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It's disgusting. But telling himself that, no matter how firmly, how angrily or how contemptuously, or how despisedly, he cannot erase it. At night, the remnants of the Crawler—and they are getting stronger, and worse—whisper that maybe it's not his fault. Half the kingdom is in love with her. All the male courtiers, the guards, look at her admiringly as she passes. All he's done is to fall into the same habit. Beautiful women almost deserve to be looked at in that way. It's a duty of all men to let them know they are desired.

But Logan is not included in this bracket. It is not his duty, and that's why he looks at her in secret. It's why he only lingers in front of her portrait only when alone. It's why he's ashamed and why he does not look her in the eye. He's afraid she'll see something that has no right to exist. It's awful just to feel, let alone for someone else to notice.

It comes in stages.

First, in the admiration. This is nearly platonic. She is a good Queen. Everyday she is proving herself too strong to conform to his expectations. The treasury is filling up, from her own coffers more than from any other source, and she never turns them away when they call to collect her promises. She is beloved, she is honourable, and she is preparing. She is everything he has ever hoped she would be. He is both ashamed and proud to think that at least some of it might be his doing.

Second, is the flattery. She starts to come to him for advice, privately at first, and for trivial matters. How many nobles to invite to a fundraising ball. Then who to dance with at said ball. She relies on his judgement in such cases, and thanks him, and then invites him, and then asks him how he thinks it went. It is difficult not to be pleased—she values his advice, she doesn't hate him, he can even make her laugh sometimes.

Third, is the jealousy. She shares her smiles, her winks, her flirtatious gestures with a young army officer Logan remembers from his trial. Ben Finn. He's handsome, he's in regimentals, he's funny in a teasing way rather than sharp. Logan has no overhanging resentment, for his part. Perfectly natural—he murdered Major Swift. Ben Finn, it is clear, does not share the feeling of forgiveness. Whenever Logan comes into view, he goes rigid with anger, silent and taut with hatred. It is for Elsbeth's sake, and Elsbeth alone, that the two men haven't come to blows yet. It would be a petty, personal fight, fuelled by petty, personal dislike. He knows nothing about Ben Finn, except that he flirts back to Elsbeth, he speaks to her with an utter lack of reverence and dares pretend himself her equal. It galls Logan, and it takes him a long time to realise that it is because he is her equal, and he does not speak to her, look at her, touch her like that. He is not permitted.

Fourth, is the imagination. Is the 'what if'. There are other lands in the world, there must be. And what if she hadn't been his sister? It's his own fault really, because he's trained himself to think of her as his Queen first. He started to the moment she left to begin her revolution, and he can't stop now. So his imagination has posed the question: what if she was someone else's Queen? And the idea is suddenly intoxicating. He can't stop it. The images are so bright, shining in his mind. What if Elsbeth was Queen of a foreign, exotic place? What if they had come together under the banner of an alliance against the Crawler? King and Queen, each in their own right, and assured of mutual victory. From there, it would have been easy. It would have been beneficial for trade. It would have made both kingdoms secure. It would have been expected—royalty married royalty. It would not have been wrong, how could it? She wouldn't be his sister. She would be his-

Whore. That's what you want, the Crawler snarls in his mind, vicious and gleeful. Depraved, lecherous Logan. You want her to be your wanton, breathless whore, begging to satisfy your every disgusting desire. You want her on her knees, you want her hot mouth wrapped around your eager-

Enough!

There's a dark, delighted chuckle from the demon in his head, and then silence. The stretches of silence are getting shorter as the Crawler gets stronger. Moves closer. He will not give into it. He will not imagine Elsbeth as anything but his sister. He will conquer his own dark soul.

But there is a fifth. And the fifth, he cannot control. Because it comes when he sleeps: his dreams. When he was King, he avoided sleep because his nightmares were full of fire and darkness. Screams and blistering laughter. He found those nightmares stopped from the moment Elsbeth had the crown sitting on her head. He is still afraid—but he is afraid because he knows what is coming, and he fears for his own life. But if the Crawler wins, it will not be his fault. So he no longer has nightmares. Instead, when he slumbers, he falls into a honeyed trap of sweetness. They never vary. The two of them are alone, entirely alone. They touch, they talk, they caress, they kiss. They merge their bodies and wallow in bliss as though it is the most normal thing in the world. Natural, nuanced pleasure for both. But these dreams are addicting. All he wants, when he wakes up to the reality that he is not allowed to participate in, is to touch her as he has been allowed to during the twilight hours.

"That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me that, when I waked,
I cried to dream again," he quotes softly, every morning.

When he wakes, he cries to dream again.