No matter the other turbulences and disturbances, three things in my life always remained constant and predictable. A rent notice in my mailbox on Middas afternoon. An hour spent panicking every Sundas evening that I wasn't spending enough time practicing scales, and would never become a master lutenist. And Morndas Morning Music-Magic — or as I'd taken to calling it when in a bad mood, Morndas Morning Misery.

It was almost comforting, I thought idly as I walked across the sun-drenched entrance hall of the College. No matter what happened with Felix, no matter if every one of my friends suddenly started calling me Lady Dobraine, Viarmo could always be counted on to spend a few hours every Morndas making sure I was thinking of nothing but melodies and forms and breaking my brain apart to weave the two together, and how much I regretted ever agreeing to study the stupid discipline in the first place.

This morning he looked in at least as bad a mood as I was. Once he'd set the usual wards around the room he sat forcefully into his desk chair and scooped up an untidy pile of what looked like letters.

"Do you know what these are?" he growled, waving them at me. I shook my head. "Gods-damned summons. Or little better than." He groaned and dropped the bundle onto the desk, rubbing his temples with the long fingers and thumb of one hand. "Word of your little revelation's gotten out. Spread like magefire, no surprises there — thanks for the warning by the way, this could have been tricky otherwise."

"No problem, sir."

"Good to see you're learning," he said, and I was surprised to hear not a note of smugness or acrimony in his voice.

He wrinkled his nose then prodded at the letters as though they were the carcass of a rotting dead thing. "Anyway, now every jumped-up lordling with half a field to his name is demanding" — he spat the word — "that you come and play for him and his 'court'. Half of them I know for sure haven't got anything closer to a court than a barnful of cows."

I giggled and made to apologise, but he interrupted. "No, no, it's fine. Most of these I can use as kindling without a second thought, it's only the jarls we need to give half a shit about. Unfortunately, they all want you, too. Fortunately, your time is, alas, limited by your studies," he said, eyes glittering, "and you are now important enough that you — by which of course I mean I — can pick and choose which ones to accept. You still have your ungodly number of Marks set, correct?" I nodded in assent. "Good. Then on Fredas — you're still training with that priestess? — right, Fredas you'll play for Balgruuf in Whiterun. Loredas you'll be at Laila's again."

"Yes, sir. Is there any particular approach you wanted with Balgruuf?"

"That bastard's as bad as Ravencrone. Doesn't want to pick a side. We need to know which way he's leaning — no need to explain to you why the central hold and most important trading hub of the province is important to the Empire's interests. See if you can learn anything. If it feels appropriate, maybe even lean on him a little. Give him some rubbish about how wonderful the Empire is for your father's holdings or the like. Don't push though. The lightest touch possible."

"Of course." I was a little insulted he'd think I didn't already realise that, or that he thought the best I could come up with was 'the Empire is good for my Father's holdings'.

Viarmo lifted a gilt-edged sheet from the stack. "Elisif also wants you. Tonight. She's very unimpressed you hid your identity from her, by the way — I gather you two have some history?"

I frowned. "We met a few times here and there. I'd hardly call it history."

"Nevertheless, she's pissed off, so you'll need to smooth her ruffled feathers. I'll leave it to you to figure out how best to do that. This is your mess to clean up, after all. For once." He grinned wolfishly.

"Yes, Headmaster." I sighed. I hadn't thought much about Elisif recently, but I should have expected that she'd want to see me once my identity became public. Divines, this was all just so … inconvenient. Though at least I'd recently freed up a lot more time to deal with it all, I thought glumly.

Things truly did seem over between Felix and I. When I'd returned downstairs after Minette had talked me through her book, it was to find a mostly empty common room, with Felix and Fironet wrapped around each other in a dark corner behind the stairs.

I'd never seen Inigo so angry. After bidding Saerlund goodnight I'd insisted Inigo come home with me, saying I wanted the company — which was true, but mostly I'd been worried that if I left him at the inn for the night he'd insist on fighting Felix. Truth be told, I'd felt rather a strong urge to hit him myself.

But at least it was one complication out of the way. I wondered whether Viarmo knew yet. He'd probably be thrilled.

Sighing again, I started to stand up and unpack my lute, but Viarmo wasn't done.

"I want you to take Saerlund Law-Giver with you tonight."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Of course he already knew Saerlund was in the city with me, only half a day after his arrival. He'd probably known while Saerlund was still changing carriages in Whiterun.

"I've arranged for him to be invited to the Palace too," he continued. "Not that it took much arranging. Young Elisif's quite keen to meet the boy. Smart of her."

I felt suddenly uneasy at the sly quirk of Viarmo's lips. "Um. Yes, sir."

He leaned forward. "If memory serves, which it always does, you've been marked by a Divine. The Goddess of Love."

"Um. Yes." I didn't like where this was going.

"Quite the matchmaker, too, so I hear. I'd been expecting that twit Calcelmo's marriage to collapse for years, but my sources tell me the couple's never been happier. And of course we've got our pair of lovebirds right here at home, too."

"Um." I definitely didn't like where this was going.

He leaned back in his chair again. "I need you to bring those talents to bear tonight."

"I don't understand, sir," I said, though I did.

"Matchmake." He waved a lazy hand. "Pull whatever Divine-magic-charisma-etcetera bullshit it is."

I crossed my arms. "Sir, don't you think that's a little uneth—"

"Auri-el help me, girl, if you're about to say unethical I'll give Inge a copy of Finuvial's Finger-Twister and tell her you're not learning anything else til you have it note-perfect." His face hardened. "We're at war. People are dying. If you think showing two nice young kids the benefits of an alliance is unethical you've got some nasty fucking surprises coming."

"But still, sir, those other times I helped along something that was already there, not forced my friend —"

Viarmo had had enough. He slammed the desk with both hands, and I flinched so violently I nearly toppled my chair over backwards.

"Oghma's fucking tits, Kirilee, I'm not asking you to force them into bed together! Just facilitate contact and help them along. Aren't you a fucking duke's daughter? Isn't lining up political alliances bread and butter for all you High Rock quicklings?" He drew his fingers slowly down his face. "Xarxes' ass, I can't believe I'm actually having to convince a Breton to meddle."

"I'm sorry, sir," I said, my voice small. "You're right. I'm sorry."

He fixed me with a firm gaze. "Kirilee. It's admirable that you're such a … people person. It's what makes you so good at this. But you need to be careful. You can't get so attached. Saerlund is a nice kid, yes, but he is a tool. Our tool. As are you. Any other year you could put your friendship first, but this is not any other year. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl. This is an important lesson. This time, even you've got to admit I'm not asking for much. But," he snapped, leaning across the desk to poke me in the chest with one slender finger, "there may come a day when you have to choose between loyalty to a friend and loyalty to your Empire. What will you choose? Think long and hard about it, Kirilee. There's not always a pretty solution. This is sometimes ugly work. Very ugly work indeed."

He held my eyes with his for a long time, and I didn't know what to say.

Illdi and Ataf were waiting outside Viarmo's office after my music-magic lesson. Preoccupied and distracted, I walked straight into them, and it took so long before all three of us had stopped apologising over the top of one another that I quite forgot to be nervous about how they'd react to seeing me as myself for the first time. The fear surged back, however, when after sharing a glance they drew back and folded their arms, their faces settling into seriousness.

"We need to have a word with you," Ataf said. His voice was as hard and heavy as a stone.

I blanched, and the bottom fell out of my stomach. "I'm — I'm sorry —"

"Sorry's not good enough," Illdi said. "We — oh, Ataf, I'm sorry, I can't do it. I can't! Look at her face!"

An instant later my dread turned to confusion as they both dissolved into laughter.

"I'm sorry, Kirilee," Illdi giggled, pulling me into a hug. "It was Ataf's idea, he said it was too good an opportunity to resist. I didn't realise you'd think we were being serious!"

"You're — you're not?"

"Of course not," Ataf said. "We understand why you'd want to keep something like that a secret. And I mean, while the duchess part was a surprise, it was pretty obvious you were some kind of noble. Sorry."

"Not duchess. Daughter-heir," I muttered, drawing away from Illdi. My face was so hot I thought my head might catch fire.

"Of course. I'm sorry," Illdi said, grinning. She drew me by the hand towards the common room, which was mercifully mostly empty. Still, as we entered people that had been bent over books or in conversation glanced up, then made an unconvincing pretence that it had nothing to do with me. I groaned.

"Bards," Ataf said with a shrug. "You can bet half of Master Gemane's verse and songwriting classes will be using this for their next compositions."

I groaned louder.

"Cheer up, Kirilee," Illdi said.

"Yeah," Ataf added. "I won't be. I mean, it's just a bit too much of a cliche, isn't it? What a yawn. I'd probably get a terrible grade."

His teeth gleamed bright white in the morning sun. He looked very pleased with himself, grinning at the room at large despite Illdi's exasperated expression.

I buried my face in my hands and let out my loudest groan yet. Secretly, however, I was more grateful than I could possibly put into words.

Unfortunately, my other classmates were not nearly so blasé about news of my identity as Illdi and Ataf. In Master Ateia's flute class that afternoon hardly anyone seemed to be paying attention to her lecture on melodic ornamentation, instead shooting me covert glances whenever the opportunity arose. Some were merely curious, but to my trepidation many seemed knowing. My worst fears were confirmed when I overheard a few whispered words from the row behind me while Master Ateia's back was turned.

" … course, it all makes sense now, she …"

The same sinking feeling sat heavy in my stomach as when I'd heard Corpulus' very similar statement the previous night. For the rest of the lesson I sat straight-backed in my seat, staring woodenly ahead, and trying to block out everything except Master Ateia's explanations about the different kinds of formal ornaments and the history of how each had come about. The end of the class couldn't come soon enough.

"This week, kindly study both Talsgar's Chaconne and Athren's In the Shadow of Dagoth Ur," Master Ateia finally announced while packing away her own flute. "Compare and contrast the ways in which they ornament the melodic material through the Development. Then I'd like you to choose one to learn — as written first, then ornamented with the style of the other composer. See you all next week. Kirilee, may I have a word?"

I ignored the self-satisfaction I thought I saw my classmates wearing as I trudged to the front of the lecture hall.

"Yes, Master Ateia?"

"Do you have a little time? I thought perhaps you might care for some tea. I've acquired some lovely Cyrodiilic shortbread I can't be trusted with." There was an entirely too-knowing cant to her smile.

I swallowed. "Thank you. I'd like that."

I followed her from the lecture hall to her office. Like Viarmo's office, Master Ateia's was usually in a state of chaotic disarray. Rather than endless reports and dossiers, however, the surfaces were covered in plants of every kind, transforming the spacious room into a riotously colourful greenhouse.

Master Ateia gestured with one hand while she set the kettle to boil. "Fetch us some crockery, would you?"

I collected a pair of floral-patterned teacups and saucers and a matching plate from a shelf spilling with trailing vines, set them on the low table, then sat down on a squashy armchair. Master Ateia stuck her head into a cupboard for a moment then emerged with a paper bag she upended over the plate, spilling creamy-white rounds of biscuits across the table.

"Oops! Sorry, dear."

I was already depositing them back on the plate. "It's no matter. They won't be harmed. They certainly smell wonderful."

"Please, help yourself."

Master Ateia set about making tea while I took an experimental bite out of one of the crumbly confections. Delicious. I made an appreciative noise.

"Good, aren't they?" She settled on the armchair opposite me, placing the steaming teapot on the table, then delicately bit into one of the biscuits herself. "Mm. Simply Divine. Have you had shortbread before, Kirilee?"

I paused, halfway through pouring tea. Her voice was easy, casual, yet I could hear the question behind the question.

"Yes," I said. My eyes were fixed on the pale green liquid gradually filling my teacup. "It's Mother's favourite. She has boxes of it imported every month from Cheydinhal; she says they make it best. One afternoon a few years back she and Lady Alys — that's the Queen of Cambria — got tipsy on mimosas and tried making it themselves. It was a disaster. Cook was in a temper for weeks afterwards."

Master Ateia chuckled. "I can't say I've ever been brave enough myself to try. I leave the culinary magic to those with the skill and experience, and make my gratitude known through gratuitous compliments and even more gratuitous tips."

I finished filling Master Ateia's cup and sat back down. We both sipped in silence for a few seconds. She'd selected a delicate green blend, with a subtle aroma of what I thought might have been honeysuckle. It was fresh and sweet as springtime.

A small smile playing about her lips, Master Ateia watched me over the top of her teacup. She never pushed. Even in our lessons she usually hung back with her instructions, and instead let me come forward with what I thought hadn't worked, or needed help with. It was typically a far more successful method of teaching than Master Gemane's bossy monologues.

"Etta and Jon, in class today," I finally said. "I overheard them saying that it's no wonder I'm so good. They're not the only ones, either — I keep noticing these, these looks, and even Corpulus, last night …" I trailed off, blinking into my cup, then reached out and grabbed another piece of shortbread just for something to occupy my hands and mouth.

"You worry that they attribute your skill to your background. Your privilege."

"Yes. It was the same back home. It was the whole reason I came here anonymously in the first place. Well, one of the reasons."

Master Ateia set her tea down. "I understand, Kirilee. Anyone with both talent and skill will have whispers following her — it's natural for people to look for an explanation for extraordinary skill. Everyone wants a simple answer; a formula for success. Of course, you and I both know there is no such thing." She brushed the crumbs from her fingers into a neat pile on the saucer, then refreshed her cup. Mine was still mostly untouched. "There is the talent bestowed upon the individual in greater or lesser measure by the Divines, naturally, then the time and dedication spent practicing and refining one's craft. The step most would like to shortcut," she added with a wry smile.

"You can't, though," I said. "Master Ylbert made it plain from my very first lesson. There's no substitute for careful practice. It's the only way to reach your potential."

"Your Master Ylbert is a wise man. Consider, though, Kirilee. How is it that you had access to such a wise and knowledgeable teacher, who showed you how best to learn, and to fulfil your potential?"

I stared at her. "Are you saying … they're right?" My fingers tightened on my shortbread, which disintegrated into buttery crumbs and fell to the rug. I hardly noticed.

"How were you able to find the time to spend all those hours practicing? The majority of young people must spend at least some time working with their parents' businesses, or at an apprenticeship for a trade." Master Ateia leaned forward on her seat. "Think, Kirilee. You had the best teachers from an early age. The finest instruments. The opportunity to choose to pursue your passion, rather than work to keep your family fed. You have talent, yes. And the necessary fortitude and discipline to master that. You've worked extraordinarily hard to arrive where you are today, and nobody ought ever to discount that. But it is equally unfair for you to discount the privileges afforded to you by your birth which allowed you to do so. Do you understand?"

My eyes had gradually filled with tears as she'd spoken. I felt utterly wretched, in no small part because I knew she was right. Since living in Skyrim I'd seen just how different, how charmed, my life had been in comparison to so many others. But still, I'd clung to the belief that despite my nativete, my unpreparedness for the real world, my softness … that this one thing, my music, had been mine; mine alone. To have that unceremoniously ripped away from me too …

A few tears splashed into my tea. Was I, after all, nothing more than what being my father's daughter had made me?

"Kirilee," I heard Master Ateia say, very gently. "Please, don't be so upset. I don't say this to disparage your achievements. It makes you no less a musician."

I looked up, blinking away tears. "But … you just said …"

"Your background plays a role in your success, yes. But that doesn't detract from how hard you worked to get there. After all, you must have grown up knowing many other young nobles, yes? How many of them have pursued music to the level you have?"

"Nobody. Most people I knew treated it just as a hobby."

"Exactly. Your birth put you in the position to pursue your dream to the heights you have, but you still had to reach for it. It's no different from any of the rest of us. Master Six-Fingers is Jarl Korir's mother's cousin, did you know? And my own family has rather extensive holdings near Chorrol. Both of us were very fortunate to be given the opportunities we were, but merely having the opportunities, and pursuing them to their fullest, are two very different things."

I nodded slowly. I thought I understood. But really? Master Six-Fingers was related to the Jarl of Winterhold? I wondered whether she held his political — but no, that wasn't important right now.

"You're saying … that my background matters. But it's not the only thing that matters." I was beginning to lose count of the number of ways I'd had to learn that lesson since coming to Skyrim. At least it felt like it was growing ever easier to learn, and to accept.

"Exactly," Master Ateia said with a satisfied nod. "And it doesn't matter in the way that those whispering say it does, in any case. Ignore them. Focus on your work, and eventually your reputation as a musician will outstrip the mutters."

"I guess … it did for Leliana Goldwine, didn't it?" I said, my face and mood clearing.

Master Ateia smiled. "And for both Inge and myself, too."

I returned her smile easily. The weight that had settled so heavily in my stomach dissolved, leaving me suddenly ravenous for more shortbread. I took a piece and stuffed it into my mouth whole. It was sweet and buttery, and the best thing I'd ever tasted.

Elisif the Fair, née Elisif Lamont, was born at dawn on the warmest and most beautiful spring day Jehanna had seen in decades. The first rays of the waking sun kissed the newborn babe as she slipped from the womb, a babe who when she opened her eyes for the very first time laughed at the beauty of the world she'd been born into, rather than cried at the comfort she'd left behind. Jehanna was blessed with an unusually bountiful year's harvest, and the child was blessed with the sun's warmth in her hair and the sky's blue in her eyes. Or so the stories told.

Whatever the manner of her birth, Elisif was undeniably special. Her family's blood was the mix of Breton and Nordic so common in Jehanna, which in Elisif resulted in a combination of features at once soft and bold, gentle and striking, and above all, breathtakingly beautiful. Her potential obvious even in childhood, her parents took full advantage of the opportunity she presented their relatively minor house: from a very young age Elisif made the rounds of all the larger High Rock courts, where she was very clearly being groomed to marry up.

As I'd said to Viarmo, I'd met her a handful of times over the years. Her first visit, when we were both about eight or nine, stood out sharply in my memories even a decade and a half later. Before meeting the young Lady Lamont I'd never thought much about the body my consciousness inhabited. I had arms to play the lute and hold a horse's reins, legs to clamp around the saddle or my father's shoulders, hair to tangle, lips to laugh, skin to burn and freckle in the sun. It was the body I lived in, and that was that. But then Elisif had arrived: skin powdered alabaster white; rose-gold hair gleaming and elegantly coiled; eyes of cobalt blue blinking above rosebud lips from a perfect, heart-shaped face; every movement as considered and graceful as though she danced with the air. Suddenly I'd become painfully aware of myself in a way I never had before. Next to this vision of Divine perfection I felt awkward and scrawny. My knees were too knobbly, my hair felt too coarse, my freckles became blemishes, and I was too short. I didn't feel like a lady any more, even though I knew my rank was far higher than her own.

Of course then later we'd snuck away from the formalities together, I'd shown Elisif Father's art collection, she'd told me all about how much she hated wearing corsets and always having to keep her fingernails clean, and everything was all right again. But I'd crossed a threshold that day, and I never forgot Elisif's role in it — and she never stopped growing ever more beautiful. By the time she was of marriageable age her beauty, grace and sweet nature had half the eligible bachelors and bachelorettes in High Rock clamouring for her hand, minor house or no, and the only question was just how high her family would manage to maneuvre.

And then, a year after debuting into the marriage circuit, she'd surprised everyone by meeting the High King of Skyrim's only son, falling in love, and disappearing across the border. Her parents were left in Jehanna, scratching their heads over whether they ought to be pleased or disappointed.

Not a trace of the giggling nine-year-old with whom I'd once raided the pantry was discernible in the woman now facing me. She'd been seated on her throne when Saerlund and I had arrived, and had sent him ahead into the prepared dining-chamber after a gracious and sincere greeting. As for the Lady Dobraine? Her, Elisif needed a quick word with. Though framed as a request, it was clearly an order.

I knew exactly why she hadn't risen from the throne. I was surprised, however, when she sent her guards away.

She sat watching me, perfectly still, poised and cool as a porcelain doll. Though no longer as delicate, I realised suddenly. This Elisif was not the same grief-stricken girl on the verge of falling apart I'd seen a scant half a year ago. The grief was still there, yes, as a shadow behind her cobalt gaze, but there was something new. A core of unexpected strength and hardness; the tooth-breaking pit in the middle of the ripest cherry. Like me, Elisif had been sorely tested these last months, and changed as a result.

I dropped into another low curtsey. "Allow me to offer my apologies, my Jarl, for —"

"You lied to me, Kirilee."

I stayed down, holding my red silk skirts as wide as I could manage. Her voice, too, was a blade wrapped in velvet. She spoke with the authority of a queen. But … that wasn't all. Behind the anger and indignation was something else: hurt.

"Do you have any idea how this looks? Not just a jarl being unaware of a high noble living right under her nose for months, but the foreign queen being ignorant of her childhood friend? Were you trying to make me look incompetent?"

I rose. "I'm sorry, Elisif."

Perfectly formed bright red spots appeared on her cheeks. I couldn't help but notice that she even looked beautiful in her anger. I just turned splotchy and dishevelled.

"Sorry? You're sorry? Do you have any idea what I've been dealing with while you've been jaunting about the province, playing at being a commoner?" Her manicured fingers tightened on the gilded armrests of her throne.

"I —"

"Did it occur to you, even once, that I could perhaps have used some counsel from someone more versed in politics than all these blunt-instrument Nords and soldiers regarding how to keep the province from falling apart around my ears? Or even just some Divines-cursed support? It's not like I'm dealing with much here, all alone — only a little civil war, led by a racist maniac who wants the throne I've held for a bare handful of months, which I'm sitting on because, oh, I don't know, he murdered my husband before my eyes. No, no, why would I possibly want or need a friendly face through all that?"

Her voice was tight, controlled. It frightened and shamed me more than open hysterics would have. She had been suffering alone, learning to keep her feelings contained, for a long time.

Mara's mercy, I'd wronged Elisif terribly. I hung my head.

"Are you at least going to tell me why?" she continued. "Why did you stay away? Why didn't you tell me who you were? Is this something to do with politics back home? I never thought you were one for the Great Game, but I've certainly had worse surprises, this past year …" Finally, her voice cracked.

I shook my head. "No. It wasn't about politics. The opposite. I wanted … not to be Father's heir for a while. To just play music, and live the life I wanted, without all the weight of it always hanging over me." It sounded hopelessly childish, laid out like that, in front of Elisif — in the face of everything she'd had to endure. Alone.

"Well? How did that work out for you?"

"It was … actually mostly quite good," I confessed, shamefaced. "It was so nice to just be Kirilee for a while. But … it was undeniably selfish of me, especially once I'd learned what the situation was here. I had my head up in the clouds pretending I could pick and choose which parts of myself to be. You're right, Elisif. I should have been here for you, regardless of what that meant for me. I'm so sorry. I won't make that mistake again."

She stared down her nose at me a few seconds longer, red-hot fury still burning in her eyes — then she slumped.

"It's all right. It's in the past now, and we'll just have to move forward as things are. Divines know I can understand the impulse — and Divines know I have more important things to worry about now, anyway." She shook her head then rose from the throne, smoothing the skirts of the beautiful gold-trimmed blue gown she wore. It was remarkably similar to the one I'd given Illdi, and set off Elisif's eyes just as well.

Noticing my approving gaze, Elisif finally smiled, for the first time since I'd entered her presence. "Lovely, isn't it? One of Taarie and Endarie's, of course. I still can't believe I didn't recognise you, that first time you came in — though I suppose I had rather a lot on my mind, and it has been rather a number of years, hasn't it?" She linked arms with me and sighed. "Don't get me wrong, Kirilee, I'm still very angry. But Divines, I must admit it's a relief just knowing you're here."

"I'm sorry," I repeated. "I was frightened. I was building such a good life, despite the war, and Skyrim being … well, itself." She snorted, a far more unladylike sound than I'd have ever expected to hear from her perfect rosebud lips. "I was scared to lose it all. I really am sorry, though. I should have realised …"

She shook her head again. "We've both had to grow up rather a lot in rather a short time, haven't we?"

"You could certainly say that."

"Well. Let's just work for a better future, shall we?" She began to lead me down the corridor Saerlund had been taken by the guards. "But we can worry about all that later. Tonight, I'll just be glad to see an old friend again. And make a new one, I hope. I've only met Saerlund in passing, what's he like?"

"Quite reserved. A little shy and bookish. Very well-learned, and very earnest. He's kind. And he's trying to do better, and to make Riften better — I'd tell you to ask him about the orphanage, but he'll probably talk your ear off about it whether you want him to or not."

Elisif nodded. "Sounds like exactly the kind of friend I need right now, especially in Riften. I look forward to conversing with him. And with you, of course. I'm dying to hear any news you have of home."

"I'll tell you what I can."

"Thank you." We had reached the door, and she turned to me. An impish smile broke suddenly across her face. "But first, my Lady Dobraine, I'll grant you your wish. You can play the part of the common-born bard for another hour or so. I've heard you're rather good, after all."

She pulled open the door and we entered the room, both laughing, to find the pair of guards teaching a beaming Saerlund how to play cards. Apparently he was a natural.

Though the dressing-down I'd received from Elisif made me burn with shame whenever I recalled it even days later, the rest of the evening more than made up for it. Elisif, Saerlund and I had a truly wonderful time together, and it was plain that it was exactly what all three of us had needed. Saerlund and Elisif had both been clearly desperate for any kind of friendly company of their own age. And as for myself … while I'd certainly been less lonely in the last six months than I'd ever been in my life, it was only then, dining with two of my true peers for the first time since I'd left home, that I realised how much I'd missed these parts of what I'd come to think of as my 'old' life. Subtle though it was, it was the final push I'd needed.

Master Ateia was right. As were Viarmo, and Inigo, and Elisif; even my parents. I couldn't pretend this wasn't a part of myself. Couldn't pretend it hadn't informed who I was now and would continue to become. More, I no longer felt that I needed to, or even wanted to.

Master Ateia's frank candour that yes, my birth contributed to my musical success, but no, it didn't detract from it had … unlocked something within me. As I talked and laughed and ate and drank with Saerlund and Elisif, for the first time I could remember — perhaps for the first time in my life — I truly felt like fully myself.

It was only a shame it didn't seem like Felix wanted that person by his side — but from what he'd shown me of himself lately, I didn't think the greater loss was mine.

Saerlund, too, seemed more relaxed, more himself, than I'd ever seen him. He'd been shy and stilted with Elisif at first, but her sweet nature and obvious pleasure in his company thawed his reserve, and they were soon chatting as though they'd been friends for years. She listened with interest to his budding plans for Riften, offering many sensible suggestions he could take to Laila, and exclaimed in genuine delight over his growing successes with the orphanage. It was clear that though at present she officially ruled only over Haafingar, she nevertheless saw all of Skyrim as her responsibility, and was eager for any opportunity to improve the lives of what she considered her people the province over. I had a wry suspicion she also saw the value in trying to win favour with Laila through her son, now that their relationship seemed to be improving. If she could bring Riften back to the Empire it would be an enormous blow to Ulfric, and perhaps a turning point in the war.

She was going to make a wonderful High Queen, I realised with a start about halfway through the fish course. Though untried and thrust into an extraordinarily difficult position far too soon, and by her own admission having made many mistakes, she was rising to the mantle of rule magnificently. I felt ashamed of my own inadequacy as a supposed ruler-in-waiting in comparison.

Mostly, though, I felt resolved. Before, the civil war had been a nebulous sort of concept in my head; my work for Viarmo about defeating the Stormcloaks and serving the Empire in a very general sense. But from that moment forth, though she herself didn't know it, I worked for Elisif. In just a few short hours she'd won not just my friendship but my unerring loyalty. I would see her put on the throne.

I wouldn't, however, push her and Saerlund together. Viarmo's words from that morning rang in my ears, but I was resolute. Trying to facilitate a romantic match here felt … wrong. Only six months after Torygg's death Elisif was far from ready, and while I couldn't put my finger on it, something on Saerlund's end felt not-quite-right either. They clearly got along very well, and had begun building both a strong friendship and professional relationship. That would have to do for now, I thought while bidding Elisif and Saerlund goodnight in the Blue Palace's front gardens — Elisif had offered Saerlund a suite in the guest wing, which he had graciously, though a little regretfully, accepted. He'd loved his night at the Skeever.

"This was truly lovely," Elisif said, inclining her head at my low curtsey. "We really must do this again. Perhaps again this week, before Saerlund leaves for Whiterun. Would you be amenable to Middas, Kirilee?"

"Of course, my Jarl."

"Please," she laughed, "just Elisif. And that goes for you too, Saerlund. Right now I need friends, not subjects."

Friendship. Yes, that would more than do. Viarmo may not like it — but then, I'd been the one chosen by the Goddess of Love, not him.