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Chapter Text

Thorns and Primroses had long ago learned to share their home.

Standing tall and worthy across the strand of land, they protruded from the ground with defining characteristics of what they were meant to be.

One was beautiful and lovely and, if you knew who to speak to and who to see and who knew of magic better than they did of life, then you could bottle up the world’s most dangerous emotion for your own gain. One swayed under the wind’s gentle caress, sleeping soundly beneath the moon’s new beams and bloomed when Spring asked. It seduced the sun and sang to the trees and remembered that there was still something wonderful left in the world to explore.

One was sharp. It pushed away, pressing danger of its own making towards those who tried to soften the blows. It snarled and it hissed and it held tight and dear and close to what it wanted to keep. The only plants to ever utter the phrase mine when it loved and destroy when it didn’t. Glaring a path of danger and warning, they did what they had to to stay on their own. For Thorns were always meant to be alone.

One would get to stay.

Chaos was a strange and wonderful and feared thing, and it made way for swords and daggers to slice at stalks, pink petals drifting towards the ground beneath. Flowers watching on in silent and casual despair as more were taken and sliced and killed. Waiting their turn in a morbid line of future disasters.

Primroses are meant to be cut, they had once said. For they are weeds as love is a weed. Useless and overgrown and too much to be of any use at all.

And so they fell. One by one, collapsing to the ground, dragged across forest floors until piled and burned in a pier worthy of a King with no name.

Beauty fell because it was without power.

The Thorns would not fall.

Sharp edges watched all with a sneer of pointed caution. There was power in being hideous. Strength in being able to impale. A certain elegance in terror. It wouldn’t be taken, picked, used, displayed or loved, so it would sit until it was time to turn them away in their unease and watch them flee from things that were it’s alone and no one else’s.

By sundown, the horizon burning under the embers of a scarlet flame, all of the flowers would be gone. They would grow back, for what weed ever was less resilient than the ones that thought themselves beautiful enough to see. And they’d be cut again and again until one day, perhaps, they grew wise instead and never returned. But until then the sharp and the dark watched on, jeering at those who did their best to stand tall even as certainty weighed down with the next breezes snapping stems in two.

We are stronger than you think, oh stagnant ones, the Primroses would say, facing the moon with a pride that did not waver.

And the Thorns would merely scoff. What is meant for the eye will never be anything but a victim, oh weak ones.

And who is to make us the victim. For even flowers had their threats. And beneath the palor of a sky filled with too many worlds and not enough space to keep them from falling, the Primroses defied everything that could rid them of their place and settled into a border that was not theirs to keep. We will never be that.

Thorns would snort in their own way, rustling with every rushed push of air, small animals darting away from the lethal points. You are what I make of you. For I watch you fall every day. And I am the one to make sure you never grow again.

Even you cannot stop the world from spinning.

No one can stop anything, Dearest.

Then why try at all.

Because I decide who lives and dies.

The Primroses shuddered under the cool silk of air. Somewhere off in the distance, cicadas played a battle march and crickets stalled in their weeping to listen for the secrets of the stars. Petals glowed a violet, and sweet aromas masked the fear of what was to be and what could never be halted. You are not as powerful as that. If you decide fate, you fall into it. You, of old, must know by now that the choices are not ours to make. We are what we are, and that is what we are.

Unlike you, Thorns huddled back, content in its carnage, I don’t deceive.

And the next morning the Primroses would fall beneath the watchful eye of Thorns that had nothing to hide. For nothing would change. And it would always be the same.

The stirrings were clear enough. Rustling over a border, hoarding its way into the crooks of trees and petals of flowers, bending to the cruel desire of a whisper as false as it was true.

There was a war on the horizon.

Then again, there had always been a war on the horizon.

It was as commonplace and reliable as the sun in the morning and the stars at night. Always there and present and real. It had been declared ages before the birth of a Princess, obedient and wonderful and loving with dreams too large and a heart too big and a man of gold at her side. Before a Goblin with skin of bark and teeth of knives and a kindness hiding behind eyes that pretended to be steel could fall in and out of love. It was declared when two King’s, young in their stature but not in place, looked across a border and knew that stagnation was the only cure for a flame that waited to be fanned.

“Fairy,” The King of the Goblin’s stood proudly in the court, looking all the more foreign amongst the glamour of gold and marble. A creature of darkness, he was a collection of scaled puzzle notches, edges and teeth with skin that was made of scars and eyes blue as what the sky feared most. “Ye have intruded on mah lands b’fore.”

“And I’ve told you before, I apologize. There’s surely no real harm! Old laws are old laws and I wish for mingling as much as you do, but… my people are merely curious! It’s their nature! No amount of law-”

“Any law t’all will do them guid if thar punishment be death.” He snarled. The Fairy King paled, sinking backwards into his throne. “Yee’ve had yer chance-”

“Please, Your Majesty, we merely-”

“Merely is a dangerous word, Sire. Use it wisely.” Claws flickered out, sheen beneath firelight. “My people merely mean ta search borders. Should one’a yers fall beneath Primroses they’d merely do thar jobs-”

“It wont happen again. My daughter didn’t mean-”

“Ah yes. Yer lovely daughter.” There was a reminiscence about the figure as he stalked closer. A spider hunting through the careful and delicate weavings of a fresh web. He tread lightly, but every step was not without weight, and his shadow, crawling beneath the stature of a figure with power in every stride, took it’s time to find the King still sitting, a coward, upon his throne. The Fey slid back, away from the specter, but that merely spurred it into a leer. “T’was she among many others.” Talons reaching forward, a bow mocking in every inch lowered. “Curious wee thing, isn’ she? Shame if she were ta fall again.”

The Monarch of the Light Fields gritted his teeth to keep the wince from finding a home across the quickly forming wrinkles. He was young, but he didn’t look it. And every day he seemed to grow older and more weary. No doubt his hair would be completely white soon, and after this meeting he’d find a few more stray gray strands hiding beneath the withering brown. “I told you,” he hissed, a warning cornered with newfound strength of a family protected. “It won’t happen again.”

“I should think not.” He rose, plates clacking. “As I said Yer Majesty, my people will neigh be left accountable should one’a yer subjects become…lost.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t? And what do you propose then, oh King of Kings?”

“You know what I’m proposing.” He sat taller, trying to stand but finding his knees useless in their preservation. The Monarch before him allowed no mercies with a glare to set a fire. “You’ve always known.”

“War.”

“If it comes to it.”

The Dark Forest sniffed, taking a step back, and his opponent finally breathed. “Fey. Honestly. Ye think yee’re so brave with yer steel. Yer wit is hardly as sharp.” Talons scratched lightly at the staff in his grip, the sound metallic and foretelling. “We’d win, Majesty. And ye know it.”

“We have weapons.”

The laugh rang like the toll of a funeral march. “An’ we have a Forest! Yer lot wouldnai stand a chance across my border. If I didn’t get ye first then something else would.”

“Something else…”

“Snakes. Owls. Mah own subjects. Nay matters much if all yer good for is ta be eaten.”

Blanching again, feeling bile rise hot and burning, the King did his best to sit straighter. A hand moving out, he went to grasp at the form beside him before retracting it moments later, a new wave of something just as painful embedding neatly into an old wound turned fresh. She used to be there to hold his hand, her delicate fingers easy anchors in times when drowning was suddenly possible. But the throne beside him, left untouched save for the maids, was empty. Gold and pure and without form, it had abandoned its owner for the newest addition in the bassinet tucked safely in a room upstairs.

He would have to continue on without. As he would do for a long time to follow.

“Our people will not cross the border, Highness,” He swallowed back the burn of loss to growl something far too Goblin for a Fey beneath his breath. “We are agreed. We stay on our side-”

“And we stay on ours.” The Dark King nodded. “That is how it should be.” Another nod. The amber between shifting metals atop the staff glinted a dragon’s mischief. “Stagnant. Wise decision, King.”

“I don’t wish for war.”

“Nor dui we. Blood is hard to remove from tha trees.” Whether it was a joke or not, the King did not give any hint. Simply smiling at his own dark realizations, watching a Fairy before him grow weaker with each passing comment. “But we are clear, are we not. There will be no mercies-”

“If one of mine crosses over. Yes… yes, I understand.”

“Not even if that one is one’a yers.” There was a silence. “Or should I expect an army.” There was more silence as a Father tried his best to ignore possibilities and reason with what he could, but the pause was enough and it brought on a new strike of flint behind eyes meant to start fires. “Ye are too predictable, Yee’r Highness. Yer loyalties will ruin ye one day-”

“Get out.”

“Or perhaps ye’ll finally learn what it’s like ta lose-”

“Get out now.” 

A low bow was his goodbye, the exit of one who knows he can’t be forced, and a King of too much power turned on his heel, meeting adjourned until another would eventually call him forward. Striding to leave the room, a fuming Fey still standing behind when-

“Daddy! What’s wrong! I heard yelling an-” the cry was left with a small yeepof surprise as the child halted before the King of others, hitching in a breath deep enough to break her body in two. She skittered back, small wings fluttering uselessly to ripple the air, but she would not get far. Perhaps if she’d been able to fly she might have had a chance. But she’d had no chance when she’d tumbled below the arches of brambles, screaming and crying and clawing up the mountains of dirt towards a light that she could not use the sky to reach. Looking closer the monarch saw the brown ridges still stuck beneath her nails. He didn’t observe for long, dipping down to snatch at her, a roar of triumph scraping from lungs. Another scream ripped the air, so similar to hours before, but this time she would not escape.

For a moment the two stared at one another. The Princess whimpering uselessly, all hope of breaking away gone as soon as claws found their home against skin. The Monarch holding her in her place. The King behind them holding his breath.

“Marianne,” her father hissed. “Get away-”

But she didn’t hear. Or maybe she did, but her feet wouldn’t work, and the blue eyes and the hands that connected them held her firmly in place. Fear and claws keeping her grounded until she was sure she’d never fly in her lifetime, weighed back by the press of periwinkle forevers.

The Dark Forest’s ruler moved first, bending at the waist until their faces nearly touched. His free clawed hand ran it’s way across the air in front of her, just barely scratching across the side of her face. “Such a pretty thing,” he cooed, fangs dripping with the sarcasm of the old. “Shame to see that little head on a pike.” She let out a shuddering plead, a breath expanding her chest and creaking at her ribs, hinging with the sudden abuse. “Dunnai cross my borders again, child. Goblins will dui nothin’ more than break yer bones an’ we’re an awful bunch ta’ try an’ luv.”

The child floundered a moment, mouth opening and closing until she resembled nothing more than a knot in a tree.

“She won’t.” He father, still standing behind, made himself known with furious words to put him on his knees. “I promise. Just please-!”

“Ye were nai the one ta cross, Majesty. This is between mahself an’ tha lass.” Dagda went silent once again, his daughter forlorn in the quiet, whining when her skin was pricked. Tiny pearls of blood rose to the surface, decorating her skin with jewels fit for royals.

“Ye fell inta mah forest today, Fairy.” She was small and wide eyed, and had to crane her head back to look at him. He let himself be impressed for only a flash of time at the Fey that had the courage to look him in the eye. Young, and already so brave. More than her father had shown, anyway. Ambers, alert as the stone kept in a wire prison, beneath lashes thick enough to sweep deceit beneath the rug fluttered fearfully at the monster before her. But bravery would get her nowhere, really, and he growled watching her go white, brow sheen. Still her gaze did not stray. “Know this now, girl, should ye feel tha need ta cross my border ‘gain, ye won’t be comin’ back ta yer Father.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Hush.” Her moth closed with a pop. “Goblins are Goblins fer a reason, girl. We have teeth and claws meant ta shred yer skin ta little pretty ribbons an I’d take yer bones ta make jewels fer mah wife. Such lovely bitty bones.” The girl yelped, trying to pull away, but stopped when claws ran gently across her neck. A warning. She stilled, the silent scream smothering underneath fresh tears that threatened to fall. Behind her Captor, Dagda reached out, just barely.

“I’m s-” she swallowed, pricking talons on her chin blurring her final whisper. “…sorry…”

The King merely snorted. “Apology or neigh- should ye want ta keep the monsters beneath yer bed, I’d stay far from us if I were ye. Fey are fragilecreatures. If ye ever meet one’a us again, I can promise that nothing but your tiny heart is going ta pay fer it.” 

He’d leave after that. Dropping her chin from his hands, abandoning her small sparrow heart still beating a memory against the palm of his hand, he strode past guards who lifted their swords but did nothing to approach. A warning snarl or two did it’s part and he left without a word, leaving behind a child collapsing into arms behind him, wailing for her mother and receiving nothing in return.

Upstairs, woken by the cries of an eldest, a baby began to howl. 

The Dark Forest King merely smiled through fangs sharp enough to cut the air and made his way towards the border where pink touched lethal. Wings buzzing, shoulders clicking as scales marched an irritable tune, he found his way to a land where death became a possibility and another could be trained to follow through.

The smell of Primroses below merely reminded him of the next task ahead and he called towards Goblin’s, swords at the ready, to cut down what they could. Chaos was a dangerous thing. And he would make certain that it remained untouched, uncrossed and on its own.

Sometimes he truly believed it to be a small mercy that he sat upon the throne. 

She shivered in her fathers arms, sitting atop her bed. The baby had long been calmed and soothed, and the only sounds remaining were those of her own whimpers protruded the empty night. “It’s alright, Darling,” Dagda promised. “It was a mistake.”

“If I fall over again-!”

“You won’t.” There was no room for argument. Only the plan for more security. More locks. More bolts. More Fairies with charming smiles and a need to protect that went as deep as his own. Princesses needed Princes who could keep them out of trouble and he’d fine her the armor she needed. “I wont let you. No one will. Not now. Not ever.” She nodded, pressing herself closer to a comfort that she’d search out for only a little while longer. Until men with golden hair could take and replace and throw away just as quickly, and that comfort would plead and ask why of people who didn’t need questions.

But for now she settled with him, blissfully unaware of loves not yet found and lost. 

“Do you think he’d really kill me?” She asked at one point, wiping at already dried tears? “Do you think… d’ya think maybe he’s just lonely.”

“Nothing evil can be lonely, Darling.”

“What if he’s not evil though?” Amber eyes blinked up, innocent and pure and searching for an answer they desired. “What if we tried-”

“There will be no trying.”

“But-”

“No, Marianne! In fact, stay away from the border. Don’t go near it. Ever.”

“Daddy-”

“This isn’t a debate, Marianne.” This time the hands at her face bore no claws, but they cut just as deep. “I’ll be issueing a decree. The border, the primroses- they’re all not to be touched. I can’t lose a subject. I can’t loseyou.” He’d already lost so much. There would be no more. Not again. “These creatures don’t decieve, Marianne. They are what they are.”

“And what they are…?”

“Are killers.”

Years later, with eyes of whiskey and lips of plum and a sword at her side, a young fairy would remember words until the world came down around her. “Don’t go over the border. Don’t go near the Primroses. And never go near a Goblin. Ever.” And he’d kiss her brow then, moving to tuck up covers. “All they do is hate.”

“Why?”

She’d ask why until the word was exhausted of use. But she’d always been like her mother in that way. Always asking when asking needed to be done. Always wanting to find another way if every road was blocked. But he’d always been more pratical. And now it was only him left. And he’d make sure, if it was the last thing he did, that she grew up just as fearful as he.

Fear was a cowards game. But if it saved her, then he’d rather he leave her golden heart tucked away in the darkness. 

“It’s what comes from having thorns. You’ll always get pricked.”

That night, candles flickering and a moon sinking deep into a velvet sky, a King would write a set of rules that were meant to keep his Kingdom safe. Two sides had been established long before. But now, written out on a page, they had never seemed more separate.

The next day he would increase his guard. It was there he would find a young man who wanted to be a knight. Handsome of face and charm enough to woo the skies, he would be perfect for protecting Princesses who were far too curious for their own good. 

The Bog Prince was not as big as his father yet, and some days he doubted he ever would be. A teenager, soon to be old enough to ascend a throne that he was not ready to command, he stood before a specter of a being with all the respect he could muster. 

“How was the Fey Kingdom, Sire?” 

His father waved him off, a large hand moving to pat his back in greeting. “We ‘ave an upper hand,” the King grabbed a practice scepter still leaning against the wall, handing it to his son who took it eagerly. “A decree ta kill.”

“Ta kill?” His son adjusted footing, weighing the wooden staff in his hands before cocking his head. “Ye mean-”

“Should a Fey cross our borders, we can take care’a them.”

“Won’t tha’ start a war?”

“Perhaps. If they’re foolish enough.”

“An’ are they?”

“Fairies were neigh given brains when they were given wings, Son. It’ll dui ye well ta remember that.”

“Yes, Sire.” 

The first blow was an easy one to deflect, and Father and Son soon fell into a rhythm well practiced. One larger than the other, but the other faster, they’d gone through the routine too many times to count. You must be ready, his father had always told him. A swift fight is a good fight and a swift death is more so. When it was time to pass on a throne a weapon of war and execution would become his. 

The Bog Prince had held it before. Enough times to stop wondering how many lives it had taken. How much blood would transfer to his hands. 

And yet still, he tried. 

He’d never been aggressive. Teeth and claws had released growls and hisses and threats. But he’d always hoped… Perhaps he’d gotten that from his mother. Something if looks could never be his to take. A hope that there could be a door with hinges and no lock or key. 

“But… what if,” he ducked away from a swing, moving to shuffle awkwardly, wings buzzing, finding balance. “What if we try and reason-”

“There is no reasoning.” His father cut the air and he blocked the next hit, the tremor echoing in his arms. “We dunnai reason with them.”

“But what if we could!”

“No, son.”

“I’m just saying, Da, that if we open up the borders-”

“No.” The staff hit it’s mark and the younger reflection quickly found himself on his back, wings stinging as they bent beneath him. He scrambled to rise, to find his weapon, but something heavy landed against his chest, pinning him. He looked up, the glowering face a warning of words that should not have been said.

“Ye listen well, son.” The King leaned down, and with his shift the staff against carapace dug deeper. The Prince hissed. “Fairies are dangerous. They dui nothin’ but take what’s ours. The sooner ye learn that, tha better. Ye understand?”

“Aye, Father.”

But his father wasn’t finished, moving away to let his son stand. And when he was, doing his best to be tall enough to match a power that he would never surpass, shadows extending only so far and the longest forever swallowing even after the physical had left, he found amber once more lifting a sharp chin. A King approached, wires cutting gently against skin. Sharp noses and teeth and claws and eyes blue as sin were not all that were shared, and as a father leaned closer their leers were nearly matching.

“If ever ye see a Fey in the forest, if ye so much as cross a border an’ find one ta challenge yer ways, dui what ye must. A King always does what he must.Becomes what he must. Trick. Lie. I dunnai care. But in the end, ye must be the last standing. Don’t let them take yer pride. They’re good at takin’. But don’t let them take that. There isnai deception in the intention of ending.”

“Aye, father,” said the Bog Prince.

“What’ll ye dui if ye see a Fairy, son?” 

The Bog Prince snatched at his fathers staff, wrenching it away from his throat leaving behind red marks and a message that would carry for far too long. A clawed hand followed along amber with morbid fascination. Claiming what would be his with a single, simple promise. “I’ll kill ‘em, Father.”

“Aye. Ye will.”

Across the border, the Primroses swayed forlornly, looking at the world one last time before the sun rose and they’d be taken away, their next of kin already finding their roots in the soil. 

Shame that you’ll never see the world change as much as I, Thorns teased.I’ve seen Kings come and go. I’ve seen laws and treaties. I’ll go on forever and watch as they’re killed just as easily as you.

I’d rather see beauty in one night, the Flowers responded, breathing in the moon, then horrors of all time. 

You lie through your optimism.

And you deceive through your spurs.

I never deceive, Thorns sniffed. I am what I am, and what I am is what I am. Why should I need to be any different to see what I already know. And what I know is that you will die and I will live and a war will come and go and nothing will change. 

We’ll see about that, said the Flowers, and watched the moon fall. 

Chapter Text

“Imbecilic!”

“This is what we get for having a Princess take control.”

“If this is our plan, then I take no part.”

“You have gone too far.”

Princess Marianne wondered if it was possible, standing before the council that morning, if her teeth could crack from the pressure. She decided quickly that anything would be preferable to being in that room before the bunch of bigoted elders. Anything short of tearing off her own wings.

“Stupid women just don’t know there place.”

No, she glowered, perhaps that would be fine too. Because even if she never flew again, at least she could take her severed wings and beat them atop their balding heads.

She had decided to hold the Council a mere two weeks prior, etching her plans over and over again on a sheet of paper so badly scarred, the etches had long ago pressed her nerves into it’s tendered surface. Veins of discontent ranging across its skin, it had been crumpled well beyond compare before she’d finished the final draft, holding it up in the light to distinguish her looping hand and read it aloud in a proclamation before her father as he sat and drank a brew of elder root. I should like to discuss the topic of war, she’d told him, ignoring the way his eyes had widened, chest gurgling as he’d choked a hazardous breath on his drink. A bit of the foaming liquid dribbled into his beard, but he’d made no attempt to clean it, still far more fixated on the way his eldest was steadfast in her beliefs.

I wish to hold a council about a war that cannot happen, she’d better explained. He’d wiped off his beard then, blinked and then blinked again.

Marianne… is that wise. I mean, that generally is my prerogative and I would announce a war-

You may not have heard me. A war that cannot happen. Her hands found her hips, and the abused parchment fled to her side. Father, I want to do more than just prevent battle. I want to make a deal with the Bog King.

It was at that moment in time that her father had lost all intention of saving her from lunacy. Oh, he’d tried. Certainly he had. For what is a father for but to protect their daughters from themselves -a point she had long ago apposed with the darkest of quips. But by then she was long past saving, and the best thing to do was to nod his head without much feeling and tell her to do her best.

Her best. Because telling her to do what she must would imply that she stood a chance. And he knew well just how little he believed that to be true.

But that morning she had risen early wearing a dress he’d had to convince herself was one in reality and not of his dreams. Lilac petals layered over and over, a dipping neck and a deep purple corset. Something she’d never be convinced by any other but herself to don. She’d squeezed his hand beneath her own gloved ones, kissed him on the cheek at breakfast and told him to wish her luck. And with a head held high and a spirit realistically grounded enough to still send a sheen to her bright, whiskey eyes, drunk in their hope for a cause well fought for, she strode into the Council Room and faced what she believed to be an easy and well articulated argument.

It would not go as such. And nearing the end, hours later, as the room faded into the quickly pursuing night, she was beginning to wonder why she had had much hope at all.

“I’m not asking for the blood from your veins.” she snarled, and her nails bit into her hands where she squeezed hard enough, bruising against her lifeline. “I’m asking for your approval on a Royal Order.”

“Just because an order is royal,” a man with a huge moustache and wings riddled with too many holes to lift himself off the ground -though his gut would tell him to stay where he was regardless- leaned back in his chair, the poor instrument crying out with a squeak of disdain, “doesn’t make it any less ludicrous. If the King were to march in here an’ ask then perhaps a… adeal of sorts could be made! But you are asking as a Princess.”

“How is what I’m asking for ludicrous, if I might be so bold to ask, councilman? And if it were from a Prince-”

“If it were from a Prince then perhaps we’d strike a deal as well. But a Prince,” he remarked with a voice as sour as milk, aged enough to think itself wise, “wouldn’t stay in its room weaving flowers and fantasizing.”

“You’re asking to ally our Kingdom with the Dark Forest!” Another one, small as a bean pole with a voice like a broken lark, piped up, bouncing in his seat with anxious energy. “The King- he is the one who pursues us like flies to a trap! And you expect us to just walk into it!”

“This is what comes out of listening to a woman,” the Fey beside him mumbled. “Just goes to show what havin’ the female kind in politics does to a level headed man.”

Marianne went to clenching her jaw again, ticking off numbers in her head to match every slow, calming breath. “The reason for your fury,” she explained evenly, “is because you fear their King-”

“Well of course we do!” The one who had spoken batted dull, blue eyes that just poked out from beneath excessively large eyebrows. “That Goblin is nothing more than a beast, and should we meet with him-”

“Our alliance with the Dark Forest wouldn’t require anything from you,” she interrupted. “I assure you, I would be the one to stand before him if and when it comes to that. Your job isn’t to become his council, it’s to keep our people in line. If we go to war, however-”

“If we do that, then at least we can be free of whatever creatures exist beyond the border.”

“And if we don’t then they’ll be upon us with knives to our throats!” There was a shudder that passed through the room, the subtle reality doing its best to sink in and having trouble against the fantasies of housing Goblins in their guest rooms. “I know you’re scared. But these are times when we need our fear to fuel us most. And like it or not we do have the reality of war on us. It’s been here since my Grandfather’s reign and it’s here now. I’m not trying to become friends, but I am trying to stop this threat from passing onto my reign.”

“You still have time,” one older Fey piped up from beneath his beard. “And you forget, Princess, that your rule is going to be just as challenged as the propositions you suggest.”

“My cause-”

“No matter your cause,” he interrupted without care, ignoring her furious glare, “you’re still a Princess. Had you not been born of the gentler sex-”

“But I was,” she growled in return. “And I’m here now. And I’m trying to stop us from going into a war. Isn’t that what you want! For just a moment, forget who I am and just think about what I want. Because I do rather believe that we both seek the same thing.”

For the first time that night, none of them spoke up. She took that as a positive sign, swallowing back another wave of discontent. “Gentleman, I implore you to really think about what this could bring to us. The medicinal trade is low, our lives could be improved with the different things a treaty could bring us and our ways of living are near archaic. We have so many issues in our own society that need to be addressed. The Elves deserve the same rights as Fairies and the Goblins deserve to be treated as living creatures and not the monsters we make them out to be.” Her gloved hands skimmed the table. “Wouldn’t that be… a better situation.”

One of them looked ready to respond, face twisted in agonizing thought. She leaned forward, eyes wide, ready to finally break through to at least one of them-

“Sorry I’m late, everyone.” The doors swung shut with a bang that rivaled steel, collapsing the room into silence as the Fairy, now the attention of all as he no doubt had intended, sauntered into the room, gliding like fog weighing down waves. “Ya know how it is though. Saving Kingdoms ain’t exactly a job for the punctual, is it.” He winked at a few of the council as he walked past, dragging a gloved hand across shoulders and the backs of chairs before settling into his own. Booted feet swung their way in a glorious arc before landing atop the table. “Now, before I go ahead an’ tell ya about my proposition, why not update me on what this lovely little specimen has been going on about.”

She had been wrong. It could have gotten much, much worse.

“Roland!” It was odd to say his name again. As it was every time. He had filled her with enough syllables to repeat it for the rest of her life, but she used to think that it would be cries of ecstasy. How foolish she’d been to even think that amount of letters could be used for anything more than wanting to finally rid of them.

He knew that, it would seem, and the way his eyes traveled her body suddenly made her far more aware of her corset. Green irises lingered on her chest and she had to keep herself from wrapping her arms about her. “Sorry Darlin’” he finally moved his gaze to her eyes, ignoring her disgust with a well played toothy leer, “ I don’t mean ta be stealin’ your light b’fore ya had a chance ta shine.” His teeth flashed green in the cool light of the afternoon, and she thought he rather looked like a pied piper, choosing the next child to lead off to the mountain.. “I’m sure she’s kept you gentleman all amused!” There were titters of laughter, beards fluffing under huffs of chuckles. Her neck began to burn, slow flames creeping up. “‘Pologies, sweetheart. Why not finish yer adorable speech.”

“Roland, get out.”

He leaned back, his intention to stay clear. “Why sugar! I’m surprised! Ya know it ain’t courtesy to throw out your Captain of the Guard.” Another bout of tittering filled the air, this one just as effective but far more scornful and she swallowed back a curse. Instead she simply pointed, jabbing her finger towards the door as if to rip a hole through the very atmosphere stacking a wall around her.

She jabbed a finger at the door. “Out.”

“Now honey-”

“Out, Roland! You weren’t invited this time.” And then, for emphasis, “and it’s Your Highness, if you want to call me anything at all.”

He rolled his eyes in a playful gesture, as if her anger somehow did nothing if look endearing. And she could remember times when that in itself had been room to make her the victim and she’d taken it without second thought. You overreact, Sweetheart, he’d tell her, and she’d nod in agreement. Good thing I’m here ta keep ya grounded. Else yer pretty head might just take ya places that’r dangerous for a lady like you. She’d learned well. And even if apologies curled off her tongue, well worn from repetition, she choked them back with a firm stance.  “I ain’t leavin’. Yer father invited me. To give my opinions.”

She could have screamed and cried and stomped her feet, but instead she went back to grinding her teeth to powder. Of course her father told him he could attend. Of course. “Then say your part and leave. This is my council and I’m trying to stop the potentials of a war.”

“And that’s exactly why I’m here.” His feet slipped off the table, elbows finding their way into their place, fingers steepled happily under his chin. “You speak of war! Well, I’m the Captain, ain’t I? So shouldn’t I be here? I always have a place at this table-”

“Just because my father was gracious, doesn’t mean I’ll be. This is not his Council. It’s mine. And you might have a place here, but as far as I’m concerned there’s none for you when I’m standing in front. You weren’t invited. And you’ll have no use if the idea is to prevent a war.”

“Prevent one! What for!” He snorted, waving her off. “No, sweetie. We’re always on the brink a’somethin’ or other. We need ta be discussing how to get our troops stronger. Ya see, Gentleman, this is what comes from havin’ a lady on Council. Talk of peace is meant to be made over the china cups, doll. Not in front of men who need ta’ keep their people safe.”

“That was what I was saying…” the heavyset Councilman muttered, moustache dancing under the quip. “Woman in court…”

“The Princess here was discussing the ideas of treaties and such.” The Councilman who spoke up was a man who had hardly aged well. None of them had. But he looked as if he were being held together with twine, his hair a mess of straw and his limbs as beaten and limp as a flightless bird. The flab on his face quivered with every word, “And we were telling her that it was preposterous, and such.” After each and such he smacked his lips, showing a glimpse of a gummy mouth behind them. “We… we were waiting for your opinion, Sir Roland, and such.”

“Of course, Councilman. That is, after all, why I’m here. Ta tell y’all that I have been given permission by the King to tell you my ideas of an army. Bigger. Better. Stronger. Safer. Something ta’ defend and fight.” He flipped his hair. “And under my leadership, none’a those Goblin’s stand a chance.”

“A wise idea,” said one Elder.

“Quite the dreamer,” said another, nodding happily.

“That is why he was almost our King,” the third muttered, followed by another who glanced his way and bobbed like a lost turtle.

“Yes…” he replied. “Almost.”

“Can we please remember why we’re here!” Marianne crossed her arms, glaring at Roland before turning back to her father’s advisors. “We’re here because I proposed a way to prevent war. Do you not at least see how that could help-”

“A war would help too.” He was contradicting her with the force of someone who knew they could, capturing the attentions of the others with a winning smile that had once caught her with a rusted hook. “If we kill ‘em all, then who’ll be left.”

“For the last time, that’s not an option.”

“Sweetheart-”

“It’s Your Majesty,” she snarled.

“But Buttercup-!”

“No, Roland. Absolutely not.” Council meetings had always been one of Marianne’s least favorite Royal duties. The men hadn’t understood the idea of a woman in power, nor had they quite understood the idea of something not Fairy claiming a seat for a voice to be heard. Every meeting was a struggle consisting of uphill battles with steep ridges and downhills made of only bluffs.

These meetings had become considerably more unbearable since Roland had been given a place at the table.

Realistically, it made sense. The Captain of the Guard was made to keep their Kingdom safe, and the reasonable side of Marianne did it’s best to console her with promises of security and public welfare. That was what her father was there for. To lead while she sat and learned and offered her opinion. And when her father did lead Roland had a good mind to keep his mouth shut.

The other side of her-

“But Buttercup! Ya wouldn’t deny your people a chance at freedom, would ya?”

-was grinding its teeth and saying a thousand different words that were most definitely not allowed to be said in a place like this.

“No. There’s no reason for it. And a chance at Freedom means more than that. I was talking to the councilmen before. About terms of freedom on ourown soil. The Elves-”

“Oh not this again. Has she been borin’ y’all with this talk?”

A few of the Council nodded, approving in his jibe. 

“Ya see. Ya bored them. Look at poor Dunstan, he’s done with all’a this.” The man he pointed to, one of the eldest in the room, seemed to have fallen asleep. “Sweetheart, let it go. The Elves are happy where they are.”

“Happy! Are you kidding me! I happen to have direct relations-”

“Oh. Right. Sunshine.”

“Sunny.”

“Whatever.” He waved her off, moving to jab his pointer finger against the marble table. “Let me tell ya somethin’ about this, Darlin’-”

“It’s Your Highness.”

“You come in here with your big, fancy talk about Elves and Goblins and all of that. But did ya think fer a moment that we’re a Kingdom always ready fer war? And where will the Elves be then! Where will you be then! If yer gonna hold a Council, then why not fix our little Goblin issue first before you move onto the problems with the Elves. Which isn’t really much of a Problem, is it?”

The Delegation shook their heads, muttering darkly. 

She was losing ground quickly. Marianne’s nails sunk back into her palm again, hurting through her glove. She wondered quietly if she’d drawn blood. 

“We don’t have a Goblin problem, Roland. There’s Goblins. That isn’t the issue. If we talk to them then we can sort it all out.”

“Or, you could wander into those woods, be torn head from limb and then I’d have ta tell yer poor father that they were the ones that did it. Then there’d be a war, your darlin’ Elves would die and everything would be worse.” he leaned in closer, a viscous point harboring against his lips. “And then what would you do?”

She stood as tall as the corset would allow and kept her head held high. “That isn’t going to happen. I would request that we reach out to the Bog King. Perhaps see what he wants from this. A compromise of sorts. Nothing will happen to me because he doesn’t want a war either. I’m sure of it.”

“You want to compromise with the Bog King. I thought you were gonna talk to the Council or the Court! But no!” There wasn’t horror in his voice as much as giddy amusement. The others who had been fidgeting in their seats just a few minutes prior followed an example and smirked, loose folds of skin stretching grotesquely over mouths lost to teeth. “You just wanna go strait up to him, don’t you!” He broke into a cruel laughter, heaving brays leaving him dry. “Mari, please! Think reasonably!”

“Shows what havin’ a woman does,” the potbellied advisor whispered again, his colleagues nodding their agreement. “Too air headed ta’ really think strait.”

She ignored them in favor of a scowl. “It’s Your Highness, Roland, and I am!”

“Of course you are!”

“Oh shut up! Why did you even come here today! Just to insult me? Or did you actually barge into my Council because you want a war!”

“And what if I do!”

Silence. Pure and unfiltered and horrifying. Not even the council men were quite sure what to say, flinching back and watching the two younger occupants in the room battling with their eyes alone. The sun had set lower and the sky had begun to turn a bright red. It stroked the walls with sacrifice and painted her body red in an attempt to warm what had suddenly went very, very cold. Her head began to spin and she realized that she’d forgotten to breathe.

What if I do… She blinked through the shock, waking herself into a reality that was as terrible repeated as it was the first time.

“… what…” She swallowed. Breathe in, breathe out. “What do you meanwhat if you do.” Breathe in, breathe out.

“I mean what I mean, darlin’.” He barely batted an eye under her glare. The glare of the fast disappearing day curved round his head, kissing golden locks and creating him into a figure of the byzantium, huge eyes and full lips resting, eyes bright in a winners march. “What if I want a war.”

“Because no one wants a war.” She felt numb, small, lost. “No one… no onewould ever-”

“Is that what you think?” He leaned forward. “Really?”

Yes… at least… it had been. Because war was bad. That was easy enough to understand. She’d seen first hand what the threat of it could do, scars lining the side of her neck enough of a reminder. To end war would be to bring peace. No more messengers knocking on doors telling mothers and wives of lost fathers and spouses. No more tears and betrayal. No more wishing someone would come home.

No one wanted a war…

Who would want…

“How would you feel about it all, council men? War or no? What do you think is best.” He snapped her out of her reverie, and the slight cheers were enough to bring her back the whole way.

“… more experience…” someone said. Another agreeing with a call of, “indeed!”

“If he were our King”

And then someone quietly whispered, “too bad she left him at the alter then, eh? Stupid girl.” And that had been enough.

“Roland!” Her call hushed the room with a bolt of shock that touched all but him. She stood taller, strode toward him, cutting through the scarlet light. The members before her watched with wary eyes. One mumbled something about devilish creatures.

He didn’t watch her advance, too busy smiling at his captivated fans, looking on at him with complete adoration. “I’m asking a question, Darling. It’s best not to interrupt yer elders-”

“Roland I’m warning you-”

“And I’m telling you that perhaps it’s best to listen to what’s best for-”

“Stop!”

The entire room jumped when her fists collided with the table before him. It was a true shame that no dent appeared, for the force of her anger could have scorched through the ivory with little trouble. But she worried less about that, instead fixating molten eyes on those around her. “What’s best,” she spit. “What’s best! What’s best is for this Kingdom to not lose another person!”

Before her, her ex fiance looked like a frog gasping for air. Suffocating under a shift in attention. He chuckled a shivering sound, leaning forward slowly in his chair. “Darlin… I- I didn’t mean-”

“What’s best,” she advanced, rounding on the man, spinning on her heel to meet him in his chair. He was beginning to squirm. Good. “what’s best for this Kingdom is to not see anymore violence. And what’s best for this Kingdom” her hands slapped down on either side of his chair as she leaned in. They were close enough to kiss. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and a puff of hot air skimmed the side of her face. He leaned backward, but caught between the back of the seat and the fire in her eyes he was trapped, staring head on into the face of the devil, and she was cruel. “is for you to get out of it.”

She watched him swallow, adam’s apple bobbing under a shroud of milky skin. “But…” he was struggling to get his composure, catching the eyes of others for help. But by then the rest of the council had seemingly agreed on letting him cast away on his own to churn in a sea of his own making. Fans, she observed with a roll of her eyes, were only good to keep you cool enough before you froze.

The quiet was an awful thing, controlled by only one who had taken it by its throat and wrung it dry. And for the first time that afternoon, Marianne was the one with that control.

“… Darlin’!” he tried again, grin shaky, face pleading, looking very much like a stepped on worm wriggling desperately on the dirt. She hardened her fury and his mouth snapped shut with a painful sound.

“My answer is final,” Marianne hissed.”No war. Not unless something happens to create one, there won’t be a war. Not from us. Not today. Is that understood?”

“Darlin’-”

Her hands slammed into the sides of his chair again and he yelped. “Is that understood, Roland?”

“Yes, butter-” her fists tightened. “Yer Majesty.” She waited a moment, watching him dry up beneath her. Then she nodded. 

“Great. Glad we agree.”

Having some mercy, she stood, finally letting the Captain breathe. And he did, squirming backwards into his place, looking a great deal smaller, pride diminishing by the second. “I will speak to you further on the matter, but for now it stands as such. We are going to go about this peacefully. We are going to contact the Bog King. And we are not going to war.”

And she’d stormed out with as much dignified anger as her awful shoes would allow, their pinching only riling her further as she skimmed past the Council, nodding her head at each one.

The doors slammed behind her, leaving them all stunned and open mouthed in the waning light.

“This is why we can’t have women on our council,” the portly Fairy said after clearing his throat.

“Awful demons, they are.” another agreed, dabbing at his brow with a handkerchief. “Damn fearful devils.”

Roland took another breath to right his shaking fingers. Mutely, he agreed. 

Dagda had been on his way to see how affairs had transpired when she had emerged from the room. The doors had slammed behind her, but she’d taken little mind, too busy training her feet to move faster, wings twitching a frustrated rhythm.

“Marianne!” Her father’s voice did little for her, and she waved him off. He watched her leave, not sure whether to follow. A king and parent were often separated, and there were times where he’d admit to it scaring the living hell out of him. He supposed it was partly because the two were meant to separate themselves like oil to water. But more and more often he’d seen himself finding solace in only one. And, watching her leave, feet skipping a beat backward, letting her escape his grasp, he wondered if it was the right one.

The doors opening behind him brought a blur of sound from the elders, humming in their conversation before cutting off when the latch once more clicked. Heavy boots fell to the floor in a worried pattern, tracing a line towards their King.

“Majesty!” His voice was a booming production, trying to prove it hadn’t been lost just seconds before. But even then there was enough of a waver to detect past quivering. “What a pleasant surprise! You… ya didn’t join us?”

“What? Oh… yes, no, I had a previous engagement.” The boots stopped a few feet away, and Dagda turned only as much as he had, body still facing the place where his infuriated Princess had once been. He cast a friendly smile toward the Captain, who returned it tenfold. “Speaking of meetings, how did-”

“Oh splendid.” Southern drawl finally smoothed itself and matched his smile. “I mean, Marianne was her usual spitfire self. I will say, Majesty, she has your power in her fist, and she knows how ta use it, if ya take my meaning.”

“Oh skies… Did she give you trouble again? I’ve- I’ve spoken to her about it before. Sometimes her tongue can get away from her, you understand. You should blame her mother for that. My wife always was…” A sadness fell over his face, darkening shadows about the corners of his eyes, and a mouth once kissed with affection fell with the weight of their lingering shape. With a heavy breath, running a hand through grey hair, sending it out of place, he offered a tired gaze by way of solace. “My apologies.” he said finally, simplicity in a need for the complex, “She can be… spirited.”

Roland, though, waved it off with a care that was near insulting in its easiness. “No trouble, Majesty. A woman with some spark is the right kind! ‘Specially for me!”

“You always were a good match, weren’t you?”

“There isn’t a day I miss her pretty smile.”

The King sighed a forlorn sort of sigh, sinking back into the heavy air, thick as cream and sour as milk. Breathing in again he was left with a sour taste on his tongue. “And… to tell you the truth… there isn’t a day that goes by where I disagree.” He scrubbed at his chin, eyes looking everywhere but the man before him, seal of his crown glowing in the late afternoon light on a proud chest. “She was… happier with you. And ever since she called off the wedding-” Dagda suddenly winced, curling his lip. “Apologies, Roland, I don’t mean to dredge up bad memories.”

“Think nothing of it, Majesty! I miss her but…” a sigh, dramatic and far too well practiced. “We men must be strong.”

“Indeed.” He stood taller. “You’re right.”

“‘Course I am, sir. One picks up things in this court. Under your fine tutelage, naturally.”

The King flushed, bobbing his head about very much resembling an owl at fresh dawn. “Naturally!” he parroted happily. “Oh naturally.”

Roland smiled back something venomous before dripping back into a seriousness that was familiar. “Speaking of strength, your daughter has given me the idea that the army isn’t expanding. Now… with the Dark Forest as a threat we’re all aware of this simply cannot do! You understand of course!”

“Oh of course!”

The soldier grinned before striding toward the windows lining the hall, monarch following behind obediently. Outside the Forest swayed a choreographed dance to the light winds, dark leaves falling to the ground with a foul intent, lining the space between heaven and earth with flightless birds who long ago lost their song.

“All I need,” he waved a gauntlet out toward the line of primroses, “is a few guards. A hundred more perhaps-”

“What!” The King’s head snapped to attention. “A hundred!”

“I did say that, Majesty.”

“Yes but… but whatever for! The border might be a dangerous place, but the amount of guards you already have is suitable enough, I thought! And… and would that much attention be wise?”

“Security, of course, is important. Your majesty, if you saw what I saw every day, soldiers nearly falling over the side- you know what can happen if one of ours is taken! More soldiers, less accidents. Less accidents, less chances-”

“No war…” The realization of it was real, of course. Laws were laws, and those were what made up the circlet that adorned his head. But that alone seemed to get heavier every day, and there were days where he thought he couldn’t find the strength to take it off at all. “Our laws have long been issues of this Kingdom, Roland. If one of ours dies…”

“Yes Sire.”

“And of course, you know me to be a merciful King-”

“The most merciful, your Majesty.” Dagda sent him a thankful glance, but it fell quick enough with a hiss of air outside, whipping through the trees with poisonous kisses shared with lovers- a land created out of final moments and The Ends.

“But… the Bog King… he tries that. Far too much, he tries it. When his father died I thought- I mean I assumed… there was a time when I had hope for our fueds to end. But when my wife died and Marianne was under threat… there wasn’t a chance. Not even after his son took reign. He’s cruel, Roland. Cruel and merciless. Like his father. The whole lot of them are savages. And if you’d ever meet them-”

“And that’s what I’m trying to avoid!” He spread his arms wide, smile following suit. “Majesty, a few extra guards here or there. I can recruit some of the men in town to go on patrol once a week. Something that can keep them out, keep us in. We’re separate for a reason, sire. You set those laws to protect. Well… I wish to do the same.” He bowed slightly, folding at the waist. “I am but yer humble servant.”

Dagda thought. And hummed. And thought some more. And then he stared out the window. Something from between the trees howled. Another being rustled behind of veil of bark. He was tempted to move back, and memories of him doing so far too many times from a daughter flying away in anguished fury were white hot- a Forest of his own residing in walls that were meant to keep them safe. And if she were to be foolish-

He couldn’t be the King to announce a break of peace.

But he also couldn’t be a man to lose a child. 

“Fine. Yes. The guards are yours.”

“Excellent-”

“But we want to be cautious about this. Keep them few and far.” He laid a hand on the man he hoped to call son’s shoulder, giving cool metal a squeeze. “There’s many a fine man in this Kingdom. And why not ask some of the younger ones. They’re fresh. They’ll listen. And we’ve meant to start opening positions soon anyway.”

“His majesty commands it,” Roland nodded, blonde hair bouncing soundly atop his perfect face, “so it shall be.”

“Splendid! You take care of that. I’m sure you’ll manage.” his hand slid away, falling limply at his side. “I have a daughter to attend to.”

“I have your trust, majesty,” he drawled. “That’s enough. And please, give Marianne my best, won’t you? I miss her.”

“And… and she misses you too, I’m sure.”

“I don’t doubt it sir.”

Dagda smiled, beamed, face lighting up against the silhouetted window. “This could be good, you know. A chance to show her the hero you can be! The hero you are. Try to impress her, wont you? Maybe if we… if we really show her that you care we can put this whole wedding business behind us and start over.”

“Why your majesty,” Roland’s hand flew to his chest and he cast bright green eyes upon the King before him, “that sounds like just about the most perfect of ideas. You’ll see it for yerself. You’ll have me back in the family soon enough. Once she sees the light, Sire, she won’t be able ta resist.”

Marianne had run. Wanting to fly, but needing to feel the pain against the sole of her feet, she’d gone faster and faster through the halls towards her room. Anger poked a white heat at her breast and her nails plucked through her skin with the force of fists not allowed to find purchase across a place of residence. The chiseled, noble face of a person once known found its way into her mind and she suppressed a growl as past brands left with wicked intention burned fresh, his fingerprints bruising fresh where they’d once stroked her skin, writing upon her with the most permanent of promises.

Her name would soon bear the title of Queen. And yet somehow it lost all power beside the scar of His.

With a resigned sigh she walked through the doors to her room and closed them with a click, glad for a moment to be rid of the world.

She was beyond furious, and it would seem that the universe itself had conspired to make her mood even less of a delectable thing. Her breath was long ago stolen from the awful root corset the pixies had insisted she don that morning, her feet hurt, and the tiara atop her head had jabbed enough times to crack her skull. And her chest hurt something awful, squeezing and ripping and tearing away old scars that she had hardly assumed healed, but had hoped that they’d at least forgotten to exist all together. But she was fairly sure those were not from the corset.

Letting out what breath the awful contraption would allow she leaned against her window. A breezed sighed into her hair, and she let it, feeling it kiss kind words against her temples. Across from her the Forest looked on with a the curiosity of a child, branches bending toward their own home, greedy fingers begging to touch unfamiliar and different. She felt her wings behind her give an involuntary twitch. “What are we going to do…” she muttered. The Forest seemed to shrug as if to say who knows, I’m just a Forest.

She let her head fall to her hands, squeezing her eyes shut until they hurt.

The door creaking open behind her did little more than elicit a groan. She was feeling lonely, but that didn’t call for company. “Dawn, I’m really not in the mood to talk right now-”

“Marianne.”

Her father’s voice carried feebly and she spun round, facing the man standing nervously in the doorframe. A father in crisis, it would seem, he held the same look as a mired animal facing down a snake. And if she were that reptile then so be it. She felt enough like a serpent, baring her fangs and slitting her eyes at the man in the doorway. Apparently today was the day that she would play villain and predator.

“Go away, Dad.”

“Darling, please.” The door swung behind him and, it would seem, all thought of him making a fast exit were left behind. “You have to understand. I merely sent him to the Council because I thought-”

“You encouraged him to ask for an army!”

“Please-”

“I almost had a council meeting that didn’t talk about my gender for more than two minutes!” She threw her hands in the air, watching his face twitch in something too close to remorse to be anything of the sort. “They werelistening, Dad. They were actually listening. And then he walked in!”

“Dearest. He was just trying to help.”

“No. I was.” she snapped back. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but she didn’t give him the chance, crossing her arms, feeling the ties around her torso stretch and bite, but its venom merely fueled her forward. “A life without war, with alliances. That would have helped. But he-” and her finger rose to jab at the door. One she had once slammed after witnessing arms around the body of someone that could never be her. Where his imprint forever stoon in the form of a tall tale of misery. A victim who haunted her stoop and kept her from ever being truly alone. “He wants to go to war.”

“He merely wants a few soldiers to patrol the border.” Dagda soothed. “It’s part of his job.”

“And you think that’s not asking for too much!”

“Darling, he’s captain of the guard. He can have what he needs if he wants to keep us safe!”

She let out a growl, turning her back on the elderly man to pluck at the fingers of her gloves, sliding off the horrid things.

“You can’t run from your problems.” She shut her eyes to his voice, pinching one of the fingers and doing her best to ignore everything but the feeling of her skin slipping free. “You might try. But you’re the next heir to the throne. You’ll have to listen to all your citizens.”

“I’m not running from anything.” she shot back, still refusing to turn.

“You stormed from the meeting-”

“Because Roland was there, Dad.” Her left glove finally fell onto the bed with a flutter, disturbing the petals with gentle caresses that only sent her fury into a higher plane. She wiggled her fingers.  “Honestly, I don’t really care if he’s there or not. But- god! If you heard what he was saying in there! About Goblins and my place and this Kingdom and-” Her other glove fell behind its sibling, this time whipping the covers at the insistence of its owner. “What in the skies possessed you to think that inviting him would be a good idea!”

“He protects us-” Whatever else he was going to say was cut off with a groan from his eldest, crossing the room to walk past him, wrenching open the oak doors of her closet. “Marianne, Darling, please think reasonably. You lovehim!”

The suddenness of her turn sent her head reeling, but the fires in her eyes did their part to steady her. “Loved him, dad.” she spat toward the folded line of clothes, breathing past the flashing images of steel coated arms and smiles and panic and betrayal. She swallowed back a knot in her throat, doing her best to keep her stomach from rolling. “Loved. And… and honestly… I’m doubting that a lot these days.” It was all she could do not to wrap her arms round herself, if only to prove to him that she wasn’t as vulnerable as he saw her. That she didn’t need two corsets just to keep her heart in its place. That she didn’t need to hold herself together to stop everything from falling apart.

She wasn’t sure who she didn’t mean to see anymore.

Her father, though, hardly saw the grief. Though he’d been blind to it for too long now. And his smile was a sympathetic one filled with pity, and when Marianne turned back, daring to look closer, she saw that none of it was for her. She closed her eyes, breathed, went back to searching through horrible, frilly dresses Dawn had no doubt put in the space for her. “I watched it all. You did. Whatever you had with him- it was good. It was safe. I always tell you that you’ll be stronger with a King by your side and I thought that perhaps if you just saw him again-”

“For the last time, Dad, I’m never going to give that… that leech another chance. Ever.”

“Come now, Darling, really.”

“No.” She finally found what she was looking for, snagging her tunic and leggings from their place, moving back toward her bed to toss them there. They lay pliant without the form of her owner, dead and lost to the world. “And since when did politics turn into relationship advice.”

“Honey, you know that isn’t-”

“Because I don’t think that talking about who I’m holding hands with is gonna do me any good as Queen.”

“I’m just worried about you! I’ve told you before-”

“I know, I know…” She screwed up her face, the words fresh from just seconds ago and their repetition long leaving her without form. “I would be stronger with a King by my side.”

If he heard the sarcasm then he ignored it skillfully enough. “Exactly.” She scowled when he had the nerve to look relieved, as if the long repeated phrase would somehow vanish overnight. Her lips twisted, brow furrowing, but he paid them no heed. “And Darling, what better King than one who already knows the people and can protect them!”

“Because the closest that potential suitor has been to a crown is being a royal ass.”

“Marianne!”

She turned on her heel with a groan, marching towards the vanity with steps heavier than they had to be, the floors scuffing cruelly beneath her heels, but she didn’t dare remove them. Not now. Not in front of him.”I don’t want to talk about this right now, Dad, okay? You can slap me on the wrist later. But right now I don’t have time for this. I have a Kingdom to adjust to and more council meetings and my sword needs to be sharpened-”

“That’s another thing I wanted to speak with you about, actually…”

She knew it was coming. There wasn’t a day that went by when the subject wasn’t brought up, and her fingers stilled against carved wood. “Not today, dad… please-”

“Perhaps we could start you on more… delicate lessons. You used to love them, remember? With your tutor! What was her name. Madam Geanell-”

“It was Madam Nettle, Father, and last we discussed her I was six and I called her a righteous old hag.” Behind her, Dagda coughed out a laugh, and despite herself she felt her jaw tick into a smile. It didn’t last long, folding back into the familiar downward arch. “And.. and I don’t need more ladylike lessons, Father. I have a sword. Why not…” she breathed a low note. “Why not talk to Dawn. She’d be thrilled with all that lacy stuff.”

“Dawn already does that,” he reasoned. “And you said it yourself. Part of the reason they didn’t listen was because you weren’t being enough of a Lady! And maybe if-”

“No, Dad. I said that the reason they didn’t listen to me was because I was a lady. The sword part…? They just… they just hate that I would be the obedient little Monarch that they want me to be. And… and I can’t let that stand. Not if I’m gonna rule one day. If I act too much like Dawn then I’m spoon feeding them their fantasies.” Her fingers scrabbled for the pins that held her tiara in place. Her eyes downcast she plucked them out, watching them fall one by one like long lost soldiers. Her stomach did another roll. “I need to be strong. King or no King…” She hissed when a pin pricked her finger, cursing beneath her breath, hearing her father softly scold it with tired gumption. When the offending pin fell she could see a dash of blood decorate the smoothed surface. Another followed with an innocent plink. “I have to do this, Dad. I have to be me. And if I can’t be that… then what am I worth.”

“But this wasn’t always you…” There was hurt in his voice. She’d heard it before, and no matter how many times she did she found that it was still impossible to numb herself to the feeling it provoked. “It wasn’t. You didn’t used to dress like this. Or… I mean the makeup and the clothes and thesword.”

“It’s moms sword, Dad.”

“But she never used it. She knew I had qualms about that sort of thing.” He let out a heavy breath when he saw her stiffen at the mention of her late mother and for the moment banished the topic. “When you were with Roland things were better. Marianne, I don’t even hear you sing anymore! We’re worried. Me and Dawn.”

Dawn doesn’t chase after me with complaints like this, she nearly snapped. 

But he sounded lost enough. And adding to that wouldn’t help either of them. “I know,” she said instead. And she was surprised to find that she did. “But… I’m still going to stay like this. I’m not gonna change. I’m going to sword fight and hold a council. And next week I’m going to argue again for an allegiance with the Forest again. And I’ll do it the week after that if I have to!” He sucked in a sharp breath. “And I’m going to do it all by myself. And I’m going to prove to you that I can.”

It was a noble enough speech, she thought. And she waited for him to respond. Maybe with the words she knew had to follow. You can’t do this, he’d tell her. You’re just a Princess. You’re just a young woman. You’re just… You’re just… You’re just… Or perhaps he’d surprise her. I believe in you.

But he seemed intent of surprising her with a much different set of words, ones that were set on shocking the room into cold. “There’s a war coming, Marianne.” he said.

She hadn’t expected that.

His voice had changed, defeated and scared, perhaps. Scared of what was to come. Scared that she had changed. Scared of war and a daughter that couldn’t be controlled. Scared of the fight between Kingdoms and the unrest in his own home. Scared that she was the center of all of it. That she’d try and reason with a wave to not hit the shore. 

Scared she’d fail before she’d begin.

Brown locks tickled pointed ears when the Princess shook her head, fighting off the chill. “There’s always a war coming…” came the muttered reasoning. “It’s foolish to believe there isn’t. But… but living in fear is foolish too.” She slipped her crown off her head, setting it aside where it lay cold and unused on the vanity. Glancing up to catch a look at her father she saw herself in the mirror and flinched away. Tired, worn, she’d been fighting for far too long at this. And it was showing. How long had it been since she’d eaten, anyway? Or, at the very least, slept?

From behind her, reflected, her father was far too small. And behind a suit of armor was something she’d forgotten to recognize. Marianne swallowed and wished very much so that she’d never looked up at all.

“Dad… aren’t you tired. Of war, of threats of… of an axe over our heads! I mean come on! We’ve had these laws forever! And… and the last time one of them was here we had a chance-”

“The last time one of their kind was in my palace they very nearly hurt you.” He scrubbed at his face, and his fingers left his beard askew, sticking up and about where he’d missed shaving in his haste that morning. “You know what that did to me!”

Oh yes, she was quite aware. He reminded her of that on a seemingly daily basis. What it had done to him. 

“Yes. And I was fine, dad. And now I’m stronger. I have a sword. I can fight. I can speak. I can stand for what I need to.”

“Threats aren’t idle things, Marianne!”

“I know that!”

“And because of that we have laws surrounding it that-”

“And that’s what I’m saying!” She threw her hands in the air, spinning round to meet him, her face pinched in exasperated fury. “We’re living under a system made up of threats!”

“Marianne-”

“Don’t go over the border, don’t cross into our world, don’t do this, don’t do that, don’t- don’t do anything! And if you do then there’s death a-and war and- and I’m sick of it! And all of them deal with me!”

“No, sweetheart, they deal with Royals and the Kingdoms Guard.”

“What about everyone else!” She threw up her hands. “What- what if Sunny had fallen over the border? What if one of the Elves had gone across and hadn’t come back! What then?”

“Sunny isn’t my daughter or a royal or a guard. The rules apply to them. If one of the King’s own or his army is killed without act of battle then one can be started. And Sunny isn’t a part of that.”

“Yeah, well neither is Roland but you seem ready enough to go to war if he got hurt.”

“It’s a matter of protection! I created those laws because the King at the time was set out to begin a war if another fell across his border. So I retaliated, like a King should.”

“But you didn’t save anyone else.”

“He had his rights, I had mine.” She turned from him again, reaching up to grasp fingers round her waist, tugging at the strings of her corset with enough strength to bruise the her hands. “Please know I was doing it to save you. Everyone is! And I’m doing my best Darling to make sure that no one gets hurt in this. That’s why I’m giving him the army. Roland isn’t trying to make this any harder. He’s trying to protect us where my laws can’t.”

“No. He’s trying to protect me- no! He’s- he’s not even doing that!” She paced past the man, making sure to bump his shoulder, feeling the cool, sharp metal of stretched plates nick her skin but hardly caring, feeling a pang of guilt from the satisfaction she got watching him flinch. “He’s trying to get me back. He wanted to marry me in the first place to get an army-”

“-he wanted it because he loves-”

“Stop saying that! He doesn’t- he never- he’s a man who’s obsessed with war and himself and you’re dropping the army right into his lap! Do you not see how treacherous this could be!”

“Marianne-”

“No!”

“Give him a chance. Please.”

“Dad…”

“Listen to me, Darling. Please. Jut for one moment.” He watched her, waiting for the blessings to continue. And she finally did give them, relaxing her shoulders, her face shifting, defeated and sore. “If you don’t want to do this for yourself, then that’s fine. I might not understand, but… I know you. And I know you won’t. So please… can you at least do them for someone else? For me?”

Nibbling her lip she tapped her heel on the floor, twiddling her fingers, eyes downcast. “I-… I don’t…”

“Then if you can’t do it for me, do it for Dawn.” Reaching out, his hand fell against her shoulder. “She needs the protection too. And… you know how she is. She’d think the solution to this all would be a hug and a cup of tea.”

His eldest sighed, running a hand through her hair. “… she would cross over… wouldn’t she.”

“Without a guard blocking her way? Undoubtedly. And I can’t lose you, but I also can’t lose her. And I know that if she were to do something foolish…” Marianne winced at the thought and her father’s smile grew forlorn. “You make him out to be a villain. But… he’s not. They are. And if they took Dawn… I know what it would do to you, sweetheart. So please? Give Roland a chance to keep a war from happening. Or… at least… if one does, let him protect your sister. Okay?”

“Yeah… okay…”

She was shocked backward when his arms fell around her. It was cold and callus, and she couldn’t feel his heart from between her own body and the metal that acted as his. But Marianne leaned into the embrace anyway, content enough. It had been too long, it would seem, since she’d had time to remember her father simply holding her. Too long since anyone had. 

She’d blocked off her heart to be wise, but there were moments like these, trapped between the awful And maybe he had a point with some of what he said. She didn’t have to like Roland. But… perhaps there was merit in having a guard. If only for her sister’s sake.

“I love you, Marianne,” her father said, and the words were as rare and uncut as diamonds.

I love you too, she wanted to say back, for there was honestly in every syllable. But the words caught in her throat. “… yeah…” she said after a moment and felt her father’s grip on her loosen. She’d never liked precious jewels, after all. But never had she felt so guilty for turning them away.

Roland watched him go before turning on his heel. It would seem that today, of all days, would be turning around faster than he thought. An army, a Queen, he’d have them all. And really, all it would take was one insignificant war to startle his reign into it’s place.  Leaving the castle he snapped his fingers, feeling his lackies falling to his side, bickering about something shoving one another about. “Boy’s please,” he chastised, glancing over his shoulder to stare a villains glance into the open window of a Princess, her tower a stable place on hollow ground, “be more professional around yer future King.”

“What are we gonna do, then?” One of them asked, for men who labeled themselves Future King’s must have more than simple aspirations that need to be be accomplished. 

“Are ya gonna woo the Princess?” the second looked back, a dark look falling over his smile. “That might be tough. But we could do it, sir.” 

“That ship hasn’t yet sailed,” Roland assured him. “And when we do get back to it, I’ll be a hero. No chasing required, gentleman. Not when I’m standing victorious.”

“How’r’ya gonna do that?” the third tilted his head, helmet twitching. 

“Why ain’t it obvious? The only thing someone has ta do ta get things started is fall over the border! If one’a us dies by a Goblins hand-”

“You mean you want one of us to-!”

“Oh Skies no.” he waved off the idea, horrified. “You three are far too valuable and me…” he flipped his hair, ignoring the men behind him who were preening in their newfound importance, “I can’t take that risk. Not where ther’r Princesses to save and King’s ta charm. I’m this Kingdom’s backbone. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“So…”

“So we’ll simply have ta find someone who can… volunteer.”

“To fall over?” The second squinted through the slats of his visor. “You think… you think someone will?”

“Oh I think someone’ll happily make themselves available. You know what they say boys, if fate doesn’t come knockin’ sometimes the best thing ta do to that door…” he sheathed his sword, spinning it wickedly back and forth between his palms, “is push.”

And they settled in that knowledge alone, following him into the town to announce positions and promises of shields and swords, looking through for a link that would solve everything.

They would find it faster than expected. But it was, after all, a good day for Roland. And his graces were plentiful enough, wandering toward him before he’d had to even bat an eye. And they would wander toward him. Run, to be more correct. 

The tiny feet of a child and the breathless laughter of an excited boy who wished only to be a warrior. Smiling up at him like he’d found the answers in all the world twirling against the sheen against his armor and the stories sketched into the scars against the blunt end of a sword. Falling into the serpents den hoping for an embrace from the one creature that would squeeze the hope from his eyes and the laughter from his chest, and trust him to go against his nature as a mouse convincing itself that it could never bear the label prey.

“Well hello there,” Roland would say, looking down at the boy who was barely as old as the season and not fit to do much besides grow with it. “Ya wanna be a warrior? At yer age?”

“Yessir!” the boy had told him back, bouncing on his heels. “Oh yes sir!”

“And if there was a war… you’d still wanna be one. This ain’t a game, boy. Ya can’t just imagine yourself out of it.”

But the child was insistent, and he jumped up and down on his toes, soft shoes bending happily in the dirt. His knees were skinned from playing and grass stains littered his torn trousers, and he didn’t look at all like one of his own men, stoic and staring and serious. But still, he protested. “I’d fight with you!” He’d taken out a little dagger, the size of Roland’s pointer finger. “I would, sir! I’d do anything!”

“Anything?” And Roland had smiled a charming sort of smile. “Well, my men need a lesson from you. Loyalty is valued here. But this might not be yer year. Besides, wouldn’t ya have someone who’d miss ya? That’d be an awful shame…” Looking past the boy to where a woman, his mother amongst the crowd of thrilled parents and teachers, watched her son with worried pride, waving when the smallish creature turned back to give her an ecstatic smile. She mouthed something. Three small words. 

Roland was not a man to stoop down to any level. His own was low enough. But he was proud of that. From there he could observe and plot in silence. And once he had a throne then he could rise up high enough to meet the eyes of those who already thought him on a pedestal. 

She’d mouthed those three little words, and they drifted down below the place where she stood towards the spaces where schemers and conmen crafted their plans. Where laws resided to be twisted and maimed and used.

Her son mouthed something back, pressing a clumsy kiss to his palm and extending it to her, and her own had fluttered to her heart, eyes squinting, filling with tears that she willed not to fall.

… wouldn’t it just be a shame… he thought to himself, smile growing. 

“You know… “ he started slowly, looking away from the withering woman to find the boy again. “we might have just the space fer ya after all.” Roland told the boy, who’s head snapped back, hopeful and loyal and sure.

“Really!”

“Oh yes…” the Captain nodded. “Oh yes, indeed. Tell me, boy? How does border patrol sound?”