When consciousness returned, Regis woke with a start. He jerked upright in his armchair and reached for Reina, first physically, then with his magic to test the stability of his barriers.

Reina lay asleep in her bed, precisely as he had left her. The walls he had built around her to hold her inside and everything else out were still sound. Whole. Untouched. He let out a breath and smoothed her hair back. It was dark still. But it was most often dark in Lucis under the cover of Ramuh's storm. The clock on their bedside table said it was no later than five in the morning. He had slept undisturbed, but it could hardly be called a full night's rest. Still. It was more than he had taken in days.

He leaned back in his armchair, now fully awake with the pounding of his heart just beginning to subside. He couldn't have gone back to sleep if he had wanted to. In part, that was due to the tickle in the back of his mind that whispered he could safely sleep. After all, he had just done so. Nothing had happened. Did he truly need to watch over Reina's every sleeping moment?

And that tempting bit of information was precisely what worried him. Ardyn had yet to make a move. Why? Because he wished to lull Regis into a false sense of security? Because he was waiting for his guard to be let down so he could strike once Regis was less vigilant? It was a disturbing possibility and far more likely than the option that Ardyn was simply locked out and Regis' barrier would hold, impenetrable, for an indefinite amount of time. He had already proved to them that he knew a great deal of what went on inside Lucis and held information they had thought to be secret.

He had known they were coming to Tenebrae. He knew of Reina's Dreams. He had known, more or less, precisely what they had done after arriving at Fenestala. How?

The simplest answer was that he had some informant. And so Regis would have assumed, if not for his other displays. Displays of impossible power and magic that no one, save the royal family, should have had access to.

The man made no sense.

That day offered no further answers for Regis. Preparations for Sylva's departure proceeded apace. By midday they all stood just beyond the reach of the rain in the Citadel entrance hall, though the open doors were allowing more than a few stray drops to blow inside. For the first time in decades, Sylva was dressed for travel rather than show. It was good to see that she retained the sense to recognize that her heavy gowns would do little good on a hike through landslide territory. Instead she had been fitted with trousers, boots, and a sensible shirt. Her hair was braided and pinned up behind her head and out of the way.

Lunafreya was dressed likewise, a fact which seemed to have stalled Noctis' brain. He stared at her in unseemly silence, as if it had not occurred to him that girls were permitted to wear pants.

"We will keep contact with you, as well as we can." Sylva tugged on her gloves and clasped her hands before her. "I have no idea what we will find out there."

"Nor do I," Regis said. Save for the reports brought to him by Ravus, he had a distressing lack of knowledge into this plight of his people. Until now, it had seemed something to be beared rather than faced. Perhaps their luck was due for a change.

She smiled uncomfortably, like she wanted to say more but was uncertain how. The truce between them was a fragile one at best. His conversation with Crea the night before had only made a tense situation more awkward. Some boyhood ventures were best left forgotten.

Sylva glanced over his shoulder and whatever words had been hovering on her lips died there. She cleared her throat. "Well, we shall see you when we return. With good news, I hope. Goodbye, Your Majesty."

Regis fought against the urge to look over his shoulder and discover what it was that had changed her mind so abruptly. Instead he simply said, "Farewell. And safe travels."

She turned on her heel and made for the front doors, calling to Lunafreya who bowed hastily to Noctis and ran to catch up. The Kingsglaive squad assigned to escort them fell into step behind and, once all had exited into the storm, the doors shut behind them. Only then did Regis chance to turn around.

Crea was standing behind him. Not directly, but at a respectable distance, with Reina and Ravus both nearby. She gave him an unreadable look, which he couldn't even begin to interpret. When Reina and her persistent crowd of followers—which included Crowe, Iris, Cindy, a handful of attendants, and several courtiers—turned to leave, Ravus went with them and, after a moment's pause, so too did Crea.

So Regis was left wondering precisely what the look meant as he stood in the hall, staring after her. His own ubiquitous team of followers and attendants loitered about, waiting for the king to make his next move. What he really wanted was a nap. But one look at Clarus told him he was unlikely to get one.

Crea was right. He could not drag himself on, day after day, without rest. Something would have to be done. The question remained as to what.

No answers presented themselves throughout the day. No simple ones, at least. He could sleep without watching over her and trust in his shields, but the trouble was that he didn't trust in his shields. He could bind himself more tightly to her in hopes that any troubles arising would wake him from whatever sleep he could find during the night, but that seemed nearly as much of a gamble.

Or he could hunt down The Burgundy Man himself.

"You want to engage with this man—or whatever he is—in the In Between?" Clarus asked when he posed this last option over a hasty lunch.

"I can think of no other way to ensure her safety than seeking the source of danger directly."

"And what of the danger to you?" Clarus asked. "I cannot protect you in some dream world."

"No, you cannot. And that is where I shall have to ask you to trust me."

"Fifteen years ago, I should have had less trouble doing so. But you are not the man you once were, Regis, and you know as well as I."

Regis bristled. "No indeed. I am twice the man I was."

"That is not what I meant. The Wall—"

"Is a temporary, if tiresome, burden." It was an argument they had rehashed time and time again ever since Regis had shown the first ill signs of strain. "I should have thought my final encounter with Drautos was sufficient to prove I am not, nor do I intend to become, a frail old man. The strain has not made me weaker. It has made me stronger."

"Do you intend to lay down the Wall before meeting with the chancellor of Niflheim?" Clarus asked.

"No. But it remains an option, should I find myself desperately in need of strength."

Clarus shook his head, out of arguments and standing on thin ice, but unwilling to relent. "I don't like it."

"And I do not require you to," Regis said. "My mind is made up."

It had not been, when first they had begun the conversation. Now it was.

He could abide the fussing company of his friends no longer, after that. He left his study for the Royal Quarters, leaving Clarus and the others unceremoniously behind, to seek whatever semblance of solitude was to be found. It was, at the very least, quiet upstairs. Noctis had gone off, likely with Ignis and Gladiolus, to do whatever it was preteen boys did in when they had no school work. Reina was still about the Citadel making further arrangements for the betrothal ceremony and if Ravus was with her then so, too, was her chaperone, Crea.

Regis lowered into a lounge chair with a groan. Peace at last. If only for a few moments. He would seek The Burgundy Man tonight; until then, he had but to decide what to say.

It was dangerous, letting his guard down when he had slept so little in the past few days. He must have dozed off not long after sitting down. He drifted through uneasy dreams where he wandered through a black maze, following a patterned cloak and a flash of burgundy hair, always two steps ahead. And beyond The Burgundy Man, only visible occasionally through wisps of black fog, was the familiar shape of an ebony-haired girl.

The next thing he recalled was stirring in a still-quiet lounge to the sound of whispered voices and footsteps on marble. A door opened and closed distantly.

"Use the elevator downstairs, please," Crea whispered.

"As you wish, my lady," Avun responded in equally quiet tones.

A part of him wanted little more than to roll over and go back to sleep. But now that he was conscious he was cognizant that there was no rolling over to be done when he sat in an armchair, and, with dim recollections of uneasy dreams on his mind, he had little inclination to return to them. Ardyn chasing Reina and Regis chasing Ardyn; was it not enough that the same occurred in his waking life? Must he relive it in what scarce sleep was granted him?

"Crea." He heard her footsteps moving past his chair and reached out to catch her wrist.

"Regis! You're awake." And yet she whispered still, as if afraid to wake him further. "I tried to let you sleep."

Of course she had. He peeled his eyes open to look at her; his vision was blurry still with sleep, and blinking several times helped little.

"Reina?" He managed.

"She's fine. She's with Crowe and the others still, but Ravus has left to attend to his own affairs, so I have some time."

He released her wrist and pushed himself upright, distantly aware that he had been napping in an armchair in a well-guarded lounge. To have the Crownsguards muttering amongst themselves that the king couldn't keep his eyes open through the day seemed the start of a new nightmare.

So did the thought of keeping his eyes open through the day.

"There is something I would like to discuss with you, if you have a moment," she said.

"Of course." He ran his hands over his face and struggled to kick his mind into gear.

"In your own rooms, perhaps?" She suggested.

Something not to be overhead by the Crownsguards and servants, then. He nodded once and rose to his feet, doing his best to forcibly banish the last vestiges of sleep from his mind. It didn't work, but he put on a good show.

He led the way down the hall to his chambers; the guards held the doors open for them and, once both Crea and he were inside, shut them tight.

"Is this related to me falling asleep in the lounge?" Regis asked, any pretense of formality dropping once they were alone together.

"No, but I wish you would have chosen your own room."

"It was not a choice, as such," he said. "In any case, I prefer to be woken."

He poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the coffee table and stood at the back windows wetting his parched mouth.

"You'll have to sleep eventually," she said.

"If dreaming hours are no more comfortable than waking ones, I shall concoct some new ways to avoid them," he said.

Sympathy flashed across her face. He turned away. If he accepted that she wanted to lend him some comfort and leaned on her any more… well. They had walked that line much too closely already.

"What was it you wished to discuss?" He asked.

She took the hint. "Sylva."

They had already done so, he recalled, but she was not often one to rehash old discussions and disagreements. He waited.

"I can't tell if you've noticed, but she's still very much enamored of you."

Regis blanched. "Enamored of me?"

"Yes, Regis," she said with that same half-amused patience she always wore while he was being exceptionally dense.

"I see."

He had noticed something, though that wasn't the word he would have used to describe it. A part of him had assumed she was merely contrite about what had passed in Tenebrae and was desperate to make amends. Perhaps he had been wrong.

"That, by itself, doesn't really warrant a discussion," Crea said. "But I think she feels threatened by me. And therefore I think it's only a matter of time before she puts the pieces together."

"And you believe she might destroy our hard-kept secrets?" Regis asked. Poorly-kept secrets was more apt.

Crea shrugged. "I don't know what she would do. You know her better."

What would Sylva do with the knowledge that the king and the nanny were in love and trying hard to keep it from the public eye? Once he would have said she would have stood with him in sheltering the secret. She would have respected his decisions and supported them.

Now he wasn't so sure.

He sank onto the sofa and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was too damn tired to deal with this ballroom dance of etiquette. If he stepped out of line with Sylva and she got it into that spiteful little head of hers to pay back perceived wrongs to him the damage would be irreversible.

Regis groaned. "I just want to sleep."

"Then sleep." Crea lifted the glass of water from his hand and set it on the coffee table. Then she grabbed his arm and heaved until he complied and climbed to his feet.

"I note you have told me to sleep and are pulling me away from that ever so comfortable couch."

"You haven't slept in days, Regis." She was leading him to his bedroom. "At least rest properly while you have the chance, if you mean to stay awake all night."

"No," Regis said. "I intend to face The Burgundy Man myself, tonight."

She halted. He was already most of the way to his bed, so he closed the last of the distance and sat down on the edge. It was more comfortable than standing.

"You're going to hunt him down and talk to him yourself?" She asked, a distant, shocked look on her face.

"Please, spare me the lecture. Clarus has already told me I am too old to pick fights with daemons."

She stirred from her stunned reverie and came to kneel on the floor before him, untying his shoes. "I wasn't going to lecture. I just didn't know that was possible."

"I'm not certain it is." Regis worked the buckles on his cape and pauldron until it fell in a heap on the bed.

"Then you'll need all the rest you can get. There's no use going into an unknown situation half exhausted off your feet."

He was down to his shirtsleeves before he realized what she had done. No cajoling, no convincing, no guilt-slinging. She had simply sat him down on his bed and taken his shoes and already he was halfway undressed and prepared to lay down for an extended nap. He stopped.

"Crea."

"Yes?" She rose to her feet, sliding his shoes off to one side. The picture of innocence. She had mastered the sly manipulation of a child. Never for a minute did he think she didn't know precisely what she was doing.

"You are too clever by half."

"Only half?"

He climbed to his feet, though tired muscles protested, and looked down at her. They didn't usually stand so close together. She was some eight inches shorter than him and was forced to tilt her head all the way back to look at him.

It would have been so easy to kiss her.

They were alone in his rooms. Perhaps they shouldn't have been, but that choice had already been made. It could have been an innocent one.

He didn't notice he had lowered his face toward hers until she pressed her fingers over his lips.

"Don't."

His arms were around her, though he could not recall having put them there. She stood warm in the circle of his arms and he could feel the fluttering of her heart against his chest.

"Why?"

A foolish question voiced in the heat of a foolish moment. Perhaps he did not want to know the answer.

She studied his face, pain on hers. "You know why."

Because of every man in the world, he came with the highest price to pay. One he couldn't willingly ask anyone to pay simply to be with him.

"Because I don't know if I can be everything you need me to be," she said.

His hold on her loosened. That wasn't precisely the same thing. "You are everything I need."

"You know what I mean." She pulled away from him, turning her back. "What Lucis would need me to be. Aulea was born and raised in this. Everyone says that, despite her poor health, she was your partner in every way, with a hand in everything that went on in the Citadel and a finger on the pulse of the kingdom. I don't know if I can do that. I almost wish you could still love Sylva and be happy with her. She may be single-minded, but at least she could rule a kingdom beside you."

Something shifted in his chest.

"Crea…" He stepped after her, laying his hands on her shoulders. "I do not need you to become Aulea. Nor would I want you to try. But I should not like to see you give up all of your freedom to become a queen."

She gave a dry laugh and turned to look at him. "What freedom?"

"Things you take now for granted. The freedom of any sort of personal privacy. The freedom to ever leave the Citadel. The freedom to tell people your life is none of their business. The freedom to make your own choices without considering what court or council will think of them, without hearing or heeding advice given by a dozen different voices."

She considered.

"I think that would be difficult," she agreed after a time, "But if I thought I could be a queen, I could still make that trade."

"It is not a choice to be made lightly."

She laughed again, though there was nothing of humor about it. "Lightly? Where have you been for the last four years?"

His heart fluttered like a bird trapped in his ribcage. "You would truly give all of that up… for me?"

"You don't need to sound so shocked. I've been living here for the better part of twelve years on and off. I understand how you live and how your children live. I just… don't know if I can give you and the kingdom the queen you deserve."

"Crea." He caught her face in his hands and held her, so near their noses nearly brushed. "You are so much more than I deserve."

Before she could object again, he kissed her. Her hands clenched into fists on his vest and for a moment he feared she would push him away. Instead she relaxed against him, sliding her hands up to the back of his neck and kissing him back with all the pent-up eagerness they had both held in check for four years.

He only stopped kissing her when they were both breathless and even then he held her, forehead pressed to hers. His lips tingled with numbness.

"I love you, Crea," he breathed. "Every day more than the last, no matter how I try to escape it."

A tear streaked down her cheek. He brushed it away as rapidly as it fell.

"I don't know how to rule a kingdom," she said.

"Nor would I ever ask it of you." He brushed his finger over her lips, halting a brewing objection. "Hush now. Listen to me. I do not put this choice before you today; you scarce deserve such pressure. I only wish to tell you that I love you and shall never cease to care for you, whatever choice we may make."

"Whatever choice…" she echoed.

He kissed her again and sank into blissful unawareness of the world around. Eventually she pulled away and pressed her fingers to his lips. It was difficult to force a reproachful look onto her smiling face, yet she tried all the same.

"You supposed to be in bed," she said.

"Come with me."

She was smiling. "No."

Her smile only deepened as he took a step back, arms still around her waist, and pulled her along with him. After a few steps, a laugh bubbled up.

"Behave yourself, Regis." She pushed both hands against his chest and he released her, lowering onto the edge of his bed alone, but smiling stupidly all the same. "Just because you kissed me doesn't mean we can throw away all the secrecy we've fought for."

She was right, of course. And his invitation was more a jest than a sincere offer. Still, it would have been nice.

"Get some sleep, Regis." She stooped to kiss his forehead. He caught her lips with his instead and fought the urge to pull her down alongside him. He contented himself with a few more insufficient kisses before she pulled away.

She left and took the heat with her. But that fluttering feeling in his chest lingered. Not a sensation he had felt in some time.

Hope.