Dedicated to katastrophe15, who asked for it specifically.

This goes to show, comments mean something. Thank you again!

And sometimes things just come together.

This takes place a year before One Night for the Heart. It contains mild spoilers. I suggest you read the main story first, but you don't have to. You can find it in my profile. I'll post the gala chapters here, too.


One Year Earlier

Van sat back in his chair with a creak of leather and wood. Automatically, out of habit, his eyes drifted out to his garden. He could just hear the water rushing down the brook and under the bridge, its flow a little heavier than normal after a morning rainstorm. A breeze swept up, carrying the moist, earthy scent of mid-autumn through the open windows as a wave of golden leaves scattered like glittering confetti from the great tree down into the long grass.

The king took a deep breath and let it out, the tense muscles in his neck relaxing.

A sharp, rhythmic knock announced his visitor and jostled Van from his reverie. He turned and snatched up a quill. "Enter," he called. The door opened just as he began scrawling his signature on a judgement summary he'd issued during this morning's session.

In spite of his visitor's large frame, the man crossed the long, narrow room with stealthy steps. Van glanced up only when he took a seat. "Lunch will be here shortly," he said.

"I hope it's not stew. I eat a lot of stew."

"I remind you every time you visit that you have permission to make requests of my staff," Van said, blowing on the wet ink.

"Not my style." The man sat back and looked out the window. "Nice afternoon for daydreaming, isn't it?" he asked.

"You know I don't have time for that," Van said.

"Dragon shit," the man said with a knowing smile. "I know you spend half your time in here staring out this window."

Van set the quill aside. "Have you taken to spying on me from the cliffs, Folken?"

The man snorted. "I don't make it a habit. You're boring."

The king eyed him, weighing between feeling insulted or pleased. He cracked a smile, "I like to keep it that way."

Folken grinned and scratched his chin. "Funny you say that. Word is that you're throwing a party."

It was Van's turn to snort. "Don't remind me. It wasn't my idea."

Folken pressed a massive hand over his heart. "Were you going to invite me?" he asked mockingly.

Van chuckled and shook his head. "No, but I might actually enjoy it if you came."

"Only because I'll scare your guests off with my scars," he said with a rakish smile. "Sorry, my king, galas aren't my thing." His long arm slipped into his brown satchel and pulled out a canteen.

Van closed his eyes briefly to keep from rolling them. "Yeah, they're not mine either," he said with a shake of his head.

"Still, five years as king. That is something to celebrate." Folken sat back and propped an ankle up on his knee. "Congratulations, I might add," he said, raising his canteen in a mock toast before taking a loud swig.

Van scoffed. "Don't congratulate me for living up to my birthright. Should I congratulate you on surviving fifteen years as a hermit?"

Folken wiped his mouth. "Please do," he said with a welcoming lift of his hand. He secured the lid and leveled a look at him.

Chills swept up Van's spine as he stared openly at his cousin's vacant eye-socket and the tear-drop icepick scar on his cheekbone.

"Van," he said, smacking his lips and dropping the canteen back into his satchel. "Cousin," he started again soberly, "you never know what fate will throw at you. Fortunes can change overnight. I've already lost an eye. If I were to lose an arm, my days as a hermit would be over."

The scars on his own shoulder burned, but he ignored the familiar crawling sensation. Folken had lost his right eye at the same time he himself had slayed the dragon. Folken—who always preached about living peaceably with dragons—by some sordid, sick twist of fate, had lost the same eye that Van had gouged out on the dragon. They'd never spoken about it outright, but the king couldn't help but feel somehow responsible, as if, by going against the hermit's gentle teachings, he had been the one who'd marred Folken rather than the wildcat that had attacked him. The reminder curdled Van's stomach, and, finally giving in, he scratched his shoulder.

But whatever Folken thought about the subject, he didn't seem bothered now. The hermit gracefully pulled a little bone-handled dagger from his boot, flipped it in the air, snatched it, and proceeded to clean his rough fingernails with the tip. "I'm amused that you're celebrating in the dead of winter, though," he said.

In spite of his churning stomach, Van let his agitation go with a breath. "I'm glad someone is," he said as nonchalantly as he could.

Folken chuckled, a low, smooth sound that Van had always liked. "If I were in your shoes, I'd do the same thing. That way only the desperate will come."

"The desperate for drink," the king said, forcing a smile. "Do you know how much it costs to get everyone this side of Gaia drunk?"

"No, and I don't want to."

"Consider yourself lucky. When are you heading back to Adom?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.

"Tomorrow." But Folken was insistent. With a toss of his head, he indicated a tall, tidy stack of invitations on a nearby table. "You have to sign all those?" he asked.

Van answered him with a sigh and an annoyed look.

Folken glanced up. "Damn, Van, how many is that?"

"Too many."

"How many do you think will come?"

"Too many."

Folken laughed again. "Remind me why you're doing this?"

"I don't know. Public relations," he said with a desperate toss of his hand.

"Liar," Folken smiled slyly. "It's Minister Axel's idea, isn't it?"

Van grunted and turned his attention to folding the now-dry judgement into thirds. He didn't bother correcting his cousin on his minister's name.

"He's trying to get you married off, isn't he?"

Instead of answering, he focused on matching the paper edges precisely and pressing the fold with the back of his nail. In his boots, his toes wriggled a jittery arrhythmia.

Folken threw his head back, and his deep, full laugh filled the room and surely echoed down into the garden.

Van wished he could join in, but the topic made the hair on his neck prickle. He finished the second fold and, using some wax and a candle, sealed the decree with his ring. By this time, Folken's laughter had died down, but he was rubbing his face and smiling with unfettered amusement in his eye. Van sucked on his teeth and watched as a few leaves flew on the breeze through the window, skipping to a stop on the floor by his desk.

"That's the story, isn't it?" the hermit said mirthfully. "What makes this better, you realize, is that this is the first time Fanelia's thrown a party since your coronation. Everyone you invite will come just for the novelty of it."

Van pinched the bridge of his nose. "Gods, I hope not. And it's not a party."

"No, it's worse. It's a gala, right? Whatever that means," he scoffed. "Good luck writing up your guest list."

A trio of birds flitted past the window and down into the bushes he could just see from his desk. "You don't even know how these things work, Folken. I do not write my own guest list."

His cousin barked a laugh. "I call dragon shit. You're a king. You have full control over who comes."

Van looked at him side-eyed. "As a matter of fact, I am obligated to invite anyone I've ever met and have ever been introduced to."

"Oh, that sounds like a fun party," he said. "So all the girls you've snubbed get a second chance with you?"

"So my ministers think," Van said as his neck began to flush.

"So they hope. You realize those girls will come just to spite you, right?"

"What does a hermit know about women?" Van snapped. He pushed away from the desk, the chair scraping the floor as he did. The last thing he needed was for Folken to see him get worked up about this. He stood and turned to the window. "Why are we still talking about this?"

"You ever met a Kanzaki girl?"

"I don't even know what that is," he said over his shoulder.

"Not what, who. I'm asking if you've met a Hitomi Kanzaki?"

He folded his arms. "Do you think I remember the names of everyone I've been introduced to?"

"If you're like me, then yes."

"If you think we're so alike, then let's trade places."

"No," Folken said with smug contentment in his voice. "Being king is your birthright not mine."

"Exactly," Van said without humor. Below, a yellow cat threaded in and out of a bush, frightening the trio of birds back into flight. Van watched them fly to the great tree. "So what about this Hitari girl?"

"It's Hitomi. I think you might like her."

"Yeah, well, if you like her so much, why aren't you courting her?"

"I never said I liked her. Besides, she was barely a teen when I met her eight years ago."

Van made the quick calculation. "So that makes her around my age. You're only eleven years older. That's a sufferable difference," he said, turning to smirk at his cousin.

Folken rolled his eyes. "You're an idiot, Van."

Van grinned. "Now you are thinking like the women."

The other man laughed. "You do this on purpose."

Van flashed his eyebrows at him and returned to staring out the window. The trees up in his family grove were starting to turn and he knew he needed to visit the graves again soon. Running his hands through his hair, he thought about his cousin, the Hermit of Adom, bringing up the topic of a girl. Was he going to recommend her to him? The idea made Van want to growl, but, of all the people who knew him, Folken was his own blood. If anyone had power to recommend someone to him, it ought to be his cousin. He took a breath and glanced at his cousin. "So why do you mention her?"

Folken's lips twitched and he shrugged. "It just occurred to me earlier this year that if you haven't met her, you should."

"Why?" Van asked.

"How old are you, five? Why? Because I say so. I just remember her being smart and adventurous and obsessed with the mountains."

"Eight years ago," Van said flatly, but his heart skipped. He held his breath and watched the water in the brook below, something that usually helped calm his mind.

Folken spoke up behind him. "And eight years ago you were still an annoying pain-in-my-ass. People don't change all that much."

Van snorted. "If you're so intent on my meeting her, why didn't you bring her?"

"Ha!" he said with a bark. "I knew she would interest you."

Van felt the blood drain out of his face and straightened his back, keeping his eyes on a large rock in the water.

"Actually, she only lived in Adom for a little while back then. She's Freidian. She lives close to the capital there."

Van let out an impatient sigh. Freidians notoriously had zero tolerance for the Fanelian climate. "Why are you making me have this conversation? What's your point?"

"You're the one making this difficult, Van. I'm just trying to say that I think you should invite her."

"To my gala?" He scrambled for an excuse. "How do you even know she's available?"

"I had a very pleasant visit with her former guardian this summer. They keep in touch."

"So why did she live in Adom?"

"I never bothered asking."

He rolled his eyes at his cousin. "You're brimming with knowledge, hermit. So why did you meet her?"

Folken stood to join him at the window. "I was just hired by her guardian to teach her survival stuff. She ate it up."

Van blinked. "And based off that, you think I'd like her?" he asked derisively. He bent to pick up a couple leaves off the floor and crushed them in his fist. "Are we done with this conversation yet?" he asked, brushing his hands out the window.

"I'm just looking out for my favorite cousin," Folken said with a heavy hand to Van's shoulder.

The king pulled away and met Folken's one eye. "That's absurd. This is absurd. Why would I invite a Freidian commoner to my gala?"

"Good gods, Van, enough with the attitude. Are you this annoying during court?"

The king pressed his lips together and willed a straight face. Folken knew him well enough to know the truth, that he very much enjoyed annoying the one person in the world he could call family. This topic, especially, was one he wasn't going to be straightforward about.

But Folken's expression remained exasperated as he threw his hands in the air. "Do you think I'd tell you about some commoner? She's actually of rank there, and she's the cousin of Duke Chid."

Van leaned back against the window frame, letting the crisp air cool his burning neck. "She sounds more like your type than mine," he said with a smirk.

Folken's one brown eye glared back at him as the breeze tousled his silver hair. "Now I know you're toying with me. You can't possibly have any more objections."

The king held his gaze for a moment before letting out a breath and stepping away. "Fine," he said with a shake of his head. He wanted this conversation over anyway. "I'll check the list and make sure she's on it."

"Good. Her name is Hitomi Kanzaki."

"I'll make note of that," Van said irascibly.

"Maybe dance with her too. In fact," Folken paused with a smile. "Do it as a favor to me, for putting me through this torture of a conversation."

Van wanted to both laugh and growl at him but settled instead for clearing his throat. "Any other requests, cousin?" he asked with pressed lips.

"Yes. Don't invite me to the wedding."

A rap at the door announced lunch had arrived. Before Van granted access, he shot Folken a sardonic smile. "If there's a wedding, I'll summon you as a witness."

Folken's massive, muscled hand slapped Van sharply on the back, pushing him forward and nearly knocking the breath out of him. "I'd rather lose my right arm," his cousin said with a jovial laugh.