a/n:

i know, i know. it’s nearly been two years. i pretty much abandoned this – without explanation. just go tell me to fuck off. i’m not expecting anyone to still be waiting for an update on this. but anyways. wonder of wonders, i’m finishing this here & now. for closure, for the characters, if nothing else. i don’t dare put it off for another chapt because i might not update again. so you’re getting this uncharacteristically not-dragged-out chapt, haha. it's rather abrupt, but hopefully not unbearably-so. if you’re here reading this, then thank you. thank you so, so very much. i don’t deserve it.

one disclaimer – there’s a line in here from “The Waste Land” (which is one of the best things i’ve ever read) by T.S. Eliot. i don’t own that.

- kait

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Chapter Twenty-One

Come Hell Or High Water

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Aiur stared at her reflection in the mirror, unblinking. Her reflection stared back at her, face impassive and eyes blank. Her hair fell in ringlets past her shoulders. A garland of flowers circled her brow, and more blossoms were entwined in her hair. Evening-primroses. She tried not to breathe in their scent. She couldn’t not wear them, but they brought it all back, the rush and the dark and the feel of his skin under her fingers ... He’d taken something that had meant so much to her, a memory burning bright in the back of her mind, and tarnished it. Except it still burned, maybe even brighter than before.

Reaching out, she touched the mirror, closed her eyes. She wished she felt something – nervousness, fear, anger ... anything.

The dress she wore was white; she thought it made her look pale. Or maybe that wasn’t because of the dress. It left her arms and shoulders bare, and showed off her figure nicely – to tell the truth, it was barely decent enough for such an occasion, but Malloy had insisted. She shivered. It shouldn’t have been white. She’d tried to forget, she really had, but he was all she could think about.

At first, there’d been nothing but shock. Disbelief, denial. And then blind anger, consuming every part of her. Why had he left? Without explanation. He had no right to leave! How could he have done that to her – did she mean that little to him? Had it all been a lie, to get her into bed? Had he planned it all along, hoping to hurt her, trying to break her? She’d been stupid, so stupid, to fall for his act.

When the anger had drained from her, there was nothing left in her but a desperate, hopeless ache. She was – empty. Hollow. Without him, there was nothing. She was nothing. Being with him had made her ... free. Alive. He’d reawakened a part of her she thought she’d lost. But now that he was gone, that part of her was gone, too.

Opening her eyes, she smiled bitterly at her reflection. Maybe she was a fool for it, after what he’d done, but she still loved him.

Her hands were shaking, the clasp so delicate she fumbled with it. Behind her, she heard the door shut gently. Footsteps came towards her. Then warm hands moved under hers, undid the clasp easily and passed the chain into her hands. And lingered, sliding down to her shoulders. “I’m not doing anything wrong...”

She spun away from the mirror, stared at the wall instead.

“What defines wrong and right, Aiur? Can you show me?”

Her hands clenched. She looked down at them, forced herself to relax. To breathe.

A knock on the door made her turn. Green eyes looked her up and down, darkening slowly in appreciation. She crossed her arms hurriedly; she felt like she was being stripped naked under that stare. Malloy’s lips curved, but there was a deep tension in his face, and as he neared she saw the circles that were ever present under his eyes had darkened.

He opened his mouth, and she tensed, expecting a lewd remark, but all he said was, “You look beautiful.”

She tipped her head back to look up at him. “You look terrible.”

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” he told her. “All I’ve done lately is lie awake, dreaming of you, anticipating this day. Have I told you how good you look in white? You’re beautiful in anything. I can’t wait to see you without anything on.” He tried to leer at her, but his eyes were too strained.

When she didn’t reply, didn’t even blush, he frowned. “Are you alright?”

No. She needed him to be alright.

He pulled back, scanning her eyes. His were soft, deep pools she wanted to throw herself into. That he had the fortitude to be this tender, this careful, made her melt. “Are you sure?”

“I’m fine,” she told Malloy, curtly, angry with herself.

Malloy slid his hands up her arms and over her shoulders, caressing her skin lightly. She met his gaze levelly, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of making her shake. He kissed her, hard. She flinched. Donnian’s voice echoed in her head, throbbed through her body. I love you. Her hands were grabbing the collar of Malloy’s shirt, suddenly, pulling him closer. Drown him out. She just wanted to drown him out. Except when they broke apart, both breathing heavily, she could still see him. Still feel him. I love you.

She shut her eyes tightly – would nothing block him out? – and when she opened them, Malloy was reaching for her again. She took a quick step back. He blinked, confusion clouding his face. It turned quickly to anger. He closed the distance between them; she could feel the heat radiating off his body – he was hot.

“Malloy-” was all she was able to get out before his lips crashed down on hers, cutting her off.

The kiss seemed to go on forever. When he finally released her, she nearly staggered. He smirked. “Got to save something for tonight.”

And then he was gone.

Aiur lowered herself onto her bed, trembling. Her fingers clutched the fine sheets.

He kissed her, his hands on either side of her, his body hovering above hers, and it was somehow gentle and urgent at the same time. She pressed her palms against his bare chest, surprised at the heat of him. His lips trailed along her jaw, her neck. A soft gasp tore itself from her throat when he bit down lightly, and she felt him smile against her skin. “Aiur,” he murmured. She loved the way he said her name, the way he made it sound so beautiful. She loved the way he looked at her, like he didn’t need to see anything else, like she was the only person in the world. He made her feel wanted, just for who she was and nothing else. He made her feel loved.

Stifling a cry, she sprang up again, jerking away from the bed as if it had burned her. If she could only get through this day, this night, she’d be okay. The memories would leave her. The dreams would stop. Did she really want them to stop, though?

She looked at the mirror, and realized there were tears in her eyes.

-

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The cold air hit her all at once, knocking the breath from her lungs. She looked up at the grey sky, blinked against the light rain that was just beginning to fall. It was fitting, somehow. She didn’t want this to be beautiful.

In the middle of the courtyard, under a broad-spreading tree, its branches mostly bare, Malloy stood waiting for her. Smiling. She couldn’t smile back at him. She was a vacant shell, body parts moving but not living. There were no guests present. Malloy had decided against using the structures that had been constructed for the ceremony, and so they stood, dark amid the falling rain. Soldiers milled about everywhere, carrying spears or bared swords in their hands. They barely glanced at her as she made her way across the courtyard. It was strange, she thought vaguely, to have that many guards, that much steel, at a wedding. What was stranger yet was how, no matter how closely she looked at each of them, she didn’t see a single face she recognized.

Aiur took the hand Malloy extended to her, feeling strangely detached. This was what it came down to. All these years, all the running, all the resistance, all the delay. Why had she tried so hard? None of it mattered. It was what it was. Was everything so bleak in life?

The priest, dressed in a long black robe, stood on a wooden box, so that he loomed taller than either of them. He was an older man, portly and balding. His head glistened; she eyed it in distaste. He seemed to notice; his slanted eyes were decidedly cold as they appraised her.

“Your Highness,” he murmured, bowing. Definitely cold. His voice was a deep rumble. “We are just waiting for the scribe to arrive – it shouldn’t take long.”

That turned out to be a lie. They stood there, in silence, for a good half-hour. Aiur still couldn’t feel anything. No disgust, no dread. She just wanted to get this over with. To throw herself away, until she forgot what it was she was running from. Until she forgot what it was she had lost.

The rain intensified. She tried to keep from shivering too obviously. Malloy glanced at her sideways. He started, and then a slow grin crept over his handsome face as his eyes traced her body deliberately.

“What?” she muttered, annoyed. She couldn’t even cross her arms over her chest, because he was still holding her hand. As if he caught what she was thinking, his grip tightened.

“What fabric is that dress made of?” he asked her, his voice low.

“Why do you care?” she snapped. She looked down at herself, and flushed in mortification. Her dress positively clung to her. And what was more, the rain had nearly turned it transparent.

His green eyes danced. “And here I thought the rain would be a deterrent.” He whistled softly. “Damn, I need to get you out in the rain more often.”

“You-”

“In case you didn’t notice, we’re about to be married, love,” he interrupted her. “I hardly think modesty applicable now.” She glared at him. “But I do love it when you’re trying to be innocent.”

Trying? Did he know-? Aiur looked at him wide-eyed, licking her lips nervously.

Malloy’s thumb stroked the palm of her hand slowly, obviously misinterpreting both her apparent shock and her actions. “I know what you’re thinking, all the things you want to do to me right now. Believe me-” he smirked, his eyes focussed firmly on her lips- “it’s not half of what I want to do to you.”

Aiur was suddenly very aware of the priest, who was avoiding looking at them carefully, making it quite obvious he’d heard at least some of their conversation. She blushed deeper, and turned her head away from Malloy. Suddenly, she didn’t want to be here.

She heard a faint shout, and looked in the direction it had come from. One of the guards posted on the ramparts of the north wall began moving along the battlements. He descended the stairs quickly, and nearly ran through the courtyard towards them. Upon reaching them, he saluted sharply.

“There’s someone at the gate, my lord,” he told Malloy.

Malloy scowled. “There are orders, are there not? No one is to be allowed out. No one is to be allowed in.”

Aiur watched him, frowning in thought. He sounded bitter. ‘There are orders’ – nothing to say that he had given them. Strange.

“Yes, sir,” the guard said. “We didn’t let them in, sir. I just thought you’d want to know.”

“Them? How many are there?”

“Two, my lord.”

“No one is to be allowed in,” Malloy muttered. The guard merely stood there, waiting. Malloy eyed him, angrily. “Is there something else?”

“No, my lord.” The guard hesitated, glanced at Aiur briefly. He didn’t give any sign that he noticed the state of her dress, but she flushed anyways. He saluted again, wheeled, and strode away. Malloy glared after him, and again his hand tightened around hers.

“My lord?” the priest asked tonelessly, sounding exceptionally indifferent. “We’re ready to begin.”

“Carry on, then,” Malloy snapped.

He opened the ceremony, his words slow and unhurried despite Malloy’s fierce stare.

“Kneel, beloved children. You have sought this day this ground, and seek union with one another. And so you stand this day, in this hour, seeking to be joined forever eternally. Indeed, there is no bond greater than marriage, and by marriage shall you be bound, each to the other. And so shall you be one, as you have sought. Oh, blessed day, that witnesses these proceedings, I am a mortal man, unworthy of this task that has been bestowed upon me. Let not my failings tarnish this marriage bright...”

Aiur looked up at the man through her eyelashes, having the feeling he was looking down her dress as she knelt there before him. But he seemed to be fully fixated on the scroll he read from. She looked at Malloy; he was grinding his teeth, and she hid her smile.

“Here between you there may lie no doubt,” the priest droned on. “For surely there is no greater vice than doubt, and doubtless vice can have no place in this joining together, of the two into one. How wonderful is the institution of marriage, that it allows us to transcend such subliminal restraints as doubt! Let doubt be cast aside, and fully embrace this holy matrimony in which every moment shall be multiplied in joy and divided in pain. Doubt not, therefore, the truth of joy you shall soon feel in each other. Let not doubt gain a foothold in your life; let there be no division between you caused by the pain doubt brings. For doubt shall divide you, if you allow it to separate you. And thus divided, you shall fall to doubt and the sanctity of this union shall not withstand the onslaught of doubt that is sure to follow. Likewise, let there be no pride...”

Beside her, Malloy was staring at the man incredulously. He opened his mouth, as if to interrupt, but the priest kept talking.

“Bar your doorway to pride, that it may not enter through the door. Once it has entered, it is inside. And once it is inside, it shall taint your souls and blacken your hearts, that you may no longer enjoy the happiness that comes with a life free from pride. Pride, the child of discordance and chaos! Fall into pride, and you shall fall. For pride will cut the ties that bind you and cause you to fall. And so shall you fall into pride, and be swallowed in the darkness of your own heart...”

Aiur had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Malloy looked furious.

“As there is no vice between you this day, may you be joined in blessed matrimony, united together as one in purity. Keep to the virtues, for this shall bless your union forthwith. Be ever just, and let temperance, prudence, and fortitude abound. For surely you will be lifted up, and all shall be watching your actions, that they may follow in your footsteps. May you be an example to those watching. By faith, uphold faith. For without faith you shall doubt, and doubt has no greater vice. Faith will uplift you and empower you to destroy doubt, and after you shall doubt no more, so long as you have faith.

“Therefore, as you abide in faith, if there is any impediment you know of that should prevent you from this union, be compelled by faith to speak. And if any are present here, that in faith have reason to denounce this marriage as lacking in faith or any of these other virtues, let him speak now, or forever hold his peace.”

The priest paused for a long time, seeming to wait, indeed, for the possibility of a response from the non-existent wedding guests.

“Get on with it!” Malloy exclaimed.

The priest arched one eyebrow coolly, and obediently continued the ceremony, but ostentatiously slowed his pace even further.

“Do you ... Baron ... and Lord Regent ... of this land ... take this woman ... as your ... wife?”

“I do,” Malloy snapped.

“This ... beloved day ... shall ever be ... sacred,” the priest told him, perfectly sombre, “cherished ... in all hearts ... And you shall ... be lifted up ... above all ... men, as ... befitting your ... station ... May the ... sun guide ... your steps; ... may your eyes ... never ... be turned to another; ... may you ... delight in her ... eternally.”

The priest then looked down at Aiur. She shifted on her knees, trying to surreptitiously lean back. “And ... do you ... Princess ... and Heir ... of this land ... take this man ... as your ... husband?”

Aiur looked at Malloy. He watched her, a feverish light in his eyes. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her. The throne? A conquest? The girl he had broken and won? Yet marrying him would make him stay. Would make sure she never fell in love again, never have to go through the pain again.

“I do,” she said, quietly.

Malloy leaned over and kissed her, not waiting for the priest to pronounce them married. As his lips touched hers, though, shouting broke out around the gate.

“They’re coming over the wall!” a guard cried.

“Shoot them!” another yelled.

“We’re under attack!” A horn sounded. “To arms, men! The rebels are attacking!”

“Damnit,” Malloy swore under his breath. He rose and ran towards the commotion.

Not knowing what to do, Aiur followed him, picking up the skirt of her dress as she ran. As they neared the center of the chaos, however, it became clear that there was no rebel attack. She came to a halt, staring in disbelief at the scene before her.

Hayden was lying on his back on the ground. His light blond hair was matted, streaked with dirt. Blood, a vivid red, smeared the stone around him. Another man was being forced to kneel, his back to her, as he was clasped in chains. He was bleeding as well, an arrow protruding from his shoulder. Soldiers milled about fanatically, waving spears and shouting things she didn’t hear.

She dropped to her knees beside Hayden, ignoring the blood that stained her dress, heedless of Malloy’s attempt to stop her.

“Hayden?” she whispered. His eyes were closed, his face pale, but he was breathing. He’d come back. Tears stung her eyes. What had it cost him, to return? How badly was he hurt? A shadow fell across her. She looked up. Malloy stood over her.

“Get him medical aid,” she said, standing. He didn’t move. “Malloy! Get him aid!” He cursed, but he pulled a soldier aside, issuing curt orders.

At the sound of her voice, the man in chains turned his head to look at her. Dark eyes, eyes that had haunted her dreams, ran her through. She froze, and her stomach twisted. The world splintered, the pieces plummeting into the ground, into her. Oh, god. Hayden had done it.

“Donnian,” she whispered, unable to look away from him. Her voice cracked.

One of the guards hauled Donnian roughly to his feet.

No, not a guard. A woman, not much older than Aiur was, with long blond hair and blue eyes. She would have been beautiful, but for the daggers in those eyes.

The woman grabbed the brightly-coloured sash that was tied around Donnian’s waist, sneering openly. “We’re keeping this as evidence,” she declared, loud enough for the entire courtyard to hear. Aiur took a step closer to see the sash – and stopped in her tracks as the woman continued, “Fenix, you are hereby charged with high treason – for desertion and the murder of the king.”

Aiur reeled back as if she’d been struck, blood pounding in her ears, feeling like the earth was pitching, crumbling beneath her feet. The woman was still talking; Malloy was saying something; the soldiers yelled; the rain pounded against stone. She didn’t hear any of it.

Fenix? No. Fenix was dead! He had been her closest friend as a child, sacrificing most of his days to keep her company. He had encouraged her to dream and believe, comforted her when she woke crying, protected her fiercely from anything he thought could harm her. His faith and devotion to her made it possible for her to trust him, to depend on him. She’d felt safe with him. And then she’d fallen in love with him – something that should never have happened – and he died and she broke. Without Fenix there, she didn’t have anything to hold onto, anything to make her fight for who she was. She lost all sense of conviction or innocence, buried her childhood, gave up her freedom for duty...

He was dead. Dead. And yet ... there was sorrow in Donnian’s face. Guilt, too. Despite the chaos unfolding around him, his eyes were only for her.

She stared at him, dumbfounded, her vision blurring. Her head spun. The rest of her was numb, trembling, about to fall apart. Treason. He’d been infiltrating them? He had betrayed her. Somehow it didn’t seem that important, not as important as it should have. How in the world could Donnian be Fenix? How could she ... how could she have fallen for the same man twice?

“Donnian,” she said, helplessly. Shuddered. Formed his name with her lips. “Fenix...”

The intensity of his gaze rocked her backwards, into Malloy’s arms. They folded around her, holding her tight against his body. She thought he was the only reason she could stay upright. His lips touched her ear.

“See him for what he is, now?” he hissed. He raised his voice, and it seemed to cut through the rain as if solid. “This doesn’t concern you, love.” He was gloating. “Come, let’s retire.”

She nodded, but didn’t move. Fenix’s eyes released hers, slowly, lowering to take in Malloy’s possessive stance, then running over her attire. And then he looked at her. Looked through her. And – collapsed in on himself. She thought she could see alternating waves of hurt and disbelief, of sadness and despair, flowing over his face.

How dare he feel hurt, when he was the one who’d left! She realized she was shaking, cold with rage. Because it was the easiest, the safest response. Because it covered up everything else she was feeling. Some of that anger was directed at herself. She shouldn’t feel anything for this man. He’d left her twice, he’d lied to her, he was a traitor, she was married now ... and all he had to do was look at her with those eyes, with that much passion, and she felt like she was falling in love with him all over again.

“I thought you were dead.” Her voice shook – she hoped it was in fury. The words rang ominously in the silence that had fallen across the courtyard. “They told me you were dead. And instead, you were alive ... and you went over to them? You were the last person – the last – who I would have suspected of treachery.”

He said nothing, but his face was pained.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she said. “Alive.” She pushed down the joy that suddenly rushed through her. Just to be able to say those words...

“Aiur-” Malloy began.

“No.” She could do this on her own. She had to be hard. Had to push him away. Her eyes stung. God, she loved him. Fenix. Donnian. It didn’t matter. She loved him. And she couldn’t.

She took a deep breath, feeling the cold, sodden air soaking through the layers of her lungs until they peeled off. “You died in my mind years ago,” she told Fenix, told the world. Her voice was soft, her words slow and burning in her constricted throat. She couldn’t look him in the eye; couldn’t bring herself to watch his reaction. “As far as I’m concerned ... you’re still dead.”

The sound of the rain was drowned out by the hollow roaring in her ears.

Malloy let her go and approached Fenix, sneering. Taunting. “I told you I’d have her. I told her you weren’t protecting her.”

He turned away. Abruptly, he turned back, and punched him in the face. Aiur’s eyes widened; she could hear his nose break. Fenix didn’t react, not even when blood began to stream down his face.

“I once swore to hurt you,” Malloy said, sounding nearly cheerful. He took hold of the arrow in Fenix’s shoulder, and twisted it viciously. Fenix’s jaw clenched, and he sucked in a sharp breath. “Until you cursed the day you were born, until you wished you had never laid eyes on Aiur.” He twisted the arrow further, and Fenix closed his eyes and grunted softly, his breathing laboured.

Malloy seemed angry that he hadn’t elicited a greater response. “How does it feel, Fenix?” he asked, quietly, his face very close to the other man’s. “She belongs to me now. And I’m going to make her mine, in every sense of the word. How does it feel, knowing that she hates you, knowing that you’ll never touch her again, while I share her bed every night. All the things you’ll never do to her-” oh, the irony of that statement- “You can see it in your head, can’t you? Me and her, twisted together. Her arching wantonly, my name on her lips, her legs spreading for me, again and again and again. Pleading and begging for me to take her, dropping to her knees to-” He laughed. The man actually laughed.

Aiur took an involuntary step backwards, shamed beyond measure and appalled by what he was saying.

“You bastard,” Fenix snarled, his voice shaking with rage as his eyes snapped open. Fire burned behind them, blazing through the rain. “Don’t talk about her that way.”

Malloy tore the arrow out of his shoulder, wrenching it sideways and ripping through flesh as he did so. Fenix screamed, caught off guard.

“I’m the king now, Fenix. Your king. Don’t try to tell me what to do,” Malloy hissed. He turned to the guards. “Get him out of here.”

A pair of them dragged Fenix roughly towards the palace. Another two guards came forward and lifted Hayden onto a stretcher, bearing him away with considerably greater care. The rest of the guards returned to their posts along the walls. Malloy turned to Aiur, and attempted to kiss her, but she warded him off angrily. How could he dare, after what he’d said? It brought back a landslide of feelings, hatred and revulsion and bitterness. It brought back the doubt.

Except it was too late for doubt.

Malloy was still trying to persuade her to let him apologize when the woman who’d charged Fenix with treason approached them. Her eyes were chips of ice as they studied her, and Aiur felt a chill go through her when she smiled. The woman said something to Malloy, who immediately went away with her without saying another word to Aiur.

The rain poured. She stood, arms wrapped tight around herself, watching the water hit the ground, wishing she could close her eyes and simply wash away.

-

-

They came over the hill like a flood of black, creeping slowly across the field. He tensed, and his horse whinnied softly, snorting. Hard rain churned the ground into mud, and cold water slid down his neck and trickled into his armour. Behind him, he heard men shifting anxiously, horses moving. They came closer, and the sound of swords being drawn shredded the air.

“Hold,” he commanded.

Roberto came trotting his horse down the line. He reigned in beside Jack, shaking the rain from his face. “Are you sure about this?”

“Little late to be asking that now, isn’t it?” Jack replied, smiling a little.

“I don’t see why you committed to this,” the other man growled, frustration evident on his face. “I don’t know why I let you and Ky bully me into agreeing. We aren’t ready!”

The fact that Ky had taken Jack’s side had been a shock. Lately the man had been butting heads with him at every turn, until it reached the point where Jack began to wonder if he was disagreeing with him just for the sake of undermining his command. The decision to launch their forces now and mount a full attack on the capital, a week early, was controversial. Men had talked about it around the campfires, lowering their voices whenever Jack went by. He read it in their faces anyway – the surprise, the suspicion, the worry. They had obeyed his orders, though. For now, that was all that counted.

“They aren’t ready, either.” Jack worked hard to keep his face smooth. The men advancing on them seemed so numerous, the force much larger than the reports had said. Were there that many radicals? He knew the bulk of their troops was deeper in the capital, not here on the outskirts of the city.

“You didn’t have to keep us all in the dark and then spring it on us at the last moment.”

I hadn’t been planning to. What he said, though, was: “I couldn’t risk the information getting into the wrong hands. Attacking a week early means they’ve had to scramble, too, had to throw whatever they had at hand at us.” He hoped they had, at least. Hoped he hadn’t condemned hundreds of men to their death. “If we can route them here, we’ll cut off outside supply lines.”

“So now we’re planning to besiege them? You never cared about the supply lines before.”

“Draw,” Jack ordered, pitching his voice to carry down the line of men, and bowmen fitted arrows to their bows. He turned back to Roberto. “We will do what we have to,” he said, quietly.

Roberto trotted away.

Jack watched the radicals near, thinking of the ambush he had set, thinking of how to navigate the streets and begin the assault on the palace. Thinking of death and the men who would be lost. We will do what we have to. He just prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

The radicals were thirty paces away when he gave the order to fire. A hundred arrows arched into the air. Men went down screaming, and their fellow soldiers kept advancing, stepping over the their fallen comrades, faces grim and emotionless. A second wave of arrows brought more down, as they broke into a run. Someone behind Jack cursed colourfully.

And the battle began. The fighting was hard, desperate. Men slipped in the mud and horses reared, dumping their riders on the ground. Jack rode, swinging his blade. A radical aimed his blow low, cutting through the legs of Jack’s mount as his sword cut off his head.

He fell, getting to his feet just in time to parry another man’s heavy stroke. He left the man injured behind him, pushing deeper into the melee. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Roberto, also without his horse, fighting furiously and being forced back. He drew a small dirk, took three steps, and threw. The dagger buried itself into the radical’s back, and the man fell.

Jack turned away. We will do what we have to.

Night began to fall.

-

-

Her crown was a delicate circle, white gold and wrought with small precious stones. It rested lightly enough on her head, but she felt its claws sinking into her. She shifted on her seat. She hadn’t been aware of how uncomfortable a throne could be.

In front of her on the dais, Malloy was kneeling to receive his crown. A noble was making a speech; his voice was annoyingly nasal. Aiur turned her head to look out the window, at the darkening gardens outside. It was still raining; water drummed a soft rhythm against the wide glass panels.

Another man stepped forward, with another speech. And then another. When Malloy finally sat down beside her, men began rushing to him, thrusting papers before him. He heaved an aggravated sigh, but bent over the writing desk they set up in front of him eagerly enough, seeming to find satisfaction in scrawling his name to various proclamations and using the royal seal. The first tangible verification of his power.

The man in charge of the palace servants was talking above the clamour, but some of what he said was drowned out.

“... lack of ... over half of them missing ... highly unfortunate, do forgive the offence ... in hiding ... murder ... foul rumours; they’re nothing but lies ... suitable punishment will be found...” Malloy didn’t seem to care what the man was saying, and eventually he left off, only to be replaced by a pair of accountants who nattered on about financial matters.

She suppressed a yawn, but just then the conversation of two of the guards posted just below the dais caught her ears.

“... you should have seen the blood,” one of them was saying. “I didn’t know there was that much blood in one man. His back is in tatters, completely shredded. And I hear they’re only just starting. Jay seems to be having fun.” He scowled. “I always thought him too much of a masochist.”

“It’s enough to make one sick,” the other said. “Has he said anything yet?”

“Not a word, besides the screaming. Well, he says her name sometimes, even though it earns him harsher blows. He hasn’t even begged for mercy. I’ve never seen anyone so brave.”

“Do you know why they’re being so harsh?”

“No.” The man lowered his voice, and Aiur strained to hear his words, her stomach turning. “I did hear the king give Jay an order to, and I quote: ‘make him suffer like no man has suffered’. God, it makes me wonder what we’ve put on the throne.” He laughed, sounding nervous. “He’s not allowed to die. For shame, it’s as if the king plans on torturing him forever.”

“Refused food and water, whipped within inches of death-” the man shook his head- “he’s being put through hell. I don’t understand why he came back. Unless he’s trying to be a goddamn martyr, not that there’s anything worth dying for anymore. He had to have known what they’d do to him. Stupid, really.”

“Yes, but if the rest of them are half as stupid as he is, we’re in trouble.”

She couldn’t bear to go on listening. “May I retire, my lord?” Aiur asked, forcing herself to touch Malloy’s arm.

He waved her away without looking at her, and she slid from the throne. The nobles and scribes eyed her as she passed them, frowning slightly. She didn’t care if they thought she lacked decorum.

The hallway was a dark, burned-out passage, and her flickering shadow seemed the only sign of life. She walked as quickly as she could, away from Malloy, away from the throne room, away, away, away. Her footsteps rang loudly against the floor. She let her feet carry her, not paying attention to where she was going until she found herself in front of a door. Hesitantly, she entered.

Angela looked up from where she sat beside Hayden, holding his hand. Her hair was tangled, her eyes weary; she looked like she hadn’t slept in a week. But she smiled as Aiur shut the door behind her.

“Hey,” she greeted.

Aiur smiled back, nervously twisting her hands together. “How are you doing?”

“I’ve been better.” The warmth in her eyes was genuine, and Aiur felt a wave of guilt. Hayden was here, like this, because of her.

“Is he going to be alright?”

“He’ll be fine.” She laughed, suddenly. “If he doesn’t recover, I’ll murder him.” Aiur wondered at her strength, the depth of her faith. She didn’t respond, and Angela frowned, studying her more intently. “Hey – are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“You look like you’re going to faint. Here, sit down.” She let go of Hayden’s hand and rose from her seat, ignoring Aiur’s protests. “Now tell me. What’s wrong?”

Aiur avoided the question. “How do you do that? Believe that he’s going to be okay?”

“It’s either that or despair.” She shrugged. “Either way there’s nothing I can do, but I like to think that if I hope, he can feel it. Draw on it.”

“Aren’t you afraid he’ll die?”

“Of course. I’m terrified.” She didn’t sound terrified. “But I can’t let that paralyze me. He’s not dead yet. I’m not going to act like he is. And if he does die – which he won’t – I’ll find a way to go on. He wouldn’t demand any less of me. You don’t have to worry, Princess – um, Your Majesty. They don’t think his wounds are fatal. But you didn’t answer me.” Angela’s voice softened. “Is it Malloy? Are you feeling the weight of the wedding night?”

She shook her head.

“Then what?”

“I’m sorry,” Aiur blurted out.

“Sorry?” Angela’s brow furrowed. “Sorry for what?”

“I shouldn’t have let him go. I let him walk into enemy ground. If I hadn’t-”

“Girl,” Angela interrupted her, firmly but softly, “you have nothing to apologize for. It isn’t your fault. Hayden made his own choice. Did you hurt him? No. Besides, I know very well you didn’t ask him to find Donnian. It was a daring, risky, foolhardy plan. Typical of him.”

“When he wakes up-”

“When he wakes up, he won’t hold anything against you. But he’ll want what he did to mean something.” Her blue eyes were sharp, suddenly. They slammed into Aiur's. “I heard Donnian’s been thrown into prison.”

“Did you hear that he’s actually Fenix?”

“What the-” Angela’s eyes widened. “No. I had no idea.” She frowned, looking bewildered. “Donnian is ... he’s – Fenix isn’t dead?”

Aiur shook her head, miserably.

“Are ... are you alright?” There was a cautious sympathy in her voice.

“I don’t know.” She told her what she had heard in the throne room, and Angela grimaced, her face twisting in horror.

“Within inches of death ... You have to go see him.”

“What?” Aiur exclaimed, standing so quickly she nearly knocked over the stool. She couldn’t do that. Couldn’t. “No!”

Angela looked at her with narrowed eyes. “You do realize he did it for you.”

“What?”

“What those guards were saying ... the reason he came back, even though he knew he’d get caught. You do realize it’s because of you.”

Ice trickled down Aiur’s spine. “It’s not-”

“Stop it,” Angela snapped, frustration evident in her voice. “Don’t do this now. This is all there is to it. It’s simple. No matter if it’s Fenix or Donnian. He came back. He loves you. You love him. What more are you waiting for? And even if you didn’t love each other, he’s being tortured. He doesn’t deserve that.”

Aiur shook her head, unable to stop herself. She hated herself. “It’s what the crown does to traitors.”

“No.” Angela was firm, but there was fury bubbling beneath her expression. “It’s what Malloy – your husband-” she spat out the word like it was something foul- “does to those he hates. Those he’s jealous of and can’t break.”

She couldn’t respond.

“What he’s doing is wrong. You know that. Leaving everything else aside, it’s wrong. No one who calls himself human can sit and be so brutal. Go to him. For mercy’s sake, if nothing else, go to him. It’s sheer cruelty not to.”

“I can’t,” Aiur whispered.

Angela studied her, then shook her head. Disappointment clear. And now there was more than fury in her face – there was a black hatred. “I thought you were better than this, Your Highness,” she said, her voice colder than Aiur had ever heard it be. “I thought you weren’t stupid enough to let pride, or fear, or whatever it is, control you in something like this. I thought what Hayden did, what Fenix did, mattered to you.” She turned back to Hayden. “Get out. Close the door when you go.”

“Angela-”

“Get out. Queen or not, I swear I’ll throw you out myself if you don’t.”

Shaking, she did so.

-

-

He floated, in and out of consciousness. Even something as simple as taking a breath sent agony coursing through him. He pressed himself lightly against the wall, despite the overwhelming pain, because it was the only thing holding his back together. Sound was a distant roar, light and darkness nothing but haze. His mouth was parched; the only thing he’d drunk in four days had been his own blood.

Twice a day he was forced upright and dragged from his cell, led to another room and tied to a pole. And then the beating would begin, blows landing on already-torn flesh. Barbed whips burrowed into his back and snagged the flesh and muscle, ripping it to pieces until it hung off his body in shreds, exposing bone.

He hadn’t been able to stop screaming, hadn’t been able to keep from writhing despite how much it hurt to do so. Oh, god, it made him want to die.

Except he didn’t die. The torture would go on until he either passed out from the pain or the loss of blood, and then he would be brought back to his cell. He’d wake up with his wounds treated a little, enough to stave off an infection. Enough to keep him alive until the next whipping.

Once, instead of being whipped, he was nailed through the wrists to the wall. It had turned his stomach, to watch the nails being slowly driven through his nerves. He’d been left to hang there, until he couldn’t breathe. Until he had to push himself up on his wrists, his back scraping against the wall, to draw air. He thought that had come too close to killing him – he wasn’t subjected to it again. Maybe he deserved it, the torture. He’d betrayed the side that had raised him, turned his back on the side that took him in.

Most of his time was spent struggling for breath, for life, wondering why he kept fighting. He could only think of two things.

The first was killing Malloy.

The second was Aiur, but that tormented him. The look on her face when Roanne had revealed his name ... he hadn’t wanted her to find out that way. The way her eyes had impaled him as he fell into them. He couldn’t help falling into them, and he had no right. She wasn’t his and she hadn’t ever been. No right, to remember the feel of fabric giving way under his fingers, the feel of her body rippling beneath his touch. The night air humming around them. Her hands tracing his body innocently, completely unaware of what she did to him.

But he remembered it anyways. Remembered, and breathed.

What she had said to him ... as far as I’m concerned, you’re still dead ... He didn’t blame her. He hadn’t expected anything different. It had still crushed him, knocked the breath from his body and the blood from his veins. Why was he holding on, after she’d said that?

Shadows shifted in front of him, blurred. Rough voices rose in argument, blending together in one tired stream. The sound of metal bars sliding open made him groan in his head. Was it time already? Maybe he would die, this time.

There was the scuffle of footsteps, the creak of a closing wooden door, and then silence.

Fenix opened his eyes with effort. The light burned, the room spun, and everything slid in and out of focus. When his vision cleared, he saw Aiur standing in the doorway of his cell, looking at him. He closed his eyes, knowing that it was all in his head and when he opened them again she’d be gone. Why did his mind do these things to him? Wasn’t the physical pain more than enough to bear?

He bent his head, hearing his ragged breath fill the room. Frowned. The men who’d beat him had never been this quiet.

“Why did you come back?”

His eyes snapped open, his gaze rising to meet hers. Her skin glowed in the torchlight. A circlet caught the light, flashing. Damnit. She wasn’t real, he knew that. He still ached to touch her. He wished he had the strength to get up, so he could put his hand through the illusion. There was nothing worse than false hope. Nothing. Still, his eyes drank in the sight of her.

Aiur’s image took a halting step into the cell, stopped. He laughed at the level of detail in his hallucination. Welcomed it. Going mad would stop the pain.

They’d grab his arms anytime now. Grab him and tie him to that pole...

“You betrayed me.” Her voice was sad. He stopped laughing, and wished the vision would go away. Every part of his body was in pieces. He wanted to cry. “You were supposed to protect me, and instead you left me.” There was a moment of silence. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I shouldn’t be here; if those guards tell anyone Malloy will skin me alive ... but what Angela said...”

He blinked. This was so intricate it was nearly real.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? Did they cut out your tongue?” She faltered. “Tell me they didn’t do that. Please.”

His eyes fell shut. He couldn’t take it anymore. So real ... and she wasn’t there. The dark rolled before him, beckoning. If he scraped his back against the wall...

Her hand touched his face, and he started. She withdrew a little when his eyes met hers, but she was still there, squatting in front of him in his cell, touching him. He could feel her touching him. Her hand traced his features slowly, her eyes darkening with worry and grief. She was there. He felt his chest expand painfully as he inhaled shakily. Her fingers trembled against his skin. If he died now, at this moment, he’d be happy.

Gently, Aiur touched his side. He winced, gasping. His throat burned; all the screaming he’d done had made it raw. She tried to look at his back, but he shook his head at her, not wanting her to see what he’d been reduced to. He was breathing rapidly now, each breath fire in his lungs. So much pain, and yet he didn’t care, not with her here.

Ignoring him, she edged to his side and pulled him forward a little, away from the wall. Fenix cried out, and it came out as a hoarse whimper.

“Oh, my god,” she breathed.

He turned his head weakly to look at her, trying not to lean on her too heavily. Her eyes were stricken, breaking apart as a whirling tempest rushed though them. Abruptly, her head was buried against his neck. Her breath warmed his skin; the contact made a devastating heat rush through his body. He felt her tears trickle down his skin, felt her shake. Wished he could hold her. Wished he could touch her, and not only have her touch him. He didn’t want her to cry. At the very least, he could try to reach out to her. He started to move his arm, and had to stop, his head falling back as pain rippled down his back.

Aiur must have felt his muscles tense. She looked up at him, her eyes wet and wavering. In that moment, his heart stopped – he was neither living nor dying, and he could only look into those eyes, swimming in the heart of light, the silence that enfolded them.

He rested his forehead on hers. Her lips curved into the slightest of smiles. “You shouldn’t have come back,” she murmured. A shadow crept into her eyes. He watched it, mesmerized. His face moved closer to hers.

And then, suddenly, she was moving away. Fenix nearly fell over. Cold swamped him, and he shivered. How had he ever thought he could leave her, live without her?

“No,” she whispered. “No. I can’t – I can’t do this.”

She began to rise, and desperation overwhelmed him. His mouth opened, the words tumbling from him before he knew what he was doing.

“I love you.”

The agony of speaking paled in comparison to the passion, the truth, of those words.

Her expression contorted. “Don’t-” She squeezed her eyes shut, whimpered. He watched her; if he could have sighed, he would have. “Don’t say that. You left me. I’m married now, and I ... I...” She opened her eyes into his, trailing off. Her mouth opened, shut. “I hate it when you look at me that way,” she muttered; he didn’t think he was supposed to hear. Then she looked away. “I shouldn’t have come here. I’ll – I’ll make sure the beatings stop, somehow. But I shouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t have touched you. I knew that if I came I would touch you ... and ... oh, god...” She heaved a sigh. Her eyes trembled fearfully as they darted to his one last time. “I love you, too.” And with that, she stood up and fled, leaving him to stare after her.

-

-

A trumpet blew.

Damn. They’d moved through the capital fast. A part of her was impressed. She hadn’t thought Jack had the stomach to employ the brutal force it would have required.

“Attack!” a man screamed. The courtyard broke into pandemonium.

Sighing, Roanne reached out and grabbed a random soldier as he passed her. The problem with the radicals was the lack of a strong leader. There was no system of command. Even when Terry had been alive – he’d fallen in battle ... to her dagger – there’d been dissention, and men had constantly taken matters into their own hands, forming small bands and striking out to raid villages or terrorize people as they saw fit. They had only recently joined; mistrust still divided them into their original factions. She had been the one who’d done the work, who’d gone to each faction and presented them with the situation, shown them how they could take control of the war. She hadn’t expected to have to deal with a disorganized, self-interested bunch of fools who didn’t realize the advantage they had.

Allying with the remaining Traditionalists meant they now outnumbered the Rebels. And yet they sat, clustered in the capital, unwilling to strike out. And now the Rebels had struck first.

She pushed her face close to the man. “Where are the fucking archers?” she growled.

“I – I d-don’t know,” the man stuttered, his eyes wide.

Disgusted, she shoved him away. “You better find out, before they start ramming down the door. Get them on the ramparts.”

Not bothering to see if he followed her orders, she went to the north wall and began climbing the stairs two at a time. The radicals listened to her, but only when she dealt with them personally, and spoke with each group individually. She was no battle commander, but with the numbers in her favour and the palace walls themselves to attack from she thought the odds were decidedly on her side.

Malloy came up beside her, and she had to keep from curling her lip at him. The man grated her nerves. He didn’t know anything about battle. He was too forward to be any good at intrigue. He was narrow-minded and short-sighted. And he wasn’t interested in anything but his own power. The fool didn’t see that he was completely dependent on her and the radical forces. His troops were severely outnumbered; the culling they’d forced him to engage in made certain of that. Many of his men had been sent to the streets and were probably dead by now.

Now that she’d gotten what she wanted from him, now that the treaty was officially recognized, she’d have to dispose of him. He was becoming troublesome. A nuisance. Perhaps she’d take the throne herself.

“What are you doing up here?” she snapped at him. “Shouldn’t you be crawling under your bed?”

The king’s face darkened. But he ignored her. “There are more of them, coming from the south.” He paused. “Your men aren’t listening to me. They just keep giving me papers to sign, and if I refuse to sign one they give it to me again the next day.”

“I don’t see what the problem is,” she replied, nonchalantly.

“They told me you said to ignore me.”

“And if I did?”

“I’m the king. I should have command of the army.”

“Yes, you’re the king.” Roanne smiled at him, and he backed up a step. Her smile tended to have that effect on people. She turned back to the parapet, presenting him with her back. “And that’s all you are. Meaning you’re a puppet sitting on a paper throne. We can – and we will – take that away from you any time we want to. You think a crown on your head means anything? You don’t have any power. You’re a sorry excuse for a man; I hear you haven’t even been able to bed your wife. The only thing you’re in control of is where you decide to shit.”

Something sharp slid into her ribs easily, and she stiffened. Pain wracked her. Malloy’s breath tickled her ear. “Wrong.”

He pushed her.

The last thing Roanne saw was the ground, rushing to meet her.

-

-

The wooden door swung open, crashing loudly against the wall, and Fenix looked up in surprise. He did a double-take.

“Jack?”

“Got yourself into a little mess, didn’t you?” Jack grinned at him. He walked to the cell door and began unlocking it.

Fenix gaped at him. “How...?” was all he could say.

“We went on the offensive a week early. Ploughed through the city and stormed the walls, and have been battling ever since. The radicals are fighting us man-to-man all over the palace. I’m just glad they didn’t kill you. I feared they would.” His face darkened. “Do you know what a ruckus you caused when you left like that? You come back, and then a little more than a day later you’re gone again. Ky was beside himself with fury. Roberto was dumbfounded. I thought you had committed suicide.” He paused for a moment. “Though I can’t say I was surprised when I learned what had happened. I threw together the forces as quickly as I could and came after you.” The cell door swung open. “Come on, then.”

Fenix got to his feet unsteadily. His back had been tended to and bandaged, as had his wrists, and he’d been given food and water. It still hurt to move. “I’m in no condition to fight.”

Jack seemed to finally notice the extent of his injuries, the bandage that wound its way around his torso. Fenix wavered on his feet, and the Rebel leader stepped into the cell just in time to catch him before he hit the floor. “Damn, Fenix. What did they do to you, run you through a mill?”

“Jack, there’s no way I can fight. I might be able to swing a sword, if the other guy didn’t move at all.”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t planning on sending you to fight. Ky would kill you if he saw you out there, anyways, and Roberto might try to.”

“They don’t know you came here to free me?”

The man shook his head. “No.”

“What do you want me to do, then?”

“Ky and Roberto may have you branded as a traitor, but your men are still loyal to you. If you tell them to do something, they’ll do it.”

“Tell them what?”

Jack tilted his head. The ghost of a smile flickered over his face. “I heard you protected a certain girl for ten years. I think it’s time you did so again.”

They emerged from the dungeon together, and walked into the middle of a war zone. Jack drew his sword and entered the fray, calling over his shoulder that he’d see him at the end of this. Fenix ducked away inside the palace, making his way along the familiar halls. His heart pounded in his ears. He turned a corner, and nearly collided with Malloy.

“What the hell?” Malloy exclaimed. “How did you-? Why are you-?” He swung at Fenix’s head, and Fenix ducked, flinching. Ignoring the pain, he threw himself at the other man. They hit the floor in a cloud of dust.

Fenix wrapped his hands around Malloy’s throat, but the man rolled them over, slamming Fenix’s back against the ground, and his grip loosened as spots burst before his eyes. Malloy scrambled to his feet, cursing. Fenix began to get up, and only fell still when the point of Malloy’s sword pricked his throat.

“I’m going to kill you, Fenix,” he said, softly. “You’re not going to get in my way any more.”

“Kill me, then.” Fenix stared him in the eyes. “Shouldn’t be hard, after you had me beat half to death.”

A muscle twitched in Malloy’s cheek. He raised his sword. Fenix watched, everything he saw in slow-motion, as the sword began to come down. Then Malloy’s mouth opened and his eyes bulged. Red spurted from his neck. He lost his grip on the sword, and Fenix twisted away from it as it fell harmlessly beside him.

Malloy fell to his knees with a gurgle, his hands rising to clasp his neck, trying to stem the flow of blood. Fenix looked up to meet Aiur’s eyes as a dagger fell from her trembling hands, clattering noisily on the floor. She shuddered, turning away. He didn’t waste any time – Malloy’s wound was far from mortal. He grabbed Malloy’s sword and swung it, once, ignoring the pain. It was for everything the man had done, to him, to Aiur. Malloy collapsed on the ground. The silence swelled, rolling down the corridor.

“That was for my father,” Aiur murmured. But when she lifted her face, it was filled with fear. Fenix stepped around the body hurriedly and approached her. “I didn’t mean to-” she babbled, tears forming in her eyes. “I just – He was going to kill you ... I couldn’t-”

He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek, revelling in the feel of her. “It was him or me,” he said, quietly. “Neither of us was going to leave the other alive. You just saved my life.”

She offered him a trembling smile, one that quickly faded as they stood staring at each other. Carefully, he wrapped his arms around her. She pressed herself against him instantly, and he relaxed.

“Can you forgive me?” he asked. “I never should have left you.”

“You were ordered to the first time. The second time, too?”

“I still shouldn’t have left you.” He hesitated, looked down at the ground, the words pouring out of him. “Aiur – when I told you I loved you, that night outside of the ball ... when I said I’d always loved you ... I – I just want you to know I meant that. Somewhere along the way while I was watching over you, I fell in love with you. I know it was wrong. I don’t know how it happened, but it did, and I couldn’t admit it to myself until two years later. When I heard you were engaged to Malloy ... my world fell apart. I couldn’t bear the thought of you being married to him. Couldn’t bear the thought of you belonging to anyone but me. I guess I always hoped, though, that ... I don’t know, that if I could just keep protecting you, it would be enough.”

When he looked at her again, he was shocked to see she was smiling. “Angela was right,” she murmured.

“What?”

“She got into this argument with me, and told me that you’d loved me and I’d loved you. She convinced me to go for it, actually, to let myself feel again. To let you in.”

“Wait – you loved me?” he asked, thunderstruck.

Aiur blushed. “You were everything to me, Fenix. When I learned you had died ... I gave up, completely. Agreed to marry Malloy, locked away everything that reminded me of you. But it wasn’t until Angela brought it up that I really realized why.”

He realized he was grinning like a fool, but he couldn’t stop. He bent his head to kiss her; smiling, she fended him off.

“I forgive you for leaving, but tell me something first: why did you come back?”

He smiled, wryly. “I’d like to say it was because I realized what a big mistake I’d made and decided I couldn’t live without you and came back to sweep you off your feet away from Malloy, but truth is I wasn’t going to. Can you believe that?” He laughed, bitterly. “I was willing to walk away, because I thought I could still run from this. Thought I could live with my feelings for you, with nothing but memories of you. But then someone told me something that stuck with me. He said that when you find the person who makes you complete, you don’t ever let go of them. You don’t ever let them walk away from you. And when you find the place you belong-”

“-you don’t ever leave it,” she finished for him.

“Hayden got to you, too?” he asked, smiling. She nodded. He took her hand, kissed her palm gently. “That’s why I came back. Because you make me complete. Because this is where I belong.”

Her eyes shone. “He’s going to be okay.”

“Hmm?”

“Hayden.”

“I’m glad.” His fingers followed the path of his lips. “I think we owe him and Angela a fair bit.”

Footsteps made them look up. Jack came trotting around the corner. A wound above his right eye was bleeding, and he cradled his left arm gingerly, but he looked otherwise unhurt. He blinked down at Malloy’s bloodied body on the ground, then swept over them. And grinned.

“We won,” he said. Aiur tensed in Fenix’s arms. Jack somehow caught it. He looked her in the eye. “No one will hurt you, Aiur,” he said, gently. “They have orders to stand down. And if they don’t, well – you’ve got your protection right there. Oh, by the way – the reason Fenix left you, both times, really, was because of me. But carry on. I’m sorry for interrupting you; I just thought you might want to know how the battle turned out.”

“Jack,” Fenix called, on impulse, “wait. I need you to witness something.” He looked at Aiur. “Now can I kiss you?”

“That’s going a little far, with Malloy lying right there,” she remarked, but her eyes were dancing. Free. “He’s only been dead for ten minutes.”

“I’ll go farther,” he said, softly. She looked at him, her brow wrinkled in confusion. He smiled into her eyes, letting himself sink into them. Maybe he should have felt nervous, but he didn’t. Maybe this was going too fast, too far. But no. This was too right. She smiled back, looking mystified, but her eyes slowly widened as he went down on one knee. “Will you marry me?”

Her smile was radiant; she looked as elated, as in love, as Fenix felt. “Hell and high water wouldn’t be able to stop me.” She laughed as she pulled him back to his feet, and he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. The past didn't matter. The future didn't matter. All he was, was here, with her.

Yes, this was exactly where he belonged.

-

-

fin.