The first day, I wallowed in my chamber, citing a stomach ache. The second; much of the same, though Elías came and played chess with me. He reminded me the importance of 'hiding in plain sight' and said that if I didn't leave my quarters soon, people might associate my dismay with a certain swordsman's disappearance. His suggestion was to spend time with my fiancé and keep up the façade.

For Oreia. For Chalke. And for my sanity.

He was unfortunately right, so on the third day, I peeled myself out of the sheets long enough to take a bath. Though, I hadn't needed to venture too far out into the Palace before Sam found me himself. He'd even brought me a desserty kind of biscuit he'd ordered in town and told me the sugary treat had always aided him on the road to recovery in his youth.

So. Reluctantly; for Oreia, Chalke, and my sanity, I spent the day in a florist's shop with him. Staring at flowers for our ceremony and trying not to sneeze. And on Day Four, I sulked again, but internally.

In the afternoon, I stood in front of Isaac's stall, squaring my shoulders her way, and dismissing Willoughby's nay-saying about taking her out without Mr. Evergreen.

"Now you listen here!" I told her, quite determinedly. "Our Cyrus has abandoned us, it's just you and I. You understand?"

"And Dan Willoughby," Willoughby added. "I'm here, too."

"Quiet, Willoughby," I hissed over my shoulder. Back to her, I sighed. "I'm going to ride you, and you're not going to be upset about it, right?"

She blinked, and I wasn't sure if that was compliance or not. So we just stared at one another, in a silent, possible-competition before I broke it to unpin her.

"Alright," I said. "Let's go."

Ice was not happy to be ridden. She made every sound a horse should be expected to make, for better and for worse, and she, I'll admit got the better of me a few times, nearly casting me into the grass like a doll.

But I came back... With Ser Willoughby, but day after day, and sometimes in the evening hours. To poke around, to casually inquire about Mr. Evergreen with Henry, and to show that bratty horse that I was not going anywhere despite her best efforts.

No, she was stuck with me. Unlike a certain forever-tree who couldn't be bothered to check in!

For all I knew he was dead! Lost in the Oreian desert, or!

On the tenth day, Josie, my knight, and I discovered that Ice had a soft spot for the peppermint plant that grew about a mile off the lot. She kept burying her snout into the weed, to root around in its flavor, and refused to let up. 

Even with Willoughby's encouragement, my very stern voice, and Josie's sweet melody. Nothing could dissuade her. In this particular instant, I tugged her bridle too obnoxiously for her taste, for she felt the need to do something about it. I was very much unprepared. She slung me off of her, fully winding me as the dirt and I made fast friends!

I opened my eyes to another set- craned over me; concerned with its outstretched hand.

"Svana?" Cyrus.

I grunted and sat up, "Willoughby?" I whined? But on second look he was still Cyrus.

"Are you alright?" Josie cried, appearing on the swordsman's left. "You hit so hard!"

"Did she knock her head?" Cyrus asked. When I realized he was actually there and not a figment of my imagination, I frowned.

"What are you doing here?" I spat.

"That was my question," he replied.

"For me? What does it look like I'm doing!?"

He made a confused gesture. "It looks like you're lying in the mud," he said. "But that seems crazy, so I asked."

"Crazy! Does it?! And I suppose the horse I was just thrown from doesn't help you figure-?" I gasped, looking around. "Where did she go?? Where's Willoughby?"

"How hard did she hit her head?" he whined.

I felt the back of it instinctually, then blinked a few times in my stupor. "We were riding."

"A horse?"

"Yes, a horse!" I growled. "I was breaking her!"

"Do you even know how to do that?" he rolled his eyes. "Come on."

"Yes, I know how! You told me how!" I scoffed.

He laughed. "As I remember it, you were drunk."

"Where is Daniel? He was with us, wasn't he?"

Josie sort of shrugged, harboring a timid smile. "He chased after Ice, but I didn't see which way he went. I was worried about you."

Cyrus cleared his throat, "If you're ready," he said, starting towards the gate. He led us around the back of the cottage, where we found Ice raging through and trampling on a few more plants with poor Ser Willoughby in her wake.

"Hey!" I yelled at her. "That's not yours! Get out of it!"

"It kind of is?" Cyrus commented.

"What?"

"Hers." He nodded at the house.

"Are you suggesting the horse owns the cottage?" I scowled and he squinted. "Did I hit my head?"

"I think you should lie down," he replied.

"I think you should-" I glanced closer at where we were. We'd never taken this route in all our travels, it was the exact opposite way of everything else. "Who's house is this?" I asked.

It was quaint, but larger than the ones I'd seen in town, bearing the same type of architecture. The smooth roof line, the darker accents, a long, sturdy fence around the side and rear yards. One that would hold a horse or two; easily, And in the back, there was a decent sized barn.

"Let's get you something to drink," Cyrus said. His hand found mine as he retrieved a key from his pocket. It unlocked the door and he pulled me inside, dropping the bag he had apparently been toting this whole time. "Is water alright or would you prefer tea? What about you, lot? Not sure what else I have. Just got back."

"I'm sorry?" I cried. "Did we just break into someone's house?"

He snickered. "Yeah. Mine," to me. "Go sit down."

"Tea's fine," Josie sang.

"Yours?"

Cyrus turned away from the pot to touch my face, inspecting it. And for whatever the reason- my insecurity, the clear 'woman's touch' that was marked all over the decor in this room, or my frustration of his disappearance; I scoffed loudly at him and pulled back.

He stopped. "Am I missing something?"

And then; SMACK!

I'd struck him, and immediately had to send my hands to cover my gasp. Then back out in front of him to apologize.

The other two stood shocked until one of them had the presence of mind to dismiss themselves outside. And I... I counted the breaths I took until I managed; "I don't know why I did that!" A high-pitched sort of wail. "I'm so sorry!"

Cyrus touched his cheek, processing and then; "Not exactly a welcome home."

"...What?" I spat, angry again. "You write me a four sentence, impersonal letter, you don't even tell me where you-!"

"Was it only four?" He stepped past me and opened the satchel he'd brought in. The rustling made was more than an irritation and only fueled the heat in my-!

"What the Hell is that!?" I froze.

He handed it to me, a cold, sour look on his face. "The reason I went to Oreia," he said. "Chalke doesn't have swans. In case you didn't know."

The feather, pure; chaste. Between us like a deliberate olive branch. A symbol, a- a very confusing gift. "I'm... why?"

"Take it," he said.

I did and stared stupidly at it as he went on.

"I'll save you the trouble of over analyzing things, Swan. This is a romantic gesture."

I shut my mouth, and- "Wait," I paused. "This is a declaration?"

"Aye," he said.

"I specifically instructed you not to fall in love with me?" I cried.

Another "Aye,"

"You defy your Queen?"

"You're not queen yet, Swan. And yes. That seems to be what I'm doing."

I stuttered. I open and closed my mouth. I failed to think. I-

"I'm sorry you were unhappy with my letter. I tried to keep it vague for your protection." The kettle screamed and he turned to silence it, letting me stand there like a fool.

"Cyrus," I whispered.

"About that," he started to pour us tea. "There's something-"

"You absolute fool!" I yelled. He turned, and I clutched the sides of his face; days without a shave; rough under my soft skin. Our lips fused together and, "You idiot!" I cried.

The water splashed at our legs as he kissed me back, dropping the pot. Soon he had coiled his arm around me, and swept the counter clear with the other. He put me on it and we worked to undress each other.

"Such an imbecile," I added.

"Feel free to stop insulting me," he laughed. "Any time you like."

I shook my head, sadly settling back on him, and kissing him, and sighing, and kissing and- "I missed you," I heard myself relay.

He pulled the ribbon of my blouse, watching me. "Svana," he hummed. "I have to tell you. I'm-"

"I know," I muttered. "I already know."

"You... know?"

"You're not as sly as you think. Can we just... I just want to feel you."

His fingers snuck beneath my dress, and I shuttered as the entire thing bunched between us. Cyrus glanced down, smirking, then dropped to his knees, and then he-?

He kissed me?

He moved aside the obstructing fabric, replacing it with his mouth and tongue, and then... he was hot against my most private sect. And wet. And.... And. "Ahahh!"

I felt whatever grin he donned as it stretched; his hands tighten against my thighs and mine slip, straight onto the burner! Though it didn't maim me, the shock was quiet enough. "Ahh! Hot!" I yelped.

Cyrus stood taking my palm and kissing it. He pulled me off the ledge and set me back onto the floor, so that he could extinguish the stove. "The bedroom is to your right," he said, pointing.

I giggled, biting my lip, but as I sprinted past the doorway, I stuttered to a halt.

Two men; two men I didn't recognize stood waiting, one propped against the wall.

"Lovely wife you've got, there. Think I'll taste her next," he said.

"Cyrus," I whispered.

He'd already moved, snaking his hand over my waist and stepping in front of me. "If you want money, there's gold in the bedroom. It's in a trunk beneath the mattress," he said.

The one who'd spoken to me smirked, nodding to the other to go check it out. "And if I want something more?" He eyed my chest.

"I'll have to kill you," Cyrus said.

"Cyrus," I gripped his arm.

"Brave words from an unarmed man," the stranger said. He pulled his sword out of his waistband and pointed it at Cyrus' face. "Maybe I'll kill you first. Maybe I'll make you watch."

Cyrus' sword was on the other side of him, near the door, and impossible to reach. I inched closer, tighter.

Another man came through the front, shaking his head. "This horse is wild, one of you, help me!" But this one I recognized. He was different outside of his uniform, but, "Geralt?" I whined. The weird-faced footman Elías had seen.

"Princess Svana?" he froze.

"Princess is she?" the leader smirked. "Perfect."

"It's in here, boss!" the third one yelled. "It's a shit load of it, too!"

Our adversaries turned at that, and in the moment the one with the sword had looked away, Cyrus grabbed the kettle from the floor and smacked him in the face with it. I screamed, in sync with the bandit, whose flesh was now horribly scalded, and with his writhing to the floor, I hinged over and puked.

"Get out of here!" Cyrus yelled at me. "Run!" He struck the man a second time.

The screaming stopped somewhere after the third or fourth strike, and my swordsman stole the man's weapon for himself. He brandished it for the footman, added good; "That goes for you, too, son."

Geralt fled for the door, but when he opened it, Willoughby was there, and pierced him through the gut. Another man appeared behind him, pulling him out. The one from the bedroom emerged with a heaving, charging grunt.

Cyrus swung and metal clanged, and I shrank, crawling towards the other blade. Yet, another figure broke through the commotion and into the house. He trampled over his friend, and the torch he held, glimmered across the roof. He titled his head when he saw me, then tossed the fire far into the end of the room. I leapt for Cyrus' sword, but he kicked it too far away, snatching me by the hair.

"Ow!" I clawed. "Drop me, this instant! Do you know who I am!?"

He narrowed his eyes, "Oh you're important are you?" he purred.

"Svana!" Willoughby swung at the man, who dropped me to return the favor.

They clinked swords only twice before; "A knight, eh?"

"Svana!" Cyrus tried to make it to my side, but his opposition swiped at him, cutting through his shirt. He hopped back, slashing as well, and with another fancy maneuver, punctured the other's chest.

The bandit dropped, and Cyrus plunged his blade through all the way to the hilt. He tore it out of him, using his boot to assist. He rushed the one who threatened me. A solid tackle; I fell to the floor.  

I wheezed, choking on smoke, and blindly reaching for anything to use at my defense. There were seconds left of knowing where Cyrus was but they escaped and then I was alone in the fog with my fear.

By the grace of God, and God alone, I pulled some sort of dagger from something soft. Another noise from outside, the sounds of agony from around me forced me on.

In and out of the cloudy muck, Cyrus and his opponent rolled, a tangled mess of desperation. I stood and plunged the dagger forward; a leap of faith.

It connected to something, to someone, and drove it, permitting a cry of pain. I was relieved it sounded nothing like my swordsman, and quickly fell to my knees. But Cyrus didn't let me stay there, he grabbed me by a heep of my shirt and dragged me from the cottage.

Outside, I gasped for air as Cyrus and Ser Willoughby chased off a few stragglers.

And then my horse.

Isaac.

She cried, and cried for me.

I swear it! She was scared.

When I looked up into the yard, a man on either side of her held her leads and a torch each. Ice kicked up into the air, again and again and they hurled insults at her that only struck harder the closer I trekked. They called her a wild thing, and threatened to 'burn her.' They called her names, and I- I stumbled, peering at the dagger in my hand, but then there was a sword, laying loose in some dead man's grip.

I picked it up, and forced it into the air above my head and screamed, near-hysterically, an incomprehensible sound instead of words. But it did the job. One stayed on her, while the ran.

"Svana!" Someone, somewhere, yelled for me.

But I was gone, far from here, and ran manically towards the other two. They tore backwards, one of them falling, and the other making some snide remark.

"She's mine!" I seethed.

Isaac stirred behind me, madly stomping. She whinied, angry, and then again.

"Svana!"

Now I could hear it was Cyrus' voice, and he had run to my aid. The one who remained escaped as soon as he'd arrived, and after he was gone, Willoughby began to call for Josie.

"Svana," Cyrus reached, tentatively for my hand. "Give me the sword," he said.

The cottage burned behind him, but he was unmoving, set on whatever he had said to me, and when I replayed it in my head, I realized he wanted the blade.

My eyes fell to it, to the blood not only on my hand, but on my blouse and my skirt. Someone was breathing, awful and loud.

"The sword," he told me.

I dropped it, trembling as I reared my hand back to the other and gasped.

"It's alright," he sang, slowly coming forward. "You're safe."

My eyes were wide.

"The first time you," he started, clearly trying to be cautious. "When you kill someone, it changes you. But you had to do it. You had to, you saved me."

All I could mutter was, "It's not the first."

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