Rifiuto: Non Miriena

Written: 2005 Found: 2017- Licia

"You need to talk to me, Yero, please."

She quickly hurried over to him, kneeling before him and taking his hands, concern in her dark eyes. He was worrying her; downright scaring her, if she were honest with herself. She'd never seen a look like the one that had been on his face for the last few weeks before. He was always so strong, so confident, and it was like his confidence was being sucked from him. He pulled his hands away, gripping the edge of the bed his was sitting on.

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Please, Yero. You're scaring me."

He met her gaze, reaching out and gently caressing her cheek. She leaned into his touch, tears in her eyes. He sighed. How did he tell her? How could he possibly tell her the truth of what this whole adventure was about? How could he tell her that he was the Crown Prince of the Vinkus, and that he'd be disowned by his family if he didn't marry? That he'd married her so he could keep his place in the family, but even more so he could train her and pass her off as the missing princess for the reward money? Or that he'd married her with the intent of conning the dowager empress, and then leave her after, only to find himself falling in love with her more and more each day? Where did he even consider beginning?

"It's nothing, Fae, my love. I've just got a lot on my mind."

She stood, lifting her skirts and climbing into his lap, her hands reaching up to caress his neck. "Then tell me. Please. I'll listen, you know I will."

He sighed, sliding his hands over her body, always unable to resist her soft curves. He met her gaze, drinking in those dark eyes. God, how I'll miss those eyes.

"Yero? Talk to me, husband. Please."

His gaze followed his hands as they moved over her skin, relishing the feel of her. "What's going on in my head is nothing you need to worry about, wife. Of that, I promise." He slipped his hands beneath her blouse; her skin was warm against his hands and he sighed. After a moment, he wrapped his arms around her, resting his head against her chest. Her heart beat steadily in his ear, and after a moment, he let his gaze wander over to the suitcases sitting against the wall. A small hatbox sat open on the floor, pictures and letters and articles on the royals filled the box; some of the pictures Glinda had given her, others, Milla Tibbett had had copies made of and given her, so that she could look at them and maybe they would help her recall the missing pieces of her past.

And Fae studied them religiously, examining everything about the photographs- from the way the girls wore their hair to their frozen movements if the photographs were candid. That was one thing about the Thropp family- they had taken more photographs than any other royal family that ever lived.

"It wasn't uncommon to see you and your sisters wandering around with your small box-candy cameras." Glinda told them over tea one afternoon. "Uncle Frexpar was an avid photographer, so it's no surprise that you and your sisters were as well."

There would be nights when he would awaken to the sound of shuffling, and find Fae sitting on the floor of their compartment, looking through the stories Milla Tibbett had written of her time in the palace with the family; or see her with the photographs spread out around her, as though she were trying to put them in chronological order. But perhaps the most precious thing were the copies of Glinda's diary pages that she'd given the girl. Fae would read and reread them until she knew the entries by heart; encounters that Glinda had lived through with her, be it days at the beach, on the Samraat's yacht, or traipsing around the palace, Fae knew them all.

Her studying was bordering on obsession.

And it was scaring Fiyero.

No one, not even an amnesiac, should be studying that much- especially about a life she had previously lived.

Unless, of course, she had never lived that life.

He quickly cast that thought aside. No, you know she's the princess. Everything points to her being the missing heir. She has to be, all the evidence is there.

A tiny kernel of doubt crept back into his mind. But what if she isn't? What if she's nothing more than an orphan, so desperate for a family, that she'll deceive the surviving royals to get what she wants? What if this is nothing more than a game to her, and she's doing all she can to win?

He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes and burying his face in her chest. No, that's not true. Fae would never do that. She doesn't have a vindictive bone in her body. She is the princess.

Her fingers ran through his hair, scratching gently against his scalp. And if she's not? If you go to the dowager and the woman denounces her? What then? Will the truth come out? That she was nothing more than a con-woman, out for the reward money? That she was desperate for attention, and so decided to latch onto the greatest royal mystery there is?

He shook his head, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. No, it's not true. She is the princess. She is! I know it. I know in my heart that she is. This was a con when it started, but... but it's not anymore. This is the real thing. She is the real thing.

She clutched him tighter, pressing a kiss to his hair. "Shh, hush my Yero, it's okay. It'll be okay." And if so, she'll have you to thank- because you shaped her into it. You turned her into this... this sham. And when it comes out that she's not the princess, that she's nothing more than a lowly orphan perpetrating a con, she'll never forgive you. Either way, Fiyero, you'll lose her. Either way.