"Sameer!" Cyrus panicked. I dropped off of him, abandoned, as his hands fell to his pants to adjust. "This is-!"

"Strange. Very strange," the Prince sputtered. "You're?" He started but never finished the thought, fleeing from the barn.

Cyrus jolted after him, set on regaining his audience. "Sam!" he called. "Wait!"

"This explains why you've had nothing to say in advice," his friend muttered.

I caught up. "Don't take it out on Cyrus, he-"

Sam stared at me, clearly pained.

"He's not," I had nothing to say.

"Not what?" The Prince's lips drew together, as he dismissed whatever words he had thought to add to that. "Why would you do this?" he asked Cyrus.

"I," Cyrus started.

And then he lunged at my Sword, grappling and tackling him to the ground. The two of them ignored my cries of; "Stop it!" choosing instead to wrestle each other like school boys in the yard. "Stop it right now!" I yelled.

Sam threw a punch, which prompted me to grab him, tearing him from the other. I huffed, dramatically, jabbing my finger in his face. "You have no right! No right to be angry!"

He swiped the dirt off his face, muttering.

"Apologize," I told him.

"I will not," Sam said.

When I looked up, one of the gardeners scurried off, too fast for me to imagine how long she'd been watching us. Suddenly I felt very seen, and not in a grand way. I straightened as the men clambered to their feet, burning holes into each other's eyes.

"I'm sorry," Cyrus sang.

Sameer didn't answer him.

I lowered my voice. "You've been screwing another woman since I got here. Since before! How are you surprised?"

"Any other man, fine. But my best friend?" he bristled. "A low blow."

"A low-!?"

"Svana," Cyrus chimed. "Leave it."

"I don't want to leave it," I spat. "Do you think I'm sleeping with him to hurt you?"

"Did he tell you? Did he tell you I paid him to take you on your rides? Guess he's getting his money's worth!"

Cyrus' fist knocked into the Prince's face. He stumbled back, holding his nose, blood trickling past.

"Willem!" I cried, snatching his hand.

"Who..." Sam jarred his head. "Who in God's name is Willem?"

"I..." Now I was looking at my swordsman, stunned. "He paid you? Is that where you got all that gold?"

"Gold?" Sam moaned, "Don't flatter yourself. It was a couple silver a week."

"That gold," Cyrus scoffed. "That gold is what remains of the parting gift your father made sure I received. Hush money. Hell," he gestured behind me. "Surprised he didn't tell you. He delivered it, and you're so very close."

I turned to see Elías. And several other suits of armor. Something about their manifestation made me sick. Something about Elías' expression confirmed I should be.

"And it doesn't matter," my Sword went on. "You've already won." He made a low growl, basically a scream, agitated.

"How have I won?" Sam asked.

"Because it's over," he snapped. "You marry her. In a matter of days. And I, no matter the circumstance; no matter my feelings, can never have her like that. And it's not enough. So I concede, you win."

"Svana-" Elías spoke.

"Why; where? How- I?" I rambled.

Sam scoffed, "That's exactly right, I win! She's mine."

Elías pulled his sword swinging it wide, and in the same moment, all the other men at his side did the same, bringing the points down and their hilts in front of their helmets. They each took a knee; a bow, as Elías, still standing, began to speak; "On my faith, it is my vow-"

I shuttered, trying to force the first I could reach back up, but he would not move. "Stop it," I said.

"-My sword is yours to wield. I observe no other fealty, than that of the Lord's and yours."

"Elías," I begged. "Stop. What's happening? Where is my father?"

"This is my oath, my honor, my duty; on pain of death." He dropped, joining the flock of servitude.

"Elías," I tried. "Is he dead?" His eyes lifted first, and I realized he was waiting for my acceptance. I stammered, flailing to remember what I was taught to say. "I uh. I am humbled and accept, I accept your fealty. Rise."

They did, a noisy clatter, and Elías sighed. His features were shadowed by some greater truth.

"Tell me," I said.

"Svana," I heard someone say behind me. I wasn't sure who. I could only hear my knight.

"Perhaps this conversation should be-" he started.

As if possessed by my father's phantom, I felt his temper surge through my veins, spewing like vomit from my throat. "STOP TALKING!" I screamed. Then back to Elías, I said; "Do not make me repeat myself, Ser. Tell me. Now. Is he dead?" But I knew.

It was simple. "Yes."

Yet, the reply hit me, harder than I could have anticipated. Harder than I had ever known; I felt the distinct pain of loss and I remembered I loved my father. Even in his worst. I suddenly felt guilty for not writing him. "Are you... Are you sure?"

"Your Majesty," he said.

And that. That title hurt worse.

I, folded at the waist, my hands dug into the weaves of my braid. Someone tried to capture me, but I fought them off, instead trembling; falling; crouching; then seating.

I sobered long enough to realize it was Sam. Behind him, Cyrus watched; unreadable. I wished it had been him, instead, but I could not escape the sentence that was just now resurfacing. 'It's over. You've won.'

Cyrus had left me.

"Shh," Sam said. "It's alright."

'Get off of me,' I wanted to say, but I just stared at him; a lifeless hunk of rotting meat.

"Your Majesty," Elías continued. "I am sorry for the crasity of this; it was not my wish. And I apologize, as you seem preoccupied with... other things, but there are matters we must attend to. One of which is your Coronation. By law it must occur within a week."

"What?" I frowned. "What are you saying? "

"I'm saying we have to go."

"How did it happen?" I spat, shaking free of Sam.

Cyrus had the nerve to ask; "Was it bandits?"

Elías didn't answer him, instead sharing a cold swap of looks. He directed the response towards me, "While we investigated the staff he- it was his heart."

"...Did he suffer?" I asked.

"We need to leave tonight," he sang.

I could've turned to stone. My face relaxed, the worries of Sam and Cyrus felt so far from where I was. Everything felt so far. So far away. I stepped closer, falling into line with Ser Elías, "Your Highness, Mr. Evergreen," I said finally. "You'll forgive me for my swift departure."

"Nothing to forgive," Sam said. He offered me a bow, unfolding with the utmost respect. "Whatever you need, Your Majesty."

I hated it worse from his mouth than anyone else's, and I hated myself somehow more, when I looked for Cyrus' reaction. He wanted to say something, to do something, didn't he?

We just stared at each other, until the silence became too empty, too long and I started walking, no other word.

Back in Oreia, I was a different woman.

More Crown than I thought I could ever be. Painfully aware that I had never been 'more of my mother' like Elías had insisted. Or hoped. In the fallout of my father's death, I was rigid. Cold. Ice. Which was entirely too fitting for the lore surrounding these high towers.

His office was now mine, and it was dark, shielded from the sun on the southest peak. And I was dark; hidden here where no one disturbed me for hours at a time.

I sat, staring endlessly at all the lines in the study; by the week's end I would have them memorized. And when I didn't stare at the walls, I stared at the leather bound book that'd been left behind. Every glance at it, brought forth the image of His Majesty lying stiffly on the Cathedral's slab; the first order of business I had tended to as Queen.

His rites.

Sickeningly similar to the ones that'd make me monarch.

Eventually; sentient of any higher thought, my hand sat at the lip of the journal, and flipped it open to the last page. The page he had opted to scribble in, instead of devotedly speaking to me that last day. What could possibly be so-?

Svana,

I looked away; I should have closed it, but I went back.

Svana,

It was a letter. Written to me. The whole book was a collection of letters written to me! Dated wildly over the course of my whole life.

Back to the final page, I read;

Today you leave for Chalke. I am very proud of you, though I have never said these words. I don't know how.

What? What even was this!

You are an adult, and I have missed the opportunity to give you this journal. Every year I consider it, and now I fear I've waited too long, allowing this to become a sanctuary for my thoughts over anything else.

I don't want to see you go, you are all I have left of her, and though you hate me, much like she did, one time you did not.

You leave now, not in an eagerness to serve the Crown, but to run from me. And I see it, I hear it in your voice. I've injured you beyond repair, but you must know that I only did what I thought I must to protect you.

I was never suited for fatherhood. Your upbringing should've been your mother's. I did what I could. I took advice where I could.

One day you will have a child and I selfishly pray you'll forgive me for my sins. Love is only so much. True loyalty; true connection requires devotion, both in the brightest of lights, and in the lightless.

I pray-

And then there was nothing. Nothing more. A thought left unclarified, unsettled. I searched the remaining sheets, hopeful that he had just carried on somewhere else, but there was nothing.

And I worried he had perished in the very sentence.

The other letters varied in intensity. Once on my ninth birthday he confessed he'd missed the days I begged him to carry me to see the stone horses. Another letter suggested I had been 'a royal pain in his ass,' that day, but there was no meaning behind the date.

I startled as Elías' shadow blanketed the already weak light. "You summoned me?" he asked.

I nodded, though I did not want to conjure the accusation I had brought him here for. I was too burdened by my discovery.

"Are you alright?" He stepped deeper into the room, peering into my work. I shut it, steeling myself.

"At the farmhouse, you called Mr. Evergreen 'Oláson'" I finally said.

He didn't react.

"I thought you had called him 'ole son' in the moment, a sarcastic term of endearment, maybe. But I see now, as it has been brought to my attention, you've been hiding his identity from me."

"Yes."

"At least you choose to be honest now."

He paused, then offered; "Ask me why. I will tell you."

"Duty," I guessed. "I can figure that one out. You'll remind me I cannot marry Cyrus, I must bear an heir for Sam. Likely some misplaced value on chasity, I assume."

"It is not misplaced," he urged. "It's-"

"It's gone," I confessed. "I've given myself to Mr. Evergreen and I am not sorry for it. It was the only time I've ever felt human, not shuffled across the board like a pawn."

"You're not a pawn," he said. "You're the Queen."

"Pawns become Queens," I spat. "Tell me you've known where he's been this whole time. Tell me that when I begged you to find him, when I wept over how they mangled him, you chose my father's side."

"Not your father's, my King's. As was my oath. I was protecting-"

"Protecting me?!" I threw the book at him. "You're no better than he is! All these men go on and on about what they know to be good for me, but they don't ask me what I need. What I want! What I think is best! Hellveig was right! You want me to lead an entire country but not think for myself!" I stood, brooding towards the window. "You paid Willem off. You saw him. Hid him. Helped him change his name. You betrayed me. Was that for my benefit? My protection? So that he could forever evade my search?"

"Ask me why, I will tell you."

"Why?!" I whipped around.

Ser Elías turned from the desk, vanishing into the hall. I was half a mind of fury, and chased after him, though he was so quick, it wasn't until his chamber was I able to get out; "Don't you walk away from me! It is the least you could do!"

He dragged a large trunk out from the wardrobe and unlocked it, kicking it across the floor to my feet. "There," he said.

I opened it, assaulted by the sight of a hundred envelopes, all bearing the Eisson seal. "So what, you've kept my letters? What good do they do sitting in a box? Cyrus left me."

"They aren't yours." 

I ruffled, tentatively drawing one of them out. "My mother's?" I guessed, finding them signed with an ornate 'E.'

"Read it. I don't care."

I did, unfolding the carefully preserved page, and-

Love of Mine,

I missed you more today than I think I ever have. Your kiss, your touch, your-

My eyes widened. "You and my mother...?"

"Pick another," he said. He stepped forward, selecting one himself, and presenting it to me. "And when you've read them all, you can read her last."

"Her last?"

"Aye, the one she made sure got to me before she-" His voice hitched.

I just stood.

Then he shut the thing entirely and muttered as he put it away. "Should I share how I read these near every night? Would you like a soliloquy on my pain?"

"I don't understand?"

He sighed, "Cyrus left you because he loved you."

"Clearly."

"He did. And that is why he cannot share you. Credit where it is due, he is more noble than I had allotted him before. I feel his choice and the pain associated with it."

"There shouldn't be any pain, I promised him I would-"

"What? Love only him? Never let your king touch you? What is it that you think broke Eliza and I? Do you think I cared that she was married? We made love every night, I practically lived in her quarters." He struggled with what came next. "It was you."

"...Me?"

"There was even some question, if you were mine. No, hope. Of course your father never knew, I would've been hanged. But I- I wanted you to be mine. And Eliza, she promised me you were. There was no way you couldn't be. But what I discovered was that she wasn't faithful. How could she be? There are expectations in a marriage. She only believed that God would save her from bearing the King's child. That because I was 'the better man' she would carry on my soul; not his."

"Eli... Elías," I breathed.

"So I burned your letters, and I burned his. So that you could not inflict this," he gestured at the trunk, "This injury upon yourself or him. So that your ostler's boy could not; would not feel this guilt."

"I am sorry," I said.

I watched him pace around the room, a trait I'd never seen out of him; unease.

"Please," I said. "Sit down."

"I'm sorry," he sang. "For doing this to you. I try, I try not to love her, but I can't. I can't escape. And because of that, I must serve you."

I could think of nothing else to do but fly to him, wrapping my arms around his armor. "I'm so sorry," I begged. "I'm sorry I'm his," I said.

"But you're not," he muttered. "You are mine regardless of blood, and I love you."

"I love you," I cried.

Elías and I stayed in his room for a few more hours. I got to hear about who he really was, in a clarity that no one else could ever know. He wasn't always the hound dog, responsible for a hundred broken hearts, the man his fledglings excitedly aspired to be. He was just a kid that fell in love with someone unavailable. A woman he'd bonded with over something as innocent as the closeness of their names.

I told him I was not disgusted with who or what he was, that I could see how his youthful rampage of women could be fun and how easily it could change with the right one. Now that I had seen behind the curtain, and truly understood sex, it made sense, I'd said.

He told me that my mother had pleaded with him in her final days. To run away with her, to seek a new life somewhere else, and I could've bled my heart dry for them both. Through his stories, I finally knew her, and could not thank him enough for the enlightenment.

I returned to the study a final time that evening, to rummage through some affairs, now powered by a strength in something larger than any of us; in faith.

And when Elías peered over my shoulder. He was rightfully confused.

"A dangerous gamble," he said.

"If you're going to play; win," I said.

The day of the wedding, I arrived in Chalke early. Earlier than I needed to be, and early enough to catch the sun as it rose from its slumber. Rothingham was a buzz. Any other day it would have been silent, a haunted boulevard this hour, but today, bakers, florists, servants, and average citizens frenzied through the streets, all in preparation for the Royal Wedding.

A boy even cheered for my carriage as it arrived.

We were greeted by His Majesty and his party, all except Prince Sam, at the front door, and Elías and Willoughby were first out of the cart. Followed by my Josie, and then myself. People cheered from the fence, though they were uncharacteristically barred by the closed gate.

"Presenting Her Majesty, Queen Svana Eisson, of the Oreian Empire!"

"Your Majesty," the King sang. He bowed to me this time, and I achieved a proper curtsy out of respect.

"You humble me," I said.

This time, he spoke to me as his equal as we strolled through the halls on my way towards the Rose Suite; no valet to middle-man the messages. "Which one of your maids carry your dress? I will see to it that they are shown to this room."

"No need for that, Josie is aware of how to find it," I motioned to her and she nodded. "Where is the Prince?"

He clicked his tongue. "It's terrible luck to see the bride before the vows."

"Is it?" I huffed. "Well where is he? So that I may deliver a message to him?"

"Ah," he smiled. "He's in his room. I would be honored to-"

I considered every way I could avoid the King's interference. "Um," I started. "I would prefer his father not hear the content...?"

"Oh, I see," he mused. "In that case I will relent this one to your party."

At the door, he snapped his fingers, summoning his assistant, to discuss the finer details of what needed to be done. Soon he was gone, lost to the matter at hand.

Josie primped herself. "What message should I deliver?"

"Oh, stop," I teased her. She stood tall, bright even, but I was instantly reminded of her sadness the moment our knights arrived beside us.

"We'll need to go ahead of you, to the Chapel," Willoughby said. It was obvious he tried to stay focused on me, and not veer off to my maid.

"Actually," I started. "Elías will handle the sweep. Josie I need you to be anywhere but in this room."

"What?" she worried.

"Go, find me a glass of water," I ordered.

She hesitated, looking between a bewildered Willoughby and myself. They shared a shrug and she left with Elías only looking back once or twice.

"Beg your pardon," the knight suggested. "Have I done-?"

"This is for you," I said, unsheathing the scroll I'd carried in with my things.

"What is it?" He took it, quick to unfurl it, then stopped, rocking his head, completely taken. "This is-?"

"Yes," I admitted.

"But it's-?"

"Yes, Ser Willoughby. A thank you for your unwavering faith in your Queen. Listen," I stopped. "And listen closely because I cannot promise I'll have it in me to repeat the sentiment after the noose I'm about to tie."

"What? What noose?"

"Nevermind that! I am sorry for the things I said to you. When I was in turmoil, you were my guide. You kept me honed; sharp, aware of everything around us and you never once judged me for my nature. We've been horrible to you, ever since you've come to work for our house, and I must apologize on behalf of all Eissons. I like Josie, I do, and I know she likes- she loves you. That makes me happy to bless your union, but you should know that I support you, unwavering, as you did me. In whatever you choose. But, should you still wish to make that offer, well. You have my blessing in writing now."

"I don't know what to say," he moaned.

"Say 'I am glad we are friends.'"

Of course, being who he was, he chose to leap at me, ensnaring me in a friendly hug. Reluctantly I patted him on the back, and when it was over, swore him to secrecy.

"I am- I don't know what to do," he confessed.

"Go talk to her? Propose? I'm sure she is terrified I've been left alone with you. Worried you're receiving a proper scolding, no doubt."

"Heh," he nodded, then ran down the hall, like a child.

I knocked on the red door, taking a deep breath. Sam had one of his few servants open it, and they canted their head strangely at my presence before dipping into a low bow. "Your Majesty!"

"Is that my father? Dad, come in here, help me tie this thing."

I smiled shyly, pushing the door further so that Sam could see my face. He paused, surprised.

"Princess?" Then he caught himself, struggling with his lapel. "My Queen."

"Would you excuse us?" I asked the room. They all looked at the Prince and he nodded, letting them file from the chamber.

I closed the door, and I think he was waiting for something more; an explanation. When I hadn't spoken for some time, he remarked; "It's not lucky to see the bride, you know?"

"Sam. You could shut your eyes if you prefer, but this conversation is going to end the same."

His lashes danced a little as he sat on the bed. "You're here to warn me? I know this will not be a happy match, not at first. But I've given a lot of thought to the kind of man I wanna be, and that's thanks to you. You make me want to stand up for myself. To my father. That's something. Just like how you cared for Cyrus when he was ill for me- that means-"

I think he realized what the truth behind that was as soon as he had said it because he didn't finish the comment. He took another shallow breath.

"I don't love you," I said.

"I know."

"Ever," I added. "And I'm not saying that to be mean. I'm not so petty that I can have an affair and you cannot, I'm telling you this, because we both know you belong with Lady Agatha."

"Aggy hates me," he said. "I chose you."

"You chose duty because you thought you had to."

"Don't I?" he asked.

"No," I said lightly, taken by the thought. I passed him an envelope, and he groaned.

"What is this? An apology? Or a scalding?"

"Neither." As he opened it, I explained. "It's the treaty my father drafted when we were children. I've revised it."

"I don't understand," he said.

"Trade will continue, all commercial affairs remain intact, peace remains intact. But my hand is no longer an option."

"What?"

"It's funny, you and I? We think we have no choice in this marriage. Our entire lives have been 'you cannot do that,' 'you cannot make that decision,' 'you cannot love that person.'" I perched next to him. "But I've figured it out. 'Cannot' is just the word they use to control us. The truth is, they are scared of what we want, what we can do. But we are the future of our people. You said that. I don't want to be misery incarnated; our parents; our friends. I want to be happy, don't you?"

"We can be happy," he said.

"You don't believe that," I said. "An entire summer, you've dodged me at every chance just to spend time with Aggy. You paid your friend to entertain me, even after I had made it clear I didn't care, and you did that because your instinct was to protect Lady Agatha. You love her. You only left her because of that. Because she could not have all of you. It wasn't because I shocked you into submission with my 'kind heart' or 'light.' It was always because she is your better half."

He fell back into the sheets, and I took the order from between us and placed it on his lap.

"Stand up to your father. Be this man for Agatha. She loves you."

"How could she after what I've done?"

"You don't really know women do you? She stood by you for nearly a decade knowing this day, today, would come. And still, she sits somewhere, hoarding your secrets. Probably in the pews, even. She loves you."

I rose, and he brushed my hair from my eyes, "Well I have it on good authority Cyrus loves you."

"I guess we will see when I arrive at the ceremony?"

He laughed. "Oh, Heavens, no. Cyrus won't be there. No, he's recanted his position as my best man."

"Damn," I cried. "Where is he?"

"I would try the stables. He works when he's mad. I imagine he is mad."

"Thank you," I sang, but he shook his head, biting his bottom lip.

"No, Svana. Thank you."

There were tiny beads of light glimmering in the rays that cut through the years of age in the barn's roof. It made for a beautiful, picturesque scene, even though when I arrived, my Sword was not there for it.

I tremored at that, retreating behind my crossed arms, and sank to the nearest bale of hay, and I sat for at least half an hour before I was ready to continue the search.

"Dammit," I muttered.

"Unladylike," said the voice I'd longed to hear.

My eyes flew to where he had come out of back, but instead of a warm welcome, the swordsman wore a steely expression; his mask.

"Willem," I stood.

"Guess you're not leaving then?" he scoffed. "I wish you would. I have work to do."

"If you were the ostler, maybe. Your pardon, were you just waiting for me to leave? This whole time? Did you not gather that I wanted to see you, given my obvious sulk?"

"Congratulations on your nuptials, Your Majesty." He wandered towards the shelf, storing the supplies he'd carried out with him. I waited for him to look at me, but he did not. He just rested his hand on the unit, speaking barely loud enough to comprehend. "I wish you many happy years."

"I didn't marry Sam," I croaked.

I saw that statement when it hit him. He tensed, finally turning around.

"What do you mean? Was the ceremony delayed?"

"It wasn't delayed," I shrugged. "For all I know, it might have gone on without me, but I didn't attend. I trust Sam took care of informing everyone."

"What are you talking about?"

My hands spread out on either side; all the frustration I had held for his contempt at my arrival disappeared. "I didn't marry Sam. And I'm not going to. I called off the engagement. Actually I rewrote the entire treaty. I'm rather proud of that, but I'm not exactly sure how it's gone over. There's a chance I may have caused a war, but-"

"Svana, slow down. You didn't-? What treaty? War? What?"

I hummed. "I love you," I sang. "Do you love me?"

He near-laughed. "What am I expected to say to that?"

Suddenly I was very scared. The room threatened to spin around me but I reinforced myself with the memory of what he'd felt like every time he'd kissed me.

"I love you," I said louder. "I always have. And come Hell or high water, or war and carnage, I can love no other for as long as I live. Without you I am an open wound..."

He continued to suck the air out between us, leaving so little for me.

"And now you're silent."

"I don't want to be your secret."

"I'm not asking you to be."

"What are you asking?" he cried.

My lip quivered. "I'm asking you to be with me." When he didn't reply, I couldn't stop my feet from cowardly dragging me towards the door.

"Where the Hell are you going?" Cyrus cracked.

"I'm... fleeing! Clearly!"

He stomped towards me, taking my hand from the handle. "Why?"

"Why?" I whined. "You're rejecting me! Should I stand by while you think of the words that will hurt most?"

"An hour ago you were set to marry the Prince!"

"Did you miss the part where I declared I was an open wound!?" I tore from his grip. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to-"

"Stop," he called. "I apologize for my slow response, but I am not sure what is happening here. I've just spent an entire morning convincing myself not to disrupt your vows with my dramatics and now that you're here I-? You ask me to be with you? What does that mean?"

"You planned to interrupt my wedding?" I managed.

"I refrained, I would like to note."

"Well... I would not have been angry."

He ran his hand across his face, and I could see now just how unkept it'd been with the growing shadow. "You truly didn't marry him?"

"No," I uttered.

"And you won't?"

"No, I can't. And I'm certainly not asking after that!"

"Why?" he hummed.

"You'll make me repeat myself?" I nodded. "Willem. You are everything to me, every breath I take, every moment of every day. I don't care what anyone thinks of it. I want you. I came here to ask you to be with me and- I ask not as your Queen but as your Swan. Come home. With me. Marry me. Sire children with me. Not as a knight, not as a secret. As my King."

"Can you even marry me?"

"I pity the man who'd try to stop me. I am an Eisson after all. I mean, I just threatened war for a man. We're wild things, don't you know?"

Cyrus took my face in his hands, pulling me to the tips of my toes and into a kiss. I could hear the trouble leave his mind through the deepest of happy sighs, and when we parted, he had only one thing left to say. "Are you sure?"

"My Sword," I laughed. "I am so sure."

• • •

• • •