Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Beneath the dappled shadows of a forest knelt a young woman in a white dress, a simple brown cloak draping over her back. She appeared relaxed as she gathered flowers into a basket, head lowered in focus. Not far away was a young man, an affectionate smile tracing his lips as he watched the woman, loosely clothed in a button-up shirt and dark pants.

“More flowers?”

“More,” Rishe agreed. “These can be used as part of a fever cure. I think maybe I might be able to make a new kind of antibiotic with their petals, too! Hopefully I can experiment later.”

Though she was picking flowers, she did not lift her basket with her when she stood. Rather, Rishe placed it down onto the grass, against a tree trunk. In a fluid motion, she pulled a small knife from her sleeve and threw it, a whirl of glittering silver. Her aim was true.

“We have company,” Rishe murmured.

“That we do,” Arnold agreed.

It had been such a pleasant outing, too. No guards, no attendants, just her husband and the forest: what better? Rishe had been overjoyed when Arnold told her of all this. To think they would be interrupted!

Displeased, Rishe drew her sword and met a bandit’s strike with one of her own. They were outnumbered, but that was perfectly fine. With a loud clang, their blades met again and Rishe forced herself close, compensating for her lack of reach with deadly speed. Like a snake, she struck for her foe’s shoulder, piercing past flesh and muscle. Rishe ducked a wild swing at her back and lashed out with a dagger drawn from a scabbard on her calf. Blood sprayed. 

“Careful!”

“I am!” Rishe was already rolling as she spoke, leaping up and lunging. She kicked out and her foot slammed into a bandit’s kneecap. As they stumbled, Rishe reversed her grasp on her sword and swung the hilt into their head.

Briefly, she glanced over to Arnold, then parried a strike and slashed through her foe’s sloppy guard. Rishe spun and kicked another in the wrist. She charged and knocked them out, then danced over to Arnold. Wordlessly, Rishe engaged the bandit sneaking up behind him, disarming them with brutal grace.

It was in a lull. Rishe scanned their surroundings, hawklike, searching for any threat to Arnold while she guarded her back, and as she took on another foe, she caught sight of a movement in her peripheral. 

Rishe forced her way forwards and disarmed the man, then spun towards the source of the motion. A gleam of silver and her heart lurched with panic: their eyes met, but the knife was already on its way, and Rishe knew that it would hit true.

Arnold was busy. Rishe ducked a punch and stabbed recklessly forwards, sinking her blade into someone’s thigh, but that lost her invaluable time. She didn’t think: she threw herself forwards, spreading out her arms wide, using her own body as a shield.

At first, it didn’t hurt. She just felt winded, toppling over onto her side and rolling to her knees. The object jostled heavily and on reflex she looked down and caught sight of the handle sticking out of her stomach, crimson blooming around it.

Rishe let out a grunt of pain, hissing out harshly through her teeth. The adrenaline made her dull, but she forced her mind to keep moving. Above her, Arnold called her name, and it occurred to her that his voice was rather strangled.

Arnold’s eyes widened in horror before narrowing into thin slits.  His blood lust choked the air as he made quick work of the rest of the men, no longer holding back.  Where before Arnold had been ensuring that none of the men died, he no longer cared.  The line of his mercy had been crossed, and nothing would get in his way.

The sound of fighting began to grow distant in Rishe’s ears, replaced by a loud ringing.  Her thoughts slowed to a sluggish pace, which she recognized was a bad sign. There was nobody left to fight: all around her were bodies, and as her left knee gave out, her husband caught her, cradling her to his chest. Rishe fought to take deep breaths, willing herself into some semblance of calm. There was nothing else she could do.

“Rishe. Rishe!”  Arnold repeated her name, squeezing her hand tightly between his own.

“I’m here,” Rishe told him. Ah, this wasn’t good. Being stabbed always inconvenienced you afterwards. 

“Don’t fall asleep, Rishe.  Don’t you dare fall asleep,” Arnold ordered, staring at the knife embedded in her abdomen with trepidation. Some part of him reflexively wanted to pull it out, but he knew that would only cause her to bleed out faster.

“My Husband…” Rishe murmured, squeezing his hand as much as she was able.

“I’m going to pick you up.  It’s going to hurt,” Arnold whispered.

Rishe gave a silent nod, focusing on keeping her breaths steady.  Reluctantly releasing her hand, Arnold slid his arms beneath her frame, carefully lifting her in the air.

Rishe gasped from pain as the blade shifted within her. Briefly, her vision went spotty, and a bit of blood trickled out from her panting mouth. Though filled with a worried panic, Arnold remained calm as he moved swiftly towards the horses they had left behind for their stroll.

Five years, Rishe reminded herself as things began to swim back into place.  It was now five years and though the emperor was now dead and the war had been prevented, it still wasn’t a guarantee that she would live longer than these five short years. This was proof of exactly that.

“Don’t worry Your Highness,” Rishe said almost dreamily, “I’ll find you again in my next life.”

“Don’t you dare fall asleep right now, Rishe.  Talk to me. Tell me a story about your life,” Arnold all but pleaded. They were so close, then he’d have to ride back to the palace which would take another thirty minutes if they traveled at full speed.  

The blade didn’t appear to have hit any vital organs, but the longer it was left to jostle around inside Rishe the more damage it would cause, and the higher chance that infection would set in.

A story, Rishe thought. A story. She had lived for a long time, and had been blessed with so many joys. Where was she supposed to begin?

Her thoughts turned to the sea, to the desert. Once she had had a taste of freedom, what wouldn’t she give up to live it again? Blood, sweat, tears, and her heart: they weren’t worth as much.

“You know, I used to be a merchant.  That's how I knew Mr. Tully,” Rishe whispered, leaning her head limply against Arnold’s chest.

“Is that so,” Arnold responded, brows furrowing.  Was she confused from the loss of blood?

“Yes.” Black cut through the sight of the sky above her. Rishe blinked and it eventually cleared. She was moving. Her torso was a smear of pain. 

“The night of my annulment I was so shocked and taken aback as Prince Dietrich read off a list of crimes.  When I went home my parents disowned me at the closed gates.  I only had the clothes on my back and the ring on my finger.”

Arnold’s hold tightened around Rishe, unsure of where this tale was headed.  After all, none of that actually happened.  Maybe she was just speaking of a dream she had.

“I wandered the streets for hours, alone until I fell on my knees in a dirt path.  A disgraced lady of the court covered in mud, how fitting it was.” Her skirts were soiled, her feet aching from the long stretch of time and road, alone and with nothing to reach for. It felt natural to simply kneel in the middle of the path, and look at the sky through its reflection.

Her stomach was no longer turning, but that just left her empty. Rishe sucked in a sharp breath at the memory, her fists tightening around his jacket.

“It’s okay Rishe.  Breathe,” Arnold encouraged as he placed her atop his saddle.  They’d have to come back for her horse later and hope that no one would dare to touch a horse with the royal seal.  “Keep talking to me.”

“I got found by a few men on a cart. While I was drinking with them between a box of lace fabrics and an antique chair, I found out they were the Aria Trading Company.” Her smile was wistful. “They took me in and treated me like family. We set sail soon after, across the Western Aeolian ocean. I never looked back, and I’m happy I didn’t.” The memories of her first five years eased her breathing. Rishe sighed, full of longing. Early days, lax days: she had been able to do so much. 

“I got so lucky,” she murmured. “Met so many great people. I miss Lady Christine, and Miss Ayesha, and…”

She’d met them once more though, right?

“I’m happy I got to see Prince Kyle again,” she said aloud. “It’s good. I wonder how his Majesty King Zahad is doing…”

And then… and then? Somewhere overseas, some city, her first taste of war that wasn’t filtered out by the pages of a book. The word had soon spread that Arnold Hein started a war. Invasion came just on the heels of rumor, proving it true. A sword through her stomach felt cold, then burned. Dirt and blood filled in her mouth and coated her tongue, stuck gritty between her teeth. Someone running stepped on her hand as she began to lose consciousness, and the crunch of bones was the last thing Rishe heard. 

Arnold’s grip tightened against the reins in a white knuckled grip. Did she even realize she was talking? Her stare went through the sky and to whatever gods were waiting past that. It was just a dream, he reasoned.  He remembered her saying she dreamed of her own death often, this was just one of those instances.

“Then something strange happened, Your Highness.” She blinked back into clarity. She had just been stabbed, it seemed. Was she dying again? That was rather unfortunate. In some ways… 

“It was like a dream,” Rishe murmured drowsily. “My hand still hurt when I woke back up. But I didn’t have dirt in my mouth and my guts weren’t on the floor. Prince Dietrich was annulling our engagement, in fact.

“I was so confused, yet as soon as I realized I had been blessed with a second chance I ran to my parents house to collect as many wares as possible. Whatever had any kind of value to it that I was willing to and could easily sell.”

Arnold snorted, imagining her parents' horrified faces as Rishe sold their most valuable possessions right under their noses.

“I ran to the dirt path. I hoped to meet with Mr. Tully again, but by the time I arrived the party had already passed.” Alone beneath the moonlight again, with bags and suitcases of useless things, now that she had none of her comrades. It felt almost poetic.

“I was confused. Then it became obvious. I was gathering things: I was obviously too late. 

“So I pulled out a completely random book I had taken. One look and I knew it was about herbology.  My grandmother’s old book. Figured it was as good a path as any other. So after selling all my possessions, I… traveled across the… sea to…”

Rishe began to trail off, her eyelids growing heavy. Her body was blanketed with pain and she felt weighed down by an invisible force. It would be nice to sleep.

“Rishe. RISHE!”

Startled by the ferocity of Arnold’s voice, her eyes snapped open.  Sweat was dripping down her brow and the world had begun to spin in ways that made Rishe want to vomit. Her ears rang. 

“Can I close my eyes at least,” Rishe pleaded.

“No.”

Rishe whimpered, and then gasped for breath. The terrain was rough here and the uneven movements forced the knife to shift. It burned dearly. 

“I'm sorry,” Arnold whispered against her ear, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it. In a brief lack of lucidity, she wondered if he was holding her to kill her. Her worst foe, but what a beautiful death she was granted at his hand; her most gentle death yet.

“Did you know that you’ve killed me?” Rishe murmured, so quietly he almost couldn’t hear her past the rushing of the wind.

“What?” Arnold asked, dumbfounded.

“A few times actually.” Rishe chuckled, though there was nothing funny about it. 

“In each loop you started a war that would kill me.  I was burned to death twice.  Stabbed in the back and through my stomach helping people to flee and defending patients in a medical camp.  And now, you stabbed me through the heart,” Rishe reported slurring her words slightly. 

“I only managed a scratch,” Rishe continued with a pout. “I doubt you even remember me. You couldn’t have.”

Arnold’s heart pounded against his chest.  He didn't want to ask, but he needed to know.  “Were you a knight with short pink hair?”

Rishe gave a small yet bright smile, a thin trail of blood streaming down the corner of her mouth accented by her rapidly paling features.

“Yes.  I was protecting the young princes from your blade.”

Dreams that had plagued him for years suddenly made far too much sense.  Her eyes haunted his nightmares far too often.  Dreams of screams and the heat of a blazing fire.  Dreams of a battle and the light leaving her eyes at his hand.  Nightmares of her death at his hands repeating again and again.

So lost in thought he nearly missed how limp Rishe had gone against him.  Her eyes fluttered shut.

“Rishe. Rishe, wake up!”  But his cries went unanswered. She was limp. It felt as though he were holding a doll, so alien given that Rishe was always so very alive.

No, no, no!  It was like Domana all over again, yet this was worse.  There was no antidote waiting at the end of the tunnel.  No guarantee that even if he made it back to the palace in time that she would live through this.  And if she died here in his arms, he would bring this world to ruin.

“Don’t worry, Your Highness. I’ll find you again,” Rishe breathed out with the last of her strength before succumbing to the darkness that had been begging to swallow her whole.

“RISHE!”

_____________
The first thing Rishe registered when she became somewhat conscious was that her abdomen burned.  The next thing was the feeling of a hand in hers and someone shouting something away from her, but she wasn’t able to make out what was being said.

Rishe wanted to open her eyes to see who was in the room with her.  But her eyelids didn’t budge, held shut by an invisible weight.

The voice turned to Rishe, quieter but still mumbled.  Her skin tingled as a hand trailed gently across her cheek.  Lips pressed against her temple.

Moments later the hand had left hers and the presence disappeared completely.  A deep sense of loss filled her, but Rishe couldn’t understand why.

Rishe couldn’t dwell on it for long, though, as the darkness brought her under once more.

____________
“Rishe,” Arnold whispered against her ear.  They were having a picnic on the beaches in Vinrhys.  It had been a lovely day and it had taken barely any convincing to get Arnold to enjoy the nice weather with her.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Rishe asked, staring up into his storm blue eyes.

Instead of a response, Arnold picked her up in a bridal carry and tossed her in the water before Rishe could properly react. 

When Rishe surfaced from the water, expecting to scold her husband beneath an open blue sky, she was met instead with the sight of gold and grey clouding the once-clear air in the middle of the night. It smelled like char. The ship was burning, and in her stunned silence one of the masts creaked, beginning to collapse.  

Without a second thought Rishe swam closer to the ship. Grabbing onto the rope hanging off to the side, she mustered all her strength to climb onto the deck. Rishe looked around, heart racing as a voice insisted in her mind that something was dearly, desperately wrong.

Upon closer inspection there was a body atop the heart of the deck, but not just any body.  Arnold lay bleeding out against the doc, a large cut slashed through his hip. 

She was too late.  Rishe fell to her knees at his side, gripping onto his jacket as she cried.  So distracted by her grief she didn’t notice the presence of the man until it was too late.  

Right as the knife was about to strike her Rishe shot up in a cold sweat, panting for breath.  

There was a soft clatter of to her side, but Rishe was too busy trying to breathe and reorient herself to notice what it was.

“My Lady,” Elsie cried standing beside her mistress.  Her hands were raised to help but she hesitated, unsure of what she should do.

“You need to lay back down,” Elsie whispered, her eyes filled with fearful uncertainty.

“Wha-“—Rishe gasped—“What happened?”

Elsie rang her hands together, tears welling up in her eyes.  “You’ve been asleep for two weeks,” Elsie replied meekly.

“What?!”  Rishe exclaimed, turning to look at the young maid, which proved to be a mistake. As soon as she moved her torso, a flare of choking heat made its way through her body and Rishe was left gasping for air once more.

“I’ll-I’ll get His Majesty,” Elsie declared, rushing out of the room.  

There was a pounding in the back of her mind muddling her thoughts, but she had to push past the pain.  She needed to remember what happened.

Arnold and I were on an outing just outside of the capital.  In the middle of it they had been attacked by bandits.  Together they had been able to hold them off, but one of them had tricked her.  There was a knife aimed at Arnold but she had… Rishe’s thoughts trailed off as everything came rushing back to her at full force.  

The ride back to the palace had been a blur, she barely remembered returning to the horse.  Just Arnold’s plea for her to stay awake.

Rishe stared down at her abdomen, covered in a light pink nightgown.  She could feel the bandages wrapped around her stomach, yet she couldn’t force herself to look, to believe that what happened was real.

A soft knock resounded throughout the empty room.  “Come in,” Rishe breathed, thankful for the distraction that pulled her from her fearful thoughts.

Rishe watched the door open, hoping that it would be Arnold.  Wanting the warm, steady reassurance that his presence alone brought her.

“Pardon me,” Oliver greeted upon entry, his brow furrowed in worry.

Something fell in Rishe’s chest, her fists clenching around her covers, but she swallowed it back hiding her disappointment with a strained smile.

“Lord Oliver,” Rishe greeted politely.

“It’s a relief to see you finally awake.  You gave the kingdom quite the scare,” he teased, but she could hear the strain in his voice that told her he was serious.

“I’m sorry, Oliver,” Rishe whispered, looking away from his gaze.  “How is His Majesty fairing?”

Oliver shifted his weight slightly, uncertain.

“My Lord has been more dedicated to his work than ever before,” Oliver replied stiffly.  

Rishe noted the careful wording that didn’t truly answer the question.

“He has instructed me to inspect your injury.”

“Ah, I see.  Do you know when he will visit?”  Rishe asked, shifting her weight slightly hoping to ease the pain.

“He did not tell me when, no.”

“I see…” 

Something was wrong.  Every time she had been injured in the past Arnold had always been at her side.  Even if Arnold didn’t exhibit the normal chivalry most knights possessed, he maintained the role as her protector.

Arnold was always the first to see her wake.  The first to look over her wounds.  The first to scold her for her recklessness.  The first to ensure that she was rested and fully recovered.  Now, now he was nowhere to be seen.

“Right.  He is very busy with his official duties after all,” Rishe murmured, swallowing the sadness that was building within her chest. She smiled at Oliver, a polite thing with no teeth. “Thank you for telling me, Lord Oliver.”

“You’re welcome, My Lady. May I see your injury?”

Rishe allowed it. She stretched as Oliver inspected her wound, rolling her shoulders and her wrists. Being unconscious in a bed had done her no favors. She needed to recover soon, and get back to work. 

“It appears that, as long as you don’t overexert yourself, we can remove the sutures in about two weeks,” Oliver reported with a grim smile.

Rishe nodded. She rolled her ankles. “How long has he been working for? Has he slept and eaten?”

“My Lord has asked me not to share the specifics.  However, it would be good for him to take an especially long break.”

As expected. Rishe bit back a sigh and moved to climb out of bed. Oliver halted her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Please don’t aggravate your injury, My Lady. It may be best for a guard to carry you.”

“For a— no, don’t trouble anyone in such a manner. I can use a cane if needed, Lord Oliver.”

Oliver pursed his lips apprehensively.  “I fear that My Lord would be rather displeased to see you on your feet while in your current condition.”

Rishe wanted to retort, but knew that Oliver was right.  Worrying at her lip, she wondered if she’d even be able to stand without falling after being bedridden for so long.

“If it would please you, I could carry you to My Lord.  It would cause me no troubles, in fact it would bring me great joy to do so if you permit my request.”

There was no reasonable way to disagree, despite how the urge prickled at her throat. So Rishe just nodded, and permitted Oliver to lift her up, wrapping her arm around his shoulders.  

“Are you comfortable, My Lady?”  Oliver asked softly.

“I’m fine,” Rishe assured. Oliver was walking quite slowly, pace unnaturally even. “Can you at least tell me if he’s upset with me?”  Rishe asked quietly, voice shaking slightly from trepidation.

Oliver pursed his lips, keeping his eyes forward.  “I am… uncertain as to what My Lord is feeling.  I have seen him upset on many occasions, but this feels…different.”

That was foreboding. Any trepidation dissipated into worry. She curled her fingers into the skirt of her nightgown, wrinkling the soft pink material.

Moments later they were standing before Arnold’s office doors.  As Oliver was occupied holding Rishe, she was the one to open the door, expression calm but hands shaky.

“Pardon us,” Oliver greeted as he strolled into the room, carefully laying Rishe down on the loveseat a few feet away from Arnold’s desk.  “My Lady requested your presence, and though you stated you were too busy to see her now, I figured it would be most beneficial to bring her to you instead.  Though, your presence was the first thing My Lady requested of me.”

“Lord Oliver!” Rishe hissed. There wasn’t time to feel embarrassed, however. One look at Arnold confirmed her worst fears. “Your Highness, please tell me that you have eaten something in the past six hours.”

Normally, Arnold would make some kind of dismissive statement, or some sort of witty retort, or sigh deeply. This time, he only stared at her, some unnamed emotion writ in his eyes. Rishe went still. Oliver’s words echoed in her ears: I am uncertain.

Nothing worse than that.

“You don’t have to be here if you’re uncomfortable,” Arnold said gruffly. With a certain deliberate flair, he began to write again. Between each stroke of his pen, it occurred to Rishe that he was telegraphing his movements as though she were a stray cat. 

“Where did you infer that, Your Highness?”  Rishe replied, brow furrowed in confusion.  Had she said or done something during their ride back to the palace?  It was all such a blur and no matter how hard she tried to remember what had happened, nothing would reveal itself.

Arnold was looking at her in a way she had never seen before.  His eyes narrowed, studying her as if she were a complete stranger.  

It stung. 

Rishe rarely ever felt small, not since she left behind her childhood self six lives ago, but Arnold had a talent for accomplishing the near-impossible.

“Leave for a moment, Oliver.”

Oliver looked between his Lord and Lady, uncertain.  However, with a bow, he obeyed. With the two of them alone, Arnold carefully set down his pen and leaned back, clasping his hands on the desk—he was wearing gloves again Rishe noted. Then he laid them flat. Rishe watched him fidget with dread creeping up her spine.

Something had happened. But what? 

“I have caused you irreparable harm,” Arnold began.  Rishe looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. “You told me that I once… I have always killed you.”

Ah. Blurry memories shifted into focus. It all felt rather distant: the pain, the sky, the embrace, and the words falling out of her mouth unbidden. She’d told him, it seemed.

For a moment Rishe considered lying; playing it off like she had only told him stories of distant dreams—like she had so many times before. But there was a certain set to his eyes that told her it wouldn’t work.

Her chest felt cramped and tight. Every breath seemed to be on the verge of blowing her ribcage wide open, spilling her heart out with it. How was she meant to fix this? Could she fix this?

Taking an unsteady breath while slowly pushing herself into a seated position, Rishe asked, “What else did I say?”

“Details on living as a merchant and then being revived,” Arnold said. “Not much else.”

“Liar.”

Arnold didn’t meet her eyes, but admittedly, her vision was beginning to blur. Rishe tasted salt.

“It seems I have killed you only in the worst ways,” Arnold stated. 

Rishe narrowed her eyes and really studied her husband. It didn’t make much sense for Arnold to believe the truth of her deaths while she was trapped in delirium. Most would think her crazy or blame the lack of blood. Say that it was her mind conjuring up final things to make her happy before she died. The truth of her existence was absurd, and impossible to confirm. Yet Arnold believed her fevered talk with unwavering certainty.  

She was missing something.

“I don’t understand, Your Highness. For I am sitting right before you quite alive, only because of your swift aid.”

“And how many more wounds have you suffered because of my actions?”

“You don’t,” Rishe said measuredly, “know that I have.”

“You told me yourself,” Arnold refuted. “Stabbed thrice, burned twice. I did nothing except let it happen on my order and by my own hands! And I couldn’t even see you in the crowd.”

“How in The Goddess’ name can you believe my delirious ramblings to be true when I am sitting before you now?!” She had never told him the circumstances of her deaths, or she doubted it, at least. Had he even been there during her first death? 

“Because I have seen them with my own eyes!”  Arnold exclaimed, clenched fists shaking atop his desk. He swiftly relaxed his posture afterwards.

Rishe went cold. Did he live seven lives as well? No, she doubted it: Arnold was no warmonger, and should not have started the same war each time. But then what? 

“Nearly every night since the day we met I have dreamed of you. Your lifeless body crumpled against me, my blade still penetrating your heart.  Your eyes hidden behind foliage before I ordered you and your comrades burned”—Arnold pushed away from his desk, frantically pacing back and forth as though he were a caged animal brought straight from the wild—“a church in Domana where you lay crumpled against the floors, smoke blanketing your lifeless form.”

Dreams. The Goddess’ blood, Rishe realized: it was almost like Millia. If her former mistress could see the past, then there was no reason that Arnold could not. She almost wanted to slap herself. Why hadn’t she come to the conclusion earlier?  

“How can you even look at me”—he paused his pacing, eyeing her with a mix of anger and trepidation—“Why did you agree to our marriage? Why did you—“

Arnold’s gaze flickered down to her stomach. Rishe resisted the urge to touch the bandages hidden beneath her dress. Her throat filled up with words and yet her mouth remained hollow.

The most basic, most mundane desire, was all that at last emerged. She couldn’t formulate anything more complex. 

“I just want your happiness,” Rishe whispered, almost pleading. Her voice cracked. “You can’t be happy when you’re dead or injured.”

“You— “

“And I woke back up each time, so I got to be happy again, and you’ve made me so happy too— I just want you to feel the same.”

Arnold stared at her as if she were insane.  As if she were speaking some form of gibberish that was indecipherable.  

“Why,” he breathed, “can’t you think of yourself for once, damn it?!”

Before Rishe could respond, Arnold had stormed out of his office leaving her alone to her thoughts.  Rishe tried to stand, to chase after him.  But her legs were too weak from disuse and her abdomen burned sending pain washing throughout her whole body forcing her to her knees.  A cry of pain flitted from her lips.

“Arnold!”  Rishe shouted after him. Tears welled up in her eyes, and with a blink began streaming down her cheeks like rain.

But he didn’t return. No one entered. The door hadn’t even been locked. Her ears rang with the onslaught of her sudden solitude and Rishe buckled, shoulders bowing. 

It was her fault from the start. Accepting his proposal, coming this far, bothering to fall in love. Six lives, and she should have known better after so much time. 

In her spinning mind, she thought to herself that she had truly, irrevocably failed. 

Chapter Text

Rishe was unsure how long she remained hunched over on the floor, hands over her mouth to cover her mournful sobs.  It’s disgraceful for anyone to see you cry, her mother’s words echoed in her mind on repeat.  Rishe had believed Arnold to be the only exception to that rule, now she was unsure; it must have been another mistake that made Arnold despise her after all this time.

Oliver was the first to find her crumpled form, rushing to her side in an instant.

“My Lady,” Oliver exclaimed, “what happened?  Did My Lord hurt you?”

Keeping her face downturned, Rishe shook her head.  She was scared that if she responded verbally she would begin sobbing again in front of Oliver.  She couldn’t be more of a burden than she currently was.

“Very well.  How is your wound, did you pull it at all?”

Another shake.

“Good,” Oliver breathed.  “Would you like to return to your rooms?”

Rishe gave a small nod, allowing Oliver to carry her back to her room once more—the room she and Arnold were supposed to share.  The walk was long, the unnatural silence ringing in her ears.  She was simply grateful that Oliver made no comment on her current state.  

When they had reached her rooms Oliver had taken care to lay her carefully back into her bed, reorganizing pillows to help support her back.  “If you need anything I can provide, just have Miss Elsie send for me.” Oliver informed gently.  “Would you like me to talk to My Lord?  From the looks of things he must have said or done something completely out of line.”

“No, he didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” Rishe whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

“Very well,” Oliver nodded politely, worry spilling from his eyes as he looked over just how fragile Rishe had become.  With a bow, Oliver left the room leaving Rishe alone to her thoughts once more.

As Rishe laid against the bed, staring hollowly at the ceiling, silent tears still streaming down her cheeks, she vowed to herself that she would make this right.  She would fix this.  

She had to.

____________
“My Lady!” Elsie exclaimed as she caught Rishe attempting to walk towards the balcony.  Her legs were shaking like a newborn fawn and her breaths came in short bursts from the agony that was her still healing stab wound.  Sweat was dripping quickly from her brow, but Rishe was nothing if not stubborn as she held onto her desk for dear life.  She was only halfway there, she had been so close before Elsie had entered and stopped her.

“My Lady, you are gravely injured!  You should be resting,” Elsie scolded, well used to her lady’s antics after serving as her handmaiden for so long. Despite any protest, she urged Rishe back to her bed and beneath the sheets.

“It’s healing fine, Elsie,” Rishe pleaded. “I can move.”

“My Lady shouldn’t be taking that risk,” Elsie retorted, and would not hear otherwise. Resigned to lying in her bed, Rishe stared at her balcony doors. The curtains had been drawn and fresh sunlight spilled into the room. 

Elsie was, admittedly, correct. If Rishe wanted to hurry up and be fully capable of moving around, she needed to lie back and wait. She had given similar advice to her own patients, over the years: don’t move, rest for longer, wait another week.

Well, two weeks, for Rishe. 

An idea came to her then. “Elsie?”

“Yes, My Lady?”

“Could you please pass on a message to Prince Theodore?” Rishe reached for a pen and paper, and found them suddenly placed on her lap. “Ah—thank you.”

“You shouldn’t be moving too much,” Elsie informed her, with a gentle hand on her shoulder. Beneath the thin layer of her chemise, her skin prickled. It was Elsie’s touch, but it was still a touch, and the light pressure felt strange. “I’ll pass on any message you wish, My Lady.”

Shaking off any stray shivers, Rishe smiled. “Thank you, Elsie.”

Two weeks was valuable time. Rishe should very well make good use of it.

Minutes after the message had been given to Theodore, the young prince had burst into her room, startling Rishe greatly. “Sister!”

He had grown so much in the last five years, standing only five centimeters shorter than Arnold.  His features had sharpened out slightly, but he still held the soft curve in his doe-like eyes.  His voice had also deepened a considerable amount, a constant reminder that he was no longer the small child she had met when she had first arrived in Galkhein all those years ago.

“I heard that you were awake, but I thought it best to wait for your word before visiting,” Theordore explained, his expression strained as he looked at his sister-in-law’s prone form.  It was strange to see her like this–to see her so immobile when she was always so active.

Rishe gave her brother a soft smile, touched by his worry.  “It’s okay Prince Theodore, I have been told that I am on track to a quick recovery,” she reassured.  Yet it didn’t seem to be enough as the worry line remained across Theodore’s brow.

“You need to be more careful, Sister,” Theodore mumbled.  “When Brother first brought you in, the doctor said that there was little chance of you waking up again from all the blood you lost.  He said that it was a miracle you were still breathing to begin with.  You looked like a ghost.”

Rishe bit her lip, looking away from Theodore as guilt continued to weigh heavy against her heart.  She hadn’t meant to hurt Theodore, but it seemed she had done just that.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to-” Rishe paused.  She didn’t mean to what: frighten him, hurt him, worry him?  While all those were true, Rishe didn’t think her words alone would be able to convey just how sorry she was. In any case, the effect was more important than the intent. 

“I’m sorry,” Rishe settled on, her voice a hoarse whisper. Her brother drifted closer and, gingerly, sat down on the edge of her bed. After a moment of struggling to take in the sight of his sister so drawn and wrung-out, Theodore finally flicked her in the forehead, effectively shocking her out of her own mind.

“Hurry up and get better, then!” His tone was petulant. “Then go and say that to my brother, not just me.”

“I will, of course,” Rishe promised. “Just, one thing.”

“Huh? What is it this time?”

“Could you bring me some work to do? Any project is fine.” Rishe gave him a small, nervous smile.

Theodore stared. At last, he concluded: “You know, you’re a great fit for my brother.”

___________
Two weeks was indeed plenty of time.  In fact it was more than enough time.  Rishe was on the verge of going stir crazy with her only company being Elsie, Oliver, Theodore, and her paperwork— Arnold hadn’t returned to their room once .

Once the stitches had been removed—a process that she loathed greatly—she was finally given permission to walk on her own, as well as a sturdy cane to help her.  It was the greatest news she had heard in her life—and possibly in her lives. Rishe immediately decided to go for a very long stroll.

“My Lady,” Kamil pleaded. “My Lady, you haven’t eaten. It’s already twilight.”

“It’s okay.  I won’t leave the palace grounds,” Rishe breathed.  Her legs were shaking and each step felt like a stone was tied around her ankle.  Thankfully the pain in her abdomen was reduced to a gentle throb. After nearly an entire day of walking, she was grateful that it wasn’t far worse.

Leaning heavily against her cane, Rishe made her way down to the gardens.  Kamil was only a single step away, ready to catch her if she stumbled or fell. In the absence of her attention, some of the more delicate plants had begun to wilt.

“Are you sure you’re feeling rested enough?  It’s only been a few hours since your sutures were removed.”

“I’m fine,” Rishe reassured. In any case, she needed to catch up on all the work she had been neglecting. She picked up her watering can and made for the well.

“No! My Lady, let me— “

Gritting her teeth Rishe ignored her knight, pulling up the bucket of water before pouring it into the can.  Sweat was beading against her brow and her breaths were coming out in short pants; but it didn’t matter .  She had to prove that she was okay.  That she wasn’t really hurt.  That she could overcome anything and still walk away with a smile.

The new weight of a heavy watering can threatened to unbalance her, and Rishe shifted to accommodate. Laboriously, she returned to her garden and began the aching process of tending to her plants. As Hakurei told her once: “Flowers grow well not only from water and sunlight, but also from the sweat of their caretakers.” If so, then surely her field would flourish. Each heavy breath seemed to encourage such.

The sky was fully dark once Rishe finished and set away all her tools. Wrung out, and with her throat dry, she sank down into the earth and leaned against a tree trunk, eyes fluttering half-shut. Everything from the touch of fabric on her skin, to the hollow pit of hunger in her stomach, to the roof of her mouth felt as gritty as a broken-down road.

Kamil rushed to her side, worry shown in the scrunch of his brow.  “My lady!  Allow me to carry you back inside.  The doctor warned that if you overexert yourself there was a chance you would become ill.”

“Wait, Kamil!” Elsie. “I brought food. Our Lady needs to eat first.”

Kamil gave a silent nod, allowing Elsie to crouch beside Rishe, a bowl of still steaming broth in her hands.  

“Answer me honestly, can you hold onto this bowl in your current condition?” Elsie questioned firmly.

Even her fingers felt sore. Rishe took a breath and let it out in a fit of laughter, startling her maid and knight. It was almost like her first life, sprawled out after a long day of work on a ship, hollow-limbed and drunk on the sea air: except the skin on her stomach was pink and new, and so was the tender pain in her chest. 

“Do you think His Majesty will come if I call now?” Rishe breathed, her eyes distant as she stared at the stars above her.  Arnold always responded to her when she was hurt or too weak to walk.  What would he do now?  

Rishe wasn’t sure if she truly wanted that answer.

“Eat, My Lady,” Elsie murmured. Under the silver moonglow, her gentle hands felt somewhat unreal. Rishe looked at the spoon and fought down the urge to laugh again.

Part of her wanted to fight back.  Fight back and let the roughened edges of her broken heart be set free, consequences be damned.  But Rishe couldn’t do that to Elsie.  She couldn’t hurt her dearest friend in such a way, not when she had been nothing but kind and loyal to her.

Shutting her eyes in an attempt to hold back the burning tears that threatened to break free, Rishe bowed her head, opened her mouth, and allowed Elsie to help feed her the soup. It was salty, and when she bit down she chewed on a piece of carrot and, as with anything when starving, it was the best thing she had ever tasted.

The sound of footsteps echoed gently in the quiet of the night.  And though she knew it wasn’t Arnold, part of her still hoped it was.  Instead, Oliver stood before her once more, a tired smile on his lips.

“It seems My Lord was right.  You’ve overexerted yourself as soon as you were free to travel,” Oliver sighed.  “You two would work yourselves to death if someone wasn’t there to stop you.”

“Oliver!” Rishe greeted, an exhausted smile falling across her lips. Though he lacked the sweat and the pallor, he seemed just as tired as she. That did not bode well for her husband’s condition. “Sit. Have you eaten?”

“Yes.” There was a distinctly accusatory quality to his voice that Rishe felt. She took the offered spoon from Elsie and swallowed.  She didn’t like to disappoint Oliver, it always made her feel like she had ignored a cat demanding affection.

Despite his scolding, Oliver nonetheless gave her an indulgent smile, taking her offer to sit at her side.  “I’ve noticed you’ve been keeping just as busy as My Lord.  If you keep pushing yourself like this, there’s a chance you could injure yourself once more.”  

“So I’ve been told,” Rishe sighed.  She was tired of being treated as if she were fragile.  Tired of feeling exhausted after doing the most basic of tasks.  Tired of constantly having to reassure others and herself that she was perfectly well.  But, was she?

Rishe batted the thought away. Contemplating that was less important than finishing her meal and being able to stand up. Once this passed, she would return to being herself again. 

“Then please abide by that advice.”

Rishe bit her lip, holding back a biting remark.  They were just looking out for her, there was nothing wrong with that.  In fact, it was a good sign.  Yet the need to lash out prevailed. Being cooped up for so long, she reasoned to herself, has clearly ruined my temper.

“I’ll try,” Rishe said, avoiding making a promise she’d be unable to fulfill before taking another bite of the soup.  

Oliver gave her A Look, but didn’t respond.  A cool wind passed over the small group, bringing the scent of flowers and herbs with it.  The song of crickets chirping created a calm in Rishe’s mind.  It brought her back to simpler lives where her only worries consisted of waking up on time to gather herbs, join the hunt, or train with her squad.  A time where it was just her and nature and no fear of hurting another person with her actions.  A time where she felt whole without the foreign weight of another curled up and sleeping in her heart.

Not for the first time, Rishe thought that being married complicated so many things. 

Once Rishe had finished her meal, using her cane, Rishe attempted to force herself back onto her aching feet.  Her attempt was quickly thwarted when both Oliver and Kamil moved to keep her seated.

“Miss Elsie, Sir Kamil, would you please give me some time alone with our empress?” Oliver asked with a socialite grin.

Kamil and Elsie shared a worried look before staring back at Rishe.  Both couldn’t help but worry over their lady, especially when there was obviously something wrong.  But as it was Oliver asking, they agreed knowing that he was more than capable of helping her.

Once both had left Oliver turned to Rishe, his face pulled into a serious line.  “Rishe, what is going on? I feel as though you are…”

“I’m what?”

Oliver did not elaborate, but he didn’t need to. Looking at Rishe—wearing a dirt-stained slip of a dress, visibly exhausted, eating soup deep into the night in the middle of a field—was enough to guess at her altered state. She took a moment to look out at the stars and feel ashamed.

Slowly, Rishe brought her knees up, hugging them to her chest.  “I don’t know what to do, Oliver,” Rishe whispered hoarsely, as if that statement was something to be ashamed of.  “Arnold hates me!  It’s been two weeks and he won’t talk to me, he ignores my messages, he refuses to even be in the same room as me, and I don’t know how to fix things!” By the end, her voice had torn itself into naught but a ragged breath. Rishe cried, burying her face between her knees, hiding the tears that had escaped her hold.

“I’ve known My Lord for many years,” Oliver began, slowly wrapping his arm around her now overtly lean frame.  “Since he was a child, even—though he acted so much like a grown up it was hard to see him as one except for his height—” he chuckled to himself, with a wistful smile—“I must say though, in all that time, I’ve never seen him more happy, more peaceful even, until he met you.”

Rishe listened to Oliver, settling into his touch. In her childhood, she had neither siblings nor comrades. It was one thing to have teachers, who showed you how to sail, and another entirely to have people next to you in the boat. She had grown to see him as the older brother she never had, which made it so she couldn’t help but listen to him.

“My Lord isn’t fickle,” Oliver told her. “Even if he spurns you, I can attest that his feelings have not wavered.”

That didn’t bring Rishe much hope. Feelings stagnated without actions or words. How was she to fix things if her own husband wouldn’t come talk to her?

Then, she realized that the solution was obvious: so obvious that she could hit herself for not thinking of it sooner. If one tactic didn’t work, then she needed to find another. Arnold wouldn’t reply: that was fine. Rishe would bridge the gap herself.

She needed to prepare, she thought. Her mind turned to armaments: then, she amended that idea to peace offerings instead. A show of goodwill was necessary for any truce, hence gifts brought from nation to nation. Something to display her sincerity, and her desire to fix things: then, she would go find him, two weeks of silence be damned.

“I need to go back to my quarters,” Rishe said, aloud, grabbing at her cane. Before she could stand, Oliver scooped her up.

“I’ll bring you, My Lady.”

All Rishe could do was let out a tired sigh.  She simply did not have the energy or stamina to argue. 

____________
Rishe’s first course of action upon waking was to create something for Arnold that he could not turn away.  Arnold wasn’t a fan of something that required much fanfare or was too ostentatious, he preferred simple things that were created by her hands. In childhood, Rishe had learned how to paint and play the pianoforte as part of her upbringing into noble society: yet, when she sat down in front of an empty canvas, she realized that she had no idea what to create.

She thought back to everything beautiful she had ever witnessed: the brilliance of an opal, the night sky in the desert, the view from the mountain tops in the height of summer, the surreal lights far up north; then it hit her!  Arnold’s eyes had always been the most beautiful in her mind, and every time she stared into them she was reminded of the frozen waves she had witnessed when Michael had taken her to the aurora borealis. 

Just before the lights shone, when the sky was clear and the moonbeams danced off of the icy sea: she looked out to the horizon and recalled the sensation of infinity, an endless world for her to explore, through each and every life. For the moment, there was nothing she wanted more than to know Arnold in the same manner. 

Confident in her memory, Rishe began the process of painting the icy landscape.  It would be a complicated piece that would require many layers and shading, which in turn would require much waiting, as the paint would have to dry fully before she could continue to work.  In the end it had taken her nearly three days of nearly nonstop work.  

“My Lady,” Elsie beamed, staring at the finished piece starry-eyed.  “It’s so very beautiful!  What inspired this most wonderful landscape?”

“It’s a place I’d like to visit with His Majesty one day.  I’ve only heard stories of the lands in the north, but it sounded beautiful,” Rishe admitted, laying atop her couch with a cloth of ice pressed against her abdomen.  

Sitting straight for so long had agitated her wound to a rather uncomfortable degree. The pain settled like rocks in her stomach, and she had to breathe past it.  Rishe was just grateful that Elsie hadn’t made any comments about how she overexerted herself.

“I think His Majesty will be pleased to receive such an extraordinary gift,” Elsie stated proudly. She reached for the canvas and then stopped short, fingertip hovering over one of the prominent brush strokes. Time and many layers of paint had allowed Rishe to bring the floating ice into sharp relief, pulling the memory of walking on the uneven surface into the painting.  

“Will you deliver it yourself?”  Elsie asked, looking at Rishe with slight trepidation.

“Yes.” Her stomach had gone numb. Rishe set the ice she was holding to the side to reach for her cane.  “Though I won’t be able to carry it myself,” Rishe lamented. In a few weeks, maybe: not now. “Will you help me Elsie?”

Her maid gave Rishe a relieved smile. “Of course, My Lady.”

Elsie held onto the painting with careful fingers, making sure she only touched the edges and back so that she would be unable to harm the painting in any way.  The walk to the office didn’t take long, though Rishe had to admit that she had never hated stairs as much as she did at this moment.  

As Rishe stood before the closed door, she couldn’t help the sense of dread that crept over her.  Fears of being sent away, ignored, or even divorced clouded her mind; making a simple knock appear as if it were the most laborious task ever made.  But she needed to do this, she needed to find a way to fix everything.

Taking a deep breath to steal her nerves, Rishe rapped sharply on the door before taking a quick step back.  Her heart was racing and her palms felt unusually sweaty.  She hadn’t felt so afraid since she had first met Arnold: and even then she doubted that she was as afraid as she was now.

Oliver opened the door with an exhausted smile, the bags under his eyes deeper than she had ever seen them.  Rishe had to resist the urge to drag him out of the room and force him to rest.  “Ah My Lady, what a pleasant surprise.  Is there anything I can help you with?”

Rishe attempted to look over Oliver’s shoulder, hoping to spot her husband, but the partially closed door blocked her view. Nevertheless, she could tell he was inside, and could hear the scratch of his pen and the rustling of papers. Resting against the door frame, she took the painting from Elsie and held it up.

“I made this for His Highness as a peace offering, would you please ensure he receives it along with my message–” raising her voice slightly so that Arnold would just be able hear her past the door she stated–”I would like to have a conversation to discuss the information that has brought upon this fight.”

Oliver looked at the painting with wide, impressed eyes before softening into a gentle smile.  “I will ensure that My Lord receives both.”

“Thank you Lord Oliver.” Rishe returned the smile. Her heart ran double-time, hoping that Arnold would tell her to not leave, to invite her in, that he would stop torturing himself over something that was not his fault. Perhaps even just to hear him speak, to acknowledge that Rishe was standing at his door, would be enough for now. But nothing happened. The look on Oliver’s face was distinctly apologetic, even as he closed the door and she was forced to leave.

“Are you alright My Lady?” Elsie asked, noticing Rishe’s sudden shift in mood.

“I’ll be fine.  If this doesn’t work, I have another idea in mind,” Rishe informed her. Whether or not Arnold heard her through the door didn’t particularly matter: there was only one way to stop her, and that would be to give her what she wanted.

“What idea is that, My Lady?"

“It’s simple. I’ll just throw roses atop his office balcony.”

It was something that she had learned in her time as a knight.  Her captain had told her squad about how, when he and his wife were quarreling, at night he would throw a pebble at the window of their bedchamber. When she would open it, he would follow that up with a rose, the most resplendent and uniquely colored one he could find.  Apparently, it was how the two first fell in love.  It was a story that had always touched Rishe’s heart, and she hoped that it would reach Arnold’s too.

So when she received no response for a full day, Rishe convinced Elsie to help her round up the most splendid flowers in her garden that she could toss for her husband.  Even if he was being an absolute boor, he still deserved the best she could offer him.

It was near the middle of the night when Rishe stood beneath the office’s parapet.  She could faintly make out the flickering light of a lamp or candle that signaled that Arnold was still awake.  Rishe scowled slightly at the sight, but quickly smoothed out her expression.  It wouldn’t do if Arnold thought that she was upset with him–though she was absolutely furious at his behavior.

Shifting her weight so that she was properly balanced, Rishe threw a pebble at the window listening as it tapped against the glass.  Rishe waited a few moments, and when nothing happened she threw a second one.  Then a third.  Right as she was about to throw the fourth the window finally opened revealing her very disheveled husband.

Rishe was barely able to control her facial expressions as she met her husband’s gaze for the first time in weeks.  Part of her wanted to cry, another scream, and the last wanted to lecture Arnold while putting him to bed.  There were deep bags beneath his eyes that appeared more like bruises.  His face was pale from fatigue.  His hair was disheveled as if he had raked his hands through it hundreds of times throughout a single day.  It broke her heart.

Still, she pushed through, giving him a bright smile as she threw him a small bouquet: tulips and peonies made up the outside of the bouquet, a symbol of enduring love; geraniums and baby’s breath were scattered throughout the middle to show her sincerity; and finally amaranthus were placed carefully at the edge of the arrangement, a reminder that her feelings for him would never fade.

Even in his tired state Arnold was able to catch it with ease, though he seemed shocked that he had done so.  “My dearest husband,” Rishe began, placing her hand to her heart with a knightly flourish—unable to fall on one knee she hoped it would be enough, “please allow the words I speak to make peace in your heart.  The words I speak are of the most noblest vow in all eternity.  

“I love you, Your Highness, and there is nothing here on Earth nor in the Heavens above that could prevent that.  I beseech you to place faith in me and trust my words to be sincere.  I have never led you astray before, nor would I now.  Please, let us speak of this matter together.  We can work through everything, but only if you will let me in.”  Rishe finished, hope shining in her eyes as Arnold listened to her words, leaning against the railing of the balcony.

Rishe waited for his response, watched his form to see if he would send her a message to meet him.  Waited to hear his voice agree with her words and give her the chance she was begging for.  But he said nothing.  With a shake of his head, Arnold turned and shut the glassy door behind him, leaving her alone in the garden once more.

Hopelessness washed through Rishe.  Her knuckles went white with how firmly she gripped her cane so as not to stumble, but that spell only lasted a moment.  It was soon replaced by a burning rage.  It wasn’t fair!  Here she was baring her heart and soul for all to see, and all he did was ignore her?!

No.

She was through with this.  Arnold had been given over a month to wallow in self-pity over problems that weren’t even–technically–his own.  So help her Goddess she was going to set things straight or die trying.

Of course, she recognized that the conversation would not be a very proactive one in Arnold’s current condition, yet even so she didn’t think she would be able to bear one more night alone.  Marching up the villa’s stairs, her cane accentuating her every-other-step, she stopped in front of his door and threw it open without bothering to knock.

“Listen to me!” Whatever Arnold was about to say was appropriately drowned out. “It has been a month,” she cried, rapping her cane harshly against the floor. “In that time, I have sent you eight messages, one painting, three completed infrastructure projects, and that bouquet there on the cushion. Were it not so late, and were you not dead on your feet, I would demand a civil talk.” She let out a violent breath, surprising herself with the force of it. ”Instead of that, you are either going to come with me to bed or I will injure myself further dragging you there.”

Arnold stared at Rishe with wide eyes, his body tense as if waiting for some kind of attack.  But Rishe stood her ground, glaring at the man before her.  “Now.”

Letting out an exhausted sigh, Arnold finally surrendered, shocking Rishe.  She had truly believed she would have to drag Arnold off to their usual room, stab wound be damned. She watched as he walked with her, his pace far too controlled for it to be natural, which meant he was intentionally preventing himself from stumbling around like a sleep drunk fool.  The image nearly made her laugh, but she managed to keep her stoic facade.  She wanted him to know that she was unhappy with him, after all.

Both remained silent as they trekked through the darkened halls, the only sound being their footsteps and the tapping of Rishe’s cane on carpet.  Rishe moved to open the door to their room, but was beaten to it by Arnold, who then waited for her to enter first.

“Go get ready for bed, there should be a clean nightshirt in the closet,” Rishe ordered, making her way towards their bed. Earlier in the evening, she had already bathed and changed into sleepwear: neatly, she shrugged her way out of her cloak, and hung it away.  

Arnold stood there for a moment, watching his wife as she walked.  There was an obvious weakness in her steps, one that stabbed him in the heart every time she moved.  It was his fault.  She nearly died, and it would have been his fault for not protecting her.  He would have been the reason she had died a 7th time, following in the tradition of his past selves just how they followed his father.

“Stand there any longer and you’ll find just how thin my patience has worn, My Beloved Husband,” Rishe warned, glaring at him from her spot in their bed.

Silently Arnold grabbed his bedwear before turning towards the washroom to change.  When he returned Rishe was already tucked into the covers, her back turned away from him.  Arnold hesitated for a moment, wondering if it would be better for him to sleep on one of the many couches to give Rishe some space.  Just before he took a step towards the furniture, Rishe grumbled, “If you make me leave this bed just to drag you back to it, I will not forgive you."

With that threat hanging in the air Aronld made his way towards the bed, moving beneath the sheets for the first time in over a month.  

As soon as Arnold placed his head against the pillow the world became a blurry haze.  He had taken the occasional nap, but he hadn’t gotten a full night's rest since the incident.  Now that he was forced into such a position, his brain had given up on keeping him awake.  His body felt so weighted down he doubted he’d be able to get up even if he wanted to.  The comforting warmth and weight of Rishe lying beside him was all he needed before he fell into a deep sleep.

Rishe turned to stare at her slumbering husband.  Now that he was asleep she could better study his features and see all the changes he had been hiding.  The bags were even worse up close, his skin appeared almost waxy in the dim light, and a thin layer of stubble covered his lower jaw.  It was strange to see him like this when he was always so meticulously obsessed with presenting himself as nothing but the perfect figure.  Rishe doubted she had ever seen him so disheveled in all her lives.  It felt… wrong.

A pang of guilt shuddered through her. Disheveled or not, he was still the person she had married, and the person Rishe wanted to stay with until time left them as naught but bone. What did it matter? He was here, and she would make sure that he slept until noon at the very least.

Hesitantly, fearing that she might wake him, Rishe tucked a stray strand of hair behind Arnold’s ear, watching the rise and fall of his chest.  Placing her fingers against the pulse point at his neck, she counted to 60 and noted how much time it took; his pulse was slower than average, but it wasn’t life threatening.  

The longer she stared at her husband, the lighter her heart became with the knowledge that she had gotten him back; yet there was still a fearful weight that lingered.  A weight that warned her that this was all temporary.  When he awoke, it whispered, no doubt he would leave her once more: there was nothing she could do or say that would be enough to convince him of his innocence in her eyes, and if not innocence, at least of her honest affection towards him.

Thoughts such as those plagued her for the rest of the night, and Rishe found herself slipping in and out of restless dreams.

____________
Movement stirred her. After so long without Arnold at her side, she was hyper attuned to his presence, and as if it were second nature, Rishe caught the hand that was moving towards her face.  

In her tired haze Rishe pulled herself closer to the familiar warmth connected to the limb.  Her less than restful sleep kept her under a heavy cloud that made her want to fall back into the depths of dreams, no matter how strange they might become.

“Rishe,” a gruff voice whispered against her ear, tickling the sensitive skin.  

A small whine escaped her lips as she nuzzled deeper into the warm, familiar chest of her husband.  She heard Arnold let out a small huff of exasperation, but he didn’t retaliate any further.  The feeling of his hands stroking cautiously through her hair eased some of the tension that had been plaguing her throughout the night.  His hands were moving slowly and were much softer than they had ever been before, like he was afraid that one wrong move would break her completely. Though compared to no touch whatsoever, it was nothing less than a boon.

“Rishe, it’s morning,” Arnold grumbled, his voice rumbling against Rishe’s ear where her head rested.

She was well aware of that. The early sunlight touched her bare skin, filtered through the translucent curtains. But as it was not yet noon, Rishe didn’t acknowledge the obvious statement, and instead hooked one of her legs around his. Had she more strength, she would attempt to wrestle him down.

“You’re not going to let me out, are you?”

That should have been clear already.

With a noiseless sigh, Arnold settled, wrapping a loose arm over her waist. 

Satisfied for the moment, and knowing she would wake if her husband tried to move again, Rishe sank back into unconsciousness.

Rishe’s dreams were rarely logical. They were brief, fevered flashes of familiar figures and places, twisted around and strange. This time, Rishe found herself in the ashes of the Grand Basilica.

She didn’t know what it looked like after Arnold burned it down, naturally: she had died trying to evacuate Millia, Duke Jonal, and other guests. From inside the building, she could see the beams collapsing, the smoke clogging up room after room, the walls and floors being scorched black underfoot. The wedding attendees, wherever she looked, were panicked: only several deaths kept Rishe from experiencing the same. By contrast, Arnold’s knights were perfectly ordered, wearing masks and fighting in pairs through the smoke.

She didn’t know what it looked like after Arnold burned it down, so her surroundings petered out into char and nothingness. The scorched altar, the husks of the pews, the jagged teeth of broken windows: Rishe sat down on the floor and picked up a small shard of the stained glass that had once made up The Goddess’ holy figure.  Rishe turned the shard over a few times, watching the ways it caught the sunlight through the smoke.

The sound of all to familiar footsteps echoed behind her, when she turned she was met with the cold unforgiving gaze of Emperor Arnold Hein.  Rishe hastily backed away, but he walked right past her as if she wasn’t even there.

Something odd shivered to life in her chest. He wouldn’t ignore her, even if she was nothing but a maid. He definitely wouldn’t have spared her.

“A tragedy, isn’t it?” a calm, almost nurturing, voice asked from right next to her.  Rishe startled, whipping around to look at who was speaking to her.  The shard in her hand had vanished and now a woman with hair the color of violet wildflowers stood before her. She was wearing a simple white dress that pooled at her feet like a waterfall. Flowers bloomed on her shoulders and down her bare arms. Her fingers tapered off into birdlike talons. Black scales lined her neck accentuating her honey-colored skin, and when their eyes met, Rishe realized that she had no pupils.

People spoke to her in her dreams regularly. Despite that, Rishe took a step back.

“I suppose I shouldn’t blame him,” the woman sighed. A sibilant hum rattled the stagnating air. Galkhein’s emperor came to a standstill before the ash streaked altar. With a gloved hand, he touched the blackened surface. “The children eat each other all the time. It’s hardly uncommon.”

There was an unspoken question that lingered between them, and Rishe hesitantly felt out for its answer. Gathering her wits, she asked, “Did My Lady survive?”

The smile she received was somewhat affectionate. “She’s a fortunate one. More fortunate than most of her kin, certainly.”

So maybe Rishe had been able to do something before her death, after all. Behind them resounded a vicious crack: The Emperor had dug his sword into the altar. Bits of stone crumbled to the bloody floor.

“Why did you give them those dreams?” she wondered. 

The answer was simple. “Do they not deserve to know?”

Rishe twisted her hands into her skirts. “Maybe My Lady. But those were my deaths. He has nothing to do with it.”

The woman only smiled. Flowers popped up at Rishe’s feet: first sprigs of Baby’s Breath, then a patch of Geraniums. The wide-leafed Amaranthus plant next, and after that a circle of Tulips, and then a blooming Peony bush. “I suppose it was for you as well. You’re already quite alone.”

“What?”

Something latched onto her neck. Rishe started, snatching at whatever it was: a bird, it seemed, flitting up onto her hand.  It stared at her with dark, intelligent eyes. With a hop, it found her breast and dug in with sharp talons. Trails of blood oozed out. There was the scrape of something against bone. Rishe coughed wetly, squeezing her eyes shut.

Behind them, the emperor turned towards the sound, but didn’t acknowledge the pair of them. Nonetheless, Rishe knew without looking that his gaze had paused on her back, above her beating heart.

“Those two children haven’t eaten one another yet,” the woman told her. “This is your last chance. Continue to keep them safe, My Champion, and they will always remember you.”

Her mouth tasted like iron. Rishe watched as her blood puddled over the floors. She sank slowly to her knees. A snake slithered up her arm until it curled tightly around her neck, the bird flew up to rest on her head, and then—

Rishe awoke with a startled gasp, hand clutching at the fabric just above her heart.

“Rishe!” Arnold exclaimed, startled by his wife’s sudden outburst. She had not been sleeping peacefully, but he had been unable to wake her. Just when he’d thought that her dreams had settled, she had woken with a harsh breath, eyes unseeing.

Still wrapped in the arms of her husband, Rishe rested her head against his shoulder as she steadied her breathing.  Her skin felt as if it were engulfed in flame, but something told her that it was all in her head—a part of her dream carried over to the present.  Her wound ached from all the movement she had done yesterday, but that was hardly new.

“It’s okay.  I’m okay,” Rishe whispered as if to console both herself and her husband, who’s hold tightened considerably around her.

“Did you dream of-“

“No,” Rishe cut Arnold off, already predicting where his question was headed.  “Quite the opposite actually.”

Arnold gave a hesitant nod, though Rishe could feel the doubt from her position.

“I dreamed of the Goddess,” Rishe admitted.  She could feel Arnold tense beneath her, but she pushed on.  “She was rather intimidating, yet she seemed quite tranquil.”

“The Goddess.” Something unknown threaded through his words: it was not as straightforward as anger, nor as slack as resignation. “What did she say to you? What did she do?”

“I…she called me her ‘champion’ and asked me to ensure your’s and Miss Millia’s safety,” Rishe answered with a slight frown.  

Arnold leaned back into the pillows, though she could still feel his attention pinned into her. He let out a dubious snort. “So even a deity has to act through mere humans. You should just ignore her.”

“Pardon?” Rishe asked, taken aback as she pushed herself out of her husband's hold to stare down at him. 

Beneath her, Arnold remained steady, if distantly so. “The Goddess clearly lacks the strength to directly intervene. Whatever she stirs up among her followers can be handled. Ignore her.”

Rishe let her hand fall back to where the talons had pierced through her heart.  If the goddess had wanted her to die, even if just in a dream, Rishe knew that she would not be having this conversation now.

“No, I will not do so.  Not just because the Goddess asked me herself, but because I have vowed to protect you since the day of our vows,” Rishe countered with a sharp glare.

“You take it too far,” Arnold said, inflectionless. “The girl, I understand. She is young, and you clearly knew her once.” He let the next sentence linger for a little, hanging like smoke in the air, regarding her with a soldier’s eye. “On the other hand, there is no need for you to risk your life for me.  I have been trained to kill since birth, and it seems all I have ever gifted you is a life filled with nothing but death.”

Rishe grit her teeth. She wished that the Goddess had never given Arnold those dreams. Companionship, loneliness: what did that matter? In this moment, her lover spurned her.

“I’ve been trained to kill as well,” she snapped. “Do you truly believe I’ve never had blood on my hands? In my sixth life, that was hardly my first battlefield. Do you truly believe that I have never regretted the lives I too had to take for the good of the kingdom?”

“Do you truly believe that the lives I took were for the good of mine?”

There was nothing that could be said to that. Ever the tactician, Arnold knew how to score his victories. But Rishe drew breath nonetheless.

“It wasn’t your fault your father forced you on the front lines for his own sick pleasure.” Her tone was acerbic. “You were a child. And you are trying to make amends.”

“Was I following my father’s orders every time I killed you?”  He asked with a single raised brow.

Rishe put a hand over his eyes and shut them. “No. You had killed him first before starting that war.”

Arnold attempted to speak, but she simply raised her voice and tilted her head slightly, so that he couldn’t see the frustrated tears which threatened to flow. “And! That war never happened this time. Besides, I have no real knowledge of what caused it other than speculation that traitors helped spur it on behind your back. Whoever you think you are, be rid of it. 

“You think I was never afraid of you? I feared you would strangle me on our way to Galkhein. I learned later that you were not who you seemed, and so I married you. I wrote my vows, Arnold! You will not be dissuading me on this matter!”

Arnold stared at Rishe blankly through the gaps in her fingers, as if her words hadn’t affected him at all.  “That makes no sense.”

“To you. I’m hardly the only person who would jump in front of a knife for your sake.”

Arnold let out a soft scoff, shaking his head as he gently removed the hand covering his eyes.  “You know very well that is simply not true.  Besides, I don’t need anyone to jump in front of one, we both know that I would have been fine.”

“Your first statement is blatantly false,” Rishe fumed. “Your brother, your retainers, even Lord Oliver. As for your second…” She recalled the fearsome pulse of adrenaline, the way her thoughts had corkscrewed into naught but one: shield him. The battlefield was not a place for logic: that was the role of generals, ensconced behind the front lines. “Maybe. But I only saw the knife headed for your unprotected back.”

“Then you are more foolish than I thought.”

“‘Foolish’ ?!  Maybe I am, but at least I am not as cruel as you to isolate myself away from you when I am in pain!” She heaved for breath. “What must I do to convince you that I want you by my side? Serenade you? Erect a castle in your name?”

“There is nothing you can do.”

“Fine.  Then order me away!  It is clear that you no longer want me at your side, so make it a request and I’ll never return,” Rishe declared, glaring down at her husband with the eyes of a battle-hardened veteran. Her posture was militant, head carelessly tipped to the side, arms loosely crossed over her chest. The ring on her left hand caught the daylight. In the dead echo silence that followed her bold statement, she truly feared that he would follow through on her words.

Arnold grit his teeth.  No matter what he said, it wouldn’t be the right answer.

“I can’t.”

“You can’t, or you won’t?”

“It’s not that simple!”

“Of course it is!  I can’t live my life fearing my husband wants nothing to do with me, not when all I want is to stand by his side for the rest of time!” 

“Rishe,” Arnold interjected, forcing calm. “Rishe, if you die, you’ll never have anything you want again.”

The Goddess’ words remained in the back of her mind. Her last chance, to protect Arnold and Millia. Maybe it meant exactly what he’d implied. Once her seventh life was gone, Rishe would never see another.

She didn’t know that to be certain, though. Death was nasty, and Rishe hardly wanted to throw herself onto a blade, but if it was her or Arnold… didn’t taking that chance seem tempting?

“Whatever is going through your head, cease it at once,” Arnold demanded as if reading her thoughts. He sat up so they were eye-level. “Do you think I want you to die for me?  I have already told you–on countless occasions no less–that I see no life as greater than yours, so why do you still believe that your life is less valuable than my own?”

Rishe opened her mouth, and let out a small puff of breath. “You imply your life is lower than mine,” she said weakly. That point, Arnold effortlessly ignored.

“Is it because you think you have more lives to live? You’ll always have more chances?” White-hot fury shone through his gaze. “You pursue empirical disciplines. Laws believed to be rigorous have been broken time and time again. What makes you think that this is different?”

“I…” Rishe didn’t have an answer.  Only a few hours ago she still believed there was still a chance at another life if this one ended early, yet it seemed it had been confirmed that there were no more lives for her to lead.

Arnold let out an exhausted sigh. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, and averted his gaze. “If marrying me has made you fine with death, it might be best if you go after all.”

Rishe stared at her husband with wide horrified eyes.  She hadn’t meant that statement, it had simply slipped out with all of the anger and vitriol she had been forced to hold in for so long.  A single tear fell down her cheek, but one tear was enough to burst the dam she had been holding back.

“Is that a request?” Rishe choked out, a deep hollowness to her words.

“It’s whatever you choose to interpret it as,” Arnold responded dully. He slipped out from beneath the covers. 

Rishe didn’t move, her eyes still locked onto where Arnold had laid only moments ago, her heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird mid-flight. Wait, she thought. Don’t go, she wanted to shout. It’s my fault. I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again.

But there was a reason she didn’t say them, because she had sworn in her vows to always be truthful with her beloved. A promise written by her own hands: even the thought of breaking it filled her stomach with rocky guilt.

“Just know, if you had died, I would have razed this world to ash on your behalf,” Arnold informed her, and shut the door to their chambers without a sound.

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, there was a noble couple from a small country known as Hermity. Their first child was a young girl with eyes as green as spring and hair the color of wild flowers. They could not bear a second child, for the mother was too weak to handle the burden, and her future children would be as well.

And so, as the only daughter, the young girl was surrounded by luxury from the start: a comfortable bed, dresses and jewelry, soft carpets to walk on, and servants to follow her step. The young girl would grow up, marry a prince and become a queen. It was a life fit for a fairytale.

So the young girl knew from her childhood to be silent and walk with grace. The young girl knew when to avoid eating until her frame was bird-thin and hollow. The young girl accepted her life in a cocoon, isolated even from her own family. 

A fairytale life, a fairytale love, was only for the deserving. All good turns had to be repaid in kind. If one married a dashing prince, one would have to suffer. 

__________
If there was one thing Rishe had learned from all of her past mentors, it was the proper time and way to drown out sorrows.  And more often than not that revolved around going to a dingy bar and drinking as many of their problems away as possible.  And while she knew that it was an awful idea—having so often been the one made to help each mentor back to full health after those ventures—it felt oddly appropriate for it to be Rishe’s turn this time around.  

Unfortunately, her parents had her learn how to gain a very high tolerance to nearly all alcoholic beverages from a young age, so Rishe had to resort to much harder liquors that seared her mouth with every swallow. Even then, she remained oddly clear-headed. Petulantly enough, she couldn’t help but think of that as being rather unfair. She couldn’t even get absolutely plastered when she wanted to! 

Ultimately, Rishe gave up when she reached a stage of mildly tipsy as the sun began to rise. Not that it mattered, she doubted anyone would go looking for her now.  After all, she had been completely dismissed by the crown, she was nothing but a queen in name only. 

After paying her tab, she grabbed her cane and stepped out into the streets. Taking a breath of clear morning air, she felt her mind immediately return to full focus. It was as though all that alcohol simply burned away once it went past her throat.  Another curse from the goddess, she supposed.

It was no matter.  Perhaps it was for the best: after all, if she wanted to leave the kingdom without being spotted by Arnold’s guards, she would have to be clear minded enough not to leave any tracks.  But what if I want to be found, a part of her mind whispered, which Rishe promptly swept away.  What she wanted didn’t matter, it never did.

Wiping at her swollen eyes, Rishe set her sights towards the walls that surrounded the capital. But before she could even take a step, Oliver’s familiar voice caught her completely off guard.

“People were talking about a lady who didn’t get drunk all throughout the night, no matter what,” he remarked, wryly. “I suspected it was you.”

“Lord Oliver!” 

“May I ask what you plan to do, now that you are at market?”

Rishe chewed on her lower lip. The stench of alcohol lingered in the back of her throat. “Should I leave Galkhein?” she asked, joining the flow of pedestrians. 

“What?”

“His Highn-His Majesty has dismissed me.  There is no use of me staying by his side any longer,” Rishe choked. 

“I— My Lady—” Rishe shot him a look, and Oliver hastily changed his address. “Rishe. What do you mean? What happened?”

As they walked, he steered her towards the market, and though she cast a glance at the walls, Rishe followed nonetheless. “He hasn’t spoken to you about it yet?  It’s been nearly a full day.”  The thought brought a fresh swell of tears to her eyes that she quickly held back, attempting to subtly swipe them away. To distract herself, she stopped at a stand selling fruit, and bought two, passing them both to Oliver. “Try it. The peel is sweet and the flesh is sour.”

“Thank you, Rishe.  But no, My Lord has made no mention of dismissing you,” Oliver stated, his eyes still wide with bewilderment.  “Though I have noticed he was far more somber than before.”

It was, Rishe felt, credit to her own sense of clarity that she didn’t pause mid-step. A stall selling sausages caught her eye, and she made her way towards it. Rishe doubted Oliver had eaten before coming to find her, and now was as good a time as any to make him have breakfast. “Then why would he…?”

“What did he say exactly, Rishe?” Oliver asked. When she attempted to foist four sausages onto him, he made her take two back. 

“I-I told him that if he requested me to leave, that I would do so for good.  He agreed that it would be best for me to leave.  When I asked if it was a request, he said that it was whatever I ‘interpreted it to be’,” Rishe managed to say, distinctly aware of her voice being hoarse from crying.

“...Ah.  Well, do you interpret it as a request then, or a mere suggestion made in the heat of the moment?”

“Oliver?”

“Yes?”

“Would you like some roasted nuts?”

“I wouldn’t deny them, no.”

Rishe bought him a bag. Oliver ate a few, and then made her eat some as well. Now that the harsh smell of alcohol was replaced by the scent of something savory–and now that she could taste something other than whiskey and spirits–a fragile sense of calm settled over her. She felt rather sticky from a night out, and she wanted a bath. 

“Oliver, you’ve known His Highness longer than I have, what should I do to fix this?  It appears no work or gift will persuade him, and words will only make things worse.  What is there left to do?”

“Hmm.” The nuts crunched between his teeth. “If those three have failed, your only recourse is to take action, then. My Lord has never been fond of objects and gifts—except when they come from you of course—and he’s never been good with words.  My Lord is a man of action, he worries himself with little else.  Words can deceive, gifts can manipulate, but action is the true test of character.” He offered her the bag.

Her eyes felt dry. Rishe rubbed at them, and could not help but grimace at her recent state. She had been an utter mess during the past weeks, alternating between feverishly working and struggling to breathe. Now this, too: consuming nightmarish amounts of alcohol in a failed attempt to forget her own existence. Not even her knight captain—who Rishe had had to regularly drag out of a fair number of shoddy taverns—was ever this much of an utter disaster.

She smiled at the memory. Her past lives had been a boon, despite the deaths, and her final one she was certain to treasure as well. Rishe accepted a few nuts and returned the bag to Oliver.

“His Highness is so stubborn,” Rishe lamented. “I don’t know what action I would take.  I doubt he would appreciate a battle where I allowed him to protect me in turn.”

Oliver could only shrug. “That’s just who he is, I suppose.” 

“I suppose,” Rishe agreed. In the aftermath of her rather messy night, walking around in the clear morning air felt oddly freeing. She loved markets, she loved the sea, she loved small villages and she loved the open road. Despite many years of traversing all four, each step felt perfectly new.

An idea began to bloom in her mind. Hadn’t she once proclaimed that she would take Arnold to see every beautiful sight in the world? That she would teach him the values of being happy?

Maybe that was worth an attempt, Rishe thought. They had not had much time in the past years, while they had been actively deposing the former emperor, to simply be at peace: and, their last excursion had culminated in every wrong way. Even if she didn’t get Arnold to see what she wanted, she would at least get him to relax a little.

“Oliver?”

“What is it?”

“Want to go on vacation?”

___________
“If I must leave, all I ask is that you accompany me on one final expedition, Your Majesty.  There is one place I have longed to show you since the day you placed my ring on my finger.  If you will allow me this final request, I will be at peace.”

Arnold stared silently at Rishe with an unwavering gaze.  He hadn’t been expecting her to make such a request, but then again—even after 5 years—he could rarely predict anything she did.  

“How long will this expedition last?”

“Including travel time, approximately two weeks.”

“Oliver?”

“I’ve already cleared your schedule starting the next week,” Oliver replied with a cheeky grin. One look between the two of them—matching smiles, Rishe with her hands clasped anxiously atop her cane in front of her and Oliver with his hidden behind his back—told Arnold that, clearly, they had planned this. On her own, Rishe tended to throw herself into trouble, but it was always much worse when she grouped herself with other people.

“There won’t be any trouble!” Rishe added quickly, as though spurred on by his thoughts. Her back straightened, and she proffered a perfectly gracious smile, as habit dictated. “And I vow not to get into danger, either! You can even tether me to you if that’s what it takes. I just wish to go somewhere together.”

Arnold eyed the weariness that weighed against her shoulders.  It appeared she was already bracing herself for rejection, and though Arnold believed it best to keep his distance, he couldn’t bring himself to deny his wife’s requests when she stood right before him so openly.

With a brittle sigh Arnold gave a small nod, “Very well.”

Shock filled Rishe’s eyes before her shoulders relaxed.  Rishe gave him an honest grin, tilting her head slightly as she thanked him profusely.  “I promise that you won’t regret it, Your Majesty!”

“I hope you are correct.”

Preparations for the trip had occupied the past few weeks, and Rishe hadn’t even been able to appreciate the sunrise through her work-induced haze.  Resting in brief black-out intervals between delegating tasks and completing others, she had incurred the wrath of Elsie only a day earlier, and was quite grateful in that moment for Arnold’s uncharacteristic absence—though the news still managed to find its way to his ear anyway.

Now, at last, she could sit back and reap the consequences of her hardship. Climbing up into the carriage had drained whatever bravado Rishe had been able to muster to march up in front of her husband brandishing an unexpected vacation: she rested her head on the window, and breathed out, watching how the glass fogged up. Both Oliver and Arnold had been stern on her not working for the entire day. She might have taken offense normally, but Rishe hardly wanted to break this freshly earned peace, and so stifled down her complaints. 

After only a few moments, Arnold entered the carriage and sat across from her.  It was to be a small procession to accompany them, but Oliver had insisted that, with her injury still lurking, it would be best for them to take a carriage as far as possible before transferring to ship or horseback.

There was a tense silence that filled the space between them, one that hadn’t been there since the very first time they had shared a carriage after leaving her home country, Hermity.

“Ask me a question, My Husband,” Rishe blurted, looking for any way to dispel the ringing silence.

“What?” Arnold asked, looking up from a document he was reviewing.

“Ask me a question and I’ll answer it with no half truths or hidden details.”

Arnold leaned against the wall of the carriage, studying her with his icy gaze.  “What was your favorite life?”

“Oh!” An unexpectedly easy one, but she supposed it was natural to be curious. “This one, of course!  I’ve never fallen in love in any of my last lives, only with you—” shyly, she tucked a loose strand of hair back behind her ear—“and you’ve made this life the greatest of them all,” Rishe answered with a beaming smile, her eyes soft with sincerity.

Arnold’s eyes widened before he turned his head away to look out the window, past the thin curtains.

“This place you’re taking me: have you been there before?”

“Yes.  It’s the land that inspired the painting I gifted you.  I believe that it is a place you will enjoy.”

“Did you go alone or with another person?”

“Professor Michel took me in my third life to see the lights in the night sky.  It’s what inspired the fireworks I invented.  But that’s not what I wish to show you.  There’s a view that I saw alone that I wish to share.”

“Very well.”

By the time they reached harbor, and boarded a waiting ship, the sun was setting. Though her stomach felt hollow with hunger, Rishe did not go inside the cabin for dinner: rather, she walked to the rail, and leaned out to bask in the salty air. Crimson bled from the horizon into the endless sea. The thin clouds, gathering in the darkening sky, were flushed with gold. She had not taken the time to truly appreciate the beauty of the open sea in her 6th loop, so caught up in her training and battles.  Even when they traveled to Beztria, she had only seen the ocean during the afternoon or full night.  She hoped she could commit the view before her now to memory.

Arnold lingered behind her, just far enough that she couldn’t possibly be alarmed, even if Rishe wasn’t his wife of several years. “Do you have another question?” she asked softly, so as not to bother the gulls overhead.

“You enjoy the ocean.” 

It was more of a statement than a question, Rishe thought.  Her reflection peered up, cut into many pieces by the choppy waves. Rishe smiled and saw how her doppelganger did the same. “I was a sheltered child. The world was four walls and written into books.” Even now, she could clearly remember the isolation she was trapped in, with only the worlds trapped within pages to keep her any company. How much sweeter it was, then, to stand on a boat and realize the full scope of her youthful ignorance! 

Even when vomiting up the contents of her stomach, Rishe had fervently believed that she could do anything, thrilled by her newfound freedom. An exile had nothing that could stop her, so it didn’t matter what she came across: she would take it and keep it forever. Now, that was a bittersweet sentiment, but she was fond of it nonetheless.

“Were you a sailor of some sort before?”

“Of some sort,” Rishe agreed, turning her head to give her husband a cheeky grin. The light of dusk touched his cheek, danced in his irises. Just like the sea, she thought. 

Arnold remained stoic under her gaze, but she had learned to read him long ago.  Even with his stoney facade she could tell that he was rather uncomfortable; with what, though, she was unsure. 

Her stomach growled. Rishe went as red as the sky. 

“Rishe.” Arnold drew her name out slightly, his brow raising in a way that foretold a scolding.

“Just a little longer,” Rishe pleaded in turn. The harbor, silhouetted behind them: the rippling shadow of the ship and the radiant sunset reflected off the water: it was just like her first life. It should have been just like her first life, but maybe she had grown too accustomed to beauty, or maybe she had grown too accustomed to the exhaustion which made something beautiful.  Rishe slumped fully against the rail, and a sharp thrill of longing shuddered down her spine. 

“You need to eat,” Arnold said firmly. “The sun won’t stop setting if you have dinner.”

“That’s the problem!  I’ll miss it if I leave now,” Rishe exclaimed.

“You’ll see it again tomorrow. And the day after, I can only presume,” Arnold replied wryly, slowly moving closer to her side. His gloved hands settled on the rail a few centimeters away from her own. “Come eat. The guards and maids are waiting.  Besides, you promised me no trouble, or did you forget that part already?”

That, at last, convinced Rishe to move. She had admittedly only thrown in the possibility of being tethered to her husband as a means of convincing him, but she didn’t doubt that Arnold would uphold that threat. “Alright. I’ll come.”

Arnold gave her a silent nod before pushing away from the rail, waiting for Rishe to do the same.  Rishe gave one last look at the brilliant landscape before her, taking in as much as she could, before she turned and followed her husband into the dining cabin where everyone was waiting.
_____________
With the past month of stress and turmoil, Rishe had not had the chance to get a proper night’s sleep for far too long. As such, it was a relief to go to bed at a proper hour, and to know that she was guaranteed at least six hours of rest. Arnold even willingly went to bed alongside her, and though they did not embrace, it was a relief to simply have his weight close by.

Sleep came easier when he was beside her. Rishe curled up beneath the covers, settled into the rocking of the boat, and let her breathing ease. What the body did, the mind followed: she shut her eyes, cheek pillowed on her arm and nose tucked into the crook of her elbow, and drifted off. 

The smell of smoke woke her.

Her eyes shot open in an instant, hazy memories flashing before her eyes.  What life was this again?   Where was Raul, or Miss Millia?  Where was she trapped now?

Voices clamored all around her, a storm of panic. Rishe fought against whatever it was that stubbornly bound her, thrashing and squirming not unlike an animal. She clapped a hand over her face–it was always the smoke that killed you before the heat–and fought back tears, as flame ate up her surroundings. The light of it seared at her eyes. In the distance, somebody shrieked for help, a wailing bell, a harsh ring that thudded through her skull. 

Rishe grit her teeth and drew up the strength to yell back. “Where are you?” she cried out. Each word scraped at her tender mouth and throat. Her hands, rough and bleeding, dug into the closest surface and she wrestled another few inches closer to being free.  If she twisted her wrist a little more she could dislocate it and give herself enough room to shimmy out of the bindings. “I’m coming!”

This was suffocating. Everything was suffocating: the smoke, the flames, the stench, the weight collapsed onto her back and legs. She was going to die again.  She was going to die and she wasn’t going to come back again.  She would die and Arnold would still hate her and she would have failed.

The cry for help rang out once more, then cut off with a wet noise. Rishe could imagine it to be anything: sword through the throat, through the heart, through the gut. Fear curled up in her stomach, cold to the bone, and frantically she kicked out, pushing further up. Her hand broke through to the surface, then her head did as well. Then the rest of her body, dragging limply over scorched earth. 

Her nails broke something and Rishe looked down, and realized that it wasn’t soil but a body she was clutching to, blackened skin, empty eyes and flies buzzing in the open mouth. Some kind of liquid stained her fingers. She was still alive, but as she looked around at the desolation before her she couldn’t help but wonder: at what cost?

Wake up.

Rishe stared around, looking for the source of the words that appeared to come from the blackened heavens above. Everything shook, everything felt warm, and she briefly struggled, elbows flailing. This time, though, her binds shook off with ease. The air was cool and full of silver shadows that appeared to move on their own.

Disoriented, she rolled out and away. Hands caught her and panic leapt up into the back of her throat. 

Wake up, the voice repeated with more urgency, shifting the world around her once more. When Rishe looked up, she saw blue, just like the thrashing currents of the ocean mid-storm. The brutal tempest, the winds that buffeted and the hungry maw of the sea: but drowning was gentle.  Rishe blinked, and realized that she was looking into Arnold’s eyes.

She was being held by his hands, as well; one of her legs dangled off the side of the bed. The sheets were wrinkled, and shadows pooled in the uneven mountains and valleys of the fabric. The cabin rocked and rocked, out of time with her rapid heartbeat, and with the unsteady rhythm of her breaths. Her mouth felt dry. Her back was sticky with sweat.

Rishe flopped over onto her stomach, feeling as sturdy as a decaying leaf in winter, and inhaled. Steady, she told herself: in four, hold seven, release eight. In four…

Arnold stared at his wife, worry written through his being as he sat there uncertain as to what he should do.  Rishe rarely had nightmares, but when she did they were intense.  Before he questioned what could have caused them; but now that he knew that he was the potential culprit, he didn’t know the best way to comfort his startled wife.

In the stagnating silence, he could only murmur, “Do you need me to go?”

The corpse in her dreams had dark hair... 

Rishe didn’t remember the color of the corpse’s eyes. She blinked and found that she had grabbed Arnold’s wrist in a vice-like grip. Surely it was painful. Surely that was her fault. “Don’t go,” she gasped, and then: “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m…”

She fought to let go, but no muscle would obey. Her skin buzzed, akin to the feeling of hundreds of fire ants climbing across her body, keeping her on edge in case one were to bite. It was a terribly desperate thing, that feeling. She raised her free hand, and tilted her head, and then knocked her fist against her cheek, a dull thud of pain. 

“Rishe!” Arnold exclaimed, obviously panicked.

“It’s alright,” Rishe attempted to convince him. No injury. Nothing wrong, her skin was unmarred. The echoing ache soon subsided. “It’s fine.” The prickling sensation persisted. Rishe prepared to hit herself again, then a hand caught her wrist and pushed it down into the blankets.

“What makes you think hurting yourself will make you any better?”

“I-” Rishe had to take another breath, her skin burned.  She wanted to itch at her skin, itch it until her skin was raw and red and numb, but she had no means of doing such. The lack pained her. If the pain wouldn’t go in, it had to escape outwards. 

“What made you think avoiding me would make me any better?”

Arnold’s jaw clenched, his eyes unable to meet hers.  “That’s not the issue right now,” he grumbled.

“I don’t care.” It was awfully petulant, and so were the tears that dripped down when she blinked. “I don’t have any more lives to live. If nothing else, I need you in this one. Please, My Husband!” Rishe let go of his wrist if only to embrace him fully, arms wrapped tightly around her neck. The scarring injury on her stomach pulled taut and aching. “I don’t regret a single thing.  Please tell me you don’t regret it either.”

A hand hovered over her back, and then settled, so gentle it hurt. “I just don’t want you to be hurt,” he whispered, so softly it was almost lost to the crash of the waves. “You don’t deserve that.”

His voice was as tender as a fresh bruise. It occurred to Rishe that he was in pain. She had exhausted herself in the days prior, but so had he. Their first night of proper rest, together, and she had interrupted it with her own dream. Ironic, but somehow awfully fitting.  

“Until now, you have never hurt me before in a way that is meaningful. I doubt you ever could.” She hugged him tighter, resting her head against his shoulder, then murmured, “You’re always harming yourself. Why?”

Arnold hesitated, unsure of how he was supposed to answer that question when he had never even considered it before.  

In order to protect his family it was common for him to isolate himself.  He sent away his sisters so that his father wouldn’t bid them off without his knowledge or say.  He pushed Theodore away to keep him out of their father’s plots.  He killed his mother to stop the suffering and torment she had been forced to endure since before he was born.  It was merciful to keep them all at a safe distance so that none of them would be forced to live a life they would suffer under beside him.

But Theodore had wanted to return—so had some of his other siblings, despite their resentment and frustration. 

Rishe’s weight blanketed him, and in the vulnerable night, what consequence was there in admitting that her presence was comforting?

“It’s always been safer to keep people at a distance.  It was the easiest way to ensure their protection from outside forces both for myself and the others,” Arnold admitted wearily. And if in private he could tell himself that it hurt, that was just part and parcel of his actions. Nothing could be done but accept it.

“You’re the emperor now,” Rishe said, closing her eyes. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.” 

“Even in all your past lives,” he mumbled jokingly. Rishe laughed, hoarse. 

“Always.” 

____________  
Rishe couldn’t help the giggles that escaped her lips upon seeing Arnold walk out of the cabin in his overly thick, fur lined coat. It swallowed up his usually slender frame. Only his face was visible, nose scrunched up as he inspected the thick material of his gloves. “This feels overboard. Why are you laughing?”

Of course, that only made Rishe laugh more. 

“You’re wearing the exact same thing,” Arnold pointed out. “There’s no need to find it so funny.”

“Not really,” Rishe disagreed, sobering up at last. “You look so small and fluffy in that coat!” 

Arnold glared at her for that last comment.  “You’re shorter than I am.”

“Maybe so, but I look cute, so it fits me better,” Rishe said with a lopsided grin, her cheeks tinged pink both from the cold and laughter. 

Saying that felt shameful, but the words were already out of her mouth, so what was she to do? She just closed her eyes and giggled again, pressing the back of her gloved hand to her forehead.

With an annoyed pout, Arnold approached his laughing wife, reaching forwards.  A moment later, her hood had been yanked over her head so far that it completely covered her eyes. Rishe squawked and flailed, but Arnold was steadfast: he kept her unable to see until she was gasping out apologies between fits of laughter, utterly flushed by the time he released her. For a moment, as she struggled to catch her breath, she regretted the possibility of not having this again in a future life. 

Then she remembered that she didn’t have future lives. Now, Rishe could die, and what did that leave her with?

“Rishe,” Arnold called, the timbre of his voice low.  “What are you thinking about?”

Rishe didn’t have future lives, but she did have a future now. She had the potential to live past twenty, and maybe past thirty too.  She might have a peaceful death, even. That was a little terrifying, if she thought about it too long. 

Rishe had always known at least one thing that was guaranteed to happen throughout the years, and thoughts of her incoming doom were a good anchor if nothing else.  Now, she would be just as ignorant as the rest of the world. 

Hadn’t Rishe wanted this? Didn’t she always long for a life of rest, relaxation, and the chance to look in the mirror at twenty-one? Why did it alienate her then?

“My birthday is only a month away.  It’s strange to think I’ll live to see 21 for the first time.”

Arnold was silent. Before Rishe could turn to look up at him, he pulled her hood over her face once again.

“Hey!”

“Don’t go jumping in front of knives, then, if you’re going to do that,” he scolded. “Along with that, you haven't overexerted yourself, have you?”

It was instinct to say she had not, but something about the press of his hand against her head stilled her tongue. Rishe took a breath, and felt for any lingering aches. Only a slight twinge in her stomach revealed itself. So, with honesty, she answered, “No.”

“Good.  Then, where exactly are we headed?”

“Past those peaks,” Rishe wriggled out of his hold so she could see, and pointed to two mountains in the far-off distance.

Arnold noted the distance and terrain with a calculating eye. “Horses aren’t the most effective here. How do you propose we make it there before nightfall?”

Though from a distance, it seemed difficult to cross, the people who inhabited the mountains and the snowy surroundings had already carved out trails. Rishe knew from prior experience that one of the most-traveled paths was one that cut between the mountains, leading to the ocean on the other side. 

“In the town down the path, they have a dogsled that we can rent!”

“Pardon?”

“You’ll see.”

After a thirty minute trek to the village where Rishe swiftly negotiated a price for a pack of trained wolves, they were off.  Arnold’s reaction was one she wished she had been able to capture in a painting, something that she would be able to physically look upon for the rest of time.  

“Do you even know how to properly control this…contraption?”  Arnold asked hesitantly as he stepped into the back of the sled. Rishe, laying down the lines, tilted her head.

“I’ve driven one twice before in my…third life!  Professor Michael found it fun and insisted I learn how to drive a pack with him.” Rishe smiled wistfully at the memory. She began to fit the harnesses on each wolf. They were all rather polite throughout the process, pressing their furry heads against her palm and legs. 

Another five minutes and they were cruising through the snow, cold wind whipping past their faces, buffeting at their hoods.  The sharp sting of the wind was familiar to Rishe, and it was the only part of this experience she hadn’t missed.

Arnold seemed to have a similar sentiment, for once they arrived at the mountain’s edge about two hours later, he stated sending a sharp glare at the sled, “This is the last time I will ever ride with you on one of these.” 

Rishe chuckled, walking past her disheveled husband to pet, feed, and congratulate the pack. “Yes, yes. I understand.” She hugged one of the wolves, affectionately rubbing between its fluffy ears, and it nosed into her cheek. Driving a sled was difficult work in its own right. Rishe knelt in the snow, but even that didn’t ease the ache in her stomach, a smear of pain that left her breaths shallower than usual.  

Her third life, Rishe had been cold and tired by the time they passed the mountains, and reached the ocean’s frozen edge. It had been gratifying, to lie down and do nothing but stare at the sky, blinking past the fog in her head so she could take in the brilliant lights. 

When she thought of it now, she thought of the silence, the way it devoured. She thought of how her eyes had been teary from the harsh wind, and how she’d frantically wiped at them over and over, wanting a clear look at the sky. 

No two lives were the same. Who knew if she would ever have the chance to return?

“You’re tired,” Arnold stated, and it wasn’t anything she could properly argue against. Even so:

“I can keep going.”

“Don’t.” Arnold sat next to her, and though he was clearly hesitant about it, he reached out and patted one of the wolves. “Even if you do persist, I won’t. You wouldn’t strand me here, would you?”

Ah, damn him. Rishe huffed out a breath and watched it dissipate as pale vapor. She wasn’t pouting, she told herself. “You’re so mean to me.”

Arnold laughed. How long had it been since she’d heard him simply laugh? No surprise that Rishe ducked her head, and blinked back tears. “You’ve been in quite the rush these days. Like a bird preparing for winter.” 

“Well you didn’t leave me with much of a choice.  I thought the only way to get you to acknowledge me was to do my share of the work.” And she only had two weeks, after all. Time was always slipping through her fingers, five years until death knocked on her door. Or, maybe not this time…

If she could have stood and walked off towards the ocean, she would have. But Arnold wasn’t moving anytime soon, so all Rishe could do was sit beside him in the fluffy snow and let that strange feeling, the thought of being alive, eat at her.   

The pack relished in the attention they received from the couple.  Rishe couldn’t help but watch Arnold and how he interacted with the wolves.  She couldn’t wait to tell Oliver how sweetly he treated them, and Theodore would be so pleased to gain such information.  

For a second, Rishe wondered if it would be a good idea to bring one of the dogs back with them to Galkhein. The logistics of taking care of a live animal, trained to run around and hunt, caught up to her soon after: still, the thought made her smile. While the pain in her torso eased away, Rishe entertained formless ideas about pets and vacations and other little pieces of a shared life, until she felt quite ready to be moving again. It was close to dusk. 

They were going to miss the ocean sunset!

“We must hurry, Your Highness!” Rishe exclaimed, jumping to her feet.  She pulled at her husband’s wrist, but he wouldn’t budge, a frustratingly smug grin creeping up on his face. Whatever force she could muster, his weight was at least equivalent to that. “Arnold, if we don’t leave now we’ll miss it!”

Arnold let out a humored huff before allowing his wife to pull him onto his feet. “No pain?”

“No,” Rishe said. “Help me with this, please. If we’re fast, we might make it!” 

With Arnold’s help, Rishe managed to undo all the harnesses and bring the wolves to a nearby outpost in record time. Nevertheless, the sun was dangerously low by the time they began the frantic trek down the path. Rishe was silent throughout, all of her energy focused on her stride. Ahead of her, she could see the shadows of boats returning from another day of hunt.   

“Just a little farther,” Rishe breathed to herself, eyes locked onto her distant goal.  Arnold watched his wife as he walked beside her, making sure she didn’t overexert herself. In her hurry, there was a loose patch of snow neither of them noticed, and with one misstep Rishe fell through, sunk up to her thighs in the powder. She let out a sharp breath, surprised, white puffing out from between her lips.

“Rishe!”

“Fine! It’s fine,” Rishe reassured.  The natural urge was to keep walking, but she was well aware that it was more effort than she could risk expending. Rather, she dug her gloved hands in as well and began to clear out a path, patting down the snow in front of her so that it was stable. Arnold reached out and, before Rishe was fully aware of what he was going to do, he pulled her up and out. Startled, she moved without thought and jostled them both, nearly destabilizing him.

“Rushing will only make this take longer.  Pace yourself.”

“Right.”

It only took another 10 minutes for them to arrive, right after the sun hit the horizon and continued to fall. Hunters with their boats lined the frozen coast. Red stained the masses of ice, the scarlet of blood and guts and life.  The water shimmered beneath the light, reflecting the deep blues of the sea mixing with the colors of the sky.

Glaciers glittered against the lapping waves.  The sea itself appeared almost frozen, starbursts of ice popping out on the otherwise flat surface, with jagged shards washing across the snowy beach, glittering like diamonds.

Stars were already glittering above them as the sky sank into night, winking against deep slate blue. Rishe let out a sigh, long and wistful. “We missed it.”

“It’s nothing to apologize for,” Arnold said, easily guessing what was in her heart. 

“But…”

The sunset was brief, but as though to compensate, it showed only the most beautiful colours of the sky. Who couldn’t say that seeing it made them happy? Wasn’t that the purpose of her trip, of everything so far: to make Arnold happy?

“Look, Rishe.” Arnold grasped her sleeve: when Rishe looked over, he pointed up, somewhere away from the horizon. “I find this sight to be good as well.”

Soft streaks of gold and violet, diluted from their original beauty by the cloud cover, touched the height of the twilight sky. It was not a breathtaking view. It was not a view to exhaust oneself for.

But Arnold offered her the smallest, sweetest of smiles. He was relaxed, hooking his thumb into hers, at the edge of the world and at peace about it. So maybe it was fine, then, to look away from the horizon. Maybe it was fine to stand still.

The sunset wasn’t dead. She would have the sky for as long as she lived, which now seemed to be serious instead of a joke. That felt new and tender, like a bruise, but Rishe could live until it healed. 

“I was in a rush these past days,” she admitted, soft as the ocean. “I’m sorry.”

When Arnold looked at her, she wrapped him in a hug and tucked her face into his chest, so he couldn’t see. He would understand, Rishe felt: for better or for worse, he often did.

“You have time,” Arnold murmured. “As long as you live, you’ll always have time.”

When the light of dusk hit the mountains, its hues reflected against the snow, colouring each mountain in gold and orange. Even with the sunset gone, the mountains remained a sturdy violet shadow against the sky. Rishe lifted her head—pulling away slightly—and stared at the scene before her in newfound awe, squeezing Arnold’s hands tightly in her own.  It was not a scene she had ever taken in before, but somehow that was better than any memory. It was her last life. Someone was there now to remember it with her.

Turning her head, Rishe’s eyes met Arnold’s.  His eyes were softer than she had seen them, a calm smile on his lips.  What little light remained highlighted his sharp features and brought out flecks of muted gold in his sapphire eyes.

“Arnold,” Rishe breathed, her voice caught in her throat. “Look at the sea.”

Frozen and pale at day, brilliant at dusk, and now shimmering with the vestiges of the sunset: looking at it again as he followed her instruction, Rishe felt not surprise or joy, but contentment, the kind that promised to last. 

“It’s the colour of your eyes,” she told him. “When I think of blue, I think of the ocean. I think of my first steps into freedom and joy. And I think of you, now, as well. 

“I love you like the sky to the sea. I always have.”

Arnold stared down at his wife, warmth filling his chest.  It was almost overwhelming.  How she could still love him after everything that had happened to her, he would never understand it.  But she did.  

By some miracle he had been blessed to have Rishe at his side, and he vowed that she would get to live the long prosperous life she had dreamed about since the start.

“Rishe.”

She looked up at him, emerald eyes gleaming, reflecting the stars that glittered above them.  Squeezing her gloved hand tightly in his own, touching her flushed cheek, he leaned down and placed his lips atop hers.

Rishe was startled at first, but quickly reciprocated, desperate for his affection after surviving without it for so long. She nearly crushed him in her embrace, dragging them both to their knees in the snow; keeping them both there until they were both red with warmth instead of the biting cold. 

“Don’t leave me alone again,” she sighed against his lips, breathless. “Forgive me.”

“Never again,” Arnold agreed. “There’s nothing to forgive.  It should be I who asks forgiveness.”

“No need for that,” Rishe whispered, resting her forehead against his own.  It felt more fragile, more intimate now than ever before. “Stay with me: that’s all I ask.” 

Taking Rishe’s left hand into his own Arnold lifted it, placing a kiss atop her gloved hand where her ring would have rested.

“I promise.”

___________
Once upon a time, there was a girl who lived in a fairytale. Once upon a time, she believed that it would always be as such: a brief, joyous, yet painful flash of a life.

Once upon a time, there was nothing else to be said: because who had need for tales when life kept on turning?