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Chapter Text

When King Lydus de Vahl announced word of the treaty, he told his subjects that it would bring peace to all of Alera II. Despite the craters in their cities and the shadowy clouds in their blue skies, the people rejoiced at the prospect of prosperity after having lived for so long under the thumb of the machine of war.  

But on Guisorn III, King Basile Ansovald had another message: the world of Alera II had agreed to the terms of unconditional surrender. Its people and its resources would become the property of the Guisorn crown, vassalized and exploited to provide the necessary raw materials and serfs to fuel its expansion in the Calixis Sector. 

To cement the terms of the treaty, emissaries of the kings brokered a marriage deal, though the negotiations stalled over the months, as King Basile had only daughters and King Lydus had no sons. A compromise was struck; a bargain to join the two planets in peace and servitude. 

Aurelia Aeos Venria de Vahl pressed her ear to the crack in the great wooden doors of her grandfather’s study. Beyond it, she could hear the whispering of the ambassadors, a soft and sibilant sound muted by the heavy oak. She captured fragments of words, turning them in her mind like the jigsaw pieces on her gaming table. 

“... good stock... a good match.” 

“...she old for him?”

“...isn’t he... for her ?”

“Impeccable reputation... tainted blood...”

“...killed her... you dare... talk of blood?”

“Girl, are you spying again?”

Aurelia snapped up from her hunch and folded her hands in front of her, eyes downcast. “No, your majesty,” she said at her grandfather’s words. “Spying implies I can see something. I am simply eavesdropping.” She chanced a glance up when she heard the old man chuckle. Each time she looked upon her grandfather, he looked older, as though the negotiations were taking as much out of him as the war had. 

Her grandfather had not been young when the war started, but when the first ships arrived in orbit and the mechanical walkers dropped to their soils, he seemed to have accrued a lifetime’s worth of physical toil. His shoulders had stooped, as though he was carrying a great burden alone on his shoulders, and his face was lined with as many wrinkles as reports of casualties across their planet. And now, hobbling in on his cane, Aurelia thought his skin looked as thin as parchment, the veins almost ready to burst behind it. She wondered if he would bleed ink, for he had written so many words these past few months, that he might as well have been a message rather than a messenger. 

“I wouldn’t be so quick to learn the truths behind closed doors,” he replied gravely, motioning for her to step aside with ink stained fingers. “Go along to the kitchens and get yourself something to eat, dear girl, then go to your rooms.”

Dipping into a curtsey, pulling the skirts of her pale blue dress wide, Aurelia did as she was told. The kitchens were a riot of activity, the cooks chopping vegetables and shredding meats for the night’s dinner. Rolls were being kneaded by hand, and great mounds of pastry dough were being rolled out for the mince pies that would come as dessert (her favorite). She sweet-talked her favorite cook into giving her some slices of bread and honey, a hunk of cheese, and a slice of ham, along with a cup of honey wine, and with a gilded plate in one hand and her goblet in the other, she returned to her rooms.

She took the long way, enjoying walking through the wide corridors of the palace’s family suite. In the windows beyond, she could see the gardens, though they were dormant with the dark of war and winter. Since the first machine had landed, none of the fruit trees in the palace would bear a blossom, and it had been a drab few years. 

Her steps slowed as she approached her rooms, for there was a commotion in her suite that she had not authorized. The doors to her chambers had been thrown open, and servants were walking hither and thither with gray trunks in their arms. Her slippers slapped on the marble floor as she entered, eyes taking in the way her wardrobes had been pilfered. Most of her clothes were gone, presumably in those trunks, and her jewelry was next. A maid she was unfamiliar with was busy wrapping priceless jeweled necklaces, her tiaras, her earrings, in delicate paper and storing them away in a container.

Aurelia deposited her food and drink on an empty table, all desire for it gone, and caught an arriving servant by the arm. “Excuse me,” she said, swallowing the rising panic, “but what is happening?”

The servant dipped into a quick curtsey. “I was given orders to pack your things, mum!” 

“Who gave such an order?”

“Why, the King, my lady!”

Her heart beat wildly in her throat. “But... why?”

“I don’t know, my lady. It isn’t my place to ask. Just to do. And, begging your pardon, but you’ve perfumes I need to pack.”

“I...of course. Of course. Thank you.” She let the poor woman go and took a step back and gained mastery over the fear that was starting to make her shake all over. Fisting a hand in her skirts, she turned and fled back to her grandfather. Explanations were owed. Had she done something wrong? Had her grandmother finally convinced him to punish her for her mother’s transgressions? 

No, no, she hadn’t done anything wrong. There were no punishments being had here. Perhaps... perhaps she was just getting new rooms in the palace. There was an empty suite with a better view of the gardens that she’d had her eyes on. She’d even mentioned it to her mother. Surely that’s where her things were being taken. That thought calmed her.

At least it did, until, from a narrow window, she saw a line of familiar trunks being deposited at the end of a shuttle pad. And from the sky, descending with dark smoke, a shuttle bearing the colors of Guisorn III.

In truth, Guisorn III was not so different from Alera II. And while that ought to have comforted Aurelia, it did not. Though the clime was temperate and the flora similar in size and color, the sky here was rich and blue, and the sun overhead hot, so distant from the winter that had fallen on her homeworld.  From the great rampart on which Aurelia stood, she thought she could spy a forest in the distance, just beyond the smoke from the villages. She stood on her tiptoes, as if doing so might allow her to see more of this foreign world. 

“You mustn't look so suspicious,” said the minder that she had been assigned. “You’ll make a bad first impression.” Lady Enna, she had introduced herself as when Aurelia had debarked from the shuttle, still numb with shock. A fine featured woman with gray hair, a puckered rosebud mouth, and piercing blue eyes, Lady Enna was to be Aurelia’s chaperone and guide until such time as the terms of the treaty could be met. 

Aurelia, Lady Enna, and many of Guisorn III’s nobles were lining the walls of the castle for the great parade that was about to begin. Aurelia didn’t know if her arrival had been planned or was simply fortuitous, because she’d gone immediately from the shuttle to the castle walls, her belongings left to the mercy of House Ansovald’s porters. 

“Lady Enna, I’m an Aleran. God Emperor help us both, we know I have to do very little to make a bad impression,” Aurelia said, leaning in towards the other woman as she spoke so that she could be heard over the excited chatter. 

“That is why you must try much harder, dear,” was Lady Enna’s response. 

Aurelia bit the edges of her tongue. Fighting with Lady Enna would get her nowhere. She touched the skirts of her gown, taking comfort in the familiar texture of the lace and the silk. Even if she was not home, home was with her here. 

A shout sounded from down the walls, from a place that Aurelia couldn’t see. But, then, she didn’t need to see to know what was coming. The heavy, mechanical footsteps were a sound she was all too familiar with. A part of her was ready to crouch, to put her hands over her head and shelter somewhere safely until the bombardment would end. Because that was her experience with these mechanical monsters.  

But on Guisorn III, they did not call them monsters. 

No, they called them Knights. Imperial Knights, to be precise. 

And in the minds of the Guisornians, these Knights were heroes, not criminals. And they were celebrated for their service, rather than executed. 

Aurelia felt Lady Enna’s fingers reach for her wrist, lifting it up. Into Aurelia’s cold palm, red and yellow petals were placed. “House Gauvain’s colors are red and gold,” Lady Enna explained. “When you see Lord de Gauvain’s Imperial Knight pass, you must throw these petals at him.”

“I must ?” Aurelia asked.

Lady Enna raised her thin, painted eyebrows. “Are you deaf or silly, girl? Yes, you must. It is tradition.” 

Looking down at the long line of spectators on the walls and then back to her hand, Aurelia replied, “I will, but there is absolutely no way that one of those,” she caught herself, “ pilots , is going to know who I am and if what I am throwing is meant for them.” 

“That doesn’t matter, Lady Aurelia. Tradition is tradition. You must learn that, if you wish to survive.” A mean looking smile passed over Lady Enna’s lips, though Aurelia wasn’t sure if that was the fault of the woman or the make up she wore, “Lord de Gauvain’s first wife was a beautiful and learned woman of the highest breeding. But he killed her within a year of their marriage. Given your... situation, and your temperament thus far, I’m not sure you’ll last half a year.”

“All things considered,” Aurelia replied, once more trying not to rise to the bait, “I think my temperament is quite charming given - ”

A great and thunderous sound split the air, like the hunting horn of some tall and terrible god. Half the flower petals in Aurelia’s hand fell to the floor as she grasped onto the stone wall to stop her legs from giving out. Every time she heard that sound, death followed. Instead of screams, cheers went up around her, almost drowning out the rumbling of gears and the heavy pounding of thousand-ton steps. The scent of engine oil and torn earth began to fill the air, taking the place of the cloying, sickly sweet scent of the courtiers about her. 

“Mummy! Mummy, I can see them! I can see them!” A small child was bouncing on a crate that had been brought for him, waving excitedly to the Knights that had started their procession towards the thoroughfare before the castle. 

The walls of the castle were built at an eyeline with the machines, and as the first one passed - a mechanical construct of shining blue paint and silver detailing - Aurelia caught a glimpse of her first Imperial Knight up close.  Where all the crowd around her cheered, she could not bring herself to do so. She could not even manage enough energy to smile, as her focus was on making sure that her shaking legs did not send her to the floor.  

As though from a great distance, she heard Lady Enna explaining the significance of the colors, and which of Guisorn III’s great houses they represented, and what their current relationship and standing was with King Basile. “The Knight that just passed us is piloted by the Crown Princess, Magali. You can tell how many engagements she’s won by the markings on her right shoulder plate. If you count them, you’ll see there are fifty-two combats that she has won uninjured and uncontested. The next knight, you see the one with the burnished copper? That one is piloted by her consort, given the untimely death of his older brother, he was required to undergo the rights...” 

Aurelia could remember none of it. She would read a book on the genealogies of these families later, but for now...

“...now, girl! Now! That’s Lord de Gauvain’s Knight!” 

An Imperial Knight painted red and gold was passing by. Mechanically, no different than how the beast walked before her, she stretched out her arm and dropped the scant remainder of petals. Not even a breeze blew them towards de Gauvain’s Knight, and they fell in a swirling, listless pattern all the way to the ground. Her eyes tracked the fall of the petals and then wandered back up to the lumbering creature, but even in her dazed state, she could not fail to see the numerous hatchings on the Knight’s right arm. 

Left to her own devices as a child, Mathematics had been Aurelia’s earliest friend. She counted two hundred and seventy-eight marks. How many of those marks were earned on Alera II? 

Aurelia wondered if she could see its pilot behind the black visor of its head. And though her eyes lingered on the soulless visor, she could make out no sign of the man behind it. And whether the pilot knew she’d tossed the petals, or if he even knew who she was in this sea of cheering faces, Aurelia had no idea. But there was no reason to assume he could or would have reason to know; she had never seen a Knight distinguish a single individual from many. All were targets. 

“Did I say half a year?” Lady Enna mused beside her, having also watched the petals fall to the ground. “Perhaps a month at most.” 

After an endless procession of Imperial Knights and fanfare, finally Aurelia was brought to her belongings. Someone had graciously thought to sequester in her a quiet guest wing, and had even done her the great honor of posting guards at her door. But for whose benefit they were, she could only guess. While there were probably many in the palace that might wish to do her harm, these people had been the victors. No, if anyone meant anyone ill will, it would be she to them. 

Amongst the unpacked crates of all that she had left in this world, she sat and laughed. Her head tipped back and the long expanse of her golden hair fell down between her shoulder blades as she let mirth and misery overtake her. No doubt, the guards posted outside thought her a madwoman, but better they think her that than some assassin sent to seek vengeance. The only blades Aurelia had were in her sharp words and the odd bejeweled hairpin. And at present, only her words were available for use. 

Lady Enna had told her strictly not to unpack. Her stay within the palace was to be a short one; she would be married by the week’s end, and then sent to live with her new husband: Heinrix Alaric Marcellus Aymeric de Gauvain. It was a great honor, Lady Enna had assured her, as they had walked back from the parade arm in arm. He was King Basile's most favored Knight and the most decorated pilot amongst the lords and ladies of Guisorn III. 

To Aurelia, Lady Enna had confessed in hush tones that it was a concern, for the sake of Guisorn III’s security, that the de Gauvain line continued on. It didn’t have to be through Heinrix, of course, his sisters were equally eligible to provide descendants. But, the machine spirits that lived within the de Gauvain Knight were reportedly very picky and preferred lineal parentela. So, marriage to a woman of good standing was imperative. 

“Are there no such women on Guisorn III?” Aurelia had asked.

“None that have kept his attention for long,” Lady Enna had replied. The pleasant smile she wore did not quite reach her eyes. “But, rest assured, there is no way that Lord de Gauvain can say no to you.”

It was not, Aurelia assumed, because of her good looks and charm, but rather as a result of the treaty. A good excuse for the king to force his best warrior into the marriage bed, and for the best warrior to obey. Duty compelled the match. But not just for him, for her, too.

She closed her eyes and thought of her grandfather, looking so small and frail in his chair, the two ambassadors on the opposite end of the table looking at him with hungry eyes. She’d barged into his study, demanding answers about her things, where she was going. Why there was a shuttle with Guisorn III’s colors landing where all of her things were. 

“A peace offering to the Guisornians,” her grandfather had explained. “To them, I give a gold more precious than any found in my treasury.” 

“But what have I done to deserve this?” she had asked, almost throwing herself to her knees.

“You have done no wrong, Aurelia. Your fate was sealed at the hour of your birth; you would live to marry and do right by the House of de Vahl and the people of Alera II. It is a great honor to sacrifice oneself for the greater good.”

They were easy platitudes for an old man who had wanted for nothing to say, though Aurelia knew her grandfather believed them. Just as he believed that a serf who poached in his woods should be drawn and quartered and the penalty for thievery should be to lose a hand. 

Aurelia stood up from where she had slumped amongst her things. Sitting idle would only stoke the fires of panic within her further. Out of curiosity, she began to walk about the room, inspecting her surroundings. She peered into drawers and flipped open cupboard doors, not just looking for listening devices or cameras, but also to see what the previous occupants had left behind. The room was painfully bare of interesting history, until she opened the wardrobe, as there waiting for her were swathes of fabric. She shifted through it, making sense of the petticoats, the gold-trimmed red silk overdress with its matching corset, and some simple shifts and overdresses for daywear. At the bottom of the wardrobe was a box, in which she found jewelry to accompany the dresses. 

“They really don’t want me to unpack,” she mused, taking a step back and surveying the fabrics in their entirety. What she didn’t see in the closet, much to both her relief and her chagrin, was a wedding dress. 

Or maybe the red dress was the wedding dress. 

She wasn’t sure; she didn’t know much about the customs of this planet, other than they seemed to enjoy waging war. 

Finding a seat at the window amidst ivory and lace trimmed pillows, Aurelia leaned her forehead against the glass and stared out at the gardens beyond. Their roses were blooming here. And if her window would open (which it didn’t), she could have smelled them. She sighed and closed her eyes. Lady Enna said she wouldn’t be back until near evening, and the sun was still high in the sky. 

The idea of a nap was intriguing. Though Aurelia had passed sometime in a voidship to make the jump from her home to Guisorn III, it had seemed like no time at all. She’d not even had the chance to sleep or change her clothes. And now she had a bed all to herself that looked clean and inviting. 

She moved from the window to the bed, curling herself at its foot like a scolded cat, and waited for the oblivion of sleep to claim her.

Though the feasting hall was smaller than the parapets and held half as many people, it was somehow twice as loud as the Knight procession. Between the barking of dogs, the instruments of the minstrels, and the laughter of courtiers, it was hard to make sense of any particular conversation. But, Aurelia was doing her best, following after Lady Enna and keeping the dazed expression off her face. 

“This is Lady Solange de Adnet,” Lady Enna said, gesturing to a woman whose black hair had been styled into a towering mass of curls over her head, “her husband pilots the de Adnet Imperial Knight.”

“How do you do, Lady Solange?” Aurelia asked, stretching out a black gloved hand to the other woman. 

Lady Solange looked at the hand, then to Aurelia’s face, and laughed. “Oh, you are a treat. Here, my dear,” she leaned in and pressed a kiss on either side of Aurelia’s cheeks, “this is how we greet each other amongst peers on Guisorn III.”

Amongst peers? Lady Enna had never greeted her thusly. 

“Those are... quite some colors you are wearing,” Lady Solange said, her clever eyes looking to the deep red of Aurelia’s skirts, like a rose full in bloom, and then to the black corset with its golden embroidery. Aurelia thought she made out the shapes of horses in the embroidery, but the longer she stared at it, the less she was certain of what she saw. 

“House de Gauvain’s,” Lady Enna explained. “Lady Aurelia de Vahl is set to marry our dear king’s most favorite knight errant.” 

“Errant is right.” Lady Solange cast her eyes across the ballroom, searching for some face or some figure. “How did you manage to secure his hand? No offense but,” her eyes quickly darted back to Aurelia, “you do not appear to be his type of woman.”

“None taken,” Aurelia assured. “But by that, do you mean because I am Aleran?” 

Lady Solange laughed. “You’re a sharp one, Lady de Vahl. But no. You are very...” She lifted a hand and touched one of the curls that framed Aurelia’s face. “Blonde. Rumor has it, our esteemed knight errant likes his women with dark hair and fiery temperament.”

“When he isn’t killing them, you mean?” Aurelia’s gray eyes watched Lady Solange’s face closely. 

“Ah,” Lady Solange winced, “so you have heard, then?”

“Lady Enna was most gracious in letting me know how long she estimates I’ll live.” Aurelia threaded her arm through Lady Enna’s, feeling the woman stiffen. “Am I still at a month, or is my temperament still unlikely to win him over for that long?” 

“You might ask him yourself,” Lady Enna gestured across the feasting hall, where a tall man, garbed in the same red, black, and gold as Aurelia was engaged in conversation in the king’s livery. 

Aurelia spied dark hair that hung to the curves of his high cheekbones, as well as the silver augmentations on his face. His right eye appeared to be missing, replaced instead by some mechanical apparatus. Across the hall, the red light of the augment winked menacingly each time he moved his face. It was hard to make out much of his form, given the amount of people between them, but he appeared in good health. His jaw looked strong. 

From a distance, he was not ugly. That was something. Though the augmented eye still unsettled her. 

“Lady Enna, what an excellent idea.” Aurelia slipped her arm away and gathered up her skirts. “Let me go greet my intended.” She phrased it not as a question, but as a statement, and carefully moved her way around the periphery of the feasting hall, avoiding the dancers at its center. Though she longed to join them, she did not wish to dance here on this foreign soil as a captive. 

High on the walls around her were the pennants of the noble houses of Guisorn III. Aurelia recognized only that of Lord de Gauvain’s family: the red background, with its golden pale and fess splitting it into quadrants, with the stylized horse head in the top left quadrant. From a distance, it looked like a piece on a regicide board. She thought of her gaming room at home, of her unattended jigsaw, of the regicide board, the game half-finished between her and one of her ladies in waiting.  

She hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye. No one had come to see her off at the shuttle. 

Lord de Gauvain was close. She was coming up behind him and was surprised to find that they were of a height, as given all that had been said of him, she assumed he must be some larger than life figure. At least seven feet tall. But, no. He was just a man. A man with broad shoulders and narrow hips, and well-formed legs, certainly. But a man, nonetheless. 

She cleared her throat and focused her attention on her "betrothed." But he was still deep in conversation with someone else, his crisp words catching her ears. “Make sure the arrangements are done swiftly. There are more battles than this to be fought.”

Aurelia cleared her throat again.

“It will be as you command, Lord de Gauvain.” 

“I also need a copy of the most recent reports on the provisional governors. Their - ”

Aurelia would not clear her throat a third time. She stepped beside him, placing a gloved hand at the small of his back. She immediately felt Lord de Gauvain stiffen and pull away. The red optical light flashed in her direction, and his eye - it was gray, like hers - widened at her audacity. “Lord de Gauvain?” She watched the gray eye look over her as much as it could.  The man in the king's livery looked at her as though she’d approached with a second head. 

A strong hand grasped her shoulder and pushed her to arm’s length and away from him. “Yes.” He looked her over again. An expression passed over his face, but it was so quick that Aurelia couldn’t tell what it was. “And you’ve interrupted a very important conversation to let me know who I am?”

“No.” Aurelia shrugged his hand off her shoulder. The grip was firm, but the touch was cold on her bare skin. “I’ve interrupted you to let you know that your obligation to Guisorn III is here.”

“Ah, is that you, then, Lady de Vahl?” Seeing her nod, shocked at his lukewarm reaction, he took her hand, raised it briefly to his mouth, where he mimed kissing the backs of her fingers, and then lowered it swiftly. “My greetings to you. Enjoy the king’s revelry. I hear it is one of his best.” He turned back to the man in the livery. “As I was saying, the provisional governors are critical for...”

Aurelia stood there, and though she was but an arm's distance away from the man she had been contracted into marrying for the good of her planet, she could not have been further away as she listened to him talk about the conquest of her people. How their resources would be divided, the tithes calculated, how their system of governance would be restructured over periods of years to allow for greater flexibility and direction from Guisorn III itself. He talked about living people like they were immaterial objects, merely beads on an abacus to move about to make the arithmetic of war work. 

But, finally, the man in the livery departed. And her soon-to-be-husband looked at her from out of the corner of his eye, as though he did not expect her still to be there. “You stayed, Lady de Vahl?” 

“I thought it prudent to learn something of my husband before I married him,” she said, folding her hands in front of her. She lifted her shoulders and gazed at him with all the grace she could muster.

“And?” he asked, a dark eyebrow raising. “Are you expecting further education from me?”

She considered him. He was handsome, but horrible. A man with so fair a face should not have a soul so callous and black. “No.”

“Then if you would permit me - ”

“Not yet, Lord de Gauvain.” Aurelia reached out a hand and touched his forearm. He stiffened at the press of her fingers, and at the way she approached, so that they could converse quietly despite the din of the feasting hall. “One more question, before you go.”

His gaze upon her face was guarded. 

Spite. Fear. Hope. Emotions roiled within her, but she held back their beating wings. “I hear you killed your wife.”

“Did you?” His augmented eye flashed red, while his gray eye narrowed. 

She raised her chin. “Is it true?”

He leaned in, his lips twisting into a tight smile. “It is.” Strong fingers enveloped her hand, whether to hold her close or push her away, she could not tell. “So, just imagine what I’ll do to you.” 

Chapter Text

“So, what is your estimate now, my dear?”

“Truthfully, Lady Solange, I think it will probably be more than a day, but less than a week.” 

Lady Solange laughed behind her ornate fan, tapping the frilled ends against the tip of her nose. “I think you should consider yourself very lucky, Aurelia! You boldly inquired as to his past transgressions and all he did was push your hand away.” 

“Well, we are not each other’s property yet,” Aurelia reminded, the smile on her face weakening as she considered her rapidly approaching future, “so he did not have leave to kill me without repercussion.”

“No, I suppose you are right. You have to live until you are married and bedded. Only five days away now.” 

Aurelia and Lady Solange were currently sequestered in Aurelia’s quarters, waiting for the return of the palace seamstress. Aurelia’s measurements for her wedding gown had been taken, and now it just remained to be seen what fabric she would choose. Aurelia was surprised she even had a choice, but she supposed even the Guisornians believed that a woman’s wedding gown ought to mean something to her, even if the groom did not.

“A wonderful fate,” Aurelia replied dryly, lounging on the crate. She had given leave for Lady Solange to rest on her bed, as her guest room had no parlor in which she could entertain. “Do you think he’ll strangle me as soon as the deed is done, or at least allow me the dignity to clean myself?”

Lady Solange laughed again. “My dear, you are too much! I think matters of murder are best done in private.” 

Lifting an eyebrow, Aurelia opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by the return of the seamstress, whose train of assistants flung open the door to her room and rolled in a cart stacked high with rolls of fabric in the colors of House de Vahl. Aurelia spied shades of the soft, muted blue that remind her of the sky on her homeworld during an autumn twilight. There were also different shades of ivory, and white, as well as ribbons, strips of lace, and beading. And pins, so many pins. 

“On the stool, my lady,” said the seamstress, setting down said wooden stool. She held out a hand for Aurelia, steadying her as she stepped up.

Dressed in her thin shift, Aurelia watched as the seamstress held up samples of fabric for her, letting her touch them and inspect them up close. She felt them between her fingers, rubbing her thumb over the material, and placed them against the inside of her arm to check the color against her complexion. “What is the style to be?” she asked.

“Full skirts,” explained the seamstress, “fitted bodice, but with light sleeves and a modest neckline. No more than your collar bones exposed.”

“I see.” Aurelia held up her favorite fabric samples: a beautiful muted blue silk with golden vines embroidered on it, and an ivory silk that reminded her of fresh cream. “Would these do? Perhaps with some gilded trim?”

“Aye, that’ll do.” The seamstress took the swatches and tucked them into an apron. “Now...” she snapped her fingers and another of her assistants rolled in another set of fabrics, this time packed high with rich, jewel toned fabrics: red, burnt orange, and mustard. “What of your betrothal dinner dress?”

“Betrothal dinner?” Aurelia extended her hand to receive fabric samples, casting aside the mustard colors almost immediately. 

“The night before the wedding, you will sup with Lord de Gauvain’s family,” Lady Solange explained. “What will you wear when you meet them? It should be something impressive, but not ostentatious. Something tasteful, but not understated. Something modest, but not prudish. Something - ”

“Those are a lot of contradictions, Lady Solange.”

“Families are filled with them, my dear Aurelia. The de Gauvain family is no exception.”

In truth, Aurelia had been so focused on Lord Heinrix de Gauvain that she had forgotten that he must have come from somewhere. That he had a mother and a father. Perhaps siblings. She wondered what sort of upbringing he must have had to become such a cold and monstrous man. Had they mistreated him? Beaten him? Or, despite being loved and coddled, had he chosen to become cruel? She supposed she would have to see. 

It did strike her as strange, though. On her homeworld, it was generally bad luck for the groom to see the bride in the days before the wedding. That superstition did not seem to hold much weight here. But she supposed the marriage had already been borne of bad luck, so what was a little more?

“Lady Solange?”

“Yes, dear girl?”

“Why exactly must I wear red? Wouldn’t they think it presumptuous of me to wear their colors before the marriage?”

“You speak as though the wedding could possibly be called off.” Lady Solange’s eyes looked Aurelia over with a calculating intensity. “As a friend, allow me to share that it would cause them great offense not to wear the colors of their house, Aurelia.” 

Aurelia looked down at the swatches of fabric and pressed a few against the inside of her forearm. All of these reds felt itchy on her skin and were far too hot in the heat of their summer.  She passed the swatches back to the seamstress, an idea forming in her mind. “Do you have purple?”

“Purple?” The question was an echo from both the seamstress and Lady Solange.

“Yes. Purple... a mixture of red and blue.” Aurelia caught Lady Solange’s soft snicker and lifted an eyebrow in curiosity.  “What is it? Have I said something funny?”

“Ah, Aurelia...” sighed Lady Solange, leaning forward slightly from where she reclined on the bed, “you think like someone who was sent here to negotiate, that you can compromise your way out of here. But... ” Lady Solange lowered her fan, and the smile on her face was one of pity, “you cannot. Your people lost, dear.”

Swallowing, Aurelia turned her gaze to look out the window. It was still closed. No windows in this room would open. 

“You will wear red and gold now, dear girl.” The fan idly tapped against the thick bedspreads. “For the rest of your life. Best get used to it.”

Aurelia felt the press of the fabric swatches against her fingers once more as the seamstress offered them to her. 

She did not even look at them as she picked a fabric at random.

Dressed in a gown of red taffeta, overwhich sheer panels of embroidered gold fabric had been overlaid, Aurelia had followed Lady Enna to the de Gauvain’s rooms for her “betrothal” dinner. The de Gauvain family had been granted the great honor of receiving an entire guest wing of the palace, conveniently on the opposite end of where Aurelia was being housed. 

“You will not be joining us for dinner?” Aurelia had asked, adjusting the way a golden curl fell down the side of her face. Her hair had been adorned with soft red jewels, pinning her hair up in an elaborate coif that would have put Lady Solange to shame, and her lips and eyes were highlighted in iridescent gold.

Lady Enna had given a mirthless laugh. “My dear, save your conversation for the de Gauvains. They’re the ones you must impress, not me.”

“ Must I impress them? Like it or not, come tomorrow, I must marry into their family.” 

“For your sake,” Lady Enna had warned, “you had better.”

Sitting now amidst the dark-haired, pale-eyed de Gauvains and their sumptuous feast of game birds, wild boar, roast vegetables, and a thousand tiny tartlets, Aurelia was not sure if it would be possible for her to win over the entire family. 

She had first been greeted by a woman that she could only assume was Lord Heinrix de Gauvain’s mother. She was a stately woman with cold blue eyes and a stern face, her long brown hair styled as elaborately as Aurelia’s. She had introduced herself as Lady Gisla de Gauvain, and in her manner of speech and appearance, she could see much of her future husband.

In an adjoining receiving room, Lady Gisla had then introduced her to the two women that would become her sisters in marriage, the Ladies Agatha and Sylvie de Gauvain. By the look their mother gave them, Aurelia guessed they had been lurking there despite being told not to. Aurelia liked them both upon their first meeting, finding not just that they were of an age (though perhaps Lady Agatha was slightly older), but also that their countenances were charming and their questions pleasant. Lady Agatha, the older of the two, had asked after her hobbies and if she liked to read. Lady Sylvie had wondered what the food was like on Alera II and if she’d had any pets growing up (Lady Sylvie had been allowed only fish, due to Lady Gisla’s allergies). 

Lord Alaric de Gauvain had been seated with his son in the guest wing’s study, engaged in a game of regicide. Neither man looked up when she and the rest of the de Gauvain women entered. Aurelia could see that her soon-to-be groom was losing, most of his pieces having been removed entirely from the board. 

“Your brother is losing,” Aurelia had whispered to Agatha.

“Against father?” Agatha had replied, a half-smile on her lips. “He always lets him win.” 

But now that they sat at the elaborately laid dinner table, Lord Alaric did pay her mind. Seated beside Heinrix, Aurelia was mechanically slicing small pieces of meat over and over again and miming eating them, unable to stomach the rich and heavy meal. 

“You are King Lydus de Vahl’s granddaughter?” Lord Alaric asked, chewing a mouthful of gravy-drenched boar. Like Heinrix, his right eye had been replaced with an augment, as had his right arm, too. He and Heinrix shared the same color gray eyes and strong, square jaws. He was a handsome man, and if Heinrix aged half-so-well, she supposed she ought to be grateful that she would not have an ugly husband in her later years.

Aurelia nodded. “Indeed, last I checked.” She heard Sylvie give a small huff of laughter across the table from her. “Is there some question of my parentage?” She was ready for the accusations of being born out of wedlock. 

But nothing came. Lord Alaric merely narrowed his gray eye at her, as though weighing a great question in his mind. “If you are here, who will inherit when your king dies?”

That was a question Aurelia was not prepared to answer. First, because she didn’t even know what to say. And second, because she was not going to give a single piece of unnecessary information to these people. “I am sure my family will figure it out. Although,” and at this she skewered a piece of meat onto the tines of her fork and raised it delicately to her lips, “I understand the prospect of a strong heir to inherit my grandfather’s throne will be irrelevant in, what was it you hypothesized, my lord Heinrix: eighteen years?” She chewed the piece slowly, as if in thoughtful respect to her groom when she intended anything but.

Heinrix had said nothing to her all evening, other than to give her a most perfunctory bow and a murmured, “Good evening, my lady,” which Aurelia thought was more to appease his mother than her.  After that initial greeting, he had pretended that she did not even exist, speaking only with his father and looking intently down at his dinner plate. But he could not ignore her now.  His chair creaked as he moved. “Closer to fifteen,” he said in a crisp, controlled tone. He reached for his goblet of wine. 

The chill of the dining room made Aurelia shiver. “So you see, Lord Alaric, you needn’t worry about King de Vahl on my account. Fifteen years is no time at all.” 

“When we heard the... glad tidings of our son’s match from King Basile,” Lady Gisla said, smoothly interjecting herself into the conversation, “we were not given the honor of receiving your portrait in advance. You are quite pretty, Aurelia, and that pleases me, for such things are good for breeding and producing strong genetic stock. You and Heinrix will make beautiful children. But, hopefully, you are more than a pretty face? You will need to one day manage the de Gauvain estate while Heinrix is at war. Tell me, what schooling have you had? Know you your numbers and letters well?”

Aurelia recited her tutors in the scholarly and artistic pursuits, tamping down the irritation and her own blush at being likened to a broodmare. 

“You embroider? Wonderful.” Lady Gisla smiled and dabbed at her lips daintily with a red and gold napkin. “It will be a delight to see you add to our family tapestry.”

Aurelia had seen it in the foyer of the guest suite, a massive fabric embroidered with trees, leaves, and names - so many names.  The presence of the tapestry had struck her as odd, and she had wondered what it was doing in the royal palace rather than at the de Gauvain estate, until she’d seen the red and gold fabrics, upholstery, and furniture around the rest of the guest wing. The de Gauvain estate in almost its entirety had come to the palace. This was their furniture, their decorations, all of which had been brought here during the course of the week. 

“But yours will not be the only name you add to the tree!” said Sylvie, smiling shyly. “I hope to be married by the year’s end.”

“Are you betrothed?” asked Aurelia, envious of this girl who seemed so excited at the prospect of being wed to another. 

“We are in negotiations,” Lord Alaric explained. “Nothing is yet certain, Sylvie. Do not get your hopes up.”

“And what of you, Agatha?” Aurelia looked to the slightly taller sibling, who at the talk of marriage seemed to be slowly sinking down behind the table. “Am I to be adding your betrothed’s name anytime soon?”

“No,” replied Agatha. “I am not in a hurry. I will let my sister and brother find their matches first.”

“The only reason I allow that,” said Lady Gisla, putting a hand on Agatha’s forearm, “is because I do not wish to plan a third wedding this year. The business of such preparations is... wearisome.” 

Aurelia schooled her expression into a pleasant and easy smile. This was no different than having high tea with her grandmother. “You have planned my wedding?”

“Of course, my dear. Certainly, you could not expect to know what to do. You are not Guisornian. And you are probably much too busy...” she gestured vaguely with her hand, “adjusting to your new life here rather than focusing on silly little details like guest lists or flower arrangements.”

Those actually were the sorts of things that Aurelia was deeply invested in, and wanted to be involved with. If she had access to a guest list, had any say, she might be able to invite her mother or her favorite maid.  Anyone that was a familiar face. 

“Normally, you would wear our house colors down the aisle,” Lady Gisla continued, “to signify that you were not just joining our house, but had belonged to us from the very beginning. But, I thought you would appreciate being permitted to wear your own house’s color, since your family will not be joining you.”

Aurelia inclined her head. “How very gracious of you to consider me in such a way.” She both hated and respected the woman for both the reminder of her own isolation and the great kindness. “It must not be easy to break with your traditions.” 

“There will be plenty of time for you to wear the de Gauvain red and gold. Ah, a moment, Lady Aurelia.” Lady Gisla snapped her fingers and a servant in house livery approached. “Please fill the lady Aurelia’s plate: what she has on it right now can’t even be considered food.”

Looking down, Aurelia saw that she’d cut her food into such fine pieces that it had become mush and grain. 

“That’s right,” Lord Alaric chimed, “you need to eat and gain your strength. Tomorrow’s your wedding. I’ll not have this house be shamed by a fainting bride!”

Aurelia reached for her goblet of wine and took a long and dreadful sip. 

Beside her, Heinrix was doing the same thing. 

“Lady Aurelia?”

Aurelia was standing at the great double doors of the palace that would lead her out into the gardens. Beyond the doors were nobles of the King’s court, peers to the de Gauvain family and Imperial Knights in their own rights. Those out of favor would be standing, those in favor would be seated. In the front rows would be King Basile and his family, as well as the canon branch of the de Gauvain family. Heinrix would be waiting at the far end of the walk, as would Guisorn III’s most esteemed bishop. 

She knew all of this because Lady Gisla had told it to her as white, silken roses had been threaded into Aurelia’s hair and a delicate choker of gold placed about her neck. She had not seen it with her own eyes. For all she knew, Lady Gisla had lied and the gardens beyond would be empty. 

What Aurelia had not been told was that she would be escorted. She had assumed she would make the walk alone. But...

“My lady...?”

She turned to see the Aleran ambassador to Guisorn III approaching her. She had never met the man personally, but she knew by reputation that Abelard Werserian was a good man.

“Ambassador Werserian, my apologies. I was lost in thought.” 

The ambassador was a tall, broad-shouldered man, but past his prime. He had been a military man in his youth, and his firmness of speech and adherence to rules had made him a good asset on Guisorn III, what with the Guisornians’ proclivities for rituals and war. He was dressed in what Aurelia could only assume was his best uniform: a dark blue jacket with his many service medals, trim dark pants, and boots polished to a shining finish. His graying hair had been combed back and his beard neatly trimmed. Like so many others on Guisorn III, he had an optical implant, though it was not in the form or fashion of the Imperial Knights. 

“Quite all right, Lady Aurelia.” He cleared his throat as he came to stand beside her. “I assume you know the proper protocol?”

“We link arms and you walk me down the path to my future husband and the bishop?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow. 

“So, you’ve been informed.” He gave a nod of his head. “Good.” 

“You want to say something, don’t you, Ambassador?” Aurelia knew it by the way his lips pursed and how he shot her a furtive glance every few moments from the corner of his good eye. 

He straightened up and squared his shoulders at her question. “I knew your grandfather, King Lydus. And I am sure he wishes he could be here. I am only sorry to be a poor substitute for your family’s presence at this occasion.” 

Gently laying her hand on his, Aurelia gave him a soft smile. She could feel a slow, steady pressure building behind her eyes. Tears threatened to burst forth from the high dam shock had built around her. Now offered this briefest bit of kindness, the dam threatened to crack. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she said, “A substitute you may be, but I do not find it a poor one. Thank you, Ambassador Werserian. I am glad that I do not have to make this walk alone.” 

“You will never walk alone, Lady Aurelia. You carry us with you always. You make your family, and the rest of Alera II, proud.”

She wished to say more, but the grand doors opened, blinding her with sunlight and overwhelming her senses with the scent of fresh grass, flowers, and mulch. As she and Ambassador Werserian stepped out into the sunlight, the music of a harp swept through the air, setting a slow and gentle pace for them to walk.

It was a grander event than even Lady Gisla had described. It was as though the entirety of King Basile’s court had come to watch this union, for his palace gardens were swarming with onlookers. A path had been set for Aurelia to walk and it was flanked by guards in both the king’s and House de Gauvain’s livery, jewel tones of red and blue alternating at set intervals all the way to the grand gazebo, which teemed with ribbons, ivy, and red roses. 

In her ivory gown with the muted blue paneled overskirt with its golden vines, she was decidedly out of place. But perhaps that was what Lady Gisla had hoped for in allowing her the liberty of retaining her family’s colors for one more day: a reminder that she was a stranger here and always would be. Aurelia lifted her chin and kept her gaze fixed at the end of the path before her. The courtiers beyond the guards were simply blobs of colors, their faces indistinct and inconsequential to her in that moment.

As she and Ambassador Werserian neared the gazebo, her eyes came to rest on Heinrix de Gauvain. He was dressed in a tunic of deep red, the sleeves and hem of which were elaborately embroidered with heavy golden thread. His pants were black and he wore polished black boots that came to just above his knee. Atop his dark brown hair he wore a hammered golden circlet. At his side was a sword with an ornate handle, peacebound, she spied, with a ribbon the same color as the blue of her dress. His single gray eye watched her approach, his face revealing nothing of what he might be feeling. 

Other than the bishop, Heinrix stood alone at the gazebo. And when she got to the foot of its stairs, she felt Ambassador Werserian pull his hand away, leaving her to stand there alone. It was not a high staircase, perhaps five stairs at most, but she felt as though she was looking up at the moon, the distance seemed so great. 

A breeze caught the air, ruffling her hair and sending tendrils of ivy and ribbons fluttering into the sky above her. A few stray rose petals fell, decorating the stairs ahead of her like droplets of blood. 

She crushed the first rose petal underfoot, ascending with a straight back and solemn expression. 

Her place was across from Heinrix, on the other side of the bishop. He gave her an almost imperceptible tilt of his head as she took her position and then turned his gaze to the bishop, watching the man to the exclusion of all else. Aurelia did the same, hoping the bishop would prompt her when necessary.

The music died away, though it did not reveal silence. No, in the absence of the music, there was the rushing of the wind, rustling of fabrics, creaking of chairs, and whispering of those in attendance. Somewhere, a bird cried. 

The bishop raised a jeweled hand and began with the familiar and customary praise to the God Emperor, singing the litanies of unity and prosperity for all in attendance, before he turned his attention first to Heinrix, and then to Aurelia.  “Today, we gather to witness the uniting of Guisorn III and Alera II. By binding Lord Heinrix Alaric Marcellus Aymeric de Gauvain to Lady Aurelia Aeos Venria de Vahl, may these two worlds forever know peace and loyalty under His watchful gaze.”

From inside a voluminous fold of his sleeve, the bishop produced a strip of cloth that Aurelia recognized as being the same fabric that Heinrix’s tunic was cut from. “Not just by the threads of fate and the bonds of Empire are you bound, but also bound by blood you will be.  For though you may be of different bodies, always does our blood belong to Him. Our blood unites us all.”

At these words, the crowd chanted, “Our blood unites us all.”

Heinrix stretched out his right hand and Aurelia did the same. The bishop gently took Aurelia’s hand and placed it over Heinrix’s, so that their palms touched. His hand was callused and dry, but neither unpleasantly cold nor warm. His hand was wider and bore a faint scar along the ball of his thumb, but her fingers were longer and her skin unblemished. Around their outstretched hands the bishop tied the fabric, pulling it taught so that their hands pressed together firmly.

“Lady Aurelia Aeos Venria de Vahl,” said Heinrix, his voice carrying no farther than the confines of the gazebo in a declaration that was made for no one but her and the bishop, “I am Lord Heinrix Alaric Marcellus Aymeric de Gauvain. By my name and my blood, I welcome you into my house. My Knight will defend you, my body will warm you, my lands will feed you, and my house will shelter you. These things I do swear.”

How had Lady Gisla coached her? Aurelia parted her lips. “Lord Heinrix Alaric Marcellus Aymeric de Gauvain,” she answered, her voice soft, “I am Lady Aurelia Aeos Venria de Vahl. By my name and my blood, I am welcomed into your house. Your pledges I accept, and offer you my own. Your Knight I will honor, your body I will take, your lands I will tend, and your house I will manage. These things I do swear.”

“Your oath I accept, Lady de Vahl,” Heinrix replied, taking a step closer. “Into my care I take you. My name is yours. Forever more may you be known as Lady Aurelia Aeos Venria de Gauvain. You are my blood, my wife, and the future of my name.”

Aurelia did not expect the sharp pain that came next, as the bishop, having produced a ceremonial knife from his belt, slid it between their bound palms and sliced them both. She winced briefly as warm blood welled from her cut. She had thought saying the words would make her sick, but no, the idea of sharing blood with this man, knowing that he would be inside her until the end of her days, truly unsettled her. But if Heinrix felt similarly, he did not show it, save perhaps for the twitching of a muscle in his jaw. 

“By your blood and in His name,” declared the bishop, unraveling the binding and raising the blood-soaked fabric into the air above him, “I declare you married. Of one heart, one mind, and one body you shall be until the end of your days.” 

Heinrix turned and lifted his sliced palm for all to see. 

Aurelia did the same, her eyes searching for Ambassador Werserian, though she did not find him.  

Cheers and claps arose from the audience, drowning out the sound of the harp that had started up once more. 

On Alera II, their marriage would have been sealed with a kiss. 

But on Guisorn III, their marriage was sealed with blood. 

Chapter Text

Lord de Gauvain - her husband, now - Heinrix - lightly held her hand in his as they walked side by side up to the high table where they would take their wedding feast. Already, an array of sumptuous food (by Guisornian standards) was arrayed on a table lined with a deep red cloth. The haunch of a massive beast rested in a place of honor, amidst boiled tubers, vegetables, bread rolls of all sorts, and various pastries with steaming crusts. Golden goblets, crystal glasses, and earthenware jars with condiments were nestled around trenchers piled high with food. Between the various dishes, someone had scattered yellow and red rose petals, as well as delicate white flower buds. 

Though Aurelia did not expect (or want) any possessive displays of affections from her new husband, a part of her had always imagined that whomever she married would covet her like a treasure. And yet, as they walked, Heinrix’s fingers only lightly touched hers. Any time Aurelia wanted to, she could pull her hand away. But it was in the delicacy and airness of his touch that the truth of his intentions lay: it was a reminder that even if she removed her hand, she had nowhere to go. So, best for his little wife to leave her hand where it was. 

As they took their places at the table, servants pulling their chairs out for them, Aurelia took notice that the man who seated Heinrix came and went with swift, if not jerky, motions. To her eyes, it appeared as though the man wanted to linger in Heinrix’s presence as little as possible. This was true also of the servant who came to pour them each glasses of wine, as never had Aurelia seen a goblet filled so quickly. And in the servant’s haste, he had under poured, but Heinrix did not seem to notice. He only looked out with a stern expression as the rest of the wedding party began to take their places.  

On the opposite end of the hall, beneath the banners of his house, King Basile’s table was similarly set. The ruling monarch, his queen, as well as his daughters and their respective consorts had all taken their places and seemed in high spirits. Looking towards the canon branch of House de Gauvain at one of the closer tables, they also seemed to be in good cheer, with Agatha chatting animatedly with her father and Sylvie making eyes towards a young man across the room, and then being reprimanded by Lady Gisla by a light slap on her forearm.  

Aurelia wanted to reach for a glass of water to soothe her dry throat, but until the feast was officially opened by King Basile, no one was to partake of the food or libations. 

“What did you think of the ceremony?” Aurelia found herself asking to pass the time, her thumb running next to the cut on her palm. Its throbbing was keeping her present and in the moment. It grounded her here to grim reality and prevented her from floating away back to the comfortable life she had used to live, in a time where Alera II’s skies were blue and its orchard trees bloomed. 

“As dull and formulaic as the first time,” he replied. His finger tapped against the red tablecloth. Aurelia might have called it nerves, but Heinrix de Gauvain did not strike her as a man prone to fear. No, this was restlessness. Here was a man who thought he had better things to do than feast to Guisorn III’s success. He was a conqueror, but cared not for consequences. His only love was waging war in his machine. 

“Your rites on Guisorn III are very different from ours on Alera II.” She wondered if with her eyes she might summon King Basile to action, to finally open the feast, so that she might drink.

“That surprises you?” The chair he sat on creaked as he adjusted his posture. “We are two entirely different planets.” 

“It does not. I merely mean to say that the rites are beautiful, in a way.” She cast a quick sidelong glance at him. “Even if barbaric.” 

She saw a narrow line form between his thick brows. “And here I thought all women were accustomed to the sight of their own blood. Truly,” he drawled, “King Basile has blessed me with this union.”

The only thing preventing Aurelia from reaching out and dumping a glass of water into his lap was the hush that fell over the hall as King Basile took that opportunity to stand. The King raised his goblet, a golden thing inlaid with heavy blue gems and diamonds that reflected off the lights in this grand feasting hall. 

“We are comfortable with seeing our blood at the appointed time. Not when it is spilled at the hands of another,” she whispered swiftly, leaning towards him before King Basile might begin his remarks. 

Lord de Gauvain leaned towards her, too, his voice answering softly in reply, “tread carefully, wife, lest you find that appointed hour upon you too soon.” 

With a tap of a bejewled finger against his golden goblet, King Basile called the festival hall to silence. “Welcome, my family, my friends, to my hall. Today, we celebrate two momentous occasions. First, the continuation of the de Gauvain legacy by the marriage of my bravest and most boldest of knights, Heinrix Alaric Marcellus Aymeric de Gauvain, to a fine lady of noble standing, Aurelia Aeos Venria de Gauvain.” A few raucous calls followed the King’s words, and he laughed as he heard them. “And second, we welcome the assimilation of Alera II into the Guisornian crown! May it shine as brightly as all our other gems.” Polite claps followed his words. “But, ah, I am no great wordsmith - I am a warrior! So, allow me to finish gilding the lilies and invite you all to eat!”

At his words, servants waiting in the wings and behind grand tapestries and family pennants appeared, ready to set about the task of plating food for those guests in attendance. While the rest of the guests were being served, the newly married couple’s table was not. No, the only servants that approached were four from across the room, and upon whose straining arms they carried a massive pie. Even on feast days, Aurelia had never seen a pastry of such a size before!

And it was with some begrudging eagerness that she found herself desirous of a piece of that enormous pie. She had not eaten well in days. Scant mouthfuls of bread. Sips of water and wine. A stray piece of fruit. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation. 

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Heinrix said, leaning towards her and speaking so only she could hear. He must have caught the sound of her stomach’s gurgling. “It isn’t for eating.” 

“What?” Aurelia could see the approaching pastry crust in all its golden and flaky glory. Some hard working hand had rolled it out over and over again, each with a new layer of butter. She could already feel it melting in her mouth, dissolving into a glorious and savory mouthful of fat and salt.

“Watch.”

Aurelia followed Heinrix’s gray eye to the pie, observing with reserved fascination as a place was found for it on the table, the great haunch of meat temporarily pushed aside. One servant produced a large knife and offered its handle to Heinrix with trembling fingers. Heinrix stood, his leg bumping Aurelia’s under the table. Aurelia knew the cue; she rose as well. Together, side by side, the knife in Heinrix’s hand, they towered over the massive pie. With practiced ease, proving he truly was a killer, Heinrix carefully dipped the tip of the knife into the pastry and slowly sawed away at it until he reached the crust. He did it again, until a fine wedge he’d cut in the pie. 

As he pulled away the crust, a great screeching came from within the pastry, and out erupted fifteen birds of red and yellow plumage. Feathers and blood scattered across the table as the creatures shrieked and clawed their way out with talons and beaks, their wings beating as much against each other as the air as they clambered for freedom. Cheers and shouts erupted from onlookers, though Aurelia could only gasp in horror at the sight and watched as the birds flew as high as they could, angling for the open windows high above and the fresh air beyond. How she longed for wings so that she might join them.

But it was no wonder the pie was not for eating; the poor, trapped birds had probably left their excrement throughout the pie’s innards. She felt sick at the thought. Had the birds been baked in the pie? Or had they been added later, as an afterthought, little winged prisoners left to peck and fight in unbearable heat and darkness? 

Barbaric! 

Uncivilized. 

Heinrix gave the knife back to the servant, who took it swiftly and without meeting his eye, and sat down once more. His spine was ramrod straight and his gaze lingered on the pie being taken away. 

“Is there a purpose to that?” Aurelia asked, adjusting her skirts as she lowered herself down to her seat once more, feeling sick to her stomach. 

Her husband gave a faint shrug of his shoulders. “Tradition.” 

She lifted a sculpted eyebrow. “Torturing small creatures is tradition?”

Heinrix only gave her a grim smile. “Five hundred years ago, it was the custom of the bride to eat the birds whole to guarantee her fertility. Be thankful our barbaric traditions have civilized since then, and that the birds are only placed in the pastry after it has been baked.” 

After that discussion, no amount of food that the servants brought her was tempting. She nibbled on a heavily seeded roll, smearing each mouthful with a small amount of herbed butter, and drank deeply of her water glass. Beside her, Heinrix consumed liberally of the feast offerings, more than any normal man should be able to eat. No amount of tubers, roasted meat, gravy, or bread seemed to satisfy him. A passing thought that his connection to the Imperial Knight may have changed his metabolism flitted through her mind, but she pushed it away just as quickly as the birds had escaped from the pie. She only hoped the de Gauvain family was as rich as they seemed, otherwise, she was unsure how she could afford to feed a man of such a voracious appetite.

Throughout the feast, Aurelia kept her eyes on the lookout for Ambassador Werserian. And it was only when the first of the main course plates was being taken away that she saw him nestled at a table in a corner. Aurelia knew what placement at such a table meant. It was for “honored” guests; those individuals that were not welcome at the party, but whose presences were required there all the same. She could not get a good look at his face, but it mattered not; it was not as though they could converse at length. 

A servant lightly touched her arm. “More wine, my lady?”

Aurelia’s wine glass was half-empty and so she nodded. More wine would be needed, for she wanted to remember this night through the soft and hazy fog of inebriation. Then, she might pretend it only a dream rather than a nightmare.

Lord de Gauvain stood as the last of the dinner plates was being taken away from their table. Servants ducked their heads and scuttled away as he stood, removing themselves as quickly from his presence as they could. The loud, hollow scrape of Heinrix’s chair caused Aurelia to start in surprise, her heart beating rapidly at a sound that reminded her of a groaning building, ready to collapse after a prolonged siege. But her husband seemed to pay no mind to her fear, for he lowered his hand to her and gave a resigned sigh as the faint stirrings of a harp began to sound. When she did not immediately take his hand, he snapped his fingers to get her attention.

“I am not some dog that you can snap your fingers at to train.” Though her smile was sweet for all to see, her words were cold and cracked like the winter wind. She did, however, rise and take his hand when he offered it to her again.

“Hmmm.” Heinrix gave her a brief glance as he slowly led her away from their table. “Not a dog, no, but you’ve heeled to the command all the same.”

Never in her life had anyone spoken to Aurelia thusly. Her grandmother had been a merciless old woman, but even when calling her base and bastard-born, always had Aurelia been praised for other qualities: her cleverness, her beauty, something. Anything. Even damned with faint praise meant praise. Here she was just... perhaps she really was no more than a dog in the eyes of these people. 

Even so.

Aurelia found her fingers tightening sharply against Heinrix’s. “Why are you such a brute?”

“Brute?” He released a low chuckle as he led her towards the center of the room, where tables were being cleared away and guests were starting to band together. ”Am I attempting to squeeze off your fingers?”

“You’ve certainly squeezed every bit of joy from this ceremony as you possibly could,” she countered. 

He halted swiftly and cupped her jaw with a hand, his thumb running across the sharp point of her chin. His one gray eye narrowed as he looked at her, while the glow of his red optical implant flared. 

An onlooker might have thought the gesture sweet. 

“There is nothing joyful in this union, Aurelia. Let us not delude ourselves. You do your duty. And I will do mine.” He lowered his hand, but not before this thumbnail lightly grazed the swell of her lower lip.

But they would have been wrong. 

Taking her hand once more, Heinrix brought her to what was clearly becoming a dance floor. On her first night on Guisorn III, she had longed to dance, but did not want to do so a captive. Now, she supposed, she had the freedom to dance all she wanted, being Guisornian by marriage. Yet, her feet felt heavy. They could have cast her shoes in lead and still they would have been lighter and nimbler.

Heinrix came to a stop and put a hand on her waist, while the other reached for her hand, gently grasping her fingers. He leaned in, his breath warm against the shell of her exposed ear. “Are you drunk , wife?” 

“I wish I was,” she admitted. Aurelia had been unable to imbibe too much of the Guisornian wine. It was fortified and syrupy and was sitting like a stone in her stomach with the mincing pieces of bread she’d chewed. It was nothing like the sweet, effervescent vintages of her home. How fitting that these overbearing people had a similarly as overbearing wine. She could only imagine what the Guisornian propaganda minister might say: a “strong” wine was necessary for a “strong” people.

“That makes two of us.” The hand at her waist squeezed her side, suggesting she step closer.

Aurelia put her hand on Heinrix’s shoulder, feeling the heavy golden thread embroidered into the fabric. She would have thought it dreadfully itchy against his skin, but she spied a sliver of white fabric just at the nape of his neck, suggesting the presence of an undershirt. “Will this be a waltz?” She sighed, and added, “A dance to three quarter time, to be precise, in case you call it something else here.”

“We call it a waltz.” His fingers twitched against her as a pair of string instruments joined the harp, revealing the tune to which they’d dance.

This close again, Aurelia was once more struck that they were of a height and found that it pleased her deeply. She could not stand the thought of this man looking down his perfectly straight nose at her. And when he glared at her, she wanted to be able to square her shoulders and glare right back as an equal. But she also noticed at this proximity the sweet, smoky scent that hung around Heinrix. She thought he might smell rancid, like engine grease and sweat. But whomever had cleaned him up had anointed him with something pleasant, though for how long it would last, Aurelia couldn’t say.

With wood instruments joining the music, Heinrix at last urged her into motion with the press of his fingers against her dress. Aurelia’s back straightened and she looked over Heinrix’s shoulder. She hoped her expression was one of dreaminess, not dreariness. But if the Guisornians took onus with her hollowed stare, she cared not. 

Aurelia readied herself to be tossed across the dancefloor like a rag doll, totally at the mercy of the jerking and pulling of an inexperienced dancer. God Emperor knew she’d had plenty of such partners at balls on Alera II. But Heinrix de Gauvain surprised her, as he led her through the steps with surprising ease. He was quick on his feet, did not step on her toes, and was intuitive enough to sense when Aurelia was going to misstep (which she knew because she was planning to do so deliberately). But he navigated her around her foibles, sweeping them around the perimeter of their dance circle with a flurry of movements. Aurelia found herself turning so quickly and rapidly that the skirts of her dress were starting to swirl over her ankles. 

She did not want to admit it, but she enjoyed the dance. The faces of the onlookers blurred together, so it was easy for her to pretend she was back at home, at court, dancing with a stranger. It was only as Heinrix started to slow their steps, readying for the end of the song, that faces came into view. The delighted smiles of Agatha and Sylvie. The stern, reserved look of Ambassador Werserian. The impassive gaze of Lady Enna. And then, right before her, the ever-bored expression of her husband, who raised her hand to his lips and placed the faintest of kisses on the backs of her knuckles.

Other couples were starting to flood the dance floor, but Aurelia found herself being pulled back to the table by a firm and unyielding hand. “Are there to be no more dances?” she asked, gathering up her skirts so that she did not trip over them as she hurried along.

“Correct.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he said, glaring at an approaching servant who cowered and veered away, “I do not wish to waste anymore time on such frivolous pursuits.” Heinrix pulled out her chair for her. “Now, don’t make a scene and just sit.”

“Make... make a scene,” Aurelia echoed, bewildered at the suggestion.

“That is what ladies do when they’re denied something they desperately want?”

Aurelia was struck dumb by not just the suggestion, but the accusation. She stood mutely and stared at Heinrix, her mouth agape. He frowned at her. She shook her head and reached down for her wine glass. The wine was thick enough to chew but she drank it anyway, and was only surprised that when she finished it that it hadn’t dripped all over her dress. “What I desperately want,” she said, a hand holding onto the back of the chair as she leaned towards her husband, “is to go home. And I have made no such scene for the entirety of my stay here. The only one here who has thrown a tantrum to get his way is you. Or do you call dragging me from the dance floor acting on your best behavior?”

His gaze was icy. “I am saving you from disappointment.”

Aurelia rolled her eyes. She released the chair and sat down, the wine going to her head. “By the Throne, I don’t need saving from that. ” She needed saving from him. From this place. Not from herself. 

Heinrix merely sighed and sat in his chair beside her. With two snaps of his fingers, he called for more wine and also for their wedding cake. With a tight smile on his lips, he turned to her and whispered, “there are no birds in this one, I promise.”

When at last the cake had been eaten, the wine drunk, and the music reduced to no more than a faint melody, King Basile stood once more to the cheers of the guests. “Friends, family, all, you have graced my home and hearth with your presence. But now, I bring our feast to a close so that we may honor Lord and Lady de Gauvain with their long awaited wedding night!”

Shouts arose.

“A second conquering of Alera II!”

“Show her your real Imperial Knight, de Gauvain!”

“Give her a pounding like your Knight did to her city!”

Aurelia didn’t know if the cheers were meant to make Heinrix feel good or to make her cry. Maybe both. She balled both of her fists under the table. The cut on her palm throbbed and she latched onto the pain. It gave her something else to think about. Something other than the jeers from the guests and her husband’s placid, if not bored, expression as he heard them. If he was a real man, a real warrior, he would have shut them up. But she found him a coward because he kept his silence.

Members of the court began to separate. Men lined up on Heinrix’s side, while women lined up on hers. She saw Heinrix’s parents approach the table. Heinrix gravitated to his father, standing up to embrace the older man with a brief, if stiff, hug, while Lady Gisla approached her. Lady Gisla took her hand, bade her stand, and gently kissed her on both cheeks, before she began to lead her away out of the feast hall.

Crowding around Aurelia were other women of the court. Agatha and Sylvie were there on either side, whispering indistinctly and giggling as their hands came to rest on the small of her back, her waist. The crown princess was also there, walking with a slow, measured pace somewhat behind the rest. With her scarred face and broad shoulders, Aurelia got the sense that she was probably there as much for security purposes, as she was for ceremonial. The other women Aurelia didn’t really know, save for Lady Enna and Lady Solange. But there were a lot more people coming with Aurelia to what appeared to be a side door into the de Gauvain guest wing than she would have expected.

Lady Gisla navigated her way with ease within her own apartments, taking Aurelia and her coterie of laughing, cheering women up to a small chamber filled with wardrobes and mirrors. And it was here that Aurelia found herself stripped down to her skin and all the fine decorations in her hair plucked out. She covered herself with her hands, shocked to be exposed to all of these strangers, and was unable to stop the frown on her face as Lady Solange pulled her arms away and said, “You are Guisornian now, dear. We do not have such shame.”

All over she was touched by fingers anointing her with fragrant oils that smelled of night blooming flowers and her hair was brushed until it hung like molten gold down her back. 

“You do have good hips,” Lady Gisla said with an approving nod as she held out a white shift for Aurelia to take. “It can be so hard to tell in dresses. But I am not displeased; I think you shall successfully carry children without much fuss.”

“ Mother ,” said Agatha, “perhaps you can keep such observations until after their first night?”

“Anything could happen on the first night, Agatha. Your brother, for example, was one such product of a good first night.” Lady Gisla sniffed and gave the shift a small shake, urging Aurelia to take it. “If she had a poor build, we might need to keep a specialized chirurgeon on hand. Wide hips mean easy births, which is important, as de Gauvain men do not make small babies. I should know.”

Sylvie cringed. “Please, mother.”

As she reached for the fabric, Aurelia couldn’t keep the words from pouring out of her mouth. “You are more than happy to strip me - your sister by marriage - and touch me in sensitive places, but the thought of your parents coupling on their wedding night disturbs you?” The women around her laughed at the question.

“It's different,” Agatha assured, “we’re supposed to prepare you. It is tradition.”

There was that word again. Tradition .

“And,” added Sylvie, “You’re not our mother.”

Aurelia pulled the shift over her head. It was long-sleeved and fell to her mid thigh. While buttons ran along its front, there was no need to open any, for the shirt was overly large. Aurelia adjusted the neck, so that it did not gape and reveal the curve of her shoulder. Instead, it hung like a sack about her. Where the oil was still fresh on her breasts and belly, the shirt stuck, but at least it was not translucent.

Lady Gisla gently fixed the sleeve of the shirt, plying the rolled fabric free with her long fingers so that it hung to below Aurelia’s knuckles. “I have fond memories of this shirt.” She caught Aurelia’s look of surprise and smiled. “I wore this very same shirt on my first night with Lord Alaric.” She laughed softly and added, “Yes, it has been cleaned.” 

Aurelia found that perhaps the only small mercy. 

As Lady Gisla stepped away, Lady Solange approached and placed a kiss on either side of Aurelia’s cheeks and whispered, “My bet is three months.” 

Aurelia did her best to smile. 

When, at last, she had been sufficiently cosseted by the highest women of the court, Lady Gisla led her and the other women through the candlelit halls of the guest wing towards a door. Beyond it, Aurelia could already hear the sounds of deep, ribald laughter. Her stomach did several small flips as Lady Gisla opened the door to reveal the highest men of the court. King Basile was there, as was Lord Alaric, and many men that Aurelia did not know but who could only have been of some importance to either Heinrix or his liege. The only exception was Ambassador Werserian. He was there, but he did not look her in the eye. His gaze was fixed firmly at the heavy red and golden rug at his feet.

The bedroom, for that is what this room was, was richly appointed. Heavy red and gold drapes framed the large windows, which had been mercifully opened to let in some of the cool night air. A host of candles had been lit, the flames making the gold thread on the massive, four poster bed’s red coverlet dance and come to life. The room stunk of sweaty bodies and sweet wine. The rest of the furniture seemed to match what else she had seen of the de Gauvain guest wing: heavy, dark wood, sumptuous fabrics, and as much red and gold as one family could reasonably pack into any space.

Lady Gisla brought Aurelia to the left side of the bed. On the opposite side, she could see Heinrix. He was dressed similarly to her: a long white shirt hanging to mid thigh, with the fabric clinging to his skin in various spots. No doubt, he had been anointed by sweet oils, too. His dark hair had also been combed, making him seem younger. 

With her heart hammering in her throat, Aurelia slowly pulled back the edge of the thick red coverlet and lifted a leg to climb into the large bed. She had an inkling of how this would work: she and Heinrix would climb into bed, the guests here would cheer and guffaw, and then leave to allow the act of consummation. She carefully slid into the bed, mindful not to show anyone anything more than what was already on display. Heinrix did the same opposite her. She sat cross legged in the bed, the covers bundled to her chest, and looked out at the Guisornian crowd expectantly. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw Heinrix shift closer, and then felt his hand on her shoulder, pulling her backwards towards the pillows.

“That’s the way, de Gauvain!” shouted someone that Aurelia couldn’t see, let alone place by voice.

Aurelia’s head hit the pillows and above her loomed Heinrix. She squinted against the red optical glare of his implant and idly wondered if it was possible for him to dim its light, or if he was intentionally attempting to blind her. As she turned her face away, blinking away the red dots still in her vision, she felt, more than she saw, his palms pressing into the bed on either side of her shoulders. His body was hovering above her now, unbearably warm and making all her hair stand on end. One of his legs slipped between hers, pushing her thighs apart to make room for him. The warm press of his skin against her inner thighs was not unpleasant, nor was the smokey, sweet scent that clung to his shirt. But the sensation of him pressing down on her made her heart hammer wildly in her chest; she was trapped, like one of those birds baked into the pie, unable to find a way out in the darkness. She put one hand against his shoulder, as if to stop him from coming any closer, but he just let her palm take his weight. She looked back at him, lips pursed, glowering against the blood-red glare of his implant. 

And, worst of all, she was being watched. All these barbarians should have left, and yet they remained, as if they did not trust her, or Heinrix, to complete the act. From the corner of a watering eye, she could see Lady Gisla standing on her side of the bed, nodding her head in approval, while, on the other, Lord Alaric and King Basile were doing the same. They were watching her - and Heinrix - as though they were prized breeding horses. All that was left was for one of them to approach and help Heinrix just stick himself in her, for that is what the stablehands did when the stallions struggled to compose themselves.

Above her, Heinrix furrowed his brow and lifted a hand, pulling back to balance on his knees as he reached down between their bodies. In the gloom of the bedsheets and Heinrix’s tunic, she could see his hand had slipped underneath the fabric; clearly to ready himself. Aurelia looked up at the canopy above her. She could see the spots where it hadn’t been dusted. She traced lines of embroidery with her eyes, counting down the seconds until it would begin. And then she would count the seconds until it was over.

“Hey, de Gauvain! It’s taking you longer to conquer your bride than it took for you to conquer her planet!”

Gritting his teeth, Heinrix straightened and turned to glare at whomever was speaking. “Blondes are not to my tastes.”

A wave of laughter rose up amongst the crowd, but Aurelia’s voice was not amongst it. A deep, simmering anger roiled in her gut. It was not just she that was the butt of this joke, but her entire people. Her planet. Those things and places that she loved best. 

Heinrix once again reached for himself, but fumbled with whatever he found. 

“Having trouble, de Gauvain?”

“Do you need a substitute, my good man!”

Aurelia sat up, to a chorus of whispers from those in attendance, pulling her legs away from Heinrix and underneath her. She took a deep, steadying breath. In the crowd of faces beyond the bed, she saw Heinrix’s two sisters. And just beyond them, Ambassador Werserian. His face was white, his lips a barely visible line so tightly were they pressed together.  Alera II would not soon break the yoke of Guisorn III’s control, and this... wedding was perhaps the only thing preventing Alera II from being crushed under the weight of conquest completely. In that moment, she resolved she would not lie on her back and be a victim on her own wedding night - both for own sake and all those she was there to represent. She was not weak and neither were they.

“My lord husband,” she said in a silky voice, locking eyes with Heinrix. She forced a coy smile onto her face. “If my looks displease you, perhaps you should lay back and close your eye. That way, you can imagine me with any hair color you like.” 

A hush fell over the room at her words, and, for a moment, Aurelia thought that perhaps she had misstepped. Her fears were put to rest as a series of wild cheers sounded. 

“Get manhandled, de Gauvain!”

“That girl has spirit!”

Tilting his head to the left in acquiescence, Heinrix lowered himself back on the bed. However, once he was sure no one could see his face, he shot her a glare so foul and so murderous that she expected she might fall over dead. Aurelia only continued to keep her smile and said, “Go on, my lord. Close your eye,” for he had but the one real eye, and Aurelia was not sure how the optical implant worked. He closed his eye, though she knew his compliance was unwillingly given. 

Unfortunately, the next part, she did not have much experience with. Aurelia carefully moved to straddle Heinrix’s bare thighs, blocking the view of Heinrix for everyone save for those at the very edges of the bed. After a heartbeat, she slipped her uninjured hand beneath his nightshirt. 

Aurelia was surprised to find him hard. For all his protests, her looks did not displease him overly much it seemed. She took him firmly in hand, giving him an experimental squeeze. He reached out and gripped her wrist and gave a quick shake of his head. Perhaps that had been... too tight. She eased her grip and slowly worked her palm up and down his length, spreading the bead of arousal at the tip of his cock along his shaft. The feel of him underneath her hand was like nothing she had encountered before: he was hard, yet his skin was soft. The head of his cock was spongy, like a spring mushroom, and his sack was wrinkled like an overripe plum. It was not the time for her to explore him, but she got a sense of what he liked from the way he involuntarily parted his lips and licked his lips: the tip of his cock was the most sensitive, and he liked long, slow strokes. 

She soon found Heinrix gripping her wrist, stilling her hand. He shifted his body below her. His eye opened and he gave a faint nod. 

It was time.

Aurelia moved up, now sitting astride his hips and reached down underneath her shirt to grasp Heinrix and line him up with her entrance. All creatures in the Emperor’s kingdom did this, from the tiniest of insects to the mightest of leviathans below the seas. From race horses to rats, all animals coupled. 

And what were Guisornians, other than animals ?

She placed the slick head of his cock against her entrance and slowly lowered herself down along his length. It stung, so she did not force herself. She let herself slowly take him in, inch by inch, until she had him fully seated inside her. Heinrix’s hands were grasping the sheets on either side of him, and his gray eye was closed again. Maybe he really was imagining her with dark hair. Or maybe he was pretending she was his dead wife. Or another woman. It didn’t matter. 

What mattered was consummation.

And so, Aurelia rode Heinrix to the cheers of the Guisornian court. 

“Looks like Alera II conquered Guisorn III tonight!”

“Maybe she’s more Guisornian than we thought!”

“I’ll say! She’s definitely got some Guisornian in her... right now!”

Aurelia drowned them out by focusing on her breathing and the creaking of the bed, the rustling of the sheets. Her knees pressed into the bed as she dug them in for leverage, angling her hips up and down along Heinrix’s length. The wet sound of him sliding in and out was muffled by her thighs and the fabric of her shirt, but Aurelia caught fragments of it all the same. With time, with the right person, she might have enjoyed this act. The stretch inside her, the friction of his body against her most sensitive of places as she rocked back and forth against him, was almost pleasurable, and would have been so if not for the burning hot stares she felt on her back. 

She was nowhere near completion when Heinrix found his end. Her only sign that something had happened was when Heinrix tilted his head back and tightly closed his eye, a grimace plastered on his face. Something hot and wet dribbled out of her and against her rear and thighs. Heinrix put his hands on her hips and slowly pushed her off him, back to her side of the bed. 

He sat up and took a long, deep breath. “It is done,” he said, swiping his fingers over his softening cock to gather up his issue and her arousal, and held it up on two fingers for all to see. 

“No blood?” came a shrill cry from the back.

Still stunned and a bit sore, Aurelia let out a rasp of laughter. “Of course no blood! If you thought me some idle maiden who did not climb trees or ride horses, you were mistaken,” Aurelia quipped back sharply, gathering the blankets around her chest again. Once more, her words were to the delight of the Guisornian courtiers.

Heinrix wiped his fingers on the edge of his shirt and looked to King Basile. He was not at liberty to dismiss the courtiers or the king. But King Basile seemed to be appeased, for with a nod of his head and a broad smile, he turned to his court and said, “The union has been witnessed! The marriage was consummated! Let word be sent to Alera II that the terms of the treaty have been fulfilled. Now, come! Let us drain the casks that still yet remain!”

With King Basile leading the lords and ladies away, Lady Gisla pointedly closing the door behind her as the last one to leave, Heinrix and Aurelia were finally left alone. If now was the time that Heinrix wished to end her life, he could do it. 

But he didn’t. 

Instead, Heinrix de Gauvain turned on his side and promptly went to sleep, leaving Aurelia still sitting up in bed, clutching the covers, and wondering what strange new life she had just inherited.

Chapter Text

The sound of someone giggling dragged Aurelia from her slumber. She had been in the midst of a dream, one of her most favorite, the one where she was in the forest glade. She had been dancing at a bonfire, spinning and spinning and spinning.  All around her the fairies had laughed and twirled, and a pair of strong hands steadied her hips when her legs became tired and she was too dizzy to stand. “My star, ” whispered a voice.

“I’m here,” Aurelia whispered. She could feel a gloved hand in hers, anchoring her. 

“Lady de Gauvain?”

A soft hand on her shoulder.

“My lady?”

Aurelia clutched at the hand, but no matter how hard she squeezed, it was not enough. Her eyes opened, squinting against the sudden glare of light assaulting her vision. A figure was before her, a soft, feminine silhouette, indistinct due to the light filtering in behind her. Aurelia covered her eyes with the back of her hand. “Who are you?”

“I’m unimportant, mum. But I’m here to bring you to breakfast.” 

As she shifted in the bed, Aurelia became aware of the sensations of her body. The slight ache between her thighs, the way her hips were sore, the dryness of her throat. A memory of the night before came unbidden: shouts and cries from courtiers, Heinrix’s distant face below her, and the dusty canopy above. She’d had no respite except behind her eyelids. Turning to look over her shoulder, Aurelia saw the other side of the bed was empty.

“Lord Heinrix is already at the breakfast table, mum. If you’ll permit me to assist in getting you ready?” With her eyes mostly adjusted, Aurelia observed the woman: she was dressed in a white shirt with dark gray pants, over which she wore a tabard in the red and gold of House de Gauvain. She looked perfectly ordinary; a servant to be forgotten when her part in the larger narrative of the house was completed. 

“Ah... of course.” The lowest form of behavior, Aurelia believed, was to take one’s insecurities and frustrations out on those who were there to help. And so, despite feeling confused and still aggrieved about the circumstances that were before her, she said nothing unkind as the woman pulled back the blankets, helped her out of bed, and escorted her to the stool next to the room’s heavy wooden vanity. 

Folded on the dark wood was a simply cut, but finely stitched, gown of deep red, trimmed with golden lace. The material was silky underneath Aurelia’s fingertips. Accompanying the gown was a white underdress, smalls, stockings, a golden hair net to keep her hair out of her face, and jars and compacts that contained, what Aurelia assumed, were cosmetics. Aurelia spied some brown leather slippers on the floor by the vanity, so those must be for her feet. “Is all this for me?” She gestured to the bounty of things that had been laid out while she was sleeping. 

The servant nodded her head rapidly. “Indeed, indeed! My lady Gisla had everything prepared for you.”

“How thoughtful of her,” Aurelia remarked, unable to keep the dryness out of her tone. 

“It was indeed!”

Aurelia was glad her meaning was missed, or perhaps deliberately ignored, and watched the maid servant take a jeweled hairbrush to Aurelia’s sleep-matted hair. The woman worked swiftly, and Aurelia could see why Lady Gisla had sent her. Aurelia was transformed from a woman waking to the bride of an Imperial Knight in the span of minutes, the maid working her magic on laces, curls, pins, and blush. Aurelia caught her own gaze in the mirror and held it, mirroring the expression she had seen Heinrix wear so often: boredom. She let it fall away whenever the servant looked at her, and then settled the mask back on her face, breaking it in like it was a new pair of shoes. 

When she was presentable to the servant’s satisfaction, Aurelia was led from the bedroom and down a flight of stairs towards the sound of voices. As she walked down a long corridor towards a door with gilded trim, she recognized the sweet tones of Agatha and Sylvie, the sterner sounds of Lady Gisla, the soft baritone of Lord Alaric, and then her husband’s own clipped words. Fragments of conversation floated towards Aurelia as she drew nearer. 

“...her to Rose Colline?”

“But... empty? Won’t... bored and no servants!”

“That’s my decision. ...yours. Leave...”

“You’re a...”

“...my problem, is it?”

“When will you leave?”

“As soon as I can.”

The maid gave a sharp, swift knock on the door and then pushed it open. “Allow me to present Lady Aurelia de Gauvain!” She took a quick side step, revealing Aurelia to her new family. 

They were all dressed similarly, in various shades of red and gold, though Aurelia noted her red seemed to be a darker, almost more muted shade than that worn by the rest of the family. Agatha and Syvlie were smiling at her as she entered, and Lady Gisla had stood and was starting to approach her. Lord Alaric and her husband were still seated. Lord Alaric gave her a nod, while Heinrix stared straight ahead and slowly chewed on a piece of fried bread smothered in butter and stewed tomatoes. 

“You look well, my dear,” Lady Gisla said, pressing a kiss onto each of her cheeks. “Red suits you.” She took Aurelia by the hand and brought her to the table, setting her at a chair beside Heinrix and across from Agatha. She looked down at her son with an expression that Aurelia couldn’t quite place, and seeing that Heinrix was not going to rise to assist, pulled the chair out for Aurelia before returning to her own seat.

Slowly lowering herself down and withholding the wince because of her sore legs, Aurelia looked out at her new “family.” 

“Good night, then?” asked Lord Alaric, a piece of sausage skewered on the end of his fork as he waved it in Aurelia’s direction. 

“A passable night, father,” Heinrix said smoothly, reaching for a steaming cup of tea next to a plate piled high with fried eggs. 

“I wasn’t asking you, boy, I was asking the jockey here!” Lord Alaric laughed at the glare Heinrix shot his way and chewed his sausage with gusto.

“The night was passable,” Aurelia echoed, her attention focused on the way Agatha was pouring her a cup of tea and Sylvie was gently nudging a plate of buttery, golden brown toast towards her with an encouraging nod. 

Lord Alaric swallowed. “Just passable? Bah. On my wedding night, I found all manner of ways to make my songbird sing.” 

Agatha and Sylvie shrieked almost in unison, tea splashing and pieces of toast sliding off the plate. 

“Father!” 

“Please stop!”

“We cannot expect Heinrix and Aurelia to have had the same night as us, my handsome knight,” Lady Gisla said, reaching out her long fingers to touch her husband’s wrist gently. “Children these days are very different.”

Aurelia caught Agatha making a face and mimicking her mother’s words as she said them. She ducked her head to hide the smile and plated herself a small breakfast: some toast, a fried egg, a spoonful of stewed tomatoes, several large mushrooms, and some rashers of bacon. 

“We were made of sterner stuff!” Lord Alaric wiped his mouth on a red silk napkin.

“You say that, father, but I don’t think the rest of the court agrees. Why, the Crown Princess herself said that if they'd encountered fighters half so bold on Alera II as Aurelia, that her planet might have stood a chance." Sylvie quickly looked to Aurelia, then down to her hands, as if now just considering exactly what it was she said. "Her words, Aurelia, not mine." 

“Thank you for the clarification.” The motion of eating was mechanical in nature, and Aurelia willed herself back into the old routine. Food to lips, chew, then onwards to the next bite. Navigating fraught topics was one of Aurelia’s specialties, so no sooner had she finished chewing a mouthful of bacon she asked, “Did I hear that we are to be leaving soon?” 

“Within the day,” Heinrix responded. “The preparations are already under way.”

“I still think,” said Lady Gisla, braving the stare her son leveled at her, “that you should both return with us home to the manor. It would be good for Aurelia. And for you.”

“We will not be accompanying you to the de Gauvain estate?” Aurelia looked at the various assembled members of the family. She’d had no real expectations about what would happen after the marriage ceremony, having not had the mental fortitude to fantasize about what her new life might be like on Guisorn III. She knew she’d be with Heinrix, as spouses were rarely separated on Alera II, and she assumed this was also true on Guisorn III. But as to where... was it too much to ask for a comfortable house, with servants and space enough to escape?

“No,” Agatha gave a shake of her head. “Heinrix plans to take you Rose Colline.” Seeing Aurelia’s blank look, she added, “that’s the de Gauvain ancestral seat.”

“And it is in terrible disrepair!” added Sylvie. “And has been since - ”

Aurelia saw Heinrix’s lips press tightly together at his sister’s words. 

“Ancient history, my dear.” Lady Gisla tapped her ring against the porcelain of her tea cup, perhaps in thought, but perhaps also to silence the youngest of her children. “If Heinrix and Aurelia seek to restore Rose Colline, then let them! I think that would be a fitting project for two newlyweds, though it could wait a few months. Until after the rains have passed.”

“A few months? Pfah, no! The best tools for the Knight are there,” said Lord Alaric, barely having swallowed two spoonfuls of eggs. “Heinrix will need to be on the ready for the next push! Ahhhh, by the Emperor, I miss the smell of the Sanctuary. Wish I could go with you, boy.”

Heinrix only nodded at his father and savagely skewered a piece of bacon and a chunk of tomato onto his fork, before bringing it to his lips and chewing it. 

“Is there anything I should know about... what was it called... Rose Colline?” Aurelia reached for her own cup of tea, wrapping her fingers around the mug. Despite the warmth of the room, she was feeling the chill. “You said it was in disrepair?” She caught the look shared between Agatha and Sylvie. 

Lady Gisla smiled, though there was something tight in the expression. “It is not in such bad shape, Aurelia. You’ll make a home of it yet. I’m sure of it.”

As Aurelia stared at the overgrown manor, she wondered how Lady Gisla thought she could make anything of this place. But perhaps she was being unkind, given that she was tired and hungry.

The night before, all of her belongings from Alera II, in addition to new acquisitions courtesy of House de Gauvain, as well as whatever cargo Heinrix wanted to bring, had been loaded into an enormous vehicle that looked like a cross between a locomotive and a car. The beast of a machine was intimidating in its size and composition, looking more built for transporting troops and munitions than wives and their possessions, but Aurelia supposed that was the nature of these people: all things built for war. And what was marriage, but a war between a husband and a wife over time and affections?

After kisses on both of her cheeks and warm hugs, Aurelia had been bundled into the passenger compartment by Lady Gisla, Agatha and Sylvie. A driver sat ahead of her in his own box, barely visible behind the tinted glass separator. She had expected to be joined by her husband, who had spent his time after breakfast as far away as possible doing Emperor knew what. But he had been conspicuously absent from sight. 

“Where is Heinrix?” she’d asked, not wanting to spend time with him, but also not wanting to be alone in this vehicle. 

“Someone has to pilot the Knight,” had replied Agatha, pointing in a direction that meant nothing to Aurelia in the dark. 

It was only when she’d left the palace that she caught sight of the murderous machine prowling the road ahead of her. She would have missed it, but for the way it blocked the stars from view. Impossibly tall and wine red in the gloom, Aurelia watched Heinrix’s Imperial Knight walk ahead, a lonely sentinel. Had she been worried about bandits, those fears would have been dispelled at the sight of it. But as it was, Aurelia was more scared of the Imperial Knight than anything else. 

She closed her eyes, hunkered down in her seat, and tried to ignore the steady, rhythmic thumping of its feet pounding the earth. It did no good; it sounded like some predator steadily chasing after her, like the bombardment of guns against the walls of her city, like the hammering of her heart when her grandmother scolded her for events beyond her control. It made her feel small and weak and powerless. 

Desperately, Aurelia fought for the oblivion of dreams. But sleep had not come easily. She’d snatched fragments of it, grabbing at her drowsiness with the same desperation as if she’d been grasping for a rope in quicksand. But nothing had stayed. She’d either rocked to one side and lurched awake with a start or the sleep itself simply hadn’t stuck.

Yet, sleep or not, now she was there, standing before the grand, carved doors to Rose Colline. Aurelia stared up with concern at this place that she was supposed to make a home. Sections of the roof were missing shingles, probably blown clean off in the rainstorms that threatened the countryside. Several windows, too, had glass that was completely shattered. What other damage was inside, Aurelia couldn’t say. She would have to inventory the rooms and make a note of which rooms were dry and intact, and do that sooner rather than later. 

An ancient rose bush had overtaken much of the front of the house, stems, thorns, and suckers having found perches in chips and cracks within the stonework. The bush itself was full and blooming; there were hundreds of bright red roses climbing up the walls and over the roof. A few stray branches even had the audacity to grow into the broken window panes. Bees were buzzing about the flowers, minding their own businesses as the world of man and its wheels of war passed them by. 

Aurelia stepped to one side, allowing the driver to pass into the house with one of the crates. As she did so, she felt something large bump into her arm. It was a large, fuzzy bee, struggling under the weight of its golden bounty. But Aurelia still shrieked, her nerves frayed and the animal, survival part of her brain momentarily overriding her sensibilities. Neither Heinrix nor the driver came to investigate her cry, leaving Aurelia to clutch her arm against her chest, suck in a breath, and watch the bee float away, drunk on pollen. Looking down at her red gown, a smear of yellow at her elbow, she wondered if the bee had mistaken her for a rose, something beautiful and nurturing, for bees never feared the thorns. 

She was drawn from thoughts of the bee by the sudden shaking of earth. Heinrix and his Knight were thumping around the back of the estate, out of her sight but not out of her earshot. Thoughts of Heinrix made her shoulders sag. He wasn’t there to help her. Wasn’t even there to pick her up in his arms and walk her over the threshold, as he might have done if they were on Alera II. No, instead, he was busy with his machine.

But... perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing. While Heinrix was preoccupied with his Imperial Knight, Aurelia had time to herself to explore this place. If there was anything here that Heinrix did not want her to see - the bones of his first wife, for example - well, he should have considered that before abandoning her to her own devices. She stepped in after the driver, taking a glance around the grand entry foyer with its sweeping, double-wide staircase. The crates containing her belongings were being piled at the center of the room, no rhyme or reason to their placement other than the driver’s convenience.  

“Will there be anyone to help me carry these upstairs?” Aurelia asked. A sinking feeling formed in the pit of her stomach when the man shook his head. What she overheard must have been true: there were no servants here. 

All these rooms and not a single hand to help? A daunting task for a woman who had been cosseted all her life. Realistically, she knew that she did not have to clean or cook, if she did not want to. But Aurelia did not want to live in squalor or starve. Still, she could not help her sigh of despair. She knew this burden would fall to her. She’d made the wedding vow. She would tend the lands. She would manage the house. She just hoped that Heinrix would not deny her the purse strings of the de Gauvain treasury, so that she could hire capable help.

As she stood there, looking mutely at the piles of crates, an entire, miserable existence mapped itself before her very eyes: Heinrix never leaving the hangar where he stored his Knight and Aurelia consigned to managing this decaying house. Though they both might be prisoners in this marriage, Heinrix had the luxury of a pardon. At any time, he would be called away and sent to war, to do that thing which he loved best. And she... she would linger here in these ruins, with the roses and the bees until the eventual winter of her life set in. 

Without a word to her, the driver went to get another crate. Aurelia drew herself from her melancholy. She resolved that by the time he returned, she would have explored four rooms. 

Evening had fallen, and the driver had long since left, the only sound of his departure the scattering of pebbles on the road and the groaning of his engine, which for all Aurelia knew might have been the rumbling of the storm that had been growing on the distant horizon. Lady Gisla had said something of rainy weather and it seemed to Aurelia that such tidings were already upon her. 

With curiosity girding her heart and nerves, Aurelia had spent what hours she could exploring two of the estate’s wings. Her not insubstantial progress had been halted as soon as the sun had set, as there did not appear to be any working lights in Rose Colline. The generator that powered this place was either off or having its power diverted elsewhere. And of those two scenarios, Aurelia could guess which was the most likely, for when she looked out a fourth-story window, she could see lights in a distant structure and the silhouette of something large inside. 

Thankfully, Aurelia had discovered thick, tallow candles in the servant’s kitchens, as well as some simple matches. It had taken her some time to navigate back there, as there were loose floorboards and wobbly stair rails that were treacherous in the deepening gloom. But if a house in disrepair was the only threat to her, so much the better. If she fell and broke her neck because of a misstep, then it might even be a relief. But, no, she was not that lucky, as she arrived at the kitchen unscathed. No ghost or wild animal haunted this place, much to her chagrin. 

Setting match to wick, Aurelia decided that the servant’s kitchen was likely the best place to sleep for the foreseeable future: the windows and doors were whole and lockable, there were no leaks, the fireplace was in working order and the accompanying cot wasn’t hard as a rock. There was no food that she could see - a great oversight by her husband, no doubt - so she would have to spend a hungry first night in this place, but at least she would be warm and well lit on this stormy night. 

With her tallow candle in hand, Aurelia continued her exploration. No darkness would deter her from making the most of this private time. Eventually, she was looking forward to collapsing on the cot and letting sleep whisk her away to better places. But not now.  

The third wing of the estate seemed to be the smallest. From the look of the staircases in the candle light, it had but two stories, though Aurelia knew from glimpses out of the other wings’ windows that at its very end was a tall tower. And it was to this place that she let her feet wander. Through the blackened corridors she walked, her slippers whispering against the dusty wood while she heard the faint pattering of rain outside and the unsettling drip of water inside. Her tallow candle shed its soft, golden light around her, but deepened the shadows beyond its buttery glow. 

Slowly, the door to the third wing’s tower came into view. It was a heavy wooden thing, with an ornate golden push plate that merrily reflected the dancing candle flame. The door was flanked on either side by large sconces, their lights extinguished until the power was restored, and some pennants bearing the heraldry of House de Gauvain. Aurelia could see on the door’s gilded handle the remnants of fingerprints, a vestigial reminder that this place had once been a home rather than a rose-covered tomb. 

Aurelia laid her fingers on the handle and felt the weight of resistance. The door was locked. 

But for the sake of her curiosity, she did it again, testing to see if, perhaps, the door was not locked and merely... jammed. She felt the handle give way a little more at her second effort. 

So, she and the door were kindred spirits: both stuck. Only, she could solve the door’s problem, but it would never be able to solve hers.

For this third attempt, she put her body weight into it. She could feel the rust - or whatever else was in the way - give. 

But that’s when she heard it: the rapid thumping of footsteps coming from the blackened hall behind her. The steps bore the same cadence as the machines that destroyed her homeworld and she found herself back on Alera II, staring out a window in horror as the palace shook and smoke clouds rolled in from the distance. She froze, a rabbit in sight of a wolf, as the unseen thing in the darkness approached. 

Her hand trembled and a swift hand grabbed her wrist just as she was about to drop the candle. Hot wax spilled onto her fingers, making her hiss in pain, but snapping her out of her trance. 

“You should not be here, wife,” said Heinrix, spinning Aurelia around to face him. 

“And where should I be?” she countered, her heart beating wildly, a creature trapped in a cage. 

Heinrix merely glared at her, narrowing his eye. The light from his red optic seemed to shrink in size, as if to mirror the action of its organic twin. “Anywhere else, but not here,” he replied. “These are my rooms.”

Aurelia lifted her chin in defiance. “And should I not share in my husband’s bounty?” 

“I’d advise against it, if you wish to live more than... What was the most recent estimate?” He tilted his head to the side. “Three months?” Seeing Aurelia’s startled look, he smiled wolfishly, his lips curling back almost into a snarl. “What, you think you are the only one who hears suggestions about how long it will take before I lose my patience with you?”

“Just know that if you try to cut my life short, you won’t have an easy time of it.” If she went, she promised herself that she would burn this entire house down with her.

“Won’t I?” 

In the light of the candle, Aurelia watched Heinrix slowly bring his index finger and thumb to his mouth. She saw the flash of his tongue beyond his lips, wetting them in a way that was most obscene. His gaze was fixed on her as he stretched his fingers out to the wick. She was plunged into darkness, save for the thin, pinpoint glow of his optical implant. 

“I hope you can see in the dark, Lady Aurelia,” Heinrix whispered in her ear. “Because I can see you just fine.” 

She stretched out her free hand, groping for him in the gloom. But where he was standing, she found only air. “Ah, a coward, are you, to strike from the shadows?”

“No,” came Heinrix’s mild reply from somewhere to her left. “Merely a strategist. I don’t waste my advantages. You should learn to do the same.”

But Aurelia already knew what her advantage was. Heinrix wanted her away from the door she was standing at. Perhaps he even wanted to go into the rooms beyond it. But she... didn’t have to move, if she didn’t want to. Let him snap her neck or pull a knife on her if he wanted to get past her so badly. She took a step back, then another, until she felt the solid presence of the door behind her. She’d lost sight of Heinrix and the faint glow of his optic, but that didn’t matter. She closed her eyes and strained her senses, listening for the sound of wood creaking, or the feel of air moving against her body as something moved. 

But there was nothing. The hallway was completely still. Maybe he’d left. Maybe he was lurking. 

Either way, he wasn’t getting through that door while she was awake. 

After several minutes of standing there and nothing happening, she felt her shoulders start to relax, the adrenaline giving way to fatigue. 

And that’s when she felt it: a puff of warm air against her mouth, followed by the press of rough lips against hers. Her eyes widened and her body stiffened, frozen to the spot in shock. A pair of strong hands wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her away from the door, so that her back was to open air and the black hallway from which she’d come. 

“Pleasant dreams, wife,” Heinrix whispered against her lips, before he retreated past the door she had been guarding, leaving Aurelia alone in the hallway staring into darkness. 

Chapter Text

There was no end in sight to the rain. The fields around Rose Colline had turned to a thick, boot-stealing mud, making it impossible for Aurelia to walk around the farmlands and get a full sense of the estate’s holdings. She had been trapped indoors, able to catch only glimpses of far-off orchards and abandoned hedges from the highest windows. 

But she had not been idle. And, in fact, had found something in her cleaning that not even a walk around the grounds could have accomplished. In one of the rooms off the southernmost wing, she had found a detailed model miniature of Rose Colline and its surrounding countryside. Someone had lovingly painted all the details: from the textured brickwork of the manor to the rose bush elegantly curving along its friend, as well as each tiny cobblestone on the road, and every tree in the fields. Fences made of floss and wire lined the road, and sheep’s wool had been delicately arranged atop the chimneys of the houses, as though suggesting a fire burned within. It was so charming that she had spent almost three hours just marveling at it, circling the expansive table the model sat on. 

From it, Aurelia gleaned that Rose Colline was not so far from a nearby town. Idly, she’d wondered if the de Gauvain family was responsible for the wellbeing of the town and adjudicating disputes amongst the villagers and farmers that made it their home. But with Rose Colline in disrepair, chances are that such a thing had not happened in many years. 

And, as it so happened, Aurelia had learned that it was about twenty years. She had gotten the information from Heinrix, whom she had taken by surprise. The events went thusly: upon hearing the sound of an engine and smelling rancid oil while she was sweeping leaves, rose petals, and the carcasses of dead bees out of the main hall and onto the front steps, she’d run out into the courtyard. Seeing a vehicle rounding its way around the side of the estate, Aurelia had thrown herself before it. There had been the screech of brakes as it came to a sudden stop, just a few hands shy of knocking her over.

“Wife,” Heinrix had said tersely, opening a window and leaning out of it. The rain fell atop his dark head, soaking his brown locks and running in rivulets over his optical implant. “Out of the way, please.” He smiled at her coldly, the rain clinging to the corners of his mouth. “Or it won’t be three months.”

Though Aurelia’s golden hair was tied up with a piece of fabric to keep it out of her face and though her gown was covered in a protective layer of dust, that had not stopped the pouring rain from soaking her down to the bone. With the vehicle idling, she had taken the opportunity to quickly round the vehicle, throw open the door, and slide into the passenger seat. The envirocontrols were blowing hot air, which felt like a blessing against her rain-chilled skin. 

Heinrix had looked at her in shock. Aurelia’s response had been to look at him as imperiously as she could, while also appearing like a wet cat. “Going somewhere, husband?” she had asked.

“To town,” he had replied, turning his gaze from her and back to the muddy road. “If I can remember the way. It has been twenty-years since I’ve last visited.”

Which is how Aurelia found herself in the town of Vilence, standing in the rain outside a bakery, with Heinrix at her side. They were both thoroughly soaked through, neither of them having prepared well for this impromptu outing. Heinrix’s linen shirt, stained with engine oil and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, was transparent. Aurelia could see glimpses of his muscular form: the broad chest, the strong biceps, the sharp jut of his collar bones. She was only too glad that her own gown did not give Heinrix a similar courtesy, for red showed no skin, and though the dress stuck to her body, it was not so flattering. 

The expression on Heinrix’s face as he gazed upon the glass window, views of various pastries just beyond, seemed to Aurelia one of hunger. 

But it was not for food. Heinrix had at least packed one crate of food for them, which Aurelia had only discovered by lunchtime on the second day. It contained pre-made meals, freeze dried fruit, and other non-perishable items. She’d not eaten with Heinrix at all since coming to Rose Colline, preferring to take her meals back to the kitchen. Presumably, Heinrix took his meals to his wing of the estate. And that had really been the only sign of him at all: the periodic absence of food from the crate in the foyer. She had neither seen nor heard Heinrix. Which was just as well, because she had complaints to lodge with the chef - or their lack of one. But at least she hadn’t starved. 

No, the look on Heinrix’s face was one of longing. He was hungry for the past. She could tell from his expression that he turned inward to memory: his eye was distant, his jaw slack, his lips parted. He did not even blink against the rain that curled its way over his heavy brows and beaded against his long eyelashes. What memory he was lost to, only he could say.

Wherever he was, they could not continue to stand outside. Aurelia was tempted to go inside and leave him in his stupor, but she feared that Heinrix would leave her here in this place without a way to get back to the estate in retribution. And so, she grabbed his wrist and tugged him towards the door. There was no resistance. Like a sheep, he followed, staggering after her into the store, the bell over the door chiming merrily at their entrance. A woman with dark blonde hair was lifting a wooden tray of steaming pastries onto a heavily pitted wooden counter and was staring at them with wise green eyes. 

“Hello,” greeted Aurelia.

“Ah... hello, to you. Is that...” The woman squinted. “Master de Gauvain? Sir?”

The woman’s words pulled Heinrix out of his trance. He shook his head and blinked, peering at the woman. “Yes...” 

“Ah, my lord!” The woman dipped into a flour-stained curtsey. “You mightn’t not remember me. I was a child when you were last here. I’m Su! I’m taking care of the shop front while ma’s outback with the pastries.”

“I...” Though he was soaking wet and creating a small lake inside the shop, Heinrix managed to look half-way regal by straightening himself to his full height and puffing out his chest. “Su. I remember your mother.”

“I’ll bet you remember her cinnamon tarts, too!” The woman grinned. “You used to order three, and give me one. You were a right kind gentleman to me, you were.” 

Aurelia found it hard to believe the man next to her would order sweets for a child, let alone sweets for himself. Yet, there she was, hearing that such things had happened. 

The girl continued, “And you and your ladyship would sit - ” 

“And that’ll be enough of that.” Heinrix pursed his lips, and the girl took a step back at his fierce scowl. 

There. That was more like the man Aurelia had come to associate her husband with. “As we’re here,” Aurelia approached the counter, where plates of various baked goods were on display, “why don’t we buy something, hm?” She could see the girl’s expression, hopeful for a sale. “Surprise us.”

Heinrix clucked his tongue in displeasure and looked away. “Not cinnamon tarts,” he said, moving to one of the little bakery’s sitting spaces. There were only two tables and four chairs, and it was at a table farthest from the door that Heinrix sat, his back to the wall. 

“And tea, if you have it,” Aurelia added, finding herself soaked and cold and longing for something warm and steaming. 

“Aye... I can get that for you.” The young woman disappeared into a backroom. 

Aurelia joined Heinrix at the table, carefully arraying her sodden skirts as she sat. The chair and table both wobbled precariously, the carved legs having lost their supports. “So, you used to come here frequently?” she asked, folding her hands onto the table, then thinking better of it when it creaked towards her. 

“A long time ago.” And no matter how much Aurelia tried to pry more information out of him, he said nothing about his other visits. In fact, he did not even look at her. Instead, he looked out the window and to the flooded streets beyond. 

“You’ve not told me why we’ve come to town.”  

That question got his attention. He snapped an annoyed stare at her. “To make arrangements for food and laundry, dear wife.”

“What about servants?” Aurelia asked. “What about the lack of power? The holes in the roof? Are these also arrangements we can make?”

Heinrix’s lips pressed into a thin line. “No.”

Aurelia cocked her head to the side. “No to what?”

His gray eye stared at her, haughty and filled with contempt. “No to all.”

“I was under the impression that you were not a pauper - ”

“I’m not. It is not about money. It is about principle.” He smiled very meanly as a chipped pot of tea and two tea cups were set in front of them. A precarious wobble of the table at the added weight almost sent the steaming liquid spilling from the teapot’s spout, had it not been for Heinrix’s quick reflexes. “Did you not vow to me you would manage the house? Tend the lands?”

Aurelia was ready for this. She had been rehearsing this in her mind for days. “Give me access to the purse strings, and I’ll manage your house and tend the lands with ease.”

“That’s not what the vow means,” Heinrix replied crisply. 

“Modern times call for modern solutions,” she countered. 

“Perhaps,” he said with a faint shrug of his sodden shoulders, “but not on Guisorn III. And not in Rose Colline. Make do with your hands, wife.”

She bit her tongue. The temptation was there to tell him how she could make do with her hands around his throat. But instead, she poured the tea and said, “It seems I am forced to make do with many things. For example, I expected a knight. But now I must make do with a nightmare in shining armor.” 

Her husband’s dark chuckle mingled with the rumbling of the thunder. 

According to the terms Heinrix had negotiated in town, food was to be delivered every week. Fresh milk, eggs, produce, bread - everything and anything a working kitchen might need in order to feed a noble family. The only problem was that neither Aurelia nor Heinrix cooked. Or, at least, cooked very well. In fact, Heinrix’s demand one evening that she prepare his dinner had been met with burnt toast, oily eggs, and a blackened sausage. She’d shoved the plate in front of him with a burnt hand, letting it clatter against the dining table in the vast banquet hall and had stormed out, hoping he’d choked on every mouthful. Aurelia had spent the evening nursing a ripe apple and a wedge of cheese at her bedside and wrapping her burn in a cool strip of cloth.

Laundry was taken away the same time as the food was brought. Aurelia had stripped the beds in habitable rooms of their linens, removed the curtains, and taken whatever other stray pieces of fabric she could to the washer’s wagon. She’d not ventured into the third wing - the northern wing, she supposed it was called - let Heinrix sleep in infested sheets, for all she cared. She was only too grateful when the washers returned bearing fresh fabrics.

By the comings and goings of the deliveries, Aurelia estimated she’d been on Guisorn III at least two weeks now. She did not relish the prospect of tracking the passage of time by the comings and goings of her food and laundry, but it seemed that was her life now. Still, it did not make her any less bored. And she had been sick to her stomach with the dullness, until she had found the game room.

The room was, unfortunately, on the third floor of the south wing and suffered from a leaking roof. The large card table was waterlogged and stained, and the windows had been broken, leaving openings for the rosebush to push its way inside. Thorny branches and red roses were spread out like a lush carpet across the floor near the window. Rose canes had burrowed into the pillows and cushions of the window seat, creating a new bed out of an old one. In addition to the faint pattering of rain, the endless buzzing of bees going about their business echoed through the large chamber. 

Aurelia cast her eyes to those items that did not appear irrevocably damaged - or at least, damaged beyond her ability to repair. First to catch her attention was a large table covered in dust, which featured carved mechanical figures impaled on wooden rods. The rods were connected to handles, which, when Aurelia moved them, caused the figures to turn in unison. Curious, she inspected the figures closer, blowing away some of the accumulated dust. She caught the carvings of visors, of heavy cannons, and it dawned on her that these figures were Imperial Knights. She immediately pulled her hand away and wiped the dust from her palm, turning her gaze anywhere else.

Her eyes alighted on a table that was nearly obscured by a wooden sideboard with a clock on its top. As she approached, she saw to her delight that this was a regicide table. All the pieces were there, clean as the day they had been purchased, though their paint was badly flaking. The chairs at the table were in poor condition: the wicker seating having been eaten through by mice or plucked of materials by opportunistic birds. But Aurelia didn’t need to sit. She walked around the board, looking at the position of the pieces, the gambits that had been played. 

To her sorrow, she could see white’s King was under threat by black’s Imperial Knight. She ran the moves through her mind. In one more move, the game would be over. And, well, that wouldn’t do. A white Citizen was unattended on the board, and what greater duty was there of a subject to give their life for their liege? She swapped the two pieces on the board. Let the King live another day. 

Turning from the regicide board, she surveyed the rest of the room. What was left was occupied by moldering furniture, rotting books, and boxes of games whose labels had long since faded. It had probably been quite a glorious space in its prime: lit from above by the great, crystal chandelier, the chairs cozy and full, the laughter of children as they played while the adults gazed sternly at cards. Maybe one day it would be restored to its former glory. But, for now, Aurelia shut the door on it. She had other things to clean, other things to fix.

That night, bone tired in body but restless in mind, Aurelia lay awake in her kitchen cot, counting the cracks in the ceiling until sleep claimed her. Idly, she clenched her fist and then regretted it. She was developing a painful blister on her palm from her sweeping technique, and she had yet to find the crate where her leather gloves were packed so that she might protect her hands from any further damage. She sighed and tried covering her eyes with her arm, but not even that helped. She was wide awake. 

The servant’s kitchen was illuminated by a tallow candle that Aurelia had set in the fireplace. Though she was not afraid of the dark, the gloom of Rose Colline was starting to wear her down, and the small golden glow from her candle helped drive back the despair. She turned towards the fireplace, watching her friendly flame dance. 

A flash of light by one of the kitchen windows caught her attention, drawing her gaze away from the mesmerizing call of the flames. Another light passed, and then another.  Pale blue-green, they were, and moving with a slow, bobbing rhythm. 

On Alera II, she’d read stories of creatures that could take the shape of floating orbs, which would lead the unwary to terrible and violent ends. Perhaps such creatures were universal, and they were also plaguing Guisorn III. Aurelia did not fear a terrible and violent end, and with her mind wound so tightly, she found herself sitting up and approaching the window out of curiosity. Like a child searching for the first snowflakes of winter, she pressed her face to the window. 

In the light of the moon, she spied rain-drenched, hunchbacked forms making their way past the estate and up the hill towards the hangar where Heinrix kept his Imperial Knight. The light she was seeing came from beneath their hoods and from strange, spider-like augmentations on their backs. Aurelia had never interacted with the priests from the Brotherhood of Mars before, but she knew them onsight for what they were. She’d heard it tell that the techpriests were no longer truly men, not really. They were machines, wearing the skins of men; a mere mask to cover cold and unfeeling logic.

What perfect companions for Heinrix.

She turned from the window and went back to her cot. She drew the cover up to her chin and rolled to face the wall. Sleep might not come easy, but at least it would be without further reminders of how alone she was in this house.

Aurelia awoke to the sound of the servant’s kitchen door slamming open. She started up in bed, her hair a corona of curls and snarls and her eyes squinting against the bright gray light filtering in through the windows. Normally, she awoke while the milky dawn was pale and cold; so she estimated it was probably late morning, if not already noontime. Not that it mattered; it wasn’t as though she had anywhere to be or anyone to see. 

Except, perhaps, her husband. Who, as it so happened, was the cause of why she was currently awake. She blinked owlishly at him, the bed covers held tightly up to her neck, as though she needed to somehow conceal her fully-clothed form from his gaze. Her tired mind took in his measure.  

Heinrix was perched in the doorway. One well-muscled forearm pressed the kitchen door open, displaying his oil-stained knuckles and fingernails. His stained shirt was untucked from his black trousers and untied at the neck, revealing wispy curls of dark chest hair. His boots bore dried mud. The red optic glinted menacingly beneath a lock of brown hair. “Was it you?” 

“No, it was the ghost of your dead wife,” she snapped, irritable at being awoken, the intrusion, the lack of a silk pillowcase, and the tone in which he addressed her. Demanding she answer. 

His lips parted in surprise and his eye widened, before a deep scowl spread over his face. “My dead wife,” he said flatly, “cannot move pieces on a regicide board.” 

Aurelia could not stop her look of incredulity. Of all the things in this house he could have woken her about - a fire, a collapsed staircase, an infestation of wild beasts - he thought it appropriate to barge into her only place of respite to argue about regicide ? She inhaled deeply and lowered the blanket from her chest, revealing the day dress she had temporarily repurposed into a nightgown. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, slipping her stockinged feet into her shoes. “And so what if I did?” she asked, standing. She dared not look at her reflection in the piece of polished silver she’d been using as a mirror. 

“It is an illegal move.”

“Is it now?” she countered. She folded her hands in front of her and tilted her head to the side. 

“Yes.” He lifted his chin, revealing the shadows of a beard beginning to form along his jaw and neck. “Any regicide player knows that you cannot simply swap a Citizen for a King.”

It was an absolutely true statement.

And yet... Aurelia simply did not care. “It is a perfectly legal move on Alera II.” There was a fleeting moment of satisfaction as she saw the color drain from her husband’s face at her lie. 

“It...” He shook his head. “It isn’t.”

“Really?” She took a step forward. “Are you an expert in Alera II’s regicide rules? Did you study them the same way you studied our defenses? As you reviewed the reports from your provisional governors?” 

He pursed his lips and looked to the floor at her feet. “I’m not an expert in Alera II’s regicide rules,” he admitted. “But if that is the case, your people possess... unorthodox gambits. That move only delayed white’s defeat by five turns.”

Aurelia shrugged. “Only if you play using the strategies and gambits you know. I would have no such problem salvaging the match.” Now her chin was lifted when Heinrix brought his gaze back to her face. He looked at her with curiosity, as though wondering what other secrets she might be keeping from him. 

“How often did you play regicide on Alera II?” 

“Nearly every day,” she replied.  

Heinrix lifted an eyebrow. “Are you any good?”

“I should hope so.” 

“Hm. When time permits, wife, I would very much like to assess your knowledge of regicide.” 

Making a point to stare around the confines of the servant’s kitchen, she replied, “Oh, yes, when my very busy schedule allows.” 

Taking her words as some sort of assent, Heinrix gave a nod of his head and said, “Very good,” before closing the door and leaving Aurelia alone with her thoughts and a desperate case of bedhead.

Cleaning the rest of the house be damned, Aurelia needed a place that was just for her and her things. And so, she had prioritized her cleaning efforts to match her true intentions: she was restoring a suite of rooms in the estate’s western wing. The roof was sturdy there, the fireplace was in working order, and there was even a balcony that could afford her a beautiful view of the sunset, if the rain ever let up. In terms of rooms, there was a sitting area, a dressing room, a bed chamber, a bathing chamber, a beauty room, and even a leisure room. It was truly an oasis. 

She had first encountered it while stripping the house of its linens. The gilded door with its rose motifs had been locked, but Aurelia had hairpins and time aplenty, and found herself most industrious when it came to picking the lock. She’d not explored the room very thoughtfully, having been on a strict schedule to gather as much washing as she could, but she’d come back to it every few days since then. The air in the room had been heavy when she’d first entered, stale with the weight of two decades’ silence. A thick layer of dust had coated all the surfaces, and little by little, and with much sneezing, Aurelia had brushed this away, to reveal lacquered and painted dressers, cream and gold tinged wallpaper, and the portrait of a beautiful woman.

Aurelia guessed this was the late Lady de Gauvain, for she possessed curling dark hair and soulful amber eyes. She also had a heart shaped face and a rosebud mouth, upon which a knowing smile sat, as though Lady de Gauvain knew some great secret, some fantastic joke, that the viewer did not. Whatever it was she knew, it had been lost with her death. 

Under the former Lady de Gauvain’s watchful gaze, Aurelia turned the woman’s former rooms into her own. The closets had been filled with the prior lady’s gowns and effects, and these Aurelia immediately moved to another room. Neither the dresses nor the jewelry were to her tastes, and it was dreadfully bad luck for one bride to wear another’s things. The fabric, if she felt so inclined, she could repurpose for other uses. And the jewelry... well, if necessary, she could sell or trade it in town. Heinrix might not give her money, but that did not mean that she could not make money on her own. And what were these jewels to a dead woman? In fact, it was the least the late Lady de Gauvain could do, for creating such a horrible vacancy in her husband’s life that Aurelia now had to fill. 

Once space had been made ready for her clothing, Aurelia began the arduous task of unpacking crates and ferrying their contents up the stairs and to their new home. She tracked her progress by the dwindling number of crates in the foyer, and noticed that not only were her things being taken away, but so were those things that belonged to Heinrix. As she worked to clear the foyer, he seemed to be doing the same, though she never saw him in the act. 

When at last her dressing room and vanity rooms were complete, she turned her attention to the remaining suite of rooms: dusting, sweeping, polishing, washing, and moving trinkets and furniture not to her tastes elsewhere. The last piece to go, of course, was the great portrait of the late Lady herself, which hung as the centerpiece of the sitting area. Aurelia did not apologize as she moved the portrait to an adjacent suite, turning the woman’s face towards the wall so she would not have to see the state of disrepair Heinrix had left her home in. The dead were owed no apologies, for only the living suffered. 

On the eve of her move into her new rooms, Aurelia threw herself, aching and sore, onto her servant’s cot in the kitchen. Her hands were blistered and her knuckles bruised, and her hair, once her pride and joy, had been done no kind favors by the rough spun cotton pillows. She hardly looked like a noblewoman, the daughter of kings. In her current state, she could have passed for a peasant, and were she not so bone weary, she might have wept at that thought. But she had no energy to cry over her vanity. She didn’t even have the energy to sleep. And so she just laid there, making promises to herself about what she would do in her new rooms tomorrow. 

Maybe she would take some time to read.  

Or, better yet, maybe she would walk straight up to that hangar, commandeer one of the techpriests, and demand that they fix the generator so she could have an Emperor blessed hot bath in her sparkling clean soaking tub. 

Or maybe... her thoughts became as heavy and dark as the clouds above. 

Or maybe...

Sleep fell upon her. 

Chapter Text

For one day, the rain had relented and Aurelia, refreshed from sleeping on an actual bed with pillow cases to her liking, was determined to make the most of it. She put on her sturdiest pair of boots, a pair of riding trousers, a white blouse, and styled her hair into a tight braid, which she shoved beneath a cap she was “borrowing” from the late Lady de Gauvain. Shoving her hands into a pair of her plainest gloves, she set off to find all the tools she’d need for the task ahead. For today was the day that Aurelia was going to brave Rose Colline’s roof! 

Initially, she had thought the late Lady de Gauvain’s rooms were leak-free, but, to her horror, she had discovered that rain was dripping into her vanity room, as evidenced by a damp spot on the vanity table right next to Aurelia’s open powder compact. It was, perhaps, the only time in her life that the Emperor had ever personally watched over her, as the compact was undamaged by the sudden intrusion of rain. To avoid any further mishap or heartbreak, she had resolved herself to fix the issue as soon as the rain stopped, and now that time was nigh.

First, she needed a sturdy rope and bucket, both of which were surprisingly easy to acquire from a servant’s workshop in the west wing. Then she needed nails, a hammer, some roof shingles, and caulking, which was harder to find. She found some roof shingles hidden in the courtyard adjacent to the northern wing, hidden in some ornate flower pots. The nails and hammer she found in a garden shed, and the caulking was completely absent. But maybe she wouldn’t need it, depending on what she found above. 

When she’d assembled her necessities in her bucket, she made her way to one of the trellises that spanned the full height of the house. Thunder rumbled in the distance as she walked, but the rain held. The trellis she chose abutted the walls against the northern and eastern wings, and was void of blooming roses, the spot being too shady for any meaningful plant growth. What she found there weaving in and out of the heavy wooden trellis were the dried and withered carcass of ancient rose canes that had grown too greedily without proper nourishment. But though dead, the canes were still thorny, so she would have to take care as she climbed. Aurelia was hopeful that her gloves and long sleeves would protect her. She tied the end of the rope to her belt and rubbed her hands together.

The rumbling was coming closer, but Aurelia had already invested too much into this project to put it aside because of a little rain. She gave the trellis an experimental shake, and feeling it was solidly nailed into the stone wall, she slipped a boot into a gap and began to make a careful ascent. 

She was a quarter of the way up when her ears noticed that the thunder had a rhythmic, steady quality to it.

She was a third of the way up when the rumbling made the ground shake, making the trellis quiver and sway beneath her hands and feet. A queasiness rose in her stomach, a familiar fear slowly starting to claw its way forward out of the cage in which she’d trapped it.

And she was half the way up when a large, mechanical form turned the corner of Rose Colline, towering above the estate and Aurelia’s little trellis. It turned in her direction. A creature from her nightmares.

It was an Imperial Knight, its colors a midnight blue - almost purple, like the twilight before dawn - with a rich golden-bronze trim. Emblazoned on its massive pauldrons were three hunting hounds barking at the star of Holy Terra. 

Her fear completely off its chain, Aurelia froze and buried her face against her hands and begged the Emperor to make her invisible. Her cheeks were scraped by thorny barbs, but she didn’t care that blood dripped down them and onto her white shirt. No, she only cared about the fact that she was about thirty-five feet in the air and completely exposed. She tightly shut her eyes. If she couldn’t see it, it couldn’t see her. If she couldn’t see it, it couldn’t see her!

From behind her eyelids, she could see a blinding light. From her home in the palace, she’d seen pictreels of the Knights attacking her home planet shining spotlights from their chests or helmets onto streets, searching for targets. One pictskull had been destroyed in the resulting missile fire. Now, this Knight’s spotlight was shining directly on her, and she wondered how long it would be before the gears in its guns would start to whir to life. How many more heartbeats did she have? Would her body be like that servoskull, obliterated? A mere shadow of soot on the walls of this estate, to be washed away by the endless summer rain and feed the weeds below? 

“Oi!” came a distorted voice - feminine, by all accounts - but terrifying in tone and timbre. “What’re you doing up there?”

“God Emperor help me, God Emperor save me,” Aurelia whispered. She could feel her body shaking all over, the urge to flee strong, but she had nowhere to go. Her only escape was to let go, make a sudden drop, but she’d probably break her neck.  

“We don’t tolerate thieves on Guisorn III,” came the mechanical voice, “so I’ll ask you again: what are you doing up there?”

A pounding on the ground indicated the Knight had taken a step towards her.

Aurelia thought she would be sick. Her heart beat wildly.  Her chest felt tight. She tried to breathe slowly through her nose, but failed. The only thing keeping her from falling was the death grip of her fingers on the trellis. She would probably break the ancient, rain-soaked wood if she kept squeezing it. 

A second sound of pounding footsteps, this set in a familiar cadence, did make Aurelia sick. She swallowed down the mouthful of sour vomit she had retched up, feeling the sour burn of it in her throat. 

“You can let her be, Pendamar,” came her husband’s voice, distorted by the mechanical speakers. “She’s no thief. She’s my wife.” 

Aurelia risked wiping the corner of her mouth on her glove. 

“You let your wife climb an old rose trellis in that ? What are you thinking , de Gauvain? Or maybe you don’t!” The owner of the other Knight sounded shocked. “Here...” The sound of pounding footsteps got closer. 

Aurelia felt the air stir around her. A short peek over her shoulder showed the Knight had extended its hand to her, two long appendages that were meant to be either pincers or fingers held a foot on either side of Aurelia, as if meant to grasp her.

“Let’s get you down from there, dear.” 

“No!” Aurelia shouted, finding the power in her arms and limbs to climb up. If she could get to the roof, she could be safe. “No! Don’t touch me! By the God Emperor, leave me be!”

“But you’re going to fall!”

“Leave her alone, Pendamar.” 

Aurelia was probably forty-feet up, and her mind was so focused on the climb and the need to get to safety that she blocked out anything but the motion of her hands and feet. She was getting away from the Knights and that was what mattered. She climbed and climbed, opening the blisters on her palms and ruining her gloves, ripping her shirt and cheeks, and would have made it to the roof if not for the fact that the rope connected to her basket of goods was too short. As she ascended, so did the basket, and unlike Aurelia, it lacked any ability to free itself from any snags. The basket caught itself in an uneven patch of dead roses, jerking the rope and the woman tied to it mid-climb. 

For one, long moment, Aurelia hung in the air, the fingers of one hand clinging to the trellis. 

And then, she was falling.  

“ ...glad you made it.”

“I’m only sorry that I couldn’t be there in person, Heinrix.”

Aurelia woke to the sound of soft words being spoken next to her. Her body felt heavy, sore at the back of her head and the base of her spine, as though she’d hit something. She had vague memories of falling, of the sense of weightlessness, the sounds of gears and the pounding of her heart, and of hard hands wrapping themselves around her waist, dragging her. She’d been trying to repair the roof... that strange Knight had shown up... and she’d fallen. 

Someone must have caught her before she broke her neck and brought her into the house to convalesce. Around her legs she felt the weight of blankets, and a pillow was cradling her head. By the familiar scent of smoke and onions, she guessed she was back in the servant’s kitchen. Heinrix must have brought her here. Her boots had been stripped off, as had her gloves. Her cap was long gone, probably lost in the fall. The cuts on her cheeks felt sticky, as though someone had smeared ointment on them.

Speaking of Heinrix, it was definitely his voice that had awoken her. And the other voice sounded like that of the Knight pilot that had tried to grab her. Aurelia did not let on that she was awake; instead, she chanced watching them through the veil of her eyelashes, keeping her breathing steady so that the two Guisornians might continue their conversation. They sat on two stools facing the fireplace, huddled side by side as they conversed. 

“You wouldn’t have liked it, Ameilia,” replied Heinrix. 

The woman, who Aurelia noticed was powerfully built even despite her dark blue armor, possessed a regal, sharp face that was at odds with the sweetness of her smooth voice and the tender gaze with which she regarded Heinrix.  “Probably not. I didn’t like the first wedding either, if I’m honest.” The gray sunlight filtering through the windows turned the women’s platinum hair into shades of silver and lilac. 

“Very few people can meet your exacting standards,” Heinrix said dryly.

Ameilia gave Heinrix a pointed stare. “That’s not it. You rushed into it. Claudine? I don’t think she made you as happy as you think.” 

Heinrix paused, looking away, before he answered. “You are... right as always.” His hand clenched into a fist. “I’m very rarely ‘happy.’ Particularly, these days.”

“Don’t I know it.”

A scowl, then a sigh. Heinrix’s broad shoulders, enhanced by his red and gold armor, drooped. “You’re probably the only person that’s ever managed to make me feel that way.”

“That’s because I know how to handle you.” Ameilia reached out a hand and put it on Heinrix’s knee. “We’re almost the same person.” A cheeky grin briefly flashed across the woman’s face. “Putting aside the fact that there’s enough of my blood in you and your blood in me.” 

“You say that in jest, but I mean it.” Another sigh; Aurelia had never heard her husband sigh so much. “I wish we could return to old times. I miss those days.”

“I do, too.  We used to dance until daybreak. But you have a responsibility now.” Ameilia’s hand lifted to Heinrix’s shoulder. “We both do. Our lives aren’t our own anymore. Just know that I am as loyal to you as always, as I know you are to me.”

Heinrix looked down at his hands. “So, you’re going through with it?”

Ameilia gave a quizzical tilt of her head. “Of course I am. And I want you there. I want you to be happy for me.”

“I am happy for you.” Heinrix covered Ameilia’s hand with his, tentative, as though he could somehow break the woman who was taller than him while seated. “But I can’t be there. It's... It’s just too hard for me.”

“Well, if you change your mind, the invitation is always open.” 

“Thank... thank you, Ameilia.”

Aurelia took that moment to make a soft groaning sound, as if she was just waking up. She put a hand to her head, wincing for show. “What... what happened?” 

The scrape of wood against stone and two sets of footsteps heralded the Knights’ approach. Heinrix and Ameilia stood side by side, looming over her. 

“You had a fall,” said Heinrix, staring down at her with his lips pressed thin and a serious expression on his face, so different from the look of wistful fondness that he had regarded Ameilia with. “You were lucky someone was there to catch you.” Aurelia was astute enough to notice the look Ameilia shot at Heinrix as he spoke.

“I wouldn’t have fallen had I not been accosted.”

“Accosted?” Ameilia blinked her gray-green eyes and then laughed heartily. “You were hanging on for dear life, my lady! A little accosting was the least of your concerns. Besides, I meant you no harm.” To Heinrix, Ameilia turned her head and said, “I hadn’t realized how frightened the Alerans could be.”

“Very easily spooked,” Heinrix confirmed with a nod of his head.

Aurelia felt her blood boil, but kept her temper in check. “I was on my way to repairing the roof just fine.” 

“Why, exactly, were you attempting to repair the roof?” Heinrix asked, visible confusion spread out across his face. There was a smear of dirt on one of his cheeks, which Ameilia rubbed off with an armored finger after dabbing her fingertip against her tongue. Heinrix winced, but otherwise did not make any sounds of reproach at the other woman’s action. 

“My rooms have a leak in them,” Aurelia replied, eyes fixed on Heinrix.  “And the house will not repair itself, or have you forgotten?”

Heinrix looked pointedly around the room. “I see no leaks.” 

“Not these rooms. Or haven’t you noticed the lack of my clothing? My possessions?”

Giving a shrug, Heinrix’s gaze returned to her face. “I thought that perhaps you had stored them in the larder.”

“No.” Aurelia made a face. “Why would I do such a thing? You can’t eat the fabric.”

“I think he was making a joke, dear,” Ameilia interjected, a smile twisting on her lips. 

“So was I.” 

“It is good that you mention clothes, though.” Ameilia knelt down beside Aurelia’s bed and produced a package that had been hidden beneath it. She set it gently on Aurelia’s lap, “I brought a wedding gift,” she explained, “as is customary.”  

Aurelia gazed down at the package: a soft bundle wrapped in a shimmering, gold cloth. Prying the knot apart revealed what appeared to be a gown of midnight blue velvet, trimmed with brown fur and lined with soft wool. She wouldn’t know the cut or the length without trying it on, and she was not about to do that here, but her mind was already painting a portrait of it: a long flowing train, tight sleeves cuffed in the same color fur... something resplendent for autumn, when the seasons finally changed. She looked up at Ameilia and could see the other woman was staring at her with a measure of trepidation, perhaps a fear that the gift was not appropriate or to her taste. 

Putting aside her own discomfort at the overly familiar way in which this woman interacted with her husband, she could appreciate the thoughtfulness of the gift.  No one else had presented Aurelia with anything. Perhaps everyone on Guisorn III thought that it was present enough that her marriage prevented Alera II from total annihilation. Or, nearly everyone, as this Ameilia Pendamar had gone out of her way to bring something just for Aurelia. Not even Heinrix’s sisters had done such a thing. 

For that scrap of kindness shown to her, she graced the woman with the most genuine smile she could manage under the circumstances. “I can’t wait to wear it.”

A beatific grin spread in answer across Ameilia’s face.  

Ameilia Pendamar did not stay the night. She did not even stay for dinner. In fact, at Heinrix’s suggestion that Ameilia stay and “Aurelia can find you a room and something to eat,” Aurelia watched as the larger woman wrapped a tight arm around the tops of his shoulders and lead him away, a sharp and barely audible, “Let’s talk for a moment, Heinrix,” passing her lips as they walked away. About an hour later, they emerged once more, a stormcloud on Heinrix’s brow as dark and deep as the one hovering on the horizon, and collected Aurelia from where she was still convalescing in the servant’s kitchen. 

Together, Aurelia and Heinrix said their goodbyes to the other Imperial Knight on the cracked steps of their decaying manor house, amidst the gentle humming of bees and the rumbling of distant thunder. To Heinrix, Ameilia gave a hug, bodily dragging him in so that their armored chests cracked together. To Aurelia, she swept into a deep bow, took her hand, and placed the faintest of kisses atop her knuckles. And then she was striding off to her Knight. 

Aurelia saw how Heinrix’s eye was glued to Ameilia’s form, his gaze hollow with a desperate hunger. His vigil never faltered, and even when Ameilia’s great and terrible machine had walked beyond the distant hills, still her husband stood on the stairs and looked like a man who had been left behind. 

The first of the day’s rain finally began to fall. 

“Come inside, Heinrix,” Aurelia said, putting her hand lightly on the cold armor of his bicep. 

The touch drew him out of his stupor. With a glare, he shrugged her off and stormed to his rooms in the northern wing. 

Aurelia picked up her broom and swept the floor again, wincing at the pinch of blisters on her palm and the dull throb at the base of her skull. 

That night, Aurelia pulled her vanity away from the leak, hoping to spare herself any additional trouble. She slipped a washing bucket underneath the slow drip of water and lamented her broken nails and aching back in private before turning to more important matters. 

After thoroughly washing herself clean of the day’s grime in a tepid bath, coiling her hair into a braid at the base of her neck, and slipping into a modest, long-sleeved evening gown, Aurelia tried on her gift. The velvet overgown of midnight blue with its brown fur trim was even more resplendent by the light of the candles in Aurelia’s dressing room. She turned this way and that, admiring the cut and flow of the dress, and pranced from one room to another, allowing the gown’s train to drag behind her like the tail of a great serpent. The only thing that kept her from wearing it to bed was the fact that it was wool-lined, for though her body was chilled from the bath, the covers on the bed were thick. Reluctantly, she set the dress in her closet, in a place of honor next to her favorite gowns she’d brought from home.

Lightning flashed beyond her drawn curtains as she crawled into bed. She kept some tallow candles burning in the fireplace, to help push back the gloom. The light wasn’t for her fear. There was nothing in this house that could hurt Aurelia anymore than she’d already been hurt. No, the light was for her. Because it made her happy. She curled up on her side and watched the dancing flame until her eyes started to droop.

For a few, brief moments, she found herself in a forest glade filled with warm firelight and laughter. A pair of hands covered her eyes and a deep voice whispered in her ear, “Do you want him, my star? Call him, he will come.” Aurelia was ready to call out a name, but the sound of it died on her lips, drowned out by a sudden, echoing boom. 

The dream scattered like autumn leaves in a gale and Aurelia sat in bed, hand pressed to her chest, as though she could will her heart to beat slower. The boom sounded again: it came from outside her bedroom door, down the dark and distant hall. Reason raced to catch up as fear tumbled ahead: it was the front door. Someone had knocked on the front door. 

But who would knock at the front door at this hour?

Aurelia slipped from her bed and pulled her housecoat from an ornate peg by the door, before stepping into soft shoes. A thick candle stolen from the fireplace in hand, she began her walk from the east wing to the central foyer, following the banging, and then the sound of one of the grand front doors opening. By the time she was at the staircase leading down, she could already hear the trilling of the techpriests and the heavy, steady plod of their footsteps on the bare floor. Thunder and lightning echoed from beyond the open door, and Aurelia knew that sheets of water were likely spraying in. Something she’d have to mop, come morning.

“Excuse me,” Aurelia called, hand on the railing as she skipped down the stairs, lucky that she didn’t break her neck at the way her house shoes skid against the wood, “But what is the meaning of the intrusion at this hour?” Many sets of eyes glowing an eerie shade of blue turned in unison towards her. 

A large figure positioned itself at the foot of the stairs, blocking her path. It was a monstrous machine covered in a threadbare red robe, with spidery metallic appendages waving to and fro on its back. It carried itself on four metal, digitigrade legs that lifted and fell in an impatient rhythm. A sharp bark of static came from somewhere beneath the creature’s oversized hood. A warning to stop, perhaps. Or a greeting, though unlikely. Aurelia did not speak the language and there was no one there inclined to translate. 

Aurelia was about to respond, nearly down the stairs, when she heard a familiar set of footsteps coming from the northern wing. She leaned over the railing, spying Heinrix, barefoot and shrugging into a stained linen shirt that he was struggling to button as he walked. He gave a disdainful sniff, though it did not stop the trail of dark liquid running from his nose. 

At his arrival, the techpriests turned and trilled something in a sweet harmony. One humpbacked priest, stooped and bowed and leaning heavily against a staff, slowly approached Heinrix.  A reedy, paper-thin voice came from beneath the priest’s robes, “It is an urgent matter, Lord de Gauvain.” 

“I know,” said Heinrix, giving up on the buttons and leaving his shirt open at the chest. “I can feel it, too.” Aurelia noted his fingertips - and his buttons - were stained. 

“You must come quickly,” the techpriest insisted.  

“What’s the matter?” Aurelia asked, trying to get a look at Heinrix past the hulking form in front of her.

“Back to bed with you, wife,” Heinrix said, not even bothering to look over his shoulder and address her, before he strode out into the rain and the dark night just beyond. 

One by one, the tech priests turned to follow. Save for the giant that was blocking the stairs. It raised one of its appendages menacingly when Aurelia gathered the courage to try and move past it. It had the gall to push her shoulder, driving her backwards against the railing.  The candle in her hand fell dark, wax splashing over the wick, her hand, and the railing. Aurelia hissed and dropped the candle, which rolled beneath the techpriest’s robes, and it bellowed something in a guttural, garbed growl at her. Aurelia covered her ears with her hands, the sound was so grating and unpleasant. 

With a scowl and a comment of, “Rude!” Aurelia turned and went back up the stairs. Rather than go back to her room, she ducked out of sight and waited, hoping that the beast would follow after its brethren. But, to her chagrin, she heard the creature click and tap its way across the foyer floor, as if standing guard. But this was not the only staircase, nor was the front door the only exit. She was not a prisoner in her own house, not if she didn’t want to be. There were such things as windows, after all. 

She slipped down the hall, traveling the long corridor to the servant’s passages built into the eastern wing. There she crept down the stairs, letting herself be guided by the gray moonlight filtering in through panes of dirty glass in the stairwell. The hulking techpriest in the main foyer was a distant memory as she stepped into a servant’s mending room, the sewing tools long since lost or rusted beyond use, and unlatched a pair of the room’s windows. The rain poured in sheets beyond the glass, but Aurelia’s curiosity was her umbrella. She kicked off her shoes and grasped onto the slick stone as she swung one leg, then the other, outside. 

A crack of lightning split the sky in two, providing enough illumination for Aurelia to get her bearings. The cold, wet mud wriggled between her toes and made her skin crawl with each step, but even as she was soaked straight through to her small clothes, she carried on around the house. The hangar was on a high hill some distance away, and by the time Aurelia had climbed it, avoiding the obvious stone path for fear of being spotted, her legs were screaming with pain. It would be one more injury she’d address in the morning, along with her sore neck and back. 

The hangar was a large, circular structure that was the same height as the highest tower of Rose Colline. It bore a massive opening that was half-closed by an ornate metal door, upon which Aurelia could see the crest of House de Gauvain etched into the metal. The stylized horse head stared menacingly at her with each flash of lightning. The hangar’s interior was lit by a blue glow, the same color as the techpriests’ eyes. Aurelia crept to the edge of the open door and peered inside. The massive form of the Imperial Knight stood motionless in the center of the chamber, thick cables and wires protruding from various ports along its body. She could feel more than hear the power being drawn into this place, the insides of her very bones were starting to tingle from it. 

Her eyes alighted on several techpriests circling a cogitator next to one of the Knight’s feet, censers of incense swinging from their claws. A large cable connected the cogitator to the Knight, lights blinking along it intermittently.  At the center of the procession, Aurelia spied her husband’s dark hair. She blinked back rain from her eyes and squinted to get a better look as the techpriests shifted and moved. He was hunched over the cogitator, stripped to the waist. Various tubes and wires ran from ports along his spine and arms. His face, limned in blue, bore an expression of pain, the single eye wide and unseeing, the teeth bared in a feral snarl. His hands grasped either side of the cogitator, fingers splayed wide and knuckles tense; he’d already shattered pieces of the bony terminal in his grip. A stream of blood poured from his nose, splattering over the control panel and onto the floor. Each drip of blood corresponded with a flickering of light on the Knight’s chassis. 

Nothing about this situation looked right to her untrained eye. Not from the blood, not from the way one of the techpriests injected something into Heinrix’s arm, not from the way the Knight’s engines began to rev and grind, whining louder and louder in an imitation of a human’s scream. She did not need to be a member of the Brotherhood of Mars to know that suffering was happening here. Any one with sense could see it. Could hear it. 

And were Aurelia any other woman, perhaps she might have ignored it. After all, didn’t this man deserve the anguish? Was she not entitled to go back to her manor and sleep, knowing that the man who’d laid waste to her homeworld and the murder machine he rode in were in pain? But... Aurelia was not any other woman. She was who she was. That’s why she stepped around the corner, bringing with her a small river of rainwater as her bare feet slapped against the cold, stone floor of the hangar.

Four servoskulls descended upon her, their blue eyes blindingly bright as they flew close to her face and spun around her head like her own personal halo. As she blinked away the glare, she held up a hand, just in time to see a techpriest raise something suspiciously like a plasma pistol and point it in her direction. 

She was chilled to the bone with rainwater, but filled with hot rage at the creature’s audacity. She pulled herself to her full height and proclaimed, “I am Lady Aurelia de Gauvain and you will not threaten me in my own home. Now, I command you: tell me what is happening here.” 

Chapter Text

Aurelia eased her aching body down on the stool next to the fireplace. Not more than an arm’s length away, her husband was resting on the servant’s bed that she had been convalescing in just the day before. Perhaps she ought to convert this space into a makeshift infirmary, for the servant’s kitchen had seen more de Gauvain injured in the past two days than it had meals cooked in the past twenty years.

She shifted the stool closer to the bed and winced at every movement. Everything hurt. Her neck and tailbone were stiff and bruised from the fall, she had cuts on her feet from where she’d encountered rocks and sharp twigs hidden in the midnight mud, and her arms and legs felt like jelly from when she’d dragged Heinrix back to the house last night. 

Had it been worth it? Staring at her husband asleep on the bed, she wasn’t sure. At the time it had felt right, but what use had she for time in this place? 

“Interruption of sacred rites has 26.23% chance of permanently - ”

“I care not for your numbers, priest! This is killing him!” She slapped her hand on the cogitator, the only thing she could reach amidst the procession of techpriests, then gestured to the Knight. “And killing this thing, too!” Her eyes searched for a way to shut off the power, to disconnect the pilot from the machine. 

One priest’s mechandrite roughly swatted her hand away from the cogitator, attempting to sweep her away as though she was nothing more than dust.  “Interjection // Assessment: Termination / Cessation of sacred rite unable to be completed / finished / bypassed at this time. The machine spirits - ”

The Imperial Knight swayed from side to side, its support struts groaning at its own weight. From deep within its plate came a hollow, wheezing sound, like an old man’s cough or the shuddering breath of the dying. 

Aurelia glared at the priests, disdain on her features, as she took in their faded robes, the fraying hems, the speckles of rust on their mechanical appendages. “I care not.” She was unarmored and lithe, faster than these machines who called themselves men, and slipped beneath a waving mechanical tentacle to her husband’s side. There was nothing they could do to her once she had her arms around his waist, propping him against the cogitator. 

His eye rolled back into his head. She grabbed his face; his stubbled cheeks were streaked with blood, sweat, and rainwater. This close, she could see that the blood dripping from his nose was not just red, but had bits of black swirling within it, as though he had oil in his veins, too. 

“Heinrix Alaric Marcellus Aymeric de Gauvain!” She had to shout at him over the drone of the techpriests, the rumbling of thunder, and the groaning from the Knight. “Hear me!” When his head drooped forward, she gave him a gentle shake, his blood splattering on her skin. “Heinrix!” 

The Knight’s wheezing was accompanied by a high-pitched whine; the sound of gears straining against a jam, of cogs in a machine resisting the impulse to move. Smoke and the sour scent of overcharged coolant overpowered the smell of incense. 

Aurelia leaned in, so that her lips were close to her husband’s ear. “Heinrix, it is Aurelia and I am very scared.” Her fingers dug into his cheeks. “I need you to come back to me now.” She wondered what would happen to her if Heinrix never recovered. Would she inherit the rotting house? Would she be put to the sword, an unnecessary loose end? Certainly, they would not send her back home to Alera II...

Beneath her fingertips and the puffs of air from her slow and steady breathing, Heinrix stirred. His eye opened, blinking away beads of sweat that had slipped past his heavy brow. He gazed at her, the pupil wide and unfocused, unseeing. And then... the pupil constricted. A look of cold fury passed over his features as an eerie silence came over the Knight. 

Aurelia was ready to fight with him about what she’d done. The words were on her lips, the rebukes ready to be launched. But Heinrix said nothing. All he did was pull away from her and sag against the cogitator, as though the last of his strength had finally left him. 

This time, when a techpriest’s mechandrite reached out, it was Aurelia who swiped it away. 

Heinrix had made not a single utterance as she’d unplugged him from the cogitator, though Aurelia’s gorge rose at the wet, sucking sounds the cables made when they were pulled free from his skin. And he’d not argued with her as she had slung his arm over her shoulder, glared at the techpriests, and walked him slowly home. He was an empty shell; between his ears, he might have had cotton wool, for all that he had followed her instructions on the way home like a little sheep. 

Their muddy footprints would be nothing more than a memory in a day but Aurelia could still see the two sets of heavy tracks in her mind’s eye, one heavy, one light.  

She cracked her knuckles and scrubbed her puffy face. She hunched forward, able to find relief only when she was slouched over her knees. If her grandmother - if her mother! - could see her now, they’d think her some ugly, hunchbacked spinster. They wouldn’t recognize her in her soiled gown, with her dirty feet and matted hair. And even were she dressed in her finest silks, they still would have thought her a commoner. And why? 

“You need only look at their hands, dear girl,” said her grandmother, as they rode side by side on their night-black mares, bright blue ribbons braided into their manes. “You can clean up a woman’s face and put as much powder on it as you like, but you’ll never erase the work from their palms or the thickness from their fingers.”

“But, grandmother,” Aurelia asked, “could they not just wear gloves?”

Her grandmother had laughed airly. “Ah, my naive fledgling. They may hide it with gloves, but trust me, you’ll know them when you see them. They will fidget with their hands, shove them into pockets, or pull them into their sleeves. Oh, how they will try to hide the shame of their service, even when they’ve already covered it with lace and silks!” 

Aurelia’s hands were raw and blistered from her time trying to fix Rose Colline. She didn’t think they’d ever be the same again and a fat tear rolled down her cheek and splashed onto a jagged thumbnail. Another tear followed, and then another, and Aurelia winced as they splattered across the burn on her fingers. She had scalded herself with boiling water when trying to clean Heinrix’s wounds, proving that no good deed ever went unpunished. 

As Heinrix stared at the candle she lit in the fireplace, completely oblivious to anything and anyone around him, Aurelia began the process of turning her husband from a creature of clay and rain into a man. Even now, as she knelt at his feet, he did not so much as squirm or flinch. 

Faced with the prospect of someone touching her toes or the soles of her feet, Aurelia would have squirmed and shrieked, for she was dreadfully ticklish in such vulnerable and touch-starved areas. But Heinrix was silent and unmoving as she rolled up the soiled legs of his pants to dip first one foot, then the other, into a bucket, and then gently wipe each clean of grime. 

For all of his bachelor-like tendencies, Aurelia noted that Heinrix had very... presentable feet. Once they were cleaned, of course. The nails were tidy and properly shaped, his skin was free from unsightly calluses, and his feet were well-proportioned as to both the size of the toes and the width of the foot to the ball. Even the dusting of dark hair across his toes looked to have been trimmed. 

When the worst of the mud had been washed from his lower half, Aurelia turned to the rest of Heinrix. Absent a full bath, getting him totally clean would be impossible, but she did the best she could. The rain had done a significant portion of the job for her, but Aurelia still ran a warm washcloth along and under each of his arms, across his chest and sides, and along the broad length of his shoulders and back. She’d taken extra care around the capped ports along his spine and arms, careful not to jostle them open. That’s when she had burned herself: by trying to boil the washcloths for these sensitive areas. And so, with an angry red welt on the side of her hand, she turned finally to his face, dabbing away the last traces of blood and sweat that clung to him. 

Aurelia reflected on the events of the night as the sickly gray light of morning filtered in through the window. Her’s had been an intimate act: to care for a spouse at their most vulnerable. It had also been the first time she had ever touched another in such a manner. And yet... Aurelia had not not felt the fluttering of butterflies in her stomach or even the heat of a blush in her cheeks as she gazed upon her husband’s form. The wiry press of his chest hair against her knuckles had not thrilled her. Touching the hard muscles of his back had not made her breath catch in her throat.  

No, all she had felt was weariness. 

Even when she’d stripped Heinrix of his sodden trousers and led him to the servant’s bed in his damp small clothes, she’d felt only that this was yet another chore laid before her. Another thankless chore. 

Because she knew that when he awoke, there would be no gratitude, no kind or gentle words for her troubles that night. There would be only rebukes. 

She looked at her muddied feet and scowled. She deserved to be clean, too. 

Aurelia glanced between Heinrix and the door. Heinrix rested comfortably on his back, his hands folded on his chest just where she’d left them. The door beckoned her and Aurelia rose from her stool in answer. A quick wash and a change of clothes was all she needed and then she’d feel like a new woman again. 

Like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, Aurelia stepped forth from her rooms in the eastern wing feeling better about herself. Her hands she hid beneath the long sleeves of the dark blue gown she wore, and her damp hair she’d coiled atop her head with sapphire tipped pins. She was also freshly perfumed and powdered, because despite having no where to go and no one to see, she craved the normalcy of her old life and the simple routine of getting ready. 

In fact, the likelihood of her delicately painted face and sweet smelling neck becoming soiled with the horrors of manual labor was especially low today. Given the ordeal of the previous day and night, there was simply no way that Aurelia was going to do anything physically demanding. She was far too sore. Getting out of her tub had been a struggle, and it was only through sheer will that Aurelia was even managing to put one foot before the other. All of the pains she’d accrued in this rose-covered prison were making themselves known today. 

Aurelia returned back to the servant’s kitchen. Tucked under her arm in a faded, red leather box was a curiosity she’d found in her suite’s little library. It would help pass the time. The door creaked open and she was surprised to see Heinrix sitting up in bed, his head in his hands. The sheets pooled at his waist were free of blood. That was a good sign. She cleared her throat.

Heinrix lowered his hands and turned a stern gaze in her direction.

“You should rest,” Aurelia said, shutting the door behind her and approaching the bed. How she longed for a proper cup of tea to soothe her nerves. “You’ve had quite a night.”

“No thanks to my wife,” he replied, tone crisp.

Aurelia heard the missing ‘meddlesome’ by his tone - no thanks to his meddlesome wife - even though he did not say the word aloud. “Yes, thanks are in order,” she quipped back, her foot hooking around one of the stools and sliding it closer to the bed. With a wince at her sore muscles, she settled on the stool, at eye level with her husband. “All three of us almost lost our lives.”

At those words, Heinrix’s eye widened and his swarthy skin went as pale as the white-washed walls of the kitchen. “Th-three of us?”

She nodded. “Yes. You, me, and whatever it is that lives in your Knight.” Aurelia watched the color return to his face at her explanation. 

He swallowed. “I... see.” Heinrix looked at his hands, making one into a fist and then releasing it. His sigh was suspiciously one of relief. “You would not have been in any danger.”

“Truly? It did not feel that way.” A thin smile passed her lips. “I am a very good judge of intentions, husband, and, suffice to say, I do not think I misinterpreted anything from your friends in the Brotherhood of Mars.” 

Heinrix spoke as if he hadn’t heard her. “Why would you assume that something would happen to my Knight if something happened to me?” 

She gave him a tired stare. “I may not know much of machines or Imperial Knights, but I am not a fool.” Aurelia squinted against the sudden shine of Heinrix’s optic on her face. “It obviously mirrored your pain last night. If there was such a thing as proper lighting in your hangar - ”

“Sanctuary,” Heinrix corrected.

“If there was such a thing as proper lighting in your Sanctuary,” Aurelia amended, “I’d have probably found as much spilled oil and blood around your Knight’s feet as I found around yours.”

Heinrix said nothing for a long moment. His gaze was fixed on her, unblinking, until at last he looked at the red box she cradled on her lap. His look of interest, of concern, changed into something else. “Is that...” Recognition. His eye widened. The corners of his lips twitched, as if he was suppressing some smile... or grimace. 

“A portable regicide set.” With quick fingers, Aurelia snapped open the lid and set its contents out on the bed, as Heinrix crossed his legs, bunching up the bedclothes to make room. “All the pieces look to be here.” The regicide board consisted of two thin, metal strips connected by a hinge. The pieces were small and had magnets affixed to their bottoms, so that they could adhere with ease to the board. It was quite ingenuous in design, and well-painted, too. Aurelia arranged the pieces on the board, black facing Heinrix. It was the color of oil, wet mud at midnight, and his heart. 

“I remember it.” Heinrix gently touched his queen with reverent fingers. “Though sitting on this side of it is a novelty for me.” 

Aurelia eyed his hand with suspicion. “You normally play white?” 

“Black is the luckier color on Guisorn III. But I prefer the tactical advantage of white’s aggression.”  

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.” 

“Oh?” Heinrix tilted his head to the right, his eyes narrowed at her offhand remark. “You hardly know me, wife.”

“I do not need to know you well to know that you would prefer to be the aggressor.” She leaned forward, her muscles making her regret it at once. “Or have you forgotten that you are King Basile’s most decorated and victorious Imperial Knight?” Aurelia could hardly forget that fact, given that she woke up each day to the knowledge that she was trapped here in this place with a man who had subjugated her world. 

He said nothing in response to her words. His only reaction was to purse his lips tightly and stare at the regicide board. A finger tapped impatiently against his leg. 

Aurelia set the pace of the game. She moved her citizen forward a square. Heinrix did the same. Another piece moved, then another, Aurelia trying to calculate Heinrix’s next move just as he was trying to calculate hers. Piece by piece, capture by capture, casualties of their game began to fill the red leather box. But Aurelia saw the path forward and laid out her plan carefully, baiting Heinrix into sacrifices he didn’t want to make until, at last, the king was before her. One move more and the match was hers. There was a smug satisfaction that briefly took the place of the weariness in her bones; she was going to beat this man at his favorite game. 

Heinrix stared at the board for a long time, saying nothing. Aurelia was about to prompt him to move, telling him his time was up, when he lifted his lone gray eye to her face and held her gaze. Aurelia lifted her eyebrow, in challenge or question, she could not say. And then, from the corner of her eye, she saw Heinrix’s fingers reach for one of his two remaining citizens, drag it across the board, and swap it for his threatened king. 

“Any good subject,” he said, “should give their life for their king.” 

Anger surged through her. How dare he play a move she had made up to irritate him. How dare he remember it! She swallowed her irritation and gave Heinrix a dazzling smile; she knew he was studying her. He had to be. She wouldn’t let him see her ire. “Indeed, they should.” She captured his citizen and dropped it into the leather box, where it joined its fellows. “But... that puts us in a stalemate.” His king was now in the open and precariously placed, but there were no moves - or rather, no legal moves - that could take it. 

“Indeed?” Heinrix eyed her with intense scrutiny, the glare of his optical implant making Aurelia wince with its brightness. “There are no special Alera II gambits that can be played?” 

“Even if there were,” Aurelia replied, “I would not be willing to share them with you.”

Heinrix’s lips drew back into a menacing smile. “Indeed? Thank you for the game then, wife.” With an air of finality, of a child who was done sharing his toys with a rival, he began to gather up the last of the pieces on the board and drop them back into the leather box. He snapped the regicide board shut between his hands, settled it in the box, and then shoved the whole thing  towards her. Aurelia gathered the box onto her lap as Heinrix pushed away the blankets. 

Yes, she had put him to bed. Yes, she had stripped him and cleaned him. And yet, she averted her eyes to the floor as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood. A cold breeze followed in his wake, and she tracked his movements by the sound of his feet on the floor, a steady cadence that was written into the very soul of her. The door opened and shut, leaving her alone and unthanked for her troubles. 

Early afternoon came, and, after stewing in her anger for most of the morning, Aurelia decided that she could not stand to be in Rose Colline for one minute more. She found an umbrella, ancient and faded though usable still, and set off towards the shed at the side of the house that she suspected housed the manor’s land vehicles. The shed was in the same direction that she had seen Heinrix drive from the first time they went into town together, and if she didn’t find something with wheels there, she’d eat the umbrella’s lining for her supper.

Walking along the rain-soaked gravel path towards the shed, she could see that roses had overgrown this structure, too, though the bees were less active in the rain. A few brave soldiers were hovering below the shed’s awning, darting this way and that, as though on the lookout for intruders. One even had the audacity to hover in front of Aurelia’s face once she neared the shed, staring her down, though she noted no stinger. An odd creature, to be so aggressive yet be unable to defend itself. 

“Away with you,” she said to the creature, “back to your patrol, shoo!”  

The bee darted back up to the lip of the roof.

The shed’s sliding door gave a shriek of protest, but eventually rolled aside to reveal the grimy interior of a garage. As she expected, there were indeed vehicles here, three to be precise, though two of them looked unserviceable. The wheels on one were deflated, while the other was propped on blocks, rusted tools scattered beneath it, as though someone had gotten up in the middle of a repair and never came back. Importantly, the vehicle Heinrix had driven was there, its front still splattered with mud from their drive. She closed her umbrella and set it against a wall. 

With a sigh of relief, Aurelia approached the driver’s door. Finding it open, she slipped inside and let her hands fumble on the dash for an ignition switch. While she’d never driven this type of vehicle before, it could not have been so different from the crafts on Alera II. Her thumb found a button marked ‘START,’ and she gave it a press only to be rewarded with... nothing. 

Grumbling, she struggled out of the vehicle and hobbled to its front, so she could pop open the engine cover. She had no idea what she was going to do, if there was anything she could do, but if she didn’t try, she’d go absolutely mad. Unfortunately, what she found was the engine missing a critical piece of its infrastructure: namely, its battery. In fact, upon examining the rest of the vehicles in the garage for suitable replacement, she found they were all missing their batteries, as if someone had deliberately taken them so that she might never be able to leave this place except on foot.

And Aurelia was sorely tempted to do that. Trap her here? Let Heinrix try. When her legs weren’t quite so sore, she’d march all the way to town and let her husband figure out where she’d gone by following her tracks in the mud! She laughed loudly into the air, only to find the sound catching in her throat as despair made itself known. 

But before she gave up hope, before she spun her accusatory tale, she took a deep breath. Then another. She hadn’t really looked for the batteries yet. Perhaps the batteries were at the back of the garage, pulled out of their respective cars to preserve their charges? Surely, there was a logical explanation of the batteries’ absences other than to trap her.

She walked the perimeter of the garage, looking for anything vaguely battery shaped. Tools were scattered on the ground, some leaves, too, but no batteries. At the back of the garage, she found a workbench, but it was devoid of anything interesting, save for two small plates that were settled on the floor next to it. Aurelia recognized them from the crockery set in the house: they were bone porcelain with a stylized horse head in the center. Unlike most of the garage, the plates were spotlessly clean, as though they’d just been washed. Or licked clean by some creature. 

On a hunch, and wincing in pain as she did it, Aurelia crouched on hands and knees. She peered under the cars and saw an indistinct shape with a pair of luminous eyes staring back at her. A cat (she hoped). 

“Is Heinrix feeding you?” Aurelia asked the cat, and then she laughed at the absurdity of it all. “Ah, of course he is. Ever the fool am I, talking to a creature that won’t talk back.” She righted herself and edged her way back to the door. “Well, Mr. Cat, my apologies for disturbing you. I’ll be back later with proper food, since I don’t trust my husband to remember to take care of you. Farewell until then!” She gathered up her umbrella, held it above her head, and dragged the garage door back into place.  

She walked back to the house, and as she turned the corner towards the front entrance, she spied one of the techpriests from the Sanctuary standing before the front door. Its robe was soaked the color of wine, revealing a humpbacked form with four waving machine tentacles on its back. As Aurelia approached, she could see it had something in its hand, pressing it against its chest. 

“Pardon me,” Aurelia called, watching the techpriest turn towards her, a sharp, mechanical trill coming from inside its robes as she approached. “Can I help you with something?” Aurelia could not tell the techpriests from one another, so if she’d encountered this one before, she had no way of knowing. Her eyes fell on the item clutched to its chest: a dataslate. “Is that for my husband?”

The techpriest said something in its garbled, mechanical speech, and banged on the door with a metal-clad hand. 

“Oh, he can’t hear you. He’s probably sleeping in the north wing.” Aurelia was at the stairs now, the techpriest looming over her by a foot. “Here, give that to me, and I will make sure he receives it.”  She held out her hand. 

A thrum of trilling displeasure was the techpriest’s response, like the sound of two pieces of metal rubbing against each other.

Still, Aurelia did not budge. “Do you want him to receive the messages or not?”

She knew the sound of victory when she heard it, as the techpriest grumbled something deep within its chest and held out the dataslate. Aurelia held it against her stomach, out of the rain. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she said, but the techpriest’s blue eyes only stared at her. They were void of any recognizable emotion and sent a shiver down her spine at how soulless they were. With relief, she watched the techpriest turn and plod back the way it had come. The slow, ponderous gait left heavy footprints in those places where the mud and the rain had overcome the protective gravel of the drive. 

Curiosity drove Aurelia’s steps, the eagerness of something new and novel acting as a cushion to soften the constant flood of soreness she felt. She tossed the umbrella aside in the foyer and retired with the dataslate to the servant’s kitchen. Hobbling to the still unmade bed, Aurelia let herself sink down to the thin mattress. She rubbed her thigh with a hand, patting it like a loyal dog that had done its job well, and switched on the dataslate. She thumbed through the screens.

They were messages. This was correspondence. Aurelia had wondered how mail or information would be received at this place when there was no power. But, of course, there was power: it was in the Sanctuary. And that was normally where Heinrix spent all his time, so he didn’t need a courier to deliver him the day’s messages, because he’d simply read them when they came in.

She stopped at a message that contained a familiar name: Agatha de Gauvain. Her eyes wandered over the screen as thunder rumbled so loudly that it shook the glass in the kitchen’s windows. 

Dearest Heinrix, 

 

I hope this message finds you unwell, as you have yet to reply to my last letter. 

 

I jest, of course. I hope you are well, big brother, and that your delays in writing are due to newfound marital bliss rather than your surly temperament. Yes, I know you are scowling as you read this. 

 

Mother and father are both well. Nothing has changed since my last missive. There are endless salons and parties that I have been trying to avoid, but to which Sylvie drags me. Mother would like to return to the estate to prepare for winter once salon season ends, but father insists that we stay until the Harvestend Tournament. You know, father. He’s reliving his glory days with his friends. 

 

Speaking of Harvestend, Mother insists that Sylvie and I come to Rose Colline. She wants to make sure that the estate is in order. The plan is that we will stay for a few nights and then bring both you and Aurelia back to the capital so that you can compete. You are planning to compete, yes? Father is telling everyone that you will and that you’ll win. So, you might not have a choice in the matter. But it can’t be all bad. The last time you entered, you won the joust. I’m sure you’ll do it again.  

 

Also, could you please let me know if Aurelia has been receiving my correspondence or Sylvie’s? We haven’t heard back from her. 

 

Your loving and much smarter younger sister,

 

Agatha

 

P.S. It is 4.5 months, in case you wanted to know.

Aurelia read the message again and again. Agatha and Sylvie were coming to Rose Colline. Agatha and Sylvie had tried to contact her but Aurelia had never received the messages.

Heinrix truly was attempting to trap her here. 

She stood. The pain was forgotten as indignation flooded her, numbing her mind and body. She became a being of singular purpose: to walk into the north wing and give her husband a piece of her mind. She clutched the dataslate in her hand as she stormed from the kitchen, skirts billowing behind her, towards the gilded door that Heinrix had coveted all those nights ago. 

Though she had swept these hallways clean, the rugs under her feet were still dusty, and each footstep called forth a cloud of it. This reminder of the neverending, interminable chore of living in this place, of the servitude she had experienced, only added to her anger. Let the ghosts and the portraits think that each of her steps summoned ashes, for such a fire burned in her breast! 

The door to the north wing was unlocked and opened easily at Aurelia’s touch, swinging inward on oiled hinges. Cold, dry air brushed against Aurelia’s face, a blessing against the muggy humidity that lingered in the rest of the house while the day was still bright. 

“Heinrix!” she called, seeing before her a small foyer and another staircase, this one circular, leading upward. “Heinrix, we must speak!” 

From somewhere atop the stairs, she heard Heinrix shout back, “Away with you, wife!”

“Away with me?” Aurelia surged up the stairs, two flights behind her as her shoes clapped on the swept wood. “No, husband, I think not!”

At the landing on the third floor, Heinrix met her. He was barefoot and attired only in fitted black pants and a loose linen shirt that hung uncuffed at his sleeves and open at the neck. On his hand glittered his family’s ring, something that Aurelia had never seen him wear before, save for their wedding day. “As your husband and master, when I say go, you go,” he bellowed, lips pulling back into a snarl. His gaze was wrathful, his eye wild, and Heinrix looked meaner still by the way his dark hair curled messily over his forehead.

Aurelia shivered; the coolness of the air against the seething heat from her anger-flushed skin was unpleasant, but she was so mad she cared not for the discomfort. She held aloft the dataslate and shook it in the air. “You prevent me from leaving by sabotaging the vehicles! You hide correspondence addressed to me! You treat me like a servant! No, worse! You treat me like some dog!” She could feel her heartbeat pounding behind her eyes; her head was filled to bursting with the sound of it and the ragged inhale of her breathing. 

“Because I can!” he snapped. “Because you are!” He pointed to the stairs. “So, be a good, obedient girl and find your way back to your rooms. I’ll hear no more from you today.” With that, he turned, and began to stride down a hallway.

“I am not some animal! I am not some bird you can cage and cover when you are tired of my song!” Aurelia stepped after him, her free hand reached out for his arm. Her body felt tight. A great pressure was swelling within her chest, as though something had given her anger wings and it was threatening to burst forth from her. How angry this man made her! How he boiled her blood! Her fingers closed around the fabric of his sleeve, and she made a fist of it. “You ca -”

Aurelia staggered back as Heinrix’s hand connected with her face. She lost her footing and fell backwards to the floor. The dataslate flew out of her hand, skidding down the hall out of sight. Stunned, she touched her finger to her lips. Blood trickled down her chin. She looked from her stained fingers to the hand that struck her. Red glimmered on the de Gauvain family ring. 

Heinrix stood frozen above her, his gray eye wide, his face expressionless. 

The heat in her body was gone. All that was left was ice; it dammed the tears that threatened to flow and choked the shriek in her throat. In winter, only the strongest survived. 

She surged to her feet, a sapphire hairpin in hand. She jabbed it at Heinrix, bringing the pointed end right below his eye. “Strike me again,” she hissed, “and I will put out your other eye, Heinrix de Gauvain!” 

Her words brought him to his senses. His eye glanced down at the needle tip pressing into his cheekbone and he took a step back. He raised his hands - a gesture of peace, of supplication. Her precious blood smeared his knuckles. 

She would not relent. 

“You hold all the power here,” she said, advancing on him, pin still brandished, “all the control! They make bets on how long it will take for you to kill me! My life is entirely in your hands and you treat it with less respect than you do a thing that cannot think or breathe or love!” 

In the gloom of the hallway, Heinrix’s shoulders sagged, and each step he took away from her became more and more sluggish, until finally his feet stopped moving all together. The chill in this part of the house was not so great, nor did Aurelia feel as though her anger might physically turn her inside out anymore. Slowly, Heinrix’s mouth began to move, though it took time for him to form words. “You’re... you’re right.”

The pin lowered in surprise. What could she say, except, “I know.” 

A bitter, mournful laugh escaped Heinrix’s lips. It echoed along the dim hall; a hundred Heinrixes laughed in this liminal space, howling their agony into dust and shadows. Tears snaked their way down his cheek, and he chuckled as he wiped them away with his fingers. “I have been a bastard. An inexcusable one.” He looked at the wet spots on his fingers with a morbid curiosity, as if it was the first time he had ever seen tears. “But this marriage is as much my prison as it is yours, Aurelia.” He gave a slow shake of his head, his shoulders jerking as another bout of laughter overtook him. 

Only this time, he laughed so hard that it sent him to his knees. Heinrix clutched his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking. 

The laughter turned to sobs. 

Aurelia watched Heinrix with horror. She twisted the pin around in her fingers, before she returned it to her hair; he was no threat to her, not like this. A strange compulsion overcame her, similar to the night before, where she had seen suffering and needed to act. She stretched out her hand to him, tentatively placing her fingers against the crown of his head. What could she say to him, in the dawning realization that she had married a man who was not just cruel, but mad, too?

“No, wife, I am not mad,” Heinrix said with a shake of his head. He took her hand and placed her knuckles against his clammy forehead.  “Just a witch. And, so you see,” he looked up at her, his gray eye bright with sorrow, “it is not just I who holds another’s life in their hands now.” 

Chapter Text

She’d made him prove it. 

“If what you say is true, then show me.” Her gray eyes were filled with a nascent wariness as she looked upon her kneeling husband, her hand still pressed to his clammy forehead. “Show me that you are a witch, husband.”

Heinrix said nothing as he stood. His eyes never left her face, even as she drew her hand away. Slowly, he cupped her cheeks, and winced when she flinched at his touch, as though he might strike her again. He let his thumb gently touch her lower lip, her blood coating the fingertip. 

A cold, tingling sensation, like she’d sucked on a cube of ice for too long, spread across her lip and then faded. Only when Heinrix stepped away did Aurelia tentatively probe the cut with her finger. She found nothing there, save for smooth, unblemished skin. 

The cut was gone. 

His words had been true. 

“Have I proved myself sufficiently, Aurelia?” Heinrix asked, his arms crossed over his chest, his bloody fingers staining the white linen of his shirt.  

“You have proved yourself,” she replied.

“And are you not afraid?”

The look she gave him could have frozen the coolant in his Imperial Knight. “I have been abused, neglected, and isolated since arriving on Guisiorn III. I have lost my home to war and my family. I have no agency and no freedom. You think this revelation will be the thing that makes me take to my closet and hide?” 

“I...” Air hissed through Heinrix’s teeth and he gave a slow, ponderous shake of his head. “Others would not feel the same as you.”

“Since when have I ever been the same as ‘others?’” 

Heinrix looked down at her feet and the damp hem of her dress. He said nothing for several long moments, his breathing the only sound he dared to make. “My secret is yours, now.” He lifted his eye. The red optical implant flared a brilliant red, then dulled again. “Do you plan to tell anyone?”

Such a burden he had laid at her feet, expecting her to carry it pliantly. Her vitriol was syrupy and thick; she almost choked on it.  “Why? Are you deciding if now is the time to make peace with your machine god?” Aurelia said of the Imperial Knight. 

He swallowed. “Perhaps I am.”

“Then you should know I haven’t made my mind up.”  

With those words, she’d left him standing, face drawn tight, in the hallway. 

Now sitting in a comfortable chair back in her suite of rooms, Aurelia found herself again touching her lip with her fingers. She’d inspected it in a mirror as she’d cleaned the blood off her face and neck, and could see no signs of damage. Nothing felt out of place, save for the strange chill that had settled in her bones. But perhaps that had nothing to do with Heinrix’s gift, and everything to do with the fact that she now held his life in the palm of her hand.

It was a sickening feeling, really, to know she had so much power over someone. One slip of the tongue to the wrong person in King Basile’s court, and Heinrix’s life would become very difficult. Even if they didn’t believe Aurelia outright, the King or one of his advisors would likely make an inquiry. But it was a two-edged sword. Even if Heinrix were found out, they would not let Aurelia go so easily. They’d probably find another brutish noble to marry her off to, or execute her. She’d have only the comfort of her petty revenge and the knowledge that Heinrix’s death would not bring back any of her people. 

She sighed and leaned back in her chair. Would that she did not care so much! Would that her conscience not be the most well-defined piece of her! Her life on Guisorn III would have been far easier were she heartless and cold.

At the thought of being heartless and cold, Aurelia remembered the cat back in the garage. She had promised to bring it food, as she didn’t trust her husband to be consistently kind to things that were not unliving and metallic. And though she was sore all over, her body now finally pushed to its limits, such that even walking made chills run down her spine as pain lanced through her, she still found her way downstairs to Rose Colline’s grand kitchen. A plate of milk and some reconstituted fish morsels would have to suffice, but Aurelia was sure both of these things were better than eating mice, lizards, and whatever insects the cat managed to catch. She gathered up the milk jar into a basket and placed the bowl of shredded fish beside it, before she returned to the garage.

Aurelia did not have the flexibility to bend down and investigate if the cat was at all present. As it was, she could barely lean down to pour the milk, and several glugs of it sloshed over the side of the dish and across the floor. More for the cat, she supposed, as she tipped the fish onto the plate. 

An overwhelming part of her was struck with the urge to lean against the workshop table, if only to take the load off her aching legs. But Aurelia knew that as soon as she sat down, she wasn’t going to get up again. And if she was going to convalesce somewhere, paralyzed (for all intents and purposes), it would be in her rooms. So, back through the rain she went, navigating the dusty and dark halls, all the way up each nasty, creaking stair, until, at last, she was abed. 

Perched between a pair of long fingers was a crystal goblet of wine. The goblet was so cold that it had begun to sweat, water droplets shimmering along its surface as though it was bedecked with diamonds. “A sip for a weary star on her way,” said the cupbearer in his deep voice, lifting it to her lips, “but take heed, Star! Only by my hand drink.” 

She opened her mouth and tasted of the cup’s bounty. The wine was cool and sweet, yet burned on its way down her throat. A fire ignited throughout her limbs. She could climb the highest mountain, she could swim the longest sea. She wished to dance with the others, leaping around the flames like deer through the forest. 

“In your eyes I see a bright desire.” The cup withdrew. “Fly, my star! Dance and be merry with me!”

Strong hands found their way around her waist, pulling her towards the heat of the flames and the laughter of the dancers. Their feet pounded on the grass, like the stampede of beasts. The trees swayed, the ground rumbled, all the world shook with the force of it.

Aurelia sat up in bed, clutching the bed clothes to her chest. The house was shaking and, out of habit, she threw herself to the floor and cowered beneath the bed. Her body worked on instinct while her tired mind struggled to catch up like a hound chasing a rabbit into the underbrush. She took several deep breaths, focusing on the feeling of her chest pressing against her knees. She inhaled and exhaled with each stomp of Heinrix’s Imperial Knight. 

When fear departed and she had regained control of her limbs, Aurelia slithered out from under the bed and sneezed at the dust she’d unleashed. She struggled to her feet, relying heavily on the bed to bring herself to standing. She was dreadfully sore, but not so sore as yesterday, at least. She half-walked, half-hobbled towards the nearest window, so she could get a sense of the time. Drawing back the curtains to her balcony, she judged that she’d slept from late afternoon to mid-day, if the light from the dreary sun was any indication. 

From her view, she could see the rain was holding, resting heavily in the cupped palms of the dark clouds above Rose Colline. She opened the balcony doors and stepped outside, patting down her gown so that the dust would be borne away to distant horizons, rather than back onto her floor. 

A heavy footstep made Aurelia crouch against the damp floor, her body freezing. To her horror, she saw the Imperial Knight step into view of her balcony. Its great head swiveled towards her, the black visor soulless and vacant, and then it approached. Had she full use of her legs, she would have gone back inside, but she was rooted to the spot. It was foolish to think that if she didn’t move, perhaps Heinrix wouldn’t notice her. 

“Wife,” came her husband’s voice through the Imperial Knight’s speakers, the sound distorted and distant, but unmistakably him. “You can stand. Our family only kneels to the crown.” 

“If I stand, I’ll only fall down,” Aurelia shouted back, “so I’ll take the path of least injury.”

“Are you injured?”

Perhaps Aurelia was imagining the note of concern in her husband’s voice. It could have been a trick of the speaker’s distortion. “No.”

“Then stand.”

“I’m not injured, I’m scared!” She could have laughed at the way the Knight’s head tilted to the side, almost as though it was a human and was confused. 

“Of me?”

Aurelia could have shaken him. “No! Of your death machine!” 

“You are scared of the Imperial Knight?” The confusion was unmistakably not a trick of the speaker’s distortion. Heinrix brought his Knight closer, until he was so close that all Aurelia had to do was reach out her arm and she could touch its red chassis through the gaps in the balcony railing.

But she had no desire to do such a thing. “Of course I am!” Aurelia didn’t even want to look at it. Everytime her eyes wandered towards it, they slid right off its bulk. Her mind could not fathom gazing upon such a huge monstrosity with ease. To even be so close to it was overwhelming, for it was quite literally tonnes of firepower and death and she was only a sack of blood and bones, easily punctured, easily broken. “These things killed Alerans, subjugated my planet, and could just as easily kill me. Is that not obvious?”

Heinrix sighed, and though it came from the speakers, the vents in the Knight’s chassis puffed out hot hair that tousled Aurelia’s hair. “Wife, an Imperial Knight rarely acts of its own accord. Guisornian pilots killed Alerans and subjugated your planet. Not Imperial Knights.” 

“Forgive me,” she chanced a glance at the Imperial Knight and instantly regretted it, feeling light headed by its proximity, “but I am failing to see the difference.” 

“Do you fear a sword, knowing it could kill you?”

“Actually, yes, I do.” She inhaled deeply, then exhaled again. “Especially when the sword is being held and pointed in my direction.” It was one thing to see the Knight bound in its prison of cables and wires in the Sanctuary, and another to see it primed and ready before her. 

“The Knight won’t hurt you, Aurelia.” The gears and pistons inside the Imperial Knight whirred as it made a very human-like motion of shifting its weight. “Neither will I. You have my word.” A dark chuckle mixed with static from the speakers. “After all, I did vow that my Imperial Knight would protect you.” 

“And look at me kneeling, honoring your Imperial Knight,” Aurelia quipped back, realizing that she was actually abiding by her marriage vows and finding that she hated it. That was sufficient enough to make her want to stand, and so she braced herself against the railing and drew herself up. “Why did you come to my balcony, Heinrix? I assume it was not to terrify me.”

Silence stretched for several moments, with only the soft whirring of the Knight’s motor filling the space. “I thought you might want to see my Imperial Knight in a functioning state, so you could see that your efforts were successful.” 

“I... see.” Aurelia briefly glanced up and down the length of the machine, as though she might be able to spot some obvious mechanical misfortune. But the only misfortune she knew of was the one behind the knight’s visor, and that is where she at last rested her eyes. In the reflection of the black glass, she saw herself a child once more. She straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “Well, I am glad you are both operating at full capacity. Don’t let me keep you from doing whatever it is you planned to do.” 

“I was just going for a walk.” The Knight’s head tipped forward, as if getting a better look at Aurelia. “Do you wish to accompany me?”

“You mean walk beside you while you ride in your dea-” she caught herself, “Imperial Knight?” Never in Aurelia’s life had she shaken her head from side to side so quickly. “No, thank you. A kind offer, but I will pass on being accidentally squashed.”

“I could always carry you.”

Aurelia swore she saw the emotionless face of the Imperial Knight smirk. “I will forgo being dropped, as well, thank you.” Before Heinrix could get any ideas, such as picking her up against her will, as she very much thought this a course of action he might take, she said, “Food calls to me, husband. Farewell,” and fled inside. As soon as the balcony door closed, she drew the curtains shut and put her shaking hands against her chest, as though she could quiet the frantic beating of her rabbit heart. 

With the prospect that Heinrix’s sisters would be joining them, Aurelia knew she would need to sit down and have a conversation with her husband about the manor. She had already drafted a list of demands, and even prioritized them, too. Her top three fixes should have been glaringly obvious: the power, the roof, and the servants, or rather, the lack thereof. Or did Heinrix also expect his sisters to take lukewarm baths in the dark and make their own suppers?

Aurelia planned her move with care. She would wait until dinner time. Heinrix would have to retrieve something to eat and she’d be ready for him when he did. 

As the rain-dimmed sun began to set on the horizon, Aurelia made her way down the stairs to the grand kitchen. She’d spent enough time in the house to know Heinrix’s patterns, so she anticipated he’d be entering anywhere within the next half-hour. While she was there, she began the task of gathering up items to feed the cat in the garage. They still had milk left, and there was yet more fish to reconstitute with some water. 

She was in the process of making the fish slurry when footsteps sounded from the hallway beyond. Aurelia’s head was turning towards the door as it opened, revealing Heinrix dripping with rainwater and mud all over his boots. She glared at his feet and the mess they had no doubt brought into the house. 

“My feet have committed no great sin, wife,” said Heinrix, raising an eyebrow at her look of condemnation.

“Do you intend to take a mop to the floor? To beat out the dried dirt from the rugs?” Aurelia’s vigorous mixing was turning the fish into a mushy, pink paste. Still, the tinkling of the fork against the ceramic bowl was surprisingly soothing, as was the act of beating something. “If not, then, yes, you - and your feet - have sinned.”

Heinrix looked down at his boots, then over his shoulder, back the way he’d come, and then at Aurelia once more. His gray eye narrowed at her in consideration, while the optic in his other briefly flared in the increasing gloom. “I will sweep before I go to the Sanctuary tomorrow.” Only then did he realize what she was doing. “Is that our dinner?” There was a strange tone to his voice; hopeful, perhaps. Truly, he must have been hungry to consider the slurry his meal. 

“No.” Aurelia set the fish paste into the basket. “It is for the cat.”

“The cat?” He asked, and then made a sound of recognition. “The one in the garage?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” He considered her, tilting his head to the side in the same way his Knight did earlier. His wet hair was plastered to his face and water droplets rolled across his forehead and cheeks at the motion. “Why are you feeding the cat?”

“Because it deserves a decent meal on a regular basis. Especially, if it can’t catch a rat in all this rain. Bees and dried leaves do not seem all that tasty to me.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Heinrix closed the distance, stepping next to Aurelia to pull from a shelf a tin that had a picture of some exotic fruit on it. His shirt stuck to his arm, and Aurelia could see the pink of his flesh just beyond the soaked ivory fabric. “Wherever Imperial Knights are housed, there is always a surplus of rats,” he explained. He didn’t look at Aurelia, no, his eyes were fixed on the can as he turned it in his hands, looking for something. “They’re attracted to the cables and the wiring. Knight Pilots of old learned from the Brotherhood of Mars that cats were the best means of defending the sacred technology. Every Knight House keeps Sanctuary cats.” 

“Until the cats also eat the wires.” Aurelia took a half-step away from her husband; he was too close for comfort and the puddle he was making on the floor was starting to soak through her silken slippers. 

“Always a possibility,” he conceded, “but I have yet to see it.” He tapped a date stamped in black with his finger and gave a nod of his head. He reached for another can, this one with the image of some bovine creature on the label and repeated the process. 

“Is the cat one of your Sanctuary cats, then, and not some stray from the village?”

“I don’t know. Much has happened since I’ve been away.” 

“I saw the food bowls.” Aurelia lifted her chin. “You were feeding it.”

Heinrix shrugged his shoulders. “And? Is this something you wish to fight about, wife?”

“Fight about?” She was affronted. “Why? I was just about to feed it myself.”

A small, amused smile spread across Heinrix’s face as he turned his eye in her direction. “You look like you want to fight with me.” His words were punctuated by the sounds of can lids being ripped open.

That was true. Aurelia had come for a fight, or, at least, was prepared for one. “I do, actually,” she found herself admitting, “but not about the cat.”

“Let me finish deciding what I want for dinner and then I’m all yours,” Heinrix replied, reaching lastly for half an unfinished loaf of bread and one of the butter jars. Onto a wooden tray he set a plate and two bowls. Into one bowl went the strange, circular fruits in their thick jelly, in the other went gooey blobs of brown mystery meat. And on the plate went the bread, butter jar, as well as cutlery. 

It was not the worst dinner Aurelia had seen, but it came close. She’d take her choice of apples, sharp cheese, and crisp bread over what Heinrix had put together. 

“There!” Heinrix pushed away from the wooden countertop  and leaned against a wall across the room from her. He made an imperious gesture with his hand. “You may proceed.” 

“Did you read the dataslate that I dropped in the hallway yesterday?” Aurelia asked, her tone mild. When she saw him nod, she continued, “And did you read the message from your sister, Agatha?” Another nod. “So, you are aware that your sisters will be joining us shortly?”

“If you wish to fight about their presence here, you have chosen the wrong target. You’ll want to discuss your grievances with my mother,” he explained. 

“Oh, no, I am actually quite charmed at the idea of your sisters joining us. No,” Aurelia’s eyes narrowed, “I am concerned with hosting your sisters in the squalor of their childhood home.”

“Squalor?” Heinrix had the audacity to look offended by the word and the air in the kitchen dropped several degrees cooler. 

“Yes!” Aurelia gestured around the kitchen. “There is no power, the roof is leaking, and there are no servants. If your sisters stay here, you may as well have them stay outside in the yard under a tarp. It would be the same level of comfort.” 

“My sisters’ rooms in the north wing have no leaks.” Her husband gave a haughty shake of his head. “The rest will help them build character.”

She shook her head. “Heinrix, let me make it perfectly clear to you: there are leaks in the roof that are a detriment to me . I am not cooking for you or your sisters. And, lastly, one more day of a cold bath - ”

“Ugh,” he put a hand against the side of his head, his oil-stained fingers pressing against the temple. A grimace passed over his face, his optic briefly dimming. Aurelia thought she saw the faintest glimmering of red at the edge of a nostril, but Heinrix was quick to sniff and wipe his hand over his face to dispel whatever malaise had come over him. “Servants are out of the question, as you well know. As for the other requests... I will need to think on it.”

“Well, do not think overly long, husband,” Aurelia replied, still bitter at the lack of servants and curious at what she had just witnessed, “your sisters may already be on their way here.”

“Of that,” Heinrix said with a pained smirk, “I am certain.”

The next morning was unseasonably cold and misty, and when Aurelia drew back the curtains on her balcony, she could see only soft, thick fog clinging to the countryside. The Sanctuary on the hill was obscured, save for the very top of its circular dome ceiling that reached up to the sky like the fingertip of a god piercing the clouds. There was no sign of Heinrix’s Imperial Knight prowling the lands. Aurelia saw no movements in the mist, nor did she feel any vibrations. Of course, that didn’t mean that Heinrix was not with his Knight. It just meant that he was in the Sanctuary. 

Aurelia was still stiff from the events of the past days and her movements were blocken and woody like she was some ill-carved marionette with too-thick joints. She was also in no mood to lift or haul or climb. In such a state, she might have embroidered, she certainly had a kit of needles and thread stuffed in with her belongings, but her fingers were strained and shook whenever she extended them for long periods. Plus, the scalds on her fingers made anything leaning or touching against them painful. 

Still, an idle mind did Aurelia little good, and there was yet one wing of Rose Colline that she had not explored. There was still sufficient strength and bend in Aurelia’s knees for her to climb the stairs of the north wing and inventory that forbidden sanctum that Heinrix claimed as his own.

But first: breakfast. 

A light porridge with sliced apples suited her fancy and was what she tasked herself with making. Aurelia had never made such a thing before, but she was inspired by the soaked fields of Rose Colline. She boiled water with a splash of thick cream, let it cool, and then dropped in enough oats and spoonfuls of sugar until it was at a consistency she liked. To her chagrin, the porridge continued to thicken as it cooled, and by the time she had chopped the apples, it was hard to remove the stirring spoon from the pot. She sawed out a piece of porridge and set it on the plate next to the apple slices and ate at her leisure. It wasn’t awful, but it wasn’t right, and it only made her further lament the lack of proper servants. 

She washed her plate and set it to dry on the counter. She’d come back for more porridge pie - for that was how she ate it - at lunch. 

As she made her way to the north wing, Aurelia’s eyes scoured the floor for mud. Heinrix had said he would clean up, and by the Emperor if he had lied to her, she would give him a piece of her mind! But to her most amazed relief, she did not see any mud. There was nothing on the rugs - in fact, she’d walked back to the kitchen and found nothing on the stone floor and nothing in the entry foyer. Heinrix had been as good as his word.

Maybe she’d keep some porridge pie for him.

Returning back to the north wing, Aurelia gave a call for Heinrix. But only shadows and memories lurked there, and her husband was nowhere to be found amidst them. Slowly, she began to explore the rooms and found most of them in good order, but covered in a fine layer of dust. Not even Heinrix had disturbed them. 

Most of the rooms on the first floor appeared to be parlors and dining nooks, but amongst them, Aurelia discovered a sitting room with a horribly out-of-tune grand piano, which shrieked and groaned in protest as she ran her fingers over the keys. She wondered who of the de Gauvains played: had Gisla taught her children? Was it Alaric, secretly blessed with a talent beyond compatibility for the family Knight? Or had music skipped this generation entirely, a pastime forgotten in favor of war? 

She made her way up the stairs to the other floors, continuing her exploration. There were plenty of bedrooms, and a nursery that was as forgotten as the piano room. A cradle was at the center of the room, beneath a mobile of gilded stars. A rocking horse was toppled over, its face soft and faded by the fingers of the many de Gauvain children that had ridden it over the years. How many of those children dreamed they were riding through sunlit fields, the wind in their hair, rather than riding down fleeing peasants? 

On the highest landing, Aurelia stopped to catch her breath. She leaned against the railing and stretched her legs, feeling the muscles shake in protest. Bending down to deepen the stretch, her eyes gazed vacantly at the floor. Discolorations in the wood drew her attention, some panels were darker than others, splotchy, as though the wood had been unevenly stained. She looked up, wondering if it was the trick of the light. Whatever thoughts Aurelia had of the wood were replaced with wonder at the sight of the beautiful, stained glass ceiling above her. Red roses and yellow daffodils grew on fields of green, while a black horse galloped against a blue sky. Even dull from the clouds, it was magnificent, and Aurelia could only imagine the colors that it would spray over the floors when the sun was high and bright.

When she was done admiring the window, she returned to her exploration. The rooms up here were fewer in number but larger: a master suite, which clearly Heinrix occupied by the way the dust had been cleared from the floor, more bedrooms, and a room that Aurelia thought might have been an armory, for there were padded stands roughly the size and shape of persons, as well as empty racks that looked suited to holding weapons. 

Her investigation complete, Aurelia descended the stairs, leaving the north wing behind her as she returned to the central foyer. She wondered whether or not Agatha and Sylvie would want to have their old rooms back, or if they would prefer to sleep elsewhere. Would Heinrix even allow it? She’d let the siblings handle their protestations; she had no stake in their squabbles. Her mind on those thoughts, she almost missed the echoing creak of a door somewhere on a landing above her. 

Curiosity drove her steps. It was probably Heinrix, but still she wondered where he was and what he was up to. She should have guessed when she entered the south wing where her feet would eventually lead her: the gaming room. 

Mist had crawled into the room through the many missing window panes, obscuring the bees going about their business but unable to blanket the sound of their low droning. At the regicide board, having replaced the chairs with stools from who knew where, was Heinrix. His hair was damp and his linen shirt clung to his neck and the tops of his arms. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, and oil again stained his hands and the front of his shirt, but there did not appear to be any blood.

Heinrix’s gaze snapped towards her as she entered. 

“Taking a little lunch break?” Aurelia asked, making her way cautiously towards him through the mist. It swirled about her ankles, hiding any treacherous objects that might trip her. 

“Something like that,” Heinrix replied, turning his gaze back to the board. He was arranging the pieces back to their starting positions. “Are you staying for a game?” 

She considered it. “I could... be persuaded.” 

“Could you now?” A dark eyebrow lifted as a set white’s queen into place, right next to her king. “Are you looking for some sort of wager, wife, to convince you?”

“A wager?” Aurelia was at her stool now. She watched as Heinrix continued to arrange her pieces, setting up white’s citizens in their neat row. She wondered whether he saw a firing line or a well-regimented army in their positioning. “What sort of wager did you have in mind?”

“If you win,” Heinrix said, “I’ll answer a single question of your choosing.”

“But what about if you win?” Aurelia countered, narrowing her eyes in consideration at her husband’s proposal. “Am I to answer any question you like?”

Heinrix looked up at her, his gaze wandering over her face. The optic briefly flared, causing her to wince at its brightness, before he looked at the pieces once more. “No.” He shook his head. “You said I had all the control. So, if I win, you can choose to tell me something as my prize. Otherwise, you may keep your secrets.”

Those were good terms. “I can agree to that.” She lowered herself down to the stool, perching delicately at its edge. 

A faint smile played on his lips as he gestured at her to start. “Then let’s not waste anymore time.”

She won, of course. 

She had played him hard enough that he’d been forced to stand and circle around the board at the game’s latter half, his hands running through his hair in frustration before he crouched at different angles to get a better look at the pieces. As if such a thing as a new perspective could have changed the outcome. 

Aurelia took his king and then she took her prize. “What’s your favorite color?”

She expected him to look nonplussed, to be surprised, mystified, that this was her question. But, instead, he held up his hand. “Isn’t it obvious?” His family’s signet ring was on display. Her blood had dried into the grooves of the horse’s head, making it look as though the gold had rusted. “It’s red.”   

Chapter Text

Heinrix’s fingers were smeared with dirt as he reached over the board and gently set her king on its side. “Check mate.” His gray eye watched her with curiosity. Their second game in as many days and he was the winner. 

As far as Aurelia was concerned, he had only won because she’d been distracted. Each time the warm breeze blew through the broken windows, she was buffeted by a scent that she could only describe as foul. Something sour, underlaid with something meaty, and rotten assaulted her nose. She had even tried breathing through her mouth, but the stench of it was so thick she could taste it.  Aurelia knew she probably did not smell much better, at least she had doused herself with lavender oil. Oh! Where was the scent her husband had borne during their wedding? That she could abide and would welcome! 

Lips parted and breathing shallowly, Aurelia folded her stained and roughened fingers in her lap as she looked at him from across the board. She scraped dried mud out from under her thumbnail, unflinching as she met Heinrix’s gaze. 

Her husband gave a slight tilt of his head to the right. A silent question. Was she willing?

She lifted up her chin. She had nothing to share with him. 

Her husband did not push her. He simply regarded her, optic unwavering. But when it was clear she would not speak, he finally looked away and down once more to the board. “A rematch?” He asked, gently righting her king and setting it back in its place. 

She nodded. “Yes.” 

The black king in hand, Aurelia held it aloft between her fingers. A second win. A second question. 

Truth be told, there were so many things she wanted to ask him! And yet... there were so many things that she did not want to know, even if the curiosity to ask of them was there. His favorite color had humanized him, but would asking him how he killed his wife make him a villain again? Would asking him if he enjoyed slaughtering Aleran civilians make living with him for the rest of her life bearable? There was so much poison she could swallow, if only she had the stomach for it. 

Heinrix had noticed her pause and watched how she turned the king around and around between her fingers in consideration. His shoulders stiffened, as though bracing himself for a physical blow. 

He expected the worst, and it did not bring her joy to see it. So, she asked one of the many questions she’d formed while exploring Rose Colline. “Who plays the piano?” 

“The piano?” Heinrix’s eye widened in surprise and his lips, originally drawn into a grimace, went slack. 

“In your wing of the estate,” she explained, “there’s an out-of-tune - ”

Recognition flashed across his handsome face and he nodded swiftly in understanding. “Ah! That would be my father and Sylvie. Agatha and I were,” he paused, as though considering his next words with great care, “not very good students.” 

It was not an answer Aurelia had expected. “That your father plays surprises me. He does not strike me as the type for the gentler pursuits.”

Heinrix gave a shrug of his shoulders before straightening and rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. The humidity had caused beads of sweat to roll down his neck and into his shirt, turning the pale fabric flesh colored. “I would not insult my father by implying that he is anything less than a great warrior and pilot. His interests in the ‘gentler pursuits,’ as you’ve called it, does not detract from his other capabilities. In fact... according to my mother,” a sly smile danced on his lips, “it only enhances them”. 

“She does not seem unbiased in her opinions,” Aurelia quipped back.

“She is allowed to be biased. Isn’t that,” Heinrix leaned forward, gray eye bright, “the prerogative of wives?”

“I thought doting was the purview of husbands?” She tapped the king against the regicide board, if only to draw his gaze away from her face. 

“Yes, it is.” 

Her fingers quickly moved to reset the pieces on the board. “Another game?” A deflection, a distraction, to cover for her surprise at his swift agreement.

“Unfortunately not, wife.” Heinrix gestured to the broken windows and the gray skies beyond them. “This reprieve from the rain won’t last forever. Unless you think the power will fix itself?” The expression that arranged itself on his face wasn’t quite a smirk, but it was too smug to be a smile. 

“Can’t you ask your...” She considered what to call the strange, mechanical priests, “Guests... from the Brotherhood of Mars to do it for you?” 

A quick shake of his head was her answer. “They would find it a frivolous waste of their talents.”

Aurelia sighed, and it was a full body thing that made her shoulders slump. “Of course they would. They hardly need light to see or hot water to clean themselves with, do they?” 

“And on the subject of light, I must make what I can of what remains of it.” With a creak of his seat and a pained sound as he uncurled muscles that had been hunched and cramped, Heinrix stood. He rolled his shoulders and stared down at her. “When I am through with repairs, I will head into town.”

“Today?” Her eyebrows raised in surprise. 

“No.” A short bark of laughter followed the word. “The power will not be fixed today. Partial power, maybe. Enough for hot water, certainly, with the right adjustments. But to power the whole house? No. Tomorrow, perhaps. Or the day after.” 

“And what’s in town?” Aurelia absently ran her thumb over the burn on her hand and winced as she scraped the tender flesh. Heinrix’s gaze briefly fell to her lap, but Aurelia had hidden her hands, curling them into her dress. 

“Material.” 

 “We’re not at war, Heinrix.” Aurelia took that opportunity to stand. “We’re at your estate. You needn’t call food and sundries ‘material.’”

“Provisions, then?” He raised an eyebrow in challenge.

“I will allow it.” 

“Such a generous and gracious wife,” he mocked, though there did not appear to be any malice in his words. He tilted his head to the door, an unspoken question in his gaze. Would she leave first? 

And she did, of course. The north wing would not clean itself.

On the second floor in the north wing, linens and bedding were stripped. Curtains were pulled down. Rugs were hauled outside to be beaten in the gray afternoon light. Aurelia stopped to dry heave the contents of her stomach into the bushes at the exertion of lugging and carrying around the heavy carpets. She hunched over her legs to catch her breath, feeling each irritating bead of sweat roll down her scalp and over her forehead. 

Somewhere, Heinrix had dug a trench to tinker with the power cables running between the Sanctuary and the House. She hoped his promise of a hot bath that night was worth it. Otherwise...

She hung the rugs over an ancient stone railing, which must have marked the perimeter of an outdoor dining area due to the abundance of weedy cobblestones, and then proceeded to beat the rugs with a broom. Down the line and over the railing she went, dust blown away by an evening wind, forming dark clouds of its own before it scattered off. Her shoulders ached with each connecting strike, for though she’d had shooting and fencing lessons, nothing prepared her for the full-body effort of rug cleaning. There was probably some arcane technique to not throw out her back and hips, but Aurelia had yet to discover it during the process of cleaning Rose Colline. 

To her own surprise, she did not imagine Heinrix’s face with each strike. After the fourth and fifth blows, she actually began to feel guilty. Instead, she imagined she was banging some enormous drum, and if she only beat it hard enough, she’d summon an army of faery servants to do this chore for her. Unfortunately, it was only an idle flight of fancy. As the sun was setting, no faery army had been called to aid her in her cleaning quest, though her husband did take that opportunity to arrive.

He stood at the edge of the cobbled patio, looking between her, the rugs, and the broom in her hand, eyebrow raised. The red of his optic matched the brief flash of sunset visible on the horizon, just below the rain clouds that made Rose Colline their home. “Quite an undertaking, wife.”

Aurelia was leaning heavily on her broom, spent and out of breath. Her muscles were sore and shaking. “Tell me there is hot water,” she said, mastering her breathing. She did not need to look down at herself to know how sweat had soaked through the thin material of her underdress, and that her modesty was preserved by the outer vest she wore. When Heinrix looked away, she thought she might scream in despair. “There is no hot water?” Her hands gripped the handle of the broom so hard she thought she heard the wood snap. 

“Tomorrow,” he said, approaching her. “I’ve located the source of the problem, but I ran out of light to fix it. I’m also rather tired from digging ditches all day. No light and shaky hands isn’t a good combination for delicate work of this nature.” He reached out and gently tried to take the broom from her hands, but Aurelia held fast. 

“No,” she said, taking a step back. “I need this. For the rugs.”

“You beat the rugs with a broom?” He asked, the incredulity unmistakable in his voice. 

She nodded. The disappointment of no hot water was so... potent. She honestly felt like she could sit down and cry. It had been the shining hope she’d clung to since their regicide game. And that thought alone made a mad giggle pass her lips: here she was, about to cry over no hot water, when she’d survived - suffered- worse without a tear. Aurelia put a hand to her lips, shoving the laughter and the sobs down with a great swallow and heave.

Heinrix sighed and reached for the broom again. “Go inside, Aurelia,” he said, looking at the way her hand gripped the broom. Could he see the burn on it? The broken nails? The bleeding cuts and calluses on her palms and fingers? “I’ll beat the rugs one more time before I roll them up and bring them in.”

Reason took a long moment to recapture the ground lost to emotion.  “Where are you going to put them?”

“Back where they belong,” was his reply. His other hand came to rest over hers, not in comfort, but to slowly pry her fingers away from the wood. 

“But how will you know?” One by one, her fingers came loose. 

Heinrix looked at her as though she’d grown a second head. “I grew up here. Trust me at least to know where the rugs in my home go.” He pulled the broom out of her reach. “Feed Tiberius and yourself, wife, then rest.”

The name was unfamiliar. “Tiberius?”

“The cat.” 

“Oh.” Heinrix’s cool hand on her shoulder slowly turned her towards the door, the sight of it bringing some clarity. She frowned and looked at him from over the curve of her cheekbone. “Why Tiberius?”

“Why not Tiberius?” He shrugged. “It is a distinguished name for a Sanctuary cat.” He gave her a slight shove towards the door. “Play me for the name over regicide tomorrow. If you win, you can change it.” 

Aurelia almost stumbled over a loose cobblestone, but she turned back to Heinrix and gave him a dazed nod, before heading to the door. As it shut, she heard the sound of the broom connecting solidly with heavy fabric mingled with the low, masculine grunt of an exhale.

Chin in hand, Aurelia glared sourly at the regicide board as Heinrix plucked her king from its position. 

“Tiberius he remains,” Heinrix said softly, though when Aurelia met his eyes, she sensed a certain hesitancy in his gaze. 

“Yes, Tiberius he remains,” she echoed, knowing full well just how quickly Tiberius would become Tibs or Tibby after enough time, and there would be nothing Heinrix could do to stop her. When Heinrix continued to stare at her, as if wondering whether she would divulge some secret to him, she began to set the pieces back on the board. 

“Another game?” he asked, though his face became guarded when Aurelia shook her head. 

“No. We can play again this evening, once you’ve fixed the hot water.” Aurelia smiled, though she knew there was a frostiness in her gaze. The madness and exhaustion had evaporated with a cold wash and a night of rest, and left in its place an empty, hollow bitterness. 

“Well, if there was ever an incentive to complete a project, that would be it.” Slowly, he stood from his seat. “Let us see what the evening brings, wife.” 

“Yes,” she agreed, eyes turning down to the regicide board once more, “let's.”

The first floor of the north wing got the same treatment as the second: all the fabrics were pulled down and stripped, so they could be taken to town and washed. Despite the stiffness in her muscles, Aurelia moved with speed. Heinrix would be heading to town within a matter of days, which meant they could deliver a load of washing directly to the cleaners and, if luck was with her, all items would be returned before Heinrix’s sisters arrived. 

Unfortunately, the fabrics were the easy part. The rooms on the first floor were larger, with more furniture, too. By lunch time, Aurelia surveyed the room with the grand piano and did not fancy the challenge of moving it or dragging the enormous rug out of the room. But the thought of staying here, of sitting or standing on this rug, with its years of dirt and debris, made her skin crawl. She would have to add that to her list of items that needed addressing: proper rug cleaning, if only for her own peace of mind.

WIth the smaller rugs, Aurelia did as before, dragging them outside during pauses in the rainy drizzle to hit them with a broom. There were a lot less of these than on the second floor, so it took her far less time. And by the time the sun had set, she’d returned the rugs back from whence they came and was mixing up fish paste for Tiberius in the kitchen when she heard the familiar pattern of her husband’s footsteps on the floor. 

The creak of the door presaged Heinrix’s arrival, though the smell might just have done the same. Aurelia was used to the metallic scent of engine oil that clung to his skin. But since he’d set himself to the task of manual labor, he’d been wearing his natural fragrance. Many a writer on Alera II had spilled ink on the virtues of a lover’s smell and the perfume of damp skin, but Aurelia found she had no fondness for it. In fact, perfumed and pampered as she was, Aurelia could only associate the smell with stablehands, guardsmen, and... commoners. She heaved an inward sigh. Her grandmother’s influence was shining through, but she would not berate herself for it. It was the stench of manual labor, of war, of fear, and she’d been kept from it all her life. 

Pausing in the doorway, Heinrix furrowed his brow, eyes darting down to her hands rapidly whisking together the cat’s food. “Have you tried the faucet yet?”

“No,” she replied, pausing and casting a hopeful glance towards the utilitarian spout, whose handles were soft and worn from many years’ use. “Do I ready myself for disappointment?”

Heinrix shook his head and merely looked towards the faucet again, and gave her an encouraging nod. 

Setting the dish on the counter, Aurelia leaned over and grabbed the faucet handles, giving them turns until a swift torrent of water spurted out. There was an initial flush of red-orange rust that looked too much like blood for her tastes, before the water ran clear. The threat of disappointment stayed Aurelia’s hand, fingers poised to skim the stream to test the temperature. But then she thought about how lovely it would be to finally have a bath and submerge herself completely, rather than the hurried and frantic scrubbing that she’d busied herself with each night.

Skin met water. Warm water. 

Aurelia tinkered with the faucet handles, turning them this way and that to decipher which was hot and which was cold. She turned off the cold, and indeed, the temperature was increasing! She gasped in delight.

Behind her, Heinrix chuckled. “Before you go rushing off to bathe, wife, give the tanks a chance to heat up.”

She turned to face him. “How long will that take?” She could already feel her muscles loosening at the mere prospect of hot water.

“An hour, perhaps two.” He laughed again at the petulant expression she made. “Enough for a few games of regicide, wife.” When her eyes narrowed, he smirked. “Did you think I would forget our conversation earlier in the day? Come now,” he chided. With the square jut of his chin, he pointed to the dish on the counter. “Finish feeding Tiberius and then find me in the game room.” 

At the mention of the cat, Aurelia’s desire for a bath cooled. She’d committed to feeding the cat and she couldn’t back out now. She picked up the bowl of fishpaste and set it into the basket, next to the remains of the milk. “One game, Heinrix,” Aurelia said, “and one game only.”

“Of course.” He dipped into a half-bow, the smirk still on his face. “One game. I’ll see you soon.” He used that as an opportunity to disappear, slipping from the kitchen, presumably to clean up, for the regicide board was already set. His rhythmic footsteps, like cannon fire, like a planet fall, disappeared down a hallway, and became muffled by the sounds of a rug, though Aurelia swore she could still hear them. Though maybe that was just the beating of her heart. 

Inhaling and exhaling slowly, Aurelia finished packing her basket. She’d found a container of dried bacon crumbles in one of the supply boxes, and this she sprinkled into a dish. At least one creature in this estate would have some palatable variety to their foods, and if it was the cat, then so be it. The cat food being as gourmet as it would get, Aurelia walked towards the garage and made two mental notes: the first, to buy some cat food when she went to town with Heinrix, and the second, to have proper cat food delivered along with their own groceries.

The garage door squeaked and, despite the gloom, Aurelia thought she saw a figure quickly jump from off the roof a car. “‘Tis all right, Tiberius,” Aurelia called softly. “I’m only bringing you dinner.” She shuffled her way to the back of the garage, where the dishes were waiting. There was more strength in her knees today than yesterday, so she risked lowering herself down to the floor. She hoped that the crunch of leaves and scrape of dust beneath her feet and fingertips would not scare away the cat. 

Peering beneath the cars, Aurelia saw the outline of Tiberius, as well as a brief reflection of his eyes as they turned this way and that. She wiped her fingers on her skirts as an idea came to her. Most of the food and milk she placed into their respective bowls, but she took a scoop of the fish paste, dipped it in some of the dried bacon bits, and leaned down again. Her intent was to stretch her arm out towards Tiberius, but she found that her arm was too weak to be held up for any long amount of time, the strain of cleaning and carrying too much for her pampered muscles. She had to rest her chest on the basket and brace her outstretched arm with her opposite hand. 

“Pss pss pss,” she crooned. “Pss psss pss.” There was very little Aurelia knew about domestic animals, other than what she had read in books. She’d never owned a pet, unless the horses in her stables counted. And, even then, she’d only ridden them and given them apples as a treat. The mucking and the grooming had been relegated to a servant. “Come here, little creature. Come here...” She crouched there, squinting into the gloom, and just when she thought her arm might fall off...

The cat made a high-pitched trill and a mroww as it walked itself into a great big stretch and emerged from under the car. 

Aurelia was motionless as the cat approached. It was mostly gray and beige, and mottled with stripes and spots in a darker gray along its side. A large splotch of white painted its chin and throat. His right ear was wrinkled, like the hem of a dress that had gone unpressed, and it was painfully thin. Seated beneath the car, it looked like a plump little chicken, its fur puffed out and its paws tucked in. But now that it was walking, extending its back legs in more stretches as it went, tail swishing, she could see how slim it really was. Yet, despite its thinness, the cat possessed what Aurelia could only describe as bruiser paws, for the mittens on this creature were large and tufted. A pink nose beneath a broad bridge sniffed at her finger. The cat looked at her with its wide-set green eyes, which rested below the charming “M” shaped markings on its forehead, before it gave a tentative lick of the fishpaste. 

Having never felt the sandpaper texture of a cat’s tongue before, Aurelia giggled. 

Tiberius drew back, his hackles raised, and hissed at her, ears flattening to his head. The cat scrambled beneath the car again. 

“Small steps,” Aurelia said softly to herself, wiping her finger on the edge of one of the bowls. She did not take the cat’s reaction personally. “Small steps.” 

A hot bath called to Aurelia, and so she planned her strategy to be one of alacrity and decisiveness. Sitting at the regicide board, Heinrix across from her completely unchanged from when she had last seen him in the kitchen, she made her opening with speed. But where her strategy was to push every opening for a quick win, Heinrix came prepared to stretch out the game for as long as possible. 

“Why are you doing this?” Aurelia asked, her voice breaking mid-way through the words. “Just play to win or not at all.”

But Heinrix merely smiled and shook his head. “And who says I do not play to win?”

“I do.” In her frustration, she had attempted to goad him. First, she’d offered an inviting trap, hoping to take some of his pieces. And then, as the game wore on and she could feel the dirt on her skin increasing with each moment she was not in the bath, she offered him some of her pieces. A stray ecclesiarch, a knight, even her queen - all there, all vulnerable, if only he’d had the guts to take them. Had the board been a true battlefield, her pieces would have mutineed for the way she treated them. 

But no. 

Heinrix played cautiously and he refused to let Aurelia play poorly. In fact, even when she called for a pause, he had refused.

“I am not at my best, may we pick up again tomorrow?” 

“There are no breaks in regicide on Guisorn III,” he replied. 

The retort was immediately upon Aurelia’s lips and out of her mouth, faster than the lightning that illuminated the sky beyond the broken window. “That is a lie.”

“Is it, now?” Heinrix straightened and raised a dark eyebrow. “Are you an expert in Guisorn III’s regicide rules?” He parroted words from a conversation they’d had lifetimes ago back to her. 

“I don’t have to be.” Her fingertips floated above various white pieces on the board, as though thinking which to move. She kept her eyes on Heinrix’s face. 

“Oh no?”

“No.” A tight and tired smile passed over her lips. “You took breaks during the regicide game where I first showed you an Aleran gambit.” The first time she had encountered this regicide board, a game had been near-finished. Yet, Heinrix had been nowhere in sight. “Or do you only follow the rules when people can see it, Heinrix de Gauvain?” 

Her husband’s eye widened, and then he laughed, a short, sharp sound. “By the Throne Mechanicum, you are a piece of work, wife!”

“Are you disputing my assessment?” She chose a piece at random and moved it. “That you just lied to me?” 

“No.” Heinrix looked at the board and tilted his head to the side. “Unfortunately, it won’t be the last time I lie to you.” His king was vulnerable, no matter what he did. “Life makes liars of us all.” He exhaled sharply through his nose and gestured to the board. “Take your victory, wife.”

“And my bath.” She reached out a finger and lowered the king to his side, before she hid it back beneath the folds of her skirts and gathered them up tightly, ready to leave. 

“And,” Heinrix added, holding up a hand just as she was beginning to rise. “Your question.” 

A bead of slow, warm sweat rolled its way between Aurelia’s shoulder blades. She could feel the dust from the garage caked beneath her fingernails. Every muscle ached and screamed. When she moved her feet, she could feel the gravel and dirt from the pathways outside sandwich their way between her toes. Her skirts were damp from the humidity and clung to her legs, and her bodice was veritably plastered to her skin. 

She looked down at Heinrix, knowing she looked as foul as she felt. 

Truly, it was no wonder she said what she did. 

“How did you kill your wife?” 

Chapter Text

She sunk low into the fragrant water, finally having a moment all to herself to truly revel in the sensation of being clean. It was her second soak and would be the longest, after the tortured process she’d gone through of stripping and scrubbing her skin and hair of as much dirt and sweat as she could. Because if she wanted to luxuriate amongst rose scented bubbles and oils, if she wanted to become as wrinkled as a fruit in the sun, she wanted to do it in water free of grime. 

Setting her hands on either side of the tub, not daring to submerge her burned hand, Aurelia took a deep breath and sank below the soft, iridescent bubbles, her face and eyes briefly reflected a thousand times over a thousand surfaces, before she submerged completely into water hot enough to make her skin tingle.

There, in the heat and dim reflections of flickering lights above, she tried to shed her guilt like a second skin. 

Rarely did Aurelia lose her temper, but something in the smug way her husband had sat there, knowingly wasting her time when he knew she’d rather be elsewhere, had gotten to her. He knew what she desired, seeing her stand there filthy and visibly irritated. In the moment, her behavior was understandable, mayhaps even justified! But that did not mean that she could not dwell on her poor behavior once sufficient time had passed.

And in that contemplation, in the silence of the bathwater, she knew in her heart that the answer to her question did not bring her any great comfort. It had been as she feared. Living with Heinrix would be made no better by knowing the circumstances of his previous wife’s demise.

“You ask for the how and not the why?” Heinrix gazed at her with his good eye. He appeared neither shocked nor upset by the question. Perhaps he had been expecting it. Perhaps he had even designed this interaction to pluck the question from her lips, an unripe fruit though it was. 

Aurelia said nothing. Sweat dripped down her body. She rubbed her fingers together, feeling the powdery dirty caking the lengths of her fingers.  

“How did I kill her?” His voice took on the soft, far away tone of memory. “At the top of the stars in the north wing, with an irritated glare and a harsh word of reproach.” A sad smile tugged at his lips. “Little did I know that such things could kill. Or rather...” He picked up one of the citizens that had been stolen from him and gazed down at it, “that the mind behind them could kill.”

Aurelia recalled the strange staining at the top of the stairs. That was Claudine’s blood, soaked into the wood. Even so, it was not enough. Not for the inconvenience. “So, that’s it, then?” Aurelia put her hands on her hips and looked down at him, curls of hair falling loose and sticking to her damp forehead.

“Do you expect some sad and grand story from me, Aurelia?” He set the citizen back on the board. “That my wife was a traitor? That I wrapped my hands around her throat and strangled the life from her for her sins against our people? No.” He shook his head. “No, it was nothing so impressive. She died over an argument about what to have for dinner.” He took a deep breath, his optic dimming briefly. “She wanted lamb; I did not. And when she pressed, I snapped at her. Only...” The scraping of the chair heralded him standing. He leaned towards her, hands framing the regicide table for balance. “I did not expect to make her beautiful head rupture with my scowl or her blood boil in her veins at my irritation. When she hit the floor, it was like a boiled apple had fallen from on high.” The regicide table shook as he released it, pieces scattering across the floor. Her queen landed at his feet.

She stared at him. A death over the most menial and ministerial of tasks: dinner. What could she say? “Will you do the same to me, if I should want lamb?” 

Her words hadn’t meant to be funny, but Heinrix laughed all the same; a surprised hiccup bubbling out from his lips. He looked shocked at his own reaction, and then stricken. His expression tightened as he took several deep breaths. “If I am not a master of myself, then yes.”

She surfaced for air and wiped her eyes of water. 

Aurelia did not fancy becoming a boiled apple. She did not enjoy them as dessert and she did not want to end up as a sack of mushy, half-cooked meat because Heinrix had a bad day.

It dawned on her that this new, married life that she had been forced into had not given her any insights into what Heinrix's triggers might be. She and Heinrix had lived worlds apart, and while he was a brute, a murderer, and a warrior, he also cared for small creatures, was utterly useless at cooking, and kind enough to throw regicide games so that his father might win. Any number of things might send him spiraling over an edge and jeopardize what little safety Aurelia had.

Lifting a stiff bristle brush, Aurelia attacked her nails and the phantom dirt that lingered. It was a good distraction from the grim thoughts that were settling on her shoulders, smothering her like a thick scarf. There were husbands who killed their wives by accident in the normal course of their lives - dropping them awkwardly while carrying them, running them down with a horse on a misty day, or even cooking food so foul that the only escape was death. But rarely did a wife have to fear destruction at a cellular level by a strong emotion or sour mood! And this was one more tireless, thankless task to add to her ever growing list: manage Heinrix’s emotions so that she did not end in an early grave. 

She took a deep breath and submerged once more. 

Aurelia tipped Heinrix’s king onto its side with a careless flick of her finger. The king spun roughly across the board, landing in Heinrix’s lap. Gently, Heinrix set the king in the box.

“If you do not have servants, why haven’t you taught yourself to cook?” It was early morning and breakfast had yet to be made, let alone eaten. Perhaps it was a bread and cheese day. Or a fruit day. But never would it be a home-cooked meal day. 

“War has not afforded me the opportunity to refine such a skill,” he replied dryly, unbothered by whatever had happened the previous night. “There are squires and kitchen staff that see to the needs of knights on campaign.”

“And when you are alone at Rose Colline?”

“That is two questions, wife,” Heinrix teased. “But I will indulge you and answer. I do not spend much time here. Didn’t I already say it had been twenty or so years since I last called this place home? What would have compelled me to return, other than the edict of my king?”

Those were all good points; Aurelia could concede that. But perhaps... “The cat?”

“Fond as I am of Tiberius and other Sanctuary cats, I would like to linger in this place as little as possible. As soon as the spring campaigns launch, I will be gone from Rose Colline.” His gray eye fixed a stare on her. “And from you.”

The vehicle bounced along the muddy road, wheels clipping against the crater-sized holes in the soggy pavement. Aurelia steadied herself against each jostle and bounce, and against the cold. The rain lingering on her cheeks might as well have frozen to her face, for how chilly the air blowing out of the vents was. Heinrix seemed not to mind the frigid temperatures. His face was perfectly relaxed and calm, even as the rain pelted the vehicle’s windshield and almost obscured the road ahead. In fact, driving seemed to come as naturally to Heinrix as breathing, as he was totally unbothered by the state of the road and maneuvered around holes and obstacles with uncanny deftness. 

But that said, even a good driver could not overcome poor infrastructure, and Aurelia winced as her head smacked the side of the car.  “Who is responsible for the upkeep of these roads?” Aurelia asked, rubbing her temple with her fingers. 

“A point of contention between my ancestors and those of the people of Vilence.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Not particularly.” Heinrix sighed. “But it is easy enough to explain. A great grandfather somewhere decided that the villagers got more use of the road than the family, so they should be responsible for its maintenance. The villagers disagreed. Neither has been willing, so far, to pay the cost of repairing the road, which gets larger every year.”

“But you could afford to pay for it.”

“Yes.”

Aurelia found a small, marble sized lump and massaged it with her fingers. “Then why not just pay before it gets any worse? You would be providing the people of Vilence a boon.”

“Why? I certainly do not get much use out of this road.”

Exasperation crept into Aurelia’s voice. “Husband, we are traveling on it right now.”

“Yes. And the villagers travel to Rose Colline far more often.” He cast a brief glance towards her, sparing his attention from the road for a brief minute. She could tell by the way his optic suddenly became brighter, its attention focused on her. “But I can see your point. With no costs covered, no repairs can be had. I can consider collecting the original amount the village owes and making up the difference with de Gauvain money.”

“And if they refuse?”

“Then I hope you are as eager to work on roads as you did on roofs, wife."

Aurelia could not say that she was. Especially if it meant an Imperial Knight might be involved. 

Eventually, the village of Vilence with its flickering street lamps came into view. Heinrix pulled into a small lot beside the village center and clambered out of the vehicle, slipping around the side towards Aurelia’s door. The scent of him lingered in the vehicle: some blend of lavender and resin, but an unshakeable undertone of musky meat made it unpleasant. Whatever aftershave he was using, he needed to get a new one. Opening her door for her, Heinrix held his umbrella above his head to shield her from the torrent of rain. They engaged in the delicate negotiation of space, maneuvering and twisting until at last both were out of the car and carrying their own umbrellas. 

They had taken great care to prepare for the rain, as beyond the cover of their dark umbrellas, Aurelia wore a shawl with some water-repellent qualities over a dark navy blouse, dark pants, and thick, black boots up to her knees. Likewise, Heinrix wore dark pants tucked into his leather boots, a red under shirt, and a workman’s jacket in a leather the color of amasec. Were they to become unfortunate casualties of Guisorn III’s weather, it would not be for a lack of effort on their parts. 

Aurelia turned in a circle, trying to get her bearings. Mentally, she had her list: food for Tibby; food for the impending de Gauvain guests; and delivery of the washing. 

Gesturing to the back of the vehicle to catch her eye, Heinrix said, “I’ll have the launderers collect the fabrics directly from here.”

That was well and fine, from Aurelia’s perspective. It had been a nightmare to shove all of the linens and curtains into what little space the trunk and backseat provided. Heinrix had even helped, using his bulkier frame to push against the vehicle door until its lock clicked into place. She did not relish the idea of carrying armfuls of linens in the rain. 

“And food?” She asked. “When do we get that?”

“Well,” Heinrix looked out at the rain drenched streets, eye darting this way and that. “There is a grocer a short walk from here.” Slowly, his gaze turned to her again, the red glare from his optical implant illuminating the dark space beneath his umbrella. “Is there anything in particular you are looking to buy?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Proper food for Tibby.”

The second eyebrow raised at the name she called the cat, but Heinrix said nothing about it. “And anything else?”

“Things that you can cook for your sisters.”

A scoff.

The hammering rain might have muffled Aurelia’s words but not the flat tone of her voice. “You would have them cook for themselves? For I am not doing it. Hire a servant; if only temporarily.” 

“No.” Heinrix looked away. “I am sure we will find something suitable to my sisters’ ever-so-refined tastes.” 

Aurelia wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. 

“Beside,” he glanced at her from the corner of her eye, “don’t you want to introduce them to your porridge cake?”

“My wh -  oh.” Aurelia recalled her less-than-successful attempt at making porridge, and how it had glued together in the pot and needed to be cut out with a knife. “I didn’t see you making anything better.”

Her husband gave a quick shake of his head. “It wasn’t a criticism, Aurelia. In fact, it was rather good. Chewy and sweet.” 

All the talk of the oatmeal made Aurelia’s stomach rumble, as she had not eaten much of anything for breakfast that morning. Weak tea and barely a mouthful of stale bread before she’d started hauling laundry to the garage in the rain. When Heinrix looked down at her stomach with a questioning expression, Aurelia merely lifted her chin. 

“Perhaps we ought to address the matter of our food before we think about the food of sisters and cats.” In a curious display, he proffered to her his elbow, which Aurelia took with some reluctance. They jigsawed their umbrellas at the right heights, before Heinrix began to walk them towards the main road that split Vilence in two. A few slow, lumbering vehicles were rolling along the street, kicking up water and mud as they went. Heinrix steered them clear of the danger zone as they walked by. 

“Where are we going?” Aurelia asked, knowing that the beads of moisture dotting the side of her face like tiny diamonds stemmed from the humidity underneath her umbrella, rather than the rain. 

“There is a small restaurant nearby.” Heinrix explained, though much quieter and under his breath, he added, “If it is still in business, that is.”

As it turned out, the restaurant was indeed there, and it was as small as Heinrix had described to Aurelia on the walk. Barely enough space inside the stone structure to fit six tables of four and all were empty. Aurelia’s keen eyes spotted crumbs and the glistening, circular residue from an overflowing cup of a diner long since finished. Heinrix put a hand on the small of her back and guided her towards a table by the window. He held the chair out for her, before pushing her in and taking his seat across from her. 

The interior was dry and warm enough to make the restaurant’s large, front window fog and obscure the view of the streets beyond. The source of the heat was coming from the restaurant’s backroom, and the single curtained-off door that separated it from the seating area. The clatter of pots and pans and the sound of a man’s curse filtered from behind the stained fabric, red as the visible wine stain on the edge of a curtain. The curse was followed by the shrill whistle of a tea kettle and the sharp words of a woman.

“Did you eat here often?” Aurelia guessed this place must be ancient, far older than she at any rate, by the wear on the tables. They were heavy things and appeared to all be cut in one piece, as if a tree had been dragged in and the tables carved in situ. The chairs were not quite as sturdy as their counterparts, though they were elegant, in a fashion, with their wrought iron backs and slender legs. The cushions, at least, felt as though they had been restuffed, for Aurelia did not feel the press of iron against her rear. 

“On occasion,” Heinrix replied, “When I was in town on business. My mother used to frequent this place often with me when I was a child, before my sisters were born.”

“What do they serve?”

“Whatever is seasonal. There is no set menu. If there is something specific you wish, you could always ask for it to be made for you. You are, after all, Lady de Gauvain and the people of Vilence answer to you, now.”

“So,” Aurelia’s tone lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, “I can abuse my authority to ask for whatever I want?” 

She had meant to tease him. But instead, Heinrix scowled. “Did I say that, wife?”

“There was an implication,” she replied, surprised at the reaction, “but I was attempting a joke, dear husband.”

“It fell short, I’m afraid.”

“And here I thought I was such a good shot. Better luck next time, then.” Aurelia, who had laid her hands on the table out of habit, swiftly pulled them back out of sight and onto her lap.

It was a move that did not go unnoticed. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” 

Heinrix looked at her lap pointedly. “Pull your hands away. Are you afraid I am going to grab them?”

“No...” she said slowly, “that’s not it at all, actually.” She rubbed her fingers against the soft material of her pants. “They’re just...” She chewed the words in her mouth. 

“They’re just...” Heinrix prompted.

With a begrudging sigh, Aurelia laid her hands flat on the table. “They’re...” She could not decide on a word, but she picked the one that was the easiest to articulate, that she felt in her heart of hearts. “Ugly.” 

“Ugly,” Heinrix repeated, head briefly shifting to one side as he looked down. “They’re just hands, Aurelia.”

“They’re not just hands.” She drummed her fingernails, once long and delicately curved and now cut and filed down to short stubs because of how frequently they snagged and broke. “They were my hands. And now they’re someone else’s.”

“Why?” Heinrix put his own hands on the table, a mirror of Aurelia’s. “Because they have seen use?”

“Use?” She could not keep the shock from her voice. She held up the hand with the burn; it was healing, but already the skin was red and slightly raised. No amount of massaging or creams would make the skin there pale, white, and smooth; it would forever be scarred. “This did not come from the scrubbing of a sink or the making of a bed! Why not put your hands to use and - ” 

Heinrix held up a hand, gray eye narrowing in warning. They were not alone here.

And so, in a voice above a whisper, Aurelia hissed, “I wish I had not marred myself for your sake, husband, for all the thanks it has gotten me.” She dragged her hands below the table, twisting her fingers together. 

Whatever Heinrix might have said to her was stolen by the restaurant’s proprietor making his appearance. And when she did not order, having not the stomach for food any longer, Heinrix merely ordered for her. As if a slice of leek tart and a berry pudding would suddenly make the calluses on her hands and heart disappear.

Just like they had spent their remaining time in Vilence, they unloaded their haul from the vehicle in silence. Aurelia carried the more delicate staples to the kitchen, while Heinrix hoisted the crates and boxes of bulk goods to the front step and into the foyer. 

After depositing some loaves of bread and a jar of honey into the pantry, Aurelia was returning to gather another armful of goods when a soft rumble of laughter bade her pause at the edge of the hallway, just out of sight. She peered around, no more than an eye and a curling lock of hair visible, to glance into the foyer beyond. 

Heinrix had seated himself atop several stacked boxes near the open front door, two fingers pressed against his temple. At his feet was a pinprick of red light that danced this way and that. Following after it, his big, bruiser paws swatting the floor, was Tiberius. Heinrix sent the red optical laser across the room, and Tiberius pinned his ears to the back of his head, his crooked ear doing its best to flatten despite its misshapen appearance, wriggled his rear end furiously, and darted after it, tail wide as a bottle brush. The cat’s nails scrabbled against the polished floor, chasing after the light as Heinrix sent it left, then right.

Aurelia could also scarcely contain her own laughter, and put a hand to her lips to muffle it. Neither cat nor husband took notice of her. The roiling anger in her breast was momentarily forgotten at the sweet scene; her scowl softening into a smile. 

But, as with all good things, it came to an end. Tiberius, disinterested in the chase, prowled back outside, slinking along the side of the house and out of the rain. And Heinrix, alone again, returned to the back-breaking task of lifting boxes, the smile on his face and the laughter in his throat swept away with a rainy gust. 

Heinrix didn’t even bother to set her king on its side. He simply stared at her, as if he could somehow will her hand to do the act for him. And maybe he could. The gifts of the Warp, at least as Aurelia knew them from limited exposure on Alera II, were various. Heinrix had the gift of biological manipulation. Who knows what else he possessed? Perhaps he could puppet her, as though she were on a string... but how to guard against such a thing?

“Still nothing?” He asked, after his customary minute of silence passed. “There is nothing you wish to share with me at all?”

“Did they not give you a report on me? A dossier? Were your provisional governors not informing you?” Aurelia sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Guisornians are warriors, Aurelia. Not spies.”

“So, you didn’t have a dossier?”

“I had some information about you. Your name. Your pedigree. The important things,” Heinrix said slowly, very much guessing correctly that Aurelia was positioning them for a fight. 

“Then you know what you need to know.” She pressed her lips shut. 

“It wasn’t as though I was told what your favorite foods were, or your favorite color, or piece of music.” Heinrix braced his bare forearms against the table as he leaned towards Aurelia. “Help me help you. If I knew what you liked to eat, I could make mealtime better for you. Not just more palatable but - ”

Aurelia’s answer was to set the board back to rights and stand. “Good evening, husband.”

Days came and nights went, and both Aurelia and Heinrix were on tenterhooks for the arrival of his sisters. The laundry was mercifully returned within the week and restored to its usual resting places within Rose Colline, adorning beds and hanging over windows. Every morning, the routine was the same: awaken, dress, check the foyer for signs of guests, sneak a quick breakfast, return to the foyer, play some regicide, and repeat this pattern of working and checking. Come evening, Heinrix would wash away whatever he was doing in the Sanctuary, and he would meet Aurelia in the foyer. There they would stand and wait, until the clouds became dark and the rain glittered like falling stars in the reflection of the lamps, and at no sign of an arrival, they would go their separate ways, until they met for regicide one last time to conclude their nights. 

This evening was no different. Aurelia was standing in the foyer, the door open, and watching the rain splatter over the gravel front panth, when she heard the familiar footsteps echo down the hallway towards her. Her body tensed at the sound, her heart beating faster within her chest. She focused on the sound of the rain, let it drown out the rumbling of earth-shaking footfalls, and breathed deeply.

Lavender. A lot of it. Heinrix came to stand beside her.

And then something... foul. That smell of unwashed rot. 

Aurelia looked at Heinrix from out of the corner of her eye. He had indeed bathed: his hair was damp, a few strands clung to his forehead, dew-dropped with water, and his face looked scrubbed, as she could see the scrapes of a washcloth on his skin. And yet... the smell was unmistakably coming from him. It was the same smell she’d caught before, whether in the vehicle or while playing regicide. 

She must have looked for too long, for Heinrix glanced in her direction with a raised eyebrow. 

“Is something amiss, wife?”

What was a delicate way to put it? Was there even such a way? “You smell, husband.”

“I... what?” A look of something that appeared to be horror passed over his face. “I do not. ”

“You do.” Aurelia turned to face him now, eyeing him up and down, searching for some source of the odor but finding nothing. “You try and cover it with lavender, but there is a malodorous scent about you.” She stalked around him; she could see nothing out of the ordinary in his white shirt with its red vest and gold embroidery. The skirts of her gown whispered on the floor behind her, lingering long enough that they enveloped Heinrix’s shoes and legs as she circled him, like some great serpent’s coils. 

“In that, you are mistaken.”

“No, I am not.” She stood nose to nose with him. “Does the pig smell its own stink? You cannot meet your sisters smelling like this.” 

He held out an arm, gesturing to the empty foyer as though it were somehow filled with guests. “And what would you have me do? Bathe again?”

She could hear the frustration creep into his voice. “Yes, actually.”

“That is ridiculous, Aurelia.”

“Hardly. I’ll even do it myself.”

“ You will bathe me ?” A look of shock and shame in equal measures colored his features, and he even took a step away from her. 

“If there is one thing that we can both agree on,” Aurelia said, softening her tone and reaching for his arm, “it is that I probably am the best at bathing.” She could only imagine what Heinrix’s routine consisted of; likely no more than a brisk shower, with perhaps a scrub of soap.

“There’s more to it than that,” he snapped, pulling his arm back.

“Than wha - ”

Aurelia and Heinrix locked gazes, Heinrix’s eye at first narrowed, then widened. Aurelia’s did the same. 

“You can read my thoughts.” Aurelia’s hand fell limply to her side. “You’ve been reading my thoughts.”

“No!” Fingers ran through his dark, unruly hair and then rubbed the back of his neck. “Not... not intentionally.”

“ Un intentionally?” Now she took a step back from him.

“Your thoughts are very loud,” he explained, with a grimace. “Most people’s thoughts are. I don’t want to know what you are thinking. But I can’t always block it out.”

“Did that happen,” she paused, wetting her lips with her tongue  as she calmed herself, “before or after your wife died?”

“After.” Heinrix looked down at the floor. “About two years later? Five? I didn’t keep count. But it is one of the reasons why I do not want servants, avoid my family, and abhor social gatherings. The noise is... grating. And while I am strong enough to control myself, I would prefer not to put myself in situations that test the limits of my control.”

This talent explained several curious incidents that she had previously chalked up only to coincidence. And yet, of all the things he could possibly have learned from her thoughts, there was one that made her blood boil hot, were it true. “Have you been cheating in regicide?”

Heinrix blinked at her, paused, and then doubled over with laughter, his hands flattening over his thighs as he heaved for breath. “Cheat... at regicide... hah!” He took several long moments to compose himself, before he wiped the tears and sweat from his face. “No, those victories have been mine, no matter how loudly you screamed your strategies. Regicide is perhaps the one activity where another’s thoughts will not linger in my mind.” 

“As I do not scream,” Aurelia drew herself up to her full height, “I doubt I screamed my strategies at you. Even mentally.”

“Fine, then.” Heinrix leaned forward. “You loudly proclaimed your strategies at me, and I summarily ignored them.”

“How do I know that’s true?” Her anger was not yet gone, but she was willing to let it sleep, if he had a satisfactory answer for her. 

“You don’t.” Heinrix drew back, lips pressed into a tight smile. “You will need to take my word for it.”

She was not appeased. But, no matter. The rejoinder came to her faster than she could have hoped. “Just as you will need to take me at my word that you, quite frankly, stink.”

Through the magic of persuasion, which ultimately boiled down to if Heinrix was ready to be teased mercilessly by his sisters for his stench, Aurelia had corralled him up the stairs and towards her chambers. She had not given him leave to go back to his quarters, as she had sufficient towels and bathing tools and knew that Heinrix would disappear completely from her grasp as soon as he arrived back in his rooms.

“I promise,” she said, opening the door to her living quarters and ushering Heinrix inside, “I have bathing oils that will not displease you.”

“It is less the scent,” Heinrix replied dryly, “and more the complete lack of modesty that will befall me.”

It was true, they had not seen each other undressed; not even on their wedding night. 

“I am not asking you to strip down to more than your smalls,” Aurelia explained, following after him, “and I can put linens in with you to preserve your modesty.”

“That’s... very kind. Thank you.” Heinrix paused in the center of the sitting room, glancing around it. Aurelia knew that even in the dim light of the sconces and chandelier, it must have looked sufficiently different to his eye. After all, portraits had been taken down, artwork moved, and furniture repositioned to make better use of the light. “You’ve made yourself quite at home here, haven’t you?” He slowly walked towards a small couch and side table and picked up the leatherbound book that had been left on it. His hand covered most of the spine, but Aurelia caught the end half of the book’s title: & Prey. He gave a slow, ponderous shake of his head and set the book down again.

Aurelia rather liked that book; it was a tale of love between disparate individuals, of finding common ground and respect, of setting boundaries despite an all-consuming, obsessive love. “Of course, I have,” she replied, pointing to another set of doors, “or did you forget that Rose Colline is not just my prison, but my home?”

“No,” her husband said softly, “I have never forgotten.”

He did not need to be told where the bathing chamber was, so Aurelia followed after him, adjusting the lights as she went, hoping to increase the brightness. While there was power, it was not sufficient enough to light all the rooms, let alone multiple rooms to full brightness. Thankfully, the bathing chamber had enough reflective surfaces that whatever light there was happened to be sufficient for Aurelia’s needs.

Aurelia settled two sheets into the tub and began the water, while Heinrix began the process of stripping out of his vest, boots, breaches, and hose. Standing before her in his loose shirt and small clothes, he stared at her as she sniffed various scented oils. “I am a little tired of the lavender,” she said. She settled on a woodsy smelling oil and an accompanying soap, and then made a motion with her finger for Heinrix to continue disrobing. “And the shirt, please.” At Heinrix’s frown, Aurelia sighed. “I have seen you shirtless before; the night of the...” She wasn’t sure how to describe it. 

“Right,” Heinrix said slowly, looking down at his hands. “I... suppose you have.” The shirt, which hung loose about his thighs, he pulled over his head and draped over a changing screen, next to his other garments. 

Aurelia watched the play of muscles in his broad back and shoulders, but before she could admire too much the form of the man King Basile decreed was her husband, her eyes wandered to the series of ports and plugs along his spine. A thought struck her; she approached and laid a hand on Heinrix’s bare shoulder. He started at the contact, and she heard him suck in a breath when she brought her face close to his skin, her breath misting over his back.

The ports didn’t smell awful and yet... She gently tugged the protective covering open and gagged at the stench. She covered her nose and mouth with the neck of her dress and leaned in to take a closer look. Dead skin, old lubricant, and other bio-mechanical and organic solvents had collected around the ports and under the covers. There was also one at the base of Heinrix’s skull, hidden beneath his hair, that was caked with dandruff and Emperor knew what else. 

“Well,” Aurelia said, drawing back, “I think I’ve solved your smell problem.” She turned her attention back to the tub, bending down to turn the faucets off, and poured some of the oil into the water. “Can your... augments... get wet?” 

He nodded. 

Aurelia breathed a mental sigh of relief. “Good. Because we need to soak out whatever’s lodged in there. Then I’ll...” she looked towards her various beauty tools, stacked so neatly on a towel, “clean them out manually.” 

Perhaps it was the steam from the bath, but Heinrix’s swarthy skin was flushing a bright red as he stepped past her and into the water. First he settled one foot in, then the other, and once he was seated, he folded the sheet over his lap and settled back against the slanted edge of the tub, letting the water rise up to the base of his neck. 

Aurelia settled down on the floor next to the tub, its empty bathing cup in hand. She gently tapped a soft rhythm with it against the floor, some slow waltz from a ball many years ago. “Those must be difficult to clean.”

“They... are,” Heinrix said. His voice was soft, but not subdued. Were it anyone else, Aurelia would have expected them to close their eyes at the heat and the fragrance. But even leaning against the tub, his shoulders carried a tense wariness and his eye never left her. It was as though he was tracking her every movement. “Normally, it is the duty of a knight’s squire to assist with the upkeep of his implants.” 

“But you have no squire?” Aurelia was not surprised when Heinrix nodded. “When was the last time that you - ”

“Had a squire?” He interrupted. “Never. Had the augments formally cleaned? Before our marriage.”

“Ah.”

Silence followed, until Aurelia bade Heinrix lean forward, so she could begin the careful process of washing his hair and flushing the implant at the base of his skull free of detritus. As her fingers carefully lathered the soap against his scalp, her blunt fingernails gently scraping against his skin, Heinrix said, “I suppose this makes you my squire now, wife.”

“Forgive me if I do not feel honored.” It was but one more task, one more burden. The only recourse was that Heinrix would no longer smell. But for the additional damage it would do to her hands, drying them, flaking the skin, it was likely not worth it. 

It was Aurelia’s turn to startle in fright when Heinrix reached up and caught her wrist with his fingers. He pulled her hand free from his hair and drew it down towards the bathwater. It was the hand with the burn, and Aurelia winced as the hot water slapped at her healing skin. She tried to pull it away, expecting perhaps Heinrix to place her hand somewhere that she didn’t want it to go, but he held firm: one hand on her wrist, while the other encircled her fingers. His gray eye watched her with an expression of... she didn’t know what to call it. Expectation, perhaps. Fear. Longing, even, if she was feeling prideful.  

A sharp, stinging sensation, cold like an ice burn, spread across her fingers and down her hand to her wrist. Aurelia hissed in pain and tried to draw away again, but Heinrix held her fast. He held her hand until the cold lingered only in the very marrow of her bones and then released her.

Drawing her hand out of the bath, Aurelia expected to see her fingers having blackened with frostbite. But instead, she saw her hand as it once was: soft and unblemished. Gone were the burns and those traces of hardship she had faced. These were the hands she remembered, even down to the elegant curvature of her long nails. Her mouth opened in surprise. There was only one word that came to mind, “Why?”

Heinrix took the cup from her other hand and began to rinse the soap from his hair. “Because their appearance brought you pain and would raise suspicion with my sisters.” 

The words drew Aurelia out of her stupor. “So, you did not do this out of the kindness of your heart? You did it to avoid the hard questions from your own family?”

He looked at her through a stream of bathwater. “Kindness is not something I can easily afford.” 

“It costs nothing to be kind,” Aurelia corrected, taking the cup from his hands, lest she push him under the bathwater. “ Especially to your wife, who has carried your burdens and suffered for your regrets.”

“That,” Heinrix said, again reaching for the cup, “is part of the wedding vows.”

“I swore to do none of those things.” She held the cup beyond his reach. 

“Then, perhaps I will add it to the next set.” He held out his hand. “The other, Aurelia.” 

Despite any misgivings she might have had, her vanity was stronger than her pride. Aurelia placed her hand in his. 

It took two hours and many small cloths, but finally Aurelia had freed Heinrix of the unsanitary buildup. As he pushed himself up from the low, backless chaise that Aurelia had positioned him on, he gave her a curious look. His lips parted, as though he might say something, but the words died in his throat as a great cacophony echoed outside the manor. It was the heavy crunch of wheels spitting up gravel and the patterning of heavy rain on thick metal, followed by the shriek of girlish laughter, so shrill it might have shattered the window panes. 

The sisters de Gauvain had finally arrived. 

Chapter Text

Heinrix’s sisters were as much a force of nature as the storm they drove in with. They were a whirlwind of fluttering skirts and demands, ordering their porters to bring their travel trunks inside the foyer, and, as she and Heinrix met them at the front door, Aurelia wondered how much of their mother these imperious mannerisms reflected. Once inside, the two women with their soaking wet skirt hems laughed and shoved each other as though they were small children, jostling each other as to who would be the first to offer greetings. 

“Sisters,” Heinrix said, stiffening as they approached. Aurelia had her hand on the small of his back, so she felt the way his body tensed, the muscles becoming as rigid and unyielding as the steel of his Knight.

“Brother,” said Sylvie, voice sweet and batting her eyes. 

“Heinrix,” intoned Agatha, with all the dryness of a middle child and the one that, Aurelia realized, would have to pick up the mantle should Heinrix falter. Agatha had a burden too, courtesy of her brother, invisible though it might seem. She was the first to reach out and wrap Heinrix in an embrace.

Aurelia drew back as they hugged, observing not the tender, familial act, but rather Sylvie’s sharp eyes darting around the interior. When Agatha was through, it was Aurelia’s turn to be hugged, her sister-in-law planting a soft kiss on her cheek. 

“Did you get my letters, Aurelia?” Agatha asked and tilted her head to the side in curiosity.

Without even so much as a glance to Heinrix, Aurelia replied, “No.” Heinrix’s deplorable behavior was not something she would lie about. But she didn’t have to outright say what happened.

“What? Why?” Agatha looked at Heinrix. “What happened?”

“We...” Heinrix swallowed, the optic briefly flaring like a small sun, before he continued, clearing his throat, “have been largely without power. You know the state that Rose Colline was in.”

“Do we ever!” Sylvie gestured to the (largely) clean entryway. “This looks almost as good as when we were very small. You must have hired the whole town of Vilence to clean this place.”

Heinrix shook his head. “No, all credit goes to Aurelia. She has been...” He turned to look at her, hair curling over his eye. “A force to be reckoned with in mastering her new home. Without her efforts, Rose Colline would be filled with leaves and dirty rugs.” At those last words, Aurelia could have sworn his lips turned upwards into a smile.

Sylvie entirely skipped Heinrix for the purposes of the greeting and instead went straight to Aurelia, her soft hand touching her cheek with affection. “He’s such a brute, isn’t he! I bet he was no help at all.” She tucked a strand of hair behind Aurelia’s ear, a more motherly touch than expected from the youngest there. 

“Indeed,” Heinrix agreed with a solemn nod of his head. “I have been the worst of husbands and partners.” 

“He did help me beat some rugs,” Aurelia offered, feeling somewhat mystified by the praise she was receiving and feeling compelled to offer some in turn. “And fixed the power.” 

The two sisters shared a look.

“And all this time, not a single servant?” Agatha asked. Upon seeing Aurelia’s swift shake of her head, she added, “absolutely beastly,” and then tapped at her trunk with the toe of a slipper. “Our big, strong older brother might have helped you beat rugs, but he won’t be helping you carry our trunks. He can do that himself.”

“Indeed.” Sylvie threaded her arm through Aurelia’s. “Agatha and I are rather hungry. While dear Heinrix is moving our trunks, why don’t you give us a tour of the pantry, seeing as there are no servants...”

“You probably know the way better than I do,” replied Aurelia, feeling Agatha’s arm also twine with hers. “Both of you.”

“You are Mistress of Rose Colline now,” explained Agatha as they slowly walked across the foyer and to the dim corridor beyond, “it would be rude for us to just run about.”

Aurelia was about to respond and assure the sisters that it wouldn't be rude, but she was interrupted by them both loudly calling, “goodbye, dear brother, goodbye!” and turning to wave over their shoulders at him. Sparing a glance back as well, Aurelia saw Heinrix squatting down and reaching around the edges of Agatha's trunk, his fingers seeking solid purchase, before launching himself back to standing. The object was heavy enough so as to make the material of his red jacket stretch and split at the bulge of his muscular arms, the parted seams revealing the linen undershirt like the soft, white flesh of a split apple. Slowly, step by step, Heinrix began to walk, steady-footed under the weight of whatever Agatha had packed (probably books).

“Now, Aurelia,” said Agatha, a smile on her face as she gently squeezed Aurelia’s arm and drew her attention away from her husband, “tell us all about what’s happened since the wedding...”

Early morning arrived and, with a sense of her own morbid curiosity, Aurelia tip-toed to the gaming room. Heinrix was there, washed and combed for his sisters’ benefits, though Aurelia still spied the oil on his knuckles. Not even her efforts to scrub him clean with her own hands had managed to draw the stain from his skin. She’d attacked the patches of oil until his flesh was red and raw, and he’d suffered it with minimal complaint, save to wince when the thick bristle brush managed to score him. Despite having seen him vulnerable so many times, it was easy to forget that he was as much a man of flesh and blood as he was machine. 

He stood as she entered, the chair scratching along the floor. Heinrix winced at the sound. 

“Is something the matter?” Aurelia asked, slowly approaching. The hem of her gold and ivory dress was beaded, and it scraped across the floor with every step. 

“No. I just don’t want to wake them. ” He spoke of his sisters like they were some unholy terrors, that if spoken of they should appear and rend him limb from limb before dragging his soul to eternal torment. 

“I doubt they can hear you from their rooms.” Aurelia took her seat, playing for white, as she usually did. 

“You did not grow up with them,” Heinrix replied, almost under his breath. “Even the violent storms in the countryside are kinder than my sisters when awoken too soon from slumber.” 

A most undignified snort came from Aurelia, unable to help herself upon hearing his dry tone and the look of horror on his face. For a man who had seen and done unspeakable things, to think it would be waking his sisters that would make him dread each waking breath until that appointed hour was comical. 

Clearing his throat, Heinrix sat back down and with the softest, most ginger of movements, pulled his chair forward to the regicide board. “White starts,” he prompted, tapping his finger against the side of the board.

And though white started, and therefore had a small statistical advantage, Aurelia lost their game. Perhaps she had been preoccupied with wondering what breakfast would be for their guests, or the fact that a bee had grown very bold and was inspecting the inside of the game room, rather than the roses that had invaded it. Or, maybe, Heinrix had cheated. Either way, Aurelia watched as Heinrix carefully set her king on its side. His finger remained on the piece, pinning it in place, as he looked at her. 

Aurelia stared right back. Below the table, she ran her fingers, soft and supple, over the smooth skin of her hands. She’d even painted her nails the night before, a soft pink lacquer with a pearlescent sheen now adorning her fingers. They were her hands again, at last. 

“Tell me this much, at least,” Heinrix said softly. “Do you like my sisters?”

Aurelia nodded. She could concede that much information, and thought it obvious, but Heinrix still seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. 

If she won the next game, perhaps she would ask him why.

Agatha and Sylvie arose just before lunch. As they descended upon the smaller, family dining room, the table arrayed with sliced fruits, a loaf of bread, cheese, cold cuts, olives, and other things that required no cooking courtesy of Heinrix’s steady hands and Aurelia’s planning, they were whispering furiously between themselves. Both were dressed in clothes that suited their preferences: Agatha in tailored pants the color of wine and a billowing blouse of soft white, and Sylvie in a long dress of red, split down the center to reveal white petticoats that had been embroidered with orange and yellow flowers. Upon seeing their hosts waiting there, mid-meal, they offered an excuse that because they had arrived so late the night before, they needed the extra sleep.

Aurelia saw Heinrix’s doubtful expression at the excuse, and so did Sylvie, who said, “You weren’t always an early riser, brother mine, so do not scowl so much at me.”

“Indeed,” added Agatha, “you’ll ruin your handsome face, and that would be a great disappointment to dear Aurelia.”

“I am sure ‘dear Aurelia’ likes my face just fine,” Heinrix quipped back with record speed.

“No one likes frown lines, brother.” Agatha reached over and plucked an olive from a dish, chewing it with a teasing expression as she sat opposite Aurelia. Sylvie sat beside her, using her fork and knife to delicately plate herself some food. 

“I’ve always found it is what is on the inside that counts,” Aurelia said mildly, “if anyone at this table wants to ask my opinion, rather than assuming it for me.”

Sylvie laughed a delicate, airy thing as she began to cut into her ‘breakfast.’ “You are too good for this grump, Aurelia. I wouldn’t want a man with frown lines.”

Agatha bumped her sister with her shoulder. “Just you wait until - ”

“He’ll never get them,” Sylvie declared, as though this was a conversation the two sisters had had many times before, “do not even jinx it. He will never have cause to frown.”

“Until he sees how much you spend at the tailor’s.” Heinrix’s words caused Sylvie to gasp and Agatha to chuckle into a napkin. 

“I do not!”

“Oh, you do.” Heinrix had a sour pickle skewered on the end of his fork and waved it in his sister’s direction. “Or do you think I haven’t been helping manage the family’s finances? He will,” he leaned forward with a smirk, evidently taking great pleasure in his status as an older brother to finally put one over on his sister who had been teasing him, “have lines deeper than the - ”

Sylvie’s cutlery went to the plate as she braced herself against the table. “Ooooh! Horrible brother! Horrible! Aurelia, tell him he’s horrible!” 

“Oh no,” Aurelia shook her head, “this is not my fight.”

Agatha smiled at her. “A wise decision.” She gently draped her arm behind her sister’s chair. 

“Indeed.” Heinrix took a thoughtful bite of the pickle, catching the juice on his lower lip with his tongue before it dripped onto his clothes. “Because if you’ve seen her betrothed’s father, you would know that he did not age well.”

Sylvie’s tea-kettle screech of displeasure was likely loud enough to echo throughout the house. 

In the early evening, when the rain had slowed to a gentle drizzle that tapped the rosebush leaves like the steady drum of an impatient hand, Agatha and Sylvie were taking tea with Aurelia in Rose Colline’s overgrown conservatory. Heinrix had departed for quieter and more solemn spaces after lunch’s escapades ended, which meant he’d gone to the Sanctuary. 

In the intervening space between Heinrix’s departure and tea, Aurelia had spent her time reading, as the sisters had again excused themselves saying they needed a rest, for they were still weary. But they had miraculously recovered their energy as the light began to dim, dragging Aurelia from her reading nook with bright red cheeks and sparkling eyes.

“There haven’t been citrus fruits in the conservatory ever ,” Sylvie sighed, the porcelain tea cup - gilded and painted red - scraping along its saucer as she set it down. “Mother tried so hard to grow them.”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “There isn’t enough sun. It rains all the time here during the growing season. If mother installed the grow lights like I suggested...”

 “But that would ruin the conservatory’s appearance.”

“Then, I guess you can’t have home-grown oranges, can you?”

Sensing this was yet another conversation with deep rooted history that she had best avoid, Aurelia interjected smoothly, “Does anything grow here? Other than the vines, of course.” 

“They’re not just vines.” Agatha reached out and plucked a leaf off a long, curling strand of green that was as thick as Aurelia’s finger. “Try that.” She held the leaf out.

Aurelia took the offered leaf and raised it to her lips. “I just... eat it?” Seeing the nod, she took a very delicate bite off the tip. Herbaceous and a little piquant. “Something for a salad?”

“Yes, you could do that,” replied Sylvie, “but you can also wilt the leaves and cook them with cheese, and bake it into a pie. Father and Heinrix could probably eat six or seven servings of it.”

“About that...” Aurelia looked between the two sisters, who were in turn looking at her with an expression of expectant curiosity. “Is the appetite... normal... for those on Guisorn III? Or is it a side effect of being joined to a Knight?” Aurelia forced herself to say the last word as delicately as she could. She saw Sylvie glance to Agatha, not just a deference to her sister being older, but also the one who had to know these things in the event that something happened to Heinrix.

“A side effect,” Agatha said, completely unabashed. “Is Heinrix eating you out of the pantry stores?”

A swift shake of her head. “Not that I’ve seen. I just remember from the wedding feast. He ate... a lot.” Aurelia did not much like the side glances that the sisters shared with one another.

“You do not eat dinner together often, then?” asked Sylvie, picking up her tea cup and looking at Aurelia from over its rim, gaze expectant.

Aurelia knew this type of assault very well, having watched and learned its technique at the hands of her grandmother. How fascinating that interrogation over friendly tea was a universal form of torture, and not simply one relegated to the monarchy of Alera II. And, as phrased, these were always Aurelia’s least favorite type of questions. An admission was a loss, a deflection with a question was also seen as an admission (therefore a loss), and a lie was in poor taste (and also a loss). Zugzwang, as they might say in regicide.  At least, with a counter question, she could glean something of Sylvie’s motive. “Is there some great problem with that?”

“No, none.” Sylvie sipped at her tea. “My only view into married life is that of my parents. And they are inseparable when the doors are shut. I would rather hope that when I get married, that I would be inseparable from my husband, too. But it seems as though it is not a guarantee.” 

Pity and jealousy both sparked in Aurelia’s heart. “I think it helps if you’ve chosen each other,” she replied, not quite as interested in her cup of tepid tea any longer. “An arranged marriage can be fraught.”

“Not even mother and father had a truly arranged marriage,” Agatha said with a nod of her head in, Aurelia hoped, agreement. “I’m sure you and Sir No-Wrinkles-Ever,” she continued despite Sylvie’s glare, “will be most happy.”

“Speaking of which, is he a pilot like your brother?”

“Oh, no, not at all.” Sylvie laughed and tapped her finger nails against her cup. “He is just a lord. Not every noble family has the honor of piloting a Knight.”

“I’ve read that there are some planets where every member of a noble house has their own knight.” Agatha sighed, wistful in her recollections of books. “Their planets must be significantly larger, as Knights take up a lot of space. Not to mention wealth.”

The thought of an Imperial Knight for every member of a noble family made Aurelia’s stomach do flipflops. 

“Have you been to see the Knight?” It was Agatha’s turn to ask the pointed question. 

“I have,” that much was true enough for Aurelia to concede.

The two sisters shared another look.

“But have you been... properly introduced to it?” pressed Sylvie. 

“There’s a... way to be introduced it?” Aurelia recalled a lot of things about the IMperial Knight, and surely she no longer needed an introduction. 

“Yes!” Sylvie and Agatha were both moving to stand in unison, and, bewildered, Aurelia found herself compelled to do the same. Sylvie gently took her hand and led her towards the conservatory’s outward door, Agatha trailing behind. 

“But the tea - ” Aurelia protested as they got closer.

“Will still be there when we get back,” Sylvie said, tossing a look of determined pride, if not mischief, over her shoulder towards Agatha. 

“And the rain - ” Aurelia tried to tug her arm free, “your clothes - ”

“Will dry!”

“Or,” Agatha added just behind, “we’ll just buy new ones.” 

On few things in this world would Aurelia agree with Heinrix, but as Sylvie tugged her along the rain soaked path and Agatha prodded her from behind whenever she lagged, one of them was that his sisters, when they set their minds to it, could indeed be absolute terrors.

Neither Sylvie nor Agatha showed any sort of compunction as they marched straight into the Sanctuary, heedless of the static bursts and garbled speech of the red-robed tech priests. 

“The Pilot-in-residence is our brother ,” Agatha said, shooing away a threatening mechandrite. “And I am his Auxiliary.” At that, the tech priests quieted, at least in so far as Agatha was concerned. But Aurelia still heard muttered trilling that she knew was directed her way.

“Where are we going?” Aurelia asked, observing now the interior of the Sanctuary with more care than she had before. The Knight was its very center, tubes, like the intestines of a huge beast, coiling about the floor and connecting it to various cogitators around the space. There were tool benches and shelving galore, saws, tubes, hammers, and all manner of things that would have made any gear-minded person go mad with envy. But they were not staying there, no, Agatha was leading them up a staircase disguised by an alcove. 

“The Throne Mechanicum.” Agatha briefly glanced over her shoulder at Aurelia and offered a wan smile. “The head and heart of an Imperial Knight.”

The tall, circling staircase ended on a second story that Aurelia hadn’t even realized existed within the Sanctuary. The walls were covered by some sort of mural, perhaps the founding of the de Gauvain family if its color scheme of red and gold and the various dark-haired, solemn faces were any indication. Despite its size, the room was largely empty, save for the single high-backed throne atop its platform, chains connecting it to the ceiling, and several attached cogitators to monitor it. A few tools were discarded by one of the cogitators, as if someone had been interrupted mid-repair and simply... forgotten about them. 

Heinrix was seated on the throne, which was made of some dark metal that had an almost oily sheen to it. In the faint light, his optic cycled between bright red, dim red, and then off completely, before beginning the cycle anew. His organic eye was closed and his expression was one of utter... emptiness, an absence further than sleep or dreams. He was far, far away.

Aurelia’s shoes scuffed against something on the floor, and she looked down to see that she’d almost tripped against a dark seam. 

“The platform opens so the throne can be lowered into the Knight,” Sylvie whispered, her arm having reached out to catch Aurelia. “Mind your step.”

All three women continued their approach, until they stood at the base of the mighty throne’s platform. It smelled like oil and ozone, and the faint humming of electricity was beginning to give Aurelia a small headache. 

“So, how does one ‘greet’ the Knight, then? Is it by paying obeisance before the throne?” Aurelia liked not the idea of kneeling before any throne other than her grandfather’s. And she wasn’t seeing Agatha or Sylvie bend the knee. 

“Well,” Agatha smiled and put a hand on the small of Aurelia’s back, gently pushing her forward. “When we were all very small, our father sat on that very same throne, beckoned us to approach, and then put us on his knee. So, if you were to - ”

Color rose in Aurelia’s cheeks. “Ah, t’was a joke, then.” 

“No, it isn’t.” Agatha gave another soft push. “There has to be an active neural connection in place, as well as proximity to the throne. It feels a little like...”

“A gentle electric current,” offered Sylvie. 

Aurelia resisted the push. “Forgive me, but that doesn’t sound pleasant.”

“It isn’t,” Sylvie assured. “We did it as children, and I was a terrible cry baby. You’re a strong, grown woman. What’s to fear?”

A lot of things, as Aurelia well knew. She was shepherded closer and closer up the stairs, like she was some lost lamb and the sisters de Gauvain were the dogs that had scented her from over the pastures. Hounded and hunted, Agatha gave her a light shove backwards as she was turning around, about to protest doing this while Heinrix clearly was preoccupied. 

She felt the cool metal of the throne beneath her hands as she tried to steady herself, the warmth of Heinrix’s body against her rear, a sudden expulsion of hot air against the back of her neck, and the hard grip of a hand at her waist. Agatha and Sylvie were doubled over laughing, but Aurelia barely heard them over the whispered question of, “wife?” in her ear. 

Heinrix was still blushing at dinner. Seated across from him at the table, Aurelia saw the red flush on his cheeks and across his nose. Had she known any better, she would have thought him drunk, for the flush reminded her of an uncle that fell too deeply into his cups. Each time Aurelia cast her eyes in his direction, she saw him staring intently at his plate, or focusing his full attention onto one of his sisters. He looked anywhere but at Aurelia.

It was a dangerous and exploitable vulnerability, for soon Sylvie was commenting on the pretty beadwork of Aurelia’s dress and marveling at the craftsmanship. “Don’t you think the work is simply sublime, Agatha?”

“Oh, yes,” Agatha, sitting next to Aurelia, agreed with a nod, a wavy strand of dark hair slipping over her forehead at the motion, “I do.”

“And you, Heinrix?” Sylvie turned her attention to her brother, a pleased smile on her lovely doll’s face. 

“Yes, very pretty,” Heinrix replied, looking only at his plate and the slices of bread he was layering pieces of meat and cheese atop. 

Predators always knew the scent of blood, and sisters could be the worst sort. “You’re not even looking at her dress, Heinrix,” Sylvie chided. 

Pressing his lips together, Heinrix turned his gaze in Aurelia’s direction. The optic momentarily powered down, and with it some of the blush began to recede; a trick of the light, surely, for the red must have only enhanced the color of the vessels under his skin. His eye did not longer, enough to look just above her head, all the way down to the napkin in her lap. “Yes, very pretty,” he repeated, and then resumed building his sandwich with more meat than anyone had any right to reasonably enjoy.

“Sylvie, dear, pass the seasonings?” Agatha had cold boiled potatoes before her, but the salt and pepper were right in front of Sylvie’s plate in delicate little shakers of painted porcelain. Sylvie took them both in hand and reached across the table to offer them to her sister. It was surely an accident, really, when Sylvie’s elbow nudged Aurelia’s water glass off the table and into her lap. And then another accident when, as Aurelia gasped and pushed her chair back, that Sylvie started in right, jostling the table hard enough that Heinrix’s near-complete sandwich fell open-faced into his lap, butter and oily pickles staining his clothes.  

“Oh!” Sylvie gasped, a hand over her mouth, “I’m so sorry!”

“Oh no!” Agatha helped Heinrix put the remains of his sandwich on his plate. 

Both Aurelia and Heinrix were mopping themselves up with their own napkins, respectively grimacing at the state of their dinners and clothes. Aurelia waved away Sylvie’s hands, just as Heinrix did Agatha’s.

“Really, it will be alright.” Aurelia offered a wry smile. “Just a little water. I am not made of sugar, I won’t dissolve.” Besides, it was about that time that Aurelia should feed Tiberius, and it wasn’t as though she wasn’t going to get wet from the rain. “But this is as good a time as any to draw dinner to a close. Or at least, my part in it.”

“We’ll do the cleaning up,” Agatha assured, standing now to grasp Aurelia’s forearm. “And the tea in the conservatory.”

Aurelia was thankful she didn’t even have to ask. 

“Are you going too, Heinrix?” Sylvie asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Or are you going to stay with your favorite sisters?”

What Aurelia had felt being ushered up the stairs to the throne was being manifested in Heinrix’s face, as the beleaguered older brother was being bullied by his younger sisters. Only, they did not know the peril that they faced if they pushed him too hard. 

“No,” Aurelia said, slowly walking across the table to put her hand on the back of Heinrix’s chair. “Heinrix is coming with me.”

She could not see the look of grateful surprise on Heinrix’s face, but Aurelia could have sworn she saw smirks of triumph twinned on the faces of his sisters. 

Chapter Text

Aurelia took Heinrix’s queen, and then his king. “Will you ever tell your sisters?”

A shake of his head. “Never.”

Three sharp taps on Heinrix’s door was all it took for him to open it. She stood in front of his door, her hair curling down her back, with her arms full of toiletries, towels, and a robe. In the gloom of the north wing’s highest floor, the red light from Heinrix’s optic stained her pale nightshift red. 

“Wife...?” Heinrix asked, brow knitting together in confusion. He clearly did not expect to see her again so soon, and especially not after their nightly regicide game. 

“The water in my room is cold.” 

Aurelia had braved a wedding night with the man who had helped conquer her planet, a crumbling home with all its accompanying manual labor, and a husband who could turn her inside out if he so much as sneezed wrong. But of all those terrible, horrible things, Aurelia did not want to brave another cold bath.

A positively mystified expression passed over Heinrix’s face.“Is it?”

“Yes.” Aurelia shifted from foot to foot. “I’d like to use yours, if I may.”

“I...” Heinrix looked over his shoulder as if he was somehow hiding a guest in his rooms, but then turned back to her, “of course. Let me make sure that the hot water is actually working, so you don’t waste your time.” He turned and shut the door in Aurelia’s face, and for a moment, Aurelia was left blinking in the hallway at their exchange, before the door opened again and Heinrix, cheeks red, beckoned her inside. “That was... rude of me. I’m unused to guests. Please,” he tilted forward into a half bow and gestured to the open door, “come in.” 

Aurelia followed him inside, eyes scanning the small sitting area where Heinrix intended to leave her. She’d been in here once before and had given the place only a very brief lookover. But as Heinrix went to check the hot water, Aurelia set her things down and took her time exploring the sitting room. She observed the books on the shelves, keen eyes looking for those whose spines were worn and bore disturbed dust. Treatises, all of them, and about some war or ancient battle. A code of chivalric honor, which while boring did capture Aurelia’s attention. This she held to her bosom as she perched on the arm of a chair. She looked for pages that had been dog eared, but instead found a piece of gold lace acting as a bookmark.

“The Custom of Duels,” she read, eyes tracing the lines of fine print. “For grievances aired or insults given, let the offended be the challenger and name the place of trial. If neither recant nor recourse be offered, let the challenged select the weapons. Let them name seconds true of character, to carry forth wishes should flesh be weak and falter...”

Heinrix’s approaching footsteps, heavy on the carpet, heralded his arrival. He stuck his head through the darkened doorway from which he had initially disappeared, “my hot water is fine.”

Gray eyes moved from the pages to Heinrix’s face. “And I may use it?”

A nod. 

Aurelia set the scrap of lace back in the page and closed the book. She set it on a side table; Heinrix could reshelve the book later. Gathering up her things, she stared at Heinrix expectantly, who was still little more than a floating head in the doorway. “Will you show me where it is? Or should I wander in the dark...?” She did not know this place by heart. 

Another flush came over Heinrix’s cheeks, and he pulled his head into the blackness. There was a stumbling of feet and a muttered curse, but the room beyond was illuminated in the same dim yellow glow of Aurelia’s quarters. The myth that, perhaps, Heinrix had secreted away all the power to his wing of the house was well-dispelled. Heinrix led her down a branching hallway, through which Aurelia spied an open door to the bedroom, a smaller game parlor similar to the one in her own quarters, and then, finally, a bathing chamber.  She noted the ajar door, spying the same dark wallpaper as the bedroom.

The tub here was like the one in her rooms, though much larger, as befitted the manor’s main room. The polished wood and marble countertops were not as bereft of toiletries as Aurelia had thought, for she spied several vials, and guessed there was even more to be found in the drawers, cupboards, and curtained off cubbies that she had yet to inspect. 

“I’ll...” Heinrix pushed the door shut to the bedroom and stepped out of the bathroom entirely, “be elsewhere. To give you privacy.”

“Where should I find you, to let you know I am done?” Auerlia asked.

“Ah... find me downstairs. In the...” She could visibly see him trying to think of a place far enough away that it would not seem improper, “piano room when you are done.”

“The piano room, then.” Aurelia inclined her head and Heinrix, ever so solicitous, closed the door. 

Later, with her wet hair pinned up and her cheeks still flushed from the heat of the bath, she padded down the stairs to the piano room and found Heinrix dozing on the couch. The blanket he had dragged over himself - some floral, hand-embroidered affair that had never lived a life beyond that room - had fallen to the floor. With a gentle step and soft hands, Aurelia draped it over his sleeping form once more before departing back to her rooms.

Before another day of planning breakfast for four, Aurelia pushed Heinrix hard on the regicide board. With his king in hand, its crown pressed to her lips, she considered her husband. He sat across from her in a fitted red shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows as was his wont to blend the stiffness of formality with the practicality of his more hands-on interests. Already, the seams were straining in protest. He’d combed his hair back today, a stark departure from the usual way he let it fall around his face and forehead without a care. Aurelia wasn’t sure if she liked the new development, but since it was not her hair, she had no say in how it was styled. 

“Why,” she said, after considering the many questions that sprung to mind, “do you care if I like your sisters?” 

Heinrix pondered her question in silence, a bead of sweat - perhaps more accurately bathwater - curling down over his temple and along the jut of his cheekbone. He wiped it away with a thick finger. “Because they are my closest family,” he said, the words pulled out slowly, one by one, as if even he did not know why it took him so long to answer. “And... I think you three could be good friends.”

Aurelia raised an eyebrow. “Good enough friends that you hid their letters from me?” She set the king back onto the regicide board. 

“Yes. Too good, in fact.” A sad, pained smile painted itself on Heinrix’s lips. “They have a way of prying things out of you, even if you don’t want to reveal them.” 

“You are worried?” Aurelia was careful not to state aloud his fear that others might know of his... condition. 

“Naturally.” Heinrix’s fingers lingered on the citizens as he slowly reset the board, setting them down with care. 

“And you think me loose lipped?” Aurelia could feel herself growing offended. 

He let out a sharp laugh and shook his head. “No. I think you angry.” With those words, he leaned forward. “And were our positions reversed, I might feel the same. Throne Mechanicum knows there have been days where I’ve wished...” He closed his eye and sat back. “It does not matter. The truth is yours to do with as you wish now.” He stood before she could respond, his optic faintly dimming. “I will start breakfast.”

“Tread softly,” Aurelia replied, staring up at him, “your sisters might still be sleeping.” She laughed to herself at the shudder that ran through him at the thought.

“Do you know what to expect?” asked Agatha, sipping from one of her mother’s, perhaps even grandmother or great grandmother’s, teacups. 

It was a rare evening of no rain, where the sun painted the sky a deep orange pink and the encroaching gloom turned the clouds purple gray. They were taking evening tea outside, on the same patch of fenced stone where Aurelia had once beaten the rugs. Heinrix had found whatever table and chairs used to occupy this space and hauled it out, so that his sisters could enjoy the warm evening air and the damp breeze, fragrant with the smell of soaked blossoms and grapes on distant vines. 

Aurelia finished chewing her bite of some crumbling tea cake, which had gone stale while waiting for the arrival of Heinrix’s sisters. “Expect of what?” She licked a crumb from the corner of her mouth.

“The Harvestend Tournament, of course!” Sylvie gently patted Aurelia’s knee. “It is one of the biggest social events of the year. There’s the jousting of course, but there are also so many salons and balls...”

“We had jousts on Alera II, and salons. Balls, too.”

“But have you ever seen the Knights joust?” Agatha gave Aurelia a look to indicate that no, Aurelia had not seen such a thing. 

“No.” Aurelia twisted the fabric of her dress with her fingers, bunching it into knots below the table. “I’ve only ever seen Knights attack Aleran civilians and buildings.” 

Sylvie seemed not at all troubled by the darkening of Aurelia’s countenance.  “Then perhaps this will bring you some catharsis! The Knights really take a beating. They’re always repaired afterwards, but sometimes, even the pilots get injured...”

Agatha had the sense to look more apologetic. “I would say that you didn’t have to go, Aurelia, but it is expected that the families of competitors are to be in attendance. It is - ”

“- tradition,” Aurelia interrupted. “I know.”

“This will be Heinrix’s second time competing in the tournament. I was too young to remember much about his last performance, so I am excited to see it.” Sylvie’s enthusiasm was unsubdued. “There’s also the grand procession of the competitors! And their warm ups...” For once, Sylvie’s eyes turned with predatory intent to Agatha. “Maybe you’ll even find your own match on the field, sweet sister.”

With a snort from behind her tea cup, Agatha rolled her eyes. “I do not think so. Trust me, my reticence does not stem from a lack of eligible candidates. Just a lack of interest at this time. Besides, most of the pilots are married or already committed. It is the squires that are the eligible ones.”

“Young, moldable squires?” prompted Sylvie, with a wagging of her eyebrows, earned another eye roll from Agatha. “A shame our brother has never taken one.” All the attention now focused on Aurelia once more. “Dear Aurelia, did you know that every year the bravest and most talented of squires are offered to our brother, and he turns them down?”

“‘Tis a rite of passage and a great honor,” added Agatha, “to be turned down by Heinrix.” 

A small line wormed its way between Aurelia’s pale brows. “Why would anything think it an honor to be rejected?” 

Agatha merely smiled and Sylvie laughed airily. A mounting irritation and a sense of being out of her depth, of being the brunt of some secret joke, threatened to overwhelm Aurelia. She swallowed the feelings behind a mouthful of tea. Looking between the two sisters, then down to her own half-finished tea cup, Aurelia watched the breeze create small ripples across the tawny surface. “Is there some sort of prize for winning the tournament?” 

“There’s a substantial purse for the winner, not that Heinrix would need it,” Agatha said.

Before she could explain further, Sylvie explained with a bright smile, “And the honor of crowning the King or Queen of Peace.” 

“There’s a historical component to it.” Agatha leaned forward, mistaking Aurelia’s confusion for interest. “Back in the days of the initial founding of Guisorn III, the Knights would compete for surplus grain to take back to their estates for the winter and - ”

“And what, dear sister?” Heinrix chose that moment to arrive, bringing with him a platter of crumbly butter cookies, hardened from sitting in their tin. 

“I was just telling Aurelia about the Harvestend Tournament and its origins.” 

Whatever Heinrix thought of Agatha’s explanation, his face betrayed nothing as he sat down next to Aurelia. “I see,” was all he said. 

“I am excited to see you compete, brother.” Sylvie smiled at Heinrix, and then looked sidelong at Agatha. 

Aurelia heard Heinrix shift beside her and the inhalation that signaled he was about to say something, but her attention was trained on the shifting of the grass in the distance. She spied a tail weaving through the brushes, then a crooked ear, a wide head, narrow shoulders and curving whiskers. No one else seemed to have noticed Tiberius’s approach, so Aurelia surreptitiously broke a piece off a piece of her buttery biscuit and let it fall from her fingertips to the stone. 

Tiberius trotted on his bruiser paws towards the morsel, gobbling it up swiftly before he launched himself onto the table, where he sought to take his own helping of what was on display. Tea cups rattled and gasps abounded in surprise. 

“Oh!” Sylvie clapped her hands together. “It looks like Tibbo!” Her hands were already reaching out for Tiberius, who was far too invested in chewing on a crumbly biscuit, his nose scrunching with each crunch, and growling with each mouthful to notice them.

“Maybe one of Tibbo’s kittens? Or great grand-kittens?” Agatha, who had been attempting to pry the biscuit away from Tiberius, pulled her hand back swiftly at the cat’s hiss. 

“Tibbo?” Aurelia slowly slipped a quarter of a biscuit before the cat’s cavernous maw, and was greeted with a grumbling growl and hungry chewing. 

“Tiberius Omega.” Heinrix smiled faintly. “Our father’s favorite Sanctuary Cat.” 

“Tiberius Omega,” Aurelia repeated. It explained Heinrix’s insistence on the name Tiberius. 

“He looked the same. A little bigger. Same coloring.” Agatha risked a finger to gently trace a stripe on Tiberius’s coat. 

“Same love of food!” Sylvie giggled fiercely. “Tibbo was a nuisance at dinner time. He was always begging for scraps.”

“And father only made it worse by appeasing him.” Agatha’s eyes were half-closed with the pleasure of being in proximity to the feline. “The finest cuts of veal. Morsels of chicken. Rashers of bacon.”

“Strips of egg! Bites of cheese...” continued Sylvie.

Thoughts of food made Aurelia hungry for dinner. And if it was about time for Aurelia to eat, then it was also time for Tiberius to eat. 

“Careful,” Heinrix crossed his arms over his chest, “you’ll give Tiberius ideas that he can have more than the food prepared for him.”

“Oh, dear brother,” Sylvie pointed at the way Tiberius was sniffing about the tin (closed now, thanks to Agatha) of buttery biscuits, “I think that time has long since passed.”

“The poor thing.” Aurelia, without even thinking, slipped her hands beneath Tiberius’s front legs and lifted the cat, eyes wide, head vacant, and momentarily shocked at the sudden movement, from the table back to the floor. “He’s been scavenging so long that he’ll eat anything. Won’t you?” She tickled the hair behind an ear. “Won’t you?”

Tiberius prowled around the table legs. “Mrow-ow?” he cried, rubbing from shin to shin, sharing the dirt and dust from the fields amongst all assembled. “Mroow?”

“I’ll feed him.” Aurelia stood and gathered up her skirts so she wouldn’t trip, as Tiberius was immediately upon her ankles, rubbing and purring in a most ferocious and plaintive manner, as if tasting the magic of sugar had somehow opened new possibilities of food for him. Leaving behind a quiet table, her laughter echoed behind her, as well as her remarks of, “Goodness, you must be hungry...”

In the kitchen, Aurelia was trying to portion out a can of food for Tiberius, who had followed her into the house with a series of warbling shrieks and then jumped on the counter to better inspect her efforts. One of his large, bruiser paws reached out to tap her hand. She winced as the tiny meathooks of his claws caught her skin. 

“That’s very rude,” she scolded, sucking on the back of a finger and tasting the tang of blood droplets on her tongue. “It’ll only be a mom - ”

As she had been addressing the cat, she had missed the sound of heavy footsteps on the floor, and so was taken aback when Heinrix darkened the doorway to the kitchen, his face illuminated by the harsh red light of his optic. Aurelia gasped and took a step back, a hand pressed to her chest in fright, and then let out an exhale. 

“My apologies, wife,” Heinrix said, stepping forward in a slow and measured manner. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It is... It is fine.” Gathering herself, and then sighing at the sight of Tiberius with his head not in the bowl of food Aurelia had left unattended, but instead right in the can, she turned her attention to Heinrix and put aside the lost cause that was the cat. Heinrix was hesitating at the door, the front of his shirt soaking wet and dripping on the floor.  “What... happened?”

“Sylvie,” there was a pause as Heinrix considered his explanation, “was clumsy with the tea.”

“She spilt hot tea on you?” Aurelia barely stifled her gasp.

“No! No, not at all.” Heinrix held up a hand. “She was cleaning up and spilled what was left of your tea onto me.” And at that, he gestured to his white shirt and the stain that blossomed along his stomach, as though he had been stabbed. “I’ve come to... ah...” 

As Heinrix moved to the sink, Aurelia stepped to the side. She watched Heinrix wring the tea out of his shirt, pulling it from his trousers and lifting it high enough to reveal the solid frame of his torso, muscled and with a covering of dark, curling hair. None of his appearance was new to her; she had seen him undressed twice before, but both times she had been put in the position to care for him. And ogling her charge, even if they were married, had been the farthest thing from her mind. But now, she was viewing this skin with the sensibilities of a simple bystander, entirely uninvolved. With her hands clean of responsibility, she watched muscular forearms strain to squeeze out every drop of tea, the muscles in his stomach tensing as he braced himself.

The clinking of a bowl against the counter drew Aurelia’s attention - and Heinrix’s - to Tiberius. His large head had disappeared from the can and was now in the bowl, pushing it along the counter as he licked every last morsel of food out of it.

One edge of her husband’s lips curled up into a smile. “Do you ever feed Tiberius, Aurelia?”

“Yes. Do you ,” she countered, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms over her chest. 

Heinrix reached out to collect the bowl before Tiberius knocked it to the floor. “Not as often as I should.” He set it in the sink and then ran two fingers over the cat’s curving spine, Tiberius briefly closing his eyes before he decided to investigate the empty can of food again.  

“Speaking of which,” Aurelia pulled the can away from Tiberius’s questing face, fearful that the creature would cut its tongue on one of its edges, “who will feed Tiberius while we are gone from Rose Colline?” The cat gave a plaintive screech in response, but Aurelia’s eyes were focused on Heinrix. 

“I...” He frowned and looked at her sharply, head tilting to one side in consideration.

Aurelia had just been thinking that Heinrix would suggest that the cat didn’t need anyone to look after him. That he had been living on his own well enough before they had arrived at the estate, and would do so once they left. 

“We...” Heinrix stopped, licked his lips, and then carried on, “The priests at the Sanctuary will still be here. We can safely entrust the care of the Sanctuary Cat to the Sanctuary’s other stewards.”

“Will they feed Tibby at the house? Or at the Sanctuary?”

“So many questions, wife!” 

“There is water at the Sanctuary?”

“...Yes...?”

“Potable?”

“Yes.”

“And how long will we be gone?”

“I’m not sure.” A dark expression passed over Heinrix’s face. “A month. Two, at most.”

Aurelia was already gathering up the dishes she used to feed and water Tiberius and setting them into her small basket. This she stacked on top of a small crate that made up about a month’s worth of Tiberius’s canned food, which she then stacked on top of another.

“You cannot mean to lift - ”

Though she struggled under the initial weight, once Aurelia had the crates in her arms and held up to her chest, it was not quite so bad. She teetered to the door, Tiberius, knowing where his food came from, hot on her heels. Heinrix chased her down the hallway and into the fading sunlight of the back gardens, pleading with her to give him the crates.

“Aurelia, you will hurt yourself.”

“I’m managing fine, thank you.”

Sylvie and Agatha’s voices called from the stone patio:

“Heinrix? Heinrix! You help her this instant!”

“Heinrix, you brute! What are you doing making her carry your supplies?”

“She won’t give them to me!” Heinrix shouted in turn, “I am trying!”

“Try harder!”

“Aurelia, let our ox of a brother do the hard work!”

The only reason that Aurelia stopped was because she did not think she could climb the hill to the Sanctuary so encumbered by wood, food, and porcelain. And especially not when a hungry cat was constantly underfoot, rubbing and pawing at her legs for more food in a perilous dance. In the purple twilight, she let an exasperated Heinrix take the crates from her arms, letting him carry them while she let the basket of food and water bowls swing from her fingers as though it were filled with daisies and dandelions.

Fireflies danced and winked above the long grasses as they crested the hill and came to the Sanctuary’s entrance. The door to the Sanctuary stood open, a maw of some great monster, illuminated from within by the faint light of cogitators and safety lighting. But a greater monster lurked inside, as vicious and bloodthirsty as any other Aurelia had ever known. Though it was no monster to Heinrix, for he strode inside with no fear. And it was no monster to Tiberius, who trotted after him, tail up. It was just a monster to Aurelia, trailing last and leaving behind the lingering rays of afternoon. 

Letting her eyes adjust to the gloom, Aurelia followed Heinrix as he navigated his way through pathways of cogitators and shelving to a short techpriest, stocky and sturdy as a support strut.  It had been one of the priests that had come to the manor house the night of Heinrix’s ‘episode,’ that much Aurelia recalled by the cut of the priest’s robes, for they had a curving edge, rather than a sharp, geometric one. The techpriest was busy tapping away into a cogitator, metal digits clicking against keys as it reviewed some report. 

The head did not even lift at the sound of approaching footsteps, and Aurelia lifted an eyebrow in surprise as Heinrix set the crates down and said, without even so much as a proper greeting or introduction, “I have a personal request of you, Archivist Thannek.” 

From beneath the heavy hood there was a bright flash of blue, like a spark of lightning in the night sky, and Archivist Thannek said something in the strange, garbled language that Aurelia knew she would never master, before finally turning their head to Heinrix. The tapping of metallic fingers ceased, though there was a faint drumming on the metal surface, as though some great task had been interrupted and the priest was ready to get back to it. 

“Yes, it does have to do with the crates.” Heinrix replied, knocking the crates with the toe of a boot. The cans clinked together before they settled back into place. 

As the two conversed, only one half understood by the present laity, Aurelia’s attention began to wander. It was drawn to the sight of a gray, stripey head rubbing against the edge of a crate, and big green eyes observing the top of the cogitator. A little wiggle of Tiberius’s rear, and he made the jump in a graceful, easy leap. His feet did a double stamp on the cogitator, before he sat on his haunches and, opening his mouth wide in a yawn, licked his lips and began to wash a paw. 

Aurelia half expected Archivist Thannek to swipe at the cat with one of their mechandrites, but instead was surprised to see one of the strange, metal tentacles snake out and gently begin to scratch Tiberius atop his head.

A dry sound, like the rasping of unoiled gears, drew Aurelia’s attention back to the exchange. 

“Ah,” Heinrix made a motion with his hand, “I am out of practice with this, so forgive my lapse in protocol. Archivist Thannek, allow me to introduce my wife, Aurelia de Gauvain. Aurelia, this is Preeminent Data-Archivist and Keeper of His Divine Gaze: Lilith Thannek.”

The unspoken question was there as to how to properly greet one of the Brotherhood of Mars, but in the absence of any special words, Aurelia simply defaulted to being polite. “How do you do, Archivist Thannek?” Aurelia took a step to stand beside Heinrnix, inclined her head, and gave a small curtsey. She could see it now, the vaguely feminine, human features in the otherwise harsh, unyielding shell of metal in which most of the priests had entombed themselves: a gentle brow, the long lashes around the eyes, the delicate bones in the fingers that had yet to be replaced by metal augments. Flesh still, not entirely forgotten, though heavily modified. 

“Well enough,” replied Archivist Thannek in a throaty, tinny voice from behind the respirator that covered the bottom half of her face. “Knight Pilot de Gauvain indicates you have expressed concern // mistrust // fear about the well-being of your felinid.” 

“Well, yes.” Aurelia straightened. “I don’t want Tiberius to starve while we are not at the manor.” 

Archivist Thannek made a show of taking a long look at Tiberius, who was still in the process of grooming his whiskers. The blue optical unit over one eye flashed briefly, as though she had taken an image of the cat. “Unit Tiberius possesses twelve incisors, four canines, ten premolars, and four molars of sufficient structural integrity within its mouth. Additionally, Unit Tiberius possesses eighteen claws - ”

“I know how many teeth and claws he has.” The interruption was swift and Aurelia took the opportunity to tap the crate with her foot, though she was in softer slippers and so did little except bruise a toe. “Just because he can use them to hunt does not mean he can’t have at least one guaranteed meal a day.”

The techpriest made a trilling sound that set Aurelia on edge and had her opening her mouth to offer a sharp retort, before Heinrix put a soft hand on her forearm and explained, “she’s teasing you, Aurelia.” His mouth looked like it was suppressing a laugh of his own, pinched together and quivering. A rare expression; few things made her most dour of husbands laugh. 

“Oh.” Aurelia folded her hands in front of her, lacing her fingers for security and comfort. “I don’t mean to sound cross, Archivist Thannek. I am merely fond of Tiberius and want him to eat well.”

A second mechandrite joined the first, this one gently scratching the base of Tiberius’s tail. “Unit Tiberius will be honored // protected // treated as a Sanctuary cat.”

A hopeful note arose in Aurelia’s voice. “So, you will feed him?”

Archivist Thannek shot her a look from the corner of her eye. “If Unit Tiberius comes for food.”

Tiberius, whose eyes were often as wide as dinner plates at the prospect of food, would likely have no trouble arriving for mealtime. “I do not think that will be a problem.” 

“Then there will be - ” 

TIberius took that opportunity to interrupt the techpriest by opening his mouth a fraction, cocking his head to one side, and letting out a soft, questioning, “mr-owow?”

“Consensus: Unit Tiberius has one-quarter standard felinid brain.” Archivist Thannek’s visible eye crinkled in amusement. 

“On that,” Heinrix mused, “we are in agreement, my friend.” 

Realizing that the handle was still draped over her wrist, Aurelia set the basket of dishes down atop the crates. “I brought his food bowls,” she explained at the querying glance the techpriest leveled at her upon hearing the clinking of porcelain. “Food and water.”

“Our gratitude.” Archivist Thannek inclined her head, her face momentarily obscured by the vibrant red of her hood. When she straightened it, Aurelia thought she spied a lock of dark hair curving over her forehead, but it was soon lost in the shadows of the hood and the Sanctuary’s dim lighting. 

“Are you well-pleased now, Aurelia?” A warm hand touched the small of Aurelia’s back, tentative and fleeting like the beat of a butterfly’s wings. “Are your concerns allayed?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Very much so.”

“Good.” The hand fell away. “We should return to my sisters. The longer they are left unattended, the more I... worry.” Heinrix gave a slow roll of his shoulders and then inclined his head to Archivist Thannek. “We won’t waste anymore of your precious time, Archivist Thannek. Thank you for your generosity in watching over Tiberius.”

“The Omnissiah watches over all his servants, including the protectors of the sacred wires.” Archivist Thannek’s voice sounded as though she was smiling, though it was hard to say if she was, given the mask. 

Heinrix drew away, an expectation in his slow, measured steps that Aurelia would follow him. Aurelia gave one last look over her shoulder. Archivist Thannek was leaning forward over her cogitator, a mechandrite slowly running along the length of Tiberius’s side as he sat on the data-warmed console. She could hear the rumbling of Tiberius’s purrs at the gesture, as well as a strange, low humming come from the techpriest. She, too, was purring. 

“Aurelia?” Heinrix was already at the Sanctuary’s door, his broad frame silhouetted by starlight. 

She bunched up her skirts in hand and followed after Heinrix on swift feet, feeling light and unburdened by this new knowledge. 

Chapter Text

Settled in the seat across from Heinrix’s sisters, gently sandwiched between the soft-sided baggage that did not fit in cargo, it would have been easy for Aurelia to fall asleep. Between Agatha and Sylvie’s indistinct sussuring and the bump and sway of the vehicle in motion, it was like she was once more a small child, rocked safely within the arms of her mother. The only thing that prevented her from crossing the threshold into dreams was the pattern of heavy, steady footsteps echoing from the darkness outside.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Someone had to pilot the Knight and that someone could only be Heinrix. 

As he’d done on their way to Rose Colline, Heinrix now led the way back to King Basile’s castle and the capital city of Marsfort. Striding ahead in the night, he ensured no bandit or cutthroat (if even such a thing could exist on these roads) would dare hijack the transport of his wife and younger sisters. For Agatha and Sylvie, it was true safety. For Aurelia, it was the illusion thereof. 

And so she waited on the border between sleep and waking, an unwelcome visitor in both.

“I know you and Heinrix must be used to your privacy,” said Agatha, twining her arm with Aurelia’s as they walked with Sylvie through the castle’s halls, “but you will have to suffer in close quarters with the rest of us for a little while.”

“Not that I think the our rooms in the de Gauvain suites are small ,” added Sylvie, “why, just the opposite. But mother and father can be... well! You’ve met them. They can be everywhere at once, if they wish it. Especially mother.”

“So long as we aren’t all sharing the same room at night.” As Aurelia had only half her mind on this conversation, her responses were short and perfunctory. The other half was spent observing the palace, the servants, and the sights through the windows, since Aurelia had not taken the opportunity to gawk and gander the first time she’d been there. 

As they passed a beautiful courtyard, fruit trees and flowers on full display, Aurelia noted colorful streamers of orange, yellow, red, and blue were hanging from pillars. The tree branches themselves were similarly covered in ribbons that danced in the breeze, long strands like a lady’s hair hanging elegantly. These colors and decorations were a common theme, as the entire castle was awash in festivities and preparations for the Harvestend Tournament. 

The other thing that caught Aurelia’s attention, and it was a most curious thing that she had not expected but should have, was the cats. An orange cat, long and lean, was sunning itself on a grassy patch in a courtyard; a black cat with yellow eyes as round as the moon was loafed beneath a tufted bench outside a guest residence; a brown tabby made eyes at a bird perched on a windowsill... these unobtrusive felinids had been missing from her first visit. Or, perhaps, they had always been there, but her focus had been so narrow, so inward, that she had failed to spot them.

But she was aware of the cats now, and having listened to stories about Tiberius Omega from the de Gauvain siblings, she had a sneaking suspicion that these cats bore some relation to, and perhaps even were, the roaming cats of the massive Sanctuary that the castle housed. 

“ - and Heinrix will be in the Shatterdome anyway.”

Aurelia dragged her eyes from a white cat - laying on its back and dead to the world atop a silken yellow pillow - to Agatha, once more. “Shatterdome?”

“Haven’t you been listening to a word I said? That’s where the Knights in residence are housed,” she explained with a smile that almost looked... tight. “I would say you can’t miss it, but a lot of it is underground.”

“But you’ll know it by the dome!” Sylvie made a circular motion with her hand, as though she was sketching out the shape of it. “It is made entirely of colored glass...”

Agatha sighed. “It isn’t really glass. It is a type of specially treated - ”

“It looks like glass, so I’m going to call it glass.” 

“And is there anything special about it?” Aurelia swiftly interposed her question to avoid what was likely to be an unnecessary lecture about the composition of plastics from the well-read Agatha. “The dome, I mean.”

“Oh, yes!” Sylvie nodded her head. “If you look up at it while there’s light outside, it depicts a great and terrible battle. Armored figures fighting on horseback, their weapons shattering. Oh.” A surprised giggle slipped from her lips. “I think I know where the name comes from now.”  

A beautiful stained glass window depicting a battle, Aurelia should have expected nothing less of Guisorn III, where destruction and loveliness seemed to go hand in hand. “You’ve seen it?” 

Both the sisters nodded. 

“And you might see it, too.” Agatha picked up their pace. “Heinrix may wish to take you on a tour, if only to appease mother and father. Mother used to go and visit father there all the time when they were courting.”

“And after they were married, too!”

Aurelia could not say that the prospect of visiting Heinrix in a place where so many Imperial Knights were housed was something she relished. She’d rather visit him in a garden or a ballroom. Not... this Shatterdome. “Does your mother have an expectation that I should be doing the same? Visiting Heinrix while he is ‘at work?’”

The sisters shared a look, and it was Sylvie who spoke, as perhaps she best knew the Lady Gisla’s mind, being more like their mother in interest. “Not at first. It is not as though mother is unaware of the... unique nature of your marriage to our brother, given the speedy arrangement and the contractual terms. But I think she hopes... that when enough has time has passed,” Sylvie was carefully choosing her words, trying to build a convincing argument for a skeptical-eyed Aurelia, “that you might do as she did. It is - ”

“Tradition?” Aurelia finished with a smile, behind which she masked her absolute loathing for that word. She would need to find some traditions on Guisorn III that brought her happiness, and then flout them in everyone’s faces so she, too, could say, ‘Ah, yes, but it is tradition!’ 

Sylvie nodded. “And an important show of familial solidarity.” 

“Questing Knights need a reason to return home.” When Agatha spoke, it was with a soft voice and the sense of being burdened. “That is why we place such an emphasis on tradition.”

“A reason to return home?” That struck Aurelia as odd. “I am sure Heinrix knows you both love him very much. He doesn’t need additional tokens or trinkets to prove that, surely?” Heinrix did not strike her as being particularly materialistic or sentimental in that manner. 

“The Knights , not the pilots,” Agatha corrected. She licked at her lips as her brow pinched in concern. “The machines are... well, they’re older than the founding of Guisorn III, Aurelia. They get more finicky each passing year. They develop... quirks in their dotage.”

“That’s very bad for the pilots and their families.” Sylvie translated. “For example, one of Heinrix’s friends, Ameilia, pilots a Knight Preceptor that ate through three quarters of her house and immediate family before it finally settled on her. Uncles, aunts, cousins, parents, older siblings, all gone, because the Knight became... particular. It was quite a tragedy. And it isn’t the only time that it has happened, though the Pendamars were the worst example in recent memory. ”

Aurelia struggled to set aside her disbelief, since neither Agatha nor Sylvie had any real reason to lie to her.  “You mean to say you cling to the old ways in order to appease the Knights? So that they do not... go rogue due to corrupted programming?” Aurelia was severely lacking in the proper terminology to address these new facts, but she knew her message got across by the double nods.  

“Largely, yes. We try to keep things familiar for them.” They were nearing the quarters of the de Gauvain family, and with each step closer, Agatha’s voice lowered. “I know you’re probably thinking why we don’t just decommission old Knights and build new ones. But... you can’t just build them. You can fix them, but there’s a life to them that cannot be replicated.” 

“You’ve had these Knights for so long and yet you’ve never built a new one?” That was news to Aurelia. She drew a cold comfort from the knowledge that age and experience damaged the Knights; with each life they took, with each new war they fought in, their programming degraded. In the vast span of their lives, it was probably the closest thing to guilt a machine could feel, and they deserved every bit of it. 

Agatha made a displeased sound. “No need to sound smug, Aurelia.”

“Not smug. Merely surprised.” More could not be said in confidence, for they were at the grand double door that marked the entry to the de Gauvain estate. And there waiting for them on its other side, her hair swept up into an immaculate coif and delicately studded with rubies, was the Matron of the family, Gisla de Gauvain. 

Prepared for an interrogation, Aurelia was surprised at how the day passed without a single question of import. Fussing, yes, there was fussing in abundance. Gisla would not abide by Aurelia or Heinrix living out of their trunks, and it became an entirely family affair to settle clothes and toiletries into wardrobe and cabinet alike. But questions ? No, unless those questions were somehow concerned with where something went, or would Aurelia like a cup of tea, Gisla was content to keep her silence.

Until, of course, Heinrix arrived for dinner. It was a beautiful meal - roast goose, orange sauce, mashed root vegetables, and all manner of side dishes both sweet and savory - and one that all the family was tucking in to when Gisla, a knife and fork perched delicately in each hand, asked, “And how is Rose Colline?” Her eyes first went to Heinrix, then to Aurelia, then Agatha, and lastly, they fell upon Sylvie.

Heinrix, who sat beside Aurelia and had his eyes firmly on a piece of roast goose he was serving onto Aurelia’s plate, replied with an honest and airy disinterest, “Fine.” 

“Fine?” repeated his mother, a perfectly shaped eyebrow raising in her handsome face.

“Indeed.” A gray eye lifted. “Fine.”

“Fixed the holes in the roof, have you, my boy?” Alaric, who was pouring himself and Gisla cups of fortified Guisornian wine, smiled broadly beneath his thick mustache. He set Gisla’s cup down before her with thick, battle scarred fingers; they were not the fingers of a pianist. 

“Would that I could take such credit. The only one fixing the roof was Aurelia.” Leaning towards Aurelia, a faint waft of oil and something astringent clinging to his skin assailing her, he asked softly, “do you want one of the orange slices?” He’d washed for dinner, but oil clung to the creases in his knuckles and along the sides of his nail beds. 

“Oh, yes, please.” Aurelia watched him slide a candied orange slice, dripping in its juices, atop the goose. Fat and sauce glistened over her plate, at once both appetizing and off-putting, especially now that Heinrix had both complimented and damned her, for she was the center of focus once more.

“Really?” Alaric leaned forward, an elbow on the table in a breach of bad manners that would not have stood at her grandfather’s table. 

“Well, I was not successful. My efforts were largely impeded by rain.” For her words, she received an appraising glance, and then a nod.

“Even so, good!” A hearty, boisterous laugh followed. “You have spirit! I’m glad that you kept it!”

“And what about the insides?” Gisla pressed. “Was there much damage?” Her gaze now rested on Aurelia, and Aurelia liked that not at all.

She stifled the urge to stomp on Heinrix’s foot, and beneath the table she heard a faint scuffing, as though Heinrix was moving his foot out of the way, and replied in a mild tone, “No more than expected.”

Further questions were forthcoming. “Was it clean?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Aurelia was not about to lie. “The insides were strewn with leaves and dust.”

“And are they now?” The line in Gisla’s forehead mirrored the line in Heinrix’s, as both mother and son wore the same expression of intense concern, though for different reasons. 

“No.” Turning her attention to her food, Aurelia explained, “most rooms are clean. The rugs require proper attention, as does the flooring, but the linens have been washed and the nooks and crannies dusted.” She felt Gisla’s eyes on her hands, the heat of her gaze on her soft knuckles, the delicate curves of her nails. 

“So, my son finally relented on hiring servants?”

“No.” The tinkling of gold plated cutlery against a dish heralded Heinrix’s words as he sawed at his goose. “By Aurelia’s hand, she made Rose Colline a proper home. She is worth more than any number of servants.”

Aurelia lifted her eyes in time to see cold anger flash over Gisla’s face, her expression hardening. “Heinrix...” The single word carried all the weight of a mother’s scolding. 

“Mother?” He raised his fork to his mouth and started to chew his food, seemingly impervious to any guilt, scorn, or pity. From the crispy goose skin, small flecks of grease speckled his chin, which he dabbed away with a silken napkin before drinking deeply of his wine. 

“She is not a maid.” 

“Did I say she was?”

“If the other families found out you had your wife scrubbing chamber pots and floors, it would - ”

“It would what , mother?” Heinrix’s tone as he interrupted Gisla was flat. “Would they think us poor? Would they think me cruel? On poverty, you’ll host a salon, no doubt, that will make them rethink their assumptions. And as for cruelty, well,” his eye narrowed, “why need I to discourage the truth?” 

Agatha tapped her fingers on the table. “You don’t mean that, Heinrix.” 

“Yes!” Sylvie was leaning forward, mere inches between the front of her dress and a mound of root vegetables that would ruin it. “Stop being such a cad. You do this every time you come home! You don’t have to pretend with us. You’re our brother, we love you!”

A muscle twitched in Heinrix’s jaw. He did not look at his sisters. 

Alaric straightened in his seat, the fullness of his broad frame on display. The levity on his face from the prospect of a dinner with his family had long since faded. His voice, deep and grave, came like a rumbling avalanche from his thick chest. “You may pilot the Knight, son, but I am still head of this family. You will not speak to your mother in such a tone. Apologize.”

Beside her, Heinrix was stiff, and Aurelia could feel the air around her start to become uncomfortably cold. She reached out her hand for her wine cup, deliberately jostling Heinrix’s arm as she did so, a chill running down her spine at the contact. “If anyone wants my opinion,” she said, “I think servants are an absolute must, as well as a proper repair crew. Otherwise, I will consent to cleaning only one wing of the house, and it will be the one with the least amount of stairs.” She hated Guisornian wine; fortified wine was for winter only, as far as she was concerned, but she swallowed the syrupy mouthful. 

“There are plenty of craftspeople and artisans here, and in Vilence,” Gisla remarked, her face a mask of absolute calm, “perhaps you can ask them, Heinrix.”

“Yes.” Heinrix’s reply was soft, if not automatic. “Perhaps.” 

It could have been construed as an apology, or an opening for further conflict. So, Aurelia took that opportunity to make a swift pivot in conversation. She looked towards Alaric, who appeared to still want words from her husband. “Heinrix tells me you taught him to play regicide?” A gentle lie; a miscalculated one, as well, for she noticed the slight stiffening in Gisla’s shoulders. Gisla taught Heinrix to play, Alaric had merely been an opponent. 

“I may have taught him the basics as a boy, but he’s had far more skilled teachers than I.” And Aurelia’s assessment was proven right by the look Alaric gave to his wife; one of silent approval. Perhaps adoration. Worship. Sylvie and Agatha’s own observations about their parents were true, for someone who knew how to look for it. 

Gisla brimmed with pride at those words, her eyes half-closing like some smug cat.  

“Do not sell yourself short, father.” Heinrix had turned himself back to his dinner, skewering a plump pearl onion onto his fork, its juices oozing out to join the goose grease and sticky sauce. “You have had me many a game.” 

A masterful lie from the son to his father, for now it was Alaric who was puffed and smug with praise, the previous exchange almost entirely forgotten. 

Aurelia knew it would be a long dinner of keeping score. 

As dinner wound down, the prospect of sleep and its subsequent arrangements weighed heavy on Aurelia. Following Heinrix, her feet were leaden as she dragged them up one step, then another, past the room that she recognized as the one she’d had her first night with Heinrix in, and towards the rooms that Gisla had assigned them. It was a marital suite, with a leisure room for Aurelia, and another for Heinrix, a bathing chamber, a joint sitting room, and a large, imposing bedchamber with a colossal four poster bed covered in red and gold blankets. 

Aurelia and Heinrix had not shared a bed since... 

As the door to the suite closed behind them, Aurelia heard the rustling of fabric and watched as Heinrix began to disrobe, unbuttoning his jacket and loosening the collar of his shirt with two wide fingers. A lock of brown hair curled over his optic, briefly obscuring its red glow. In the gloom of the faint lights, his face looked drawn and pensive. 

“You should bathe,” Aurelia heard herself saying.

Heinrix turned a confused gaze on her. He lifted a thick eyebrow. “Do I smell, wife?”

“Not terribly,” for that was the truth. “But it might help you to relax.”

“Do I - ” he stopped as Aurelia lifted a hand.

“Spare me the questions, husband,” she said, having heard enough of Heinrix repeat back assumptions during dinner. “I know you are not relaxed, and I have always found a bath helps me. You might wish to try it. I have some lovely lavender oil...”

Heinrix tilted his head to the side, the lock of hair that obscured his implant, which made him look like a normal man, moved. He looked like himself again; a Knight pilot. “How can I refuse such an offer?”

“Then I’ll...” Aurelia looked to the dark hallway beyond, where the bathroom and bedroom both lay, “go and ready you a bath.” 

Before she could leave, Heinrix’s hand reached out to grab her arm, his fingers catching her forearm. He held her in place, grip firm. “Do you know what else would relax me?”  He saw the look of suspicion on her face and immediately released her. “Regicide,” he said swiftly. “A game of it would... help. And then I’ll bathe.”

“Regicide,” Aurelia repeated, nodding her head. Her heart hammered in her chest. “Of course. Is there a table in these rooms?”

Heinrix nodded. “There’s usually one in every room, as it is our family’s favorite pastime. If I had to venture a guess,” he was already striding into the darkness, letting Aurelia follow after him, her skirts in one hand and the other searching along the walls for the light switches, “then it is probably... ahah!”

In the joint sitting area, hidden by a serving table that had been left extended after cleaning, was a small regicide table and two stools. It was of better quality than the regicide board in Rose Colline, though Aurelia found it lacked character with its perfectly painted pieces and unchipped board. This was a gaming table seldom used and, therefore, seldom loved. It was tucked away, out of sight, out of mind. And though it would see use between Aurelia and Heinrix, its colors would not fade and its surface would never smooth from eager hands.  

Aurelia took her customary seat behind white, so used now to this arrangement that she did not even think twice about it. Heinrix sat opposite her, his fingers already setting pieces atop the board. His knee bumped hers under the table as he got himself comfortable, his body positioning swiftly so he didn’t touch her again inadvertently. Aurelia did likewise, adjusting her skirts and sitting back in her seat. 

“White starts,” said Heinrix with a solicitous wave of his hand over the board. 

Heinrix had her king between his finger and thumb, pinching the crown. He set it down on its side, where it might sleep now, for the night. “You still aren’t obligated to answer my questions.” Heinrix spoke in soft tones, as if afraid of eavesdroppers. “Though if there is anything you wish to tell me, I will listen.”

It dawned on her then that he could ask her any question he wished, and the answer would slowly drift to the surface of her thoughts. He’d find out the truth, whether she wished to or not, unless he was actively resisting the impulse to skim through her mind like someone walking through library shelves and reading the titles. Aurelia wondered if there was anything she could do to bolster her own defenses against such an intrusion, unwarranted or not. 

They waited and watched each other in silence, while Aurelia tried to visualize a fortress around her mind. Heinrix lifted an eyebrow, though he continued to say nothing. 

Aurelia’s fortress was not sophisticated; she was not an engineer, nor a bricklayer, though she had seen a great many stone structures in her time. Until she could think of a better solution, this hut of stone around her thoughts would have to do. She began to clear the board, not speaking until she heard the creaking of the stool as Heinrix thought to leave. “Does House de Gauvain keep any Sanctuary Cats specifically here in the castle?” 

Heinrix settled down again, the soft groan of wood and wicker easing and stretching coming from beneath him. “They are... community creatures. If anyone would lay claim on them, it would be House Ansovald.” 

“And are all the castle cats Sanctuary Cats?”

Chuckling, Heinrix only shook his head. “That is two questions, neither of which you earned the privilege to ask. I am not in a mood to indulge you this evening, unless you wish for another game?” His gaze fell upon the empty regicide board. “Though it seems you do not.”

“It has been a long day for both of us. I will hold that question in abeyance for later. Or ask it of Agatha. She probably knows anyway.” 

They stared at each other again over the empty regicide board and then moved to stand at the same time. 

“A bath?” Heinrix asked. 

Aurelia nodded.

As Heinrix bathed, Aurelia forfeiting her usual nightly routine of a long, hot soak in favor of Heinrix’s nerves, she readied herself for bed. Gone was the heavy red gown in favor of a soft lace slip and a delicate robe. Her hair she braided into a single rope, bound by a silken tie. As for her face, well, it was not so heavily painted that she feared a problem come morning, though she gave it a gentle scrub with a cloth and water from the washbasin. Thusly readied, she slipped under the covers. Her nose caught a puff of the perfumed sheets, the heavy smell of incense briefly making her nauseous. 

Or, perhaps, that came from her nerves.  

The weather was still seasonably warm, so the covers chosen were not heavy, nor was there a heating pan with fire coals to warm her feet. Everything was smooth, cool, and crisp. And while the bed was comfortable, it was unfamiliar. No position would be good enough for her, especially when her preference was to keep her wary eyes on the door. 

To pass the time, she built a second layer of stones over her small hut in her mind. Mid-way through, she thought she heard the slow gurgling of the bath emptying and the creak of a floorboard. Her body tensed at the prospect of Heinrix arriving; of sharing a bed. But it must have been her imagination, for Heinrix did not darken the doorway to their shared chamber. Even so, her eyes kept their vigil as the hours passed, or perhaps it was only minutes, as there was no clock in the room. 

Eventually, though, she did fall asleep. Some stray blink had led to her eyes closing, and it took only that moment of vulnerability for her to succumb to dreams. How long she lay in that dark room, face pointed towards the door, Aurelia could not say. It was only come morning when a ray of sunshine passed over her eyes and made her wince at the brightness that the reality of her situation returned to her. Conscious again, she sat straight up in bed, heart thundering, and was relieved to have found herself alone, the bed beside her untouched. 

But with the relief came something else. A feeling she could only describe as... 

Guilt. 

She slipped from the bed and wrapped her robe tightly around her body. On bare feet and a hunch, Aurelia crept towards the joint sitting area. On the room’s long couch, she spied indents from a heavy body. A pillow resting at the couch’s arm smelled faintly of lavender. And Heinrix’s jacket from the night before was folded over the couch’s back. All betrayed the presence of a sleeping guest. 

Heinrix was long gone, probably to the Shatterdome, leaving Aurelia with a light bit of cleaning and a lot of feelings to unpack.

Chapter Text

In recognition of Aurelia’s status as the newest lady of House de Gauvain, her mother-in-law had decided that she would have handmaidens. And whether these two delightful women, who twittered like birds in a gilded cage as they pinned Aurelia’s hair up beneath an elaborate fascinator, would become permanent members of Aurelia’s household or merely temporary companions while in Marsfort, neither could say. All they knew was that the Lady Gisla had given them strict orders to not disturb the Lord de Gauvain - Heinrix - and his wife, and to bide their time until Aurelia was ready to receive them.

Staring at her pale, cold reflection in the mirror, Aurelia had scoffed when she heard the news. “What does she think you’re interrupting? Our sexual congress?”

“My lady!”

“Heir-making is more than simply sexual congress!”

It was rather fun to tease them while they made her into the perfect image of a de Gauvain. Both were younger than Sylvie, chosen for their gregarity, and unmarried. 

“But... but are you saying you are having... sexual congress with... with the lord?”

And, perhaps their most important quality was that they were perfectly deferential to Lady Gisla and her interests. Such charming, little spies! And it was so obvious Aurelia’s grandmother would have laughed until she’d wept. 

“Why don’t you check my sheets when you’re done,” Aurelia replied dryly to peals of embarrassed laughter. 

Once her hair was styled and her face painted, they buttoned her into a thin summer gown of deep red, which was fitted at the bodice with golden brocade buttons in imitation of a military uniform. The buttons extended down to Aurelia’s hips and her back, where the handmaidens looped the train of her dress up to create a fashionable bustle. And all that rested atop enough soft petticoats to smother a man. Hidden from view were her boots: surprisingly comfortable and practical. 

The most important part of her ensemble came last: the brooch signifying to which House - to whom - Aurelia belonged. They fastened the stylized horse’s head with reverence to her chest, right over her heart. 

And now, sitting at breakfast with her mother-in-law and sisters-in-law, Aurelia was forced to eat her toast with a knife and fork so as not to get crumbs on her perfectly arched, wine-colored lips. She had largely kept her tongue during breakfast, offering greetings and chiming in only the subject interested her. There were precious few of those: a lot of talk of salons, fashion, gossip. On any other planet, perhaps Aurelia might have been enticed to join. But not here. She barely registered the change in topic to the Harvestend Tournament, her mind having wandered down memories of fruit trees, fire places, and freedom. 

“Uncle Gottric and Aunt Bertha won’t come for the jousting?”

“I’m afraid not, Sylvie. Your father says your uncle wants to be there for the final harvest.” Lady Gisla’s tea cup clinked in its saucer as she set it down. 

A sly spread across Agatha’s face. “Come now, Sylvie. We know you just wanted to see Mr. Meeples.”

“Maybe.” Sylvie turned wide eyes on her mother. “Mother - ”

“No, Sylvie. You may not have a grink.”

“But, mother! I would - ”

“I said no, Sylvie.”

Sylvie crossed lace-covered arms over her chest and looked away. Her lower lip protruded in a pout. “Mr. Meeples is the only good part about seeing Uncle Gottric and Aunt Bertha.”

Aurelia wasn’t sure what a grink was, but it must have been some sort of pet by the way they spoke of it. She would have thought it strange, but she had become acquainted with the idea of Sanctuary cats. Who was to say that the Guisornians might not yet have more charming animals. Idly, she wondered if Tibbs was getting enough food.  

“ - this time, Agatha, please leave your book in your room.”

Lady Gisla’s scolding drew Aurelia’s attention back once more. 

“Mother, these balls are dreadfully boring.”

“They can be a learning experience, if only you would view them as such.” Gisla lifted her tea cup to her lips and took a delicate sip, before returning it to the saucer she cradled in her palm. 

“Much as I hate to say it, Agatha, mother is right.”

Gisla lifted a sharply drawn eyebrow. “As much as you hate to say it, Sylvie?” 

“You know what I mean, mother!” Sylvie placed her wrists on the table, leaning forward as she entreated her sister. “Balls are really good for honing one’s observational skills.”

“And eavesdropping,” Aurelia heard herself say. 

“Which is a skill in its own right,” Sylvie added. 

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Only if you like people.” 

Sylvie scowled. “‘Only if you like people?’ Now you’re acting like Heinrix. Sounding like him, too!”  

“What’s the big deal? I just want to read my book! Is that so much to ask?” 

For Gisla, it was. As the older woman sighed and launched into her long list of reasons about why reading a book instead of attending a social engagement was indeed too much to ask, Aurelia excused herself from the table. “I am expected at the Shatterdome,” she said and found herself mesmerized by the sudden appearance of Gisla’s beatific smile of approval. The lines, which Aurelia thought must have come from her constant frowning, seemed more like laugh lines, for they melted away with the joy of Aurelia’s words. 

As she slipped from the table, Aurelia took comfort that no one had attempted to waylay or gainsay her decision to leave. In fact, even when she told the de Gauvain house guards at the front door, they didn’t try to stop her. The most they did was to wish her a safe journey and a good day. 

A thought formed, a truly deviant one if Aurelia was honest, that she could use this lie again and again, so long as it was true that Heinrix was at the Shatterdome. Gisla would only be too happy to think her daughter-in-law was showing Heinrix the proper respect. And the guards wouldn’t gainsay her because of who she was. 

Perhaps the only folly in her plan that day, for Aurelia did indeed intend to go to the Shatterdome to test the limits of her freedom, was in the how of getting to her destination. Perhaps everyone assumed Heinrix had told her how to get to the Shatterdome, because no one gave her directions. But that was just as well. She would find it on her own. 

Strolling through hallways whose windows and doors had been opened to welcome the last warm days of the season, Aurelia followed her heart - and a wandering orange cat - down the stairs to the grounds. The cat’s chirp echoed with each step in the stairwell in a delightful rumbling symphony that Aurelia was only too happy to listen to. The cat allowed her touches on the very last step, rubbing its cheeks and forehead against her fingertips, before it went on its merry way to hunt fat mice in the kitchens. 

Staring out at the greenery, Aurelia weighed her options. On Alera II, she had toured her city not simply by car, but also by carriage, and, when she could get away with it, horseback. On Guisorn III, she expected it must be the same. It wasn’t like she could ride an Imperial Knight somewhere. The thought of it was laughable. 

A soft breeze fluttered through the archway, making her skirts dance. Perhaps it was the sly western winds that emboldened her, but of her options, Aurelia knew which one she would take. 

King Basile’s stables were a grand construction of wood and white plaster, with fence alternating fence posts painted in the colors of his house’s heraldry. The grand walls of his castle shielded the grassy paddock from the city, while stone roads and gravel trails marked paths for servants and liverybearers to and from the castle. It was small in comparison to the stables of her grandfather, but it was still large enough to house horses sufficient for the needs of the King and his guests. 

Aurelia’s soft leather boots crunched on the gravel as she walked towards the stable doors.  Beyond hay bails and training equipment, she could see horses eating their fill of grass and swishing their tails amidst a patch of thick, green grass. With her hand resting on the door, she paused and closed her eyes.

Sweet hay and trampled earth. The soft whinnying of beasts. The warmth of the breeze on her cheeks. 

If she emptied her mind and focused just on her senses, she could be anywhere. Guisorn III did not hold the monopoly on horses and good weather. These things, like the scent of baking bread in a kitchen, or the smell of roses in a garden, were part of the human existence. If she pretended hard enough, she was on Alera II, back in her castle, back in the gardens. Perhaps she might even be on Mars. Even Holy Terra! For, surely, even those humans on distant stars had horses and hay and grass.

An ominous buzzing drew her from her reverie. Another one of Guisorn III’s apparent similarities to Alera II were the horseflies. Aurelia was quick to slip inside, not brave enough to linger where things might sting her, even if it would have been the least of the indignities she had suffered. 

At this hour, the stables were lit by their magnificent skylights. Blue skies and white clouds danced above Aurelia’s head as she walked between the stalls, examining the horses that had not been sent out to graze. They were magnificent beasts, much larger than the horses in the royal stables of House de Vahl. They had broad, wide heads and thick legs with feathered fetlocks, and looked more suited to pulling heavy machines than bearing fine personage. 

One of them - bay colored with a white blaze - watched her approach with deep, serene eyes and soft ears. It did not step back from her as she neared, and standing on tiptoes, she could see its stall looked recently tended. On the gate in the common script of the Imperium, she saw the word, “Hawk.” 

“Is that your name?” Aurelia asked, voice pitched high and honeyed as she stretched out her hand in greeting. “Are you Ha - ”

“Need a hand there, miss?” 

Aurelia turned a wary gray eye, half-shaded by the veil dangling from her fascinator, towards the sound of the voice. 

A man as tall, perhaps a little taller, than her husband and just as broad was leaning in the shadow of a support pillar. She must have missed him when she’d first came in. He had a lho stick raised to his lips. A cloud of smoke obscured his face from view. By his clothes, he didn’t look like a stablehand, more like some worker pulled off the machine line, for the two fingers holding the lho stick were replaced with augments and he had splotches of grease on his loose shirt.

“No... no, I don’t think so.”

“You sure?” The hand lowered and the figure leaned forward. As the smoke curled away in the breeze, his face came into view. He had a weathered brow set with deep lines and a coarse, stubble laden jaw. “Hawk might seem like he’s the quiet type, but he’s quite a beast when you let him out.”

“Is he?” Aurelia considered the horse again. Based on its demeanor, nothing about what this man said seemed to be true. “Perhaps he doesn’t like his riders.”

“Can’t say I blame him,” he was smiling ruefully when Aurelia turned a sharp stare at him, as if anticipating her scorn. “Begging your pardon, your ladyship. You seemed like you might understand, seeing as you’re not Guisornian.”

A pale eyebrow lifted. “Is my accent that obvious?”

“Maybe a little.” The hay crunched under a soiled, leather work boot as he moved. The metal toe caps caught the reflection of the sun in a skylight above. “But more like you haven’t already ordered me to fetch you a ladder and a crop without so much as looking me in the eye.” 

As he spoke, Aurelia thought she heard a familiarity in his accent - the rhotic touch to his words, not unlike her own. It brought forth a fierce and sudden homesickness. She inhaled, holding her breath as her black-garbed tutors used to instruct her to do when she might otherwise lash out or crumble to pieces, and then exhaled slowly. 

“The trick,” said Sister Theodosia, smiling serenely as she twirled a set of golden keys around her long, bejeweled fingers, “is to do it so gradually that no one notices you’ve stopped breathing at all. Now, try again, Aurelia.”

Her shoulders did not move. She would not give in to emotion. “But isn’t that your job? As a stablehand, I mean.”

“Yeah, it is.” The man was beside her now, an elbow between them as he rested it on the stall door. Smoke curled around his lips with each word. “Doesn’t mean I’m not a human, though.”

“Do they treat you badly?” Aurelia wondered if the purpling she saw under one of his eyes was simply due to lack of sleep or deliberate mistreatment. 

“Nah, not badly. But,” he was smiling at the horse, “they treat him better than they treat me. Probably treat him better than you, too.” 

“Because you’re not Guisornian.” To Aurelia, the mark definitely seemed to be a bruise. 

“Aye. Because we’re not Guisornian.” His eyes were an indiscernible shade as they turned on her. They were brown like packed earth. No, they were grey as her own. No! They were a deep, fathomless blue. “Or did they get to you, too?”

“Get to me?” Her upper lip curled at the insinuation. 

The stablehand chuckled at her outrage and bowed his head. He looked up at her from beneath shaggy locks. “My apologies, your ladyship. I realize it isn’t my place to tease royal personages, such as yourself. I got carried away. Your voice reminds me of home and the sister I left behind. I forgot myself.”

The genuine earnestness in his gaze and voice soaked up the acid Aurelia was ready to unleash. “I...” She swallowed. Her lungs felt like they were filled with water; her chest was heavy, her bodice too tight. 

“In and out, Aurelia. No, don’t move those shoulders.” Sister Theodosia placed a single finger at the hollow of Aurelia’s throat. “Four count... then an eight count.”

“I understand what it means to miss your home.” Her voice was throaty and deep as she mastered herself. “But not everyone is as beneficent as I. Be...” Her chin raised. “Be careful.”

He smiled broadly at her, revealing the chip in a front tooth. “I always am.” 

Finding her cheeks warming at his smile, Aurelia pivoted topics. “What’s your name?”

“Einrich, your ladyship,” replied the stablehand.

“Einrich,” she felt out the name. “It almost sounds Guisornian.” 

He gave a shrug. “It might, but it isn’t.” 

“Well, then, Einrich.” Aurelia extended her hand. 

He looked down at it, eyebrow raised, and took it in the hand not holding his lho stick. He laughed when her eyes widened at his handshake. “Sorry, is that not what you wanted?”

“Ah... no.” She pulled her hand away. “That isn’t how you greet a lady. We... should work on your etiquette.”

“Yeah?” He seemed intrigued by the idea. “Can’t say anyone’s ever given me their hand, except to punch me in the face with it.” He held his lho stick to his lips, sighing smoke in sympathy with his story. He didn’t seem to catch the look of horror that crossed over Aurelia’s face; perhaps the smoke blurred his vision. “But if you think you can teach me etiquette to pass the time, m’happy to be your student.” 

“I’ll... I’ll think of a lesson for the next time I see you.” Aurelia ran her fingertips over the fabric of her skirts, enjoying the texture of it against her skin as a steadying anchor. “For now, though... I need to get to the Shatterdome, and I’d like a horse with a good temperament to take me there.”

“Good thinking on the horse.” Einrich was nodding his head as he spoke. “They’ve closed off the main roads to vehicles for the parade. It isn’t far; a good horse could get you there in ten, maybe fifteen minutes.” 

“At a gallop?”

“Nah. Leisurely pace.”

“And where exactly is it?”

“You can’t miss it. Just join the main street once you leave the stable gate. It’ll be the big, domed structure. There’re signs, too.” He shrugged. “If you can read them. I assume you can.” 

“I... see.” Aurelia still didn’t know where the Shatterdome was, but she was feeling more comfortable about finding it if it was truly not hard to miss. “And which of the horses would you recommend?”

“Mmm, follow me, and I’ll show you.” He had the audacity to motion for her to follow with two fingers and something about the gesture made Aurelia blush again. He saw it and grinned briefly, before he led her to the back of the stables. Two horses had poked their heads out from behind their stalls and watched them with interest. 

“This lovely girl,” said Einrich, patting the gate of a gray horse, “is Rabbit. She’s a bit nippy when she’s hungry, but after an apple she’ll take you anywhere.” 

“Bribery, is it?” Aurelia examined Rabbit. She was a little smaller than Hawk, but bore the same build. Her mane and feathered fetlocks were black, as were her eyes. Her ears flicked back and forth, but she seemed intrigued at the attention, taking a step forward so that her massive chest pressed against painted wood. 

“Never failed me before. Here,” from a pocket, Einrich procured an apple. 

To Aurelia’s chagrin she noticed that a bite had been taken from it. “That... is that your breakfast?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, but wore an easy, carefree expression, “More like a snack, but m’willing to give it up for a good cause.” Sensing Aurelia’s hesitation, he waved it in front of her face. “You’ve got places to be, right? I won’t starve. Promise. Now, go on. Take it.”

“I...” Aurelia sighed and found her fingers closing around the apple’s smooth surface. “All right.” 

“You go and feed that to Rabbit, and I’ll find you a saddle and mounting bl - ”

“Oh, there’s no need to fuss. I can manage from here.”

Einrich raised a dark eyebrow at her. “You sure?"

“I like my independence.”

He chuckled. “Oh, I can tell.” He briefly gazed towards the main paddock gate, where a roan horse had stuck its head inside, as if to investigate the sound of voices. “Just shout if you need me.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye; it traveled over her body, from her head to her toes. “Shame for that dress to get covered in hay.” 

A faint heat crept up her cheeks. He likely hadn’t meant it in that way, the way in which men and women might roll in the hay. Many were the stories of scandal; of trysts with stablehands. And Aurelia was beginning to see why, if they all had strong hands, dark hair, and smile lines. She nodded. “I will.”

And true to his word, Einrich didn’t disturb her as she acquainted herself with Rabbit, nor as she struggled to tack and bridle the horse. It was not as easy as her personal stablehands on Alera II made it seem, but it was lucky that Aurelia had a good memory. And, thankfully, that was the hardest part of the whole endeavour because riding Rabbit was smooth. High atop the horse, with a soft breeze on her face as she left the confines of King Basile’s palace, Aurelia felt a measure of peace. It was like she had finally released the breath she had been holding. 

It didn’t even occur to her as she rode away that Einrich had never asked for her name. 

With Rabbit stabled alongside even bigger horses, Aurelia could finally take the time to appreciate the Shatterdome. It was as large as everyone had said - it could not be missed. Its decorative dome was a beautiful beacon in Marsfort, occasionally sending the sun’s rays bouncing off metal and colored glass to dazzle the eyes of beholders. 

But it was inside where the view was grandest. 

Only a few steps into the building, Aurelia’s neck already hurt from how she craned it to gaze skyward at the vast story woven above her. Her head spun - not just from the immense scale, but from how she turned this way and that to make out all the glorious images. Grand armored steeds bearing knights in archaic armor, their spears at the ready, charged across green, sun-dappled fields. Mighty warriors bearing shields and swords clashed beneath a golden sun. One grand champion raised above their head a shield cloven in two and the hilt of a shattered blade. More mounted knights met in combat, their weapons splintering as their horses reared. Figures knelt by fallen bodies and wept tears that must have been made from diamonds, for how brilliantly they shone. There was so much happening that Aurelia knew she likely had missed many details upon this first viewing. 

Her attention totally elsewhere, she did not see the figure she bumped into.

“Watch yourself, madam!” A firm hand encased in a blue-green armor trimmed with silver closed around her forearm. From beneath a fringe of white blond hair, cold eyes, strangely familiar in shape, glared at her. Lips, full yet chapped, were drawn into a thin line. 

Aurelia pulled her arm free, staggering back a step. “Don’t touch me.”

The man rolled his eyes and stalked away. He had a helmet tucked beneath one arm. “Diana, come,” he barked, his voice echoing over polished marble floors. 

Hurrying through the arched entryway, a young woman with a sweet, round face and rosebud mouth approached. Her brown hair was short and curling, and held back by a series of white, feathery pins that caught the breeze and danced with each of the woman’s steps. 

Aurelia’s heart skipped a beat; it was like she was looking at the late Lady de Gauvain in the flesh... only younger. 

“I’m sorry about Bas,” the woman said, stopping only briefly to offer Aurelia a wince, “he’s always got a stick up his - ”

“Diana.”

“Coming!” A smile, and the woman was gone, following in the wake of what Aurelia could only assume was a Knight Pilot. Down a winding staircase they went, leaving her lightheaded at the interaction.  

Aurelia wanted to sit down somewhere to think through what she’d just seen, who she had just seen, but the Shatterdome was bereft of earthly comforts. The most she could do was lean against a wall, but that attracted the attention of some maniacal servoskull who snapped its jaws at her to get her to move. Many of its teeth had been replaced by gold and silver implants, suggesting that the skull must have made good on its threats of violence. 

“This planet is decidedly unfriendly,” she whispered to herself, gathering up her skirts and descending down the stairs. 

And it was there that Aurelia understood what Agatha had meant when she said most of the structure was underground. The staircase opened up into a small, sparsely decorated room, but it was clear from its layout that this room was but a gateway to many others. A security station manned by figures in ornate, decorative armor separated Aurelia from a series of doors. And when Aurelia threw her husband’s name around, doors - both literally and figuratively - opened for her. 

“I will collect your husband, my lady de Gauvain,” came a tinny, indistinguishable voice from behind a guard’s helmet. They disappeared, only to return ten minutes later with Heinrix. 

Heinrix’s hair was unusually unkempt (a bad case of helmet hair, if Aurelia were to posit what it was) and it didn’t look as though he’d shaved that morning. He narrowed his eye in suspicion at her; his mouth was already drawn into a frown when he entered. Frowning and lip pursing seemed to be a common expression amongst the Imperial Knights of Guisorn III. Aurelia felt, more than she saw, the warm light of his optic run over her form. 

“How gracious of my wife to visit me,” he said at long last, the frustration in his voice thinly concealed. 

“Oh, am I interrupting you, husband?” Aurelia asked, smiling sweetly and pinching her fingers together. 

“No,” Heinrix replied, blithely lying as he extended his hand to her, “not at all. You could never interrupt me.”

“Wonderful.” 

At the first touch of her fingers against his, Aurelia found herself compelled to move after him, for he turned and strode with a long pace through the door he’d come. Common courtesy dictated that Aurelia at least smile her thanks at the guards, but she was too busy keeping her feet under her to manage it. Though they were of a height, Heinrix had the benefit of free legs, while Aurelia’s were bundled beneath fabric. 

“Heinrix,” she scolded as soon as the doors had shut behind them, “slow down!”

Her words seemed to break the spell upon him, for the lengths of his strides shortened and his pace eased. 

“Thank you,” she said, and was rewarded with a glance back and an uneasy nod of the head. 

Heinrix cleared his throat. “Why did you come?”

“It was previously suggested to me that I should see where you spend your time.” Aurelia explained. 

“But...” He turned his face back to the long corridor. A long pause followed before he spoke next. “The Imperial Knights are here.”

“I am aware.”

“Are you?” His tone was one of suspicion. “I didn’t take you as being interested in the Imperial Knights. Why, just the opposite. I thought you loathed them, at worst. Or were afraid of them, at best.” 

“I’m not - ”

“Don’t deny it, Aurelia.”

“So what if I do? So what if I am?” She slipped her hand free of his. “I’m not allowed to go where I wish?”

“I didn’t say that.” His hand reached for hers again, fumbling and finding air. “But that does raise the question... how did you get here? Did mother call you a carriage? It couldn’t have been by car. I’m certain you didn’t walk.”

“I rode.” 

“You rode?” Suspicion turned to disbelief. “By yourself?” 

The red light suddenly blinding Aurelia’s eyes was the hallmark that Heinrix was looking at her again. “Yes. I rode Rabbit here. It was a nice day and I missed riding.” 

“Rabbit...” Heinrix frowned, gaze briefly focused on the middle distance past her head as he searched for something in his mind. “Is that a gray mare?”

“Yes.”

The ghost of a smile hovered on Heinrix’s lips as his eye focused on her once more. “Unsurprising. You and Sylvie have the same taste.”

“Good taste, you mean.”

“Yes.”

Aurelia heard the pause before he said the word. “Say it like you mean it, Heinrix.” She stopped squinting, mercifully free of the concentrated red light on her face as Heinrix turned his attention elsewhere: to the broach at her chest. 

“I do mean it, wife,” he said, tone soft.   

It was enough for her to believe him. Aurelia plucked at her skirts with her fingers before lifting them to quicken her pace. “Did you walk here?”

Heinrix fell into step beside her. “I did.” 

The corridor had been sloping down at a steady pace and the walls were starting to show their age. Rust spots were eating away at metal panels and the bolts holding the floor plates down were stained. The only thing that cleaned these floors were the constant, steady footsteps that scoured away the metal layer by layer. In fact, if Aurelia squinted deeper into the gloom, she thought she spied a path worn by heavy feet, for the central panels were concave like the steps of the de Vahl basilica on Alera II. 

“Will you walk back, too?”

A tilt of his head to the left suggested he was thinking. And then Heinrix turned a sly smile in her direction. “Unless you allow me to ride Rabbit with you, then yes. I will walk.”

“Hm.” She lifted a finger to her chin. “I shall have to ask Rabbit.”

“How very gracious of you.”

In addition to the slope, the passage was growing steadily narrower the more it curved downward. Where Aurelia previously could walk beside Heinrix without touching him, now their arms brushed more often than not. 

“Ah... Mind your step here, wife,” Heinrix said, his earlier tone of irritation having now entirely vanished in the wake of their banter. “The floor is slippery with the wrong shoes, and the stairs beyond treacherous to first-timers.”   

“Afraid I’ll fall into you and knock you down the stairs?”

“Perhaps.” A pause, his steps slowing. “They are the worst sort of stairs: narrow and uneven. You should go first.” 

“Should I?” Aurelia had to stop because Heinrix had. 

He turned to face her fully, his profile briefly illuminated in brilliant white, before half his features fell into shadow. All that she could see was the pinprick of red from his optic and the small aura of face it revealed: a strong nose, the stern corner of a mouth, the flat width of a cheekbone. 

“Yes.” He pushed himself against the wall and gestured for Aurelia to step ahead of him. But his torso, already broad, was made even more so by the red armoring of his pilot’s suit. The only way she would get by would be to bodily brush against him. “Trust me.” Another pause. “At least with this.” 

Well, if she died, then she died. Aurelia angled herself. Her rear would be to his front; that was the more... dignified way. She felt the bustle of her dress catch against her husband’s legplates, briefly pinning in her place. Heinrix’s chest bumped against her back, his shoulders brushing hers as he tugged at the fabric to set her free. His warm breath puffed against the nape of her neck. Aurelia bit down on the laughter; she was ticklish, she couldn’t help it.

“Stop that,” she hissed between clenched teeth. Her eyes were starting to water. 

“Stop what?” His voice was laden with confusion. 

“Breathing!” She choked on the word, lest she laugh. 

Another puff of air tickled her skin; a sharp exhale from his nose in what was probably irritation. “You know I can’t very well do that.” 

“On my neck!” She was positively shaking by then, all her skin alight with sensation. 

“Oh.” Heinrix cleared his throat. There was the scrape of metal against metal. The warmth on her exposed skin faded. “I... didn’t realize.”

“Neither did I.” Silence passed between them. But, at long last and with thanks to her husband’s efforts, she was free, and five feet from what appeared to be a grated staircase broken up by bits of suspended catwalk. “This does not seem so bad.”

“Even so.” Heinrix took her hand in his. It was a firm grip and unyielding like the metal of his Knight Errant. “Let us take precautions. If you slip... I will catch you.” 

A vision of dangling off the edge of this catwalk rose in her mind, with only the open air at her feet and Heinrix’s steady hand keeping her alive. The thought came with a strange sense of deja vu, as though she had lived such a moment before. But that didn’t seem right. In this strange memory, she was bathed in the light of alien suns, and the hand that gripped hers drew blood. She shook it off as a dream half-forgotten and stepped forward, closer to Heinrix. “I am holding you to that, husband. ” 

“On my honor.” His voice was deep and his stern countenance was as serious as she’d ever seen it. 

Even before he finished speaking, she was readying a retort out of force of habit. There were dozens of things she could quip in response. That Guisornians had no honor. That, as a violent conqueror, her husband’s honor meant nothing to her. That it seemed strange to her that honor only extended when it benefited himself, his family, or his planet, and no one else. She tried to suffocate the, admittedly cruel, rejoinders, but the more she tried to censor herself, the more violently they bubbled to the surface of her mind. 

Already, she could see the darkening on Heinrix’s features, the way his lips pursed, how his jaw clenched. And all because she was suppressing her natural instinct to banter. “Remember that I have chosen not to say these things,” she said. “It is you who treads into doubt and anger with your unwanted entry.” 

“Your th - ” he corrected himself, aware of where they were. “You are loud. ” His voice was a hoarse whisper, though his glare screamed where he could not. 

“Again, that is not my problem.” It was not as though Aurelia could turn off her mind. She was not a machine, to be switched on or off at another’s whim.  

“I know.” He glanced away. “Throne help me, I know!” He heaved a short, sharp sigh. “Will you always feel this way?”

Aurelia had no answer for him, save a platitude from her home. “My people say that time is the healer of all wounds. Perhaps, one day, I won’t. But there are no certainties in life, Heinrix.” Against her better judgment, she gave his hand a squeeze, and then tried to pull it away. 

“No, wife, there are certainties,” he countered, his eye returning once more to her face. “War. Tax. Death.” He held fast to her hand. 

“I will grant you tax and death. But war?” She shook her head. “I think not.” 

“And that,” Heinrix said matter-of-fact, too quickly, and far too smugly for Aurelia’s liking, “is why Alera II fell.” 

A cold stiffness suffused into Aurelia’s bones. It was not borne of any power from her husband, but rather came of the long hours suffering at the hands of her grandmother’s casual cruelty. It kept her standing when she wanted to crumple; kept her calm when she wanted to weep. 

Inhale.

Pause.

Exhale.

Her shoulders did not move. 

Perhaps he had said it in revenge. Perhaps he did not have the same ability to moderate his own speech as she did. Whatever had happened, it did not matter. What mattered is that Heinrix knew the damage he had wrought the moment the words left his lips. 

Oh, did he know. 

He grimaced and squinted eye. He was refusing to look away, yet could not stand the full sight of her quiet fury, so instead he beheld her through the shadows of his eyelashes. “Aurelia, I - ”

She shook her head. “Release my hand, Heinrix. I will manage the stairs on my own.” She did not need to tell him that she would dislocate her own wrist to be free of his touch. She made sure the image was in the forefront of her mind. 

The afternoon sun hung heavy in the sky as they made their way back to the castle. Aurelia sat atop Rabbit and chewed the insides of her cheeks while Heinrix led the way with slow steps, Rabbit’s rein curled around his armored fist. Shops along the main thoroughfare were starting to close, while others were readying themselves for an evening’s bounty. Storekeeps shuttered their windows and moved their carts while restaurateurs set out tables and chairs to crowd the narrow sidewalks. Armed guards strolled the streets like it was market day, taking a leisurely pace as they kept to their charged duty of maintaining empty roads. Any that turned their head in Rabbit’s direction as Heinrix pathed them off the street to avoid pedestrians and patios dared not approach. 

As they finally neared the stable gate, it was Heinrix who broke the silence. “You did well in the Sanctuary, wife.”

“Because I kept my tongue?” Under thousands of pounds of metal and archaic engineering, she had been trapped in a catacomb and surrounded on all sides by machines and their masters... or perhaps it was the machines who were the masters. Pilots had come and gone from the berths of their Imperial Knights, unspooling cables from their arms and porting into their cogitators with serious expressions. Some - quite a few, actually - had stopped to speak with Heinrix. And he’d spoken back, more gregarious with them than he’d ever been with her. 

They were comrades in arms. They spilled blood together. Had probably spilled Aleran II blood together. 

And Heinrix hadn’t even introduced her. Those few pilots who even took notice of her had spared her only a singular glance, and Aurelia knew what such looks meant. 

Outsider. 

If never having the blood of an innocent on her hands would keep her as an outsider, then she would continue to wear that title like a badge of honor.

“No. You kept your head.” Though Heinrix’s tone was soft, there was a chiding quality to it. “You didn’t freeze like a rabbit cornered by the fox.” His head inclined towards the horse. “No offense intended, Rabbit.”

Rabbit’s ears pitched forward and back at the sound of her name. 

“That takes courage, Aurelia.”

“Even dogs have courage when cornered.” 

“And is that how you felt?” He was looking at her over his shoulder, trusting his feet to carry him safely on the path to the castle’s stable entrance. His helmet, which dangled by a cord on his belt, clattered against his hip plate with each step. “Cornered?” 

Her chin lifted. “And if I did?”

He laughed at that. “Normally, you are the one chiding me about answering a question with a question!” 

Aurelia might have responded, had it not been for the timely intervention of a palace guard leaning from his guardpost to wish Heinrix and “his lady” a pleasant evening, before he pressed a button and set the mighty gears within the gatehouse turning. The decorative - yet thick - portcullis rose, and when Heinrix deemed it high enough for Aurelia and her fascinator to pass unimpeded, they carried on their way.

“I say this with the utmost sincerity, Aurelia,” Heinrix said as they joined the path to the stables, stretching out his hand so that his fingers skimmed the tops of manicured hedges, “but do not come to the Sanctuary again if it pains you. Or if it is of little interest to you. There are better uses of my - ” his head tilted down as he corrected himself, “our time. Yours, especially. And, yes, mine too. Whatever wifely respect or duties you’ve done to silence my mother’s no-doubt neverending nagging, consider them filled.”

A ray of golden sunlight slithered over the walls and warmed Aurelia’s neck and chest. Her eyes half-closed. “Will you lie to her everyday and say that I visited you?”

Heinrix answered without hesitation. “If it grants you peace, certainly.” Heinrix’s foot must have caught on an uneven patch of gravel, for he stumbled before catching himself on Rabbit’s neck. Wiping his nose and muttering to himself, they pressed on in a silence that became companionable, because for his lie and for the freedom that it would grant her... she could forgive him for today. 

Entering the stable, Aurelia was on the lookout for Einrich. Now that she knew what to look for, she spotted him with ease. Following the slow, curling trail of lho smoke, she found him sorting riding gear in the shadows of one of the stalls. Heinrix walked right past him, not even so much as nodding at the man.  

Hawk came to the edge of his stall, the horse’s large head looming over the gate to stare down at Heinrix as he approached.

Heinrix lifted a hand to gently pat the horse’s nose. “Another time, Hawk.” 

The horse snorted and gave a stamp of its foot. 

“No apples, you glutton.” 

“I didn’t realize you were on a first name basis with Hawk.” Aurelia ran her hands along Rabbit’s mane, in case the mare was jealous. 

“He’s sired several horses in the de Gauvain stables,” Heinrix explained. His thumb gently stroked a pattern into the horse’s white blaze. “He introduced a good, easy temperament into the bloodline, and a steady gait. As well as,” he was smiling crookedly at the horse, “big appetites.”

“How dreadful.”

“The colts veritably rampaged when our orchards spoiled one year.” He gave the horse a final, lingering pat on the neck, before he carried on towards Rabbit’s stall. 

That caught Aurelia’s attention. “Any reason?”

“A particularly bad blight.” Heinrix unlatched the gate. “Largely cured with the help of the Brotherhood of Mars,” he swung it open as he spoke and then stepped back. His face was tense as he released Rabbit’s rein and extended Aurelia his hand. “Do you need help down?”

Aurelia was all skirts when she slid off the horse; it was neither graceful nor dignified, but she was on her feet. “No.” 

“Then I...” His hand lowered and curled into a fist at his side. “I suppose I will see you for dinner, wife.” A solicitous incline of his head followed his words. And then the dirt was crunching between heavy, even footfalls. “Where are the blasted stablehands,” he muttered, head swiveling this way and that. 

As if on cue, Einrich made himself known. He was rubbing his hands on a rag as he walked, head bowed forward and his shoulders slouched to avoid Heinrix’s characteristic piercing gaze.

“You there. See to my wife’s horse immediately.” He took a step to the door, then paused. His head swiveled in Einrich’s direction again. He was scowling. “And put out that lho stick; it’s bad for the horses.” 

“Yes, sir.” Yet, the lho stick - and a grin - remained firmly on Einrich’s lips as Heinrix turned his back and strode out of the stables. With hands still wet with leather conditioner, he reached for Rabbit’s bridle. His warm fingers brushed against Aurelia’s, replacing them as they fumbled with the buckles. “I’ll take it from here, your ladyship.”

Aurelia’s cheeks felt warm. She hid her hands behind her back, lacing them together to try and erase the memory of calluses and metal. “I leave Rabbit in your expert care.”

He chuckled at that. “Appreciate the compliment.” He eased the bridle off Rabbit’s face and gave her cheek a slow stroke with his fingers. “Now, go be free.” But whether he spoke to the horse or the woman, Aurelia wasn’t sure. 

Chapter Text

“And the Emperor takes the Knight.” Heinrix plucked the piece off the board. 

“And the Ecclesiarch takes the Emperor.” With a manicured finger, Aurelia tipped her husband’s piece onto its side. 

“...Hah.” Running a hand through his hair, Heinrix stood and walked about the regicide board, seemingly in disbelief. “I... did not even see that move.” 

Raising her chin, Aurelia kept her expression cool. “It is perfectly legal.” 

“Oh, I’m aware, wife. I am... aware.” Heinrix’s mind was occupied with replaying their game, his lips moving soundlessly as he tracked each move. “That was well-played. Though, given your mid-game moves, I thought you would have...” Reaching out, he swapped some pieces, playing out the strategy for her.  

Aurelia watched the demonstration; some of the moves she had considered, but others in the chain of events she hadn’t; it was one more tally in the long score of just how differently she and Heinrix thought. With a soft tilt of her head, she replied airly, “it crossed my mind. But that would have prolonged the game.” Beneath the table, she folded her hands in her lap. “And I have places that I’d like to be.”

“Such as?” He didn’t even look at her as he asked the question, too engrossed with this new, imaginary match he had concocted. 

“You didn’t win,” Aurelia reminded him, as he so often reminded her, “so you don’t get to ask me a question.”

“...Ah.” He inhaled sharply through his nose. “I see. My own words turned on me.” His fingers lingered like a lover’s on the regicide pieces. The tenderness in the way he touched them was a sharp contrast to how ruthless he was when sacrificing them. He pulled his hand to his chest, briefly curling into a fist. “Well, ask your question then, wife.”

She lifted her chin. “Did you mean it?”

Looking down at her, he raised a wary eyebrow. “Did I mean what?”

“That you’d lie to your mother for me.” Outside their private quarters, Aurelia knew her two ladies-in-waiting were whispering and waiting for their chance to report back to Lady Gisla. So, she kept her voice and countenance soft. Aided by the lace and ruffles of her dressing gown and the rays of early morning sunlight crisscrossing the crown of her head and setting the curls of her golden hair alight, no doubt she looked the picture of feminine gentility. 

With slow, stiff steps, Heinrix returned to his seat. He held her gaze for a long moment, before he began to restore the pieces back to their original positions. “I meant what I said.” He swallowed, fingers fumbling over a white citizen, knocking it this way and that before he managed to pin it to the board with a thick finger. “No matter what you may think of me, I am a man of my word.”

Aurelia let out the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. She thought maybe he had been humoring her, that the words said yesterday had been done in the calculus of pity, of placation. “Thank you.” She reached out for the citizen Heinrix had trapped. Her fingers lightly scraped against his as she freed it.

Heinrix’s attention, which had been split between Aurelia and the regicide board, now snapped fully to her. He captured her hand in his, his fingers pressing her own closed around the citizen. A prison within a prison. “Your hands... they’re cold, wife.” 

She held back the flinch. His touch was painfully warm. “It was a cold night.” There was no other way to explain it.  The wind had rattled against the panes of her windows, howling and screaming to be let in. It had sent cold fingers through gaps in the frame, tickling any exposed skin throughout the night so that she had awoken shivering.”Didn’t you feel it?” He slept on a couch with only a thin blanket.

He shook his head and a lock of brown hair curled over his eye. “Rarely do I feel the cold.” 

“Because of your connection to your Knight?”

His shrug stretched the thin material of his white shirt across his chest and shoulders. “Perhaps.” 

“Ah.” 

At Aurelia’s gentle pull, Heinrix swiftly released her. His hand fell below the regicide board. “You should light a fire next time. When it gets cold. Summon a servant to do it for you.” The words came brusque and halted, and his mannerisms matched: a look to the door, then a creak of his chair as he stood. “Wherever you go today, wife, do not go far. We are expected tonight for feasting.”

“For the Harvestend Tournament.” 

He nodded, lips pursed tight. “Yes. The... opening festivities. We will be presented to the King.”

“Then I won’t stray far.”

Some of the tension eased from his posture. “Thank you, Aurelia.”

“But where will you go?” She noted now for the first time the full extent of his attire: black trousers, a white shirt, and a wine-red doublet embroidered in gold that he had draped over the back of his chair. His fingers were curled into the fabric, clutching it. “To the Shatterdome?”

“No.” His eyes fell briefly to her, then pulled away back to the door. “The King has summoned a war council. I must attend.” 

“A war council.” Aurelia chewed those words and found they left a foul taste. “I see.”

His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “Many are the horrors amongst the stars, wife. And our resources are too few to counter them all. You will be thankful for such councils one day.”

She doubted it very much.

Heinrix plucked up his red doublet up and gave it a quick shake. The snapping fabric rustled the curls around Aurelia’s shoulders. “I will collect you for the ball before sundown. Make sure you are ready.” He was shrugging into the doublet as he strode across the room and out into the suite beyond. His distant voice filtered back to her: “My wife is ready for you, now,” followed by the giggling and chattering of Lady Gisla’s spies.

“That...” Aurelia put a hand to her mouth to hide her laugh. “That isn’t how you do it.”

Einrich, who was kneeling in the dirt of the stables, took his cap off his head and flourished it in his hand. “Are you sure, your ladyship?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m very sure.” Seated on a small stool reserved for the ferrier, she was only too glad for the extra stability, for she feared she might topple over from her laughter. “Ah... ah!” She dabbed at her eyes. “I am sorry, I do not laugh at you.”

Twirling his hat on a finger, Einrich merely smiled. “Don’t apologize. It is good to hear you laugh.”

“I...” The words were enough to sober her. Color remained high on her cheeks, but her laughter turned to hiccups, then to nothing at all. 

“Ah, now I’m the one that’s sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

With a grateful nod, Aurelia dismissed the sentiment with a wave of her hand. “I suppose I haven’t laughed a lot since I’ve arrived here.”  She cleared her throat. “About your technique...”

“I’m all ears, your ladyship.” The cap continued to spin. 

“It needn’t be so... performative.” 

He looked down at himself. “You sure? Seems t’me that taking a knee in front of someone is pretty performative.”

“Well,” Aurelia conceded, “the act of obeisance is performative if you don’t mean it. But you don’t need to,” she tapped her finger against her cheek, “go over the top with the gestures. Sometimes, less is more.” 

Lifting an eyebrow, split down the center by a scar from some long-forgotten injury, Einrich stood and slapped the dirt from his trousers. He gazed down at her. “Maybe you’d humor me?”

“Humor you?” 

“Well, maybe not humor.” He held out his hand. “I can be a slow learner, sometimes. Go ahead and show me.” 

Aurelia looked down at the dirt, then at her gown of rust-colored silks and the white lace petticoats that peeked out around her ankles. “You want me to kneel in the dirt?”

The hand lowered. “You didn’t seem to have any trouble ordering me to kneel in the dirt.”

“What?” Disbelief and indignation colored her tone. Her brow furrowed. “I never ordered you!” She gathered her skirts in her hand and stood. “I asked if you wanted your etiquette lessons, you said yes, then you asked what to do, so I told you - ”

Einrich’s eyes widened. “Easy, your ladyship, easy! I was just teasing in poor taste.” 

“Very poor taste indeed,” Aurelia agreed, smoothing down the fabric. If he thought that was an order, she was tempted to actually show him what that looked like. The royal in her would have no qualms about making him kneel in the dirt again, perhaps face down this time. And, yet, what authority did she have over this man? She did not speak with the voice of House Ansovald, and she was not yet sure she was ready to cede to the power of being Aurelia Aeos Venria de Gauvain. 

“How,” his hat to his chest, Einrich sank to the floor once more, his knee thudding into the dirt as he knelt, “can I make it up to you?” He extended his hand again, palm up to her in supplication. His eyes, brown in this light, were bright and cut through the long shadow cast by the clouds in the skylight above. 

It was, in her estimation, a perfectly executed apology. She gazed from him on high. Her cheeks were warm and she heard the thrumming of her blood in her ears. He was waiting for her words; his hand was waiting for hers. “You,” her fingers alighted on his like the first drops of rain in spring, “needn’t. There is nothing to be made up.”

“That so?” Perhaps it was her imagination, but she thought she felt his little finger rub against her. 

“Yes.” Aurelia slowly drew her hand away. She broke Einrich’s gaze by looking down at the ground, right in front of where he was kneeling. “Perhaps we don’t need etiquette lessons at all, Einrich. That was better than what I’ve seen most courtiers attempt.” When next she glanced at him, she smiled.

She found him smiling in return, the charming chip in his front tooth on full display. Standing, he shrugged his shoulders and settled his hat back on his head. “You could say I was motivated.” He reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a lho stick and lighter. He perched the lho stick between his lips and ran his thumb over the lighter’s wheel. His brown eyes were illuminated briefly by a spark of orange red. The paper burned and he inhaled deeply. 

Aurelia watched with fascination. 

“You want to try?” Smoke curled around his mouth. 

“I’ve never smoked,” she said. It wasn’t something her minders, her mother, or her grandmother would have tolerated. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

Soft and earnest, he laughed. “Kinda starts with breathing.” 

“I...” She chuckled, too. “I suppose it does.” 

“Just a breath. No one’ll know.” He had the lho stick between his fingers, offering it to her.

“Do you promise?” She found her hand reaching out for it, her eyes watching the mesmerizing curve of smoke. 

“Of course.” He was grinning as she took it. “On my honor, princess.”

By the time the sun had sunk low into the lazy, late afternoon clouds, Aurelia was sure that the scent of lho smoke had evaporated from the soft silks of her gown and her golden curls. Having bid farewell to Einrich some hours ago, who had laughed at the way she’d coughed and gagged at the smoke in her mouth and gently patted her back (as if that might help her breathe better), she’d taken a leisurely stroll around the castle’s grounds. When her chest had felt sore and tight, or the lingering nausea had reared its head, she had stopped to watch her surroundings. All manner of things she had seen that afternoon: the horses in their paddock, the fiercely territorial swans that made their home at the center of a lake’s gazebo and the ropey black cat that had licked its chops at them unseen from some bushes, and even other nobles making their own gentle ways through the greenery. 

The fresh air and the sunlight had done her some good, not just to air out her dress and her lungs, but also to bolster her mood. She had completely forgotten about the unassailable chill the night before and even found herself excited about the prospect of a ball that evening. It's why she hurried back an hour earlier than she had planned.

To her surprise and delight, she found the de Gauvain suite empty, save for the guardsmen. In the gloom of the family apartments, amidst the heavy tapestries and the dust motes dancing in stray rays of filtered sunshine, she had the luxury of private time. 

Naturally, she went to her wardrobe first. Some dresses she had brought from Rose Colline, yes. But she had noted that the wardrobe had been filled when she and Heinrix had arrived. Someone had taken the liberty of adding yet more dresses into her toilette. And, at first, the presumptuousness of it had raised Aurelia’s heckles, for shouldn’t she get to make the call as to the color and cut of her own gowns? Yet, curiosity won over anger, for one couldn’t always dictate dresses - especially if they were gifted. And perhaps that was what these were: gifts. Pretty tokens of appeasement.

Aurelia would only be appeased if she liked them, though. 

One by one, she took out each new gown and held it up to her chin in a grand, gilded mirror, before she laid it on the bed for full inspection. The dresses were in all the colors of autumn that the de Gauvain family favored so much, and either trimmed or embroidered with gold. A few were made of heavy fabric for wear during the colder months. Others were soft and light, but came with a tournure to add additional volume for dramatic effect. 

Aurelia wanted to say that she saw Lady Gisla in all of these dresses, but the more that she considered it, she could see Sylvie in some of the choices: in a flirtatious hemline or in a silky strip of fabric meant to draw attention to the decolletage rather than cover it. She could also see the fights in design, noting the slow crawl of the waist upward, which was not something she had ever seen Lady Gisla wear. 

While her hand hovered above a higher-waisted gown of apple red fabric embroidered with golden threads, she could hear a dreaded word in her ear. Tradition. 

Should she wear something not-quite-yet in fashion to the opening night of a feast? Especially if she was to be presented to the King? And, perhaps more to the point, why did she suddenly care about that? Should she not help these people cede to new times and new thoughts? Why should she care about their traditions? 

“That’s what you plan to wear tonight?”

Aurelia jumped in fright at the sound of her husband’s voice. She hadn’t even heard him come in! For such a big man, he could be uncannily quiet. Her hand was upon her heaving chest and she took a step back, seeking solace by sitting at the edge of the bed. “Heinrix!”

He was nonplussed. “Aurelia?”

“You scared me!” 

“I...” He looked down at his feet, then over his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to. My apologies, wife.”

Aurelia nodded her acceptance. She took a deep breath. “That’s...” She swallowed her initial attempt at a response. “I haven’t decided what I’m going to wear tonight, yet. I was simply reviewing my options.”

Heinrix gazed at her again. “I see.” He took a step towards her. “I’m glad I found you here, I was looking for you. I...” His eye narrowed, as if in thought, while his red optic flared in the gloom, before it suddenly winked out completely. 

“You...?” Aurelia prompted, when the silence lingered longer than she cared for.

“I wanted to coordinate with you.” Heinrix gestured to the wardrobe next to hers, then rubbed at his nose. “About what we should wear. Tonight.” He turned from her and walked towards it. Opening one of the doors, his back still to her, he paused briefly to produce an embroidered red handkerchief from his pocket, and blew his nose, before stuffing the fabric back into his pants. “My colors are not as varied as yours,” he glanced back at her, his gray eye looking her up and down, “but I’m sure you’d appreciate matching shades?”

Aurelia very much did want to match shades. 

The feasting hall of King Basile Ansovald was decorated with the house banners of the Harvestend Tournament competitors. High on rafters and on the walls, stern faced animals and abstract shapes in bold colors watched all. Amongst them hung garlands of dried fruit and flowers, which perfumed the air with sweet scents and served as a reminder of the Tournament’s stakes, for it was a contest of bounty. In the old days, the winner would take a surplus of food back to their village to share amongst their people, keeping them fed and safe throughout the long, cold winters. But even though such dark, primitive days were over and food was plentiful, it still catered to the pride of the Knight Pilots and served as a balm to ease the capricious machine spirits they were beholden to.

Musicians had started a cheery tune as the first of the noble families made their presentations before the House of Ansovald. Aurelia, along with the rest of the de Gauvains, awaited in a long line of ruffles and puffery for their turn to kneel before the royal family. Naturally, King Basile’s ministers were introduced first, then other high ranking members of his court, followed by the remaining nobles and competing Imperial Knights and their families. By their status near the front of the line, it was safe for Aurelia to assume that the House de Gauvain was favored, though she already knew that. Heinrix had been introduced to her as Guisorn III’s most formidable warrior, though that hadn’t been a particularly good selling point for her grandfather.

With each step that they drew closer, Aurelia found her restlessness grew. It was only compounded by Lady Gisla leaning forward to whisper in her ear every few steps, reminding Aurelia of Guisorn III’s etiquette. 

“This will be the first time you are properly presented before the House of Ansovald as a de Gauvain, so you must comport yourself as one of us. Pay close attention to how the introduction is made. Watch Lady Marie as she curtsies...”

“I was raised in a royal court,” Aurelia returned from behind lips that were curled into a trained half-smile. Many long hours she had spent in front of a mirror with Sister Theodosia wearing this expression, sometimes having water splashed on her face, sometimes having something hot dropped on her lap, sometimes being pinched, sometimes being forced to speak, sometimes being forced to hold her breath. “When we are through,” Sister Theodosia said, “Not even the Emperor himself can break that smile.” 

“But your ways are not ours.”

“Your basic etiquette does not seem so different.” As Aurelia spoke, she felt a faint brush against her hand.

A grim-faced Heinrix had taken a step forward to keep pace. He was only a few inches away, but Aurelia could feel the chill radiating from him. She did not notice any of the married nobles acting especially affectionate with one another in the line. But two families ahead, Aurelia caught King Basile’s Minister of Coin grasping hands with a woman that she assumed was his wife. So, stepping next to Heinrix, she mimicked the gesture, holding out her hand. When he ignored her, she slid her foot along the floor and nudged his foot, using the cover of her skirts to hide the movement. Drawing Heinrix from his reverie, he slipped his hand under hers, his fingers slowly skimming against her palm. 

A shiver ran down her spine. He was ice cold. 

Yet, still, Aurelia smiled. 

Food was piled high on their table. Lord Alaric was eating with gusto, a goose leg in one hand and a piece of bread in the other. He gesticulated wildly as he talked, and it was lucky that no goose fat dripped onto Lady Gisla’s dress. For her part, the Lady Gisla seemed content to listen to her husband, occasionally nibbling on the crust of some rich, meat pie. Agatha was half-concentrating on the conversation, with the other half of her attention focused on the small book she was attempting to hide beneath the table. Sylvie was making eyes at a young man across the hall, barely touching her food. And beside Aurelia, Heinrix was mechanically sawing with knife and fork at a link of sausage smothered in gravy, his arm brushing against waist with each motion. 

She knew something was wrong when that motion stopped. 

Heinrix’s gaze snapped towards an approaching noble. He had the same carriage as all the other Knight Pilots: stiff backed, striding with purpose, and bearing augments that assisted his communication with his war machine. He also bore an impressive mustache. He stopped opposite Heinrix, hovering behind Agatha who paid him no heed. Everything about him was immaculately put together: from the shine of his boots to the way his sleeves draped and were cuffed about his wrists. A sword was peace bound with silver ribbon at his hip.

“There you are, de Gauvain!” Voice stentorian, Aurelia half-expected him to click his heels and salute. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Knife and fork settled on either side of Heinrix’s plate. “I was unaware I was hiding.” 

“It wouldn’t take much here.” The mustached man gave a pointed look about the hall. He was unperturbed by Heinrix’s flat stare. “You know why I’m here.” 

“Go on, son!” Alaric pointed to the knight with his goose leg. “You’re married and settled in your house. Now’s the time to take a squire!”

Aurelia caught the look Agatha and Sylvie shared. Unlikely, their expressions seemed to say.

Heinrix was opening his mouth in retort, but his mother was swifter to speak. “Yes, perhaps now is the time to take a squire. It would ease your time on campaign and - ” 

“Because you know the demands on my time so well, mother?” 

Aurelia felt coldness seep across the floor and glide up her ankles. She rested her fingers lightly over Heinrix’s wrist. “It certainly can’t hurt to at least consider the candidates. I am sure they have trained hard and traveled a distance to be here?” She was looking to the other knight,  urging him with her eyes to agree.

He wasted no time. “Indeed they have. One very promising you candidate has come from - ”

A chair creaked and scraped against the floor. “Spare me their histories, Edmant.” Heinrix dropped the napkin on his seat cushion. His hands fell to the back of Aurelia’s chair, and he tugged it out from the table - Aurelia and all. “Come, wife,” he said, the heavy weight of a palm resting on her shoulder. The thick fabric of her gown was unable to fight off the chill of his touch. “You have a vested interest in this, as the Lady of Rose Colline. You should come gander at the possible addition to our household.”

“A most excellent idea, son!” said Alaric around a mouthful of bread. 

Beside him Gisla gave an approving nod. 

Heinrix’s sisters exchanged another look, but what it meant, Aurelia couldn’t even guess. 

Allowing herself to be pulled from her seat, Aurelia gathered up her skirts and trailed after Heinrix and Edmant, who walked a half-pace faster than she was comfortable with. 

“You were missed at the war council,” Heinrix said, his hands folded behind his back as he walked. The fingers of one hand were tightly grasping the wrist of the other. 

“My duties required my presence elsewhere.” Edmant sniffed imperiously. “It pained me to miss it.”

“Yes,” her husband replied dryly, “running the Schola Honorum no doubt would eat up much of your available time.”

Edmant made a harrumphing sound and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword as he walked, forcing Aurelia to adjust her pace so she didn’t trip over his scabbard. “Did I miss anything of importance?”

“Only that King Basile’s guests are delayed a day.”

“Ah, so it is true, then. We should expect the return of Lady Caelys and her retinue?”

Her husband’s only reply was to offer a grunt that was half-lost by a swell of music that swept new dancers from their feasting tables and onto the floor. 

Having led them to the opposite side of the feasting hall, Edmant brought them before a table whose chairs had been replaced with benches, upon which sat ten perfectly well-mannered children in grey uniforms. Aurelia guessed them to be anywhere between nine and thirteen, and already they bore the hallmarks of the violence that Guisorn III thinly disguised as tradition. Gentle eyes and innocent flesh had been carved away, replaced with cold metal, wires, and unnatural lumens to better serve the unending war machines that their parents claimed were their bright rights. 

“Ser Heinrix,” said Edmant, clapping a stern hand on her husband’s shoulder, seemingly impervious to - or oblivious of - his coldness, “allow me to introduce you to this year’s finest candidates.”

“Tell me, Aurelia,” Agatha leaned across the table, the last of her family still present with Sylvie and her parents absent, “did he make any of them cry this year?”

“There were no tears,” Aurelia assured, adjusting her skirts around her legs to get comfortable once more in her seat.   

Heinrix’s lips were pursed together. “I can be kind, Agatha. My dismissal of their services does not devalue their - ”

Agatha’s hand lifted. “You could be a little nicer about it.”

He gave a short, sharp shake of his head. “I will not give them false hope. There is nothing nice about that.” His optic flashed red, as if the lumen wished to emphasize the point. 

“Actually! ...Hm. I will actually concede that point,” replied Agatha with a tilt of her head. “You’re right.” 

“How rarely do I hear that from you,” he drawled, though a smile briefly flirted on Heinrix’s lips, before he finally took notice of the empty table. Ths smile evaporated as his expression became guarded. “Praytell, sister, where did everyone go?”

“Mother and father went to speak to some friends,” Agatha pointed southward, “somewhere there. And Sylvie...” She smirked. “Where do you think our dear sister is?”

Aurelia knew where Sylvie was. She had seen the fluttering of de Gauvain red on the floor as they’d walked back from the squires and watched Sylvie’s voluminous skirts brush against a pair of trousers cut from dark green fabric. “With her suitor,” she supplied, “dancing.” 

“Unchaperoned!” Agatha added, voice low in conspiratorial tones as she leaned towards her brother. “She wanted a moment alone with him.”

“Hardly unchaperoned.” Aurelia counted at least thirty distinct couples dancing. 

“Unchaperoned.” Heinrix’s eye narrowed. 

“The negotiations aren’t even finalized! Mother and father,” Agatha’s tone had taken on a song-song quality, “will be furious.”

Aurelia blinked in utter bewilderment. “Over a dance?” Beside her, Heinrix’s chair creaked again, and Aurelia felt her own chair being pulled back once more. “What - ”

Heinrix had wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and was helping her stand, his touch firm, but not unkind. “Come, wife,” he urged, taking her hand in his. To Aurelia’s relief, his skin was no longer chilled. “Before the song concludes.” He was leading her to the circle of dancers. They would be within view, yet still a respectable distance away, from his sister and her one-day-betrothed. 

At the periphery, with the light of flickering candles in his only eye, he grasped the curve of her waist with his free hand. His palm slid along the heavy fabric of her bodice, gliding to the small of her back. He twined their fingers together as he extended her arm. And then they were off, Aurelia gliding backwards at Heinrix’s command. A handsome pair they must have appeared to onlookers, her gown a blood red with muted accents, his doublet the echo of that muted red. The hammered circlet of gold on his brow matched the color of her hair, which her ladies had braided and pinned into a coronet at the top of her head. Their eyes were fixed on each other for the first heartbeats of the dance, before Heinrix turned his attention to the task of leading her safely across this sea of feet and silk. 

Aurelia caught sight of Sylvie and her betrothed, and saw the other woman’s smile of delight as they spun. She thought she did a good job of holding her tongue as the music drew them around the dance floor like the orbiting of stars once, then twice, but she could not resist her innate curiosity. “Is it not common for ladies to dance with eligible young men at balls on Guisorn III?”

“A conversation you can have with my parents,” Heinrix replied, pressing gently against her waist to indicate a change in their direction. “I am unaware of the customs of courting young ladies.” 

She lifted a thin eyebrow and gave her husband a pointed gaze. “I doubt that. You were married.”

“I was.” Looking out at the other dancers, his lips pressed together briefly. “Long ago.” Cool breath puffed against the side of her cheek. “But I would not say the courtship was traditional. Or long.” His expression tightened. “And that is all I will say on it.”

“I understand.” Aurelia thought she saw relief in the depth of his eye. “I am still going to ask your mother and father, though.” Her words brought the shadow of a smile to her husband’s mouth. 

“Provide me advanced notice, please. I would like to be far away.”

“We will see.” 

Sylvie and her suitor were directly opposite them in the line of dance, having quickened their steps. In response, Heinrix slowed their pace, buying time by side-stepping and twirling Aurelia out with a flourish of skirts. The world became a continuous blur of low candle light and the red of her husband’s optical implant as she spun, and spun, and spun before Heinrix sent them on their way again. 

Aurelia squeezed Heinrix’s hand to anchor herself. “When does the actual tournament begin?” 

“There are two more nights of feasting, and then the morning procession.” Beads of sweat were forming at Heinrix’s temples. “And then the tournament officially begins that afternoon.” 

“Procession...” She remembered the parade; of flower petals falling from a limp fist. How she thought she might fall from the ramparts as the Imperial Knights marched to the cheers and fanfare of the people, their footsteps thundering like their cannons against the walls of her city. 

“Indeed.” Heinrix wasn’t looking at her. “You must be in attendance.” 

Deep down, Aurelia had always known there would be no escaping it. But it still made her stomach plummet through the floor. “Of course.” Her ears caught the closing strings of the violin, just as her body felt Heinrix’s hands adjusting position to bring their dance to an end. 

The dip was shallow, but it brought their faces together. Whatever intention Heinrix had of watching Sylvie and her suitor, Aurelia found it had wavered in favor of looking at her. His breath misted against her lips. “And I expect a token of your favor, if I am to compete in your name.”

“And why would you compete in my name?” Aurelia whispered. But she already knew the answer.

Heinrix drew away and righted her back to standing. With a lingering touch to the small of her back, he whispered in her ear, “because it is tradition, wife,” before he led her back to an empty table.  

Chapter Text

He played a merciless game; his victory was swift. Swifter than it normally was. Hunched forward, the neck of his shirt loose to almost his navel and revealing the coarse, dark hair of his broad chest, Heinrix’s gaze had been hyper-focused on the board from the moment he sat down. Aurelia had been forced to watch with dismay, silent and unable to protest, as the pinprick of red light from her husband's optic moved from square to square in a systematic capturing of her pieces. 

“You did not even wish me a good morning,” she said as he plucked the white king from its place on the board. 

“Yes. Very unsportsmanlike of me.” At last, his gaze lifted. “Good morning, wife.” His eye was distant and his cheeks were flushed pink from the fire that Aurelia had ordered built before her arrival. His lips parted, mouth opening ready, words on his tongue. And then his teeth snicked as he clenched his jaw. He cleared his throat and sniffed. “Did you have a nice evening?” He looked at her expectantly, unflinching in the face of her silence. “Will you not answer me?” 

Heinrix had said she could keep her secrets. It seemed he was reneging on those words. 

“You know,” Aurelia leaned an elbow on the edge of the table, the lace of her dressing gown revealing the soft pink of her flesh just below, “it is cheating if you let the Imperial Knight play the game for you.” 

“Bold of you to assume my ancestors are better regicide players than me,” he replied, sitting back in his chair. He did not rise to her bait, but the light from the optic did diffuse and a line formed between his thick brows. “There hasn’t been a de Gauvain that’s played so well in generations. And none of them made it to the Throne Mechanicus.”

“And how do I know that’s true?”

For a moment, Heinrix’s smile was mirthless and his gaze severe; hard and cold like a gray spring morning. “You would have to join with the Throne. And I don’t recommend that.” But as the sun thaws stems stiff with frost, his expression eased. “They would shave your head and I would miss your hair.”

It was reflex for Aurelia to reach up and grasp for the thick, gold braid resting on her shoulder. “My hair,” she echoed. Her memories fell back on the children the night before; victims to the savagery of Guisornian tradition.  “Not the eye they would pluck or the skin they might carve?”

“Those, too.” A pause. “I suppose.”

“You suppose?” Her outrage sounded feigned. And it was, in part. But it was also very real. 

“Yes. On principle, I do not find the merging of machine and flesh to be ugly.” A sly smile crossed his lips. “But to assuage your vanity - ”

“You are absolutely beastly, Heinrix de Gauvain.”

“ - I would miss your eyes and your unblemished skin, too.” He rolled his shoulders before straightening and sitting back on the narrow chair, which creaked under his weight. The doublet he had not yet donned and which he had draped over the back of the chair was poor padding, for Heinrix shifted to get comfortable. 

They were pretty words. Charming words. And yet... Aurelia licked her lips. “You said I didn’t have to answer your questions, if I won.” 

“That is true,” he admitted. “You do not. But I never said that I wouldn’t ask questions.”

“You’ve never followed up before,” she countered. “The tone seemed different.” 

“I thought, perhaps, you might feel differently.” His arms crossed over his chest. “It’s been some time since we first started playing regicide. Since we first had our... agreement.”

“And?” Aurelia found herself mirroring his posture, arms moving to shield her body, but she stopped herself. It was a position of weakness. She let her arms frame the regicide board and faced her husband head on. “Are you attempting to break that agreement?”

Heinrix looked away. “No.” He released a sharp exhale. “I mean what I say. I meant what I said. ”

The grip Aurelia had on the regicide table eased. “Thank you.” She let a heartbeat pass before she added, voice soft, “What part of my evening are you inquiring about?”

That mirthless smile returned to his mouth. “You will not tell me all of it?” The lines seemed almost permanently etched on his face when he saw her shake her head. “Your night, then. How you slept. Were you warm, at least?”

“I was warm,” she assured. “And slept well.” She ran two fingers over her cheek, down to her chin. “Can you not tell?”

“Truthfully, I cannot. Even covered in chimney soot and cobwebs, you are...” Her husband was not the type to mince or fumble with words, so when they did not come, he did not try to fill the silence. Instead, he let it hang heavy between them, waiting for Aurelia to lift it. And when she did not, for so much heavy lifting had she already done on his behalf, he shifted again in his chair and moved to stand. “There will be no ball tonight, Aurelia.”

The words struck her as hard as any physical blow. “What?” She stood, too. “Are you punishing me?”

“No.” Heinrix’s face disappeared behind his doublet as he pulled it over his head. 

Aurelia knew where his face was by the illumination of the optic behind the fabric. “I don’t believe that.”

First his forehead, then his eyes, then his nose appeared, and then, finally, his grim mouth. “If you will not take me at my word, then I can’t convince you.” He tugged sharply at the hem, straightening its fit. “You may spend your time as you see fit.”  

“At least tell me why we aren’t attending tonight?” Sister Theodosia would have scolded her for the way her voice pitched high, in that plaintive, pleading way that only peasants and children spoke to their betters. 

“Because I don’t want to go.” His hands curled into fists. “And that should be enough.”

So many things Aurelia wanted to tell him. She hadn’t wanted to clean his house. To marry him. To come to Guisorn III. Life was filled with things that people didn’t want to do. So, why should Heinrix’s desire to not go to a party trump her desire?

He raised a hand to the side of his face and winced. “How strange,” his voice had gone soft and dangerously silky, “I thought you despised the people of Guisorn III, yet, you want to revel with them? Mother will be so pleased you’ve come to finally accept their blood as your own.” 

One hand pressed to her chest, the other grasping the back of her chair for support, Heinrix left her alone with her burgeoning horror. 

The stablehand - Einrich - wasn’t in. 

She’d gone to the stables as soon as she could, suffering only the minimum amount of attention from her ladies. It was enough for them to lace her into her gown and help pin the heavy weight of her hair into place before she shooed them away to rub a sweet smelling cream into her face, set it with soft powder, and dab color onto her cheeks and lips. It was the barest face she dared; it had to be, because she needed to escape.

Standing across from her now was a young man she’d never met before, who did not lift his eyes in greeting and mumbled his words. He did not know where Einrich was. Aurelia wasn’t even sure he knew what day it was. But, she did her best not to let her disappointment tamper her compassion and left the man with a few words of greeting before she was swirling away on burnt copper skirts to stalk the gardens with the swans and the cats. And when one particularly aggressive bank hissed at her, their wings raised high and their tongues lashing between their beaked teeth, she hissed right back, loud enough to startle a rangy tabby from its hiding position under a bush.

On slippered feet, she continued the path. The tabby trotted ahead of her, its bushy tail held high, the tip curved. It looked back at her with baleful eyes, questioning why she might dare follow it. When their paths continued to intersect, it huffed and bounded through the bushes towards a hedge maze, where children - those not maimed, those not ready to be perfect soldiers - giggled in the thicket as they hid from their nannies and nursemaids. 

Though the grounds were filled with courtiers and noble families, Aurelia had never felt quite so alone. Heinrix’s words - that she somehow wanted to socialize with these people - had cut and confused her. She wished she had a confidant. Someone who would listen, could offer sage advice, or at least tell her if she was being unreasonable. But she did not trust anyone here enough to take their words at face value. Perhaps duplicity was not in the nature of Guisornians, but they were still predators and could smell weakness. Aurelia didn’t want to give anyone the impression that Alerans were weak. That she was weak. 

“A queen,” she repeated to herself in a whisper only the wind dancing amidst the rose bushes could hear, “must keep her own counsel.” To hear Sister Theodosia first utter those words, Aurelia had been struck with a grief so profound that she had cried for a week at the prospect of shouldering the emotional burden of herself, her subjects, and her planet on her own.  But that young girl was long gone now and the woman she had become dug her fingers into the sentiment and clung to its power. Strength in solitude. A divine right to being right in all things, for there was no other way to reconcile such loneliness and doubt.

She didn’t seek kinship with Guisornians. She missed parties! She missed dancing! Why should she care who played the music? Who offered her their hand? She didn’t want Guisornian company over anyone else’s. No, it didn’t matter what Heinrix had said. What she wanted was normalcy. 

And that made perfect sense to her. 

At Rose Colline, Aurelia had handled dressing herself. But her clothing there had been far less elaborate than the clothing of court and parties. Even so, Aurelia was unwilling to call Gisla’s spies in to assist. She would make do with her own laces and primp her own curls. 

The gown and its accouterments were a deep red, bordering almost on purple, with a faint, floral pattern stitched in copper thread and studded with pearls. It matched the pearl snood she had coiled her hair in, save for tendrils that touched her cheeks and framed the soft ivory of her pale face. She ran a brush dipped in iridescent powder over the lids of her eyes and the bridge of her nose, and painted her lips to match the gown with a practiced hand. And at her wrists and the hollow of her throat, she dabbed an oil scented with some heavy, summer bouquet. 

Slipping her feet into soft, embroidered slippers, she glanced at the antique chron on the mantle of the fireplace to check the time. But there was no need, for a commotion in the rooms beyond crawled beneath the doors to her ears. 

“Come along, girls.”

“Mother, you don’t need to treat us like ducklings.”

“Do you really think we should arrive at three bells, rather than two?”

Aurelia picked up her skirts and hurried to the sound of voices, catching the other ladies de Gauvain and the Lord Alaric as they were about to descend the landing. 

Heinrix had not explicitly told Aurelia that she could not go. If he didn’t want to, she wouldn’t force him. But he couldn’t lock her up with just his words. 

“My dear?” Gisla’s steps halted. Behind her, Agatha nearly barreled into her mother, stopping in a flurry of silks the color of falling leaves. “Were you going somewhere?”

Feeling the eyes of her in-laws upon her, Aurelia’s back straightened and her chin lifted. “Why, to the party, of course.”

Sylvie had a fan in hand, which she promptly unfurled and used to cover the lower half of her face. Her eyes had narrowed, but it was hard to tell if it was an expression of amusement or one of embarrassment. Agatha was looking between her parents. Alaric was shaking his head, greying locks of hair falling about his ears. And the lady Gisla... well, Aurelia already knew the woman’s answer by the way her shoulders squared and her lips pursed, before pulling back into an apologetic smile.

“I am sorry, Aurelia,” Gisla said, “but it would be unseemly for you to arrive without Heinrix.” 

“At least do me the honor of telling me why,” Aurelia replied, holding up a hand to add, “and, please, spare me the explanation that it is ‘tradition.’”

It was the Lord Alaric who answered. “You are his choice for the Queen of Peace, should he win the Harvestend Tournament. Separation at the Harvestend Festivities would bring grievous bad luck.” 

“So, it is superstition that builds the bars of my prison?” She inhaled. Exhaled. Her shoulders did not move. 

“I’d love to trade places with you,” offered Agatha, who scowled at the look her mother sent her from the corner of her eye. 

“Why don’t you take the evening to relax, dear girl?” The floorboards creaked in sympathy below Gisla's ocre skirts. “Stroll the gardens. Draw a bath. Read a book. Embroider your name into the family tapestry, if you so wish. You may not have the luxury of such peace and quiet again; especially as your household grows.” A gentle hand touched Agatha’s shoulder. “Come along.”

Aurelia watched in cold silence as the de Gauvain family descended the stairs. Their footfalls were quieter than the thundering drumbeat of her pulse in her ears. She waited one minute, then two, then ten, standing perched in the hallway as still as a gargoyle and allowing the dim lumens to cast long, gruesome shadows on her features. 

And then she was off, feet light in contrast to her heavy heart as she followed after her ‘family.’ Like one of the many cats that stalked these night-darkened halls, Aurelia flitted from shadow to shadow. She mostly recalled the path to the feasting hall, having been somewhat dazed at the first de Gauvain procession and distracted by Lady Gisla whispering in her ear and making suggestions to her. But even if she had forgotten it, the scent of food and the sounds of revelry were carried through the air to her nose. Smoke and roasted meats, baked goods, spiced fruits and vegetables, all these made her mouth water despite the pit in her stomach. She followed the smells to a staircase, and two floors down, she caught the first plucking of a string and the low drone of a wood instrument. More steps still to go. 

Perched on the threshold of one of the windows that illuminated the narrow stairwell was a cat: black fur and almost invisible, save for the dim light of stars illuminating its form. Two eyes in a face like a void stared at her and slowly blinked. It suffered the touch of jeweled fingers on its forehead as Aurelia tickled the soft fur and whiskers of its eyebrows, before she carried on her way and left the cat to the evening breeze.

She halted at an archway as a familiar voice, mixed in a cacophony of twittering laughs and hushed gossip, carried through the air. 

“The line has barely moved, mother!” 

“Patience, Agatha.”

Aurelia retreated up a floor. If the other de Gauvains saw her before the party, they’d probably escort her back to her rooms like a child. But they’d not dare make a scene with the king watching. She had to stage her entrance carefully. And that meant finding a different way down. 

She searched for another staircase. It couldn’t be too far from where she was now, or else she might get lost. But it couldn’t be too close. Wandering had to be strategic. Down one hall. Cutting through another. She wove a path until she found a staircase that suited her needs, picked up her skirts, and headed down. 

The sound of music was present, and there was the clattering of dishes, and the sound of voices. She was in the right place. Good. 

Smiling to herself, she stepped from the stairwell. 

“Karkin’ void!”

Something solid knocked the wind from Aurelia. Her legs tangled in her skirts and she found herself falling backwards, landing painfully on her rear. She flinched and put her hands protectively around her head as the sound of breaking glass followed her own fall, along with the clatter of something hard bouncing over stones. 

“Your ladyship? Your ladyship! Are you hurt?” 

Heart pounding wildly, Aurelia lowered her arms. Leaning over her, his concerned face illuminated by gentle candlelight, was Einrich. He had a hand outstretched; the fingers were scrubbed so roughly his knuckles were raw and red. 

“I’m... I’m all right. I think.” She took stock of herself. Nothing felt broken. Except her pride. As soon as her fingers touched his, she found herself hauled to standing. Einrich steadied her ascent with a gentle, but polite, hand at her waist. On her feet once more, she was able to see the damage she’d wrought. Broken glasses, a fractured tray... “Einrich, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” He smiled, chipped tooth on display. “What for?”

“All of that.” She gestured at the mess.

“Bless your heart, your ladyship. But - ”

The words sent a sharp pang of homesickness through her. Her mother used that expression so often, as did the other ladies at the court. It was entirely disingenuous in sentiment, but Aurelia was sure that Einrich must mean it.

“- broken glasses can be replaced. But your ladyship’s dignity?” He laughed at the look of shock on her face. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

“I didn’t break my ‘dignity,’” she grumbled, resisting the urge to rub her rear and lower back. 

“‘Course you didn’t.” His smiling eyes were the color of muddied rainwater. The hand at her waist gave a single squeeze before it fell away. “If you’re looking for the party, you’re going the wrong way. This is the servants’ path.”

“I was but - ” She cocked her head to the side. “What are you doing here, Einrich? I didn’t see you at the stables earlier.”

“Rather busy day for me. Mmm... You came looking for me, did you?” He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Can’t say I had much choice in the matter. The King needed extra help in the kitchens, so it was all hands. Wasn’t so bad though.” There was a momentary pause as his eyes narrowed. Thoughtful.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I feel like if I say something, you’ll go and wander into places you’re not supposed to.”

“When you say it like that, then now I most certainly will.”

“Mm... figures.” He sighed, but there was nothing genuine about it. “There’re other Alerans in the kitchen staff.”

She gasped. 

Before he could say more, her hand outstretched, touching a muscular arm. “Take me to them.” 

King Basile’s kitchens were colored in hues of warm orange and red from the grand fires burning in the many hearths upon which pots and racks of pies, pastries, and other finger foods baked. The smell rekindled the hunger in Aurelia’s stomach, forgotten in the fall and the subsequent bruising of her rear end. And she was dizzied from the many different voices speaking at once as servants bustled and sang and cajoled as they hurried platters of food out to the party and brought back empty trays for the sculleries.

Aurelia sat on a badly balanced stool in the shadowy corner of the kitchen. Nestled between two fires whose coals were low and several shelves that served as a quick pantry, Einrich had hustled her in from a side door. That the servants barely even glanced in their direction suggested this must have been a common occurrence for Einrich. 

Promising her a reward, since, in his words, it, “wouldn’t do for her ladyship to go hungry,” he had left her there in the company of two servants he had flagged down. The skin on their fingers and hands were badly pruned, and the fronts of their drab work shirts soaked with water. Scullery servants. 

“You bein’ treated all right, m’lady?” asked the taller of the two - a man with swarthy skin, dark brown eyes, and raven hair streaked with gray that he’d combed to one side to give himself a rakish appearance. He was leaning against the wall, one boot propped against the whitewashed stone, with a lho stick between his wrinkled fingers. 

“M’lady isn’t the proper term of address, darling,” chided the pale woman who stood next to him, her arms crossed over her chest. For good measure, she plucked the lho stick from his hand and took a long drag of it. 

“Ah! Yeah, how could I forget.” The man cleared his throat and sketched into a half bow. “Your highness.”

“Ugh,” the woman rolled her eyes and blew strands of white-blonde hair away from her eyes. “You’re giving us a bad name. I apologize for him, your highness.” 

“Really, there is no apology necessary. We are all out of our place here.” She so badly wanted to ask why there were Alerans in the kitchens. How had they come to be there? Did they know Ambassador Werserian? But... it wasn’t something she wanted to ask in such a crowded space. The others around might be servants with no love for their noble masters, but they were still Guisornian. Their allegiance was not to Aurelia, nor to Alera II. So, instead she asked what her grandfather might ask. “What are your names?” 

“I’m Elayne,” said the woman, and she thumbed her finger at the man next to her, “this is Vin.”

“Your highness can call me whatever she wishes.” Vin was smiling, a stray curl of smoke slipping between his lips. 

“Elayne, Vin, hello.” She lifted her hand, fingers slightly curled so that they might take it and greet her properly. But, like Einrich, both gave her a firm handshake instead. The nonplussed expression she wiped from her face. “And you are from...?”

“From Greenefeld, your highness.” Vin glanced to Elayne. “We grew up there together. At a vineyard.”

Aurelia could place it. Not as green as the name implied, at least, not during the summer. Known for the vibrant red of its stone fruits and the bright orange of its grapes, Greenefeld was like a fire at midsummer. “There are at least thirty vineyards in Greenefeld.”

“Aye, your highness,” agreed Elayne, and Aurelia heard the woman’s declination to say more on the subject. Perhaps it was a sore story. Or sad. 

She would not press. 

“How long have you - ”

“Already askin’ questions of your people? See, what did I tell you two? A princess in every way.” Einrich took that moment to return with a plate especially curated for Aurelia: small tarts filled with an almond paste and topped with a bright summer berry, a slice of bread covered with spiced butter, small cubes of soft cheese, and strips of sausage and cubes of potato that had been delicately tossed in something salty and sour. “For her ladyship.”

Aurelia saw the pale woman’s mouth open in rebuke, but shut at the touch of her taller companion. She took the offered plate with a gracious nod of her head. “Thank you, Einrich.”

“Now, are you gonna explain why she’s here,” the pale woman tapped her hand against the wall, “and not out there?” She pointed with her chin in the direction toward, Aurelia assumed, the feasting hall. 

“Easy, easy, Elayne.” Einrich’s smile was lazy as he stood above Aurelia, his shadow falling over her like a protective blanket. “One thing at a time. Let her eat her food first.” 

“As if we’ve got all the time in the world,”  Elayne grumbled, sucking on the lho stick again. “Can you believe it, Vin?”

It felt foolish to sit while everyone else stood, yet Aurelia maintained her seat as the “guest of honor.” But it did not stop her from squaring her shoulders and sitting as tall as she could. And though her plate of food was balanced safely on her thighs, she could not bring herself to eat, no matter how often her fingers danced towards the tasty morsels. 

“Yeah, they're gonna think we’re missin’ and send us off to a mine to do hard labor.” Vin ran a hand bearing red welts and healing burns through his short hair. “Or worse.”

Aurelia cleared her throat. “You ask me why I’m here, but what are you doing here?” 

No answer was forthcoming. Her three companions stared down at her, making eye contact with Aurelia before looking away. 

“It is rude not to answer a question,” Aurelia prompted.

“And it's a hanging offense to upset a royal,” Einrich replied with somber eyes. “Can I have some of that?” He held his hand out to Vin, who had the lho stick now.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Aurelia was ready to stand. “Answer my question, please.” 

Einrich held the lho stick to his lips and sighed. “A beautiful war bride, rare minerals,” he said, spitting the words like he’d tasted bitter fruit, “and all the serfs this planet could ever want. That’s the legacy of the peace you bought, Aurelia.” 

“That I bought?” 

A hand fell onto her shoulder; an anchor in a spinning room. “Even good men make bad deals, your ladyship.”

Seething anger and heat flooded her cheeks. She was standing, the plate in one hand, her skirts in the other, and the stool toppling backwards against the wall. “That can’t be right. My grandfather would never - ”

The three Alerans shared a look. 

“And yet,” the words were soft, “here we are.” Einrich gently wrapped his fingers around her wrist, steadying the shaking hand holding the plate. He plucked the stoneware from her and gave it to Vin for safe keeping. 

“I...” She didn’t want to believe it. She could have accepted herself as being sold to buy her people’s freedom, but not anyone else. Already, she could feel the drumming of a rabbit heart in her chest. “I need some air.” 

Einrich nodded. “Follow me. Elayne, Vin, don’t wait up.” 

“We won’t,” Vin and Elayne were already helping themselves to the food on Aurelia’s plate, even as Einrich took her by the forearm and wove a pattern through the shelves and shadows back into the hallway. 

Aurelia kept her sanity by counting the steps they took, letting Einrich lead her through narrow passages and archways until they arrived at a small terrace that doubled as a kitchen garden. The smell of cut thyme and lavender mingled in the night air as he brought her to a shallow railing that would now serve as their bench. The stars hung low above them, close enough that Aurelia thought she might be able to reach up, pluck one, and wear it as a diamond. 

Einrich settled beside her. “M’sorry, Aurelia.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I thought it’d be nice for you to meet some other Alerans. But I hadn’t expected the conversation to go that way quite so fast. But, knowin’ you,” he sucked sharply through his teeth, “I should’ve guessed how quickly you’d want to get to know people. That’s a rare quality.”

“You’re flattering me to avoid talking about - ”

“I’m certainly trying to avoid talkin’ ‘bout what happened, but I don’t think it's flattery.” Einrich looked up to the sky. Somehow, he’d taken Vin’s lho stick with him, for it was perched between his lips. The dull orange burn of the paper was like its own sun in the vastness of the gloaming. “Besides, none of its your fault. You’re as much a victim as Elayne and Vin.”

“And you.” Aurelia heard the missing words. “You’re Aleran, too, aren’t you? I heard it in your accent. Some phrases you’ve used...”

“Half,” he corrected. “My father was some no-name offworlder.”

“That explains the intonation.”

“Eh,” Einrich chuckled, “Not quite. My mother raised me and my half-sister on Alera ‘til she died. On the coast. Some fishing village. You’ve probably never heard of it.” He reached for something growing in a planter - a piece of mint - and rubbed it between two fingers. 

“Hmph. What a thing to say to the woman who might one day have ruled Alera II.”

He cracked a smile. “Stone’s Landing.”

Aurelia really did run through the maps of her home planet in her mind’s eye. 

Einrich clicked his tongue. “It’s a trick answer. Won’t find it on a map. And even if you did, I know of at least four other villages with the same name. Peasants aren’t so creative.”

“That’s unkind to say.”

He looked at her from the corner of his eye. “Peasants aren’t so creative at naming villages, then. How’s that?”

“Better.” Aurelia rubbed her thumb against the fabric of her gown. “What happened after your mother died?”

“Then I did some traveling of my own. Made ends meet. Went to a lot of places. Met a lot of different folks.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“It’s a lonely life between the stars.” Pensive eyes were now firmly fixed on her face. “But can’t be any lonelier than standin’ by yourself in a crowd.”

Aurelia looked away. “Why didn’t you introduce yourself as Aleran when I first met you in the stables? You obviously knew who I was. I never told you my name.” 

“I didn’t know how you’d react.” When Aurelia glanced back, she saw the scowl on his face. “M’not exactly Aleran royalty, am I?” Before she could say anything, he continued, “And you think I wouldn’t know who the crown princess is? Your face is on a coin, for Emperor’s sake.”

She remembered sitting for the portrait, but had forgotten the significance of it. “Ah.” Her hands folded in her lap. “The ubiquitous nature of nobility. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the coin.” 

There was the sound of something jingling and the sudden weight of something in her lap. Aurelia looked down to see a golden coin. Lifting it between two fingers, she turned the coin this way and that, the soft light of the castle interior catching on the metal and making the gold glow. Her likeness rested on one side, while the seal of the de Vahl house sat on the other. Forever would it be this way, until heat or the unforgiving wear and tear of time had their ways. 

“Now you have.” 

“Indeed. Now I have.” Aurelia passed the coin back to its owner. “They made my nose look rather big, don’t you think?” She smiled.

“An absolute honker,” Einrich agreed, slipping the coin into a pocket, chipped tooth catching on his lower lip as he smiled. 

The tightness in Aurelia’s chest began to lift as her mind slowly began to untangle itself from the knot of shock and fear. There were things that she had to do; questions that she had to ask. How the Alerans came to be on Guisorn III. What had changed on her homeworld to see their sovereignty so wrongfully stripped away. Why her grandfather had allowed this. And to whom she needed to direct these inquiries, she wasn’t sure. Should she talk to Heinrix? Was there another more suited? Would - 

“You’ve gone far away, your Ladyship.” 

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, you’re starin’ real hard at my face,” Einrich said. “And I don’t think it's because you want to kiss me, so you must be thinkin’ about something.” 

“Am I that transparent?”

He shook his head. “No. Married women don’t go kissing strange men in kitchen gardens, is all.”

“I simply wonder...” She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth. Who was Einrich to her, that she should suddenly tell him what was on her mind? “What I can do to help.” She touched his arm. “Life can’t be easy for any of you here.”

Einrich pulled the lho stick from his lips and leaned forward, his forearms on his knees. Dark hair tumbled over his bowed forehead. “Best thing you can do, your Ladyship, is not to make waves for us. These people...” He shook his head. “They don’t like outsiders. They don’t like change. And you - us - we’re a lot of both.” 

“I cannot just sit by and do nothing.”

“That you even want to do something is more than enough.” His broad back rose as he inhaled deeply. “You just carry on bein’ you, Aurelia. That will be enough.” 

But it was not. At least, not for her. “Do you swear to tell me if there is something I can do in the future?” 

A low rumble of laughter echoed through the cool air as Einrich straightened. He pushed back his hair with two fingers and smiled as he gazed at her. “Yeah, I swear, your highness. On my honor.”

Aurelia was scooping coals into her bassinoire when there was a knock on her door. “Enter!” She did not turn from the fire, for the tongs were awkward and the heat of it was delicious against her cheeks, flushing them as pink as spring roses. 

Heavy footsteps followed by a chill wind treaded behind her, along with the clinking of stoneware against wood. She knew the identity of the intruder from his steps alone. 

“A servant delivered food from the kitchens,” said Heinrix. “The hour is late to eat, don’t you think, wife?”

“Considering I did not have dinner, ” Aurelia said as she dropped several more pieces of coal into the pan. It was about half-full. It would have to do. “No, I don’t think it too late at all.”

“You did not eat dinner?” 

Heinrix’s surprise caught her by surprise. She looked over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “Of course I didn’t.” She had been out. Walking the grounds. Prowling the halls. And even her time in the kitchens, she hadn’t eaten anything. And what time she’d had, the servants had been nowhere.  “When your mother disappears,” she hedged, “so, too, does most of the staff. Dinner does not cook itself, you know. Why?” She could feel her eyes narrowing. “Did you eat?”

He nodded - and he saw the look on her face, the opening of her mouth as if to scold him - and had the audacity to smile. “Before you accuse me of starving you, I came to find you. But you were nowhere to be found in the apartments this evening.” 

Lifting her pan by its long handle, Aurelia directed her attention back to the task at hand. With careful steps, she approached her bed and the tray of food Heinrix had laid out atop it. She eyed the food as she slipped the bed warmer under her sheets. More tarts, mouthfuls of cheese and bread, sliced meats, some pickled vegetables, but also slices of fresh fruit and a small decanter of some summer tisane. 

“It wasn’t intended as a rebuke, Aurelia,” Heinrix said, mistaking her silence for insult. The floor creaked beneath his weight as he shifted from foot to foot. “The evening was yours to do as you liked.”

“I see.” Avoiding the bassinoire, Aurelia settled on the bed. Her knee, briefly revealed as she lifted the soft fabric of her nightgown, sunk into thick blankets stuffed with goose down and embroidered in heavy gold thread as she got comfortable. She arranged her robe and the golden curtain of her hair before she reached for the tray Heinrix had settled on the edge of her bed. 

Their bed, she supposed. 

As she pulled it closer, she caught the red pinprick of Heinrix’s targeting optic dancing between the tarts and the sliced fruit, before it diffused as he turned his attention to her face. “You said you ate,” she said.

His reply came after an uncertain pause. “I did.”

“And yet you are still looking at my food.” Her head tilted to the side and a cascade of golden curls tumbled over her shoulder. The size of his appetite was not unknown to her; she had lived with him for months at Rose Colline, after all. “Are you hungry?” 

The war on his face was brief; barely more than a press of his lips and the fluttering of an eye. “Yes.”

She pushed the tray towards the center of the bed and gestured at it with slender fingers. “Help yourself, then.” Into a gilded glass, Aurelia poured some of the chilled tisane. She sipped at this as she watched Heinrix stand like a wooden soldier at the edge of her bed, the ability to move his arms and legs seemingly lost to him. He might have looked like a wooden soldier too, with his dark pants and red jacket, were it not half-unbuttoned to reveal the loose neck of his undershirt and the dark hair of his chest below. “Is something the matter?”

He watched her with a pensive grimace. Half his face was wreathed in the shadows cast by the orange fire burning in the hearth. “That’s your dinner.” 

“It is, yes.” Aurelia was already mentally dividing the plate into two portions. It was not as though she had a famously large appetite. “And it would be a shame for it to go to waste.” 

“You’re calling a truce, then?” 

“A truce?” Eyes rolling, she set her glass on the tray and reached for a piece of the juicy, yellow flesh of a summer peach. “Why must everything be about war?” 

Heinrix stiffened. “It... it isn’t.”

“Isn’t it?” Aurelia’s eyes lifted in challenge.

His lips pursed, yet he did not look away. “We left on... cold terms this morning. I wasn’t expecting a warm welcome this evening, let alone an offer to share your food.” His hands twitched into fists. “I’m merely... surprised.”

“Well,” Aurelia said slowly, her attention diverted from her fruit momentarily, “Perhaps you can tell me what that reaction was about over food.” 

Heinrix nodded and gingerly lowered himself down onto the bed opposite her. The tray and plenty of quilt divided them. He reached for a tart, devouring it before Aurelia had even finished her slice of peach. “There are... people visiting that I do not wish to meet in a social setting.” He licked pastry crumbs from his lower lip. “And I must avoid them for as long as I can. I do not want to elaborate further. But you are smart enough to understand why.”

Aurelia lifted her thumb to her lips and sucked at a drop of peach juice. “You could have simply said that.” 

“What?” He half-smiled, glancing briefly at her finger. “That you are smart?”

“You know what I mean.” She allowed herself an indulgent smile, though. It was hard to stay irritated with someone after a compliment. 

“Aye, I do.” He picked up the decanter of the tisane and swirled it, watching how the spiced fruit swirled inside. He sniffed at it, and then took a sip. The look on his face was one of pleasant surprise. “Did you ask for this specifically?”

“No. I didn’t ask for any of it. It was a nice gesture from - ” The words caught on her tongue. In this moment of simple familiarity - sharing a meal - she’d let her guard down. The thin robe around her shoulder wasn’t sufficient enough to beat back the night’s chill, and her flesh speckled with goosebumps.

“From?” Heinrix prompted.

She curled her fingers together in her lap. She lifted her chin. 

“Aurelia...”

“From the kitchen staff, Heinrix.” 

“The kitchen staff just send you food?” 

 “The Aleran kitchen staff do.”

First, his brows furrowed. And once his shock and concern passed, he laughed. “Aleran kitchen staff? The only Aleran in the castle is you, wife!”

“I met them,” she insisted. She heard it again, that whining, that pleading tone. “The Alerans in the kitchen. They were quite real, they -"

“Ahah, no,” he shook his head and reached for a piece of bread and soft cheese, “You probably met servants playing a cruel joke on you.” He smacked his lips as he chewed. “Give me their names and I’ll make sure they are properly punished.”

Aurelia wondered what was worse - the prospect that she had been lied to by servants, or the fact that her husband didn’t believe her. There was, admittedly, some comfort in the possibility of her being lied to: her people were safe and she was the only casualty of this conquest. There was no comfort that Heinrix did not believe her. He was stubborn; intractable; so assured of his rightness in the most smug way possible! Her nails pressed into her palms. “No.”

“No?” Confusion etched itself across his features. He paused mid-reach for another piece of food.

“No,” she repeated. Her eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you believe there are Alerans in the kitchens? That they’ve been taken from their homes to work here?”

“I don’t think you are lying, Aurelia. I think you were lied to.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Heinrix.”

He stared at her with knitted brows, as though disappointed that his half-answer hadn’t worked. His lips pursed and he reached for a dripping slice of peach. “The reason,” he said, plucking it up, “that I know there aren’t Alerans here is because,” he sucked it down, “we don’t need them.”

This made no sense. “How do you know that you don’t need them?” she pressed, leaning forward. 

“I would have been informed of that need.”

“Would you though? Are you the Master of Coins? Trade? How would you be privy to such information?” From Heinrix’s expression, she could see he did not like her line of questioning. “Why assume that you would know better than me? They’re my people.”

“It would be covered in the reports from the provisional governors. Quotas. Headcounts.” His words became clipped. “I assure you, I would know.”

“And I would know who my people are.” Her voice softened as she tried a different approach. “I know they’re here, Heinrix. And I don’t know why. I want to help them...”

“And you want me to help you.” His voice was flat. 

“I want you to look into it, yes.” 

“Give me their names, and I will look into it.”

“No.”

“Don’t you trust me, wife?” 

“Your lack of enthusiasm moments earlier does not engender my trust, no.” At least, she observed, he had the dignity not to look surprised at her words. “If you confirm that there are Alerans and how they’re getting here, then I’ll tell you who they are.”

“And what if it truly is a group of servants that are taking advantage of my wife?” Heinrix was scowling, the bridge of his nose and the curves of his mouth illuminated blood red by his implant. “Of you? What then?”

“Then you let it go.”

“Let it go?” he echoed in disbelief. 

“I am not making this up. If you wanted, you could look into my m - ”

“And I could go there to pluck their names from you, too,” he growled. “No, no I don’t think so.” The bed creaked as he stood and a cold breeze ruffled the frilled edges of the pillows and strands of Aurelia’s hair. “Rarely have I found something I’ve liked in there,” he added bitterly. “One night, I thought, we might be as normal. But always, it returns to...” He bit on his tongue and turned away, tugging sharply on his jacket to straighten it over his narrow hips. “I will think on this... request of yours, Aurelia, once the tournament is over. For now,” he exhaled sharply through his teeth, “you are forbidden from mingling with the servants.”

“Forbidden?” Aurelia untangled her legs from her nightgown and robe and stood. Her bare feet slapped on the cold floor. “Do you think that you can - ”

“Yes!” Light on his feet, he marched towards her, heavy hands curling around her arms. “I do think I can. I will not have you - or our family - be made a fool of.” His optic burned a bright, brilliant red as he glared at her. 

“Don’t touch me!” Aurelia stepped back. “You do not have the honor of it now; and certainly not in anger.” 

Heinrix flinched and clasped his hands behind his back. “Whatever game these servants play, you will not be a part of it. For your own safety.” 

“If you were concerned for my safety, you would not have let me climb the outer walls of Rose Colline or work myself to the bone.” She lifted the backs of her hands up to him, where once burn welts and cuts marred the skin. “Don’t lie to me, Heinrix. I deserve better.” 

“It is,” he repeated, “for your safety. Truly, woman! By the Throne Mechancium, it isn’t a punishment.”

“Then why does it feel that way?” Aurelia had tasted freedom and would never go silently back into her cage. 

“If I knew,” Heinrix replied, “then you would not be so distressed.” 

Appetite gone, Aurelia lifted the tray from the bed and pushed it into Heinrix’s chest. “You are welcome to this. I find I do not have the stomach for it. Enjoy the love and care the Alerans in the kitchen put into that food for me.” 

“If love and care could poison,” Heinrix wrapped his hands around the handles, carefully avoiding Aurelia’s fingers, “I am sure you will find me stiff and cold in the morning, wife.”

She stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest, drawing her robe tighter around her figure. She was clad in lace and silk and golden hair, but nothing was warmer than the fire of her resolve against Heinrix’s chill. “Good night, Heinrix.”

“I will look for you at regicide on the morrow, Aurelia.” The plates clinked with each of Heinrix’s steps. “It would be worth your while to attend.”

“A threat?” she asked, using the words to fan the flames hotter. 

“No.” Heinrix paused on the threshold. “A promise.”

Had Aurelia not been so intensely focused on every sound the predator in her bedroom made, she might have missed his parting words, barely softer than her own breathing, “For a happier time.” 

Chapter Text

“How radiant,” whispered the dark haired, moon-eyed prince against the naked curve of her breast while another hand clad in motley traced a path from her knee to her ankle. “My star. Mine alone.”

She found herself shivering at the touch of long fingers and the heat of breath against her sensitive skin. An inferno had been stoked in her flesh and it burned beneath her skin and hotly between her legs. She felt words on her tongue, the longing to say that she was his. His forever. But her voice was bound by a lusty moan as a wicked, cruel tongue laved at tender flesh. 

“Should we rouse her?” 

“Her cheeks are aflushed, as though with fever!”

“Perhaps it is the fire that has burned all night?”

Eyes opening, Aurelia beheld Gisla’s two servants at the foot of her bed, their hands clutched as they whispered and gossiped about her. The malevolency of wakefulness made her tongue most uncharitable. “Overcome your fears of interrupting marital congress, have you?” she asked, pushing herself up on her elbows. 

“No, my lady! We come on the orders of your husband. He is waiting for you outside. He says you are an hour overdue for your morning engagement.” 

An hour? Had she slept as long and as late as that? That was an uncharacteristic lapse in discipline for her. She rubbed sleep from the corner of her eyes. The rebukes here were for her, not these two girls doing only as bidden. “Come then,” Aurelia said with a sigh, pushing back the sheets and covers and swinging her legs over the side of the bed, “attend me.”

Her maids worked with the speed of the aquila’s wings, stripping her of sleeping gown and robe and lacing her into beaded silks and stiff linens. They coiled her hair into twin spirals, threading it with ribbon as they went, before they pinned it to the top of her head with jeweled combs of ruby and amber. She closed her eyes as they patted pink pigment on her eyelids and dusted it across her cheeks. Aurelia held the roll of her eyes as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirrors: another day, another gown of red and gold. No deep green of summer or bright blue of the sky, no soft rose pink or gauzy grey cloud; she was trapped in the borders of autumn. 

Heinrix was waiting for her at his usual place at the regicide table in their private parlor.  The board was set, the pieces unmoved, and Heinrix stood as she entered. Like her, he was fully dressed. His doublet that day was a burnt mustard color trimmed with a deep brown-red at the sleeves, neck, and hem, and he wore dark trousers and boots to match. But the most interesting thing he wore was the apologetic expression. He could have woken her himself, yet he’d elected to send in the maids. “Wife,” he said by way of greeting.

“Husband,” Aurelia replied, steps slowing as she spied a new addition to their parlor. It was a small table on wheels, atop which sat silver cloches over candled-warmers, a hefty jug of porcelain, plates, cutlery, and glasses. “What is all this?” 

“Breakfast.” Heinrix waved a hand over the dishes. “I waited as long as I could to rouse you, but the candles are nearing their end and the food will grow cold without them.” 

“I see.” Her shoes scuffed the rug as she approached. “What is for breakfast?” She hovered by the plates. The hand she’d outstretched to remove the lid from one was swiftly intercepted by cold, callused fingers. 

His touch lingered as little as possible, enough to steer her fingers from their course and no more, lest he no longer deemed he had the honor and privilege to touch her at all.  “More subdued Guisornian fare,” he explained, gesturing for her to sit. “Not quite to my father’s tastes,” he added as an afterthought, a distant half-smile on his face. 

Beneath the cloches, Heinrix revealed crusted, golden bread simmering in a thick, pink liquid that smelled of cloves and the heavy spices Aurelia associated with Guisornian fortified wine, eggs gently coddled and topped with herbs, and small fillets of fish swimming in butter and surrounded by delicate little buns to scoop up mouthfuls of their sauce. It was very different from the platters of meat, bread, eggs, and pies that had been presented to her at the de Gauvain family breakfasts. And, if she was honest to herself, she liked Heinrix’s choices better. There was character to these foods, she thought. 

“Shall I plate you something?” he asked. He was poised to grasp a plate and one of the accompanying servers. 

The ‘no’ was on her tongue. She could help herself. And yet... “In time.” She sat on the edge of her seat. “Let us start with what’s in the jug, first.”

Heinrix chuckled. “You will like it. It is,” his voice lowered to a whisper, “Agatha’s favorite. If she knows it’s here, she will burst through the walls, mark my words.”  

“Consider me intrigued and worried for the masonry.”

“I was reminded of it last night after tasting what the servants brought you.” He settled a glass on her side of the table and lifted the jug. He began to pour. “We call it summer-spiced milk.”

“Why summer-spiced?” Aurelia lifted her now-filled glass of pale yellow milk. 

“I honestly couldn’t tell you. I only know it is a mixture of milk, sugar, spices, and flower petals.” 

“Then it probably has to do with the types of flowers used.” Bringing it to her lips, Aurelia took a sip. It was cold on her tongue, thick going down her throat, and sweet. It reminded her of a custard sauce that she used to eat on Alera II. She ran her tongue along the rim of the glass, catching a few stray drops. “I can see why she likes it.” She briefly squinted against the glare of Heinrix’s targeting optic before the light fell dim. 

“And do you?” 

“Hmmm.” The glass hovered before her mouth. “Let me taste it again to make sure.” She did not let Heinrix’s intense scrutiny of her face stop her from drinking deeply. It really was very good. 

A half-empty glass returned to the table and the jug was readied for another pour. 

 “More?”

She reached for a napkin to dab away the golden mustache that had accumulated along the top of her lip. “Yes, please.” 

“So.” A pause. “You do like it.” Heinrix topped up her drink and set the jug back on the tray, before he picked up a plate and serving spoon. “Perhaps you will like the rest of this, too.”

The summer-spiced milk on its own was very filling, but Aurelia was willing to try a few mouthfuls of other things. There was no telling what the day might bring and when she would eat again. She let Heinrix serve her a small portion of the eggs and the fish fillets. “Not that,” she said, as he attempted to place a layer of sop onto her plate. “That looks sweet. I don’t want its flavors to mingle with the fish...” Heinrix did her the courtesy of serving it on the small dish the cutlery had rested on, so that it would be untainted by the savory food on her plate. 

Heinrix worked in silence to serve his own food, speaking only when he had a glass of his own milk in one hand, and a fork in the other. “I didn’t think I’d see you this morning.”

Aurelia lifted an eyebrow. “Why? Did you expect your mother’s ladies to open the door to the bedroom and find it empty?” 

Heinrix sipped his spiced milk and licked his lips. “My sisters used to threaten to tie their sheets together and throw them out a window to escape when mother or father ordered them to do something that displeased them. I would not have been surprised had your ladies - ”

“They’re not my ladies.”

“My mother’s ladies,” he amended with an incline of his head, “returned and told me that the window was open and the bed sheets, along with my wife, were missing.” 

With the help of a knife and fork, she slipped coddled eggs over a fillet of fish. “I can’t tell whether you are serious or teasing me.”

“I am serious.” His mouth drew tight. “You are nothing short of resourceful.” He paused, eye roving her features when she said nothing. “I mean it as a compliment.”

Her smile was polite, but perhaps cold. “I took it as one.” 

“Good.” He nodded. “Good.”

Their breakfast passed in silence as they let the clinking of cutlery against plates and the answering chatter of glass against wood do the talking for them. Heinrix, as was his custom, ate far more than her, and in swifter time. For every bite she took, he had at least three. And it was just as well, for though she found it all delicious, Aurelia was unlikely to partake in much more. The milk really had been filling.

When Aurelia signaled she was done by setting the embroidered napkin at the edge of her plate, Heinrix cleared their dishes away and rolled the cart near the door. When he returned, he perched behind his chair, hands clasped around the back as he leaned his weight on it. 

Normally, their morning hours did not go on for so long. Heinrix usually had somewhere to be. Aurelia assumed this must be his moment of goodbye and that the breakfast had been his promise of happier times, considering he had never fed her here before. But instead of leaving, he continued to linger. His lone eye looked between her, the regicide board, and the empty fireplace. He was like a man at the edge of a cliff, uncertain as to whether he would jump or keep his footing. 

“Either sit or go, Heinrix,” Aurelia said. Her fingers traced the edge of the ancient regicide board. “I will not speak to you craning my neck.”

He sat. His fingers skimmed over the tops of his regicide pieces. His handsome face betrayed nothing of what his thoughts were. “I wanted to tell you...” He stopped to exhale sharply through his nose. “... that we will attend the ball tonight. Not for long. And not even for all of the festivities. But we must be there.” 

Aurelia cocked her head to the side. “When you say ‘we,’ are you really implying you must be there?”

The words came slowly, as though he was considering the right way to say them. “I am needed, yes. But , tradition does not allow me to appear without my choice for the Queen of Peace. Speaking of which,” he leaned forward, “have you given thought as to the token you will give me?”

Truthfully, Aurelia hadn’t. “On Guisorn III, what is customary to give? Do you require a handkerchief? A ribbon? A garter?” She spied the cast of crimson on his cheeks at her last suggestion. 

“All...” He cleared his throat. “All of those things would work.” 

“And when would you need it?” 

“Before the tournament commences. So, soon. But at your convenience, of course, Aurelia.” The air around them was chilly. 

On Alera II, Aurelia usually had a spare handkerchief tucked away on the inside of a sleeve or against her breasts, but she was lacking in such things here. Maybe she’d go into town and buy herself some handkerchiefs today. That might be a nice errand... but it would distract her from her other goals. Larger goals. She hated uncertainty; better to part with something now. “A moment, then.” 

She didn’t need to glance at Heinrix to know he stared in curiosity when she stood and settled her foot on the edge of her chair. For the sake of her own modesty, she angled away from him and adjusted layers of fabric and petticoats so that she could reach beneath her skirts for the circle of lace that, along with its satiny ribbons, helped hold aloft her stockings. She eased it down over her thigh, mindful not to take her entire stocking off with it, and slipped it over her foot. Unlike everything else she wore that day, it, and the accompanying ribbons, were a muted ivory. She held her arm over the regicide board and dangled the scrap of fabric between two fingers. “Your token, husband.”

Heinrix stood and took the garter from her with both hands. His face was serious and his optic bright as any star. “I accept it, my lady de Gauvain. By my name and my blood, my Knight will defend your honor, my hands will crown you, and my lips will utter only your name in victory. These things I do swear.” 

It was like the oath he had sworn at their wedding, only there was no one to coach Aurelia on the proper response. She linked her fingers together and flattened her shoulders. “Your oath I accept, my lord de Gauvain.” 

With the words said, the brightness in Heinrix’s optic dimmed and he gestured for her to sit back down. He gently folded the garter in half and tucked it into the sleeve of his doublet for safe keeping. “I... wasn’t expecting you to give it to me now . But I appreciate your... your expediency.”

“You could just say ‘thank you’, you know.” Aurelia adjusted her skirts as she settled herself back onto her chair. 

He smiled. “Thank you.” Clearing his throat, he pointed to the pieces on her side of the board. “Observe my strategy today. I think this will illuminate some things for you about tonight.” 

Aurelia was intrigued at the prospect of a puzzle. “All right.” She gently tapped one Citizen on its head and moved it forward. 

Heinrix did the same. 

It was Aurelia’s favorite opening and she moved her pieces across the board with quick fingers, trying to keep both her strategy in mind and account for deviations in Heinrix’s. She didn’t spot it; at least, not until she moved her first Imperial Knight. Once her Imperial Knights entered into play, Heinrix began to move his Inquisitors. She had played enough games with her husband to know that he did not move a piece without a corresponding endgame intent. If a move was not meant to bring victory, he did not make it. His Inquisitors moved without the purpose of capturing her Emperor, or, in fact, any other piece of note. They were on a fateful collision with her Imperial Knights and only her Imperial Knights. 

The moves cost him the match, but Heinrix did not seem to mind. Instead, as she took his Emperor he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “And what did you see?”

“I certainly saw a pattern,” she assured. She lifted up an Imperial Knight and her eyebrows, before tilting the piece towards him in question. 

Heinrix nodded. 

So, the Imperial Knight was him. Which meant the Inquisitor was someone else. What did she know about Inquisitors? Candidly, not much. Just that they served the Emperor and acted as his special envoys, when necessary. She did not think an Inquisitor had ever come to Alera II before. “Do I know them?” She lifted aloft one of his Inquisitors. 

“No.” A lock of hair fell over his forehead at the curt shake of his head. “You’ve never had the pleasure of meeting her, or her retinue. Let us hope it stays that way tonight.” 

By Heinrix’s tone, Aurelia was sure there was unlikely to be any pleasure at all. She set the Emperor back on the board. “What is so bad about her?”

His answering smile was bloodless. “She is witch and witch hunter both.” 

“Announcing his lordship, Lord Heinrix Alaric Marcellus Aymeric de Gauvain, son of Alaric, son of Thegan, son of Geoffrey, son of Guisorn III. Announcing his wife, Lady Aurelia Aeos Venria de Gauvain, blood daughter of Guisorn III.”

A second time at such an event, and Aurelia now understood the slight. Her pedigree was not worth the declaration, for it wasn’t Guisornian. From behind lips perfectly curved into a smile, she asked, “And how many generations does the herald normally go back for occasions like this?”

“Just the two,” Heinrix replied, taking Aurelia’s hand lightly between his frigid fingers as he led her from the entry doors to the king’s feasting hall. 

Dressed in matching shades of a red the same color as dried blood, they descended the short stairs into the hall. They had delayed their entry that evening by an hour, Heinrix having been told by a “source” - a soft, feminine voice whispering from the shadows of a door jam - that the Inquisitor he sought to avoid would be absent to attend to personal business elsewhere at such an appointed hour. He could use the window to appear, make merry (if that was even possible), and then excuse himself before she returned. And Aurelia would be free to partake in a few moments of levity that she had started to miss. 

But on arriving that evening, Aurelia keenly felt the eyes on her from all sides. She was sure that it was not simply because she and Heinrix had arrived late to the festivities. Even during her first days on Guisorn III, her presence had not made that much of a stir. Even the stern Lady Enna’s watchfulness had been borne of her duty and Lady Solange’s one of polite amusement.  But now, every eye upon her felt like the assessing, oppressive gaze of her grandmother - even those aforementioned ladies whose familiar faces she caught in the crowd. 

She continued to smile. “Why do they stare so?” 

It took a long moment for Heinrix to respond. “Perhaps you finally look as though you belong.”

Aurelia’s stomach began to drop and was braced only by the chill of Heinrix’s touch. “You cannot wield those words as both sword and flower.” 

Heinrix's lips twitched upwards into a smile. Not forced, yet tight. Restrained. “I think I very much can.”

“Not to me you can’t.” 

“You cannot deny how comely you look in my house’s colors, wife.” 

“Your house colors could be yellow and black, and I could buzz around like a bee in them, and I would still look comely and magnificent.” 

Aurelia felt his rumble of laughter when their shoulders brushed. “That I would like to see.” 

“Then you had best change your house’s colors,” she quipped back.

His fingers squeezed hers. Perhaps a reflex. “I would need to lay my stake on the heraldry and kill the House representative owning those colors in a duel.”

“Please don’t.”

“It hasn’t been done in a thousand years.” 

To a long table laden with food is where he brought her. While they had supped - separately - in the early afternoon, they had dithered on the idea of dinner. Aurelia was hungry and Heinrix was a furnace engine in constant need of food. 

“Cream swans,” Aurelia remarked, noting the combinations of whipped cream and hand-shape meringue that decorated a tiered server.

“And mousse mice.” The aforementioned confection - a hard-shelled chocolate shape stuffed with a cream mousse - had found its way onto a plate that Heinrix bore aloft. 

They were delicate little bites that Aurelia did not associate with the Guisornians. The herbed quiche bites - more thick pastry than egg - yes. The crusts of seeded bread and hunks of fresh churned butter, certainly. Even the wheels of pungent cheese stuck with intimidating looking knives like the back of some traitorous knave were appropriate. But the whimsical swans and mice? Those did not make sense. 

Until she saw Heinrix bite into it. 

A dollop of thick, red jelly oozed out of what used to be the mouse’s head and onto his lips. It threatened to drip onto his fine shirt until he sucked it back into his mouth with a wet slurp. Aurelia pulled back her reaching hand. She understood now. And whatever secret horror the cream swans hid, Aurelia did not wish to know. 

“Can I plate you something, Aurelia?”

Feeling petty, she replied, “I don’t know, can you?”

Heinrix fixed her a stare. 

“May,” she prompted.

Her husband heaved a short sigh. “ May I plate you something, wife?”

“Bread and cheese, please.” 

A thick eyebrow lifted. “That’s prisoner’s fare.” 

“A little of the quiche, then.” She wondered whose hands had made it. “Perhaps a few of the jam tarts, too.” They appeared innocent enough, decorated only with a curled twist of citrus atop their glistening crowns. 

“And the meat?” With a new plate in his hand, this one for Aurelia, he gestured to the small carcasses of tiny fowl - bones and all - and the larger centerpiece of an entire pig, complete with apple in its mouth. 

“Not tonight,” she demurred. “I do not like to dance on heavy food.” 

Heinrix’s second sigh was one of resignation rather than irritation. He moved along the length of the table, Aurelia following at his heels to observe his diligence to her requests. The bread slices were appropriately thin and the butter softened for easy spreading. The tarts and quiche bites were the right size for Aurelia to eat them in one bite without smearing her lipstick. He wielded the cheese knives to cut chunks of soft, hard, and spreadable varieties into bite sized cubes, though he paused, mid-slice, and furrowed his brow.

“What is it?” Aurelia asked.

Heinrix shook his head. “The strangest thing. The servants over yonder,” he pointed with his chin, already shadowed with stubble despite his shaving earlier in the day, “I thought I saw them gesturing.”

Aurelia followed the trail. A tall man with a swarthy complexion and a shorter, slender woman fair as pale spring were busy collecting empty goblets from tables and bored hands. She recognized them immediately. “I suspect you mistook their cleaning for something else.”

“I... Hmm. Yes, perhaps.” He turned his attention back to the food, sliding the cheese onto her plate. 

When there was sufficient food for Aurelia’s needs, she put her hand on his arm and shook her head. Her fingers returned cold, but her plate was replete with warm food before Heinrix returned to serving himself. 

With the eyes of other nobles upon them, Heinrix and Aurelia meandered to an empty table and bench within sight of King Basile’s feasting chair. Aurelia silently chewed on her cheese while Heinrix inhaled several small fowl, snapping their delicate bones with jaw muscles well-honed from clenching his teeth. The rest of the de Gauvain family had arrived earlier in the evening, and were cavorting in various social groups. Aurelia spied the Lady Gisla speaking with the Lady Enna, while Agatha inched slowly away from the circle of conversation and into the shadows. Sylvie was on the dance floor with the man Aurelia recalled as her possible intended, while Alaric and several other distinguished personages with the augmentations of Knighthood watched on while sharing in ribald laughter.

“I thought most Imperial Knights were predisposed to seriousness,” Aurelia remarked, pointing to Heinrix’s father. 

“You have but one poor example.” Heinrix paused in his feasting, his plate clattering against the wood as he knocked it with his forearm. “Take, for instance, the woman there.” He gestured towards a tall woman with a mane of red hair held back in a loose braid dotted with gold-dipped flowers. “That is Ser Alethea Adelaide de Regarde.” Ser Alethea was smiling broadly and kissing the hand of one of King Basile's daughters who blushed furiously at the attention. “There is nothing serious about her except, perhaps, her love of money.”

Aurelia caught the undercurrent of something in his voice. It sounded like envy. 

“And over there,” Heinrix said, pointing to a pair of figures in polite conversation beneath the massive head of some beast that hung on King Basile’s wall. One was a petite with white hair and a serious face like a porcelain doll, while the other had gray-blond hair and an easy smile on their face as they gestured broadly, “that’s - ” The words on his lips died in his sudden pause. His gray eye widened. “Forgive me, but I must go.” 

There was no chance to protest, no opportunity to ask questions, as Heinrix was already marching off before Aurelia could stop him. She swiveled her head this way and that, looking for the source of whatever had rattled Heinrix so, but all she could see were unfamiliar faces and the disappearing form of her husband through the crowds as he stalked away.

Well, fine. She would finish her dinner alone, then. And if Heinrix returned, so be it. And if he didn’t, so much the better. It meant an evening unattended and the freedom to reconvene with her fellow Alerans. She shoveled a small tart into her mouth and chewed. She wondered how long she would have to wait for Heinrix to return before she could ‘excuse’ herself with the proper amount of plausible deniability. Five minutes? An hour? Where even was a chron in this room? 

She swallowed and sighed. 

A scent, like a thunderstorm over a rose garden, enveloped the air around Aurelia.

“Such a sigh. Though, I suppose Guisornian parties aren’t quite what you are used to.”

Aurelia turned towards the sweet, smooth voice. 

Its owner was shorter than Aurelia, though staring into the woman’s piercing blue eyes, Aurelia had the distinct impression that she was staring up rather than staring down. A gem, the same color blue, was embedded in the center of the woman’s throat. Below it, on a delicate black cord, was a strange token: a golden “I” inlaid with ivory and red ink. 

“They are not,” Aurelia said slowly. “But you have me at a disadvantage. We’ve not been introduced.” 

“I am surprised your husband has not mentioned me, seeing as he will be the vanguard of my efforts.” The woman’s dark hair was coiled between the grasping arms of the neuroheadress that clung to her head like the pale branches of a winter tree. One glossy curl tumbled over her ear as she spoke. “I am Lord Inquisitor Elena Caelys of the Ordo Xenos.” 

“Oh, you are Lady Caelys?” Aurelia understood now Heinrix’s sudden haste to depart. “I've never met an Imperial Inquisitor before.” 

“It shows.” The woman smiled. Not malicious, but distant. 

“Does it?” Aurelia linked her fingers before her. “Is there a proper protocol I should be aware of? Is my etiquette wrong?”

“Hm? Oh,” Lord Inquisitor Caelys released an airy laugh, “No, you are perfectly pleasant and deferential. Most, when they hear my title, at least tremble a little.”

“You could hardly see my knees knocking beneath these skirts. You'd never be able to tell.” 

The Lord Inquisitor made a sound between a huff and a chuckle. “Oh, I would know, trust me.” An assessing, scrutinizing look followed. “Mmm. You remind me of your grandfather. I am...” She paused, “sorry for your loss.”

Behind their protective armor of silk and brocade and inside the structured support of lace and ribbon, Aurelia’s legs began to shake. “Perhaps... perhaps I misheard you? You are sorry for my loss? What happened to my grandfather?” Like a leak in a dam, questions began to trickle forth from her lips.

“You don’t know?” The Lord Inquisitor broke eye contact, staring down at the floor while her pale, smooth brow wrinkled. If Aurelia had been of the right state of mind, perhaps she would have noted the gesture of sympathy for what it was. “Well... it is not my place to tell you.”

“Please,” Aurelia reached out and grasped the other woman’s hand, “they won’t tell me anything. What's happened to my grandfather?”

“You didn’t hear this from me.” Blue eyes lifted to meet gray as the Lord Inquisitor slipped her hand free of Aurelia’s. “He’s dead. They all are.” 

“All...”

“Several weeks ago, Aleran insurgents captured the castle and executed the royal family - extended branches included - in a people’s tribunal. I understand those of the blood were deemed traitors for capitulating to foreign forces.”  The woman’s words were cold. Dispassionate. Clinical. Matter of fact. But, perhaps, in the face of such overwhelming horror, that coolness was a kindness. Yet, if someone told Aurelia that Lord Inquisitor Elena Caelys had done her a great mercy that evening, she would not have believed it.

Aurelia keenly felt the rise and fall of her shoulders and the flaring of her nostrils. Her cheeks felt hot. The edges of her vision became wet and glassy.

“I can see this distresses you.”

“You couldn’t possibly know how I feel.” Aurelia felt like she was choking on each word. 

“Actually, I think I can.” The Lord Inquisitor leaned her weight onto her left leg, revealing the curve of a shapely, black-clad hip from beneath the snug confines of her red tabard. Her gaze passed Aurelia. “You have a clear route to the wine fountain. And if you see your husband, please send him my way. I would dearly like to meet the man the King has given me to lead my Imperial Knights.” At last, in a parting moment, her eyes fell once more on Aurelia. “My condolences for your great loss, Lady de Gauvain.” 

It might have prickled Aurelia’s nerves to hear the way the Lord Inquisitor spoke of the Imperial Knights as her armies, and Aurelia’s husband as her man - but Aurelia was only nodding mutely and turning on her tiptoes. Wine was an excellent idea. An entire river of it was a superb one.

By the grace of some unseen hand, she made it to the fountain without full fledged sobbing. The ringlets Aurelia had styled about her face and which dangled prettily over her forehead had sopped up some of the loose tears, but it would only be a matter of time before the pressure behind her eyes burst. 

The great vice on her heart squeezed as she named the terror before she succumbed to the stupor of drink.

Orphaned. 

She was orphaned. 

All her life, Aurelia had been a de Vahl, or as near to that name as she could manage. She had a long, unbroken line of nobility on at least one side of her family, with roots deeper than any mountain’s foundation. She had been one of a number. She had always belonged. Somewhere. To someone. The man she had called her father had loved her, as best as he could under the circumstances. Her mother, too, had loved her in her own fashion, petting her hair and dressing her like a little doll between many salons and parties. She would shower Aurelia in kisses when her social calendar was empty. And Aurelia knew that she had always been her grandfather’s favorite. When he passed, she was all but certain that he would have chosen her for the crown. Her mother did not have the head for politics, but Aurelia had always been the best student, far above her cousins and aunts and uncles. Sister Theodosia had told her so, and Sister Theodosia was oathsworn to never lie. 

Leaving home for Guisorn III had been hard but bearable with the knowledge that, even if she couldn’t go back to Alera II, her family there was alive. The one thing that had been constant since birth, the people who carried her in their memories, her first friends, were present and existing somewhere in the grand, cold universe .  

But that was gone now. 

In one cruel, unjust swoop, everyone she had ever known and loved, everyone who had ever known and loved her, was dead. 

And in the wake of this dreadful amputation was the unending, unyielding silence. She would never hear their voices again. Her mother would never again tell her she’d be home late. Her grandfather would never again have another lesson for her. And her grandmother would never have another scolding ready for her least favorite granddaughter. 

Aurelia would have traded everything for one more cold, cutting word from that old woman’s lips,  if only to know that someone, anyone, was still there.

Red wine cascaded over the edges of her glass, staining her fingers and making them sticky. More wine sloshed as she lifted a trembling hand, splattering onto a tablecloth and barely missing the front of her gown. 

Was this growing up? To know that the path behind her was forever foreclosed, that the people that remembered her were gone? 

She drank greedily. 

She hated the wine on this planet, but she would forgive its sickly sweetness and thick texture that evening. She wanted her mind to be as numb as her tongue from its strange blend of spices. 

One glass became two and two became three. There was an art to not getting drunk: watering down the wine, eating plenty of food, pacing one’s self. But there was no art to this, not when the goal was oblivion.

She took a sixth glass with her as she wandered to a balcony, finding her cheeks warming, her vision blurring, and her stomach starting to roil. These physical symptoms were most desirable. It meant she could focus her efforts on preventing the contents of her guts from revealing themselves to the stone floor, rather than on the doom of this new and lonely reality. 

Torches burning in the gardens below mingled with the dim light of the balcony sconces and the golden windows of King Basile’s castle. Figures from the party had retreated to the shadows of the balcony and accompanying terrace that evening. Courting couples seeking a private moment mostly, but then there were a few, like her, who sought solitude and lingered like lonely specters in alcoves or against the railings. 

A possible tumble two stories down into the green gardens was surprisingly appealing, so to the railing Aurelia went. She saw double the stars in the sky as her hands wrapped firmly around the stone. A lungful of air eased the passing nausea, while the exhale made her stomach gurgle and grumble. The wet splatter of her vomit on the stone walkway below was ill-hidden by the musicians. 

“Ugh.” A noise of disgust was carried up on a warm, summer wind, followed by the sound of quick, yet heavy, footsteps on the stone stairs. The irritated grumbling of a man most aggrieved approached. A boot, still flecked with a piece of masticated cheese, was the first thing Aurelia saw as she slumped sideways on the stone railing, followed by a soiled pant leg, a teal doublet with slashed sleeves and a silvery-gray undershirt, and pale blond hair and cruel eyes. 

She remembered this man. The Shatterdome. He’d said or done something, the details were hazy. But even while drunk, Aurelia knew the faces of those who had slighted her. “Do not.... ‘ugh’ me. I am,” she gestured to the cup in her hand for emphasis and took a sip, then grimaced, “unwell.” Grief drove the necessity, but it wouldn’t make the remedy taste any sweeter.

“More than unwell. You are drunk and foolish, madam.” The man clenched his jaw. “Come, let us find your husband so that you can become his problem again, not mine.” He had a hand around her upper arm and was ‘leading’ her back inside.

Pulling against him, Aurelia struggled back as they neared the archway. “Do not touch me!” She hissed through gritted teeth. Her head wobbled from side to side, heavy with wine and pounding. “Do you not know who I am?”

“Lady de Gauvain,” said the man, eyes narrowed. “A title previously worn by a woman of better blood than you.” The sound of conversation was all around them as they passed the threshold. 

Aurelia broke free of him, staggering several steps back into a tall candelabra that toppled over with a crash, sending candles and wax rolling across the floor. Her wine glass went with it, shattering on the floor to create a sticky trap for unwary fingers and toes. These were inconveniences for someone else. She gathered up the skirts of her dress in a hand, red-stained fingers straining white in rage, as the conversations began to quiet. “I am Her Royal Highness Aurelia Aeos Venria de Vahl!”

He took a step towards her. “Royal highness of what?” He mocked.  

She raised a hand to slap him; how dare he. But she was drunk and he was not. Her strike was sloppy and he caught her hand with practiced ease in a cruel, impersonal vice. 

His face drew close to hers. She could smell his astringent cologne and could now see the faint, silvery metal of a piloting augment hidden beneath his well-styled hair. “You are simply a thin-blood warbride of no importance.” 

The clattering of glasses on a tray. The groan and creak of wood being pushed. A woman’s startled protestation. A man’s grunt of disapproval. Bodies on the dance floor parted for a striding blur of angry red. 

His finger stretched forth in accusation, Heinrix bellowed, “Unhand my wife, Lord du Odile!”  

Trailing behind him, safe in the wake of the chaos his broad shouldered form invoked, was the same woman Aurelia had spoken with in the Shatterdome. Diana: the image of Heinrix’s former wife made manifest. The feathery pins were even the same, though this time they held back not just hair but also provided support for a small veil of glittering silver beads. The shade of the woman’s dress matched that of the Lord du Odile’s doublet, and around the woman’s pale arms was a diaphanous shawl embroidered to look like the feathers of a great, white bird. Each feather was meticulously outlined with the same beads that adorned the woman’s veil and seemed to flap with each hurried step of the woman’s feet. “Bas!” 

From behind the hazy fog of her slowly evaporating drunkenness, it seemed to Aurelia that Heinrix and Diana moved at double speed while the rest of the world, including herself, moved much slower. She was reminded of the snails she used to race along the edges of the rose gardens at the palace on Alera II and how she painted the tops of their shells in different shades of pink and rouge from her mother’s beauty pots to denote the different competitors. What a strange thought, that she could be so carefree as a child when the world now was so terribly cruel and - 

“I said unhand my wife!” 

One grip around Aurelia’s hand was replaced with another, but these painfully cold calluses were familiar, if still unwelcome. Who were all these people who thought they had the pleasure to touch her in manners that were less than respectful? She yanked her hand away. Heinrix had the sense not to restrain her. She held her arm against her chest and glared at the Lord du Odile over Heinrix’s shoulder, raising her chin high.  

“You seem to have a track record of losing your wives, de Gauvain.” The Lord du Odile’s eyes narrowed. They were filled with some old and oily grudge. In fact, his entire body looked poised on the verge of striking, like some coiled snake ready to swallow its prey. 

“Just the one,” Heinrix replied, spine straight. 

“For now.” Lord Sebsatian du Odile’s eyes met Aurelia’s glare briefly - and he had the audacity to smile - before they slithered back to Heinrix’s face. “Or do you like your warbride?”

Aurelia was seeing more red than just Heinrix’s shirt. “Stop calling me ‘warbride’! I have a name,” she snarled, “and you know it!” She had just said it, too. It was a mouthful, yes, but it was hers. The last thing of her family she had left. 

But those words fell on deaf ears. Perhaps it was deliberate that the two men were ignoring her.

“I like her very much.”

“As you liked my sister?”

“Yes. Exactly as I liked Claudine.”

“And Diana, too, apparently. I see you conspiring with yet another of the du Odile blood.”

The sound of skin slapping against fabric tapped in time to a musician’s drumming. “Bas, that’s disgusting!” Aurelia was glad Diana was thumping him. “It was nothing of the sort! I was helping him with - ”

Heinrix shifted a step forward and Diana quieted. Sebastian took an equal step closer to match and made a show of rubbing the jut of his cleft chin. “Perhaps I ought to return the favor, de Gauvain. If your warbride has such wit and virtue, perhaps I’ll like her, too.”  That cold, apprising gaze fell on Aurelia again. “I have not named my Queen of Peace for the Harvestend Tournament. What say you, Lady Aurelia Aeos Venria de Vahl? Will you be my Queen of Peace?” 

“Bas, stop it.” Diana du Odile was snapping her fingers in front of her brother’s face to draw his attention away from Aurelia. “This is not you. Let it go. Let’s find father and mother and - ”

“I’m more ‘me’ than ever, Diana. And I have waited a long time for this.” 

As the siblings bickered, a cold hand reached backwards and quested for Aurelia’s. “Do not answer him. You are already my Queen of Peace, Aurelia.”

The indignation of it all; that he did not trust her. That he could think to order her. “Do not tell me what to do or what to say, Heinrix.”

“I don’t think she likes you very much at all, de Gauvain. Are you sure, ” Lord du Odile was looking at Aurelia again, “you won’t be my Queen of Peace?”

“Don’t answer him, Aurelia.”

Aurelia’s nails bit into the skin of her palms. “Order me again, and perhaps I’ll change my mind about what I’ll say.”

“I can see why you like her.”

“Bas, you’re disgusting and embarrassing me.”

“There are plenty of eligible women here, Sebastian .” Heinrix was speaking with a clenched jaw and his body was positively vibrating with unreleased tension. He was a coil being wound tighter and tighter with each word, about to snap at a moment’s notice. “Why don’t you turn your attentions to one of them.”

“Why don’t you make me?”

“Heinrix.” Diana turned her attention away from her brother, hands outstretched now as she beseeched Heinrix.  “He’s goading you! Please see through the - ”

Very slowly, as if controlling each muscle in his arms one by one, Heinrix took the Lady Diana’s hands in his own and lowered them. The red targeting light of his optic was focused on the center of her forehead, a bright and brilliant red dot. “Your cleverness is lost on the likes of us tonight, my Lady du Odile. Now, step aside.”

“No!” The young woman transposed herself between the two men. “No more. Not tonight.” 

Heinrix heaved a sigh of exasperation, but Sebastian du Odile only smiled coldly. 

“Well, if we can’t talk about our differences, then let us do this the old fashioned way.” 

With a shuffling of slippered feet, Diana had one hand wrapped around her brother’s bicep, while the other clutched her shawl around her shoulders. “Please, please, don’t do this again.”

“Quiet, Diana!” He raised a thumb to his mouth and bit hard enough on the delicate skin along the side of his nail to draw blood. 

Clever eyes, warm like the embers of a dying fire, were wide with emotion. “No, you be quiet, Bas! You know what happened the las- ”

The Lord Sebastian du Odile struck Heinrix with a backhand hard enough to make him rock back on his heels. “I challenge you.”

“A blow struck with blood?” Diana slapped her hands against her brother’s arm and back, beating them with a fury as she cried. “With blood!? How could you? How could you! Why don’t you ever listen to me!” 

Aurelia could not see Heinrix’s face, but she saw the stiffness of his posture. She saw how his fingers curled into a fist. He was considering this duel. And whatever a “blow struck with blood” meant, it had obviously upset Lord du Odile’s sister greatly. 

She put a hand first on Heinrix’s shoulder blade and shivered at how cold he felt, then let her palm glide along his shoulder, down his arm, and to his wrist. Now it was her turn to wrap fingers around him, but she could not bear the touch of his winter-kissed skin against her own. Instead, she pinched the hem of his shirt between her fingers and gave several short, sharp tugs. “Heinrix,” she leaned in to whisper in his ear, “come along." She smacked her lips; her mouth was dry. "My answer was always ‘no’.”

Perhaps he didn’t hear her over Diana du Odile’s castigations, or the sudden loud murmuring of conversations all around them, or the footsteps of well-meaning party goers coming to inquire. Families were approaching, too. The de Gauvains, but also the du Odiles. The woman with the red hair - Alethea - and the shorter figures whose names Aurelia never caught, were all trying to make eye contact with Heinrix, Sebastian, Diana, and now her. Lady Enna frowned with disapproval. Lady Solange was tapping the edge of a fan against her curving lips. 

If reason could not reach Heinrix, then perhaps fear would. The adrenaline of the encounter had certainly helped to sober Aurelia. “We need to leave. Now. Before Lady Caelys returns because of all this commotion!” 

That did it. The stiffness in his body eased. Heinrix turned, following the pull of her fingers on his sleeve. Aurelia watched his lips flatten and eye fall to the floor as he took one mighty step after her. Then another. Then another. 

Relief washed over her. This dreadful night was over. Time to go back to her room and sink in the bath where she could cry and no one could hear her scream beneath lavender scented waters.

She set her sights on the nearest door and began their slow march to safety. A shepherdess led her sheep through this throng of gossip-hungry wolves. Like opposing magnets, the crowd around them moved as they did, shifting one step backward with each step forward. Aurelia thought she spied her friendly servants in the throng of people, but there were so many faces, and her own stupor was still not yet gone. 

They had not moved far when Aurelia felt resistance against her fingers. She glanced back to see Heinrix faltering, wary like a skittish horse sensing wolves, and rolling his gray eye this way and that. She looked for the Lord Inquisitor in the crowd, but did not see her. “Heinrix, it’s - ” She paused, brow furrowed. He was pulling something white and lacy from the inside of his sleeve. She recognized her garter, her token from earlier that day. He lifted it to his nose and dabbed at the growing trickle of blood, before he stared at the stained fabric in his palm with a grim expression.

The ground they made was lost. 

The bloodied garter crumpled in his fist, Heinrix whirled on Sebastian du Odile and knocked the man flat to the floor. “I accept your challenge.”

Chapter Text

Sebastian du Odile had blood on his teeth as he smiled up from the cold floor. “In the gardens, then. One hour, de Gauvain.” He grasped the offered hand of a gaunt-faced, pale-eyed man who was his aged-reflection. 

Heinrix held his clenched fist at his side. The lacy ends of the garter were visible between the curls of his fingers. 

The families had started to crowd now. The du Odiles circled around Sebastian. A small contingent; the father was already there, while the mother held a weeping Diana in her arms. Barely audible over the din of the murmuring crowd were the young woman’s bitter protestations: “I do not want this! They are so foolish!”

And the de Gauvains had come to stand beside Heinrix. The Lord Alaric took to his son’s side, wide jaw held high, while Sylvie held Agatha’s hand. Fingers trembled as they touched. The Lady Gisla, with the gentle sweeping of her skirts, rounded to Heinrix’s otherside, brushing by Aurelia and forcing her several steps back as she finished flanking her son. 

King Basile, seated on his throne, looked carved of stone, for he did not blink nor even breathe at these proceedings. But nor did he raise his voice in protest or suggestion. At his sides, his heir and his wife both watched with equally stern glances.

“I declare swords,” said Heinrix. 

Aurelia peered around Gisla's shoulder to catch a glance of Sebastian, who was smiling with wolfish delight. “The winner takes - ”

A throaty, feminine voice cut sharp through the air. “Sers, sers, you forget yourselves.” Ser Alethea de Regarde, her slim-tunic of navy blue embroidered with golden thread, stepped between the two combatants. “You need seconds before you start naming terms. Or have you forgotten tradition in your haste?”

There was that hated word again: Tradition. 

Ser Alethea continued. “You must name neutrals, preferably unaffiliated with your long-standing feud.”

“And you’re offering?” sneered Sebastian, lips curled in distaste. 

The woman scoffed. “Not to you, I'm not.” 

Aurelia caught Lady Gisla’s whisper to Heinrix. “She is social-climbing again, son. You need a second, but you should pick another.”

Heinrix either didn't hear - or didn’t care about - his mother’s counsel. “If you negotiate as well as you fight, Alethea, then I will take you as my second.”

“Wonderful.” Wearing a pleased smile, Alethea called to the crowd. “And who will second Ser du Odile? Do we have any takers? Anyone at all?”

There was a long stretch of silence, until a sigh came from the Imperial Knight with mousy blond, short-cropped hair. “You’re a right cad, sometimes, Sebastian, but not even the likes of you deserves to die without honor. I’ll be your second.” They stepped out into the small circle that had formed before flashing a smile at Heinrix, the white of their smile catching the light in the same manner as the silver thread on their green tunic. “No hard feelings, de Gauvain, right?”

Heinrix let out a long, slow exhale through his teeth. “You can’t always be my second, Como.” 

“Too right.”

“Ser du Odile,” Alethea asked, “do you take Como of House Belette as your second?”

“If it gets this underway, then yes,” Sebastian rubbed his bruised jaw with his fingertips. “I do.”

“A marked vote of confidence.” Como gave a short tug on the edges of their doublet, fixing it into a respectable length and met Alethea in the center of the circle. “Challengers will go to appointed locations; seconds will escort you there and discuss terms with you before meeting in the place of challenge - the gardens - to negotiate on your behalf. Families and Knight Delegates will be sequestered until the duel is completed.”  

Alethea clapped her hands twice in the air and smiled with the look of a woman who had always wanted to do that. “Sequestration starts now.” 

Aurelia watched the du Odiles and de Gauvains part via separate ways. Both Diana and Agatha were at the center of the family groups. Agatha’s lips were pressed so hard together they turned white, while Diana’s face was shrouded by her shawl. 

It was only when they had left, leaving Aurelia now beyond arm's reach of Heinrix, that she realized that she had not been swept up with the other de Gauvains. Was she supposed to follow? Or had they left behind her hand intentionally? Her fingers curled into a fist. Her hand was sticky still with wine and clammy with sweat, but there was a certain comfort in her discomfort. Another point of irritation, another spark of anger, to keep away the coldness of grief.

“Strong words, good faith?” Alethea extended her hand. 

“Always.” Como clasped Alethea’s pale fingers in their own. The metal of mechanical digits caught the candlelight. “Bess and I’ll see you in the gardens to talk terms soon.” And then they were turning, attempting to shoo Sebastian away like a mother hen with a chick. 

Alethea de Regarde crooked a finger at Heinrix. Standing side by side as they walked, she was taller than him by two knuckles in her flat boots. 

Aurelia found her voice. “And where do I go?” she called out after the departing Heinrix.

He was turning towards her surprise on his face while the red pinprick of his targeting optic suddenly widened with a flood of red light. His look said everything. He’d forgotten her existence entirely. His mouth opened, but Sebastian’s voice came first. 

“Not far, warbride. We will have unfinished business when the duel is through.” 

A scuffle of feet followed those words. Alethea bodily held back Heinrix, while Como did the same for Sebastian. Arms and fingers reached for each other, while powerful thighs strained and pushed. Like magnets, like orbiting stars, Sebastian and Heinrix had an inevitable destiny of collision. 

“I’ll secure the good lady de Gauvain,” said a soft, sweet voice. It belonged to the woman with white hair and the doll’s face. She wore a gown of silver, embroidered with pale blue-green flowers, and a belt of turquoise stones and jewelry to match. “My lady,” she added solicitously, offering an arm.

Aurelia, still a little drunk, blinked in disbelief at the much smaller woman. “My hand is sticky,” was all she could manage.

“Then don’t touch my gown,” replied the pale woman, her face betraying only the barest of amusement. “And stop wasting important time.” 

Carefully linking their arms, Aurelia was escorted from King Basile’s feasting hall, away from the gardens, and away from the struggle of the seconds to keep their principals from spilling blood on the stonework. Her feet tread unfamiliar hallways, dreamlike in the remaining haze of the wine.

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Aurelia said, at first to herself, then again, louder, to the woman who escorted her. 

“I wouldn't expect an outsider to.” 

“You haven't even told me your name.”

“I am Ser Violet of House Warde.”

“Ser Violet, then.” Aurelia cleared her throat. “Will you tell me what just happened?”

From beneath the perfect, sharp lines of white fringe that hid her thin brows, Ser Violet’s eyes looked between Aurelia and the empty hallway, as if searching for threats. “A duel.”

“I gathered that. But it was a challenge by a blow struck with blood. Does that mean...” Aurelia wanted another person to say it aloud, to confirm, “does that mean it is to the death?”

“It does.” Violet had taken them to a quiet hallway, whose windows were opened to the night air. The stars twinkled happily in the dark sky above, flirting with the moon that hung heavy and full over the castle. “An infrequent occurrence, despite what you might think. But this one was likely...” The Imperial Knight sighed and shook her head. “Inevitable.” 

“What - ” Aurelia’s words were caught short as Violet turned her towards a wooden door with a flaking trim. 

With one hand wrapped around Aurelia’s forearm, Violet knocked sharply on the door twice. With no answer, she put her hand on the ornate knob and pulled the door open. “You can wait here in the old dowager’s receiving room.”

Sheets gathering dust covered pieces of furniture. The bulbs of the lumens had burnt black from overuse. There was not much ‘receiving’ happening here. The dowager must have been long dead. 

Hovering at the threshold like a cat uncertain of its desire, Aurelia held her arm close to her chest. A sticky finger hovered just below the underside of her jaw. “Wait for how long?” 

“However long it takes.” Violet cocked her head to the side. In doing so, the tubing of some implant behind her ear became visible. The black matte piping was a garish contrast against the young woman’s fair countenance. “Make yourself comfortable.”

A shiver of repulsion ran down Aurelia’s spine as she felt the hot, tacky touch of her wine-soaked index finger on the hollow of her throat. She pulled her hand away in disgust and sucked in a mouthful of dusty air. “Will you bring me something to wash up with?” 

“I will... Find something.” Pale eyes affixed her with a stare. “Do you swear on your honor that you will be here when I return?”

“As the Lady de Gauvain, I do so swear.” The temptation to offer a mocking bow was great, but Aurelia’s resolve was stronger by a hair’s breadth.

A white eyebrow raised. “And what about as the last Lady de Vahl?” A small, knowing smile passed over the woman’s face, as if to say, “Yes, we know what you think about Guisornian honor.”

“On that I swear, too.” In truth, Aurelia hadn’t considered running from this room, but the seed was planted now. At least the oath was only until such time as Violet returned. Anytime after that was subject to negotiation. 

Violet shut the door behind Aurelia as she stepped in. There was no click of a lock or the slide of a bolt; truly, Aurelia remained here solely of her own accord. 

She stalked about the room, lit only by the moon peeking through the windows. The ghosts of furniture hovered around her, but no specter was greater than her curiosity. She ripped away pieces of white fabric to see what lay beneath. Chairs, a chaise, tables. Aurelia availed herself of none of these things. 

Instead, she pressed her nose to the window glass and looked out to a patch of garden beyond. When her breath fogged the glass and she could no longer see, she started to pace again. A chest of dusty drawers sitting innocently beside an empty fireplace caught her attention. Though there were keyholes, no drawers were locked. She rummaged through this artifact lost to time. An old, yellowing lace fan; a rosary whose wooden beads had once been shaped like cogs but were now worn soft and round by worried finger tips; a broken pin; a ripped piece of parchment, bare as birch bark - nothing exciting or scandalous. Nothing to tell of the woman who used to own these rooms, or the people she would entertain. 

Aurelia kept the rosary, looping the cherry-red wood around her wrist, and discarded the rest.  

She returned to the window. The metal of the frame was cool against her fingertips as she traced a seam. It could open. Maybe.

A knock, followed by the creak of the door. Violet’s short frame was illuminated from behind by soft, yellow light. A soft tck tck tck came from an extended hand.  Her long hair fluttered in the breeze of Aurelia’s haste as she took the dripping cloth with gratitude. 

“The terms have been set.” Violet shook her hand of the remaining water and watched Aurelia with impassive eyes, shadowed by her hair and the gloom of the dark room she looked into. “The - ”

Somewhere in the distance, in the wild dark of the rose bushes and hedges of the gardens, a cry came. 

Her hands stilled. Water dripped on the hem of her dress from the soiled cloth. “Is that them?” Aurelia asked.

“Could be.” Violet was very conveniently blocking the way out. 

“You were saying something. About terms.” Aurelia took a slow step forward to the smaller woman. 

“I am told by their seconds that the challenger has invoked Droit du Vainqueur.” The Imperial Knight’s gaze remained inscrutable. “That is a rarity.”

“That term means nothing to me without context.” Aurelia turned on her tip toes, retreating briefly to deposit the soiled cloth on the nearby mantle of the cold and empty fireplace. Turning to the Lady Violet once more, she observed the other woman and her implacable demeanor. Drying her fingers on the rosary and letting the slippery beads glide through her fingers, Aurelia contemplated the unmoving, placid doll before her. In another life, no doubt Ser Violet would have been a delightful, dreamy girl, with wide eyes, a sweet voice, and delicate habits. But the horrors of her birthright had made her cold and mechanical like the machine she drove to war. 

“Were you listening, Lady de Gauvain?”

Aurelia had seen the woman’s lips move, but hadn’t heard a thing she’d said. “I tried.” She paused. “I’m drunk.”

A small, mirthless smile, more a dark smudge in the shadows, spread over Violet's face. “The winner takes all of the claimed property. For Heinrix, that is Sebastian’s sword. For Sebastian... It is Heinrix’s marital estate.”

“Rose Colline?”

“Yes, that, of course. And his birthright.” 

“His Knight?”

A nod, and then an almost imperceptible tilt of her head towards the windows behind her. “And you.”

“What?” Perhaps Aurelia had misheard in the words her slowly sobering state.

“Was I not clear? You are to be given to Lord du Odile should Heinrix forfeit or lose the match.”

She had not misheard. Hot rage welled in Aurelia’s gut. She surged forward, Queen engaging Knight. “I am not some piece of property to be traded between victors,” Aurelia hissed from behind the rosary she lifted to lips that trembled in anger. 

“Your opinion is irrelevant.” Violet sighed and crossed her arms over her chest as she tilted her face to stare up at the towering Aurelia. She seemed almost bored. “Tradition dictates - ”

The rosary rattled in Aurelia’s fist as she shook it. “I am so tired of tradition as the answer for everything! You cling to it! You cleave to your silly rituals in the hope that they - they - they placate your war machines. But they’re just old! They’re old pieces of technology and you all need to move on and join the present!” She pointed a finger at Violet. “I don’t care about your traditions! Perhaps Heinrix should perish for it. Maybe they both should, for their pig-headedness!”

Thanks to their proximity, Aurelia could see the other woman's face more clearly. She marked the scar that cut across Violet’s chin and watched the Imperial Knight’s eyes narrow as she stared at the sharp point of Aurelia's gold-tipped nail. “...silly rituals,” she repeated with eerie calm. “Well. These ‘silly’ rituals have kept you alive and well-protected, my lady de Gauvain, whether you want them to or not. And moreover...” The irritated crack in the placid veneer of the woman’s serene face sealed up.  “You had best hope your husband walks through that door alive.” But despite the calmness of her outer countenance, the woman’s tone was pitiless and scolding, like Aurelia was a child to be disciplined. “Or are you so looking forward to trading husbands? Because make no mistake, Lord de Gauvain might be a monster in your eyes, but Lord du Odile is no better a man.”

From distant gardens, the night wind rattled through the door and kissed Aurelia’s heated cheeks as she towered above Violet. Her eyes darted away, following the path of the breeze into the hallway and to the windows. 

“For someone who does not care - ”

Aurelia turned, striding across the room and into the shadows of tall furniture. “You’re right. I do not.”

The answering pause came to an end as the door squeaked shut. The soft rattle of the door in its hinges suggested the presence of a weight, however slight, resting against it from the outside. 

Just as well.

Aurelia had windows to pry open.

The task of opening a locked window with nothing but a hairpin and sheer strength was a sobering experience in its most literal sense. Taking breaks to rest her warm forehead against the cool glass, Aurelia saw her breath mist against the window. In a flight of fancy, in a corner that would be undisturbed by hands, she blew against the window and wrote her message with a fingertip.

Spirit unbroken still. - AdV

And then she was back to work. She bent the pin in the process, but at least she heard the satisfying click of the locking mechanism and was able to swing the windows open. She stuck her head out and enjoyed the sweet song of night frogs and insects for a heartbeat before she took stock of her surroundings. There was a garden four stories below her and enough small ledges and hand holds along the way that Aurelia felt she could get to the ground with perhaps a sprained ankle or twisted wrist at most. 

Then again... 

She turned over her shoulder, spying now the pile of blankets she’d left atop a velvet chaise. Heinrix’s sisters had sought to escape by making a rope from their bed sheets. Certainly she could do something similar...

But what then? She would have to get to the kitchens. No, perhaps the stables, first. She could rendezvous with the other Alerans and then return... 

To Alera II? 

To her “home”? 

To the place where the people - her people! - had executed her family? 

Would they do the same to her? After all, what made her so different than her grandfather? If they could execute an old man who had only longed for peace, then who was to say that they wouldn't execute her, too, for her complicity in that marriage. They wouldn’t care that she had been forced into. No doubt, whatever propaganda they had already spread about her wasn’t good and wouldn’t keep her head on her shoulders.

Aurelia ducked back inside and sat on the edge of the window. She let her heavy head droop. The night air on the back of her neck was nice; it wicked droplets of sweat away from her nape like a lover’s tongue. 

She closed her eyes and curled her hands into fists. She didn’t have any money of her own, save for what was at Rose Colline. Where could she go? What could she do? 

“I am trapped,” she whispered. “A bird in a cage; a rabbit in a hutch; a horse in its stall; trapped trapped trapped!” 

If she was to be trammeled by her own indecision, then let it be in a place of her choosing. She would have to descend; there was no other option. At least she would not be trapped in this room, and might even have intelligent suggestions from Einrich, Vincent, or Elayne. 

She slid the old rosary from her wrist and looped it around her neck before she stood and turned to face the window. She braced her hand on the railing and lifted one leg over the sill, pushing away skirts and petticoats so her feet could find the ledge below with ease, and then the other joined it. The moon and stars were above her, darkness gaped through the window’s mouth, and the green summer grass beckoned below. She felt the rapid thumping of her heart beat in her fingers and toes. 

One inhale, then an exhale. She slowly bent her leg, searching for footing. Face turned towards the shadowy interior of the receiving room, she saw stars as gloom gave way to brilliant yellow. She squinted against the sudden glare. 

“Aurelia!”

The pounding of heavy footsteps like a soldier’s wardrum thundered over the dusty wooden floor. A hand smeared with blood reached for the closest thing it could reach - the rosary - and yanked on it, sending beads cascading down into the grass below. A guttural bellow of terror followed before the unyielding hand reached out again and grasped the front of her bodice. 

The force of the pull made Aurelia’s brain rattle in her skull as she hurtled forward into the darkness and collided with something hard and unbearably warm.  

An arm surrounded the small of her back as Heinrix caught her falling form. She was pressed awkwardly against his chest, her cheek forced up against the clammy underside of his broad jaw while her shoulders nearly touched her ears. Panting breaths ruffled the curls at the top of her head. 

On her feet once more, Aurelia struggled to right herself. Heinrix’s possessive hand remained affixed to the curve of her waist, as though afraid she might hurl herself out the window if he let go. She could go no farther than a step back, but it was enough to take the measure of the man who called himself her husband. 

The right half of Heinrix’s face was cast into shadow as the light from the hallway spilled in, leaving Aurelia to gaze into the stark red targeting optic. This close, she could see beads of sweat on his forehead, blooming bruises on his cheeks, and cuts at his mouth. More alarmingly, she felt something sticky and wet soiling the fabric of her dress. He smelled of sweat and oil, enough that Aurelia wanted a handkerchief to cover her nose and mouth, though he did not reek as he once had.

“It is done,” he intoned solemnly, mouth grim. “We will miss his skills on the battlefield.” The targeting optic narrowed to a pinprick.  His voice grew soft. “Are you happy, wife?”

“Happy?” Aurelia could not believe the question asked of her. “Am I happy?” After all that had happened today. “People are dead, Heinrix.”

“For you! For your honor.”

“Of course you make this about that stupid duel!” She jabbed a savage finger into the center of his chest. “Do not place the blame for this on me.” Her gaze was flinty. “I saw the change.” He had taken her hand. He had taken the step. “I saw the blood.” The trickle of blood had been from his nose, splattered on his fingertips. “It was not my honor you protected today; and it was not my hand that led you to this endless cycle of death that you call ‘tradition’!” Nothing he had done that day had been for her benefit. 

Heinrix stiffened before his hand fell from her waist. He ducked his chin to his chest as he pulled away and made for the door and the light of freedom beyond. His hands were curled into fists and his arms were tight at his side when he stopped short of the threshold. He looked at her from over his shoulder. “You are the Lady de Gauvain. You are as much my honor as anything else.”

“And before I was the Lady de Gauvain, I was the Lady de Vahl.” If Heinrix wanted to have this confrontation in the hallway, so be it, she would follow him out if he did not stay in the room. She would not let him escape. “And now I am the last Lady de Vahl, and have been for some time - and you... You knew. They’re all dead and you knew. ”

It was hard to gauge his expression from this shadowed half of his face. His optic betrayed nothing. And he always scowled, her husband. But she saw the sag of a shoulder. She heard the exhale pass through pursed lips. 

“How long, Heinrix? How long did you know?” She wished very much that the words came out smooth, dulcet, even. But her voice deepened with grief and the words were as much growled as spoken. 

“I wanted to tell you.” He moved to face her with a shuffling of his feet. The hallway illuminated his silhouette and nothing more. “I tried to tell you.”

Aurelia, whose face was cast in the soft gold of the exterior light, said “I want to see your face when you lie to me.” 

She permitted the touch of Heinrix’s bloodied hands on her soiled gown as he grasped her shoulders and slowly swapped their positions. Now, she stood with a face cast in shadow and he was subject to the clarity of illumination. 

“I... I tried to tell you so many times when we came back to Marsfort. At Regicide, getting ready for dinner, on the way from the Shatterdome... Countless times the words were on my lips. But I couldn’t.”

Aurelia recalled the strange pauses, how she had to prompt Heinrix to speak, or he changed the subject in a way unexpected. 

“When we join with the Throne Mechanicum, we are bestowed with the virtues of our house. But the de Gauvain virtue of bravery is inapposite to what I am, Aurelia. What I have always been, even as a young man locked in a room and tethered to a contraption that would change the nature of his mind and body forever.” He took her hands in his, his bloodied thumbs running over her knuckles. “I am a coward. The Throne punishes me for this weakness and forces me to fight against my very nature; but I cannot change what I am at my core.” 

“And I am supposed to feel... Sad? For you?” Aurelia pulled her hands away. The audacity of this man. “Do not coopt my pain and make it your own. This was not an opportunity for you to gain my sympathy.” She could hear the echoes of her grandmother’s words in her mouth. “This was an opportunity for you to answer my question, which you still haven’t done.” 

She saw the spark of surprise - he thought she would be taken in by his words. His lips parted, closed, then parted again. “The night before we left for Marsfort. I received a transmission with the news.”

“And you didn’t tell me because you are,” she held up her fingers, “a ‘coward’?” 

“Yes.” He rubbed away a bead of sweat on the tip of his nose. “I... Wanted you to enjoy the Harvestend Tournament. To be unburdened with my sisters, my family. I thought that...” He shook his head. “It does not matter what I thought.” 

“And you would have done what?” Aurelia could feel her grief beginning to slip through the cracks in the walls of restraint she had built. She felt tension building along the bridge of her nose. But she would not cry here. And if tears were shed, let them be done only in fury. “Lied to me on the way home? Told me that you had ‘just learned’ of the passing to ease your guilty conscience?” She was unsurprised when he nodded.

“Exactly that.” He took a step towards her and a shadow - some thin iron strip from a sconce, most likely - criss crossed over his face. “I would have changed the dates,” he said, voice serious. “Made them sooner, in conjunction with the closing festivities of the tournament. I would have told you that I had only learned of the news upon our departure. You would have sobbed in the ride home to Rose Colline, rather than at breakfast before my sisters or at the grand dance in my arms.” 

Aurelia said nothing for a long moment. Heinrix was unmoving before her. “And piloting your knight, you would not have heard me.”

He nodded. “Just so.”

A heroine of another story might have slapped him. And she would have been justified in doing so for the pain and the humiliation that she had suffered. But Aurelia did not. The last man she had tried to strike had died that night; perhaps her ill intent was enough to condemn a man to draw his last breath. And to slap him would be to show him some emotion; some dent in her armor. She linked her fingers behind her back and lifted her chest and shoulders. “You flatter yourself, sir, if you think I would deign to let you see me cry.” 

Heinrix stepped forward again. “You are not made of stone, wife. And even if you were... stone breaks and shatters.” He was close enough that his forearm rubbed against the front of Aurelia’s dress. 

Aurelia did not give up her ground. “I am not made of stone; I am made of diamond. Hard, unyielding, and formed from great pressure.”

“And something men steal and armies die for.” Her husband looked away and rubbed his fingers against the edge of his soiled doublet. Blood from the wound on his side had dripped on the floor and was starting to puddle. 

Her eyes tracked the movement. She counted the tick tick tick of the falling droplets like the seconds of a chron. And she wondered why he didn’t stop the flow of blood, make himself whole. Even if he did not mend the wound completely, he could at least stem the gristly tide.

“It isn’t lethal,” Heinrix said, quietly, as if to himself. “It’s the same place he got me last time, too.”

A cruel retort was ready, but Aurelia, possessed of great restraint, held her tongue. “It isn’t lethal, yet, actually.” She would not be cruel, but she could at least be correct. “The danger is in the infection.”

“I... Yes, you have a point.” Heinrix lifted his gaze to her. “We should return to our chambers. Away from... Others. I have already ruined one woman’s life today, I do not intend to do so a second time.”

“How kind of you to worry about Diana.” Aurelia did not take his offered hand. “I will find my own way back.”

“Perhaps I need your help.” His fingers twitched towards his upturned palm. The blood dripped more insistently now. “Do me the kindness, Aurelia. Even if you do not think I deserve it.”

Aurelia had always been taught to acknowledge a request for help and offer assistance where she could, for it was the duty of a queen and a woman of social standing to be a balm on the wounds of others. It would not cost her anything to offer Heinrix this piece of charity. 

She inhaled slowly and exhaled twice as long, then took his hand. 

In a distant echo of that night so long ago with the storm, Aurelia sat Heinrix on the edge of the tub in their bathroom. 

“Arms up,” she commanded, finding that she had the capacity to be gentle only in either touch or speech, but not both. 

With a wince, Heinrix played the good soldier and did as ordered. The fabric clung jealously to Heinrix’s skin, stuck there by sweat and gore. Yet still, he raised his arms as high as he could so that Aurelia could peel the blood soaked doublet away, along with the soiled undershirt. She let both drop to the floor. Left now in boots, trousers, and his own pain, Heinrix rested his hands atop his head, now a prisoner rather than a soldier, to ease the strain on his muscles.

Aurelia did not have any great skill in medicine. She knew enough to surmise that something probably needed mending and that Heinrix’s injury was not life threatening. In her estimation, the gash curling from Heinrix’s belly button to over his hip bone likely hurt more than anything else. It was in an awkward spot, such that whenever he moved, the wound would reopen. Stitches would settle the skin and time at rest would stop the bleeding. 

A gray eye settled on her face. “Is it bad, wife?”

“...You will live,” Aurelia replied, tone flat and dispassionate as she considered how to approach this. Asking for her help wasn’t the ideal choice. He could do this on his own. She settled the backs of her legs against the vanity and cleared her throat. “Why don’t you - ”

“You know that I can’t.” Heinrix fixed her with a stern look. “Others saw me take that blow. To be free of it so soo -  ”

“Then pretend.” If it was so easy to lie to her about her family, he could lie to everyone else about his injury. 

He lowered his arms and shook his head. “I am not such a convincing actor.”

“So you say.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you not your king’s favorite? Why not send for his chirurgeon to attend to you?”

Heinrix scowled. “To accept the aid of another would be to - ”

Aurelia rolled her eyes and lifted a hand. “So you will... just bleed everytime you walk? How do you tend your wounds on campaign?”

He had the audacity to laugh at her question; a dark, deep thing that rumbled in the very bottom of his chest. “You think I am often injured?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

Heinrix said nothing; the ghost of a smirk lingered on his lips.  

“Your wound has to be cleaned, stitched, and bandaged for stability.” She picked up one of the white, linen cloths the servants provided for their personal use and extended it to Heinrix between two slim fingers. She gave it a small wave when Heinrix only stared at her hand. “Aren’t you going to take it?”

“Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’?” 

The optic narrowed in consideration. “Is it not the duty of the squire to attend to the knight?” 

He had called her his squire as she’d bathed him and cleaned the ports along his spine and skull. She’d denied it then; she denied it now. She stood. “I am not your squire. I am your wife.” 

“Equally as unwilling in both roles,” Heinrix observed in soft tones, gazing up at her from below brown curls. 

Aurelia beheld his gaze for a long moment, biting the insides of her cheeks as she did so. And then, dropping the cloth onto his legs, she bent down to turn on the tub faucet. “Clean yourself. I’ll return.” 

Ignoring her husband’s groan of protest as he reached around to soak the cloth, Aurelia began her search for the necessary tools. Stepping out into the adjoining hallway, Aurelia knew there was a chest of supplies for the servants that came to tidy up her apartments. She was sure there must be some sort of mending kit in there.

Rummaging through the overstuffed drawers, Aurelia found what she needed nestled in the bottom of a stained leather pouch tucked between two boxes of rags. Opening the palm sized wooden box, Aurelia spied needles and black thread. Alcohol - somewhere in this apartment - would take care of the needles. As for the rest... well, she didn’t dwell long on how unsanitary fabric thread might be. Her husband was a big, strapping man who could heal himself if he so wished; surely he could manage. And the spirits were easy to procure; the liquor cabinet in the sitting room was fully stocked and untouched, save for a mouthful Aurelia had snuck after a hot bath while reading a book. 

With these things in each hand, she returned to the bathroom to find her husband unmoved from where she left him. The only sign he’d done what she’d asked was the blood soaked towel in his hand. A watery-red sheen coated the tiles at his feet and his fingers. He looked first to her hands, then to her face. 

“I am going to stitch you up,” Aurelia declared, “and it will probably hurt.” And it would be the least you deserve , she added uncharitably. “And not be very pretty. My skills are suited to cushions, not flesh.” 

“Consider me your cloth nonetheless.” Heinrix offered her the space next to him on the tub. 

She ignored him and instead set out the tools on the marble slab of their vanity. She briefly turned to shut off the water from the tub, and then arrayed what she needed. First, she selected the spool of thread, then a needle, which she ran in hot water and doused in alcohol. Using the aid of another towell, she slowly began to bend the needle into a curved shape. She’d read enough books to know that a straight needle wasn’t ideal for suturing flesh, but nothing had told her what size to use, or which stitch would be best. The heroines of those books - more their authors, really - never went into such great detail, other than to say that they did the task with great flair. When the needle was curved to her liking, she cleaned it once more with water and alcohol. 

Should she clean the thread, too? 

So many questions, no one to ask them of. 

She steeled herself. “Lie down.” Aurelia heard the shuffling of fabric and skin against stone and tile as Heinrix complied without protest. She measured her starting thread and snipped it to size, though it took her several tries to slip it into the eye of the needle. 

When she was finally ready, she took a sip of the alcohol for good measure before descending to her knees in a pile of stained skirts. She nestled herself in the crook of Heinrix’s side, her eyes taking in what she had to work with. There was a smattering of hair in the area, and the cut was not so great in length that it extended to his spine. She could probably make do with Heinrix on his back and then shift him to his side for the final stitches. Distantly, Aurelia felt her skirts being pulled and tugged as Heinrix surreptitiously curled his fingers into the fabric.

She pinched the wound together with her left hand and narrowed her eyes. A simple stitch, then. After all, he was not a doily she’d put on display. As she twisted this way and that to get a bit more light on the area, she spied the silvery spider web of another cut. It was in the same area, dull and flat. Long healed. Heinrix did say he’d been caught twice on the same side. 

“I can’t guarantee this will look as nice as your other scar did.” She hadn’t even caught it those other times she had seen her husband bare-chested. 

“It does not need to be ‘nice,’ just serviceable,” he replied. His torso stiffened at the first press of the needle. 

Aurelia was not sure if her sewing needle would survive to the end of this ordeal; already she could foresee she might have to bend it back into place again. 

Heinrix’s breath shuddered in his chest as a second push came. “And while I do not doubt your steady hand, my previous attendant had aspirations of medical work. She was used to stitching flesh, as well as silk. I would not compare yourself to her.”

Therein was the trap, for Aurelia very much now was comparing herself to these previous hands. If she wanted to, with better tools, no doubt she could sew Heinrix up with very little scarring. And what scar remained might even be quite pretty! 

A grunt. “They usually aren’t.”

Aurelia’s hands stilled. 

Heinrix was waiting for her glance. His face was white and sweat glistened on his brow. “It wasn’t on purpose, wife. On my honor.”

“Hmph.” Her eyes returned to the task at hand. 

“I would not...” He swallowed. “Compare myself to one who trained to be a doctor, even if one of animals. You are doing the best you can.”

“Is that meant to be encouraging?” An eyebrow arched sharply. 

“I... it is.”

“Perhaps,” she chose her words with care, “you shouldn’t compare me to your dead wife. For that is who tended to your wounds the first time, is it not?” Eyes upon his countenance, she lifted her chin and dared him to contradict her. 

To his credit, Heinrix answered immediately. “It was. Ours was a marriage that began with a crown and ended with blood.”

The needle came in at a perilous angle and nearly bent. Heinrix swallowed a strangled sound in his throat. 

 “She was your first Queen of Peace.” 

“Yes,” Heinrix was still wincing briefly as he continued, “I crowned her the Queen of Peace, hoping that it would show her family my true intentions. But when they denied my suit, I was forced to challenge her brother to a duel for her hand.”

“And you won.”

“And I won,” he agreed. “And Claudine tended to my wounds afterwards.”

Aurelia was sizing up how much string she had left for the remaining stitches. “Do I even want to know why the du Odiles rejected your offer of marriage in the first place?” 

“Even I was a young, untested Imperial Knight once. They hoped for a more lucrative and prosperous match.  Had they known what I would become, perhaps they might not have protested the suit. I am sure a woman of your standing can relate to their concerns.” 

Heinrix had tried to shift up on his elbow but was stilled when Aurelia firmly pressed on the center of his chest. “I am sure my family had similar concerns to the du Odiles, but they are dead, so I can’t very well ask them, can I?” The words were like ice. “Now, lay still.”

Doing as she commanded, her husband laid flat on his back again. Unmoving he stared up at the decorative tile above their heads. “I doubt they had such concerns about my capabilities or pedigree. Were I not the king’s best warrior, we would not be wed.”

“Had you not come to Alera II at all , we would not be wed.” Her words were cold, yet she tried not to be unprofessional with the stitching. Any discomfort Heinrix felt... it was not intentional. Blood was staining Aurelia’s fingers, but in a few more stitches, and so long as the needle held, she would be free. 

“Were you not the old king’s granddaughter, we would not be wed.”

“There are a lot of reasons why we would not be wed, Heinrix.” Her lips drew into a tight line. “We need not enumerate them all.”

“Of course, wife.” An exhale - perhaps a sigh - rattled from his nose and down his chest, hard enough that Aurelia felt it against her knuckles.

A tense silence followed as Aurelia made the final stitches. With steady hands, she secured the knot and snipped away extra thread before she set to the task of binding the wound. This was, perhaps, harder than the actual suturing, for it required Heinrix to sit at an angle and hold himself still while Aurelia ripped the longest of her petticoats to shreds to provide “clean” cloth of sufficient yardage to wrap about his midsection. Heinrix had watched her with lips half-parted as she’d lifted the skirts of her red gown to reveal cotton, lace, satin, and the pale pink of creamy flesh. She had a dozen more petticoats and this one was of Guisornian make. She would not note its absence in her wardrobe. 

As she wrapped the cloth around his midsection, Aurelia felt a change in Heinrix’s breathing. He took short, sharp inhales as her fingers moved along skin and fabric. “You are ticklish?”

“No.” Aurelia was surprised that he did not deny it. “I am simply... not used to touch in those areas.”

“Ah.” Two more loops. “I see...”  She tucked the end of the cloth beneath the rest. It would, hopefully, hold for a night. “We should change this in the morning.”

“You know where to find me,” Heinrix replied, placing his hand where Aurelia’s had rested a moment ago.

“The regicide board.” 

He nodded. Sweat-soaked hair stuck to his clammy forehead. Some color was returning to his swarthy skin now that the stitching had stopped. 

With a flourish of damp hair and soiled fabric, Aurelia was on her feet. Her makeshift medical supplies were already being deposited back on the vanity. “I’ve done as you’ve asked, Heinrix. Now, you should leave.” 

One elbow resting on a knee, he gazed at her from his seat on the floor. “You would remove me from my own bed to rest?”

At least he did not flinch at her stare, nor turn to stone at its severity. “Then I will leave.”

“I...” He swallowed. With great caution, he made his way to his feet, slightly hunched so as not to disturb the stitches on his side. He raised a hand towards her in placation. “I will go, wife. It was a jest. In poor taste.” 

Seeing her nod, Heinrix half-walked, half-limped from the bathroom, but not before taking the liquor bottle from the vanity. He held it between two bruised fingers, letting it dangle by the side of his leg as he departed.

Aurelia measured his retreat by the volume of his heavy footfalls. The memory of his Imperial Knight, the booming pattern of its heavy treads, had left an indelible mark within the fabric of her psyche. She would never forget the sound; she’d never not hear the cadence. Even now, it made her hold her breath and clutch her hands against her chest. And when, finally, he cleared the threshold of their bedroom, she gave him two minutes more before she surged to the door and locked it behind him.

Alone now at last with her shredded dress and stained fingers, she drew herself the hottest bath she could manage. And when it was ready, she submerged herself to the crown of her head and screamed. 

Chapter Text

Morning came to Marsfort and found Aurelia huddled in a wardrobe amidst her dresses. From the seam of the open door, she watched sunlight snake through the curtains. A long shaft of golden, dust-dancing light fell across her eye and made her squint out two fat teardrops that had hovered for too long on the curve of her lower eyelid. They slipped down her cheeks and were caught in the twilight blue fabric she held to her face. She’d snuck the dress from Rose Colline, knowing she wouldn’t - couldn’t - wear it, but wanting that reminder of home all the same. With the skirts pressed to her nose, she could still smell the lingering fragrance of home. Her mother’s favorite powder. The fragrant smoke of her grandfather’s pipe. Astringent incense from Sister Theodosia. This was all she had left of them: these last few scents, which would fade with time, and her memories, similarly as damned.

Despite this grief, or, perhaps, in spite of, a numb coldness was brewing in Aurelia’s heart. She knew she could not hide. Today was the day of the procession and someone would come to get her to make sure she was ready and “presentable”. If she was going to make true on her vow that she would never let a Guisornian see her cry, she needed to muster her resolve and master herself. 

Out-maneuvering Gisla’s spies was a trivial matter, once she summoned the energy to push open the wardrobe and stumble back into her bedroom. As Aurelia anticipated, they came to gather her hours earlier than they normally might. And when they found her, she was sitting at her vanity as a portrait-ready de Gauvain lady. Hair coiled and pinned beneath an amber-studded net and matching jewelry, a gown of red silk embroidered with deeper red filigree in the style of roses and trimmed with gold, and face made up with enough powder to hide the red, puffy quality of her face, she was everything their mistress could have ever wanted her to be. And if she should look sallow, let her drunkenness the night before be said as the cause.

Yet, before she and the rest of the family would take to the processional path later that morning, she had one last task.

As he said he would be, Heinrix was waiting for her at their chamber’s regicide board. A bowl of hot water and cloth, coiled white fabric to serve as a bandage, and what looked to be two bowls of porridge were waiting beside him. He looked as Aurelia felt: as though he’d been trampled by his own Imperial Knight. His skin was pale, he was unshaven, and he had not washed. His shirt was entirely open, revealing the bandage about his waist that was stained red at the wound site.

“Wife,” he said as she entered.

“Heinrix,” she replied. She was cold all over in his presence and her fingertips felt numb. “You do not look well.”

“Unlike you.” 

Aurelia ignored the compliment. Instead, she came to Heinrix’s side. Lifting her skirts, she crouched and placed her hands on the bandage, carefully untucking the edge. “Move,” she urged, as she unraveled her handiwork from the night before. The linens from her petticoat had caught in the wound’s scab, and when she pulled it free, it started to ooze anew. She eyed the damage. The skin around the cut was red and swollen, straining against her delicate stitchwork. What had appeared neat and orderly the night before now looked like a poorly stuffed and twined loin of pork. And, by the Emperor, it was starting to smell. 

They locked eyes. 

“Is it bad?” Heinrix had a half-smile on his face. He was joking. 

“Yes.” She was not.

Apathy entered Heinrix’s tone as he shrugged. “Then bandage it again.”

“ Bandage? No. You need to do something. I got you through the night; you need to see yourself through the rest of the day.” 

The line of his mouth hardened. “Leave and return in five minutes.” 

He did not have to ask her twice. Aurelia was at the door and stepping into the hallway, shutting the door behind her as the first breath of frost nipped at the nape of her neck. She feigned an excuse to return to her room, ignoring Gisla’s ladies that were busy making her bed and fixing up her rooms as she went to her vanity and spritzed herself with her favorite perfume. Cloaked in soft, sticky honey and fragrant jasmine, she returned back to Heinrix. 

The curtains danced in the warm summer wind, which swept away all traces of the unnatural chill Heinrix had cloaked himself in. Her husband was seated on the edge of his chair, his hands on his knees as he took several long, slow breaths. Each one matched the click of her shoes against the floor as she approached. Laying eyes on the wound again, Aurelia saw that he had not done the deed in full. Though the fever in his flesh had been soothed, the wound yet remained. Perhaps he wanted the scar, for at some point, Aurelia would have to snip these stitches free. She did not relish the idea of pulling cotton thread out of human skin. But at least if she bandaged him now, her efforts would no longer be wasted.

Pulling her chair from the other side of the regicide board, Aurelia took a seat next to Heinrix. Dipping the awaiting cloth into the hot water, she carefully cleaned the wound again, wiping away the remnants of crusted blood and leaking pus from the night before. In a moment of pity, and because the scent of a sick, unwashed man could not be completely erased even by the sweetness of her perfume, she ran the cloth across those parts of his body that were the most rank. He only struggled when she grasped his wrist to lift up his arm, so that she might get to the furred hollows of his underarms.  

“What are you - ” He pulled himself free, face guarded. “I will do that myself.” 

“Good, one less task for your ‘squire’.” She set the soiled cloth beside the basin and rewrapped the wound with impersonal hands. Her chair squeaked as she returned it to its original place opposite him. She hovered above it, her hands wrapped around its wooden back. 

Heinrix glanced at her white knuckled grip, then to the board, then to her face. “I have time for one game,” he said, drawing out the words. “Shall we, wife?”

He had already confessed much to her. What more could he tell Aurelia that she did not know? What more could she possibly want to know of him ? It took her a long moment to answer. “Fine. One game.” There were always painful, embarrassing secrets she could force him to reveal; wounds that she could stick her fingers into and twist . Aurelia moved her citizen and sat down.

Even though Heinrix had time for one game, the speed and ferocity at which he played suggested he had no time at all. Before Aurelia’s turn even ended, before she’d even lifted her fingers from her piece, Heinrix was already moving his own into position. 

“That would disqualify you on Alera II,” she snapped as his Imperial Knight moved before her Ecclesiarch had even finished sliding across its squares.

“Well, we aren’t on Alera II, are we, wife ?”

It was a mistake, Aurelia realized in hindsight, to attempt to match Heinrix’s intensity. As she acted tit for tat, a mirror of his behavior, she belatedly realized she’d made too many costly errors in her own haste. Had she just waited and watched Heinrix’s moves to completion, she might not have misjudged where her Emperor landed. She grit her teeth as she watched her strategy fall apart. 

Heinrix held her Emperor in his fist. “Tell me,” he said, voice as tight as his grip on the wooden piece, “did you mean to cast yourself off the balcony? Is death truly more preferable than our marriage?”

“That is two questions,” she replied, voice saccharine.

“Answer me!”

She hated that she flinched when he shouted. On a good night’s sleep, she would never have done so. After a long, steadying breath, she lifted her chin and locked eyes with her husband. “Do not raise your voice at me.”

The muscles in Heinrix’s broad jaw worked as he chewed on his thoughts. “...Answer my question, Aurelia.”

“You are revoking your earlier promise to me, then?” She let her head tilt to the side and felt the heavy weight of her hair in its net shift across the top of her spine. “Are you no longer a man of your word?”

He ran his hand over his face, though it did not hide the frustrated snarl on his lips or the heavy furrows in his brow. “My own words, come to haunt me again and again.” 

She pitied him not. “Then eat them, and be done with it, or stand by your original bargain.”

Catching her gaze with his single eye, he placed his palm over his lips and roughly tilted his head back. The apple in his throat bobbed as he mimed swallowing. He drew a deep breath and dropped his hand. It lingered on his side of the regicide board before it snaked towards her. In his own haste he fumbled, knocking pieces off the table until he could grasp her forearm. “Please, just answer my question.”

Perhaps it was the pleading tone hidden in the smoothness of his voice that moved her to answer. Or, perhaps, she was simply a generous spirit. “I did not plan to kill myself, Heinrix.” Aurelia drew her arm away from his reach. “I was escaping to find my freedom.”

“Freedom?” His hands fell to his lap and he laughed bitterly. “Where could you possibly go?”

“Where indeed? Something I have pondered with each waking second since last night. But it would be somewhere. And it would not be here.” If her words wounded him, so be it. He had forced her hand and the issue.

Heinrix nodded but once. “I see. Thank you, wife. For your honesty.” He did not move to right any of the pieces he had scattered. Instead, he stood and offered her his hand, extending it across the ruined battlefield of their game. “Time to take you to my mother and sisters for safekeeping until the procession begins.”

“And here are some flowers for you, Aurelia.” Sylvie’s soft fingers pressed a handful of rose petals into Aurelia’s limp grasp. A few fell from her palm like droplets of ruby blood. “Ah, careful,” she curled Aurelia’s fingers into a fist, “don’t drop them before the family Knight walks by. Its bad - ”

“Luck, yes.” Aurelia bit down on her tongue from further castigation. Her sister-in-law, with her bright eyes and soft, pink cheeks, didn’t deserve her anger. She did not choose to be born here. She didn’t choose these people and this life of tradition and war. Hiding her wince at Agatha’s inadvertent elbow into her side, Aurelia clutched her hand to her chest, pressing her closed fist against a strip of sweat-dotted skin at the hollow of her throat. In the grand huddle of noble families and spectators come to watch the Imperial Knights, Aurelia found it hard to catch her breath. 

Already, the Imperial Knights were on the move. The ground was shaking as they made their way in grand parade from the Shatterdome to the tournament grounds on the outskirts of Marsfort. Ramparts and balconies had been constructed along the parade route, and officers on armored steeds in King Basile’s livery lined the street to keep pedestrians from being crushed beneath the pounding metal feet of the marching war machines. Steel plates had been erected on those portions of the route weakest from wear, for this was not the first - nor the last - time tonnes of trampling metal would walk this road. The sun above caught the hammered slabs of steelwork, heating it and reflecting light up into the unwary eyes of the spectators.

Neither Sylvie nor Agatha, nor their indefatigable parents, seemed at all affected by the circumstances. They, like the other parade-goers, were holding their breaths in excitement, while Aurelia held her breath to avoid the smell. Too many sweaty people had tried to hide their stink beneath thick perfumes. Like a snake, she could taste the tang of it on her tongue when she breathed through her mouth. 

It was hot. It was crowded. And there was no escape.

A cool breeze brushed Aurelia’s cheeks. Not from the wind, no, but from a fan of dyed lace, held in the fawn-gloved hand of a woman. Draped in an airy gown of moss-green with matching fawn leather accents, the woman smiled when she finally caught Aurelia’s eye. “Am I too forward?” she whispered, leaning in. “You were looking pale.” A gold node at the woman’s temple twinkled like a star as it caught the sun peeking through the seams of the painted canvas canopies above them. 

Aurelia slowly tilted her head in the woman’s direction. “Thank you.” 

“It’s nothing! Here,” the woman reached out for Aurelia’s closest hand, saw it was pressed to her chest, then looked down to the other - and saw it clutching the railing in a grip so hard her arm was shaking. “Ah...” Green eyes glanced down beyond the barrier to the ground. “You won’t fall! No one falls. At least...” She appeared to do some mental calculations. “No one’s fallen in fifteen years.” 

“Is it bad luck to fall?” Aurelia could feel the cheeky pull of the ground. 

“No, just stupidity.” A gasp from behind the woman caused her to chuckle. “But it’s true, Liv! Who falls when there’s a perfectly good railing to lean on?”

“But you needn’t be so direct. She doesn’t know you, or your sense of humor.” The woman, ‘Liv,’ stood a few inches taller than her companion. She wore a gown of deep gray, with a cameo-choker peeking from above a high collar that Aurelia initially thought was carved from ivory, but as the woman shifted closer, she caught woodgrains in the soft, off-white material. 

“We’re getting to know each other now, aren’t we?” Said the woman with the fan, pausing before she offered a toothy smile. “Lady de Gauvain, I’m Evanelia.”

“Of House Etienne,” supplied the other woman. 

“A rather prolific house,” Evanlia added dryly. “What with all my siblings.” She continued to waft air into Aurelia’s face with her fan.

“Are any of them competing?” Aurelia asked, to be polite.

“Us? No, pff, no.” Evanelia shook her head, sending dark tresses over her shoulders. “My House does not have a family Knight. But that doesn’t mean I don’t take an interest in the jousts. Especially when my dear friend Livea is so invested.”

Livea flushed a soft shade of rose, reminiscent of sunset clouds. “I admit... I may have more than a passing interest in the sport.”

“Livea was crowned the Queen of Peace at last year’s tournament,” explained Evanelia with a quick glance at her friend. 

“It was,” Livea said with a gentle smile, “a perfect wedding present. But one that...” Her laugh was one of good nature. “Well, one that I’m not sure will repeat itself this year!”

The air that Evanelia’s fan was pushing towards Aurelia suddenly became perfumed by the scent of machine oil and smoke. From beyond a curve in the parade way, crowds hidden by buildings began to cheer. Aurelia’s eyes started to water, but she blinked it away as she considered Livea. “Is your husband not competing?”

“Oh, yes, House Mynaard very much has a presence. It is just...” Tilting her head to one side in consideration, Livea adjusted the way the golden House de Gauvain broach rested against Aurelia’s bodice. “Well, the field is different than last year. There are some new competitors...”

“Your husband, in particular.” Evanelia’s look was pointed. “He does not compete often, but those few times he has...”

“It will be quite the spectacle.” Livea withdrew her hand, a finger to her lips in satisfaction with her handiwork. “Even if you aren’t entertained, you can at least take pride in his craft. All of the competitors are marvelously talented.”

Aurelia wondered if she could ever be proud of what Heinrix did. It made her sick to her stomach. Waging war. Destroying the lives of innocents. Trampling cozy homes and the dreams of those who built them... Dark thoughts, made vulnerable by her own lack of sleep, brewed. She was distantly aware of Livea and Evanelia engaging her in conversation, and Aurelia only hoped that her polite nods and, “mmhmhs,” was sufficiently responsive while she ruminated on her discontent.

The cheering along the procession line was growing louder, as was the whine and shriek of gears and pistons churning and chugging away as the lumbering Imperial Knights approached. But neither cheers nor churning gears was what drew Aurelia’s attention back to the moment. No, it was the sudden heat on her cheeks and the rancid, acrid exhaust fumes that accompanied it in her nose. Aurelia coughed into the fist clutching the flower petals, her eyes watering. She felt hands on her shoulder blades - the gentle touch of Sylvie and the even gentler touch of Livea - as they sought to soothe the malady that plagued her. But only fresh air and clean water would do that. 

She drew back from the railing just as the crowd behind her surged forward, someone having spotted the metallic glint of a gigantic arm rounding a building as the Imperial Knights finally came to their street. Even the protective barrier of family and ‘friendly’ spectators around AUrelia didn’t stop her hips from being pressed and pinned against the metal balustrade. She winced at the pain in her abdomen, as well as the way a piece of paper, carefully folded and tucked into her boot by a sly stablehand with a lho stick between his lips, cut against her ankle. Just thinking about the paper fanned the flame of her curiosity... as well as another flame. The pain momentarily disappeared as she recalled the touch of warm fingers against her stockinged-calves as Einrich slipped her foot into a stirrup before he started his more clandestine missive-mission.

The ground shook as the Imperial Knights finally made their parade turn. The thumping of metal was almost drowned out by the cheers and cries of the Guisornian onlookers. Peasant and noble alike cried out their joy as machines several stories tall, lambent and shining beneath the bright sun, began to stride past the tall stands. The Imperial Knights of the Royal Family were first; followed by those most senior in the court - bright blue, verdant green, deep purple, gray trimmed with yellow, and finally de Gauvain red and gold.

“There he is!” Beside Aurelia, Sylvie was hopping and pointing at her brother and his Imperial Knight. The stands had been built to the shoulder height of the shortest of the Imperial Knights, and so when Heinrix’s war machine rumbled by, the onlookers had to crane their necks to gaze upon the blank, yet stern, visage of his Imperial Knight’s armored head. “Now, Aurelia, now!”

It was all Aurelia could do to keep breathing amidst the cacophony of breaking asphalt, split earth, and the constant droning of gears and screeching of scraping metal. 

A friendly hand in a brown glove reached for Aurelia’s bicep, helping her extend her arm so that the petals caught the breeze. Evanelia’s steadying presence also prevented Aurelia from, in a fit of pique, throwing the flowers to the distant ground. Just beyond her, Livea was readying her own fist of flowers, saving it for a stout Imperial Knight with a grand chainsword in a muted green that was on Heinrix’s heels. With her flowers she blew a kiss.

How happy it was to be young and in love. 

Calling the Marsfort tournament ground a, well, ‘tournament ground’ was an understatement. It was the size of a small town and appointed as such. It largely sat vacant when there was no tournament to be had, but once the Imperial Knights and spectators were in place, it was a bustling hub of shops, food, accommodations, and repair, with the grand jousting arena at its very center. Every Imperial Knight had its own temporary berth and all these boxy sepulchers stood full, save one. The du Odile standard flapped weakly in the breeze, the teal and silver imagery looking faded and sun-bleached when compared to the vibrant banners of the still-living competitors. 

The jousting arena itself was a tall construction of stone and dark, oiled wood, and reinforced throughout with metal beams and duraglass. It squatted amidst colorful tents and smaller wood and stone buildings that served as lodings for guests and goods. Families of the competitors were assigned their own special boxes within the arena that afforded the best view of the grounds. A Knight’s head higher than the combat zone, they did not need protective dura glass to shield them from the danger like those down below, nor did they need to wrestle for space, like sardines in a heated tin. Theirs were comfortable seats and included servants bearing food and adjustable shade canopies to shield them from the glare of the sun and the rain, or open their box to the evening’s stars. 

Gisla and Alaric sat at the seats closest to the box’s balcony, their shoulders touching as they huddled against each other to speak in soft tones. Just behind them sat Sylvie and Agatha. And then there was Aurelia in the last row, who said nothing as she sat down and crossed her legs. She feigned on itch - a reason to lift up her skirts and dig her fingers into her shoes to find that tricky little note Einrich had slipped her. No one paid any heed to her, so it was easy enough to simply hold the note against the palm of her hand and then unfurl it in her skirts. Yet, it was that moment when her eyes had turned downward that Sylvie and Agatha turned in their seats to address her.

“Aurelia,” said Agatha softly, glancing briefly down at Aurelia’s hands but unable to see the piece of paper they concealed, “are you... will you be all right?”

“All right?” Aurelia rubbed her thumbs together. “In what way?”

“Heinrix might have mentioned that you could have some... some trouble seeing the Imperial Knights in action.” Agatha’s eyebrows were raised in a look of most-earnest concern.

The confession caught Aurelia by surprise. She wondered at the context; had it been genuine concern for her well-being? Some tenderly husband affection that he sought to show after being so ruinously unkind with his secrets? Or had his words been said in the same manner as the way he had discussed her with his fellow pilots? Dismissing her as merely some ‘spooked’ Aurelian, as though she were no better than a skittish horse that had never been broken?  “Did he now?” 

Sylvie nodded. “Yes. He was adamant that you should know what to expect, since it hadn’t occurred to us that you would be traumatized by - ”

“I am not traumatized,” Aurelia interrupted. She might very well be traumatized but she was not about to admit it here. 

The two sisters shared a look. “Perhaps that wasn’t the right word to use,” Sylvie amended. “Sensitive, perhaps. That you might be somewhat sensitive to the sights and sounds of Imperial Knights in combat.”

“We just wanted to assure you that they’re not firing their canons,” Agatha added, before Aurelia could say anything else. “Jousts are done with blunted sword attachments. The first to disable the other’s ion shield generator wins. There’s going to be a lot of banging and clashing.”

“And thumping and bumping.” Sylvie put one of her hands on Aurelia’s, offering it a gentle squeeze. “The smell will be the same as it was at the procession. A lot of fuel and heated metal.”

“I... I see. Thank you.” Aurelia meant her words of gratitude. If they extended beyond Sylvie and Agatha to others, to Heinrix, that she didn’t yet know. “Out of curiosity, how long do the jousts last?”

“That depends.” Agatha clucked her tongue as she thought. “The longest last year was over an hour.” 

“And there usually isn’t structural damage to the arena, so you don’t have to worry about our box collapsing, though it may shake a bit if the Knights step close.”

That thought had not crossed Aurelia’s mind, but now the seed was planted and she felt her stomach do a flip flop. “Very helpful, Sylvie, thank you.” Aurelia let the younger of the sisters give her hand another squeeze before she moved it - and the note it concealed - deeper into her skirts. As expected, Sylvie’s hand retreated. “You said usually there isn’t structural damage...”

“It was ages ago. Before we were even born.” Agatha turned and pointed to a crowded section of the arena that looked no different to Aurelia’s eyes than any other. “One of the Imperial Knights toppled over there somewhere.”

That section easily contained several hundred people, perhaps several thousand, even. All that loss of life for the purpose of such pomp and spectacle? “What a travesty,” Aurelia heard herself say. But it didn’t appear to Aurelia that the Guisornians had learned from their mistakes. All that stood between that very same section of the stands and the Imperial Knights were flexible pieces of glass to keep flying shrapnel and debris from reaching cheering spectators. But then, what could truly prevent the fall of a multi-ton war machine? “What happened to the pilots?”

“Hm?” Agatha turned back to Aurelia, nonplussed at the question. “They kept fighting. A joust does not end until a shield is disabled.”

Aurelia wanted to ask if they were punished , if they had been tried for their crimes, had they paid reparations to the injured and their families, but Sylvie was back to grasping her hand and smiling sweetly. “Don’t worry, Aurelia. Heinrix is known for his swiftness and precision on the battlefield. His matches will be the same! I’m sure they won’t last longer than a half-hour!”

She certainly hoped so.

Midday came and went with servants bringing platters of finger food and carafes of wine, and then it was early afternoon. Clouds gathered above, obscuring the sun and pressing heavy, wet air down to the ground.  

During the wait for King Basile to speak, Aurelia excused herself on the pretense that she needed a moment alone to gather her thoughts. Tipsy on their fruit wine and rich foods, no one paid her any heed as she slipped from her seat and out into the covered walkways behind their box. Resting her palm against a railing, she looked down at the streets and courtyards of the Marsfort tournament grounds, at all the colored silks and stalls, at the long, curling of people still trying to get a seat in the arena, to those who had broken away to buy refreshments or souvenirs of their time here. 

And then she finally looked at the small piece of paper stowed carefully, delicately, like a precious secret, in her palm. 

Four words were written in a vulgar script wrought by a broad, common hand. 

Long live the queen. 

King Basile was, as his right, given the honor of speaking first. The Imperial Knights, standing as men, not machines, had come to the boxes where their families and fans had been seated. There, on streamer-laden metal platforms that had been extended from the balcony boxes with a low whine, the Knights all stood, helmets tucked under their arms, as they waited for the King to address them. One wrong move, one sudden sneeze, and a Knight could go tumbling off their platform and down into the crowds below, for these narrow platforms lacked any sort of guardrail. 

Aurelia watched Heinrix’s straight, armored back as he stood with tight, militaristic attention for all to see. If he was bothered by the sharp drop or the heat, he did not show it. Not even the wind, which caused the standards of House de Gauvain to beat like a bird’s wing from where it hung beneath his feet, could tousle the sweat-soaked hair at the nape of Heinrix’s neck. 

She sipped something fruity and sweet from a gilded goblet, enjoying the refreshing contrast in her shaded comfort against his heated misery. Aurelia could still feel the ghostly touch he’d levied on her as he’d descended the few stairs to the front of their box, his fingers gliding over the curve of her shoulder, pressing the puffed fabric of her gown against her skin. He had not yet earned the right to touch her, yet he dared do it anyway. 

From around Heinrix’s armored body, she spied the colors of other houses, though she could not discern the faces of the competitors at the distance. One figure she did recognize: a small woman with white hair, her long braid whipping behind her as the silver and teal standard of her house rippled in the breeze. She knew that the Knight Como was also competing, but she did not have eyes on them at her current angle. 

The hush that fell over the crowd at the King’s approach was stolen away by the whistling gales of the summer winds and the new, darkening clouds they brought. The cold, dry air of the evening had finally caught up to the hot, wet morning. In a last, beatific sign, a ray of sunlight pushed its way through the clouds and flashed along the heavy, golden crown atop King Basile’s head. Like a small sun, it caught the eye and commanded attention. 

“Today,” he intoned solemnly, so different from the boisterous man who proclaimed himself a warrior and not a word-smith at her wedding, “we honor our oldest of traditions.” His voice carried throughout the arena, brought to life for every spectator by well-placed vox casters. “The Harvestend Tournament began in our earliest days, when this land was wild and untamed.” 

Yes, this Aurelia remembered from Agatha’s explanations. It was once a tournament meant to determine who would get the largest share of surplus spoils to feed their households. 

“When it had not yielded,” he seemed to lift his hand and make a fist, “its full bounty to us. And now, through blood and honor, those days are behind us! It has yielded!” 

The crowd gave an answering cheer. Blood and honor! Blood and honor!

“And in the spirit of those days, we honor the valiant efforts of our forebears! To feed their people through the winter! To put aside their feuds for the sake of peace! At a time of great strife for us all!”

More cheering.

“My competing Knights...” And at the King’s words, Heinrix’s head inclined to the left, towards his king, “You have named your monarchs and readied your tokens. Now, I expect you to fight with everything you have!”

Blood and honor! Blood and honor! The crowd continued to scream.

“For blood and honor!”

“For blood and honor,” Heinrix- as well as the other Knights - said in answer. Their voices, all in unison, were similarly projected to all corners of the arena. For Aurelia, Heinrix’s words came from behind her left shoulder and made her skin prickle. He tapped his right fist against his chest twice before he lowered his arm and turned, striding off the platform and back into the family box. He did not look at his mother or his father, nor even his sisters, as he passed them towards the exit. His only glance he saved for Aurelia, one quick look that lingered on her lips and the droplet of wine that lingered there, before he disappeared to compete. 

Around his right fist, peeking out from the edge of his armored glove, was a scrap of bloodied lace. 

In place of the fan that Aurelia dearly wished she’d borrowed from the friendly Evanelia, she used her fingers. Not to cover her eyes, no, that would be telling, that would be giving something away. Instead, Aurelia pressed her fingers over her lips, holding them there in an overt gesture of thought and contemplation to hide the way her heart thundered wildly with each great crash and booming pulse, as a massive chainsword connected with an ion shield. She remained firmly in her seat, not daring to stand, unlike Alaric who had gone to the edge of their box. Leaning over the railing, he raised a metal fist and cheered for his son, whose Imperial Knight was braced against the wild swings of a bronze and green clad competitor. 

Heinrix had been largely on the defensive since the great portcullis of the tournament arena had opened and both Imperial Knights stomped their ways in to thunderous applause. Aurelia had heard her husband described as an “aggressive” and “decisive” fighter, but she did not see such qualities in his fight at all. Yet his two siblings, who were Aurelia’s window into whether something was peculiar (since they lacked any sort of guile) and who had gone to sit next to their mother, did not seem at all perturbed by the events as they unfolded. 

“That’s right, my boy!” shouted Alaric. “Wear ‘em down! Let ‘em overheat!”

Well, there then was her answer. A test of endurance: could the shields of the de Gauvain Imperial Knight withstand enough blows without overheating themselves, before the other Imperial Knight’s systems began to get sluggish. It was ironic; really. When Heinrix tapped into his powers, it was always cold, always cool. But... perhaps... that was why his Imperial Knight could last as long as it did and not overheat, because he imparted his own personal cooling to the machinery in and around his cock-pit? Aurelia had no idea how the Imperial Knights were constructed, so maybe her hypothesis was all wrong. 

She inhaled slowly and deeply each time the Imperial Knights’ gears began to squeal and shifted uncomfortably in her seat when their ion shields came into contact. It sent a deep thrumming into the pit of her stomach and made all her bones feel as though they were vibrating in her body. Did the shields protect the men inside the war machines from such sensations? 

The crowd began to scream and cheer wildly as the crouched de Gauvain Imperial Knight took a half-step forward. Crimson and gold armor flashed as lightning crisscrossed the sky above. The thunder of the clouds mingled with the rumbling engines as mass and metal and motive began to move. Rain tapped on the canvas above. Those in the stands unprotected from the elements shrieked and shifted, some raising clothes in the colors of the competitors over their heads as protection. A rainbow of support passed over the arena. 

But in that panoply, there was a lot of red. But whether it was de Gauvain red , Aurelia couldn’t say.

The tournament grounds began to get muddy. The hard packed dirt, kicked up by the passing of massive feet, splattered in wet chunks against the protective glass as Heinrix finally brought his Imperial Knight to bear. The clatter of the chainsword against the protective ion barrier of his opponent forcefully stole the breath from Aurelia’s lungs and pinned her to the back of her seat. It was like she was falling from a great height. But the soaked crowd below let out a collective gasp and a cheer, as did the de Gauvains in their comfortable, covered box. Sylvie laughed and clutched at her throat, as if being tickled, while Alaric bellowed and shook his arms in the air. Only Agatha, steadfast, and Gisla, were staid in their responses. But it only proved to Aurelia that mere mortals, as tiny little bags of blood and bone, should not coexist in such a tight space with these colossal giants. And if they had to, they should not take such joy in it!

The moment passed and the fight continued. Another great, mighty swing from Heinrix. Another uncomfortable sensation from the pulsing shield deep in Aurelia’s gut. On and on it went. 

As the rain poured down, it sizzled and hissed against the competitors’ ion shields, sending flashes of silver, blue, and orange into the air. The towering hulk of Heinrix’s Imperial Knight was illuminated as though by faeries as he landed his final blow. With a great, wheezing drone and a plume of black, choking smoke, something in the other Imperial Knight died. It took to a steel knee in the mud, thudding down into the earth and creating a hole as deep as two men. The defeated Imperial Knight turned a visored head up to the de Gauvain war machine.

Heinrix’s chainsword was outstretched, hovering at the space on the other Imperial Knight where a man’s neck might be. Metal whined and paint flaked away from the heat and vibration of the sword. 

“And the winner of our match... Ser Heinrix de Gauvain!” boomed King Basile. His voice carried across the arena grounds. 

Within the arena and without, there was not a single boo amidst the crowd. Their beloved hero, their best warrior, was triumphant in his first match of the Harvestend Tournament. They had not seen him compete for many years, but those who remembered were not disappointed, and those who could not were overjoyed. In the thousands of people who had flocked to watch, there was only one dark heart in attendance: Aurelia’s. 

The massive forms of the Imperial Knights lumbered back through their respective gates, returning to their repair berths to prepare for future battles. Servants driving small plows rolled onto the field, shoveling and flattening soaked earth back into place. These invisible workers went about their duties, setting the next stage while the crowds thinned as spectators went to find refreshment or entertainment before the next bout. 

Aurelia only dragged her eyes away from the toy-sized vehicles when Sylvie and Agatha turned in their seats as one, eyes wide and bright. Smiles on their faces. 

“So?” Sylvie thrummed with the same electric energy of a destroyed ion shield. “What did you think of your first match, Aurelia? Was it as bad as you thought?”

The readied lie was sweet as summer fruit on Aurelia’s tongue.