounds...well, honestly, that sounds perfectly dreadful." It really did. Waking up one morning and suddenly having powers you could not control was terrifying enough without having to put on a display.

The Prince laughed. "It was not my favorite birthday, but I got through it relatively unscathed. But...let me tell you about Kieran's birthday."

—

"What do you want?" Kieran sneered when Donovan came into his room.

He sounded stubborn and irritable, which Donovan thought was pretty typical for him. He looked irritable too, sullen and more pimply than usual. 

"Nothing," Donovan said. "Just wanted to say happy birthday. See how things were before the...thing."

Kieran scowled. "What do you care?"

Donovan shrugged. "I know it's...stressful."

His brother scoffed. "Perfect Prince Donovan thought it was stressful? I doubt that very much."

Donovan had found his own thirteenth birthday extremely stressful. It was awful being forced to display your brand-new powers in front of so many people. He hated it. But it was very like Kieran to be rude when Donovan was trying to be helpful.

"Think what you want. I was just trying to help," Donovan said, annoyed.

"Despite what you may think, not everyone wants your help," Kieran sneered.

Donovan shrugged and left Kieran alone. He had done what his mother asked him to and was not going to stand around while Kieran was obnoxious. If he didn't want help, that wasn't Donovan's problem.

At sunset, Donovan, along with his family and the rest of the Court, gathered in the hall for the "display." Donovan felt nervous, even though he had already had his thirteenth birthday two years prior. He hid a chair, but he didn't know what Kieran would be doing.

Something with a stack of books, it appeared. His father stood beside Kieran in front of a small table with a large stack of books. Donovan stood off to the side with his uncle and mother, while the rest of the Court stood on the other side of the table, waiting for the King to begin.

"Honorable members of the Court, it is my pleasure to stand before you with my youngest son on the day he has come into his power to wield the Darkness. It is both the privilege and honor of the House of Malenor to hold custody of these sacred powers passed from father to son since the founding of our great kingdom. It is through wielding the Darkness that we can protect the kingdom from the evils of the Light. And so, we choose to display our powers before you as assurance that the next generation of rulers can continue to protect you and all the people of our kingdom. Therefore, without further ado, may I present Prince Kieran."

It was more or less the same speech his father had given on Donovan's thirteenth birthday. There was polite applause and Kieran stepped forward. Donovan felt his heart pounding. He wasn't sure if it was out of sympathy or just remembering how nervous he had been when he'd been in Kieran's place. Donovan had spent the entirety of the day before his display practicing and still was nervous, even though he knew he could do it. He didn't know if Kieran practiced.

Kieran held his hand, and Donovan could see the swirling shadows of Darkness materialize from his fingertips. That was good. That was the first thing.

Then, Kieran flicked his fingers in the direction of the books, and the shadows that should have rapidly shot away lazily drifted toward the books. The books did not budge. That was not good.

Even the people in the hall without magic knew that was not what was supposed to happen.

To his credit, Kieran tried again. The shadows were stronger, but still didn't seem to want to do what Kieran wanted.

It was painful. Donovan considered knocking over the books himself, but he wasn't quite sure he could make it look like Kieran had done it. He also thought his father or uncle might do that if that was the right thing to do.

Apparently, it wasn't because after Kieran's third failed attempt, his father led the clapping that signaled the end of the display. The Court, not wanting to contradict the King, clapped politely, but Donovan saw whispers and murmurs. No one believed that was a proper display.

Donovan heard the whispers and murmurs at the banquet that followed. 

"That was pathetic. I don't think he could protect us from a housefly, much less the Light."

"It's a very good thing he won't be king."

"Let's hope Donovan has a son quickly and knocks him out of line."

"Gods above, can you imagine if he was king? The witches would be running the kingdom."

"Thank the gods at least one member of the next generation can do something useful."

Donovan did what he thought his parents would want him to do and pretended not to hear any of it. He felt bad for Kieran, though. He knew Kieran could hear the talk too. Courtiers were not subtle.

Donovan's father pulled him aside as they were leaving the banquet.

"Give him some space," his father said.

"What did I do?" Donovan asked, indignant. It sounded like he was being blamed for Kieran's failure.

"You did what you meant to on your birthday. That'll sting for a bit. Just...your uncle will help him. Let it be."

Donovan nodded because he wanted to appear manly, but he didn't really understand what his father was saying. He didn't do anything wrong. It wasn't his fault.

—

"Oh," she said. "How awful for him."

She had no affection for Prince Kieran, but felt great sympathy for the boy who had been so publicly humiliated.

"It might have been just one unpleasant memory, but the Court seemed to relish his failure, and the talk went on for quite a while. I think it stuck with him," he said.  "He was never very popular, but it was worse after that."

He paused then, a thoughtful look on his face.

"What was your thirteenth birthday like?" he asked suddenly.

Maren's eyebrows shot up to her forehead. She was rather shocked by the Prince asking such a deeply personal question, and she was not at all sure she wanted to answer.

He saw her reaction and waved his hand to dispel the question hanging in the air.

"I apologize that was overly familiar of me, pay it no mind," he said.

Maren gave him a small smile. She was relieved.

"Perhaps another time," she said. She had to admit that it might be interesting or possibly cathartic to share the story of what happened when she first wielded the Light. She had never told anyone before and oddly enough, this prince was the only person she could tell. On the other hand, it was very painful in so many ways, and she was quite sure she would rather not share such vulnerability with the Prince.

He continued his story: "In any case, Kieran got better with time and practice. Our uncle was responsible for training us. Kieran became more competent, but was never particularly adept, and he could never best me in a sparring match. He just wasn't very powerful."

Maren raised her eyebrows in surprise, that was not what she had thought the first time she touched Prince Kieran.

"You seem surprised?" the Prince asked.

"Oh, it's nothing, really. I just had a different impression."

The Prince cocked his head, interested. "You did? I must admit to being curious, would you explain?"

Maren paused, trying to think of the right words to explain what she had sensed in Kieran.

"At the ball and then at dinner a few weeks ago, I noticed...he seemed to have a sort of ... energy when I touched him. I'm not certain that I can explain it, but I just assumed it was his power and that he had rather a lot of it," she said.

"Was it like a buzzing sensation?" the Prince asked.

"Actually, yes, that's precisely what it was!" Maren was surprised to hear the Prince had had a similar experience.

"Interesting," he said, taking a moment to look at her.

She thought so, too. She would not have expected she and the Prince would have the same or at least similar perceptions.

"In any case, as far as I can tell, you are correct, that sensation is his power."

"But you said —"

"I said he wasn't very powerful. About six months ago, Kieran asked me to spar with him, out of the blue, for the first time in years. I agreed, it seemed important to him for some reason. Within just a few moments, he knocked me down flat, pinning me to the ground with his power. He could have killed me in less than a minute. I couldn't have been more shocked. He offered his hand to help me up, and that's when I first felt that 'buzzing,'" he said.

"You're saying he became more powerful? How is that possible?" she asked.

The Prince grimaced.

"I don't know exactly how he's done it, but I figured out the broad strokes. In the year prior, the Trackers arrested forty or so women suspected of being —"

He stopped mid-sentence.

She suppressed a smirk. After all his rudeness, he wanted to avoid saying a word he thought might be impolite. How odd.

"Witches?" she offered.

"I didn't want to offend..." he said.

She waved her hand, dismissing his concern. "It's not my preferred term, but it is what most people say."

"What would be the preferred term?"

"Ah... Wielder or Light Wielder, but it doesn't really matter," she said. She was somewhat baffled by his question about terminology. She would not have expected him to care.

He nodded. "In any case, of the forty-some odd they arrested, all but six were released. This is fairly typical—most women they arrest end up being exonerated. But of those who were not released, only two of them had a trial and were executed."

Maren's eyebrows shot up again.

"Correct. Not typical," he said.

"Do I want to know what happened to the others?" she asked

"Probably not, but I think you should. They all died before trial," he said.

Maren felt a chill down her spine. "Prince Kieran?"

"As far as I can tell," he said.

Maren thought for a moment. Prince Kieran becoming more powerful and Light Wielders mysteriously dying...

"He's stealing their powers?" Maren asked when the realization came to her. The notion was appalling.

"It's the only way I have been able to account for how much more powerful he's become."

"So that's why..."

"I thought he would take you. I felt strongly I couldn't allow him to become even more powerful," he explained.

Maren was shocked. She had no doubt Prince Kieran would have no qualms about executing her if he were to have certainty of what she was, but the idea of him stealing her powers was far more horrifying.

"Why would he do such a thing?" Maren asked, not really expecting an answer.

The Prince shook his head, "I don't know. Maybe he's trying to make up for his thirteenth birthday. Possibly, he's trying to prove he can be king. Perhaps he just wants to be more powerful than me. I suspect he has a larger plan, but I don't know what it is."

Maren frowned and took a rather large gulp of brandy. She very much did not want to be added to the list of Prince Kieran's victims.

"Lady Maren, I owe you a tremendous debt," he said.

She waved her hand in dismissal. She had saved his life as much for her own self-preservation as anything else, and she wanted to think more about Prince Kieran.

"No, my lady, it is something I take very seriously," he said. "I expect you have concluded that you are in a tremendous amount of danger, quite possibly far more than you realized."

Maren sighed and nodded.

The Prince continued, "I don't know if I can ever fully repay you for what you have done, but I can promise you this: I will do whatever I can to keep you alive while you're here at the palace and arrange the safest possible long-term solution when your time here comes to an end."

Maren made no attempt to hide her surprise.

"You don't believe me?" he asked.

"No....not that, it's just..." she looked at him, unsure how candid she should be. "May I speak frankly?"

He smirked. "Certainly."

"To be perfectly blunt, I am surprised by your promise. I was not under the impression that you cared one way or the other if I lived or died," she said, hoping he did not take offense.

He looked at her for a moment; she was unable to read his expression.

"Well, while we're being blunt, I was under the impression you felt similarly about me," he said.

She stifled a laugh. "So was I," she admitted.

He smiled wryly. "Well, I am grateful that you decided otherwise," he said.

They sipped their brandy in silence.

"I can't say that I am pleased to hear about Prince Kieran, but I appreciate you telling me, nonetheless," she said.

He nodded and looked like he was once again trying to find the right words. Maren waited quietly for him to speak.

"I recognize that I have been... I think perhaps I have treated you...with less than —" he paused and began again. "I have been most unkind to you since you arrived, and for what it is worth, I apologize"

That was not at all what Maren was expecting to hear.

"But it is my hope," he continued, "that we can move forward, if not in friendship, at least as...allies."

Maren was quite surprised. She had no great affection for the Prince, and was not at all sure she could trust him, but she could not afford to turn down his offer of assistance.

She nodded, "I think that would be fine."

He smiled slightly, and she sensed it was time to leave. She rose, and he followed suit to show her to the door.

"Well, I thank you for providing good brandy if you're going to tell me horrible things," she said.

He laughed and opened the door for her. "It's the least I can do."

"Have a good evening, Your Highness," she said as walked out.

"And you, my lady."