Fiyero slipped away from Elphaba's arms with all the dignity he could muster. "Miss Three."

"Your Highness," Three cooed, as smug as the cat that caught the canary. "Lovely night, is it not?"

Elphaba scowled at her. "Skip the pleasantries. What do you want?"

"Me?" Three arched a catty brow. "I believe it's more a matter of what you want. Clearly."

Fiyero stepped between them subtly, cursing every deity he could think of. He flashed a charming smile to hide his rapid heartbeat. "I hope we can rely on your discretion in this matter."

"Of course." Her predatory grin bared her teeth. "I am nothing if not discerning." Elphaba snorted, and Fiyero squeezed her elbow in warning. She wasn't helping.

"For which we are, of course, very grateful."

"Mm, yes." Three drew out the consonants, and he started calculating what this would cost. It could be worse. She could be bought, he was fairly certain, but with what price?

He'd failed his father's mission, of course. That damage done. In a way, the defeat was freeing. No time for handwringing or regrets with a knife in the gut. Eyes forward now. Could he salvage Elphaba's relationship with her sister? The country would survive. It had weathered worse, even with all they threatened him of war, but sisterhood was far more delicate.

Three ran her opportunistic gaze over him, calculating what he'd pay. Their eyes met with an unspoken understanding. A lot. He'd pay a lot. The corners of her lips curled up. "I'll leave to you it. Good evening." Elphaba twitched, but neither spoke as Three sashayed her way out of the garden.

Yes, he could handle her. He could salvage this. They only needed a delay, and he could think of a dozen ways he might appeal to greedy Three. Had Nessa caught them instead, or her father… he shuddered to think the fallout. No, Three cast a villainous shadow, but this could still be managed.

Elphaba flopped onto the bench, head in her hands. Clearly she didn't share his confidence. Fiyero set a hand on her shoulder. "We'll figure it out."

"With Three?" She snapped, then melted into a miserable frown. "She'll blackmail you into bankruptcy."

He shrugged. "So let her. It's only money." He could think of much worse.

"A very responsible view for a monarch."

"Responsible," he said with a wry laugh. "Hardly my forte as of late." He consoled himself with a lock of hair twisted around his thumb. "Would you prefer she slander us?"

She studied the ground miserably. "Is it slander if it's true?"

"Careful. You'll get my hopes up." She glared up at him, and he was relieved that she had rekindled her fire. He ran a gentle thumb over her cheek. "I won't let her tell Nessa. I know how much that means to you."

"I thought you favored confession."

Oz, that he did, and now more than ever. But everything in its season. "When you're ready. Not before."

She buried her head in Fiyero's neck. "Stupid Three," she groused, muffled into distortion, and he couldn't help the smile that spread over his face. Whatever disaster they faced, they did so together. "Ugh, she must be thrilled." Elphaba's nose twitched against him, tickling his collarbone. "Break up your marriage, and she's got another chance at you."

As if his all-consuming love for her on vivid display hadn't been the source of this crisis. He kissed the top of her head. "I'm afraid I'm quite taken already."

"That won't stop her. You should seduce her now and get it out of the way. Keep her quiet."

He leaned back to fix her with a suspicious eye. Why did she continue these demands that he bed other women? He pointed out the ludicrous request, and she made a face. "Somehow I don't think you want that."

"No," she pouted. "Probably wouldn't shut her up either."

He kissed the side of her throat. "Oh, I don't know. I like to think I can be persuasive."

"And addictive," she complained, and his laugh rumbled warm and soft.

He nuzzled her jaw. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Yes."

He laughed at the misery she managed to cram in that one word. "Sorry I'm so much trouble."

She tipped back to fix him in a serious gaze. "What're we going to do?"

He pressed a smile. "I'm sure we'll think of something." He linked their hands and rubbed his thumb over hers. The first step should probably be getting some privacy before he went back to kissing her. He led her toward the castle.

"Blackmail her first?"

He shook his head. "Unlikely. Nothing she's done could be so scandalous, even if it's worse."

"Appealing to her conscience would be pointless. She hasn't one." She poked his ribs. "Aren't you going to help?"

He shrugged and turn them left into the empty salon. "Bribery. Unlikely to work."

"Murder."

He pulled back to look at her. Please be kidding. She met his eyes with a steady gaze, then cracked a grin.

"Not a good solution, but you can't deny its effectiveness."

"True." He swallowed. After her history of ridiculous demands, he had to ask, "But you don't really want to-"

She rolled her eyes. "No, Fiyero, I don't want you to murder Three." His sigh of relief must have been too obvious. She smirked. "Far too messy." He lifted an eyebrow. "Yes, yes, and immoral."

"Morality?" He grinned. "I was thinking the potential of her haunting us. Think of an eternity with Three." She gripped his elbow with a cutely wrinkled nose.

"Incarceration? She's certain to have committed some sort of crime."

He shook his head. "We'd have to wait until I'm crowned king, which is a bit untimely to our current dilemma." Fiyero drew a deep breath and confessed his deepest hope. "We could always run away together."

She snorted. He met her eyes with no trace of laughter, and she frowned. "We have responsibilities here. Obligations."

He wrapped his arms around her. "What if I'm feeling very irresponsible?" That pull warm in his gut dragged him in for a kiss, but she scrambled back.

"We can't run away like carefree children."

Can't. Always can't. "Who says?" his voice came out too soft, but thankfully free of petulance.

"I do. Think of something else." A heavy silence fell, and they stared together at an empty, cloudless sky.

That silence followed them as he walked her to her room. He dragged a hand through his hair. The answer eluded him, and he knew more than likely it didn't exist. She wanted no consequences, and there was no such thing.

His conscience argued that he should go to his father, fall to his knees, and confess. Sure, he'd tried halfheartedly before, but he ought to insist to be heard. Lately though, he couldn't trust what his father might do. After all the pressures, and Fiyero's disappointing mistakes over and over, and Elphaba's reputation tarnished in his father's eyes, their prospects didn't look good. Not to mention he'd stormed out like a child mere hours ago. He already had to answer for that. His stomach twisted. Could he face that his father would almost certainly and effectively keep them apart?

He paced the hall. Maybe he could find out something about Three, or Frexspar, or Jinul. Something that could help. Something that could assuage his father's anger. He'd use the time Elphaba needed to make her peace as time to repair that relationship with his father, sway him gently before he broke the news. But soon. Very soon.

Fiyero found Aruc the next morning, and his information on imports didn't turn out as revelatory as envisioned, Fiyero felt himself at an impasse. Jinul had gone home. Frexspar would leave soon enough. Perhaps the whole endeavor would fizzle out.

If only Three would go home, taking her secrets with her.

Oh well. Time for his groveling apology to his father for last night's argument. He clumped up the stairs debating the phrasing in his head, "foolishly emotional" or "brainless idiot". He raised his hand to knock, but raised voices inside stilled him.

"The evidence is clear!" He could practically see Bidsk's beady eyes narrowed despite the oak door shut between them. "Look at how he has bungled task after task."

"Check your tone, sir." His father held deadly calm. "You will address my son with respect." A hot jolt of color burned through Fiyero's cheeks. They discussed him?

"I spoke only fact. He walks us on that tightrope with abandon now. I overheard the general mention he still had not received his reorders." Oh. Right. He'd meant to get to those, but with crisis after crisis, he had fallen behind again.

"Overheard? In what capacity?" A painful pause, and then a garbled murmur that had Fiyero's ear pressed to the door. "I see. Yet you blame my son for these defeats?"

"It is that girl! She's enchanted him!" Fiyero's stomach clenched. He was too late. How did Bidsk know about Elphaba?

"What foolish propaganda. Have you not spent time with them during all these wedding preparations enough to know better?"

"That was before."

Fiyero sagged back. They meant Nessa, and those stupid improvised vows. His shoulder thumped into the wood before he caught himself. He held his breath. Maybe they hadn't heard.

"Sire, we can't afford this now," Bidsk began, but his father shushed him. Silence but for the soft tap of his father's footsteps toward the door. Fiyero rocketed back and around the corner just as the door flung open. "Your Highness?"

Fiyero held his breath. Could his father hear his pulse pounding so loud as it did? But the door shut.

"Use care, I fear there…" the rest garbled beyond recognition as the intervening distance grew. Still, he knew his father believed the listening to be from espionage more sophisticated than a bumbling offspring.

The whole discussion revived his guilt. He'd failed his country, one time out of many. Bidsk was right to blame him, even if wrong about the reason.

He slunk to the library and buried himself in his work, resupply orders and maps and other figures that made tedious, but pliant figures for his brain to manipulate. It soothed, doing something that contributed. The resupply orders itched his brain for some reason, but it never fully convalesced into an idea. He let the worries trickle away. He had done them right this time, surely.

The figures on thee page mocked him, and he rechecked them again, just to banish the nagging threat. Slowly his diligence assuaged his guilt.

After a couple hours, Fiyero needed a break and slipped out for a walk. He heard her voice and reflexively smiled as he ducked his head in the doorway, "Might I borrow you a moment, Miss Elphaba?"

Nessa rolled her eyes and nodded for the steward to help her stand. "You needn't have specified. No surprise you wouldn't want to speak to your wife alone."

The door shut behind them, and he slumped in the chair beside her. "Must she act so surprised? I laid out explicitly what it would mean, and she's the one who forced us forward. Did she think twisting my arm would melt my heart?"

Elphaba waved a hand. "She feels neglected."

His shoulders crumpled. "And I've got to make her happy, I suppose."

"No, you're right. You were clear." He eyed her suspiciously, and she sighed. "Besides, I'm starting to think there is no making her happy."

"Who are you and what have you done with Elphaba?"

"My sister has always been…exacting. And critical." She met his eyes, as if willing him to understand. "But I love her. I want to protect her, to make her happy, except everything I do only seems to make it worse." She rubbed a hand over her face. "Maybe you were right all along. This was a bad idea. I'm sorry I made you agree to this. This is all my fault."

Lurline did reward maturity. That could be the only answer for her finally breaking that shell of illogical Nessa-worship.

He squeezed her shoulders, "We all have our share of the blame. Don't be greedy." She pressed her face into his neck, and he smoothed his hand over her back. Even burdened as they were, he felt peace seep into him. He wondered idly if the jasmine that clung to her had any influence, like how lavender and sandalwood curated relaxation and aided sleep. Or, more likely, did it stem from the reassurance of her presence in his arms?

"Apologies," came a less than welcome voice from the doorway. He abandoned his calm to face Three, leaning on the doorframe with a smug grin. "If you are occupied…"

The false apology offered no real choice of avoidance, and she waited for him to acknowledge as much. "Not at all. What can we do for you?"

Her eyes glittered coldly, so unlike the kind eyes that bore the same shape. He gave a silent prayer of gratitude that Sarima never had to suffer the knowledge of the depth of her sister's treachery. The heartache stabbed anew, but had he not lost her, he'd never have met Elphaba. He couldn't imagine such a world now, despite the tragedy that had caused it, or the tragedy that it now caused.

Three drew him back to the present, gliding in her most sinewy sway to set a hand on his arm. He wanted to shake it off, but he kept his face neutral as he tipped his head. She gave a reptilian smile.

"So kind of you, dear Prince. I wondered if perhaps I might impose on you for a small favor."

"Favor?" Elphaba growled. "What sort of favor?"

He stilled her with a hand on her arm, making an odd chain. "Please, go on." Elphaba snapped her arm away and barked at Three, but she ignored Elphaba altogether.

Three stroked her fingers over his forearm. "Nothing, really. I am in need of some herbs that are unfortunately rare, and I thought you might be so kind as to help me procure some."

He frowned. Wouldn't her Master Jinul be a better source for that? He lifted an eyebrow. "What kind of herbs?"

"Akudjura, Quisawood, Star Anise, and Jimuak." At their unasked question, Three offered, "They are used for the complexion, perfumes, the like."

This was her cost? Only this?

He wasn't much for botany or business, but he thought he remember Quisawood as a Quadling spice, and Star Anise a luxury from Ix. Circumventing Jinul or those import taxes for her cosmetic business would do little harm, and he couldn't see how, even exposed, it could disadvantage his father's politics. Perhaps all her flirting and catting might be nothing more nefarious than the actions of a woman who believed herself scorned out of a crown. He allowed himself to hope. "I see."

Elphaba crossed her arms. "Must look your best for Fiyero, hm?"

"With respect, it is not I in his arms moments ago." Three strutted forward with a haughty air. "I hoped to make a perfume for the new princess. I see the two of us as great friends someday. Growing close. Sharing secrets."

And Fiyero had a sneaking suspicion which secret that would mean. Elphaba rose to the bait, snarling, but Three ignored her.

"Might you be able to help me, Your Highness?"

"Like hell!"

Fiyero grabbed her arm before Elphaba could continue her rant and steered her back. He caught her face in his hands to whisper, "I think we should do it."

"What? No!" Elphaba hissed back. "If you give in, she'll never stop."

"It's a harmless request."

Her eyes narrowed. "Harmless like petting a snake."

"This will at least buy us some time. If we decide to tell your sister, I want it to be on our terms. Not hers."

She gave him a mutinous glare, but he could see the logic working in the slump of her shoulders. She pursed her lips but snapped a nod. "Fine. But I'm not happy about it."

As if he were. But he drew a deep breath and turned back to Three. "Of course," he smiled charmingly. "I would be happy to see what can be done about your herbs."

Three's smile was predatory. "Thank you, Your Highness." She trailed a hand from his cheek and down his arm. He had a sneaking suspicion, she did it just to show Elphaba she could. "As always, you are too kind."

Sure enough, Elphaba's anger flared. "Leave my sister's husband alone."

Three gave a haughty smirk. "Shouldn't you, then?"

"There you are." Aruc panted. His eyes flicked to the girls on either side Fiyero, both too close with no obvious excuse. His eyebrows lifted, but he pressed on, "Your father wants to see you urgently."

His stomach dropped. Bidsk had made headway, then.

He rushed the stairs, and not two steps in the door, his father had him clutched by the shoulder. "What did you tell Quiqon exactly?"

Fiyero tilted his head. "What?" He'd expected to answer for his tantrum, or Bidsk's fears, but the question of Quiqon spun him off-balance.

His father frowned. "About Miss Nessarose. What did you say?"

"I…um," he struggled to remember. "That she didn't take offense to what he'd said."

"That wording?"

Fiyero shook his head. "I…I'm not sure. I apologized that she was still learning our customs, and that she took pride in becoming Arjiki."

"Fierce pride?"

He rubbed his temple as if it might jar the memory loose. "I don't think I said those words, well, together. Separately sure."

"You would characterize Miss Nessarose as fierce?" His father lifted an eyebrow, and Fiyero shrugged.

"If you spend enough time with her, it's there." His father waved him on, and he continued, "He insulted us, and I implied his offense caused the whole thing. But that she must have taken favor with him not to unleash her anger. That she had forgiven it."

"That you had interceded for him?"

Had he said that? Oh. Fiyero blushed, "I might have implied so."

His father's eyes flicked up and he paced toward the window. "And that we must stand together for Vinkun strength?"

"That sounds like it."

His father sighed. "Sounds like it, or is like it?"

FIyero threw his arm up. "I don't know…that was days ago."

"You have to pay attention!" his father snapped. "Especially given the sensitivities. How can I give you responsibilities like this, and you don't know what you said?"

"What does it matter?" Fiyero took a step toward him, afraid to hear the answer. "Surely if anything were to come from it, it'd already be on our doorstep."

"Like a hungry cat," his father snapped. "Quiqon has portrayed your words to mean that despite your marriage with the Munchkin girl, you seek an alliance. Now if we rebuff him, he will consider your words a lie, and-"

"War. Yes, always the war." Fiyero hung his head. "But he's not offended still. Technically I fulfilled my task."

His father stared at him.

"If we stand with them? No war sounds good."

"And if they request your bride's head in the treaty? Not to mention how much power this gives them in any negotiation." His father paced a step. "At the least, I fear they'd require your divorce."

Fiyero's heart swelled at that. His confession itched on the tip of his tongue, but his father gave a weary sigh.

"Which would, of course, demand a break in treaty and war with Munchkinland."

Fiyero shrugged. "Munchkinland is too far. We'd have plenty of time to think up something."

His father shook his head. "That is your answer? Delay the problem? The very thing you argued against last we spoke."

The words stung with their truth.

"Today's worry is tomorrow's disaster. No, I've got to figure out how to clean up this mess." His father pinched the bridge of his nose. "What have you done with Miss Three?"

Fiyero paled. "Three?"

"You do manage to remember our objectives with her?"

"Yes."

"And? Do you think she supports us?"

He couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't be a lie, so he dodged. "I'm doing what I can."

His father sighed. "Have you finished your resupply orders? Mikl says he still has not received them."

FIyero flushed. "I have." His father's disdainful eyebrow accused it as lie. "This morning, maybe an hour ago, but triple checked. I apologize it took so long."

"Deliver to me personally." His father turned back to the window. "I trust you won't forget on the way?"

The jab, so unlike his father, cut deep, and Fiyero tucked a hurt expression away with his nod.

"Shall I go, then?"

His father's sharp eyes reflected in the window, but he nodded. Fiyero bolted, trying to shove away that uncomfortable mixture of shame and defiance that always accompanied disappointing his father. He scooped up the supply orders, with a quick addition to get Three her herbs.

He'd handle her first, since at least he had some idea how to. As for his father, he'd caused disappointment numerous times before. He could only hope time handed him an opportunity before Three took it away.