The White Wolf

Snow sprayed high as the trio of horses dashed through a winter-laden birch forest. Four wyvern miles south of the Pheraen capital, nothing stopped the freezing squalls from sweeping across the land, and the trees leaned with the air currents, shivering in their thin skin of black and white.

A chain rattled whenever the rider in the front shifted in his saddle. The wrists underneath his handcuffs flashed with an unnatural paleness compared to the color of his face. The beginning stage of a frostbite ate into him. Still, he spurred his horse farther as though chased by his two companions.

Although neither of them wore armor, a villager crossing their paths would have noticed the stiffness of their posture and the precision in their handling of the reins that gave away their military training. A careful observer might have caught a glimpse of folded steel under their capes or the gleam of a gold-layered pommel. The air of secrecy shrouded the trio, and this alone might have convinced a passer-by to stop and gawk, maybe shake their head at the strange party.

But even the most curious wanderer would have thought twice before approaching the riders. Few people sought for additional trouble in these wartorn times. And this trio, strange though they might look so far away from official roads and Pheraen watchtowers, screamed trouble.

Not least because the rider at the rear hid her intentions behind a mask.

The blue steel with its gold decorations showed its worth in each polished curve, perfectly fitted for its wearer's features. Even a humble blacksmith would demand a fortune for this item. The rider had a few coins too many to waste, the potential but entirely absent wanderer might think. And if this wanderer had visited the imperial capital sometime in the last months, and if their path had by chance led them into one of the newly built shrines, the rider's unusual indigo hair color might strike them as odd. A strange coincidence.

But the birch forest lacked even the footprints of a wanderer who could bear witness to the trio of riders, and Lucina was glad for it. The fewer people knew about this trip, the better.

Up close, her new mask wouldn't fool anyone who had seen the queen of the Pheraen Empire in person; the slim piece of steel certainly wouldn't fool Roy. But the illusion of anonymity had eased her heartbeat when she had ridden out of the palace gates at dawn. The Pheraen loyalists and the Altean pilgrims on the street had continued to hurl their requests at the sandstone walls, and the trio of riders had received no more than an annoyed glance when the crowd had made way for the horses.

For the first time in nine months, Lucina thought to have confused and shaken the eyes on her. And maybe that newfound freedom gave her the confidence to drive her horse through this snow-coated forest, even though she dreaded her destination.

The Black Fang. The most notorious assassin guild in the Empire, said to possess a spotless record. Those who wanted someone dead and had the necessary coin to spare – and the contacts to find them –, called the members of the Black Fang. When a noble son with gambling debts or a lord's unfaithful wife vanished overnight, chances are they reappeared a few weeks later in some ditch by the road with a ragged Black Fang dagger in their chest. Rumor had it, only one target had ever escaped their assassins for good.

Not exactly Lucina's most illustrious title.

And in a fit of madness, she planned to walk straight onto the threshold of one such Black Fang assassin. Her mask might conceal her identity for long enough to strike a deal; the many coins with the Pheraen eagle in her saddlebags should at least tempt a dagger for hire. If not… well, Lucina had run out of alternatives.

She had bypassed too many of her own laws already to turn back now. To drag a prisoner out of the palace's catacombs was one thing. To let him guide her through Pherae's fields and forests and into the arms of a notorious assassin was something else entirely.

No wonder Frederick had kept his lips pressed into a grim line since they had crossed the outer moat of the capital. Then again, who knew better how to find a member of the Black Fang than a man who had worked with them before?

When the birch trees thinned out into a clearing, Navarre stopped his horse. True to the Lorca's limitless talent with horses, he needed neither hands nor reins to do so, a click of his tongue alone did the trick.

His dark hunter eyes settled on Lucina as though he wanted to disembowel her like the gazelles he had once shot in Sacae's grassland.

"We have arrived, heir to Marth," Navarre said.

On the opposite side of the clearing, erosion had created a cliff. Birch roots jutted out of the natural wall like snakes lurking for prey. And pressed against the cliffside crouched a wooden hut. The few glassless windows had more in common with arrow slits, and even a wyvern circling overhead would have struggled to make out the moss-covered roof amidst the surrounding forest. Hard to find and easy to defend; the perfect hide-out for an assassin.

"Are you suggesting someone is living in this ruin?" Frederick growled and yanked at the chain connected to Navarre's handcuffs to almost pull him out of the saddle. "That seems more than unlikely to me. What guarantees do we have that this is not part of a trap you devised with your Black Fang friends?"

"The walls of your underground prison unfortunately hindered communication with my friends," Navarre spat out. "I have left my cell on your behalf."

Lucina restrained Frederick with a look before he could yank at Navarre's chains a second time. "And I thank you for your cooperation thus far," she said.

Navarre's glare lost nothing of its intensity. He held up the three stumps of his right fingers. "Do not call it cooperation while your opposite rides in chains. You no longer enjoy the protection of Lorca hospitality, and I seek nothing more than to add your blood to my saber."

"Then maybe I should call this a trade instead. If what you say is true, and a member of the Black Fang lives here, I will keep my promise to you. Your family in Sacae will receive your blood oath saber as though you fell in battle. Then you can return to your cell in peace."

"So it will happen. If you speak truth."

"I gain nothing from deceiving you."

Navarre jutted his chin. "Is that why you hide your eyes behind a mask, heir to Marth?"

Frederick growled. "You should choose your words more wisely. You may have struck a bargain with Lucina, but not with me."

"Leave it be, Frederick. He has guided us this far, that has to be enough. I can't expect him to be polite too." Lucina turned towards Navarre. "Have you worked with the assassin who lives here before?"

"I spoke to him only once. But I know of his reputation. The White Wolf has hunted more nobles than the best Lorca rider has shot grassland pheasants. His sword was meant to spill your blood on Eltrys' stairs, but he chose to quit the hunt. What motivated him, I cannot say."

"It can't be the view from his porch," Frederick said with a glare at the half-decayed doorframe of the hut. Frosted lichen hung from the low roof, and in a few years they might grow long enough to serve as a door curtain.

Lucina dismounted. "Maybe he will be more eager to share his reasons after I hired him."

"I must protest!" Frederick for the moment forgot his feud with Navarre to follow Lucina. "You cannot go in there. Even if Navarre told the truth and this pathetic hut is not a trap, which I have every reason to doubt, you will be meeting with an assassin. A man who will not hesitate to kill you for the gold in your pockets."

"I survived two attacks from the Black Fang already. Three if we count Navarre's attempt at Naga's shrine. I can handle myself."

"The White Wolf is no ordinary assassin. The name resurfaced every now and then among Roy's knights. And it was not for pleasant reasons, I can assure you."

"Even assassins are businessmen. I have a commission for him, so he will not kill me. Unless you keep shouting enough to make him nervous."

Frederick's shoulders slacked, and he threw a glance at the hut. The snow near and far muffled all sounds, and for the moment they remained out of earshot. Which likewise meant that ten assassins could be whetting their knives in the corners of the hut without their notice.

"At least let me accompany you," Frederick said.

Lucina shook her head. "Someone has to keep an eye on Navarre."

"You should rather keep your eyes on your own backs," Navarre said, but Lucina ignored him.

"Besides, I haven't entirely forgotten how to wield a sword. And I don't have to worry about the crown upsetting my balance for once either."

Frederick looked unconvinced. "You are indispensable for the Empire. You of all people shouldn't put yourself at risk like this."

"I have barely set foot outside the palace in the past nine months. And look where it has gotten us. We are worse off than when I took up the crown."

"You are demanding the impossible. How can I simply stand aside and play deaf while you are walking into the maw of the wolf? It is… not fair."

Lucina stepped forward to place a hand against Frederick's cheek. The sudden touch convinced him to look up from his feet, and she hoped that, if her face behind the mask could not offer reassurance, her fingertips might.

"Frederick," she said, "let me do this. I can't hide behind my shield forever. Okay?"

He straightened, but the conflict refused to release his features as he frowned. "Okay. Just… promise to be careful. Ask Naga for a blessing if that helps but come back safely. I will be waiting here."

"I know. And I'm glad for it."

With these words, Lucina walked away from Frederick and Navarre towards the hut. The neighing of the three horses died down too quickly for her liking, replaced with the crunching of snow under a lonely pair of boots. The clearing offered no cover; even an archer with subpar skills would have no trouble shooting her down. But nothing moved behind the narrow windows, only the icicles jingled when a gust howled along the edge of the roof.

Lucina's breath stole away in clouds.

The first stray snowflakes sailed from the darkening sky.

And with each step forward, the hut showed more signs of abandonment. The door swayed on its hinges more than it hung, like a drunkard someone had forgotten at a dimly lit entrance. The last time feet had ruffled the snow in front of the house had to lie back farther than the last cloudburst.

Despite the quiet and the absence of arrowheads flashing in the windows, Lucina shivered in her cape. Her skin under the metal mask went numb.

Maybe Navarre had been wrong, and the White Wolf had traded this hut for a more scenic hideout. Maybe Lucina would only disturb a tawny owl between the roof joists when she pushed the door inward. But she wouldn't know unless she tried.

One hand wrapped around Falchion's hilt, she stepped onto the threshold. A look back confirmed that Frederick and Navarre had vanished in the snowstorm; the flakes lashed the moaning hut more viciously by the second.

Lucina placed her free hand against the wood, and the door gave in.

Dimness greeted her. The light from outside, already weakened by the storm clouds, failed to reach through the arrow slit windows. Lucina blinked against the darkness. When the wind shut the door behind her, the only light remaining came from a handful of embers in the fireplace. Fresh embers, hastily stamped out.

Oh gods.

Lucina barely had time to draw Falchion before a shadow to her right tackled her. Steel quaked and screeched, and she backed away under the pressure.

Two steps on uneven floorboards, and the two swords clashed again. Her attacker was taller, stronger. The broad shoulders counted on muscle mass to shred her defenses; male sweat tingled her nose, born not from exertion but excitement.

Lucina couldn't make out his face, only a hunter's grin flashed whenever their swords threw sparks. She ducked under his swing, away from the wall before he could corner her.

The mask limited her view; her back collided with a table edge, her heel stubbed a chair leg, and she almost stumbled when a diagonal slash hammered against Falchion. Her arm ate up the force with a tremor.

Two labored breaths sounded through the hut, and Lucina kicked the chair after her attacker. He grunted; definitely a man. Wood splintered, the chair broke, and a storm of swings and slashes hailed onto Lucina.

The two fighters carved notch after notch into the walls as they circled and pursued one another, and Lucina's heart raced with the same ridiculous speed as the swords whirred through the dark.

Her opponent was good, no doubt. He used his superior strength to his advantage, often attacked from above and with bone-shattering force.

But Ike was better.

And with the many training duels against him in the back of her mind, Lucina held her ground.

Her attacker pounced, and she whirled out of the way, Falchion a divine ray in the dark. Now they had switched positions on their cramped battlefield, with her back to the fireplace. Her feet found a piece of the broken chair.

Their dance continued, one violent spin after the other, but this time, Lucina didn't allow her partner to lead her steps. She deflected, her feet rooted to the spot, a stunt Marcus had told her uncounted times to avoid at all costs. Those who move their feet slowly are only one step away from never moving them again.

The change in strategy surprised her opponent. He backed away, doubting, testing.

And the moment he did, Lucina kicked the chair piece into the embers.

Sparks flew, the fire reignited, hungry for this gift, and the assassin squinted against the sudden brightness. Lucina gave him no chance to recover and leapt.

The enemy sword rose just in time, and steel rattled. Cross guard to cross guard, they stood in a stalemate, pushing and pulling without success. Lucina lacked the muscle force to break the other's defense, and if he tried to free his sword, he would risk a fast thrust to his unarmored shins.

She had the technique, he had the strength, but neither could capitalize and win.

In the light of the growing fire, Lucina searched in her opponent's face for signs of weakness. The chiseled chin and unruly, straw-colored hair gave him a wild look, wolfish almost. Nowhere was this more apparent than in his pale eyes, the eyes of a predator that had tasted blood and existed for nothing more than the hunt, a hunt that had all but once ended in black fangs buried in the flesh of the prey.

The White Wolf. Without a doubt.

Lucina's rear foot quivered under the pressure of the stalemate; any second the wolf would notice her weakness and pounce for her throat.

But his doggedness turned into a grin. He rolled back his shoulders, gave Falchion a last little push, and finally lowered his sword. Lucina was too short on breath to do other than mirror his pose.

"That was the best fight I had in years," the White Wolf said, still with that grin. "Did Ursula send you to tie up loose ends? Took her long enough. And she didn't even have to rely on my dumb brother to do the job. I gotta say, if you're the standard for the Black Fang's new recruits, the future of the guild's looking bright. Though I'm not sure about the mask. A little too fancy, don't you think?"

Lucina frowned; thankfully the mask should hide her confusion. What the White Wolf said made little sense in her ears, but for the moment, she took the pause to their fight as a good sign. A commission, and the respective payment, might interest him after all.

"No one send me," Lucina said. "I'm here for business-related reasons."

The White Wolf grinned. "Assassination is business in its purest form. But come to think of it, I hope Ursula wouldn't be bigheaded enough believe a single one of her new darlings would be enough to shut me up for good. How about we sit down, and you tell me why you're really here. I should have two unbroken chairs lying around here somewhere."

He shoved his sword into its scabbard, and after feeding the fire with more pieces from the broken chair, walked towards the main piece of furniture they had circled around a moment ago: a heavy table on logs.

Lucina gave the room another look-over, but the dusty corners didn't hide further assassins. And apart from the sword the White Wolf draped on the tabletop as a clear sign of their armistice, he hadn't outfitted his home with weapons either.

After a moment of hesitation, while the snow piled up on the narrow windowsills, Lucina sheathed Falchion and sat down opposite of the White Wolf. In the worst case, the table would serve as a barrier between them, and maybe that would buy her enough time to dart out of the door.

But the White Wolf had become rather tame. He fished a bottle and two mugs from under the table and began to pour the wine.

"My final square drink," he said with a grin and shoved one mug towards Lucina. "So. What brings you here? And more importantly, how much did Ursula promise for my head? Come on, surprise me. It's a high reward, isn't it?"

"I have never heard of this Ursula before," Lucina said. She left her drink untouched. "I already told you, the business that brings me here is my own."

The White Wolf downed his wine and scowled. "It's like she's forgotten all about my existence. She's getting lazy, that old witch." He laughed. "Fine then, what's that great business that has led you all the way out here into this stinking forest?"

"I would like to use the unique services of the Black Fang. You are one of their most famed members, the White Wolf, are you not?"

"Ex-member. Things got heated, the crazy witch became a little too crazy, and I scrammed. So you might as well call me Lloyd."

His real name, judging by the ease with which his lips formed it. Lucina awarded this gesture of honesty by raising the mug to her lips. Lloyd had to have thrown out all his bounties for his passion in liquor, if the pristine taste was any indicator. The bottle showed Talys grapes. Lucina swallowed.

"Lloyd then," she said. "You are a little young for retirement."

He laughed. "Says the youngster. I don't suppose you're hiding wrinkles behind that mask of yours. And I'm not really retired. If the right commission comes my way, I'm more than happy to brighten up the chest of some nobleman with a dagger. That's what you're here for, am I right?"

"I'm looking for someone who won't hesitate to spill royal blood. And as chance would have it, I'm familiar with the mercilessness with which the Black Fang approaches a commission of that kind. Unless the guild has gone soft…"

Lloyd leaned forward, eyes narrowed; Lucina had expected this reaction. No one, especially not a man with his reputation, liked to see their skills called into question.

"I can't speak for the guild," Lloyd said and poured more wine. "But I haven't gone soft. King-killing is a pricy business, but you look like you have the gold to spare. So, who's it gonna be? Lord Leif of Leonster? Not quite a king, but close enough. Or maybe you have a bone to pick with Renais? That'll cost you extra."

"None of those. I want the former king of Pherae. Roy."

Lloyd paused. His wine mug returned to the table, its content untouched.

"I heard he came back from the dead," he said. "Wasn't sure if the rumors were true. The great king of the Pheraen Empire, returned to free his land from the clutches of an Altean preacher and her goddess. Sounds a little too much like the stories of old, doesn't it?"

"That doesn't have to concern you. Do you accept the commission?"

"Hey, I've never killed someone who is said to have been dead before. Could be fun. But I have to wonder, who could possibly want the rightful king of Pherae dead? You're one of his old concubines and got replaced by someone younger, or what?" Lloyd fixed Lucina's eyes with his. "You don't just go asking for the king's death because you're bored."

Instead of answering, Lucina reached for her mask. The steel disguise slipped from her face. Orange hues from the fire danced across the indigo when she laid the mask on the table. And she knew the same fire illuminated her eyes, deep blue and the symbol of Marth's bloodline, for Lloyd to see.

The grin took a moment to capture his face, but that didn't take away from its wolfishness. "Would you look at that," he said. "The lost Altean princess has risen from the ashes. Although the princess has made herself queen in the meantime, I've heard. And she has the guts to waltz into the humble office of the assassin guild that tried to snuff her out."

Lucina held her chin high. "You won't kill me now."

"No, I won't. Unfortunately, Roy lost access to his treasury when you kicked him from his throne, so he didn't have the means to pay your bounty. It would have been a waste to kill you then, and it's a waste now."

"Someone is thinking otherwise. The last attempt happened just outside the capital and in broad daylight."

"At the capital in broad daylight." Lloyd snorted. "That's way too many add-on costs for extra risk. Bounties like that don't enter the market without making some waves. I would have heard about it."

"Then Navarre's attack on the shrine wasn't on behalf of the Black Fang?"

"Navarre? Oh yeah, I remember that Lorca rat. Did the guild a favor with the operation in Sacae. All the more pathetic that the assassin on the job still messed up the kill. But if he hadn't, I guess you and me wouldn't be talking now."

As the weeks had gone by, and especially after her conversation with Marcus, Lucina had started to doubt the involvement of a higher power behind Navarre's attack at the shrine. Lloyd confirmed her theory. Hatred might drive Navarre's actions, but he was no assassin. Lucina could have offered him gold in exchange for guiding him to the White Wolf, but all he had wanted was the return of his blood oath saber to his clan, as Lorca tradition demanded.

Her stomach twisted, and Lucina had to cover her unrest with a sip of wine.

"I have more than enough gold to pay you," she said. "Stop Roy before he reaches the capital, and I promise you any sum you deem fit. If what you say about your previous work with the guild is true, this job should prove easy for you."

"You don't know half a thing, Your Highness."

Lloyd reached for his sword, and Lucina tensed. Her reaction earned her a grin as inch by inch, Lloyd freed the polished steel from its cage for her to admire. And the sword was worth admiring. Silver lines ran along the blade like veins on black skin, and in the dancing hues of the fire, the veins pulsated with a hunger for flesh. The cross guard formed a wolf maw out of which the sword sprung to tear through prey.

Lucina only knew three swords that could compare in magnificence, and one of them hung from her belt.

Lloyd grinned as he noticed her stares and caressed the blade before placing it on the table between them.

"A beauty, isn't she? This," he said, "is the Regal Blade. And she didn't receive this name without good reason. I have driven this blade into the chests of royals before you were even born. Did you ever watch someone die? Let me tell you, once the steel kisses their hearts, all people die the same, whether they have a fortune and a family tree to their name or not. It's exhilarating. To see their eyes in their final moments when they realize all their wealth couldn't protect them from death."

Lloyd traced the veins on the Regal Blade, almost wistful in remembering the blood he had wiped from there on other days. "Unfortunately, sometimes a sword is a little too blunt. That's at least what Ursula liked to say. Sometimes, it takes a black arrow to kill a queen. It's harder to look into their eyes when they breathe their last this way, but hey, a job's a job. And when good old King Eliwood is calling, you don't ask twice."

A terrible foreboding snuck up Lucina's chest. Lloyd's grin became a little wider; like the wolf tears through the roe mother first before leaping at the fawn. She didn't want to know, and yet she couldn't stop herself from asking, the question burning on her tongue.

She swallowed, hard.

"What kind of job?"

"Oh, the usual," Lloyd said. "Kill the queen of the neighboring country. She made for a pretty target, I have to say. The way she stood there on that balcony with the indigo hair in the breeze and the baby in her arms… I think she was looking out for her husband. A shame he didn't make it to her in time. But what a touching scene, even with the arrow in her chest, she made sure to cover her child. Even after she had bled out, she still clung to that blue-haired brat… And look what's become of her since."

Lucina's thoughts blurred, windchimes rung in her ears, violent. "Say her name."

"Hm, what was that?"

"SAY HER NAME!"

Lloyd leaned back in his chair. His tongue abused the name, murdered her a second time. "Caeda… yes, I think that was the name. Oh, I would have loved to take the bounty for your head too, back in Eltrys. Like mother, like daughter, you see?"

Lucina jumped to her feet, her fists too shaken to reach for Falchion.

"You murdered her!"

"Water under the bridge," Lloyd said. "That small detail won't stand between us, will it? It was business. If the king of Pherae gives a commission, you don't just step back because the target happens to have a baby. Next, you're the one with a bounty on your head."

"You're like a mad dog hiding behind his master."

"Now, now, let's not get personal. It's not my fault Eliwood put such an exorbitant sum on her head. But it is ironic… that he would hire the same assassins who killed his wife."

The rage fled Lucina, replaced by shock and a horror so pure, she forgot how to send orders to her muscles. Someone else stumbled back with her feet, and someone else knocked over the chair. A dull ache throbbed through her arm, but even that sensation seemed to belong to someone else.

"You killed Ninian too," Lucina whispered.

"With an Altean arrow. One moment the queen strolls along the river outside the capital, and the next her husband declares war. That's just how it is with royalty. The small guys on the street have to run their shops and till their soil like before. Whether it's their wife, their child, or both at once, they can't do anything about it. But those with the big crests, they have the means for revenge. Some forge a new sword. Some hire assassins. And some start a war that kicks the small guys even further down. A curious little world we live in, isn't it?"

Lucina hardly listened. Her mind had travelled to a different table and a different hut where, behind a blue door, Abel laid down the truth in front of her. The chalk clinging to every surface in Terra stung in her nose as he told the story of her father.

Ninian's death opened the gates to war.

The war that had killed Marth and Eliwood, the war that had broken Roy beyond salvation and that had birthed the Pheraen Empire. Until all that remained was an ashen winged crown in the hands of a thief.

"Who hired you?" Lucina asked. With every word, her voice grew louder. "Who gave the commission? Who wanted you to kill Ninian?"

Lloyd swiveled the drink in his mug. He didn't have an answer. Because there had been no commission.

"The entire war was plotted by you," Lucina said. "You killed the queens of Pherae and Altea because you knew the two nations would go to war. Do you have any idea how many lives this war cost? How many it continues to take?"

Lloyd swiveled the wine in his mug. "Is that my fault? I didn't ask Eliwood to hand out his war declaration."

"My father died because of this war!"

"I'm not the one who killed him. Eliwood needed someone to blame for the death of his wife, and sending someone to assassinate Caeda wasn't enough. Big people need big solutions to solve their problems. What's another war and what's another man's dead wife in the grand scheme of things? When you have a crown or the favors of a goddess, who's to stop you?"

"You have no idea what it's like…"

"To lead a nation?" Lloyd huffed. "No, I guess I don't. My parents didn't gift me with a lineage longer than the history books. That might come as a surprise to you, Your Highness, but people need to earn gold to buy their next meal. They need gold to buy a new coat for their freezing sister as she stands at the doors of starvation. And in this world, nothing pays better than killing."

"But why Ninian? Why would you provoke a war?"

"I'd love to tell you that it was all part of my masterplan, that you and Roy and your rich parents were all puppets in my game. But I'd be lying. Ursula leads the Black Fang. She gave me the order to kill the Pheraen queen, and I obeyed. Simple as that. But considering you're the one giving the orders, you probably don't understand what that means."

Lucina bit her lips. She gave the orders, yes. She pushed her figures around the chessboard, and she watched them fight and succeed and fall, all while she planned her next move. Unfazed. Ike had become her executioner, Frederick had admitted he would strike down Roy if she gave the order, and Cordelia hadn't even needed an order to kill Marcus in her name.

In Naga's name.

Was there even a difference at this point?

"You're hiding yourself behind Ursula," Lucina said.

"If I were trying to hide, why am I going out of my way to tell you this? That witch would boil the blood in my veins if she knew I'm spilling her secrets."

"Then you have nothing left to lose. So you might as well tell me what she had to gain from the war."

"Don't know. Who can tell what's going on in the head of the insane? Maybe she was promised a stuffed bag of gold for Ninian's death. Or maybe she realized the profit in war. After all, it did grant us some of the best commissions in the history of the Black Fang. Including the death of your mother. If we'd asked, I image Eliwood would have sold us Ostia too, just for the satisfaction of seeing Marth suffer as he suffered."

Lucina shook her head. Between the heat of the fire and the snow-laden winds howling through the windows, she felt too cold and too hot at the same time, Falchion a glowing iron at her side and an icicle at the same time. Both extremes tempted her hand.

"You yourself admitted that you enjoyed it," she said. "That you enjoyed watching them die. You disgust me."

Lloyd leaned forward with a sly grin. "And yet you came to me. What else did you expect? To find a noble hero who will shoulder the burden of ending Roy for you?"

"I should kill you instead."

He laughed. "That's the only way you royal bastards know to solve your problems, isn't it? A sword to the chest and it will stop spouting unpleasantries. That's why assassination is such a lucrative business. Eliwood came to the Black Fang to kill your mother. Roy came to us to kill you. And now you've marched through my door to return the favor. It's a beautiful circle."

"I am not a tyrant like they were!"

"Hey, I'm not judging. I get paid either way. So, what's Roy's life worth for you? Come on, surprise me, put a number on his head."

The fever and the cold retreated, and a strange calm overtook Lucina's muscles as she unsheathed Falchion and in one swift motion pointed the tip at Lloyd's throat. He swallowed, and maybe it was her empty expression that unsettled him more so than the steel poised for his artery. The Regal Blade lay on the table beyond his grasp.

Flares danced across Falchion's naked steel with each flicker of the fire.

"Careful where you put that thing," Lloyd said. "You can kill me. But can you kill him too?"

Lucina counted to ten and breathed. The play of windchimes faded, and the eyes on her withdrew, for the moment defeated.

"I won't kill you," she said, and the words gave her clarity where nothing else did. "This is the only way for me to ensure it is still my war I'm fighting. I apologize for bothering you in your solitude. Our contract won't come to pass."

Lloyd narrowed his eyes. "You'll regret this."

"Maybe. But if my fear of Roy drives me to hire assassins, I truly don't deserve the crown. And if my fear of your words drives me to kill you, I might as well surrender the fight now."

Lucina sheathed Falchion and stepped back. While Lloyd's eyes followed her movements, she took her mask from the tabletop but did not gave into its whispers of anonymity. It had been a foolish attempt to hide herself from the beginning.

"I thank you for your hospitality," Lucina said. "But I'm afraid we have nothing left to say."

"Kings and queens are the true hypocrites," Lloyd snapped. "Will you send your soldiers to finish me off instead?"

Lucina stopped by the door. "No. As long as you swear not to work with the Black Fang again, we have no quarrel as far as I'm concerned. You may live with the knowledge that you were a pawn in Ursula's game."

Fear dripped from Lloyd's voice when he spoke, but there was no shuffling of his cloak to signify that he scrambled for the Regal Blade on the table. Lucina's back made for an easy target. But Lloyd stayed seated.

"You aren't going to go after her, are you?" he asked. "You're mad! If she finds out I told you all of this…"

"I have more pressing matters to attend to. The world is on fire. Can't you see it?" Snowflakes attacked Lucina's face when she opened the door. Or were those already the ashes of her reign as Roy advanced towards the capital? "But whatever happens, rest assured that I won't forget what you told me."

If Lloyd intended to hurl accusations after her or demand that she thought over their contract, the door silenced him. Lucina did not look back.

A short march across the clearing later, she rejoined Frederick and Navarre amidst the sparse undergrowth. Snow stuck in Frederick's hair, but his face lit up when he spotted Lucina. Dutiful as always, he handed her the reins of her horse. A question swam in his eyes, but he hesitated to ask, afraid of the answer he would receive.

"Did you come to an agreement with the White Wolf?" he finally pressed out.

Lucina stuffed the mask into her saddlebag. With its blue-steeled face gone, she had the strength to give Frederick a small smile.

"No," she said.

His shoulders relaxed. "I'm glad."

"I'm too."

Notes: I can't even say why, but this is one of my favorite chapters. It doesn't do much to immediately progress the plot, and that's kind of the point, but I believe it did give Lucina an interesting test. Plus, Lloyd was way too much fun to write.