AN:Let me know if these chapters get too long. And thank you for reviews. I'm not able to sleep much with my arm, so it helps to hear from you guys!

Fiyero led the sisters to the opposite wing of the castle, the least frequented by servant, guest, or resident. The east salon there baked in the sun, but he didn't feel the heat. Only the icy pit in his stomach at the conversation looming.

"Miss Nessarose, please forgive me for taking you from the others this morning."

"Not at all," she returned with equal civility. "The wedding is much more pressing, of course. It's so hard to imagine we've only two more days."

He flinched. They'd really left this that long? He cleared his throat. "Quite. How deceptively fast time travels." He glanced at Elphaba, and her pale face tore at him. Eyes of a physician. Out with the poison to heal the wound. He drew a deep breath. "I'm afraid I have something to confess. While I think of you very fondly, I…" Elphaba sucked in a breath. He gathered his thoughts for the phrasing, distracted by the desperation of her fear. "Surely you are aware that I do not love you."

Well that came out wrong. Elphaba glared at him, and Nessa blinked. "I…I suppose," she frowned. "I mean, we were paired rather than courted, but I had hoped…"

He blocked out the wild looks Elphaba sent him to focus on Nessa. He tried to convey every ounce of sympathy he felt in that moment, every twinge of regret that she had gotten caught up in this, too. "I had hoped, too, sweet Nessarose. There is nothing about you not to be loved." Tears welled in her eyes, and he set a hand on her cheek gently. "You are so kind, and sweet, and beautiful as any man could ask, and far more than I claim to deserve."

She blinked back the tears, her forehead wrinkled. "Then, why?"

He drew a long breath. "I cannot love you, because I have already fallen in love, quite hopelessly, with –"

"Another woman," Elphaba blurted out. She looked aghast at the words, but she didn't withdraw them. He tipped a nod. Her fear and guilt sketched over her face, tormented and desperate. Yes, he could take this poison for her. It should be enough, alone, without revealing who.

But Nessa whirled on her, "You knew? How long? And you told me nothing?"

Elphaba blanched. "I-"

"Please." He stepped between them. "I am the one at fault. And I wish I could find in my heart to regret it. Please believe me that I never meant to hurt you, but you deserve more than this."

"So…what are you saying?" Nessa demanded, eyes wide.

He shook his head. "I cannot marry you, Nessarose."

Her face twisted in an ugly expression of rage. "Why? Just because you've gone and gotten all dewy-eyed for some tramp seducing a nearly married man?" Elphaba flinched, and Fiyero took a step back. "So I'm to be replaced, like a faulty wheel?"

He frowned. "That's not at all what I mean."

"Oh?" she snarled with a venomous smile. "The Unnamed God commands us to honor our commitments. I've honored mine. If you've…" she shut her eyes and sucked in a breath, "not, well, then it's my duty as your wife to forgive."

His frown deepened. That twisted logic. Had Elphaba been living with this her whole life? So much of her resistance clicked into place. "But, you're not my wife. Not yet."

"We made commitments," she hissed through a clenched jaw, and he set a gentle hand on her cheek.

"Oh, Nessa. It's not too late. We can undo this before it's even done."

"And why should I?" She glared at the ceiling, probably praying for guidance. Or a boulder to fall on him. "You want me to go tell everyone that I couldn't even…"

"I'll explain." He wished she had a hand to take. "Or if you'd rather, I'll make another excuse. Whatever you'd prefer."

"I'd prefer," she hissed, "you to marry me like you promised!"

He shook his head. Oz, these women. So determined to be matyrs. "Why?" he demanded. "Why would you marry me, knowing I love another?"

Her lips pursed into a pout. "You promised."

So childish. Had she ever not gotten her way before? He raked his fingers through his hair. "Nessa, I don't want to hurt you, but how can I be the husband you deserve if I don't love you, can't love you?"

"Love is subjective." The haughtiness in her tone felt like a slap. "Provided you stop this condemned affair, I would be suitably content with you."

His jaw tensed. "And if I don't?"

"You'd better," she threatened. He had to swallow not to rejoin with and if I don't. Oz, he'd rather marry Three than her right now.

A knock banged into the door, and Fiyero snapped, "Not now." It came again, and he stalked to the door, repressed frustration rolling off him. He flung the door open to reveal Three, as if Kumbricia had heard his bargain.

"Beg your pardon." She took in his expression, and added his honorific with a dipped curtesy. Her scheming eyes ran over the scene, filing it away for future use, and his fist itched to punch the wall. "Your mother called for you. Urgently."

He huffed a breath and swallowed all the expletives he longed to shout. "We'll continue this conversation later," he promised, so as not to reveal too much to Three. The girl tiptoed beside him, and he struggled to calm himself.

"Everything alright?"

"Lovely." His temper ruined the word. "I thought you were off riding with Aruc."

"I'd rather go with you." She fluttered her eyes. "Perhaps you can take me when you're free."

"My apologies," he ground out. "Apparently I won't be free after all."

Oz, how unreasonable Nessa was! Elphaba's pleas finally made sense, but if Nessa wouldn't listen to logic, did she expect him just to bend it to please her?

He drew a deep breath. Maybe she was just lashing out. Give her time to process, and she'd see the sense in canceling the wedding. Two days. He'd have to convince his parents alone. What a joy that would be.

And Elphaba…he couldn't even imagine the nonsense he'd have to fight through with her now. She loved her sister, he knew, but it was almost a sickness between them. She would willingly die to spare her sister so much as a paper cut. Didn't she deserve the same in return?

He'd worked so hard to become the better man, to make Sarima proud of his choices, and now this was his reward? Irresponsible him would have eloped as soon as he'd kissed Elphaba and faced the fallout in a self-absorbed bubble. Part of him still thought that might have been the better way.

They finally reached his mother's office, and he flung open the door.

"What did you need?"

His mother lifted an eyebrow at his tone, and he swallowed.

"I mean, Miss Three said you sent for me urgently. How can I be of assistance to you?"

She catalogued his tension, still radiating from his stiff shoulders and clenched fists. "Thank you, Miss Three. If you don't mind."

She curtsied and slipped off to gossip or backstab or whatever she did in her free time. Where was Aruc anyway? Wasn't he supposed to be watching her?

His friend appeared in the far doorway, a regretful expression on his face. "Yes, the list. Master Aruc was kind enough to agree to help you." His reluctant babysitter, leaving Three to wander about, wreaking havoc on the already overwhelmed emotions of his expected bride and his love. Had his mother cleared that with his father, who demanded Fiyero keep them peaceful? How could he do that hopping about the castle with Aruc? Honestly, he could only do so much here.

Suddenly, he couldn't take it anymore. He blurted out, "And if all these preparations are for nothing?"

His mother sighed. "I know you men don't think these things matter, but weddings are important to brides, and these little details matter to us."

"No. As in, what if there's no wedding?"

"No wedding?" Then she tipped her head in a slow nod with a sympathetic expression. "Yero, my love, these feelings are normal. Every groom at some point gets cold feet. I know it's a big change, but you're ready. You are."

"That's not what I meant."

"Aruc, please?" His mother went back to her papers. "I've got to hurry if I'm to finish before Miss Nessarose's final fitting, so go on. Your list is long. No dawdling."

Aruc drug him in the hallway. "Sorry, mate." Fiyero wanted to throw things, wanted to rage, wanted to confess to anyone who would listen. But only one thing would help him, and her self-righteous expression still burned in his memory. He scrubbed a hand over his face.

"No, I'm sorry. I know this is my responsibility, but I need to-"

Aruc waved him off. "Please. Half my day is spent in your responsibilities. Go on." He laughed. "I'm sure you can repay me later."

Fiyero thought again how little he deserved Aruc's friendship.

Elphaba still waited in the salon for him, boiling in that unforgiving heat with an expression on her face that promised him a trip to the underworld. "Fiye-" He hauled her to him in a kiss like a barbarian, anything to stop the nonsense he knew was coming.

She pulled back, and he shuddered a breath. "Don't you dare," he warned. "Don't you dare tell me I have to marry your sister."

"It's true."

He wanted to break everything around him, but he settled for another fierce kiss.

She dodged away. "Stop it, Fiyero," the words echoed with a hand square against his sternum. He stalked back a step and savaged his hair. "Look, we tried. It didn't work. We have to let it go." How did her voice sound so reasonable, so logical when she didn't make any sense?

"No. Just….no. This is crazy!" He seethed, pacing now with his words. "Full and complete insanity. I can't even fathom why we should have to suffer when there is such an obvious solution." He flung his hands out wildly, so out of patience now he wanted to scream. "Why in Oz should I marry a girl I don't love when a beautiful, perfect, amazing girl is right here? A girl I desperately love, and who I'm certain is just as in love with me." And yet, he had a sinking feeling that's exactly what was about to happen.

"Oh, for Oz's sake." She turned away from him as if he were the unreasonable one.

"You're damn right. This is ludicrous."

She held out her hands, a pleading expression that broke his heart. "She's my sister, Fiyero. My baby sister." As if that explained it. As if she deserved less simply for being older. She shrugged. "You saw how upset she was."

Lunatics. He was surrounded by lunatics. "That doesn't mean it's wrong, just because she's upset!" He flung his objections to the deities above. Maybe he'd get more traction there. He closed his eyes, unable to face her pushing him off like this. "And when we're married and I still don't love her?" he demanded. "How upset will she be then?"

"It doesn't matter." She took one look at his expression and set a gentle hand on his arm. She shuddered a breath. "Look, think for a second, will you? What do you think will happen when my father finds out? He'd never let you out of the agreement, and if Nessa wants you, he'll move heaven and earth to make that happen."

"And your happiness?"

She tilted him a sad smile. He didn't need the words to know the truth, and he was right back to wanting to punch, just, everything.

"Then damn your father," he seethed. "The way he treats you…he's lucky I haven't sent him out in the desert to die of thirst."

She didn't bother a response, which broke his heart all over again for her. It poured misery all over the fire of outrage in him. Her eyes begged him to accept this, but Oz how could he? "He'll go to your parents. They'll make you."

He pressed his lips together, ready to fire off that they would never do that to him. But with a horrible realization, he knew she was right. They'd sympathize, support him through it, but they wouldn't rescue him. Not at the expense of presumably a second war. His jaw clenched. "You're right. They can force me to marry her." The words tasted bitter, and he consoled himself in the feel of her, pulling him tight into him. "But in name only. And anything they can do is worth it if it means you."

She shuddered a breath. "It doesn't," she whispered. He leaned back, and her eyes fell to her shoes. "I've done enough. I, I can't anymore. I feel so wicked, every day. Oz, just, I won't betray her again."

"El-"

"No. It stops." She set her jaw, resolution clear in her stance. "For good. No matter what I feel, or want, it's done. I'm done."

"I can't accept that. You know I can't." He fought a twinge of logic that it might be better for everyone if he could. He pulled her back to him, poured himself into loving her, showing that love. His lips found her ear, and he swore. "I will move mountains if I have to. Anything for you."

"Anything?" she whispered, and he felt the tears prick at her words.

He blinked them back with a glare. "I'm not so foolish as that. Anything besides marry your sister," he hissed.

She pulled free to fling an arm out. "You act as if this is all my own design."

"No, but you hold the key to my chains, refusing to unlock them." He strode to her, challenged her to deny him, but she stood firm. They argued, and he flung out a hand.

Elphaba's arms snapped around her. "She's my sister, and you belong to her, not me."

"Am I property now, to be traded about without my consent?"

She pursed her lips. "You agreed when you arranged to marry her."

"Oh, for Oz sake!" This was ridiculous. He hadn't known her yet. Hadn't fallen in love. Hadn't believed himself capable again. Why shouldn't he marry for convenience, if his love lay dead in the ground? Why should he believe that anyone could relight that fire in him? He wanted to rail at the unfairness of it all. "Elphaba, be reasonable."

She stepped back, and he felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach. Her eyes were cold steel, and he recognized them at once, regretfully. The eyes of the physician. Suck out the poison, heal the wound, no matter how the patient wailed.

"If I have to, I'll leave tonight." Her voice was quiet, but it crashed against him like a scream. "I'll ask Aruc to make you stay, whatever that takes." He drew a breath, but she held up a hand before he could interrupt. "He would, if I asked. You know it. It's over. Done." Her eyes fell to the ground. "This has gone far enough."

Words failed him. They couldn't convince her anyway. He was lost at sea in a storm, and no one would save him. They smiled their smiles, telling him he had to drown. He could be angry, sad, or cajoling, but the waves didn't care. He'd drown just the same.

He bit out, "Fine." An expletive, and he repeated it again with such bitterness as he'd only known in his funeral clothes. He hauled her to him in a fierce kiss, determined to make her regret this moment at least half as much as he did. He kissed her so deeply. If he had to drown, he'd drown in her, drown himself in every ounce of love he could pull from her.

She pushed back, sucking in a breath, and he hung his head.

"You win," his voice a monotone. "I'll marry her. For you, though. Not for her. Or your damned father. Or our country. Or anything else. I'll marry her if only to torture myself with the shred of you I can keep this way." He fought a breath through the lump in his throat. "But I swear to Lurline, you'd better make her understand. If this is the life she chooses, this is the life it is. Miserable and empty and a sham."

"You-"

"Don't you-" He pressed his lips together so tight they felt bruised. "Don't say another word," he gritted out, eyes shut tight. "I told you what I'll do, and that's it. I will not pretend to love her. I will marry her, and fulfill my contractual obligation to her. But she will not be my wife. Just a woman I married. If that's not what she wants, you better tell me to call it off now. That's as far as I will go. Not an inch farther."

She must have sensed the boiling point. She nodded.

He shut his eyes. Go, then, he thought. Let him keep a shred of his dignity at least.

"Yero?"

He tilted toward her blindly, eyes still tightly clinging to control. "Yes?"

"For what it's worth, I am sorry. I wish thing could be different. They're just…not."

He knew those words cost her, but it didn't matter. Nothing did. Their choices were what mattered, and she wouldn't let him change those. He shook his head with a bitter smile. Sorry. Yet she played his executioner all the same. If not even she cared for its effect on him, why even bother.

He left without sparing a word.

Fiyero made it outside before he punched anything. The tree cared as little for his frustration as anyone else did. "Ow," he muttered.

"Serves you right, hitting a tree."

He flicked narrowed eyes toward Aruc with a glare.

"Or did that tree offend your mother?" His friend rolled his shoulders. "I don't think punching is the most effective means to fell it, but I'll certainly pitch in if you must."

Fiyero didn't smile. "Come to collect me for my jailing then?"

"I think it's called a wedding."

He shut his eyes and tilted his head back. "Same whatever the name might be."

Aruc propped himself against the trunk, rustling the leaves. "Quite maudlin today, aren't you? I thought you liked Nessa. Or is it marriage in general that has you walloping fauna?"

"Both. Neither." Fiyero opened his eyes to stare meaningfully at Aruc. "Nessa's not quite the sweetheart she seems, though." How much could he say? He raked a hand through his hair, forgetting himself, and a prick of pain coursed through the injuries. Great. Now he'd have to explain blood streaked through his hair.

"I'm sure she's just as nervous as you are with the wedding so close. She's been here long enough to see her true behavior."

"What if it's the opposite way around?"

"Like she's been putting up a front?" He frowned. "That's a long time without a mistake until now."

"Unless a person is who they are by what they do when their backs against the wall."

Aruc shoved off the tree. "I wish I had the answers, mate. But I'm afraid your mother didn't leave us much time for soul-searching." He pulled the neatly folded paper from his pocket.

"Lead on, my warden."

He eyed Fiyero's hand. "You should probably wash up first. And, as the amazingly kind friend I am, I've already done half your list." They walked back toward the castle. "You'll need to check with your mother if the white trellis still needs to be painted."

"Why?"

"It's already white."

Fiyero smirked. "Knowing my mother, there's a miniscule shade of purple when she wants a miniscule shade of blue."

Aruc slapped a hand to Fiyero's shoulder. "And that's why you get to ask instead of me."

"What happened to my amazingly kind friend taking care of my list?"

"Half, not all. And I'm kind, not stupid."

Fiyero sighed.

"Besides, your progress ought to endear you to your mother again, I hope." Aruc passed over the list that had in fact been half-crossed off. "But not if you look like a prizefighter."

They reached the stairs, and Aruc detoured to handle the draperies. Fiyero paused to wash his hands and face for good measure. The pale, haggard expression in the mirror reflected disillusionment, but thanks to Aruc, at least he didn't still look so raw.

He swiped a hand over his face. Acceptable.

He rebelliously burst his way into his mother's sitting room without pausing to knock. "Mother, I know you wanted-"

His eyes connected with Elphaba, and he stopped short.

The universe hated him. Or loved him. Or, he couldn't think with her in that dress, clinging to every curve and swirling like it begged to be spun. One look at him, and she crossed her arms over her chest with a deep blush.

"Sorry, I was unaware you had company. I'll leave you to it."

"No, sit." His mother tapped the settee beside her. "A happy coincidence. You can help redress our dear Miss Elphaba."

He swallowed hard. If only she knew how he longed to do just that. Elphaba gave him a beseeching look, but his bitterness still held control. He adopted his charming prince demeanor. "Of course, mother. My pleasure."

His mother blinked at that, and he sat beside her before she felt the need to search below the surface. She patted his arm and said to Elphaba, "Spin around, dear. Let him see the whole dress." Elphaba obliged with a grimace. He had to swallow his laughter at that, her glare finding him each revolution. His mother asked, "Any thoughts?"

"Oh, plenty."

And he had. He let his eyes trail over her, every beautiful inch of her that would never be his. Let his heart break for her. The tight dress helped, without a doubt, but he knew it perfectly acceptable. His desire came from deeper, and its denial hurt all the worse for it.

He gaze fell to his lap. "She should be wearing white," he muttered.

"Fiyero!" His mother's rebuke caught him off guard, and he realized what he'd said aloud. "Only the bride wears white to a wedding."

"How silly of me." He struggled to reclaim his persona. Elphaba caught his eye with a stern frown, and his simmering rage returned to a boil.

His mother, oblivious to the meaning behind his remark, tapped her chin as she studied Elphaba. She strode to her, half-circling the girl. "Although, I see what you mean."

His head jerked toward her. She did? If only she really did, she could intervene on his behalf. His mother always got his father to do all sorts of unexpected things. Lurline, loads of people. Could she help?

She shook her head. "White would really set off her unique complexion, and that lovely hair. Perhaps a trim?"

No, she'd pat his cheek and tell him love would grow or shrink or whatever.

"Is it possible to have it let out?" Elphaba squeaked, her eyes squarely on his mother's face. "It's a bit…um…" Perfect? Beautiful? Inspirational? "Unseemly."

"Unseemly?" His mother frowned. "Every inch of skin is covered save your hands and face. Surely you don't suggest we cover those also?"

"It might improve the picture." She plucked at the fabric by her waist. "But I mean, it's very tight."

His mother melted into understanding. "Oh, dear. You mustn't be so hard on yourself. You look beautiful in it, doesn't she, Fiyero?"

Finally a dutiful answer that matched with his heart. "Absolutely exquisite." He imagined her dress turned white, hair loose behind her with a bouquet of poppies between them at the altar. The tragedy stung.

Her eyes met his, and tragedy reflected back to him. She might be the one requiring this of them, but she suffered with it, too.

He drew a deep breath. "She should have whatever makes her comfortable."

His mother turned to him, and any goodwill he'd managed (or Aruc had managed him) was lost in his siding against her. "We must consider more than comfort." She gave him a steady look, and then added, "There are pictures, the press, the fashion editors…"

He lifted an eyebrow. Surely none of that would sway the tide of public opinion based on one member of the bride's family's dress. VInkus was not the vain Ozmopolitan Emerald City after all.

His mother sighed. "With their religion, perhaps we could manage it."

He should get out of there. He told his mother as much, dutifully asking of the trellis.

"Hang the ivy and paint the altar to match."

"Yes, Mother." He turned to the door to see Elphaba so close, probably wanting to slip out herself. As he slipped by her, he dared to whisper, "Just say the word. One word, and it stops."

She shook her head minutely.

His heart broke again, but so many rebuffs now, he felt his endurance returning. He wouldn't give up. She loved him, he knew it. So did his parents. They wouldn't do this to him.

A knock, and Aruc appeared at the other door. "Excuse me, ma'am, but have you seen – holy Oz!" His friend laid eyes on Elphaba, and his mouth dropped open like a dead fish.

"My son was just on his way back," his mother reassured, but Aruc's head bobbed without clear undersanding.

He kept staring at Elphaba in that elegant, clinging lace hugging every curve with demure beauty. Her hips, her trim waist, her bust, even those clavicles Fiyero had so teased her of. Aruc's eyes traced over her, dumbstruck.

Fiyero crossed the room to rescue him with a firm hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Aruc. Trust me. It only gets harder the longer you stay."

They made it to safety, and Aruc swallowed. "Do you need a minute?"

"She's wearing that?" Then a wolfish grin crossed his friend's face. "I get to dance with her in that dress?"

A wave of jealousy swept him at Aruc's words. "She's asked Mother to alter it, so don't get too excited." He passed the list back to his friend. "We're to paint the altar instead and hang ivy."

Aruc marked it and scratched off a few lines. "But I've finished the draperies and confirmed the wine. A couple stewards are counting centerpieces and candlesticks." Fiyero shot him a look. He'd made that mistake of passing off his responsibilities to stewards, and without fail his mother found out. Aruc clapped a hand to his shoulder. "Queen approved. We just have to verify silver ones are stacked separately, and the numbers are clearly tallied."

"What's left?"

They fell to their work. The banal tasks soothed him. And with Aruc beside him, it was almost like they had returned to childhood. No overwhelming duties. No surveilling schemers. No tragic loves playing martyr with his life, too.

Several hours later, Aruc plopped down beside him. "Where do we stand?"

"Almost done. I think we've earned a break."

Aruc grinned. "As long as it's not like that one Lurlinemas."

Fiyero burst out a laugh.

"Remember your mother's face?"

"Well, you were naked." He shook his head. "And covered in honey."

Aruc shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Tell that to the stewards. They gave you dirty looks for months afterwards, still finding honey."

They chuckled. Aruc palmed the back of his neck. "Can't really do that anymore. I doubt your wife would appreciate our hijinks."

Fiyero grimaced. He doubted his wife would appreciate anything of their horrible life together. Aruc picked up on his mood and studied the list.

"Wonder why the stewards aren't doing this," Fiyero said, more to distract himself than genuine curiousity.

"I figured your mother just wanted to keep us occupied and out of the way. Idle thoughts need busy hands. Must be twice as true for grooms."

He huffed. She probably had. "For what it's worth, it worked. Thank you."

Aruc nodded.

"Although…what did she arrange for the girls I wonder?"

They shared a look. "I can think of no positive outcome regardless."

"Especially with Three here." Fiyero tipped his head back. "Unsupervised, no less."

"Here's hoping they hid the good china."

He closed his eyes. "Tell me this will get better once this accursed wedding is over."

Aruc hesitated.

"That's what I was afraid of." Fiyero dragged himself to his feet. "Come on. Let's go hide a viper in her covers."

His friend gave him a look.

"Not a poisonous one."

Aruc laughed. "How about a drink instead? But I'm saving the good stuff for tomorrow night."

Fiyero held out a hand and pulled the other boy to his feet. "And that, Master Aruc, is why we are friends."

"Shouldn't we finish first? There's only a couple things left?"

Fiyero shrugged. "Why? So Mother can add more?" He shook his head. "I've got my whole life ahead of me full of being responsible. Let's go get naked and cover ourselves in honey."

"Did you just proposition me?"

Fiyero tilted a grin. "Is it working?"

Aruc stabbed a finger into his sternum. "No way. You always get out of these free, and I'm stuck holding the bag."

"Funny, I don't remember a bag."

"Your Highness." Three swayed toward them, familiar eyes in such a hateful package. Were all younger sisters heartless?

He blinked away his thoughts. "Yes, Miss Three?"

"Are your stewards inefficient?" She trailed a finger over the tablecloth. "I could recommend a great housemaster."

"No." He frowned. "Thanks all the same."

"Your mother has me searching the castle all day to deliver summons."

His fought to keep his voice charming. "I'm sure the Queen's trust in you must be such a privilege. With the stewards so taxed in preparations, your help must be invaluable. Why, even Master Aruc and I have spent the afternoon doing our share."

She blanched. "Of course. A privilege indeed."

"Did you have a summon now?" Aruc prompted, and Three's smile widened.

"I did, in fact. The queen would like to see you, Master Aruc, once you've accomplished your list."

They exchanged glances.

"I'll see to the last two, then. Go now." Fiyero turned back toward the linens.

Three wrapped an arm around his bicep and fluttered her eyes. "Yes, go on. I'll be happy to help in your stead."

He bit his tongue, but Aruc didn't share his tact, "You're going to lift the trellis?"

She blinked. "Oh, well." Her fingers flexed on his bicep. "I'm sure our dear prince is strong enough to accomplish that. What is the other task?"

"You can drape the linens." Fiyero pulled his arm free. "Make sure the count is verified, and that each matches the example."

Aruc marched off to report to the wedding general herself. No doubt the new orders were really a ploy to keep them working instead of exactly the trouble they had teased about.

Unfortunately, that left him without a supervisor, and Miss Three seemed all too intent not to let it go to waste. He lifted the trellis, much to her fluttering praise, and rushed to finish the linens.

"You seemed upset before, my prince."

He hated how she called him that. He nodded, eyes on the page. Another tick. Over halfway.

"How can I be of service?" She abandoned her post to sashay closer. Her fingertips trailed over his arm as she reached, too close, to grab a stack of linens.

He cleared his throat. "No need. The matter is resolved," he lied. She blinked up at him, still too close.

"How pleased am I to hear that."

He took a step back. "And your father? Is he well?"

The flicker of confusion quickly smoothed into a smile. "Oh, yes. Why do you ask?"

"Your family is of concern to us, of course, Miss Three. I hope they are well and in good spirits." He handed her a large stack of linens.

"Yes. Quite." She took the stack without breaking eye contact.

Did he push it? His questions would give her answers as surely as hers would give him in return. Worn down by the day, he hadn't the energy for all this subterfuge. "Will they be coming to the wedding?"

They would, of course. And she'd know that he knew. But the way she parried her answer could give away insights whilst giving her nothing in return.

She smiled. "Of course, Your Highness. Your wedding is great celebration throughout all Oz." He swallowed a wince at that. Not for him it wasn't. "I regret my dear sister didn't live to be your bride." Another wince. She wielded her weapons with precision. "What an honor to stand beside you, my prince, before our proud people to pledge a life in service to their ideals."

She must feel confident to be so brazen. The nationalist rhetoric barely hidden in the words begged for a response. The tightrope of diplomacy stretched in his mind. "A regret of mine as well. Your sister was a remarkable woman, full of loyalty and integrity."

Three smiled. "She was."

"I miss her often."

This calculating viper demanded a cost. The intimacy of his admission paid it with personal rather than political capital. Another sacrifice on his altar.

Three set a hand on his arm that ought to be commisseratory, but the tilt of her hips undid any empathy she might have tried to project.

"Your wedding, my prince."

His breath caught. Would she be so bold?

"Is it all you desire?"

A clever phrasing, as it offered so many tactics for her to follow. The words hung in the air, devastating in the truth of them. Did she see that truth in his eyes? He set his jaw. "It is decided."

She licked her lips. The moment of resolution. "It is not done."

His eyes flicked to hers in surprise. Nothing he might use, but to be so plain in dissent…. He couldn't acquiesce, even though he agreed. "My king's command is my desire."

She dipped a curtsy. "Of course, my liege. But-" She let her hand rest gently on his arm again. "Surely your desires are of his concerns, as well. If you're unhappy…" She trailed off meaningfully. If only she were right, but he doubted his father would rush to his aid.

"What makes you believe I'm unhappy?"

She met his challenge with a long look. "Apologies. This morning you seemed unhappy." She studied his face, "With your fiancé?"

He flinched, and then cursed himself for the reaction. She'd seen. But Lurline, he hadn't prepared for such a brazen question! He had to undo it. "My happiness is obedience to my king," his firm voice held an inch of frost.

This curtsy dipped even farther, the shadow of a smile. "Of course, my prince. As for us all."

A falsehood, as was his. Which she knew, and knew that he knew, and likely knew that he knew that she knew. But she'd planted her seed, all the same, and whether he knew its falsehood didn't matter. She knew its truth.

She took the stack of linens and slipped to the farther set of tables. That seed would grow, today, tomorrow, or a year from now. There was no need to hasten its ripening.

He cursed himself over and over again.

He had to see his father. A devastating failure to confess with all that the other failures it entailed. Elphaba might never forgive him, but his father had the uncanny ability to pull the strings of fate. Perhaps he could disarm this weapon Fiyero had accidentally handed Three.

Or so he'd have to hope.