One month.

All it took was a month of silence from the King to drive Timothée and his men into a state of constant anxiety. After the successful battle and overthrow of Islegold, there has been no word from the other side. No threats, no army marching towards them. Just the revolutionists and the winter winds.

In just a month, the weather had turned from sunny to ice flurries. The cold was bitter and bit at open skin like hungry wolves. Ice formed on the outside stone walls, creating intricate designs and patterns that Dahlia would often find tracing with her fingers. The cold never fully bothered her. It was refreshing. All you could hear were the sounds of howling wind and the blacksmiths in the large courtyard.

Islegold was large enough to hold all of Timothée's people. Not all of them could fit in the stronghold and some had to camp outside in the field. Dahlia goes and checks on them every day, making sure that winter is kind to them. They don't mind that it's cold, as long as they are inside the walls they feel safe. Recently, people have been on edge. Any day the King's army could march on them. It didn't help that over the month they got an increase of supporters.

After the battle, Timothée lost 200 men, which left him with only 800 fighting troops. In just the short month, people travelled from around the country to join them at Islegold. They now have 3,000 fighting troops and 400 women and children. It was a rather large number. Great and all, but with winter coming in fast, food is of top priority. The room in Islegold was also shrinking, and many have to camp outside the walls.

Dahlia and Timothée were moved from the tent into two separate rooms. It was more appropriate, considering Dahlia was a highborn lady. Though their rooms were separate, they still found time to talk to each other. Their rooms shared the same balcony and late at night they'd sit and watch the stars. It was a time in their day where they didn't discuss war tactics or food stores. In council meetings, Dahlia and Timothée would be serious, but on their balcony, they could say whatever comes to mind. They would talk their evening away. Some nights, Dahlia would fall asleep and Timothée would have to carry her into her room.

It was in moments like these that Timothée realized his true feelings. There was something there between them, he couldn't deny. He also couldn't deny the fact that they were at war. Their lives are in danger every day. Timothée felt sick when he thought of Dahlia being in danger. She was too sweet, too precious. Yet, there was something that lay behind her eyes that was lit by fire. He was tempted with the thoughts of acting on his feelings. He was brave enough to fight, yet he cowered at the chance to state his true feelings.

He often thought about their favourite book, The Fleeting Swan. The knight was too scared to admit his feelings for the princess and in the end, lost her. It saddened Timothée. They were on opposite ends of the social system. Too far apart. He stood on a landing, facing the courtyard full of people and all he could look at was Dahlia. His advisors were droning on about tedious things and Timothée's mind wandered. He could still feel his hand clasped around hers the day they took Islegold. It was a calming feeling, sitting in front of the fire with her. He stared at her distant figure and smiled softly. From one end of the lookout, he could see Adrian approach Dahlia.

"You cold, little flower?" Adrian said when he stood beside Dahlia. She let out a soft chuckle. The two have gotten closer over the weeks. To Adrian, Dahlia was his little sister. Their relationship solidified one day when Adrian confessed that he had a little sister that died from the flu. Since then, Dahlia would always find time to make him happy and in doing so, she got her nickname.

"It's not that cold out," Dahlia tried to tell him otherwise, but her figure was starting to shake. Adrian glanced around and looked back to see Timothée and a few of his men. They were talking but all Timothée was doing was looking at Dahlia.

"I know a certain revolutionist that can keep you warm," Adrian smirked. Dahlia looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"And who is this certain revolutionist? You? Kian? Armie?" She challenged him.

"Oh no. Not me. Kian, well, I don't think he's into women." Adrian realized what he let slip and covered it up, "I mean, he's not into women of your... rank. Armie wishes to court one of the farmer's daughters. You can't be that blind to not notice the bond you and Timothée have." Adrian finished ranting by scratching the back of his neck. Dahlia blushed at his mention of Timothée.

"So I'm right, you do care for him?" Adrian added.

"Of course I care for him! He's a close friend." She tried her best to cover it up.

"You know I don't mean it that way." Adrian got serious. He stared at her face, trying to calculate her thoughts.

"If I do have feelings for him," She hesitated, "Is that good?" Dahlia didn't know whether or not something between them could work out.

"Dahlia, in the time you've been here, you have helped us tremendously. I gotta admit, I didn't really like you at first, considering who your father is," The two let out a chuckle, "You've managed to gain the love of everyone at this camp and in doing so you gained the love of Timothée."

"He can't love me." Dahlia was flattered by Adrian's mini-speech, but still dismissive.

"All you have to do is look." Adrian gestured behind her and walked off. Dahlia turned and made eye contact with Timothée from a distance. He smiled and she smiled back. Dahlia could feel something stir in her stomach. She could see a glint in his eye. A very cold breeze blew past her and she shook. Dahlia swiftly walked back inside, sheltering herself from the winds. 

______________

The day turned to night and Dahlia found herself waiting on the balcony for Timothée. She was thinking about her interaction with Adrian all day. It even distracted her while she was teaching Nicholas to read. She heard the sound of a door opening and Timothée walked outside.

"Dahlia lets go inside. It's freezing out." Timothée held out his hand. Dahlia took it while trying to calm her breathing. His hand was warm and callused. They walked inside and sat in two chairs in front of the fire. Timothée gave her a fur blanket and draped it across her shoulders. They stayed calm and focused on warming themselves up.

"How are the lessons with Nicholas going?" Timothée leans to the side and pours two goblets of wine and passes one to her. She takes a small sip. She didn't like drinking before. All her life she was told it wasn't appropriate, but now she was free to do whatever she pleased.

"He's learning faster than I thought. I couldn't be more proud." Dahlia smiled and glanced towards Timothée.

"He loves you. I wouldn't be surprised if he saw you as his mother." The words left Timothée fast. Dahlia was shocked. She didn't realize how much of an influence she made on Nicholas.

"I wouldn't mind," Dahlia responded. Timothée raised his eyebrows, "Being a mother figure, I mean. He needs someone like that in his life. I'm proud to have that role."

"You're amazing, you know that?" Timothée told her. Dahlia blushed and looked away, taking a drink from her cup in hopes to swallow down her feelings. There was a lull in the room.

"I know we've talked about a lot. I trust you," Timothée let out a long sigh, pausing to slow his shaking heart, "Which is why you should know about my parents." Dahlia has never seen him more nervous before.

"Timothée, you don't have to talk if you don't want to." Dahlia reached out and grabbed his hand again, squeezing it to reassure him.

"My mother was killed." Timothée never said it out loud. He was scared that if he were to verbally admit it, it would only affect him more.

"Oh, Timothée." Dahlia got out of her chair and kneeled in from of him. Both of her hands were rubbing calming motions on the back of his hands.

"My father was a blacksmith. A few of the King's knights wanted their swords fixed fast. I was just a few years old but I remember the shouting. They left their swords with him. My father worked overnight to fix them, but when the soldiers came back it wasn't enough. They beat my father and dragged my mother out by her hair. They killed her. They killed her just because they weren't happy!" By the end, Timothée was shouting. Dahlia understood his hate towards her father and his men. She knew he started the revolution to free the people, she didn't know that he experienced something himself.

"We will take down my father and find the terrible people who do things like this, I promise you. You will avenge your mother." Dahlia made eye contact with him and smiled. He gave her a weak one in return. Timothée was fighting a battle in his head.

Don't be that knight that never told the princess. Tell her. His conscious was screaming. His heart pleaded to let her know. Even if he was rejected, he couldn't keep it a secret any longer. It was like being in a room surrounded by people who don't know you're there. No matter how loud you shout they don't even glance your way.

"Dahlia, there's something else," Timothée was cut off by the sound of frantic knocking on his door. He sighed in annoyance and got up. He opened the door and saw Adrian. He looked at Timothée and saw Dahlia, now standing, by the fireplace behind him.

"I don't mean to disrupt whatever you were doing, but some of the guards told me I need to get you," Adrian informed.

"Do you know what it's about?" Timothée questioned while following him down the corridor. Dahlia trailed behind them. Her curiosity got the best of her.

"I haven't a clue," Adrian admitted. Dahlia noticed that they were approaching the living area where many people stayed. There were four guards stationed outside a room and the three walked in. There were a few more guards inside and investigating the room. One of them stood by a round table in the centre and talked when they arrived.

"I'm sorry, sir," he noticed Dahlia was there and frowned, for he knew her attachment to the missing person, "He was taken just hours ago."

"Who?" Timothée asked. Dahlia looked around the room and just noticed where they were. Her heart started beating and her vision went blurry. It couldn't be.

"Nicholas Brivalon, sir." Dahlia let out a gasp and her hand lifted in front of her mouth. The guard continued, "This was also left here." The guard lifted a wax seal up. The faint light from candles inside reflected off the surface. It was a seal that constantly haunted Dahlia. Her father's crest lay upon it.

"Timothée," Kian walked in the room, a grim expression on his face, "The prisoner Henry Gardwer has escaped." Dahlia connected the dots. Her own old friend who swore his life to protect her escaped and took Nicholas. He took Nicholas. That voice in her was full of rage. She didn't feel helpless like before. Dahlia was livid. The anger swooped through her and poisoned her system. Everything was red. They took him. Her best friend. Someone who felt like her very own.