I was ashamed to admit that the following Thursday could not come soon enough. I wasn't sure if I was just bored doing absolutely nothing with my days, but I ended most afternoons in Cyrus' absence by planning changes to one of the castle's rooms. I'd hoped to fashion myself a parlor, but the longer I worked on it, the more convinced I'd become that I had just been inside too long and a parlor could not help that. Of course, a week should not have left me stir crazy.

When breakfast had passed, I had successfully made it through an awkward conversation with my soon to be father-in-law and newly returned fiancé about the developments in their investigation. Or rather, lack thereof. I was told to be 'patient,' which irritated me, and Sam's desire to get rid of me for the day, only spurred me as I made it out to the barn.

Cyrus looked up from what he was working on, one of the leather straps, and arched his brow. "I hadn't heard from you," he said. "I was worried you-"

"I want to ride Isaac," I announced.

"...Are we riding today?"

"Lift me up," I ordered him.

"Onto Tails with that mood."

"You cannot guess my mood simply by how I've darkened your doorstep!" I nearly screamed.

His mouth opened and he chuckled, "I don't have to guess, you're the most obvious woman in the world. And inappropriate! Do you know what that means?"

"What what means?" I flustered.

"Darkening my door."

"Stop traveling into every horrible crevice you can fit your head! I am not as corrupt as you, Mr. Evergreen. I am a-"

"Lady? Yes, yes. And pray tell, Lady Eisson, who might I thank for agitating you this morning?" He offered me his hand, ushering me towards the other steed. "Josie? Or perhaps the ever cheerful Ser Elías? Or maybe," he shrugged. "Maybe you just want to-"

"I want to ride Ice," I said. "She's mine."

"Tell you what," Cyrus' eyes narrowed. "Ride Tails now, and-"

"I want-"

"And if you allow yourself to smile by the time we get to the farm, I'll concede her willingly."

"...You mock me," I hissed.

"That's not quite what's happening here," he said. "I'm bartering. Vastly different."

He offered to help me onto the stallion again, but I was far too angry to await or want his assistance. His hand lingered for a moment before he got onto his.

"I've got one, then," Cyrus said, continuing to assault me with mindless questions; his attempt at calming me down. I was angry it worked.

Ice seemed peaceful beneath him, not at all like the rioting animal he kept trying to convince me that she was. I groaned. "Alright, it's my turn, but go do on. I'll allow it this once."

"What is your most prized possession?"

"My most prized possession? What in the world does that mean?"

"Come," he insisted. "Don't be shy now, you've already told me the color of your shift."

"You can see the sleeve," I reminded him, holding up my arm. "Besides, a man like you could likely guess."

That made him laugh. "The color of your shift? Or your favorite item? I'm afraid either belief gives me too much power."

"Now you've changed the question," I boasted. "Most prized and favorite are different adjectives."

"Princess," he scowled. I didn't give a response, leaving him to carry the conversation for a change. "Right then, I'll go first. My most prized possession is my sword. Favorite's the same."

"Oh no, the shock," I sang sarcastically.

He shrugged. "My father purchased it for me, I'll have you know. I like to think of him when I swing it."

"And I'm sure that strikes fear into the hearts of your enemies! Though, I can't tease you too devotedly. Your answer is more symbolic than I would've given you credit for, Mr. Evergreen. Perhaps you are a poet and not a philosopher at all?"

"I am a businessman, and I have a deal for you," he said.

"How ominous."

"If you call me Cyrus-"

"Unlikely."

"-I won't make fun of you for whatever your answer is."

I scoffed, "The fact that you have to bargain with me over your mockery defeats the purpose. Now I know you will be laughing internally despite whatever you say to me, which is somehow worse. No deal."

He snickered, "Then how do I convince you?"

I sighed playfully, "Perhaps allow me more time to stall while I consider the question."

"It cannot be so hard," he pestered.

"Patience is a virtue, dear sir. And I'll have you know it is."

"An entire kingdom at your fingertips and nothing comes to mind? What about the horses back home?"

"I wouldn't consider my horses possessions," I pondered. "And again, you're asking two separate concepts. For example I have many favorite novels but if they were burn in a fire or get wet, I'd simply replace them. Prized; at least to me, feels like it should be something I would mourn the loss of."

"Aye, I see now. Then prized. That's what I'm after. What matters to the Princess?"

My face scrunched a little, discontent by his inquisition... flattered all the same. "Fine. Though it's since rotted and withered away, like most things do. And you cannot laugh."

"Rotted and withered, are you a taxidermist, Princess? Disgusting!"

"Ugh!" I frowned. "It was a feather. Once. I don't know. Oh! You are so horrible," I said.

"A feather?" he asked.

"Yes. From a swan," I explained. "A gift. One you'll terrorize me for, I have no doubt."

"Ah," a smile stretched across his jaw.

I twisted the chords in my lap. "You promised not to laugh," I sang.

"If you called me Cyrus. Though, I'm glad you didn't, as I cannot believe you're most prized possession is a dirty fea-"

"-Spare me!" I cried, surprised to have stopped him. "It wasn't a dirty feather. It was a gift."

"Uh huh," he said. "From a boy?"

"Yes." I kept my answer plain, and did not look at him, fearing he would somehow read my mind.

"The ostler's boy," he knew.

"How could you possibly have-?" I spat. "Gah!"

He lit with the way that made him laugh, so heartedly that after a minute of just admiring my agony he was able to say; "I'm no genius. He's the only thing you ever talk about!"

"He is not! He's not the only thing I talk about," I growled. "I speak of many things. Many topics. Places. People. It's not like-! Stop laughing. I'm trying to- Stop it!"

"Now you'll try and convince me he's not the boy you kissed?" More of a statement than a question; a frustratingly accurate one.

"Swans mate for life. I took the feather as a sign he believed us to be soulmates. So yes. I-" I lowered my voice. "I kissed him for it."

"Is that what you thought?" he asked, elated. "He was calling you his soulmate?"

"What other reason would he have?"

"I couldn't be too sure," he wheezed. "I haven't been a child in many years. Are we ignoring the fact that your name is literally the word 'swan' with an 'a' at the end of it? Why do you think there was a swan at your ball? No. I don't think the boy was being purposely romantic. Soulmates!"

I pursed my lips, "Oh, hush!' I sang, though I'd be lying if I said I didn't see his point. That I hadn't begun to question the deeper meaning all those years ago. "You're a cynic."

"Oh definitively," he cracked. "But I would've brought you back something from the trip had I known that was the kind of girl you were. What would you have liked? A skull perhaps?" He slid from Ice and plucked a flower from the path to present to me. "Here. What does this buy me?"

I smacked it from his hand, trotting on ahead.

"Wait!" He carried on, "I could find a feather! Give me but a moment!"

A loud, high whistle tore through the air and brought Tails to a stop. I kicked him and tried to urge him on, but the traitorous bastard let Cyrus catch up to us anyway.

"Good boy," he told him, stroking his neck. He was still grinning when he offered me help down.

My feet went firmly into the dirt, and I gawked angrily as his hands slid to my hips. As quickly as I had protested, the humor left his face.

Cyrus came forward in the slightest lean; dropping of his hands, his voice husky. "Are you going to tell me about him?" he asked.

"I am not," I replied.

"Why?" he smirked. He replaced his arms, this time higher, and on either side of my face. "I'll tell you about my first kiss."

"I have many regrets sharing this with you," I hummed.

"A kiss is nothing to regret," he whispered. "I'm sure that boy would agree. I'm sure he still thinks about you, Swan."

I gulped, backing into Tails. "Don't call me that," I said finally.

"Call you what?...Swan?"

I wanted to complain, to throw whatever verbal dagger I had at him, but the proximity; the angle, the meaning of whatever this was, enraptured me in a normal frenzy I couldn't compete with.

"Don't toy with me," I hissed.

Was this it?

Was Cyrus going to kiss me? Would he be my second kiss ever? Had I found myself at his mercy so far from home and was I unhappy with that? I shut my eyes, decidedly ready, only to open them to the loss of warmth and the quiet snap of fabric somewhere else.

It wasn't long before I realized he'd abandoned me to pull the spare blanket out of our things. He started to set up some sort of camp, and as I watched him fluff the cloth a second time, my chest seized.

He strolled a little further, spreading everything out onto the grass, next to the farm's still-standing, but long forgotten fence.

"You've... brought a picnic?" I thought.

"It's just cheese and wine," he said. If I wasn't certain I had constructed the energy between us as a joke, I would've sworn his eyes had lingered on me for a second too long.

"...Wine?" I hummed, tentatively. "Red or white?"

"Red. I'm not a savage," he said.

I bit my lip and dropped to the blanket as if the word was my command. "You'll see I am smiling," I said, lifting my chin.

"Aye, I see." Cyrus concentrated on opening the bottle, though he hadn't brought us any glasses. "You must be a fan of cheese."

"I am," I said. "But, I was referring more to the promise you made me."

"Promise? I'm too careful a man to promise you." He turned, curious, offering me the first swig. I probably looked pretty shocked, but I took the bottle from him and pressed it to my lips, bashfully enjoying a very large sip. He shook his head, taking his turn, though much prouder.

"You said if I smiled, I could ride Ice. And I am smiling," I said.

Cyrus extended his leg out abruptly and well past where I sat next to him. My eyes traveled the full length of it, up to his face that wore a very pleased-with-himself grin and the other knee arched. He slunk back into a leisurely lay. "I suppose I did say that. But not promise. Do you think you can even handle her?"

The exact condition and tone of Cyrus' muscles laid directly under his now tightly fitting shirt, and left very little to the imagination. In truth, I felt the very moment my heart came back to life to gallop wildly at the discovery. It was everything I had in me not to reach out and touch him.

His stomach. His arms.

It'd be so long since I had seen something so... disrupting before. Or so very near. Even the memory of the knights at practice held no torch to Cyrus Evergreen or his ring light. I yearned to feel his sun on me.

With that thought, I couldn't save my brain from its sudden obsession. I listened to it page through a hundred reasons as to why I should touch him; why I thought he might let me; and a hundred more why I shouldn't.

All I could do was breathe once in and once out, just like that, a single sustainable action at a time, until he found me exactly where I didn't want to be- caught in the act! He donned an almost impressed expression that only fueled the fire.

Cyrus propped himself higher with one of his arms.

"What?" I spat, defensively.

"In a moment like this, I'd usually ask the woman if she took pleasure in what she saw."

My eyes shot open and I hopped to my feet.

Cyrus didn't move as he watched me pace, burning a circle into the field. "Sit down," he said.

"I think I should go," I cried. "I feel ill. Faint. I think it's the heat. Or it's late. Or-"

"Or you're embarrassed because I caught you looking at me?"

"I wasn't-"

"Sit down," he repeated.

My fingers linked in little loops over each other. I tried to dispel my nerves to do just that, more when Cyrus' face softened and his brows came together, sympathetically.

"I don't want to beg," he added.

I went shyly to my knees, still holding my hands in my lap and when my weight had settled over my feet, he collected the bottle and passed it to me.

"Do us both a favor; have another drink."

I obliged, following it with another, longer gulp, and slammed the wine back to the blanket. It nearly tipped, but I was quick enough to right it.

"You can look at me," he said. "It doesn't have to mean anything. And I won't tell Sam."

"When you say that it feels like-!"

"Much like I can say," he considered it. "Roses suit you." His eyes ventured over the embroidery of my vest- the vest emblazoned with flowers and grasses; thorns I'd worn just for him and his preference for color- just far enough to stay polite. "Beautiful; guarded. Yes, that sounds like you, doesn't it?"

"I-" I flushed.

"Don't fill every silence," he told me. Cyrus reached forward, collecting one of the tiny blocks of cheeses, and brought it to his mouth. One of his eyes narrowed as he looked at me, biting into it. "Just sit here with me. We're just two people. Svana and Cyrus."

I took a shallow breath.

After the world's longest pause in time, he yawned and laid back into the ground, draping a hand over his torso. He patted the space next to him. "I don't mean to spook you," he said. "I'm just very open. Try not to read into my nature as anything predatory. It's just easy for a man like me to flirt. I don't have to worry about who sees me do what with who. Not like you."

I scowled. "You want me to lay next to you? I hardly think that's appropriate Mr. Evergreen."

"Then stay seated," he craned up. "It matters not to me. I just want you to enjoy this moment and every moment you have before you're Queen."

He laid there, filling his chest with air; sinking it again, for so long I think he nearly slipped into unconsciousness. The woods around us sang unbothered; birds and insects, and on occasion the shuffle of trees and only a few minutes into it, I noticed how perfect this pasture was.

Our horses chased each other playfully around in the gated parts of the yard and the sun was both high and bright; not a single cloud to mark the sky.

Further, there were wild poppies and blue eyes, weeding their way into the landscape here, and though the house was a decade unloved, it held strong with its craftmanship and rural charm. A stranger to my grotesque fortress of stone back home.

"I suppose it is a lovely sort of moment," I whispered, finally.

He pat the ground another time, and though I could've said anything to repierce the peace between us, I heeded his request. We laid, listening to the sounds around us and eating our cheese, and I tried not to consider if the sensation I was feeling was the wine or worse; him. By the end of the first, we were closer and facing each other, trading horror stories from our broken childhoods.

I told him of my governess; a wound I swore I would never open for anyone except Elías. How she used to smack my hands when I answered a question incorrectly or forgot a house's matriarch. I strayed away from sharing the worst of memories, ones with ostler boys, but.

In turn, he shared the names of every horse he'd broken, all of them bad, and he went on to explain the process in great detail. As he talked though I struggled to keep up, unable to pry myself from watching his lips as they formed every word; every vowel. His accent growing thicker with the hour.

After some time, Cyrus stood far too easily for someone who had split the wine with me, but at least he offered me his hand. "They've had some time to run," he said. "Ice will have settled a bit."

"Is that your trick? You've run her before."

"As I said. When she gets antsy, it helps."

"I see," I blinked long and hard. "Is that what the picnic was?" He caught me as I teetered from one foot to the other, and when I had regained my focus, my fingers trespassed playfully into the linen of his sleeve.

His soft, linen sleeve.

His tight, muscular arm.

His-

I blushed. "To settle me?"

"Ey," he moaned. "I may have misjudged your fortitude, Princess."

That made me giggle. Then cover my mouth with the free hand. Then giggle again.

His eyes went to the place where I played with his shirt. "Prin-"

"Svana," I whispered, stepping ever so slightly towards his chest. "You may call me Svana when we're alone. It doesn't have to mean anything." My face must have betrayed its intentions, because Cyrus was able to catch the other hand before it landed at the base of his neck. His brow lowered.

"Stop," he said, too softly, too nice.

"Cyrus," I purred back. "I like being out here with you, Cyrus."

"Christ," he muttered, tearing away. "Have a seat, I will-"

"What's the matter?" I teased. "I said your name. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

He shook his head. "I have taken advantage of you. You're not in your mind. Sit down."

"I don't wish to-"

"Sit down, Svana."

I did, but in what could only be described as a fit, and I watched him as he paced from one end of the fence to the other.

"I'm sorry," he sang, finally. "When you've sobered, we'll go. I cannot risk losing you off the seat. You'll only injure yourself, and then I will have to explain to Sam- Oh, God. Sam."

"Ugh," I gagged at the name. "Why are you even friends with that... man? He's awful. And you're... you're not."

Cyrus sighed. "He's not awful."

"He is, though. He lures you in with fairytales and hopes, and promises of belonging somewhere and then just-" I shook my hand.

"He can be kind."

"I have no doubt. When it benefits him."

"You're angry. Which is understandable-"

"Is it?" I pouted. "Is it understandable? Here I've kept myself pristine; untouched. Unloved. Alone in my virginity. Because I was promised to someone who was in another empire. Hundreds of miles across the world. For what? A higher calling. Duty?"

"Love," he said.

"Love?" I smiled sadly. "There is no love. Not for me."

"I don't believe that," he said. "Not for a moment. You deserve to be loved."

"My fiancé is likely on top of Lady Aggy as we speak here now. As I see it, I think it's fair to assume I'd find deeper connection rubbing against a bedpost!" His eyes widened at that, though I brushed them off with a blatant wave. "It's not like I've tried it! I've just heard people speaking of it! I wouldn't even know where to start-!"

"I'm not sure what to say to that," he stammered.

"Well Elías would say;" I shifted to the voice I used as his, "Duty first, duty last... And... anyway..." I trailed off, losing sight of my point and squinting. "I'm... I'm very lonely... and there's only one man I might have loved and he... he, as you might have guessed. He-" The horizon wandered off its certainty, dropping behind itself.

Then everything went black.

I was confused when I opened my eyes. I was somewhere, somewhere I had never been before, in some sort of house.

It was dim, in the way that rooms got when someone had forgotten to light the candles before the sun began to set.

A clatter of ceramic pots startled me, bringing my attention on to Cyrus' back. He rushed to my side as soon as he noticed I was conscious, muttering about his relief. "How do you feel?"

"Is this your cottage?" I asked. My throat was very dry.

"My cottage? Is this how you think I live?"

"Well it is dark, I can't actually see anything!" I sat up, finding the worn arm of some antiqued chaise. "Where are we of not your home?"

"We're still at the farm." He tucked a stray curl of hair back into my braid, returning and lingering just a little too long at my cheek. His hand was warm, and I sank into it, which seemed to surprise us both. "Why did you not tell me you were so feather weighted?" he asked.

"How should I have known? My father never lets me drink wine."

He knotted his expression, dropping. "That may have been your first clue."

"The better question to this mystery is why did you get me drunk?!"

"I didn't! I just wanted you to relax. Believe me, the chance of being discovered here with you speaking of bedposts was never part of the plan!"

"Bedposts? What are- oh!" I gasped, suddenly recalling what things I'd vomited at him. "Oh, God."

"We'll need to make haste back. We'll be fine caught anywhere alone but inside this house. We can excuse the time if we claim we got lost."

"How late are we?"

"A discussion for the road," he collected my hand, and on some sort of proverbial cue, one of our horses whinnied outside. The door to the house kicked in, followed swiftly by a shiny boot. Then not one, but two full suits of armor clamored inside. Elías' angry voice boomed across the distance between us like a crack of thunder. "Svana!" he yelled at me. "Out to the carriage, now!"

His eyes found Cyrus and nothing else in the room and it wasn't long before he had snatched the swordsman by the lapel and sucked him into his space, hatefully. "Old son!" he spat at him.

"She's completely fine!" Cyrus hurried. "Look at her; ask her. I haven't touched her."

I pushed Eli off of his mark, checking to see if my companion was alright. "What are you doing?" I spat. "Are you mad!?"

Ser Willoughby appeared diligently behind his commander in the room, and he looked almost sorry for the whole ordeal.

"Into the carriage," Elías directed me, every consonant deliberate.

I looked between the three of them, hesitating at the anger that rested on my knight's cheeks. "...No," I told him.

"Now," he said back. Cold.

"Go, Svana," Cyrus whispered.

The use of my first name struck something in me, and I rooted myself deeper into the floor, staring into Elías'. "No," I said again.

Willoughby tightened his grip along his belt at the same time his mentor did, taking a sadder breath. He mouthed the word, 'leave' at me just as Elías said it.

"Not without you," I told him.

"I will be out as soon as I've had a discussion with Mr. Evergreen about impropriety."

"He didn't do anything improper!" I cried. "Don't you believe me?"

Elías scrunched his nose. "Is that wine? That will be our first topic as soon as I am done in here. Willoughby and I will be but a moment."

"You expect me to sit idly outside while you what? Beat a man I consider a friend? Over nothing? Against my word? My command?"

"You are in no condition to-"

"-Shall I fetch you an iron so that you may join the ranks of my trauma properly? Or would you like to forge your own path?"

He reared at the suggestion, biting together and glared once at the other two before me. The tension between us broke, faltering like a bad cord. "Svana," he whispered.

I held the tears that stung at the corners of my eyes; my obvious mortification. "You will not hurt him. I can't have that on my conscience. It's already at capacity."

He nodded, curtly, but took a step back. I spun my body to face Cyrus again, trying so very desperately to form words for him. I twisted my mouth few times, but nothing came out of it.

Elías marched to the door and swung it open, beckoning me to follow and I did, having no other option. And with Willoughby, I loaded into the carriage as I was expected to.

• • •

• • •