Author's Note: Happy New Year! We are officially in single digits until the end of the story! Thank you so much for all of the responses to the last chapter, and I'm sorry to everyone who felt personally victimized. Hopefully this chapter offers you some comfort?

Time never passed as slowly as it did in the aftermath of the crash. Every hour dragged by as Oliver sat in the stuffed armchair of the larger room that Tristan and Isolde had been moved to so Tristan would stop sneaking out to see his fiancé. There were at least a million things that needed his attention, but he couldn't bring himself to leave them, not just yet.

He'd heard that his mother had a video conference with Tsar Anatoly, but since he knew the forgiving stance that she was taking on the incident, he'd had no desire to be present. If he'd even caught a glimpse of Nikolai or Marid, he would've lost it anyway.

Shortly after breakfast, Jonathan reported that Alaric had left Angeles. His anger somewhat abated but not yet vanished, Oliver felt a momentarily flicker of guilt at the news. His temper had always been something he'd struggled with, not too unlike Nikolai he'd realized with a wave of shame.

Any remorse quickly disappeared when Isolde dissolved into a fresh flood of tears. Even with all the consolation and support that Tristan and Oliver provided throughout the day, she sporadically gave in to the heartbreak. When Oliver asked the doctor if there was something they could do medically to ease her sorrow, he'd been unhelpfully informed that the only prescription to be offered was time.

Sometime around lunch, when Tristan and Isolde had drifted off to sleep, squeezed together in her hospital bed even though Tristan's was only a few feet away now, Oliver decided to take a break from the hospital wing. His first stop was to grab a sandwich and coffee from the kitchen, and he realized that news of his angry dismissal of Alaric must have made rounds around the castle, because the staff worked quickly and silently under his watch, none of the easy smiles that usually greeted him present.

Armed with food and caffeine, his second stop was to his bedroom. He was only somewhat surprised when he found Xander, Elijah, Everly, and Sara were all on the couch with grim expressions on their faces. He had a feeling Jonathan would have been present too, if he wasn't resolutely stationed outside Tristan and Isolde's hospital room.

"How are they?" Elijah asked.

"The same," shrugged Oliver. He stood in the hallway as he chewed the sandwich, the exhaustion finally catching up with him. "What time is it?"

"Noon," answered Xander.

Only twelve hours since he'd been ushered into the saferoom by Jonathan. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I have so much to do today."

"Can we help?" Xander asked.

Oliver chuckled. "Unfortunately, no," he sighed. "I have tickets to a show with Rosalie tonight that she's really excited about, and I need to eliminate someone before this goes any further."

"I'm sure Rosalie wouldn't mind if you had to reschedule," Sara pointed out, "She seems very sweet."

"And you can always just send a card and some flowers to eliminate someone," shrugged Elijah. "I don't think they'd blame you given the circumstances."

"They're my Elite," countered Oliver, "I'm not sending anyone home with a note. And I'm not canceling on a Christmas play. What kind of asshole does that?" He shoved the rest of sandwich into his mouth and crossed the room to his study.

The four seated on the couch exchanged confused looks before they followed him into the office. "What are you doing?" Sara asked from the doorway.

Oliver barely glanced up from his computer. "Uh… working?"

There were more perplexed expressions that he pretended to ignore. "Why don't you take a break?" suggested Elijah. "Have you slept at all since this morning?"

"I'm okay," Oliver deflected. "Oh, God, do I really have twenty-three messages?" he sighed as he glanced at the phone on his desk.

"Most of them are probably people calling to inquire about your brother," pointed out Sara, "Monarchs would probably call for your mother, but I'm sure a lot of your peers like Tae or Raphael have called you directly."

She was probably right. Oliver sighed and tried to organize his thoughts. His priority was the elimination. The crash had opened his eyes and made him realize some things that he'd been trying to avoid. He wanted what Tristan and Isolde had. Their first thoughts had been for each other once they'd woken up, and even now, facing an enormous loss, they were going to get through it because of each other. He'd realized there were some girls that he didn't have that potential with.

He didn't have one girl to eliminate. No, he had three.

At the top of his list was also checking on Kaitlyn. While he stood by the decisions that he'd made in regards to Alaric, he did regret the way that he'd responded to her. He wished he would've made it clear to Jonathan not to restrain any of the Selected under any circumstances and wished that he would've let her say goodbye to Alaric. Just because Alaric had betrayed his trust didn't mean that Kaitlyn would've.

Finally, since Angeles was on high alert after the crash, he had to make sure that everything was in order for his date with Rosalie. It meant taking more security than just Jonathan, having the entire route and building searched and monitored, and having all the attendees put through heightened security as well.

If he wasn't exhausted before, thinking about the day that he had ahead of him made Oliver want to fall face first into his pillows. He glanced around at his friends. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to let them help. "Hey, Elijah, you ready for your first assignment as Lord Chamberlain?"

Elijah's jaw dropped came unhinged, but Everly placed a reassuring hand on his back and sent him a smile. "Uh, yeah," he nodded, taking her hand. "Whatever you need man."

"It's not too bad," Oliver assured him, "I just need you to listen to all the calls. Return any that are royals or high ranking government officials calling that are already aware of Tristan and Isolde's condition. Ignore any media inquests. I'll let my mother deal with those."

"What if…" Elijah frowned. "What if Nikolai or Marid called?"

Oliver's hands tightened into fists. "Leave those for me. I don't think even they would be that stupid though."

He turned to Sara. "Can you check with Jonathan about security measures for tonight?" She immediately agreed and disappeared.

The real challenges were things that only Oliver could handle himself. He made his way to the Selected's floor, although he was unsure of who he was looking for.

He started with Rosalie, because in addition to being the least stressful on the list people he needed to speak with, he also found that she had an unerringly comforting presence. A maid answered and beckoned him into the room. Rosalie was seated at her desk—on the phone with her father, he was told—but when she saw Oliver, she gave one more assurance that she was alright and told her father she would call him later.

She was looking at him with the same tentative gaze that he'd been regarded with in the kitchen. Oliver awkwardly smiled. "Hi."

"Hi," she replied, taking a hesitant step towards him. "How-how are you?"

"Fine," he nodded briefly, "I was actually here to talk to you about the play tonight."

"I completely understand if we have to reschedule," she offered before he had a chance to add any further explanation.

"Oh." Oliver frowned. "I was actually coming to tell you that I still wanted to go, as long as you did."

Rosalie chewed her bottom lip, her expression anxious. "Is that a good idea after… everything?"

Oliver didn't want to think of the expansive territory that 'everything' covered at the moment. Instead, he shrugged. "I don't want to cancel our plans because of…" He didn't know how to explain it. It wasn't that he didn't want to sit in the hospital wing with Tristan and Isolde. He did and likely would once he returned from the date.

It was more that he didn't want to feel like Nikolai and Marid had control over his life. They'd been able to enormously affect Tristan and Isolde's future and cause a rift between himself and Alaric that might have enormously impacted his relationship with Kaitlyn as well. He wouldn't give them anything else.

"I know you don't want to," Rosalie assured him, "but… uh… maybe you need to. Maybe I need you to."

When Oliver turned a confused face towards her, Rosalie explained, "Look, this has all been incredibly scary. I can't imagine how you're probably feeling, but I know… well, personally I'm a little rattled. I thought that if there was anywhere in Illéa that was safe, it'd be the palace with the royal family. So, lockdown and seeing Tristan and Isolde hurt… it's a lot. If we go tonight, I'll just be worrying. About you, about me, about everything. So maybe we should reschedule."

It didn't take long for Oliver to feel bad. "I'm sorry," he sighed, "I didn't think about how all of this has made you guys feel."

"And you shouldn't," countered Rosalie, "Not right now at least. You have a lot more to worry about. We'll be okay. For now, just focus on your family."

He nodded. "I promise I'll make this play up to you though."

"I know you will," she smiled. She reached out to squeeze his hand in a gesture that Oliver was oddly comforted by. Before she released him, she hesitantly added, "You know, Oliver… it's okay to not be okay though."

"Huh?"

As though she would lose her nerve if she didn't get it all out at once, Rosalie explained herself in a rush. "It's just… this was a really big deal. And you have a lot to deal with because of it. And we all know what happened with Alaric and everything, and even if you deny it, I know you guys were friends. So, it's okay if you're not okay. You don't always have to be strong. It's okay for you to need some time or to feel your feelings."

"Feel my feelings," he mused. It was an interesting thought. "Uh… thanks."

He found himself equally encouraged and disappointed by his visit with Rosalie. While she hadn't been able to provide the return to normalcy that he'd been hoping for, it was sort of nice to see that she understood the enormous impact that the day had had on him. Even if he was desperately still trying to be okay, he was fighting against a lot.

As he raised his hand to knock on Kaitlyn's door, he hoped that she understood half as well as Rosalie.

He realized it was a lot to hope for when a long pause followed his knock. A moment later, the door opened, and Mae slipped from the room into the hallway. She didn't invite him in but instead pulled the door shut behind her. There were no pleasantries, only an apologetic look on Mae's face. "Um… she doesn't want to see you."

A small part of him might've expected it, but the rest of him felt like he'd just been punched in the stomach. "What?"

Mae cringed. "Oliver, she's just upset right now."

"She's upset?" he repeated.

"Yes," snapped Mae, "He was her best friend."

"Oh, I'm sure they were great friends—"

"Stop it," Mae ordered. Her voice sounded exhausted but also strained, like she was trying to navigate the thin ledge of a cliff on her tiptoes with danger on each side. "It doesn't matter now, does it?"

Oliver's mouth fell open. "Yes!" he insisted. "It matters to me!"

"I don't know how she felt," countered Mae, "but she chose you. For now."

This had a sobering effect on Oliver, his anger momentarily abated. "For now?"

While the Selection was, at its core, a contest between the women for the prince's heart, there had never been any sort of competitiveness between Mae and Kaitlyn, and the former did not seem even the slightest bit happy about the possibility of her friend leaving the palace. "I don't know if she can stay."

"What?"

There was a sad sort of pity in Mae's vibrant eyes when she finally met his gaze, although Oliver suspected it was more for Kaitlyn than himself. "Did you really promise Alaric that you wouldn't hold anything that Marid or Regan did against him?"

The guilt lapped at him once more, and for a moment, he was tempted to lie. He didn't want to see Mae's face crumple in disappointment the way that Kaitlyn's had when she'd realized what he'd done. "Yes," he admitted.

Mae only sighed.

"Look… I'm not proud of it," acknowledged Oliver, "but because of my position, I'm not always going to be able to keep all of my promises." He sighed bitterly before he added, "It was a promise I shouldn't have made in the first place."

He didn't want to look at her, because how could her face not be disappointed by something like that, but when he finally chanced it, it wasn't as bad as he'd thought. Pitying still, which wasn't his favorite emotion to be the subject of, but better than disappointed. As always, she'd seemed to understand more than he had expected. "I know that," Mae nodded, "I'm just not sure that's something that someone like Kaitlyn can reconcile, especially when it hurt someone that she cares about so much."

"Can… can you just tell her that I'm sorry she got hurt?" Oliver finally tried. "That's something I've wanted to avoid if possible for all of you."

"I'll tell her," Mae nodded. "But… just so you know, Oliver, you can't protect everyone. Life's not about getting hurt. It's…" She paused and smiled, as though remembering something. "It's about limping down the hall in a hospital gown that barely covers your ass to be with the people you love."

Oliver laughed, thinking of the way Tristan had burst into Isolde's earlier in the morning. "I'll keep that in mind," he decided. "Thank you."

Still mulling over Mae's words, he'd prepared himself to make the first elimination when he noticed Sara at the top of the stairs to the Elite's floor. "There you are," she sighed, breathless. "I've been looking all over for you."

Her hurriedness sent his stomach into instant knots. "Is everything okay?"

She nodded. "Tristan and Isolde were asking for you."

When Oliver walked into their shared hospital room, the knots tightened upon seeing his parents, Celine, and Isolde's mother and father already present. He might not have been concerned by the appearance of Mr. Havens, as Isolde was close with her father, but she had a more difficult relationship with her mother, so Mrs. Havens' presence sent Oliver's nerves into another frenzy.

But Tristan and Isolde looked overjoyed. "There you are," Isolde beamed. She and Tristan were propped up in the same bed, and although her eyes were still rimmed with red, she looked happier than Oliver would have thought possible considering the situation.

"We have something important that we wanted to tell you guys," Tristan declared. Sara started to slip towards the door, as though she felt intrusive, but Oliver grabbed her hand for reassurance, a little afraid of why they'd been gathered for an announcement.

The two battered blondes exchanged excited looks with each other. "We want to get married," Tristan announced.

"Uh… yes, we were all quite aware of this development, darling," Eadlyn noted with a laugh. "The engagement ring and all of the planning gave it away."

"Not in February," countered Isolde. "We want to get married tomorrow."

Oliver was shocked his mother's eyes didn't pop out of her head. "Tomorrow?"

Tristan quickly jumped in, his eighteen years of experience having well prepared him for dealing with Eadlyn. "Planning is exhausting," he declared, "and we both kind of hate it. We didn't need an epic royal wedding before the crash, and we don't want one now. We just want it to be official, to be able to draw the line that marks the start of our lives together."

There was a shocked sort of laugh from Mrs. Havens. "Isolde, honey, would you even be able to walk down an aisle?"

"Yes," declared Isolde, her eyes narrowed in a glare. "I mean, I won't be dancing the night away or anything, but we just want something small. Prince Ahren and his family are arriving once the flight ban is lifted for Christmas anyway, so we figured that everyone that matters will be here. We can just have Alaric perform a small ceremony and then maybe have a dinner."

Oliver frowned uncomfortably as he realized he'd have to break the news to Tristan and Isolde about Alaric eventually, but for the moment, he didn't want to rain on their parade. "I think it's a great idea," he offered. "The palace is already decorated for Christmas, which is basically as good as a wedding."

Eadlyn's eyes bulged in Oliver's direction, like she couldn't believe he was supporting this. "Even so, Isolde, darling, you don't have a dress—"

"I have one," she countered, "Hale had finished my reception dress. I can just wear it instead of the ceremony dress we'd designed."

Mrs. Havens frowned. "Wouldn't you like to look more… put together, dear?"

"There's makeup," Isolde retorted. She sounded frustrated, and Oliver wasn't surprised when she tightened her hands into fists, the movement making her cringe in response. "Look, we are doing this whether we have to do it in the hospital chapel with just Alaric. We would love for you to all be there and to be supportive, but honestly, this is what we want." Tristan put his uninjured arm around her shoulders and nodded his agreement.

Kile was the one to break the silence. "Of course we're all going to be there," he beamed, "And twenty-four hours is plenty of time to plan a wedding. I mean, have you seen all of the control freaks that live here?" Isolde giggled in relief, and Tristan shot his father an appreciative look. Kile put a hand on his wife's shoulder. "Isn't that right, Eady?"

Oliver was surprised when his mother's face broke into a genuine smile, not a hint of forcedness behind it. "Of course," she agreed. "Don't you two worry about a thing. We'll take care of everything."

It turned out that she really meant everything. Although the palace had been hectic in preparation for Christmas anyway, the announcement of the last-minute nuptials had sent it into overdrive. Oliver didn't have a chance to think about the nagging question that people kept asking him—the dreaded "are you okay"—because he had a to-do list a mile long.

He'd told Tristan privately about what had happened with Alaric and was surprised when his brother had reserved any judgment. "You did what you thought you had to," Tristan had shrugged. "As long as you can get another priest before tomorrow night, I'm not going to lecture you about it." So, Oliver had called over to St. Sebastian's and regardless of how they felt about his dismissal of the young Illéa, they'd agreed to send someone to marry Tristan and Isolde the following day.

If he slept at all before the evening of December twenty-third, it was miniscule. He'd overseen the flowers, the decoration of the chapel and the adjacent ballroom where the dinner would be held, and the menu. There wasn't a detail that escaped his notice, as he was determined to make the night everything they could possibly want. He was partially motivated by guilt and the knowledge that Marid had struck out at them because of him but also by a desire to make them forget the amazing loss that they'd suffered.

He fueled himself with a combination of coffee and energy drinks and, as a result, was more jittery than Tristan as they gathered in Kile and Eadlyn's room to get ready. "Not nervous at all?" Oliver asked as he watched Hale stitch a sleeve up over Tristan's enormous cast. It stretched from shoulder to hand and although it would be supported in a sling anyway, Tristan refused to allow them to simply cut off before the cast. Instead, Hale and Samantha had decided to just stitch his jacket over the cumbersome cast to achieve the most dignified look possible.

"Not at all," confirmed Tristan, and Oliver believed him. His brother looked calm as he relaxed on Tristan's bed while Hale worked. "You've been running around like a chicken with your head cut off, so I figured that must mean that everything's been taken care of."

"Here's hoping," Oliver laughed, "I mean, I did forget to even tell the rest of the Elite until this morning."

"Good thing the maids work fast," joked Hale.

Kile walked into the room with several elaborate boxes in his arms. "Which crown, Tris?" he asked. "You've got your pick of the lot today."

"Well, then I'll definitely be wearing Oliver's favorite," smirked his younger brother. Oliver pretended to roll his eyes, but truthfully, he didn't mind. After the crash when he'd momentarily considered the possibility of life without his brother, the little things that Tristan did that irritated him, like stealing his favorite cufflinks or crowns or being taller than him, didn't bother Oliver at all anymore. He didn't tell his brother though, as it would surely come as a disappointment to the younger prince.

"Oh, that reminds me, Ol," Tristan remarked. "Can you take Is that box on dad's desk?"

"On it," Oliver declared. While Tristan and Isolde had originally intended to have a very full bridal party, the immediacy of the wedding had changed this arrangement, with only Oliver and Celine serving as maid of honor and best man, which meant that all duties also fell on their shoulders as well.

Isolde was getting ready with his mother and sister in Celine's room. She wasn't traipsing about quite as easily as Tristan as her injuries had been more serious, but she looked invigorated by her impending nuptials as she sat in front of the mirror while a maid put the finishing touches on her hair. "Wow," Oliver remarked when he was granted entry into the room.

Isolde caught his gaze and beamed as she slowly got to her feet. "What do you think?" she asked. She sounded anxious, although of a more excited variety rather than fearful.

"You look incredible," he assured her. He'd never expected Isolde to subscribe to the fairytale princess type of bride, despite the pressure of Oliver's mother and grandmother, since she'd always been a little more fashion forward. Her dress had long, lace sleeves that hid most of the bruises that she'd sustained in the crash, and the lace bodice gave way to a long, silk skirt that clung to her tall, slender body and pooled near her feat. Her icy blonde hair was gently curled, pushed over her right shoulder to conceal a cut on the right side of her face, but her soft, natural makeup concealed any of the discoloration from the bruises. She looked like her usual self, the hesitation in her movement the only sign that she was in any pain.

"Oh, this is for you," he remarked, holding out the box. "From Tristan."

Isolde's face lit up at the mention of her soon-to-be-husband. She opened the box to reveal a pair of sapphire teardrop earrings encircled with diamonds. As she read the accompanying note aloud, her happiness was practically tangible. "'In case you need something blue and just a little reminder of how much I love you.'" Oliver couldn't even roll his eyes at Tristan's cheesiness.

"He has great taste," Eadlyn complimented. "Incidentally, they match something I wanted to lend you perfectly."

Isolde looked more surprised at this development than Tristan's gift. Eadlyn led her back to her seat and placed a larger box in her lap. From an encasement of velvet, Isolde lifted a diamond and sapphire tiara. It had been designed for an old British queen by her husband some time ago and was one of Eadlyn's favorites. Oliver wasn't sure that he'd ever seen anyone other than his mother wear it, as she was so fond of it that it was rarely liberated from the vault.

"May I?" Eadlyn asked tentatively. Isolde held the tiara out to her, and Eadlyn gently settled it on the blonde hair. "Perfect," she remarked, smiling at Isolde in the mirror.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," beamed Isolde.

"Mom or Eadlyn will do," the queen countered. She gave Isolde's shoulders a gentle squeeze, and Oliver thought that Isolde's eyes looked a little watery but decided not to comment on it.

"You look like such a princess!" squealed Celine. "Oh, I can't wait until I get to get married."

"And that's my cue to leave," decided Oliver to a chorus of laughter. "I'll see you guys when it's game time."

There'd been a small amount of invitations extended. Their French family was present, along with Eadlyn's brothers, Oliver's grandparents, the Elite, and a few friends like Xander and Elijah. It was a small wedding by regular standard, let alone royal ones, but Oliver had spared no extravagance. The chapel had been stuffed with Christmas trees, twinkling lights, and festive red flowers. When Tristan and Oliver took their places at the altar, his brother nudged him with his elbow. "Good job."

"Only the best for you two," Oliver declared. His eyes swept over the small group of people in the front couple of rows of pews. The Elite were all present, dressed in festive colored gowns. He'd wondered whether Kaitlyn would come, since it had been an invitation rather than a summons, but she was dutifully seated between Mae and Margaery. He tried to catch her eye and smile at her, but when Mae pointed out something near where he and Tristan were standing, her eyes glossed over him, like she hadn't even noticed he was present.

Around seven thirty, the pianist in the back of the chapel began to play the wedding march, and it felt like there was a collective breath taken by the guests as they turned towards the doors. Celine appeared in her gold bridesmaid dress, a small bouquet of red flowers clutched in her hands. She made her way down the aisle, sticking her tongue out at her older brothers as she took her place on the left side of the altar.

Then, Isolde appeared with her father. There wasn't a single sign of pain as she glided towards Tristan, who hadn't exhaled once since he'd seen her. Mr. Havens handed her off to the prince, a little awkwardly since Tristan only had one hand to offer her. It didn't seem like she minded at all, as the most radiant smile Oliver had ever seen lit up her face.

Instead of the traditional ceremony that would normally accompany a royal wedding, the process had been curtailed somewhat since standing for long periods of time was difficult for Isolde. But the brevity didn't seem to impact the observers much, as there were more than a few sniffles abound. Despite the short notice, Tristan and Isolde had written their own vows.

Tristan delivered his vow first. "Sometimes, being born a prince means that your life doesn't necessarily feel like your own. There's a lot of expectations that go along with it and a lot of duties. And before I met you, I was okay with that. I knew what my life was going to be like, and I was okay with it. I didn't know that I was being complacent until you opened my eyes. It was like I'd spent my life looking at the world through grey tinted glasses, and with you, everything was technicolor. From the minute that I saw you in the Women's Room with that weird tinfoil in your hair, I was hooked."

"I don't think I'll ever be able to spend enough time around you. Before I met you, I wasn't a big believer in fate. But now, I don't know how I couldn't. You're my soulmate, the person that I didn't even know I've been looking for my whole life. As someone who comes from a pretty privileged background, you've been the biggest blessing in my life. Sometimes it feels surreal that you decided to let me spend the rest of forever loving you, but I promise that I'll never make you regret it and will devote every day to making the most of our life together."

When it was Isolde's turn, she had to choke back the tears that Tristan's speech had evoked. "I thought that I came to the palace because I've always cared about other people. From the time that I started working in the Governor's office, I knew that public service was something that I felt passionate about, and when I heard about the Selection, I thought that it was that drive that led me here. And then you walked into the room on the very first day—yes, embarrassingly while I was getting highlights—and I knew that I had been wrong."

"You are the reason that I came here, even if I didn't know it. There was something about you that drew me in from the minute I met you, and it was the biggest, scariest thing I've ever known. I tried to fight it and run from it. And without you, I might've been successful. Love is scary, especially when it defies all sorts of rules and expectations. But you made me strong enough to stop trying to run away from that scary thing. Every day, you make me think that I couldn't possibly be happier, and then you blow that threshold out of the water. No matter what's thrown at us, I know that we'll get through it, because we'll be together. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life and whatever comes after with the kindest, funniest, smartest, most handsome person on this earth."

After that, Oliver and Celine handed the wedding bands to the couple, and a moment later, Prince Tristan and Princess Isolde were formally announced for the first time ever. When Oliver joined the applause of the guests, he had to blink away a happiness that was blurring his vision slightly.

While the reception wasn't as large as it would've been under different circumstances, they'd still planned a dinner and small celebration. Tristan and Isolde shared their first dance to a slowed down version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," before they settled down at one of the tables. However, they didn't seem disappointed by their distance from the party. Oliver wasn't sure if they even noticed, as the new husband and wife seemed to be in their own little world.

Oliver, on the other hand, was quickly wrapped up with the Elite. He'd kept an eye on Kaitlyn throughout dinner, hoping that he'd be able to catch her alone at some point, but it was like the girls had planned to avoid such a situation. She was never alone—until Oliver enlisted the help of Elijah and Everly to waylay Margaery and Mae, who were most frequent companions.

As Mae sent him a 'don't-you-dare' look from across the ballroom where she was stuck with Elijah, Oliver quickly made his way towards Kaitlyn. She realized he was approaching her too late to escape, and Oliver pretended not to see the grimace on her face as he joined her. "Hey," he grinned, desperately searching for he comfortable familiarity that he usually felt around Kaitlyn.

"Hi," she responded. Her face was blank, her voice unenthused, and it felt like her eyes had barely registered him.

Oliver tried to tell himself he was reading too far into it. "Do you want to dance?' he suggested. There was no way she could look as miserable while dancing.

She paused, as though searching for a way to decline, but when she came upon nothing, she gave a shrug of her shoulders and stood. Oliver led her to the dance floor, noticing the way that her hand felt limp in his.

Her body felt stiff, and she didn't stand as close to him as she usually did. She was also a lot less careful with the medical boot on her foot and accidentally—he hoped—stomped on his Italian leather dress shoes more than once.

As their dance ticked away in silence, he finally steeled himself enough to speak. "Kaitlyn."

"Can we please just dance?" she countered. Her eyes were focused on a spot beyond his left shoulder so that to an observer, it would look like she was meeting his gaze, while Oliver could only see the sadness in her red rimmed eyes.

"No," he decided, "Look… I'm sorry I hurt you, but—"

"Me?" she demanded, her eyes snapping to his face. The sadness disappeared, replaced instead with a fiery outrage. "You're sorry for what you did to me? Do you know I've called Alaric twenty times, and he won't answer a single call? I don't know if he's even made it to Likely safely. He's completely alone, and I didn't even get to say goodbye to him." She pressed her lips firmly together as tears welled in her eyes.

He didn't know what to say, what there even was to say. For better or for worse, before he could think of anything to say, a small blonde figure appeared at his side. "Mind if I steal him away?" Gabi asked brightly.

Kaitlyn instantly tore her arms away from Oliver. "He's all yours," she declared, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye.

Gabi took up Kaitlyn's vacated position cheerfully. "Is she okay?" she asked with a glance after Kaitlyn.

"Uh…" Oliver was unsure of what to say. He followed Kaitlyn as she brushed off Mae and Isolde, instead walking right out of the ballroom.

But Gabi quickly seemed to forget the other girl's distress. "Wasn't it such a beautiful wedding?" she sighed. "Of course, poor Isolde, not being able to do much at your own wedding. But she still looks divine! Did you see that crown that your mother leant her? Oh, my Lord, what I wouldn't do for one of those!"

Her rambling brought Oliver back to attention. "Gabi…" he frowned. "I need to talk to you."

"That sounds ominous," she giggled. "I hope about good things."

Oliver couldn't bring himself to respond for a minute. It wasn't a conversation he ever looked forward to having. "Look, I don't think—"

Gabi immediately dropped their dance posture. "What?"

She looked stunned, and Oliver took her elbow to lead her into the hallway, uneager to make a scene at his brother's wedding. "I don't understand," Gabi frowned, her eyes welled with tears, "What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything," he assured her. He took a seat on a bench in the hall, but Gabi didn't join him, instead keeping her distance as she struggled to process the information. "When we were in Zuni, I just realized that we don't… click."

"What are you talking about?" frowned Gabi. "I thought we had a great time in Zuni."

"And that's the problem," Oliver declared. "For me, it was weird and kind of uncomfortable."

This was the wrong thing to say apparently. Too late he realized she might find it embarrassing, and this led to a somewhat defensive reaction. "Well, why didn't you tell me that when we got back?" she demanded. "Why did you invite me to your brother's wedding, of all things, instead of just telling me directly?"

"In case you forgot, I was a little distracted by a plane crash that occurred pretty soon after we got back," he snapped. Gabi looked ashamed at this reminder, and Oliver took a deep breath, trying to temper his reaction. "Look, I'm sorry if I've hurt you. Believe me, that's the last thing I ever wanted. But I want something like Tristan and Isolde have, and I think you do too. And I don't think we're going to find that together. I thought this was the fairest time to tell you, so you'd at least have the chance spend the holiday with your family."

After a moment of thought, Gabi gave a weak nod. "So… should I just… leave?"

"Of course not," countered Oliver, "You can stay until morning. You're still a guest at Isolde's wedding and, I hope, a friend of mine."

Gabi smiled, although it wasn't as bright as it might've been under different circumstances. "Thank you," she nodded, "for all of this. It really was like a fairytale. I'll miss it."

"The fairytale doesn't have to end just because you won't be in a palace anymore," Oliver pointed out. "I like to think we make our own fairytales."

"I like that idea," she decided.

The pair headed back into the ballroom, but before Oliver could rejoin his table or any of the other girls, Jonathan appeared at his side. "Can you come with me?" he asked. His dark eyebrows were furrowed together, and he looked like he was barely keeping himself calm. Given the circumstances, Oliver might have been nervous if anyone else would've made such a request, but he trusted Jonathan so implicitly that he followed him from the ballroom without another word.

However, his confusion grew when Jonathan led him to the garage. "What's going on?" he frowned.

Before he started searching for a set of keys, Jonathan handed Oliver a folded piece of paper. Oliver recognized the handwriting as Sara's, and his stomach dropped when he read the message: I'm sorry, but this is for the best. Please don't come after me.

"I couldn't find her after the ceremony, but I thought she was just changing or something. When I went to her room, everything was gone, and her maid said that she'd left," he explained. He snatched a set of keys and handed them to Oliver. "Oliver, I've never asked you for anything. But please help me stop her."

"Of course," agreed Oliver without a second thought. The pair slid into a sleek black car, and as they navigated to the private airstrip used by the royal family and their guests, Oliver ignored any speed restrictions. He was positive that Sara was making a mistake, one that he hoped he and Jonathan would be able to prevent.

When they arrived at the airstrip—after Oliver had had to pull rank over the heightened security and order them to let their car through—Sara's plane was idling on the tarmac. She had yet to board the flight and instead lingered on the ground with what looked to be the pilot. Before Oliver could slow the car to a stop, Jonathan jumped out and made a beeline for her.

Sara's face blanched when she saw them, an action that Oliver was a little offended by. In stark contrast to the casual way she'd dressed throughout her stay at the palace, she was wearing a lowcut black dress and a jacket that was much too warm for the warmer Angeles winter. It gave a hint as to her destination, a hint that made Oliver tense. She looked truly distressed by their presence, and she backed towards the stairs as they approached. "Sara, what's going on?" Jonathan asked. His normally stoic face looked pained and confused.

But not as pained as Sara's. "Jonathan… I'm sorry. But Russia is my home."

She avoided his face, like she knew it was a weak explanation. "It wasn't always your home," he argued.

"Please," Sara requested in a soft voice, "don't make this harder than it already is."

"If it's hard, why are you doing this?" demanded Jonathan. He sounded desperate, and Oliver could only imagine how scared he was right now, faced with the possibility of losing her. "Sara, I love you. If I thought this was going to be good for you or make you happy, I would watch you leave without another word. But this makes no sense."

Sara pulled her hands away from Jonathan. "It's nothing I can explain to you," she insisted, "But Jonathan, you know that I have a life in Russia. I'm a noblewoman, I have Nikolai—"

The mention of Nikolai and what her returning to Russia meant brought out Jonathan's frustration. "We can build a better life here!" he declared, "How can you go back to all of that? Sara, you're so much better than him, than how he treats you—"

She cut him off with tears in her eyes. "I'm not asking you to understand," she pointed out, "I'm just asking you… if you love me the way you say that you do… please, let me go, Jonathan."

His long acquaintance with Jonathan made Oliver realize how the situation was going to end before either spoke. As the brown and green eyes bore into each other, there was clear pain in both of their faces, but when Sara's stance didn't waver, Jonathan took a step backwards. "I hope you find happiness. No matter who it's with."

A tentative smile hedged on her face. "I will always love you."

However, the expression was not reflected on Jonathan's. Instead, there was a heartbreak that made Oliver cringe. "Me too." Before his ever-present control wavered, he turned and walked back to the car, the door slamming loudly behind him.

When they were alone, Sara shifted towards the plane so that Jonathan wouldn't be able to see her face from the car. "Is he looking?"

"Uh, no," Oliver answered after a glance at the car.

Her face crumpled, and she reached out to grab the railing of the stairs as she tried not to let her tears shake her body. "He's going to hate me."

Any clarity that Oliver thought he'd had about the situation disappeared. "Sara, what's going on? Why did you do that?"

Instead of answering, she held out a letter to him. Oliver took it tentatively and unfolded it. It was a message in a hasty, messy scrawl. I would burn Illéa to the ground to get you back. Come home. There was no signature, but it was clear who the letter was from.

"You know it was him," Sara declared, "You and I both know."

"So, you're going back to him?" demanded Oliver. "Sara, that's insane. The only reason he's not a murderer today is because Tristan and Isolde got lucky."

"I know. But if I go back, maybe all of this will stop," she reasoned. "Nikolai wasn't always like this, Oliver, maybe—"

But even she didn't look convinced. "Sara, you don't have to do this," Oliver insisted. "Stay. You don't have to take this all on yourself. I can protect you."

"No, you can't," countered Sara, "and neither can Jonathan, but I know that he'd try, which is why I couldn't tell him about the letter. You guys don't know Nikolai."

"Just like you don't know Marid," Oliver pointed out, "Sara, I guarantee they bring out the worst in each other, and you don't know what Nikolai will be like when you go back—"

She shook her head. "I would rather take the risk myself than bring it on your family, your country. They're what you need to protect, Oliver, not me."

He hated her argument. But he also knew her well enough to know that there was no way he was going to change her mind. It was just another thing that was out of his control, leaving Oliver feeling helpless. "Take care of yourself," he finally offered, unsure of what else he could do. "Please remember that you always have friends here if you need them."

Sara forced a smile. "Thank you. Will you, uh, will you look out for him?" She nodded towards Jonathan.

"Of course," nodded Oliver.

"I hope he finds happiness." Her eyes were wistful, betraying how much she didn't want to return to her former home.

"He already did," Oliver pointed out.

The tears flooded the green eyes, and she pulled Oliver in for a hug. "Take care of yourself too," she added. He promised he would and watched as she boarded the plane.

He didn't want to make Jonathan watch her fly away, so he quickly returned to the car. Jonathan's eyes were red, but his face was clear of any tears, instead blank as he stared out the window. Oliver wanted to say something, anything to make his friend feel better, but he knew that there were some things that words couldn't help, and this was one of them.

When they parked the car in the palace garage, Jonathan muttered a terse 'thank you' before he jumped out of the car. Oliver sighed and decided to throw in the towel on the day, looking forward to the sleep that had evaded him for the last couple of days.

He made his way mindlessly towards his room but hesitated in front of the door. Instead, he glanced a few doors down. A needy pull urged him forward, and Eadlyn answered the door herself after his first knock. "Oliver? Is everything alright, darling?"

And that was when he realized that he couldn't fight it anymore. "No," he admitted, the hysteria rising in his throat. He tried to swallow it down, to make it go away, but the longer he stood there with his mother's concerned gaze on him, the harder it was to fight. "I'm not okay," he realized.

Eadlyn's face softened, and she reached out to pull him into a hug. Her embrace was strong and warm, the kind that he'd sought out as a child whenever he was sad or hurt. "We're going to be," she promised him, "All of us."