A/N: this story was inspired by Evanescence’s Whisper while I was on a five-hour bus ride with only one CD in my player.  Enjoy.

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Borrowed Time

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Don’t turn away

     (don’t give into the pain)

Don’t try to hide

     (though they’re screaming your name)

Don’t close your eyes

     (god knows what lies behind them)

Don’t turn out the lights

     (never scream never die)

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     She was in such deep shit.

     And, just for even thinking such a bad word, she should be punished with another hour of Etiquette classes.  According to her dear, loving, soon-to-be-dead mother.

     Kira paced the length of her room, her prison, nearly tripping over her elongated velvet robe.  The weight of her thoughts was enough to drive anyone crazy.  All she wanted to do was throw herself onto her soft featherbed and sob her heart out.  But no, such behavior would be unacceptable at a time like this.  She had to take responsibility for her actions.

     The guilt was killing her.

     The Eastern Lands’ army was already gathered at the border to the Western Lands.  She could even see the shadowy outlines of soldiers from her second-story window.  She clenched and unclenched her hands into fists as she stared out the window.  Her mother and father probably had completely grey hair by now: not only was their country in an economic depression at the moment, but their standing army was stationed all the way on the other side of the country—nearly 1,000 miles away—to protect their other border from the mercenaries and pillaging soldiers from the Deadlands (or as the country that flanked the other side of their borders was commonly called).

     They were screwed.  The entire country knew it.  The Eastern Lands knew it.  The Deadlands knew it—and her parents, the faithful leaders of the country, were stilling trying their hardest to scrape up meager protection.

     Kira lowered her head, a strand of dark brown hair falling over her face.  She walked over to the window and rested her head and sat on the stones that made up the sill.

     It was bad enough knowing that by nightfall your country could very well be another and that your official language, currency, and customs could be changed as well.  It was worse knowing that you, as the daughter of the two monarchs, were probably going to die for being born a princess—something you sure as hell couldn’t control.  She hadn’t asked to be born royalty.  She hadn’t asked to be born in a time of warfare that subsequently lasted her entire seventeen years.  She hadn’t asked to be ignored her entire life while her father dealt with meeting with the top generals, ministers of war, and other such important figures and while her mother valiantly upheld the country’s political life.

     No, she had to live with the knowledge that she was responsible for this upcoming battle that would mostly likely wipe out her country.

     She furiously blinked away her tears.  She wouldn’t cry.  It was her own damn fault; regret was not a word in her vocabulary.  There was nothing you could do to change the past, why spend the present crying over it?  Precious time could be wasted, the future could potentially be changed for the better when one was still bemoaning mistakes in the past.  That was just plain illogical.

     She took a deep breath and pushed her hair away from her face, her purple eyes snapping with resolve.  Kira was fully prepared to die today; all she wanted was to right her wrongs: to fix her mistakes.  She rolled her eyes upward and prayed to whomever might inhabit the heavens up there that she would be granted this one last chance.  Please—it’s not even selfish.  I just want to spare others harm and suffering.  Is that too much to ask for?

     She hadn’t meant for it all to go wrong.  She wasn’t even sure how it had all gone wrong; all she knew was that while she was outside of the kingdom one night—secretly meeting a boy from the Middle Town (a town wedged directly between the Western and Eastern Lands, well-known for its housing of political radicals, criminals, and refugees) that she’d been seeing for months now.  The next morning at breakfast she was barely conscious, seeing as she’d snuck into bed only an hour earlier with a pounding headache, but a moment later, she was completely alert.

     “The Eastern Lands’ standing army is now gathering at the border,” her father, the King, announced gravely to her, her younger brother, and her mother upon his arrival into their private breakfast quarters. 

     The Queen’s eyes widened, and her spoon, halfway to her mouth, froze in midair.  Kira’s spoon, on the other hand, clattered against her bowl with the ear-shattering sound only silver against porcelain can make.  Her younger brother, Daniel, who didn’t give a fig about politics or the kingdom, kept shoveling food into his mouth.    

     “Wh-what?” Kira had stammered.  “What do you mean?  Did the somehow find out our army’s on the other side of the country?”

     “That’s the only logical explanation I can come up with,” her father side wearily, rubbing his temples. Kira fleetingly wondered if those lines around his eyes had been there the day before.

     “But I thought that was top secret information only the royal family knew!” Mother exclaimed.

     “Our generals knew, as well as the Minister of War,” the king returned.  “Traitors are not uncommon.  They’re especially common in positions of high power.”

     “Gavin Brusley,” Mother said instantly.  “I never trusted that man.”

     “Denora, I know he’s coarse and stand-offish—”

     “His language is abdominally foul—”

     “But he’s a brilliant strategist —”

     “He’s tried to seduce every woman in the castle—”

     “He has my complete trust—”

     “Which made it that much easier to commit the deed!”

     Kira only stared down into her bowl in horror, her parents’ bickering fading into the background.  She’d been in one of the numerous taverns in Middle Town last night with Isaiah, dressed as a commoner.  He’d brought her to the tavern to celebrate—he was a blacksmith’s apprentice and he’d made more sales today than his master had in the past week.  Kira was hesitant at first, because she’d never had ale before (partly because her parents forbade it, and partly because she saw what a monster her uncle could become when on alcohol), but Isaiah’s charm and the carefree spirit of the night had washed away any doubts.

     Literally.

     Around the second hour of the morning, Kira was dead drunk and unable to get home by herself.  Isaiah, feeling responsible for her, took her to the spare room of the blacksmith shop, letting her sleep on his shoulder.  She awoke around the fifth hour of the morning, alert enough to find her way home without being mugged (after sharing a passionate kiss with Isaiah).

     Still staring down into her bowl, Kira drew in a ragged breath.  It was no secret that no one in Middle Town was to be trusted.  Had she blurted valuable Western Lands information in her drunken stupor?  Isaiah, who had also been drunk, wouldn’t have realized her mistake—in truth, he didn’t even know the immense political power she had, so he wouldn’t even had known to stop her.

     Now, staring at the line of soldiers on the border, Kira was certain this was all her fault.  An Eastern spy must have overheard her and passed the information on.  Or perhaps it had been a Western discontent.  Regardless—she was the reason her country was about to vanish from the map this afternoon.       

     She sunk to her knees and rested her arms on the windowsill.  How could she reverse this impending disaster?  What possible way was there?  Spread a rumor that the Western Troops were returning?  Rumors had proven to be wildly successful—but there was always that chance that the Eastern Army would take that as a “go ahead” and attack the Western Lands sooner than planned.

     She could offer herself as a sacrifice for her people.  As the next heir to the throne, it might appease the Eastern King long enough for the Western Army to make it back.  The main reason the Western Lands was so hated was because royalty was passed through the females in the family—therefore, to become King of the Western lands, one had to marry into the family first. It was a highly efficient way to ensure the next king was competent and fit for the throne.

     Kira’s ears perked up and she froze in position.  Footsteps outside in the hallway.  Heavy, so it wasn’t her mother. Her father was to be in meetings all day, and her brother’s footsteps were too light to even hear.  She bolted to her feet and crouched on the other side of her bed, trying to steady her breathing.  No one could find her—if it was the captain of the guards, he was most likely here to carry out the orders to evacuate her and Daniel to safety.

     Over my dead body.  She hadn’t even thought of a plan yet.

     Sure enough, the footsteps stopped in front of her door, and there were muffled voices outside.

     “Sure this is hers?”

     “No, but my instincts tell me I’m right.”

     “If you’re wrong and I walk into some handmaiden’s room…”

     “So sweet-talk your way out of it.  Go on, lad, open the door!”

     The doorknob turned, and footsteps entered her room.  “Kira?” the voice called hesitantly.

     Don’t answer, don’t answer—stay hidden and they’ll go away eventually.

     “Kira!” the voice called again, more confident now.

     Something in the back of her mind was nagging her.  What was it?

     Wait—just “Kira”?  Not “Your Highness”?  not “Princess Kira” or “Lady Kira”?

     She bolted to her feet.  She knew that voice!  “Isaiah?”

     “Kira!”  He ran to her and grabbed her arms, “What’s the matter?  You’re shaking!”

     “What are you doing here?”  How had he even known where she was?  Did he know she lived here?  Did he—oh god—did he know who she was?

     “I came to see if you were all right, of course.  Don’t you remember last night?”

     Oh, that’s right.  She was drunk.  Still… “How did you know where to find me?”

     “Well…”  He grinned sheepishly.  “I was worried about you last night—afraid you wouldn’t make it home safely—so I followed you home.  I wasn’t very surprised to discover that you were a Western girl; you always had this self-assured air about you, and you’ve always been independent.”  His eyes shifted to look at the tall, muscular man standing behind him.  Kira started; she hadn’t noticed the man before.  He looked like a mercenary with his narrowed eyes, cold facial expression, and bulging muscles.

     “Who’s that?” Kira asked timidly, unconsciously stepping closer to Isaiah.

     “Oh, him?  Friend of mine.  Somewhat of a bodyguard, per se.”  He shot her a mischievous grin.

     Why did he look so familiar?  “Is he from Middle Town, too?”

     “Hmm?  Oh—I’m not really sure where he’s from.  Met him in a tavern; no one really cares where you come from in Mid Tow.”  He pulled her into his arms.  “You don’t know how glad I am to find you safe.  Do you work in the castle?  A lady-in-waiting, perhaps?”  His eyes strayed down to her gown and landed on something just below her breast.

     Kira’s hand flew up to cover the pendent—the amethyst with the royal crest that signified her as one of the royal family.  Oh damn it! she cursed from the bottom of her heart.  She all but shoved Isaiah away, shoving the pendent down the front of her gown.  “Glad as I am to see you, Isaiah, we have somewhat of a crisis on our hands.  You’re not safe here—go back to Mid Tow and lock up your blacksmith shop.  Get enough supplies for a few days.  Don’t come back here again.”

     His dark green eyes flickered and he stepped closer to her, a black curl falling across his forehead.  “What do you mean it’s not safe here?”

     She gave him a look, her heart still beating hard.  “Don’t play dumb; I know you’ve noticed the Eastern troops gathering at the boarder. No one could miss them.”

     “Eastern troops?”  He sounded genuinely surprised.  “On the border?  Already?”

     “You didn’t know that?”  Kira arched an eyebrow.  What was wrong with this picture?  Isaiah wasn’t stupid—he went to political discussions in various taverns and meeting places daily.  “Go look out the window and see for yourself.”

     Isaiah looked torn between her and his curiosity.  Finally, he took her hand and dragged her over to the window with him.

     “See?” Kira murmured, breathing in his scent.  The things being in close proximity with him did to her…  “You can see them gathering on the border.  They’re bound to attack before nightfall.”

     His jaw tightened.  “What prompted them to do this?”

     Kira opened her mouth—and then closed it.  If he didn’t know now, he would in a few hours.  She’d caused enough trouble as it was…

     A thought suddenly struck her.  “You mean I didn’t tell you last night?”

     “Last night?”  He turned to her, his expression one of confusion.

     “While we were talking.  I didn’t mention anything about…the Western Lands?”

     He shook his head.  “I couldn’t recall.  I was drunk as well, you know.”

     “How were you able to bring me home then?”

     “Unlike you, my body is more used to alcohol.  What’s this about, sweetie? Is there something important I was supposed to remember?”

     She slowly shook her head.  “No.  I just wondered if you remember what I’d said—because I don’t.”

     Why did he look disappointed?  “Is something wrong?”

     “Hmm?” he said distractedly.  “Oh.  No.  Just…”  He took a deep breath and turned to face her, taking her hands in his.  “Kira…”  The way he said her name sent chills of pleasure up her spine—“you’re an orphan, correct?”

     She blinked.  “Me?  Whatever gave you that idea?  No, my parents are alive.”

     He didn’t look pleased to hear that.  He even frowned a bit.  What was his problem?  “Are they really?  I wasn’t aware… oh, well, no matter.  It’ll just take more time…but we can still make it.”  He was talking to himself now.

     She gently laid her hand on his chest, bringing him back to reality.  “What will take more time, Isaiah?”

     He gave her a tender smile.  “Kira—I want to know if you’ll marry me.”

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     She stared at him in shock.  Had she heard him correctly?  “Marry you?”

     “Yes.”  He looked down at their entwined hands and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles.  “I was going to wait for a while longer; after all, we’ve only known each other for a few months now.  But with the coming events, I want to make sure you’re safe.  I wasn’t aware that the troops had already gathered—I’d heard a rumor, of course, but I was told that the Eastern troops were a good two days away—but now I’m glad I came to you when I did.  I want to ask your parents permission, of course, but I want to be married tonight.”

      “Tonight!”  She laughed sharply.  “Tonight?  Isaiah, do you not realize what’s going on?  A war is about to explode!  I—we have duties to our countries!  What about you?  You’re an eligible male!  Middle Town is going to be in the middle of the fighting!  You’ll most likely be on the front lines.  Married!  What, do you want to leave me a widow after only a few hours of marriage?”

     A shadow crossed his face and his eyes darkened.  “No,” he said, sighing and looking out the window again.  “But then…maybe it’s a selfish request, but…”  His gaze caught hers again “…I would rather be married for a few hours than later regretting it in my dying hours.”

     His words sent a chill through her.  So.  He was prepared to die as well.  Although he probably didn’t realize that today, her death was inevitable.  He thought he would be the one to die.  In reality, she would probably depart from this world before him. 

     She couldn’t marry him.  She didn’t have time!  She had a country to save—she’d already wasted precious minutes talking to him…  She was the one who caused this mess.  It would be beyond selfish to put her happiness before everyone else’s lives.

     She slowly pulled her hands away from his.  “No, Isaiah, I’m sorry—I…I can’t.”  She tore her eyes away from his incredulous gaze.

     “Kira—please?”  He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him.  “I love you.”

     “I— what?”

     “I love you.”

     She couldn’t stop the huge grin from breaking across her face.  How many nights had she tossed and turned, wondering if there was even a slim possibility that he felt for her the way she did him?  She stood on tiptoe and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.  “Thank you.  I can die happy now.”

     “Say what?”  He gave her a bemused smile, brushing his fingers across her face.

     “Never mind.”  She drew in a breath, psyching herself up to step away.  She had to pull away; there wasn’t much time left.  As far as she figured, the sacrificial option was the best one.  Maybe if she promised to become the Eastern King’s concubine as well?  The thought sent her shuddering, but if it would save her country… it was no secret how the king love his women.

     No, that shouldn’t be necessary.  Isn’t sacrifice enough?  Maybe…maybe if I promise him, and someone comes to rescue me before he tries anything?

     She forced herself to swallow.  No… no, there couldn’t be a rescue.  That would be wasting valuable resources, troops, and time.  It was all or nothing.  If she was going to give herself up—she’d have to do it all the way.

     “Kira?”  Isaiah brushed away her tears with his thumb.  “You’re crying.  Why?”

     She shook her head and pulled away, drawing in shuddering breaths.  “I’m sorry.”

     “Sorry?”  He looked dismayed.  “You won’t marry me?”

     She couldn’t bring herself to speak—simply shook her head ‘no.’

     “Why not?”  He moved closer, but she just stepped backwards. 

     “I can’t.”

     “You don’t love me?”

     “I didn’t say that.”

     “You do love me.”

     God help her… “Y-yes.”  More than you know.  More than I’d like to admit.

     “Then…please…”  He pulled her into his arms again.  “Please.  Kira, I’m going to be on the front lines tonight.  I didn’t want to tell you, because then I knew you’d say no—I knew it.  But, please, do it for me—as a dying request?”

     Helpless, she stared into his eyes.  No, no, no—you can’t!  You have to save your kingdom, your family…

     But would a quick wedding hurt them?  Don’t I deserve some happiness before I die?  Physically or psychologically? she added, thinking of the concubine option. 

     She looked away.  “There’s no time.”  We wouldn’t even have time to consummate the marriage.

     Isaiah gave her a secret smile.  “What if I told you that he—” he jerked his head to the mercenary-looking man standing by the door—“is a priest and can marry us right now?”

     Kira looked at the “priest” and back at Isaiah.  “I’d say that you’ve been brainwashed.”

     He snorted, but at least tried to cover his snickers when she glared at him.  “I’m serious!  What, did he suddenly discover his conscience after killing thousands of people?”

     “Not far off,” the man grunted.

     Both Kira and Isaiah looked at him in surprise.  He can speak? she thought.

     “Well?” Isaiah asked, turning his attention back to Kira.  “What do you say?”

     What should I say?  If we get married right now…  She was crazy enough to be considering it.  “I don’t know…”

     “Say yes,” he pleaded, burying his face in her hair.  “Kira.  Please.  I need you.”

     I need you.  

     Oh, God…

     “Yes,” she blurted. 

     He jerked his head up.  “Yes?”

     “But you better make this quick,” she threatened.  “I really don’t have ti—”

     Her words were smothered by his lips.  She gasped when he finally pulled away.  “—ime,” she finished weakly.

     Isaiah smiled softly, caressing her face with his gaze.  “Let’s do this before you change your mind,” he said.

     “Yeah,” she muttered.  Much as she wanted this…something didn’t feel right.  She shook the feeling away.  “Let’s do this.” 

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     Inconceivable.  She was actually doing it.  She was binding herself to a man, giving up her freedom for life. 

     It was so sudden.  Was she really making the right choice?  In her heart, she knew she was.  Isaiah was everything she’d ever hoped for—she’d come to know that over the past few months.  Intelligent, witty, full of life, full of hope…and he loved her. 

     The mercenary/priest had pulled the Book of Vows from a pocket in his robe, and was now droning on in his gravelly voice.  Kira was glad the door was closed.  She was so jumpy; if that door was to open, she really believed she’d have a heart attack.

     “…for life and for death, for better and for worse.  Do you, Isaiah—”

     “I do,” he said quickly.

     Kira held back a laugh.  At least he was honoring her request to get this over quickly…

     “And do you, Kira…” The priest looked up from his book, waiting for a last name.

     She momentarily panicked, but managed to keep her features school.  She finally just said: “I do.”

     Isaiah caught her eyes and they smiled in unison.  What a screwed up wedding this is.

     The priest looked a little perturbed at the lack of formality, but nevertheless stiffly announced, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”  He produced a small blade from his pocket, which he handed to Isaiah.  Carefully, Isaiah made a small cut on his right cheek, deep enough to leave a scar.  He then turned to Kira and did the same to her left cheek. 

     Ready to conclude the ritual, she held out her hand.  Isaiah placed the blade in her palm.  She picked it up and etched another line over the cut he’d made, forming an a cross on his cheek, then proceeded to do the same to herself.

     After she handed the blade back to the priest, Isaiah turned to her with a wide smile, the moving muscles of his cheek causing blood to squeeze out of the cuts.  She returned the smile and leaned in for the obligatory, and much waited, kiss.

     This was the scene that her father walked in upon.

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     The newly married couple broke apart, staring in bewilderment at the intruders.

     Oh no…

     Kira’s father, the King of the Western Lands was staring in horror at his daughter and her husband.   “Y-you—you didn’t,” he stammered, seemingly trying to make sense of the scene before him.  “Kira?”  His face slowly turned beat red.  “Daughter!  What have you done?!”

     “Father—”  She moved in front of Isaiah, as if to protect him—“please don’t be mad!  I—I wanted one last bit of happiness before…”  She hesitated.  Oh, damn, this was all turning out wrong!  She couldn’t tell him of her plan, because she would inadvertently reveal that it was she, Princess Kira of the Western Lands, that was the traitor.  “…before the war.  Father, this Isaiah—I know he’s what you could consider an ideal husband, but—he’s a blacksmith apprentice—he works very hard and I know you’ll come to love him.”

     “A blacksmith apprentice?” Father yelled.  “A blacksmith apprentice?  Kira—have you no idea who this is?  Do you have any notion of whom you just made your husband: the new Prince and next King of the Western Lands?!”

     Kira opened her mouth…and then shut it.  Somehow—she hadn’t really thought things through enough to realize that she’d just made Isaiah the new king.  She’d played her part as a commoner so long; around him she was just Kira, not Princess, or Heir to the Throne…just Kira.

     But then, she realized, what did it matter?  He was to die soon; she was to die soon.  Wasn’t this a fitting end for both of them?  Married in wedded bliss, the heirs to the throne, before they die.

     “Yes,” she said.  “I do.  Isaiah’s a good man, Father.”

     “He’s also the goddamned Prince of the Eastern Lands!” her father roared.  “Kira!  What in the hells have you done!”

     Kira couldn’t move for a minute.  She was frozen in time, frozen to the spot. 

     She blinked.

     Then blinked again.

     “Father,” she finally tried, sending Isaiah and uneasy glance, “I think you have the wrong man.  He words in the Middle Town as an apprentice to the blacksmith MacWard—”

     “I know MacWard well!” Father bellowed.  “He has no apprentice!  The man you just married, Kira Roxane, is the heir to the Eastern Lands.  Your husband.  Which now makes him the new Prince of the Western Lands and you the new Princess of the Eastern Lands!”

     Her eyes widened.  “Oh…shit?”

     “Shit is right!” shouted the King.  “You know what this will lead to?  A thousand Eastern assassins infiltrating our kingdom by order of the Eastern King to k—”  He coughed.  “By order to ki—”  He made a choking noise and blood spurted from his mouth.

     Kira was becoming alarmed.  “Father, what’s the—”  She screamed as the King pitched forward and landed at her feet, a poison dart sticking out of the back of his neck.  “Oh my god!”  She knelt down beside him.  “Father?  Father!”

     The priest took one look at the king, and dashed out the door, brandishing a sword as he disappeared from view.

     Isaiah kneeled beside her.  “Kira.  He’s gone.”

     She whirled to face him, shrugging out of his embrace.  “And you!  What the hell is going on?  Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”

     “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” he shot back, looking just as angry as she.  “I thought you were a maid!”

     “And I thought you were an apprentice!” she shrieked.  “How can you be a prince?”

     “The same way you can be a princess.”  He reached for her neck and tugged at the pendent, pulling it out of her dress.  He regarded it for a moment and then looked up into her eyes.  “This is the royal crest on it, isn’t it?  Instead of crowns, you have pendants.”

     She bit her lip and nodded.

     He sighed, his eyes full of hurt.  “You lied.”

     “As did you.”

     “You could have told me the truth.”

     “At least you saw the pendant.  What chance did I have to figure it out on my own?”

     “That’s different,” he snapped, running a hand through his hair.  “Our countries are soon to be at war—discontents from both sides will be scrambling to put us both to death…I can’t believe what deep shit we’re in.”

     “Tell me about it.”  She couldn’t quell the tears.

     Isaiah looked at her for a moment, and then pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist.  She tucked her head in the crook of his neck, not looking at her dead father on the floor.  “All this…all this because we met and fell in love, ignorant of who the other really was.”  She sighed.  “And then I had to go and spill precious information at the tavern last night…”

     Isaiah stiffened.

     “Yes,” Kira admitted.  “I am the traitor.  That’s why I agreed to this marriage—because I’d planned to give myself up as a sacrifice to the King—well, your father actually—and I knew that he would either make me his concubine or execute me.  And you said that you’d die on the front lines anyway—”  She sat up straight and glared at him.  “Isaiah!  That was an outright lie!  You, the Prince, will most definitely not be fighting on the front lines!”

     “Yes, I will,” he murmured, pulling her back into his arms.  “Eastern custom.  Rulers of the country fight alongside the commoners.  Of course, we have ridiculous amounts of bodyguards defending us…but I planned to break away and fight on the front lines anyway.”

     “What!  Why?  Do you have a death wish?”

     “Not particularly…but how fair is that, hiding behind a force of guards?  Commoners don’t have anyone to protect them.  Besides, I can fend for myself.”

     She stared at him.  “But Isaiah, that makes no sense.  What about your kingdom?  What if your father died?  There would be no one left to rule the country!”

     “As I recall,” he shot back, “that’s what you were planning on doing.  You’re the heir.”

     “But that was to save my country,” she said.

     “How is that any different from what I was going to do?”

     “It…just is.”

     “Mmhm.  Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

     Kira burst into giggles.  Isaiah shot her a quizzical look, which only made her laugh harder.

     “What’s so funny?”

     “Us!” she burst.  “This situation!  Here we are arguing like an old married couple about patriotism and death, and who is more justified!”

     He cracked a grin.  “We are an old married couple.”

     “For a whole five minutes?”

     “We’re old.  We’re married.  We’re a couple.”

     “I’m seventeen.  You’re nineteen.  That hardly qualifies as old.”

     “Old enough to be married.  Old enough to die.”

     Her giggles subsided.  “Yeah.”

     They sat in silence for a minute, in each other’s arms, a heavy foreboding feeling within the room. 

     “So what happens now?”

     Isaiah shrugged.  “We wait and see what happens.  Looks like both our plans were thwarted nicely.”  He gave her a look.  “Unless you still want to become my dad’s concubine.”

     She snorted.  “I think you’d kill him first.”

     “You’re right.  I would.”

     “But, really—sit here and do nothing?  We’re both heirs—and we’re married!  Isaiah!”  She sat up straight.  “Our countries are technically united now; we can stop the war.”

     The look he gave her was nothing short of incredulous.  “Kira.  That’s fairytale material.  Our people would be more prone to murdering both of us than be united.”

     “Yes, but—”

     “There’s nothing we can do,” he said shortly.  “Get over it.  If we get lucky, perhaps we can still rule our respective kingdoms separately and still be married.”

     “We couldn’t live together that way.”

     “So we’d visit each other at holidays.”

     “That sounds like a cheery life.”

     “A lot better than marrying and dying in the next hour,” he said seriously.

     “Yeah…true…”  Then a thought struck her and she jumped to her feet.  “Mother!  Daniel!  My god, I’ve just been sitting here… Where the hell did that priest of yours go?  The assassin’s still out there!” 

     She ran to the door, only to be grabbed back by Isaiah.  “No, Kira, wait!” he said, fear in his eyes.

     She stopped.  “What’s the matter?”

     “There’s something…I need to tell you—”

     Five men in black pants and black tunics skidded to a halt in front of the doorway.  All had swords and hand guards.  Kira pressed closer to Isaiah, curling towards safety.  Mercenaries!

     “Prince Isaiah.”  The man in front bowed.  “I commend you for a job well done.”  He stepped into the doorway.  “We’ll take over now.”

     What?  A horrible, awful sinking feeling settled in the pit of Kira’s stomach.

     Isaiah didn’t move, except to tighten his hold on Kira.  “No.  I’m not finished yet.”

     “But Your Highness…”  The man’s gaze flickered over their cheeks.  “The deed is done.  You are relieved.  Hand us the wench and we’ll finish the job.  You’re needed on the front lines—the rest of her family is taken care of.”

     “Taken care of?  What do you mean by that?” Kira demanded.

     The man didn’t even spare her a glance.  “Feisty girl.”

     “She sticks up for herself,” Isaiah said through gritted teeth.

     “Of course, Your Highness.”

     Sensing she wasn’t going to get any answers out of the mercenary, Kira turned to her husband.  “Isaiah,” she said warningly, “what did he mean by that?”

     Isaiah winced and tightened his embrace even more.  “Kira…sweetheart…”

     “Don’t—sweetheart—me,” she snarled.  “Tell me the truth.”

     “They—you’re family that is…they…”  He hesitated.

     “They’re dead,” the mercenary supplied.  “Quick and painless.  The King’s Own has the finest swords on the continent.  I assure you, Miss,  they didn’t even know what happened.”

     Kira stared at the man in open-mouthed horror.  “My mother?”

     “She was first.”

     “Daniel?”

     “The brat?  Finished him off quick before he could start screaming—sight of his mother put him into shock.”

     “You monster!  He was a child!”

     “So are you.”  The man fingered his sword.  “You’re the only one left of the Western Royalty.  Would you like to be killed by our hands, or would you rather it be done by your husband, for sentimentality?”

     “What?”  She turned to Isaiah.  “What is he talking about?  He talks to you like—like you’re in league with him!”

     Isaiah’s face darkened.  “My father’s men,” he finally said.

     “What is this ‘deed’ they’re talking about?  And why on earth,” she spat, “is he asking if I’d rather be killed by his hand or yours?”

     “Kira,” he said, his eyes pleading, “understand.  Let me explain.”

     “Do it quick—those men and their swords are making me nervous.”

     Isaiah opened his mouth, but then closed it, unable to begin.

     “The Prince,” the mercenary said helpfully, “was ordered by his father to find a way to infiltrate the Western forces.  Prince Isaiah always was a cunning lad, and the idea intrigued him.  He accepted the mission and began to dress as a commoner and visit Middle Town taverns at night, hoping to pick up information.  Which, I believe, is where he met you.”

     Kira’s head was spinning.  The room seemed to tilt on its side and she began to slide to the floor in a faint.

     “Kira!”  Isaiah gently kneeled, keeping her in his lap and supporting her head with his hand.  “Are you all right?”

     She pulled away, holding her pounding head with one hand.  “Explain,” she commanded.

     Isaiah nodded, a hurt look on his face.  “Yes.”  He sighed.  “The first day I saw you, I knew you weren’t a commoner.  Your stride was too proud, your countenance too confident.  However…I believed you were a handmaid to the Princess.  It never occurred to me that you actually were the Princess.  How could I have known?  I didn’t know the princess’s name—just as you didn’t know the Eastern prince’s name.  I hoped to get information from you, and hoped with all my heart that you wouldn’t hold who I was and what I did to your mistress against me.”

     “You…you…”  Kira couldn’t form words.  “My dress.”

     He shrugged.  “Handmaidens always dress well.”

     “The pendant!”

     He looked embarrassed now.  “I thought that your mistress had given you a present; I didn’t notice the crest the first time.”

     “You’re so—stupid!”  But how could he have known?  She felt sick.  God was surely laughing at the irony of their situation.

     “Yes; but love is blind, right?”  He looked into her eyes.  “Kira…I was just as surprised to discover you were the princess as you were to find I was the prince.”

     “But…but…why didn’t you say anything after you knew?  Why didn’t you warn me— oh god, my father!  You knew!  You knew he was going to be assassinated!”

     “I couldn’t do anything to stop it!  I didn’t know when or how he was to be murdered—I didn’t even know my father’s troops were in the castle.  After he…died…I knew I had to keep you with me.  If I’d have let you run around the castle alone, you would have been dead by now.  I was protecting you,” he added quietly.

     Kira gave the King’s Own a scared glance and scooted back against the wall.

     “That’s why I asked you to marry me,” he said quietly.  “By nightfall every resident of this castle will be dead—”

     “Excuse me, Your Highness,” the mercenary interrupted.  “They are already dead.”

     Kira made a small choking sound.  Isaiah shot the mercenary an icy glare.  “You are not helping me, Captain.”

     The mercenary inclined his head, although he didn’t look particularly apologetic.  “My apologies, Your Highness.”

      “Kira…I wasn’t lying when I said I loved you.  I do love you.  My love hasn’t changed…only our circumstances.”  He looked so vulnerable…  Kira swallowed hard and looked straight into his eyes.  She believed him—she loved him—but did that change anything?  Anything?

     A thought suddenly struck her.  “You.  It was you I passed the information to last night when I was drunk.”

      Isaiah sighed, but didn’t deny it.  “Yeah.  You did.  Again, I thought you were privy to inside information because you were the princess’s handmaid…”

     “Oh God.”  Kira covered her face with her hands.  “This is all my fault…”

     He moved next to her and slid his arms around her, providing comfort.  “Don’t worry,” he whispered into her ear, “I won’t let them do anything to you.”

     Kira unconsciously shivered.  She couldn’t help it.  “Really?”

     “Don’t believe me?” he said lightly, although there was an undertone of hurt in his voice.

     “I don’t know what to believe.”

     “I understand.”  No, he didn’t.  He was just saying that.

     But he was saying it for her…

     All his words could be lies.

     But they could be the truth.

     Which to chose?

     Trust Isaiah, potentially die.  Ditch Isaiah, definitely die.  Trusting was her best choice.  She was smart; she was fairly adept with a sword.  If she could just get her hands on one of those mercenary blades…

     But could she really rely on her own abilities to save herself?

     This is so screwed up…

     She took a deep breath.  “I trust you, Isaiah.”  For now.  Until I have substantial proof that everything I thought you to be was not a lie.

     He visibly relaxed.  “Thank you,” he whispered.  He stood, pulling her up with him, his arms still around her.  “Hear this,” he addressed the King’s Own in a stern voice, “you are not to harm this woman.  Ever.  Understood?”

     The mercenary bowed.  “As you wish, Your Highness.”

     Isaiah smiled at Kira as if to say, There, you see?

     She wasn’t convinced.  “Say the words.”

     The mercenary flicked a glance at her, but didn’t relax. 

     “Make him say the words, Isaiah.  I need to hear the words from his mouth.”

     Isaiah’s look hardened, but he ordered the mercenary to say the words.

     “I understand that Prince Isaiah does not wish us to harm the woman.  Ever.”

     Isaiah nodded.  “Good.  We will depart now.”  He said in an undertone to Kira, “I’ll take you to the castle and find you somewhere to hide.  I’ll find you a disguise of some sort.”

     Kira barely had time to nod before a bellow reverberated down the hallway.  As if one, all five of the King’s Own brandished their swords and sprang towards Kira. 

     Only by Isaiah’s quick reflexes did both of them survive.  He jerked her aside, just in time to see one mercenary’s blade deflect off the stone wall.  Pushing her to her feet, he shoved her behind him, pulling a concealed knife from under his tunic and facing the mercenaries, his face a mask of fury.  “You promised!”

     “I take orders from the King, lad,” the head mercenary snarled, trying to knock Isaiah’s knife away.  Kira scrambled towards the window after throwing off her heavy velvet robe, kicking one mercenary in the family jewels in order to reach the opening.

     Two mercenaries were upon her before she could jump.  She saw the first blade coming and ducked, the sword going through her stomach.  She cried out in pain, but used the opportunity to kick the one man backwards into the second. 

     Then she jumped.

     Her two-story window overlooked the royal gardens, which was surround by a gate that opened to a path that led to Middle Town.  It was by this route that she met Isaiah every week.

     The ground loomed closer, and she turned so as to land on her back instead of her ankles, which would have surely broken under impact.  She winced as the wind was knocked out of her.  She lay on the ground, gasping for breath, completely aware that the mercenaries were probably that this very minute rushing down a set of stairs to come after her.  Damn it, damn it, damn it…    

     She forced herself to her feet and ran towards the gate.  Come on, come on, faster, faster!  Her wound was bleeding freely and it hurt like hell.  She had to make it to that gate.

     “Kira!  Duck!”

     The shout startled her, so she didn’t quite turn fast enough to avoid the knife that came sailing towards her.  A shriek caught in her throat as the impact of the knife threw her to the ground.  Blackness overtook her vision for a moment, and when she opened her eyes again, all she saw was a blade heading straight for her heart—

     And then another flash of silver—

     And then the immense weight of the mercenary falling onto her.

     Kira couldn’t hold back a scream as he fell on the knife, imbedding it further into her skin.  She rolled over, her skin burning, her head throbbing.  She forced her hands to move upward and, using the last of her strength, pulled out the knife.

     It fell to the ground in a pool of blood.  Her blood.  She gasped for breath, her stomach heaving.  The mercenary’s body trapped her to the ground.  She struggled to wiggle out from under him—she had to run—how many were left?

     “Kira!”  Isaiah’s shadow fell over her as he knelt down and unceremoniously shoved the corpse off of her.  She launched herself into his arms and held onto him as if he was a lifeline, sucking in deep breaths and gagging.

     “Shhh,” he comforted, rubbing her back.  “It’s okay.  It’s okay.”  His tunic was torn and his arm was bleeding, but other than that, he didn’t look any worse for wear.

     “It’s not,” she choked.  “How many left?”

     “One.  Three of them are now decorating your bedchamber; then there’s this one—” he nodded towards the corpse next to them—“and one’s left.  Don’t know where he is.  We have to go, he’s looking for us now.”

     She nodded and allowed him to help her to her feet.  God, she hurt all over… that knife just barely missed her heart.  She was alive by a fluke.  That was not a comforting thought.  “Did you throw that blade that killed him?” she asked, looking at the mercenary at her feet.

     “Yeah.  Always was better at archery than swordsmanship.  At least I can aim.”

     “Thanks,” she whispered.

     “For what?”  He scowled.

     “Saving my life.”

     “It was because of me that you needed saving in the first place.”

     “No.  If not for you, I would have been slaughtered with the rest of my family.”

     Isaiah expelled a breath.  “Let’s go.  Now.”

     “’Kay.”  Kira forced down the bile in her throat and ran towards the gate (or at least tried to run).  Isaiah made sure to stay behind her, even after they’d closed the gate behind him. 

     He kept a hand on her back at all times; he was so tense, she was afraid that if she sneezed he would brandish his sword.  One side of the road was flanked with a seven-foot-tall wall covered in ivy—the other side was flanked by underbrush and scrub.  Ideal conditions for the hide-jump-and-stab method of killing. 

     It took half an hour to reach the entrance to Middle Town.  Kira was soaked with blood; Isaiah with sweat.  He stopped just before the giant archway in the middle of two walls—one belonging to the Western Lands, the other belonging to the Eastern Lands.  He looked down at her simple peasant dress, which was now nearly completely red with blood.  “Planned on sneaking out today?”  He took off his tunic and handed it to her.

     She accepted it and pulled it over her own head.  A maiden with a bloody dress was suspicious and conspicuous.  “I was planning on sacrificing myself, remember?”

     His eyes darkened.  “I remember.”  He now wore breeches and a white cloth long-sleeved shirt.  He blended right in.  Kira, on the other hand, would receive a few stares while wearing a man’s tunic…but it was better than walking down the main street of Mid Tow with a blood-soaked dress.

     Isaiah offered her his arm.  “Milady?”

     A smile broke across her face.  That’s right: they were married.  “Milord.”  She took his arm. 

     They walked through the town, arm in arm, until Isaiah stopped in front of an inn.  Kira sent him a questioning glance.  He only smiled and led her inside, requesting a room from the innkeeper.  The man nodded and held out his hand; Isaiah dropped a couple coins in it, and he and Kira were led to a small room in the back of the inn.

     The room was small, only containing a bed and table with chairs, but Isaiah thanked the man for it, signifying that it was satisfactory.

     Kira immediately headed for the bed, collapsing onto the straw mattress.  “Ahh… my feet are killing me.”

     Isaiah closed the door and locked it, tucking the key into his pocket.  “Your feet are killing you?  Woman, you have two grave injuries and all you can complain about is your feet hurting?”

     “These wounds can be healed—I don’t know of any cure for aching feet.”

     He grinned good-naturedly and knelt beside her.  “Off with those clothes.  Those wounds need binding.”

     Despite the fact that they were married, Kira still blushed when untying the top of her dress.  She only let the top part fall down, revealing a skin-tight camisole.  Isaiah took off his own shirt and used his knife to cut it into strips, albeit uneven.  He then proceeded to bind Kira’s wounds—the one dangerously close to her heart, the other on her side, which was much less serious. 

     Kira slipped her arms back into the dress and tied up the front as soon as he was finished, and then flopped backwards onto the bed.  “Now what?”

     He leaned against the side of the bed, still seated on the floor, and grinned up at her.  “We enjoy our wedding night.”

     Kira blushed.  “You are aware that there’s a war about to explode.”

     He shrugged.  “And we can do what to stop it?”

     “Nothing, most likely.”  She sighed.  “I still feel like we should be doing something.”

     “How about enjoying the time we have together?  It’s borrowed time, and you know it.  Who knows what’s going to happen in the next few hours?”

     “Yeah.”  She sighed and lifted a hand to touch the scar on her cheek.  “We’re married,” she said in an awed tone of voice.”

     “Yeah,” he said, unconsciously mimicking her earlier choice of phrase.  “Little hard to believe, huh?”

     “I almost died.”

     “Yes, Milady, you did.  And this lord is very glad you didn’t.” 

     She smiled down at him, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.  “Want to make good of those words?”

     “Gladly,” he whispered, raising his head to meet her lips.

     And, as a war erupted on both sides of Middle Town, the newly-made husband and wife made love in a tiny room in an inn, on borrowed time.

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.

     The moonlight shone through the tiny cracks in the wall, making Kira’s face seem even more pale.

     Isaiah sadly looked down at his sleeping wife.  She had a content smile on her face, unaware of how much blood she’d lost in the past few hours.

     He hadn’t slept yet.  After their love-making session, he held her in his arms.  She began to bleed not long after.  He wrapped his tunic around her torso, but the blood continued to flow. 

     It was pointless to get a doctor.  One, all of the doctors in Middle Town were either direct employees of the Eastern King or the Western King (those under the latter faction had probably already escaped the city).  Two, there was probably nothing a doctor could do for her now.  There was no way to staunch the blood flow—he’d been tutored by the top doctors in the kingdom, and he knew that with the gravity of her wounds, there was no herb, no special binding, no treatment that could save her.  Excluding prayer.

     He’d never prayed so hard in his life before.

     Isaiah now jostled Kira gently, hoping to wake her.  He just needed to hear the words…one more time. 

     Kira opened her eyes and blinked at him blearily.  “Hmmm?”

     “I love you,” he whispered.

     She smiled up at him and closed her eyes.  “I love you, too, Isaiah.  And…” She was falling asleep now—“I trust you…too.”

     He sighed and pulled her closer, letting sleep overtake him as well.  He would enjoy what he had while it lasted.  Borrowed time—the word bittersweet came to mind. 

     As his breathing become steady, Kira’s more ragged.

.

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     Some say it was only love that kept her alive for that long.  By all rights, she should have died the minute they checked into the hotel.

     When he woke up that morning, Isaiah was no longer the carefree, happy boy people knew him to be.  He was more serious and less impulsive—some would say he turned ruthless—and, on the one month anniversary of her death, his hair started to turn grey.  At the age of twenty.

     He buried Kira behind the tavern at which they’d first met.  Most people thought it an awful place to have buried a wife, but it was significant to him, and he never regretted his choice.

     Isaiah became the King of the Eastern and Western Lands after a duel with his father the day after their marriage, her death, and her burial.  Isaiah told his new Minister of War to bury his father wherever.

     He let the Western Lands continue living as they had for centuries.  The only change he made was that they immediately answered to him as King.  Middle Town never changed its name, although the Western and Eastern Lands eventually merged as one country and became the Western and Eastern factions of the country.

     Isaiah eventually remarried and had two boys, although he never came to love his new wife as much he did Kira.  Despite this fact, he always made a point of telling her that he loved her, and tried to never make any rash decisions that could jeopardize her and the boys.

     Because he knew what it was like to live on borrowed time.

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The End

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A/N:  well. That was certainly different from anything I’ve ever written.  And I wrote this all in…*checks watch*…seven hours.  _  wow…writing rampage.  Never refuse your muse!  Please tell me what you thought of this!