It was reaching into the early hours of morning when at last their meeting adjourned and each left to retire to their respective beds. Save Crea, who lingered behind.

Engaged. They were engaged. That such a change could happen so rapidly refused to sink into his mind. All he could do was stand there holding onto her hands and smile stupidly at her, despite all.

She smiled, though there was a tinge of sadness to it. "So. This is what it's like to see behind the curtains. I suppose I expected something like looking at the back of a set piece and finding it was just a piece of wood and not gold at all. But instead I discover you're allied with the same creature that causes the Starscourge, who happens to be your ancestor, and that you're preparing to wage war on the Draconian."

"When you put it that way, I suppose it makes sense that Clarus has lost his hair," Regis said.

"I may lose mine."

"I hope not." He reached up to sift his fingers through her hair. It had dried in unruly locks during their discussion, but he knew of few things more lovely than the sight of Crea with her hair down. "Do you regret your choice so quickly?"

"No. I don't regret it. I just suppose I was expecting something else when Weskham gave me that grave warning." She smiled wider. "But I suppose that was just one little piece of it all, wasn't it?"

"A very small piece."

She took a step closer to him and he took the opportunity to kiss her: well and truly and almost properly. Engaged. The word still felt out of place in his mind. What would it be to have her as his own and not have to worry about being found out?

He released her lips. Her eyes fluttered open, as if she was awaking from a pleasant dream, and a slow smile spread across her face.

"What happens next?" She asked.

"A great many things, I fear," Regis said. "I will announce our engagement to the council. Likely some will object on principle, but there is little ground for them to stand on once the decision has been made. Then the public announcement will come and we shall have to stand in front of the cameras together for the first time." He traced his fingers along the line of her jaw. "But certainly not the last. Largely, we will be expected only to stand and look regal. Meanwhile, plans will be underway for the ceremony itself. By tradition, that will be anywhere from several months to a few years away. As we are both grown adults, most likely nearer the former. I intend to stay well out of that process. You are more than welcome to take it in hand, if you are so inclined."

"I might," she said. And, after a moment, she added more quietly, "And Reina and Noctis?"

Reina and Noctis. At first he had been all too eager to share the news with them. Now a nervous niggling was threatening to pop the joyful bubble in his stomach. Both twins seemed to get along well with Crea these days, but would they accept her as a mother?

Whatever his face looked like, it caused her to smile up at him and wrap her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

"When we first met I was shocked that you could possibly be the king, just because you seemed so real. It was months before I could reconcile the man who came to visit the nursery every night with the one who sat on the throne. And I realized you're a person like everyone else; all those certainties on the throne just hide away the uncertainties everyone has."

"You always saw the deepest of them," Regis said. "Even when I had never meant to share them. In that way, I suppose you have been seeing behind the curtain all along."

She kissed his cheek and hugged him tightly. "We'll tell them first thing in the morning. Together. Goodnight, Regis."

"Goodnight."

Oh but to say goodnight without parting. But those days were still months away. It seemed having what he wished within reach only made it all the more intolerable to be without it for a little longer. Nevertheless he walked her to the door and bid her an improper farewell with the door closed and a proper one in the eyes of the Crownsguards outside. Talk of their engagement would spread through the Crownsguard ranks before the council had even been informed. No matter. They had nothing to hide any longer.

Regis returned to his room and stood in the doorway staring at his empty bed for much too long. Thirteen years ago he had been happily married and expecting a son. Twelve years ago he had not been able to face these rooms at all, for how empty they were. Eleven years ago he had broken down the walls and forced himself to resume his place in the Citadel, however much it pained him to do so.

And tonight he had made plans to once more invite a young woman to live with him. A younger woman, some would note. Some ten years younger, in fact.

What would Aulea have thought of this all?

He turned away from the empty bed and retreated back to his private lounge. A picture of their wedding day sat beside a framed, half-finished needlepoint of a black cat beside a basket of flowers. No man ever married with the intent of marrying twice.

He shifted both frames aside and pulled the photo album from the shelf behind them. Then he shifted his armchair to its old spot near the window, facing Aulea's empty chair, and let the memories fall open in his hands: Aulea sitting on the Citadel steps between Regis and Clarus; Aulea in the front seat of the Regalia while Cor looked uncomfortable; Aulea in a spring dress, surrounded by fresh blooms in the Citadel gardens.

"You would have liked her," he said to the photographs. "She loves our children as well as any mother should, and they love her."

"As do I." It was difficult to admit, while he was staring at pictures of the woman he had long maintained was the only woman he would ever love. But she was gone, as she had been for over a decade now. They had been apart longer than they had been together. And though she could no longer fill his heart with the sunshine she seemed to bring into every room with her, she would never have begrudged him happiness. If she was anywhere, looking down on him, she would smile on his resolve to choose joy.

At some point, he kicked his shoes off and propped his feet up on Aulea's chair with a blanket thrown over his legs, as if they sat together reminiscing over old times. He looked through every page of the photo album, from their shared childhood to their wedding and beyond.

And he woke in the morning to the last page of the book open in his lap: Aulea propped up in bed with one swaddled child in each arm, smiling and exhausted.

It was a poor state to sleep in and a poorer one to wake in. He found himself once more trapped by the photo and days long gone by. He half expected to hear the sound of squalling babies down the hall. He had slept in chairs and on couches quite often in those days.

Someone knocked on the door. Regis struggled to pull his eyes from the photograph and give any response.

"Your Majesty? It's me." Weskham's voice called through the door.

"Enter," Regis managed.

The door opened and shut again. Weskham's footsteps approached and he stopped near enough that Regis could see his well-pressed trousers without lifting his eyes from the photograph.

"I take it you did not get much sleep last night," Weskham said.

"I fear not."

He leaned over Regis' chair to look at the open page of the album and made a sound of understanding. "Having second thoughts?"

His words brought Regis back to the present. The reason he had pulled out this old photo album in the first place, before he had lost himself to memories. He tore his eyes from the picture of Aulea and the twins and looked up at Weskham.

"No," he said. "Not as such. I love Crea and I could not be happier that she has agreed to marry me. Nevertheless, it is strange… I struggle to reconcile these two loves. How can I claim I will give my heart to Crea if I still love Aulea?"

"Perhaps by admitting that it is not the same love that you bear for both of them," Weskham said. "You think it should be—if you're marrying Crea, why wouldn't it be?—But time is a strange thing. We're always turning into new people. And if you consider your life a collection of your past selves, passing down knowledge and wisdom as second-hand or third-hand stories, it's no wonder memories are always degrading. But that's neither here nor there. What's important is this: if you think of yourself as a distinct series of Regises, then you've never even met Aulea. The love you still bear for her isn't the steady love a husband feels for his wife, but the memory of that. And though they are close, the two aren't quite the same thing."

Regis dropped his eyes back to the picture of Aulea. Despite her illness, despite how unwell she had been after giving birth, she was still terribly young.

"She was only twenty-eight when she died," Regis said. Younger even than Crea was now. "When you put it like that, it does seem odd for a forty year old man to pine after a twenty eight year old."

Weskham laughed. A warm, rich sound, which seemed to wash away everything else and leave a fresh slate in its place.

"I'm glad you came to that conclusion on your own," he said.

Regis shut the photo album and passed it to Weskham, who tucked it back onto its place on the bookshelf and rearranged the trinkets in front of it.

"Did you come bearing news, or do you simply have an extra sense for when I've fallen into a pit of my own making and am wallowing in self-pity?" Regis asked.

"Of course I do." Weskham tapped his finger to his lips. "But mum's the word. In any case, I thought you might like to get an early start on the extra tasks we'll have to add to your schedule."

"Like announcing the engagement to the council?"

"And your children and the rest of the world, yes."

Regis groaned. Sometimes even getting precisely what one wanted was too much effort.

"Very well." He pushed himself upright and rose, tossing the blanket back onto Aulea's old armchair. "You shall have your work cut out for you, making me appear presentable."

"Your Majesty," Weskham said, "I am a professional."

Regis smiled despite himself and followed Weskham to the dressing room. "Incidentally. Will you have both those armchairs taken away? I shall have to ask Crea to choose a new pair."

"As you wish, Sire." Despite his reverent words, the hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

Weskham was nothing if not efficient, even after all those years away. He had Regis dressed in a fresh suit, his hair combed and all traces of disorder from a night spent in an armchair chased away, in under fifteen minutes. Regis stood before the mirror in his dressing room inspecting himself critically while Weskham arranged his crown.

"Wes. You're losing your touch."

"Am I?"

"The last time you performed this task for me, my hair had not nearly so much silver when you were through."

Weskham leveled his head with Regis' and stared at him in the mirror. A few strands of grey were beginning to touch his beard and hair as well. Though not so distinctly as Regis'.

"It's time we faced the facts, Your Majesty. We're just not the same young men anymore." He slapped Regis' shoulder and straightened.

Regis sighed and led the way out of the room. "At least tell me we've grown wiser in our old age."

Weskham trailed him. "Oh, undoubtedly, Sire. I like to think you would no longer steal a car and take it to the far reaches of the city to turn donuts in the empty warehouse lots."

"That car belonged to me," Regis said. "It hardly counts as stealing."

He pushed the hall doors open and out they emerged into the dim and stormy world. Weskham strode beside him and together they made their way to the twins' rooms. The door was open and the raucous sounds of two twelve year olds in the morning were drifting out into the hall.

"Stop using my hairbrush!"

"Miss Crea told me I had to brush my hair!"

"Then use your own!"

"I can't find it! What difference does it make, anyway? We've got the same hair!"

"You leave clumps of tangle in it and never clean it out. You know you're not supposed to just tear out the knots, right?"

"Well what else would I do with them?!"

This was followed by an exasperated sigh and the sound of a slamming door. Regis entered his children's room to find Noctis fuming outside the shut bathroom door.

"Good morning, Noctis."

"Ugh. Morning, Dad." Noctis, dressed casually but with uncombed hair, flopped face first onto his bed. "I hate sisters."

"However would you know? You only have one," Regis said.

"Huh?"

Regis tapped on the bathroom door. "Good morning, Reina, my dear."

The door opened all but immediately. Inside stood Reina, looking pristine and not at all twelve years old.

She beamed at him. "Good morning, Father."

"Dad, tell her to let me use her brush. Miss Crea's going to be mad at me."

Reina's expression shifted from princess to sister so quickly Regis missed the transition entirely. "Well maybe you should take better care of your things. It's not my fault if Miss Crea is mad at you. Father, can I have my own room? I'm tired of sharing with a little boy."

"I'm older than you are!"

"Well you don't act like it!"

"No, I'm just not all hoighty-toighty like some people around here! Maybe I want my own room."

And here Regis had come bearing sensitive tidings into a warzone. He looked around for help and found both Weskham and Crea in the doorway, watching the battle play out with some amusement. Crea's words came back to him: they were bound to grow up and want their own space someday.

"You may both have your own rooms," Regis said, as if this was some concession rather than one necessitating the other. "Our home is certainly large enough. You might choose any suite of rooms on this floor and we shall have it prepared for you."

"I get to choose first." Reina shot a glare at Noctis.

"Fine! Choose! I want my room as far away from yours as possible!"

Regis glanced once more at Crea, who shrugged one shoulder. Somehow, he had the feeling that he had just made several servants' lives more difficult as the prince and princess rearranged all of their belongings across every room on the floor several times over.

Oh well.

Regis cleared his throat. "You may choose after breakfast. For now, I have some important news, and I should like you both to be quiet and present to receive it."

The gravity of his demeanor did wonders. Noctis sat up and turned to face him. Reina dropped her hands from her hips and clasped them instead in front of her, adopting the same seriousness Regis had taken.

Regis glanced at Crea, who took her cue and came to stand beside him.

Now that it came to it, he wasn't certain what to tell them. Perhaps he should have spent the evening considering, rather than losing himself in times long past. He looked between his children: outspoken, graceful Reina and quiet, casual Noctis. What would have become of all three of them if Crea had not returned to the Citadel? Nothing good.

Nothing good.

He cleared his throat again and tried to sift through words. The only ones that came seemed woefully insufficient: "You are both going to have a mother again."

Or perhaps for the first time.

And yet his words met with more confusion than rejoicing. Both Noctis and Reina looked from Regis to Crea and back again.

"But we already have a mother, Father."

"I guess we don't really call you 'Mom,' though," Noctis said to Crea.

"Should we?" Reina asked.

Beside him, Crea was smiling.

"Well," Regis said. "You might, if you like. I suppose, then, it is not so much news as it is making something official, which has already been true for you. Crea and I are engaged to marry, and Lucis shall have a queen once more."

"But that's wonderful, Father!" Reina cried. "Then Miss Crea can be just as much a part of our family to everyone else as she is to us."

"But nothing actually changes, right?" With the news revealed to be something as mundane as: everything is exactly the same as it has always been, Noctis had reverted to his usual, inexpressive self.

"Perhaps not for you," Regis said.

"Great." Noctis flopped back onto his bed.

"Meanwhile, a great many things will change for the rest of us," Regis said.

Noctis made a sound of disinterest.

Reina rolled her eyes at him. "Well, I'm happy for you, Father. Congratulations, Miss Crea." She flashed a mischievous grin and for a moment, Regis could have sworn he was staring at a twelve year old Aulea. "Or shall I call you Mother, now?"

"Maybe not quite yet," Crea said quickly.

In the hall, Avun cleared his throat. "Sire, breakfast is ready to be served in the dining hall."

And that was, for a time, the end of the discussion regarding mothers. The day went on and instead talk was forced to shift to other matters. Largely because Regis was expected in council to deliver similar news to vastly differing responses.

This went more or less as expected: the more conservative of his councilors frowned at the choice but held their tongues or offered grudging congratulations, whereas the more liberal held reactions varying from quiet approval to open rejoicing.

Cryptic Hamon, who had barely scratched the surface of redemption with his timely suggestion of parlaying with Ardyn, actually smiled and gave Regis a nod. Peculiar.

Following this announcement, Regis excused himself from what remained of the council meeting, leaving the ruling council to rule Lucis and handle the endless woes of their current situation while he was swept up by larger matters. Namely, the question of how to negotiate with a god.