At first, there was no call to be uneasy. Valm and Trelec had had territorial disputes stretching back a century. When the new Prince Walhart annexed a huge chunk of land at the border, the only nations concerned were Trelec's southern allies, even though that Prince had earned his crown by military coup.

Perhaps, Cherche thought, that is what should have told us more trouble was to come.

Because Valm's heir had been the previous ruler's granddaughter, only eight years old – if Walhart had installed himself as regent, it would not have been questioned. He would have had an air of legitimacy. The kind of man who cannot settle for being ruler in fact; who must be ruler in name… there, indeed, is ambition to fear.

Perhaps Virion had held an inkling of suspicion. But he had hidden it away from her, behind smiles and lyrical verses about the wildflowers of Minerva's home in Wyvern Valley.

Cherche wondered – if Virion had told her, would she have put more effort into his forays into diplomacy; would she have drilled the duchy's guard better; would she have given more serious thought to her plans for a new squad of wyvern riders…

What if, what if, what if…

With four more nations in his ever-increasing territory, King Walhart (his new title) has certainly made the larger nations of Valm sit up and take notice.

Duke Virion is away for weeks at a diplomatic meeting. Rosanne is by no means the largest nation, nor the most prosperous, being mostly mountainous, but they are strong. With an alliance with one of their neighbours, surely King Walhart will be hesitant to take his conquest further east.

Cherche repeats this to herself and cannot find fault in it. But Virion's smiles have become fragile as of late, and his verses, though flawlessly performed as ever, have taken a melancholy turn. Surely her lord cannot truly think Walhart means to come all the way to conquer Rosanne? He would only meet fierce resistance and for little gain.

Whilst the Duke is gone, she manages his household. Finances and the military have official titles in the Privy Council, but Virion's spies answer only to Cherche in his absence. She decodes letters about supply lines and rebellions, not seeing their relevance.

Duke Virion returns in a low mood, and the spies' reports which Cherche has dutifully collated only bring him lower. He stands over the enormous map of Valm which he had commissioned several months ago, possibly the most accurate one in existence, adding markers of the places his spies have brought to his attention.

"Ah, my dear, do you not see? Walhart is feared for his mounted mages, swift and deadly; and yet, they are of Trelec originally, are they not? How soon he turns the loyal forces of a long-standing enemy to his own advantage!" Virion traces a line with his finger from tiny Valm itself; the long, winding route that Walhart's supplies of iron must trace through his conquered territories up to his current campaign. "And here! Such a long route, the importance of the supply! And yet, so few men to guard it."

Cherche thought it was an opportunity ripe for sabotage. But surely such a thing had occurred to him already. "You don't think it's because he's lacking in men?" she hazards.

"Alas, no. I fear it is because he does not need them." Virion gestures to the small patch of the map which now belongs to Walhart. "This man, he is not even royalty, he has held these places for scarce a year! And yet my spies report no trouble amongst the populace, few rebellions… his charisma is remarkable. Even if one were to attempt to sabotage the supply, the chance of getting there undetected is miniscule if his people are so dedicated to him. They will not turn a blind eye to enemy nations on their soil, and the shorter mountain route is impassable until the spring, assuming he does not take Hallan before then to secure himself against such endeavours."

Cherche read about one of those rebellions. Even the limitations of the encryption hadn't been able to conceal the spy's dismay at how strikingly unsuccessful it had been: a former noble house of Walhart's then-newest conquest tried to organise a revolt, but were struck down by their own vassals. A platoon of Walhart's army had arrived a day later to hear of the house's execution and accept dozens of new recruits from amongst their former vassals and the town they resided in.

Whilst she knows that not every vassal shares as close and casual a friendship as she does with Duke Virion, the thought of someone in her position betraying their lord or lady in such a manner turns her stomach. But Cherche begins to understand what Virion is driving at. "He already holds the loyalty of the general populace? I have heard that the western coast has been plagued by misrule and corruption. I suppose it is not so surprising they could be won over by a man as unrelenting and seemingly upfront as Walhart." Virion seems to barely hear her, staring at the map with an intense expression. Cherche puts a hand to his shoulder. "But you have been a good ruler. The people of Rosanne love you – Yen'fay, too, is well loved by the people of Chon'sin. Walhart would not find our lands easy to conquer or to hold."

She means it to be comforting. She expects Virion to smile. Instead, Cherche sees him withdraw into himself and shut her out.

"Yes," he says, very softly.

After the incompetence of Virion's father, Duke Verona, Virion had been a blessing to a Rosanne still trying to recover after a war for their independence - fierce in battle, wise in strategy, educated in every aspect of government, who worked hard for his country but knew how to delegate and not drive himself into useless exhaustion. Even his insistence on flirting with every woman he meets and patronising every theatre in the city, much as Cherche disapproves, are quirks that make him relatable and loved by the Rosannese people.

Cherche withdraws her hand, but smiles. Whatever the reasons for Virion's gloom, she believes he can find the answer.

For weeks afterwards, Virion's spare time is spent either poring over the large map of Valm – carefully noting all of Walhart's advancements – or the smaller map of Rosanne, showing their lands in exquisite detail. She sees him enact out battles across the parchment, again and again.

Cherche shakes her head and asks Minerva to drop the Duke into a lake when he begins to smell too strongly. He gets the message.

Her own faith in Rosanne's new alliances with their neighbours remains strong, and she takes faith in the knowledge that Chon'sin's warriors are already gearing up to fight Emperor Walhart's advancing troops. Still, Cherche does what she can to ease Virion's load. She gives out instructions not only for new recruitment and training of militias, but also that they be trained in new drills – stranded in enemy territory; limited supplies; how to protect civilians whilst under fire; limited spy work for those who show a knack. If Walhart comes as Virion believes, if he manages to overcome their allies, they'll make him pay for every inch of Rosanne's lands, again and again.

It is unpleasant work. Cherche retreats to mending clothes in the evenings, enjoying the gratitude of the new recruits and some unremarkable (but at least, unlike Virion, earnest) attempts at flirtation, trying to settle the unease in her stomach that she may be responsible for training many of them only for a violent end.

But, she tells herself repeatedly, it shouldn't come to that. It won't come to that.

When Yen'fay gives his country up to Walhart without so much as a sword being sharpened, Cherche begins to see just how inexorable Walhart's advance truly is. Even some of Virion's hand picked spies have defected.

Now the people of Chon'sin, who Cherche hoped to fight alongside – now they will turn against Rosanne instead. The largest and richest two nations still stand alongside them, as well as the remote northern territories. By numbers alone, the battle is not unwinnable. But by numbers alone, it should never have come to this. She watches soldiers run through drills with the grim faces of people preparing to make their deaths count for as much as possible, her fists clenched hard enough to ache.

Minerva brings Cherche flowers from her hometown to cheer her up, along with a letter from Cherche's parents, gently chiding her for the sheep Minerva ate. Unfortunately, Cherche does not think her lecture about taking from others without permission really sinks in through her tears.

She has stood at Virion's shoulder enough to know how this goes. Walhart's tactician will undermine their allies – larger, more weaknesses to exploit – from within, and then Walhart will take Rosanne before they can stabilise enough to reinforce her.

The mountainous terrain will be to their advantage. Walhart has not yet incorporated many wyvern riders into his army, so they will have the skies, too. Every village has a larger town to retreat to and set up a defence, where they will force him into a siege for as long as possible. If a siege is unworkable, they will scatter into the countryside to harass Walhart's army as they go. If crops cannot be kept for their own use, they will be burned. If cattle cannot be defended, they will be slaughtered. Every bit they bleed from Walhart now gives their allies, and what little opposition the Resistance in Chon'sin can manage, more time; it gives Rosanne a greater chance of being free again.

She has stood at Virion's shoulder enough to see his hands fisted in his hair, despairing. A pyrrhic victory for Walhart it might be. For much of Rosanne, though, it will mean destruction. Walhart isn't kind to those who oppose him.

And yet, what can she say? If she told them to stand down, they would ignore her. Her militia initiative took off more than she intended, retired soldiers sending detailed strategies, voluntarily coordinating to find the most likely water sources for Walhart's army, which wells can they poison without harming the towns which are yet to be taken, securing the roads for refugees… There is a grim kind of cheerfulness to it, determination, but Cherche just wants to cry.

"We cannot win this war without making sacrifices," Virion says, examining one of his figurine soldiers. He puts it down gently over the 'a' in Rosanne. "A great many sacrifices."

He is not the man he once was, Duke Virion. He still flirts with the maids and blows kisses in public, sponsors theatrical productions that he can no longer attend, does poetry readings at the close of Privy Council meetings – but despite this façade, Cherche can see how much everything weighs on him. He has lost weight; the maids no longer even prepare his breakfast for the number of times it has returned untouched. Cherche goes to bed in her own rooms with him studying the maps as though they might still hold a miracle, and wakes with the sun to find Virion has already been awake for hours, if he even went to bed at all.

She was watching Virion during his archery practise when a particularly enthusiastic recruit burst in, much to the consternation of the guards. The young boy was able to reassure his lord several times that he and his elder sister were going to do their part for Rosanne and had no doubt that Duke Virion would be able to see them through these dark times – "If not for us, then for our younger siblings," the boy said, not being entirely naïve. He was eventually shown out after a stern talking to, whilst Virion agreed readily with the Captain of the Guard's suggestion that m'lord should no longer be out unsupervised. Virion retired early from archery practise and returned to his rooms to strategise. Cherche heard him weeping from the other side of the door. He would not open it when she knocked.

It feels a little like Rosanne is a boat, poised on the edge of a waterfall, about to plunge into the depths below.

Cherche mends shirts, laughs at poor jokes, bakes treats as best she can with their rationed supplies, and tries not to dwell on how deep down she, too, hoped Virion could somehow make it all worthwhile.

She takes Minerva for a flight to Rosanne's highest peak, enjoying the crisp, sharp mountain air, and how the snow gradually gives way to patches of colourful wildflowers in the valley below.

It may be the last time she ever sees Rosanne like this.

A few days later, Cherche wakes at her usual time. She finds Virion's study empty. It's unusual for recent times, but not completely out of character. Perhaps, at this point, he finds it more beneficial to practice his archery, regardless of what the Captain of the Guard said.

Only he isn't at the archery range either. He isn't pestering the maids. He isn't making a public appearance for the sake of morale. He isn't checking up with his agents. In desperation, Cherche checks the capital's theatres, even though Virion hasn't attended a performance in over a year.

By then she's not the only one looking for Virion. Panic spreads like a contagion. A kidnapping for ransom? An assassination?

At first, Cherche didn't believe it when rumours started to come in that the Duke had been seen crossing the border. There are reports from the large port town ten miles up the coast that he had been looking for passage to Archanea. She refuses to believe it, that after everything he gave Rosanne, every sleepless night and all the stress and anguish, that he would simply leave like—like some kind of coward. He's not, he's Virion, he's an annoying flirt and talks too much in verse but he wouldn't leave them—

But not everyone knows the Duke as well as Cherche and Minerva. What most other people have seen of him is the carefree face he put on to cover for his stress. The rumours must be fake, or they found a lookalike and let him be spotted; maybe this is the ploy Walhart's tactician is going for, to undermine Rosanne's faith in its leader.

By the end of the day, even Cherche is starting to have doubts. If it was a lookalike they found to undermine morale, then Virion is probably dead; but Minerva couldn't find the scent of his blood anywhere, and surely they would have wanted to kill him quickly and hide the body, before he could escape or draw attention somehow.

Maybe he really did...?

Cherche retreats to her rooms as early as she is able, exhausted from trying to keep things running smoothly in the Duke's absence. In Virion's absence. She feels disappointed with herself for believing that Virion really would run away, but she can't get rid of that niggling doubt. Cherche would be lying if she said she hadn't had thoughts of escaping with Minerva – but only passing daydreams. She has too many responsibilities here to ever seriously consider it. So does the Duke, she tells herself firmly.

She starts when she sees the letter on her desk, realising belatedly that she had never sat down at it, as is her habit, after the events of this morning. Of course she recognises Virion's handwriting immediately.

Her first thought is to burn it. This confirms her worst fears. That coward. That scum. How dare he—

She rips it open in a fury instead, tearing the paper, but leaving it just legible;

My dearest Cherche,

You must know I could never allow our people to die for me. I can only offer my most sincere apologies that it has come to this, and I have to inform you in such a manner…

Virion went on to describe how he, like Cherche, had foreseen Rosanne's certain destruction – whether at Walhart's hands, or by their own. How Cherche had told him that the backbone of their resistance was their faith in Virion. How the only answer, therefore, was to undermine it by any means necessary.

He asked for Cherche to remain in Rosanne to ensure the country was stable, and then to join him in Archanea with her best appraisal of the situation.

I can only apologise and beg your forgiveness for the unfortunate shadow this will cast over your own character as my closest vassal. Your loyalty, friendship, and skill certainly deserves a far greater reward.

I also must ask you to look after Rosanne as best as you are able whilst I am gone. I would entrust her to no one else. Fear not, my dear, for Rosanne will still be beautiful! One day, she will again be beautiful and free.

Affectionately yours, for the last time,

Duke Virion of Rosanne

Cherche reads the letter again and again in a state of numbness. She, indeed, was the one who had tried to reassure Virion by telling him of the loyalty and faith of his people. How could she have missed that it was not a reassurance at all, but a burden? Is she the reason he chose this path?

A slow, burning feeling of shame begins to creep over her, for even doubting Virion for a moment. She should have realised from the start. Of course the Duke has only wanted the best for his people, from the very beginning. She saw, herself, today, how quickly the rumours spread through the capital and morale crumbled away – how the Privy Council has turned to arguing over whether it would be better to mount a token resistance to Walhart, allowing the higher levels of government to escape, or whether they should surrender unconditionally and offer him their loyalty.

Virion has always had a knack for understanding the minds of men, a talent which Cherche did not share. Still, she feels she has learnt a little from her time at his side. Tomorrow she will seek out what remains of his spy network and have them spread rumours about the Council's plan to buy time for their own escape. Against the risk a violent mob turning against them, they will be forced to deny the rumours and offer Walhart unconditional surrender.

If Virion has thrown away everything – his reputation, his lands, the love and friendship of his people; in short, everything he is – in order to spare Rosanne, Cherche cannot allow the Privy Council to spend the lives of Rosanne's people so selfishly.

She crumples the letter in her shaking hands. It feels like so little. 'One day, she will again be beautiful and free.'

But what of you, Virion? Cherche thinks. What will you be?

Of course, loyalty to the Duke was not the only reason the people of Rosanne were prepared to fight, particularly in the borderlands, where he is little known. This is still their home, a land of craggy rocks and beautiful, but hardy, wildflowers; a people proud of their strength and independence. Despite Cherche's best efforts, the militia groups at the border declare their intent to ignore the Privy Council's surrender and fight Walhart anyway. The Privy Council shakes their heads, saying they can do little against such folly.

Cherche is the one who receives the letters from those retired soldiers, the ones she had put in charge of the militia in the first place. She is the one to whom they declare their intent, almost apologetically, to die free rather than live under Walhart's heel. These are the veterans of Rosanne's last war, a fight for their independence. It was a war they won despite Virion's ineffectual father, not because of him. Virion's retreat and seeming cowardice mean as little to them as Duke Verona's handwringing and political blunders did forty years ago. Proud soldiers of Rosanne, dedicated, still writing to 'Lady Cherche' as though she is owed their respect. But old.

It will be a slaughter.

These half a dozen letters are all that remain of Rosanne's strong determination to resist, a fire that Cherche herself stoked and built. It is, perhaps, self-centred to feel responsible for their refusal to yield, to see it as the remnants of her own grand plans for resistance; to feel as though every plan she ever gave approval to has now come back to haunt her, a betrayal of Virion's sacrifice and the duty he left her.

Only two platoons of wyvern riders remain in the capital. Desertion was rife after Virion left, and the Privy Council were not very invested in maintaining an effective army. These two, though, are Cherche's creation. They were supposed to be better integrated into the command structure of the main army, but…

Well, it serves her purposes well enough now.

She smiles at them pleasantly. "Everyone, we have a mission."

"What's the point?" somebody mutters. There are murmurs of agreement.

Minerva silences them with a roar. "The point," Cherche says, sharply, "is the same as it's always been. To protect the people of Rosanne."

No one will quite meet her eyes. They shuffle their feet in silence. Whether they are ashamed or merely frightened, Cherche doesn't know.

But when Cherche asks if anyone has reason to be excused from the mission, no one says a thing.

Mayor Jean was a decorated veteran in his time, leading several victories against the odds during Rosanne's campaign for independence. He retired from the army when he lost an arm from the elbow down, but he unfurls maps using his wooden replacement with a graceful flourish that reminds her of Virion himself.

"I appreciate ye coming, Lady Cherche," he says. "I admit, the retreat had been givin' me some grief."

Their defence, such as it is, has been cobbled together from whatever ancient war machines had not been taken apart for other purposes long ago, and whatever they could improvise from shepherds' and farmers' equipment. Cherche is sure the retreat is not the only thing that has been giving Jean grief.

Jean's second in command is his daughter, Belle. She's not a stranger to battle either, as evidenced by her milky white eye and the scar left by the weapon that blinded her. The scar looks familiar, and after a moment Cherche places her: Belle used to be in the Palace Guards. That certainly explains why she looks at Cherche with more caution than her father.

After the meeting, Belle tilts her head and Cherche follows her to the practise grounds, where even now a few men are practising with their weapons. None look to be under forty.

"Most of our folks're gone," Belle says, unprompted. Her voice is more refined than her father's, from her time in the capital, but there still remains the trace of the borderlands accent. "Against their wishes, some of them. I told my father I'd have his other hand off if he tried to make me leave with the rest."

Cherche says nothing.

"I would thank you for coming to his aid, regardless." Belle pauses. There is a heaviness to her words that shows the care they were chosen with. "But I have to ask: did you know the Duke was going?"

An open-ended question which Cherche can answer truthfully. A part of her wishes she could be more honest. "I did not."

"But you know?" Belle says, which startles Cherche. The scarred half of Belle's face creases into a smile. "My lady, I knew Duke Verona, too. Virion was not like him. Not in this."

Her heart is in her throat. Virion asked her not to tell anyone. Has she revealed him by coming all this way, just so she could appease her own conscience? It is too late to take the surrender back, but—

"Relax," Belle says. "I will not tell a soul." She looks away from Cherche, watching the men at practise again. "I came here in a fury, vowing to show the strength that Duke Virion had not. But when I was here, I understood. We aren't the mountains; we can not endure all things. My father seeks only an honourable end. He knew, better than I who had the Duke's ear, that the cost of holding Rosanne would be too high."

"He'll come back," Cherche finds herself saying. "Rosanne will be free again. It… it is just…"

It feels like making a confession. She's suddenly aware of a weight on her shoulders, pressing her down, and it isn't as though Belle's words have freed her from her burden—but for now, it feels a little lighter.

Belle nods slowly. "I thought he would… still, it is good to hear that my father's cause will not die with him." The edges of her eyes soften. It must be a strange feeling to grieve for one who still lives. "Why did you come, Lady Cherche? I'm sure Duke Virion is relying on you. You should not take risks like this."

She is an important player in Virion's strategy, it's true. Logically speaking, Cherche should go to ground and wait to gather information on Walhart's occupation. But Cherche feels like Virion entrusted more to her than reconnaissance. He asked her to look over the spirit of Rosanne itself.

This is Rosanne. The mountains and wildflowers, yes, but also Mayor Jean, who needs assistance to even strap the shield to his arm. The younger peoples of the borderlands whom he had to chase away for their own good. His daughter, following the unspoken orders of a man who entrusted nothing to her.

"I came," Cherche says, "for the same reasons you stayed."

She cannot save every veteran of Rosanne. Probably, she cannot even save Mayor Jean.

But she can at least bear witness.

It talks over the next few days, they agree on the role Cherche's troops will play. One of the wyvern platoons is to cover the retreating civilians and their supplies, securing their route to the second-largest city in Rosanne. The other, the one Cherche leads, is to go into battle with Mayor Jean. They should meet Walhart on the field tomorrow.

Major Jean tries gently to convince her to lead the other platoon. Just as gently, Cherche refuses.

"Father," Belle eventually says during one of these talks, "it is very commendable that you wish to spare as many as possible, but at some point, you are going to look like a hypocrite for trying to turn people away from your hopeless battle."

"The cheek of ye!" her father says. But he's also gone slightly red, and drops the matter after that.