CHAPTER NINE | The Illusion of Contentment

PART ONE | Communication, Silence

LYCIA | Castle Ostia

A day had not fully passed when Roy of Pherae walked the perimeter of Castle Ostia, his troops still in the business of fully securing the castle and the castle town. The borders had to be protected, new defenders had to be positioned to patrol the walls and borders, and with Ostia's forces decimated by over a half, what defense and security would they be able to offer their citizens? Lilina, daughter of Hector, now the leader of Ostia, made the decisions that she could, the Lady Serra conveniently at her side to whisper wisdom. But there were no easy decisions to be made. There was next to nothing that they could do in such a short amount of time to build up Ostia to it's former glory, to be able to withstand an attack from Bern again.

They would come back sooner or later, Roy thought. Bern would have to strike back. King Zephiel had only to hear of the news of the recapture of Araphen and Ostia, and then he would send more soldiers to strike back. In a few more days, or a week, Ostia had to be ready.

"Master Roy! Bern's Dragon Knights have appeared at Castle Ostia!"

In a few more days, or a week—not in a day! Roy thought. "What? They got here already?"

Merlinus, the balding old merchant who had been long in service to Lord Eliwood of Pherae, hastily climbed up the stone steps that ascended to Castle Ostia's defensive wall. He was out of breath after running, and then he said, "They're here… from the east… They've broken through many other territories of Ostia on the way here…"

He didn't have to say more—Roy had already looked beyond the wall, already spotting Bern's soldiers and wyvern riders charging towards them. I thought a few more days… not a day! "Summon all the defenders to their position to the walls," Roy quickly ordered, for Merlinus and the Ostian soldiers with him. "We'll take our group to meet them out by clearing by the castle town. We have to protect the citizens. Tell Lilina about this. We have to move as fast as we can."

0o0o0o0o0o0

General Narshen of the famed Three Wyvern Generals of Bern stood in the front lines among his soldiers, beside his wyvern, looking smug. Before him stood the forces of Roy of Pherae—if they were fit to be called a force or a fighting group at all. Roy of Pherae himself was just a small, mewling little redhead who looked too nice to lead a group. And his group—in no way a military—Narshed thought with a wicked smile, wasn't made up of what seemed to be good, hardened battle soldiers at all. Rather it was such a ragtag group with a few cavaliers and knights, some mercenaries from Ilia, and even—goodness gracious!—children. This is who retook Ostia? That Leygance must have been absolutely incompetent. Heh. Lycians.

"Hehehe... Are you Roy?" Narshen called over the clearing. "I must thank you for getting rid of that idiot Leygance for me. Now, you will be a good boy and leave Ostia to me."

Roy, standing on the front lines of his group, took a long hard look at Bern's Wyvern General. This was not a long-serving general, Roy thought. In his younger years he has heard about the Generals of Bern, and as far as Roy remembered, Narshen's position had been held by someone else a year ago. He barely looked like a General—there was a sleaziness in the way he moved, his lips constantly in a knowing smirk, his curly pale brown hair wafting in the wind. He was tall, he was lanky. Not as big and strong as other knights seemed. But then again, Roy thought, I shouldn't underestimate him. This is the man who took half of Lycia, destroyed our towns, killed our men, burned our villages, lured our lords. "Don't be ridiculous!" Roy called out to Narshen. "Who would give Ostia to the likes of you...?"

"Oh? Then do you wish to fight us with that sad little group of yours? That's fine with me. I shall annihilate you, as I did with Hector!"

"Damn!" Roy muttered, to himself, as he saw Narshen's forces take their positions and stances. There were about a hundred or so men from Narshen—Roy barely had a half or a third of that. At the corners of his eyes he caught his group divided, some fearlessly taking to their mounts and readying their weapons, others looking more unsure of what was going on and sure of only one thing—they were facing death.

Narshen's foot soldiers were at the ready. His wyvern riders were also ready to fight. Mages cannot be sent to the front to deal with the wyverns first because they would be vulnerable. But knights and cavaliers sent to the front would be defeated by the swifter, deadlier wyvern riders. What do I do… Maybe I should…

As soon as Roy grasped the answer and nearly mouthed the command, a shaking of the earth came, and everyone standing there in the clearing was startled. And then faces turned to the west, were the sun was almost setting, and where hope for Roy of Pherae stood.

They were lined around the hill borders of Ostia—knights, paladins, cavaliers, mage knights and valkyries and archers in the three hundreds. And they were led by a man with blonde hair, steed shining in the sunset, and a woman on her horse, sage green hair visible to Roy even in the distance. Before them flew the banner of Etruria.

"I am Percival, Knight General of Etruria," the blonde General of Etruria called out. "Yesterday, Sorcery General Cecilia informed me that Ostia had requested Etruria's protection. Therefore, Ostia is to become a protectorate of Etruria as of now!"

Narshen looked stunned at this turn of events—Etruria!

Eturia, getting involved, why now, of all times? His soldiers were not enough to battle a legion that many, and if he risked it, the famed mages of Etruria would only take them down. "What...!"

"You seem discontent," said Cecilia. "We are prepared for battle. But can those Dragon Knights of yours stand a chance against all of us?"

Etruria! Damned Etruria! "You-!"

"I am Cecilia," the female general of Etruria said, "Sorcery General of Etruria. Ostia is now under our protection."

Damned Etruria! Who do they think-? "Argh...you...you...!"

"General Narshen, please control your temper!" one of Narshen's commanders bravely advised him . "General Percival is one of the strongest warriors in Etruria. And with General Cecilia here as well, we'll be slaughtered!"

"I know!" snapped Narshen, angry to be advised of the obvious. The Etrurian legion was too many for them to take on, combined with the Lycians. "Cecilia, is it?" he called out to the woman, and then said between gritted teeth, "Watch your back from now on!"

And then Narshen and his troops turn back, and leave.

0o0o0o0o0oo0o0

"You are General Roy of the Lycia Alliance Army?" Percival approached Roy as soon as Narshen and his troops were clear and gone.

Roy turned to the blonde Etrurian General, after a long sigh of relief. Behind him, his ragtag group of Lycians, fighters, mercenaries—not even an official army—seemed to give a collective sigh of relief, too, and they had gone towards each other to talk and chat and be grateful for the reinforcements that had quite possibly just saved their lives. The Etrurian soldiers approached them, too, carrying supplies of food and drink to the citizens of Ostia and to the members of Roy's army.

Etruria had saved them today. In the nick of time. "Yes..." Roy told Percival. "I am in charge of the Alliance Army in the place of Lord Hector."

Percival nodded. "I see. Lycia is in a time of hardship. Our king also sends his words of regret for Lord Hector's death."

"Thank you for your consideration. If Etruria hadn't helped us... Ostia would be under Bern's control now. Thank you very much," said Roy, offering Percival a little bow, but Percival held his hand up and stopped Roy midway of it.

"I am not the one to thank," said Percival. Roy gave him a puzzled look. "You should thank Cecilia, who went against the king to help you," Percival explained.

Cecilia? Went against the king? "She... disobeyed the king's orders?"

General Percival gave a little laugh, of how surprised Roy looked—and for his surprise, too, recalling how Cecilia had stubbornly set her mind to helping Ostia and had gotten him to agree to help her. For all her calm, she can be very determined. "Yes, she did that—now isn't that something?"

And the look on Roy's face turned into joy—thank goodness for friends. Thank goodness we are friends with Etruria, and Etrurians like Lady Cecilia. They saved us today.

"...Well," Percival said, "I must be off. Two of the three Etrurian Generals shouldn't be leaving the country for so long." He turned and looked around his surroundings and found the green-haired General nearby, helping with the supplies that they were generously giving Lycia. He called her. "Cecilia, I have to leave now. Can you take care of the rest?"

She gave a little nod. "Yes. Thank you, Percival. You can leave the rest to me."

And General Percival of Etruria leaves, taking his soldiers with him.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Roy watched as the General Percival and his men disappeared westward, carrying the flag of their country, Etruria, with them. He had heard much about the three generals of Etruria but had not actually met all of them—and now, he had met two of three, he had met Percival, the Knight General. "Whew... General Percival... now he's someone."

"Nervous, were you?" A small, amused voice asked, and Roy turned and found that it was Cecilia.

"General Cecilia!" he greeted in joy, and he nearly gave her a hug—and stopped himself mentally, thinking if it was appropriate for him to suddenly embrace her. She had been her mentor in battle tactics, and had given his youth much wisdom to ponder on. She had left him then when Etruria called on her to give her the title of Mage General—and Roy knew that in Lycia, she was missed. She was simply such a good woman to everyone she crosses paths with. "...It is good to see you again," he told her.

"How are you doing, Roy?" she asked. "Grown any taller yet?"

Roy gave a hearty laugh at what he knew was a jest from Cecilia. Cecilia was not actually a tall woman, but being more advanced in years, and with Roy's smaller stature, he had never been able to catch up to her in height, despite his childish declarations years ago that he will. Height was not one of the things he inherited from his tall father. "I think I've grown, General Cecilia. A bit. In the short time you haven't seen me, a lot has changed."

A lot has changed, Cecilia thought with a bit of sadness. Roy's height aside, far too many things changed—lives were killed in such a short amount of time, war begins, and the balance of powers of Elibe is hanging on a dangerous cord. "You look a little tired, but you seem okay," said Cecilia.

Roy nodded to say that he was indeed as she said. "Yes... but thanks to Etruria, we were able to avoid disaster."

"I'm glad we made it here in time."

"I'm sorry," Roy said. "I put you through a lot of trouble. I heard you went against the king's wishes just to be able to help us. I apologize for that, General Cecilia."

Cecilia firmly shook her head, as if to say Roy did not need to apologize. "It's going to be beneficial for us Etrurians for Ostia to go under our protection."

"Beneficial?" Roy asked.

"Yes. Bern's been acting aggressively these days, as you know. We also want to do something about it, but we haven't been directly invaded, so we have no reason to go to war with them. But if Bern gets any stronger, the balance of powers would be shattered."

Roy, a bright, clever boy, caught on what this meant immediately. "So when Ostia requested protection, you saw it as a good reason to declare war on Bern?"

"Right. We use our alliance to Ostia as a tool to eventually have the reason to be able to attack them sometime. You know Ostia has always been in good friendship to Etruria rather than Bern and everyone knows it. We just did what would be the best for us, Roy. You don't need to feel that you are in our debt."

"Yes," said Roy, but his mouth was only saying it—the words of General Percival were still in his mind, and he was still caught in disbelief at the image of Cecilia going against orders. And so he knew he was not in Etruria's debt, but in Cecilia's.

"So you shouldn't thank us," said Cecilia.

"Understood. I won't. Well anyway, would you please come and meet the rest of our army? You should meet with Lilina, too."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

OSTIA | The Castle Town

"Erk! Oh, Erk! Erky!"

He was handing out the food and grain that Etruria had given to Ostia as relief, when that high-pitched voice suddenly called his name. The way his name was screamed like that made shivers run down his spine—out of nostalgia. Clearly this is a dream, he thought. How could someone scream my name like she did fifteen years ago, the same tone and pitch?

But then he turned around and saw blinding pink hair, white and red robes whisking in the wind, her form running towards her. She looked so… happy that she had seen him, it almost seemed like she would cry for joy. "Serra?" he whispered to himself, puzzled at this visage.

"Erk!" she screamed. And then he felt something like an earthquake hit him as she ran into him in a tight, hearty embrace. All he could do was embrace back, still surprised.

When she pulled away, he held her at arm's length and examined her. She had tears in her eyes, clearly from joy. Really, Serra, ridiculous as always. "S-Serra? Is this you?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed, as she twirled in front of him and flicked her hair, a woman used to showing off her beauty. Erk couldn't help but give a slight frown at the action—she hasn't changed, it seems. But she was at least the one thing that hasn't changed ever since Erk stepped out of Nabata. Travelling with generals Cecilia and Percival had exposed him to all the drastic changes in Etruria, and of the continent. Everything has changed.

Everything, but Serra. "…I hate to say this, but it's good to see you again, Serra," Erk managed to say.

"Of course it's great to see me!" said Serra, as she elbowed him and gave a little laugh. "Who wouldn't be overjoyed to see me?"

Ah, the same conceit. Only this time, it sounded less conceited; it was a hint vulnerable. He remembered that tone. He remembered Serra's pride and conceit oddly matched with tears, as she tried to make him believe that she was someone, some princess from Etrurian nobility—which she was not. The pride that hides her pain.

He noted her pink hair, no longer in ponytails. She was holding a Light tome in her hand. Her clothes were of high quality, too lavish for a priestess. And then he remembered why. "You married Lord Oswin, I heard. How is he?"

The life and color in her face suddenly drained, and she looked away from him. "…He's dead," she said. "Died when Bern took Araphen siege."

He took… He took real good care of me, Erk."

...Oh. Erk suddenly felt nervous, not knowing how to address Serra after what she just said. Many years ago, news came about that Serra was renouncing her vow as a priestess to marry Lord Oswin—that certainly made a lot of people talk; it was not everyday that a priestess of enough renown like Serra threw her vows away. So that was her pain. He found himself suddenly lost at her revelation of it, of her distress. Ah, how many years has it been?—and I still can't talk to girls. "…As I can see," Erk said, uncertainly. And then he added, "I just wonder if you took good care of him."

He meant it as a joke, an inexperienced attempt to get her spirits to lift up, to draw her into her usual conceited banter that she was a good woman, if not the best. But she did not rise to it. "Everyone's dead, Erk. Lord Oswin is dead. Lady Lyn is dead. Lord Hector is dead. Matthew is dead for all I know. His spies never breathe a word about him or where he is. I'm glad to see an old friend alive, for once. I'm glad you're alive, Erk."

Erk struggled internally for a few seconds, wondering how to respond to that. But then he found the right answer. "I'm glad you're alive, too, Serra. I truly am glad."

She smiled a bit and hugged him tight again. And for once, Erk let her.

"…I'm glad Etruria came. I'm glad you came," she said. "Everything will get better now, won't it? Bern can't fight Lycia and Etruria together. All of this will eventually stop. And then Ostia will rise up again."

0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN | Bern Keep

In a few days, word travelled back to Bern about their loss against the combined forces of Ostia and Etruria. General Narshen was said to have returned to Bern Keep absolutely ashamed, and he had to endure the anger of General Murdock—who was said to have done the chastising because King Zephiel had become too annoyed with the Wyvern General who failed at an assignment where his peers did not. Ilia and Sacae were swiftly and successfully taken by General Brenya and General Murdock, and General Narshen was the only failure, unable to conquer Lycia. Narshen could already smell a demotion in the air, his favor with the king slowly slipping down. The wyvern knights were said to have been caught drinking to this. Most of them were not too fond of Narshen.

"I think I can sense someone's getting a promotion soon," Zeiss, Miledy's younger brother, playfully teased Gale, who he thought of as his own older brother. "Not a lot of soldiers are fond of Narshen. Not even His Majesty himself. You were always better suited for the job, Gale."

"Don't say that, Zeiss," Gale softly rebuked his lover's brother. "You cannot say that for sure. Nor can I. I know there are men more suited for the position than I am or was. Sir Heath, for example. He should have that position. He should."

But contrary to everyone's expectations, Narshen clung on to his position and stayed there, though he was already greatly disfavored. The king barely spoke to him, and His Highness was rumored to be so annoyed that he was ill-tempered, failing to carry a good conversation with everyone. His generals and advisors and servants were firsthand witness to his this—the king of Bern had never been actually friendly, but certainly he had always been a reasonable man.

"Firstly, Guinevere slips off unseen and unfelt by anyone," Zephiel said as he paced, discussing with Anko for their private meeting. "Next, Araphen is retaken by an army led by some young lordling. And now Narshen fails to take Lycia! Will I always be surrounded by incompetent people? Will I have to do everything myself?"

Anko stood before him, never flinching, much used to Zephiel's favor as well as to his displeasure. "My lord, you are surrounded by the most competent men in Bern and—"

"Apparently not!" Zephiel snapped at his Master of Spies. "If I remember, you are supposed to figure out where my sister is! And what do you have on her? Nothing! Until now you have nothing on her!"

She knew where Guinevere was. She always knew. "I apologize for that, but it isn't entirely my fault, because certainly it's not my fault she escaped in the first place—her Defenders are too lax with her so that is what happens..."

Zephiel paused, and the face of the leader of Guinevere's Royal Defenders flashed to mind—the female wyvern knight, Miledy. "You women," he groaned, as he slunk down into his huge, cushioned seat in the room. "You're more trouble than all of you are worth. You, and my sister, and her incompetent guards, and my wife..."

Anko gave a slight cock of head to this, putting on an expression that clearly questioned Zephiel's words. He was not much for chauvinism, not until now. He had always been expressive of his appreciation for his sister Guinevere, his departed queen mother, his wife, and the few high-ranking females in his kingdom, such as her or General Brenya. He knew genius had no gender.

But of course. Things have changed, Anko reminded herself. When it is peacetime and the women of your life love you, you can have no care in the world. But when things change and what they feel towards you changes, then by all means, you have all the trouble in the world on your shoulders. Women know how to cause trouble. Especially for men.

"And later in the day I will have to face my wife and undoubtedly, some argument will transpire again," Zephiel said, and Anko turned back to him, snapping from her own thoughts. Zephiel sighed—the anger in his voice was gone, and had almost changed to fatigue. "Every other evening, an argument. She never gets tired of it."

But suddenly, a flicker came across the king's eyes, as if he remembered something important. "...That wyvern knight, Heath," he said—and for the first time in this meeting Anko became visibly rattled as she heard the name being uttered by the king. Slowly Zephiel looked up to Anko, a questioning look on his face. "You are friends with him, aren't you?"

"He is more of Her Majesty's friend than mine, my lord," Anko pointed out, trying to sound level.

"You recommended him to be reinstated among Bern's knights a few years ago, if I recall correctly."

"Of course I did," Anko said, not sure where this conversation was leading to. All of a sudden, Zephiel jumps from talking about his wife and then it becomes Heath. "He is a very skilled wyvern knight. It's a shame to let him go to waste."

"He's better than Narshen," Zephiel remarked, sounding impressed—but the expression on his face was connived, Anko thought, as if he were speaking praises only to see the reaction on her face. Or it's me being paranoid if anything is about Heath. "He is a good man," said Zephiel. "So you are never better friends with him? You have no understandings, no intimacies?"

Anko fought the impulse to bite her lip. "No," she said, making her face look genuinely puzzled as to why the king was asking this. "I am a spy," she said. "I make no understandings with anyone, share no intimacies. You know that, my lord."

"I saw you at his arm one dinner, a few evenings ago. Are you sure that meant nothing?"

"Nothing," Anko said. "Though I do honestly think he is quite handsome, if you asked me. If I had to choose anyone's arm to be holding onto that evening it would be him. If lord James came, though, that might change," Anko added, taking a risk by saying something that was supposed to sound honest and nonchalant. Zephiel was always quick to catch on lies. He was a good liar himself. The only way to get through him was to lie with a hint of truth, to make him believe you have nothing to hide by being bold in statements.

"You share nothing with him?" Zephiel asked again, sounding like he was trying to make sure of something. "You are sure you are not that attracted to him? Beyond thinking he is good-looking?"

Anko let out a little laugh. "That attracted, my lord? He is nice to look at. But that aside, what else is there?"

Zephiel laughed as well, the laugh sounding dismissive. "If you say so, Anko. But if I may say so, I think there is nothing wrong if you desire a man. You are woman after all, aren't you? So long as it doesn't get in the way of work."

So long as you don't forget to keep your secrets, Zephiel thought. Because sometimes the people you love the most are the people you have to lie the most to.

Still smiling, the king rose from his seat and stood as if to leave the meeting at that—but then he came towards the spy and put a heavy hand to her shoulder.

And then he whispered: "I want him dead. If any of your spies find him, take him down. Set a bounty on his head. He is now an enemy of the country."

And for a second, Anko forgot to keep herself in check at the shock, and so she asked, "...What? Why?"

"He knows too much," Zephiel answered, simply. "And he's friends too much with my wife. If anyone wouldn't keep his mouth shut and would tell something to my wife, it would be him, aye? I'm tired of arguing with my wife. He could possibly feed her reasons to argue with me—and tell her things I don't want her to know of, too. If there will be treason in the land by my own wife, he will be the one to spark it. So do as I say. I want him dead."

She almost reasoned—she itched to reason—that, no, my lord, why would you bother yourself with this Knight who poses no actual threat to you, that is so loyal to this country he wouldn't be able to afford breaking his oaths? But that would be saying too much. That would be getting into danger together with him. Kumiko must have been acting different and Zephiel must have attributed it to something Heath said. And that was why he had asked her all those questions about her friendship with Heath—he was trying to figure if she was connected to it, too. And if she pleaded for Heath, it almost screamed out that indeed she was.

"Such a pity," Zephiel said, as he walked away. "He really was better than Narshen. In another life, maybe, he would have been a splendid Wyvern General of Bern."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | Office of the Master of Spies

As soon as her meeting with the king ended, Anko felt her feet leading her back to her office, swiftly walking, almost running. But to run was a sign of panic, and she had to appear as the calm, in control Master Spy even if panicked was the very word to describe what she felt inside.

Eventually, she reached the safety of her rooms, and then—only then— did Anko found it right to vent out all her anger and frustration and panic in a little scream. She paced around her office , resisting the urge to throw something, to rip something apart, to stab something, or to badly incapacitate something or someone. It simply wasn't professional, and it gave no results. And with Anko, it was only the results that mattered. Anything that did not contribute to the ulterior goal was nuisance.

Including him. Including Heath. He was supposed to be nuisance until I... Until I developed these stupid feelings.

He couldn't have been very far, Anko thought, since who would be able to get very far from her and her network of Spies in one day? But then again, Heath was a wyvern rider—and a very stellar one. It was very much possible that he was no longer on Bern soil. Also a keen observer on terrain and the patrolling patterns of the wyvern guards of Bern, Heath would very much know how to hide from them and remain undetectable. There was no knowing when he was ever going to be seen again.

And yet Anko saw him frequently—she only had to close her eyes. If she willed it, she could remember every tiny detail of him—the smell of him, his voice, the sound of his laughter, the feel of his skin. And when she thought of him and imagined him lingering around, maybe walking up to her from behind and then taking her in an embrace—it was as if the air around her moved, as if he were truly, really, embracing her—only he was not there.

This is my personal heaven and hell.

She looked down at the slip of paper in her hand, and knew that it was the very thing she was trying to save Heath from by making him vow to not tell Kumiko a word. The paper declared him an enemy of Bern, again a wanted fugitive, someone that was to be killed upon sight or brought to the Keep for a handsome sum. He was a threat to Bern and King Zephiel's war. He knew too much to let wander around. He had seen too many things. He had enough contacts in the other countries, he knew the right people to approach. He had the skills—this was the man who could have been a General under better circumstances. He had to be killed. Immediately.

"Damn this," Anko muttered, as she put down the paper, succeeding against the urge to crumple it and throw it to burn in her fireplace. Heath had brought it upon himself, Anko thought. She had tried to save him from this precarious situation by trying to make him shut up. He knew Zephiel's rules: No one talks. And yet he stupidly risked his neck by telling something to Kumiko and then making a run for it. He never should have made a run for it. It almost very clearly suggested that he committed some sin.

I am in-love with a stupid man who'd fight against an entire country because he knows it's in the wrong and because he has to tell the truth. Usually I would be incredibly impressed and turned on by this. But now I am only very, very worried and I can't help but wish Heath would have chosen to be a little less heroic.

But that's exactly why I love him. He is a true Knight, a true hero.

"So how does it feel?" a voice in the room asked, and Anko nearly flipped over in surprise at the voice that interrupted her thoughts. She checked and then glanced up and her eyes found themselves on the man standing by her office door, leaning against it.

"How does it feel, being betrayed by the man you love?" Jaffar's cold voice asked, his eyes staring straight at the female spy, his arms crossed to himself.

He had outdone Anko there—entering her office without a trace of sound, without her detecting it. Anko regarded him with a cold look, eyebrows arched up. So caught up was she in her issues that she barely felt him enter her rooms.

But then again, this was Jaffar. He could sneak up on anyone he wanted.

For a man who has long left the life of an assassin, the very aura of one never left him. Anko had always half-admired, half-feared Jaffar—truly, at any time, Jaffar can take her place as Master Spy and do a decent job at it. He was her opposite, but at the same time he was her equal. He worked discreetly and quietly and used the coldness of his expression and lack of emotion as his weapons. Anko wanted to leave her mark and be recognized, and used extremes in emotion to hide the truth. Different tactics, at opposite ends of one another, but both of them were lethal at their field.

And yet there was one thing Anko had known about Jaffar when he had first seen him: he was no spy, no snake. He usually kept to his word. "Good day, Jaffar. Why do you ask that?" Anko retorted. "Would you like to have an idea of what Nino would feel if he found out where your loyalties are?"

"My loyalties are always to her," Jaffar said levelly, never sounding like he has risen to Anko's bait at argument. The expression on his face was solid and stone-cold, almost mask-like, hard to read. "And everything I do is for her in the end. She has no reason to doubt where my heart is."

Everything was for Nino—even if it meant running away from her years ago and going into hiding just so she would be safe from bounty hunters. Anko knew that Jaffar very well understood how you could hurt the person you love the most, for their sakes.

"Kumiko is not compromised," Jaffar said. "Heath was never able to get a message through to her. He tried to send a note to her telling of everything he is in knowledge of about this war, but the note never reached her."

"Where is the note now?" Anko asked, suddenly a notch more attentive.

"Sitting in my fireplace in ashes," Jaffar answered.

"How convenient," Anko remarked, as she looked down again at the paper detailing Heath's information and the order to hunt him down. In the end, his sacrifice is worth nothing. He will be hunted down for a piece of notepaper that never even really reached the queen. I'm sorry, Heath. I'm so, so sorry.

"His Majesty misses nothing," Jaffar said, his eyes still fixed on Anko, examining her expression to figure what she was thinking. "Even if Heath had never disappeared he would not be safe forever when the King figures that he knows too much for Kumiko's friend."

But we could have kept him safe. Kumi and I could have kept him safe. "I know that," Anko said. "His Highness has always kept a close watch on Heath. He knew that if anyone were to talk, it would be him, judging from his nature."

"And yet Heath achieves nothing, thanks to me," Jaffar noted. And then he told Anko, "And now, that is another favor done for you by me. When will I get a benefit, Anko? Have you found anything about my children?"

That was Jaffar's weakness, that was what made him easy to control—his family. Anko very well knew that weakness and exploited it. He knew Jaffar was too keen and too skilled to miss anything in the war. He would hear too much, see too much, and would make Kumiko aware of everything he knows. Not what Anko wanted—so she had bought Jaffar's silence with the promise that she would help her find his twin boys. He agreed to this, and surprisingly, even to the notion that Kumiko be kept out of the details of the war. She knows too much, she ends up getting swayed by her anger. We lose an ace, Jaffar had said. He understood what Kumiko's role as Zephiel's wife meant in this war, what her potential could be.

"I trust you haven't forgotten your promise," Jaffar told Anko. He told it in his usual monotone—and yet with his stare it sounded like a threat.

"Of course I haven't," said Anko, dismissively. She had never forgotten. Though at first she thought a pair of boys with green hair wouldn't be so hard to find. For all her spies throughout Elibe, none of them have spotted a pair of twins with green hair. They could be dead, for all I know. "I don't forget, Jaffar."

He turned around as if to leave, but then he stopped and turned towards her again, as if he had forgotten something. "I'd like you to know that sooner or later Kumiko is going to get a whiff of something about the war. My wife, too. Nino has spent her days endlessly trailing everything the king reads and trying to draw parallels with them. With some luck, she'll find a similarity in history, in mythology, in dragons. And my wife can be very, very lucky with such things."

Ah, so they were looking at Zephiel's trail. I tried that before and have seen that recurring theme of history, myth, and dragons. But I can't make sense of it—only that Zephiel is researching the dragons because he is using them as weapons, after all. But two of the country's brightest female scholars—Kumi and Nino—might be able to see something else. "It doesn't matter," Anko said. "They might see the recurrence, but unless they hear facts and see a dragon for themselves, they wouldn't believe it. And who knows? They may be able to unravel this. They may figure out why King Zephiel has started war."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | The Sage's Study

Kumiko, clad in gown of red and gold, sat silently alone in one of the reading alcoves in Bern Keep's Library. A firelight was flickering on the table as Kumiko read, for the umpteenth time, a chapter about King Desmond's reign.

He was the same man Kumiko had met ages ago with the man written down in books. Ambitious, greedy, powerful. Yet for all his determination, for all his ambitions, he was not gifted with the talents to match them. He was never a great warrior, or scholar, or diplomat, or builder. His relationships were as the relationships of most kings were—your friends were your friends because of your power, and your men followed you because you are king. Everything in his rule was pretty much... ordinary.

...Which was exactly what Zephiel was not. Zephiel was skilled—he had only to put his hand on one thing, and he was bound to master it. Whether it was a weapon or a musical instrument or the pen, Zephiel excelled. He had only to watch how something was done, and he would learn how to do it himself. He had only to read a poem or law or edict once or twice, and he would later sharply recall what it was about and be able to recite it. And yet he never grew too proud; he remained kind. And so almost everyone Zephiel encountered loved him. Men followed him and listened to him because they respected him, because they adored him.

He was everything his father was not, or never became.

And so, as Zephiel grew older, growing more brilliant each day, so did King Desmond's jealousy grew. He doubted Zephiel was his son. The very sight of him just made the king angry and spiteful. Praises about Zephiel tended to make the king's mood shift. He was still alive, and he was still king, but already he was eclipsed by his brilliant son. He has accomplished nothing yet but his son, it seemed, was accomplishing everything.

The jealousy grew worse, and worse. Zephiel was disinherited. He was never given a role or position in court—the king did not want to give him any more opportunities to excel. And yet, the people still loved Zephiel. Until finally, not just once—King Desmond tried to kill his own son.

None of his plans succeeded. And luckily for King Desmond, Zephiel never fought back. He could have easily led a coup d' eta against his own father, against his own country, yet he didn't. All he wanted was his father's love.

Until the last straw that made everything crumble came. One day, Zephiel finally fought back, and took the throne.

And here we are now, Kumiko thought. Here we are at present, in this war. And all of this started with one man's irrational jealousy.

All of this started with one man's insecurity.

"Kumiko!" An excited yell echoed throughout the library, and Kumiko turned her head and found Nino, running towards her with such a huge smile on her face. The sage ran to the queen's side, exhausted from running, yet for all her panting her smile never vanished. The news she had to tell the queen was just too good. She whispered it to the queen, gladness in her voice.

"Do you speak truly? Honestly, Nino?" Kumiko asked. "Ostia has resisted? Bern has fled Lycia?"

"Yes!" Nino confirmed, looking excited. "Yes, yes, yes! This is good news, Kumiko. Good news for now."

For now.

Kumiko's joy receded, as she recalled other facts about the war. "But Ilia and Sacae are not yet set free. Etruria and Lycia working together will never be an easy enemy, but one loss never meant the end of a war. Sometimes, a loss just fuels a desire to get even. What point is there in rejoicing now, if this just means Bern will come back for Lycia, with more forces, more strength?"

Nino's joy slipped, too, but she tried to remind Kumiko of better things. "Lycia, with Etruria's aid, would be prepared. They would have better chances for defending themselves."

"…Not against Bern," said Kumiko. "Not against the mighty Bern."

"…But we have peace," Nino pointed out. "Peace… for now."

Kumiko nodded, as she looked over the view from the balcony, head turned towards the west, towards Lycia. Peace… for now. Lycia, at least for now, could sleep tight. At least, for now, they had good news to keep their spirits up. They had peace for the hour, for the day, for now, but no one could really tell how long it would last.

No one, it seemed, but one man. Only Zephiel could tell. Only his words, his thoughts, his goals, his whim or desire, could tell if Lycia was ever going to have peace from Bern.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN | Bern Keep, one week later

Much to Zephiel's surprise—and even to Kumiko's own—she had kept her mouth shut and chose to be cautious for the past week. Zephiel was irritable at best for a few days, angry and fumbling at the slightest mistakes of his servants, no matter how small. And so Kumiko refused to directly put herself against Zephiel's temper. She chose to avoid him, refusing to start conflict when she knew he was not in his best mood, and similarly, he avoided her, wanting the same thing.

Whenever she chose to talk to him, it would be calculated, careful. She would speak politely, and she stayed away from talking about the war. Whenever he complained or got angry for something his servants (which, to Zephiel, was every man and woman in Bern) did, Kumiko did not tell him to stop; instead she chose to move and see to it that the mistake was fixed as quickly as possible, so he could cease complaining.

And Zephiel noticed this. But he did not revel in it; it did not help his mood any. He knew why she was acting this way. She does not say it to him, but he knew that, perhaps, she was silently glad and thanking her gods that Ostia was spared and safe, and was thus content for the meantime. Her kindness was temporary, that he knew. One day, when his anger faded, when he was the one content, she would end up the one getting angry.

Must we always be this way? One silently rejoicing at the other's failure?

He watched her as she sat before their table that morning, pouring his wine for him. Breakfast was laid out at the table before her, though he saw none of the servants serve it. It was, for the past few days, the visage that greeted him as he woke up. On ordinary days, Kumiko would not be caught serving him in the morning. But the past days, she chose to, taking pity on the servants that he scolded.

She would greet him and attend to him all throughout the day, but in the way a polite servant would, rather than a wife. At times, it eased him, yet at other times, he knew that all of it was just a mask, that after the initial ill temper he had for Narshen's failure has passed, she will return to whatever she was before, half-lovable, half-annoying, a woman always asking questions. Her kindness will fade, her submission will fade eventually. So he cannot revel in it at all. He cannot be complacent.

...Contentment can be a fickle thing, Zephiel knew. Sometimes, it can be a very, very potent illusion. He was not falling into that trap. Whatever Kumiko did, he vowed to never forget that the truth was, she didn't even trust him.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | The Inner Gardens

"I hope his majesty's ill mood has quelled," Nino whispered to Kumiko, as the latter bent down to pick some roses from their bushes. "Has the storm passed, Kumiko?"

Kumiko gave a little shrug as she arranged the roses into her basket. "I can't tell. He has barely talked to me. I think he's evading me in fear that I would say something." And then Kumiko looked behind her back, to her attendants, to see if they were busily chattering or gathering flowers, busy enough not to eavesdrop on her and Nino. A few days in a month, Kumiko would take her ladies and take flowers and or herbs from the vast gardens, and they would take them back into the castle rooms to decorate them. Kumiko leisurely walked a pebbled path with Nino and her attendants, with flower-filled baskets at their arms. Jaffar, too, hovered among them, a silent defender always on the lookout for threats.

"Almost week has passed," Nino pointed out. "Does he still hold ill feelings for that failure in Ostia? Too long has passed for this, don't you think so?"

Too long. Kumiko wondered just how long was too long. Two years had passed since Zephiel's father had died, and yet he still hated him. Almost thirty years has passed since her blood father abused her mother, and Kumiko still hated him for it. How long is too long?

"...Zephiel barely fails," was what Kumiko found to tell Nino. "He is much used to success and praise, and is a little perfectionist himself. He expects his servants to be as brilliant. I understand why he is not taking this well."

Nino almost replied, but then she heard the ladies whisper among themselves. Kumiko and Nino turned to find them dropping into curtsies, as a man stood before them on the marble path, tall and statuesque.

Nino dropped down into a curtsy as well, seeing who the man was. "Good day, my lady queen," General Murdock greeted, offering a little bow.

Kumiko returned it with a curtsy of her own, dipping low as if she were faced with a king—or a king's father. "Good day, General Murdock."

He was dressed down—as dressed down as the Great General Murdock could afford. He was wearing armor, but he was not covered by it, unlike the days when Bern was actively in war and Lord Murdock—and any other soldier of Bern—practically slept in their armor, as if expecting an attack or to go on the attack any time of the day. And yet, for the past few weeks, Bern was more relaxed than it has ever been. Even with the failure at Lycia, Bern has not gathered its forces yet, has not retaliated at all. It almost looked as if they were on the retreat, even if such thing was highly impossible for the mighty Bern.

"For his majesty?" Murdock asked, glancing at the flowers at Kumiko's arm.

Kumiko immediately shook her head. "These? No—they are only for the Keep, for decoration. And I honestly doubt that flowers are the cure to the king's ill mood."

"Mayhap not the cure, but they will help," Murdock said. And then again he gave her a small bow and said, "Now, if you will excuse me, milady. I beg your leave."

Kumiko gave him a little nod, and with that he walked off, the queen's attendants parting and making way for him. Kumiko stared long at the general's back as he walked away. She knew that if anyone in Bern was closest to the king, it was Murdock. He was more than a general. He was more than a loyal vassal. He could very well be called the king's father.

"Lord Murdock," Kumiko called out to him, stopping him in his tracks. The general turned to face the queen again, an inquiring look on his face. "You aren't too busy, I hope? Can I invite you to a little stroll by the gardens? I promise it will not take long."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The gardens of Bern Keep was one of its many prides—there were countless indoor and outdoor gardens in the Keep, all beautifully maintained and decorated with fine infrastructures. There were different kinds of flowers, trimmed lawns and bushes, fountains and artificial ponds and falls. The best of Bern's landscapists were all featured in the gardens, dating from time immemorial.

The queen walked with the general in those gardens, treading through a pebbled path towards a fountain. She walked ahead of him, leading the way, and for a while she did not speak, deciding to take her time. In her silence, General Murdock spoke ahead of her and honestly said:

"I do not know if you are aware, but I would think you have eyes and ears in the Keep as well. You would know that every soldier and servant of Bern Keep is forbidden to casually talk about the war."

Ah, General Murdock. Always so keen. "But I'm afraid it must be talked about," Kumiko said, as she sat by the fountain, putting down her basket of flowers at her side. "My married life—and every other aspect of my life as well—revolves around it. My husband's ill mood is caused by this war as well."

"I would advice you to not discuss war with him at the moment," said Murdock. His face looked as solid as ever, but he was also biting back his words, careful not to say too much. A soldier of Bern must never say too much. "It would only cause him more annoyance. He needs someone's comfort and assurance in this failure."

"But I—" But I delight in that 'failure', Kumiko almost said, and in the nick of time she bit her lip before the words came out. The words could be judged as treason; she could not afford to say them. "But that is exactly what I do," Kumiko said, making a recovery. "For a week now I have not spoken to him about anything; I have not complained. I serve him silently. And yet he still acts ill-tempered around me, as if in fear that I would say something and slap the failure to his face when it should already be very clear that I would not. I sometimes wonder if he only acts that way when I am around. It is almost as if he is evading me."

Murdock gave a long, thoughtful look at Kumiko. She sat there by the fountain, looking back at him expectantly, waiting for a response. She was a woman who did not make enough friends among the courtiers of Bern Keep; she stuck to her circle. But, she was courteous to him, and treated him with great respect and kindness and talked to him intelligently, as if there was not one topic under the sun that she was not in knowledge of. Except for her married life, except for her husband. Usually, she came to him with her problems about her husband, as if expecting the general to know him better. Which was, in more than one ways, true.

"His Majesty fears nothing, most especially not spoken words," said Murdock. "But he may resist the urge to speak to you or say anything, in his desire to not start an argument. If there is one thing His Highness might fear, it would be starting an argument with his wife."

Kumiko gave a little laugh—she knew that was so untrue. After all, how many arguments had occurred between him and her? Especially of recent—they were too many to count. "Please spare me the flattery and tell me the truth, my lord," she said.

"But that is the truth," Murdock insisted. "The king does not like fighting within his own soldiers. He does not like fighting within his own servants, not even with his own generals. He will not be glad about fighting with his own wife. He is a true Bernese—and that is how we are. Too proud to be caught fighting among ourselves."

Kumiko caught on one key word—proud. It is the image of peace that we want, not the actual peace. We are just too proud of who we are. That we are the strongest, that we are the best. But the only truth is that we are the proudest, be it for good or bad. "You disagree with this war, too, don't you, my lord?" Kumiko asked.

Yes, Murdock wanted to say. But he would not allow himself to say it. "I follow my orders," said Murdock. "My opinion about anything hardly matters. These are the king's matters for him to decide on."

Kumiko gave a little frown. So, he would not side on her. He would be loyal to Zephiel. Murdock may be logical and care for the country as well as the continent, and he may not be one for senseless warring and bloodshed, but he still put his loyalty to his liege above that. "…You were always like the father he never had for him. Zephiel told me that," Kumiko said, voice sounding like an appeal. "You know anything you say, he will hear out. Next to him, you are the most powerful man in Bern that I know of."

He knew what she was trying to say. You are the second most powerful man in Bern. If anyone can make a stand against this, it would be you. But he could not just do that. "My lady queen, you know that if your lord husband sets his mind to something, he does not stop until he achieves it. He will do want what he wants; it doesn't matter who gets in the way."

The sorrow in the queen's face became more etched; nothing he was saying was making her feel better. "...So you think this war is going to continue? You think he shall pursue Lycia, or maybe Etruria?" she asked.

"I cannot tell. I do not know."

The queen gave a visible frown, and in a moment of irritation, she angrily slapped the water in the fountains so that it splashed upwards. And then she looked up to the general again.

"No, Murdock," she said. "I am the one who cannot tell and does not know. I hide nothing from Zephiel—I tell him what I like and don't like and what I hate and I do not. I have no secrets. But how could he hide all this from me? How could he?"

She was angry. She was disappointed. She was betrayed. And somewhere, in his heart, Murdock understood the feeling.

But Murdock just said, "...Sometimes you keep your secrets only from those who you love the most."

Kumiko turned back to the general, looking puzzled, as if he had just spoken in another language. "How can you say that? What do you mean by that?"

"There are many things you want to share to a loved one," Murdock explained, "Yet many times, there are also many secrets, many things you think they are better off not knowing. It would complicate things; it would give them one more thing to think about. Or it could be dangerous if you said it, and it would be better kept unsaid. There is much wisdom in not talking as there is in talking."

Kumiko thought on that long and hard, and tried to figure out what that meant for him. So he thinks Zephiel is keeping secrets because it is what is better for us? "But what about honesty and transparency? What about relying on each other?"

"Keeping a secret is not lying. It is simply keeping your mouth shut," said Murdock. "That is what your husband thinks. You seem to believe in different things. I think these differences are causing your problems, my lady."

That is stupid. You tell everything to the people you love. But then again... Zephiel has done this before, too. Keeping things from me, from others, so that they will not be burdened. That is his belief. That is how his mind works. "Then how do I overcome this?" Kumiko asked aloud. "How do I understand him more?"

"Adapt to him" Murdock suggested. "You are aware of your differences. You have an idea of how he thinks. Bend to it, my lady. If you think long on it, you will understand."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Men were certainly, at times, very cryptic. You never really understand what they want.

Much as the male gender thought otherwise, Kumiko was convinced that men were certainly the more difficult gender. Women may be mercurial and moody, but they wore their emotions on their sleeves; if you looked close enough, you always knew what a woman wanted. She could be easily be won over by sweet words or thoughtful gifts—yes, sometimes, she could be easy. Whenever she wanted something, whenever she felt something, she said it. She expressed it. She revealed it. It was obvious.

Men—or, to be fair and exact, Kumiko thought, Zephiel—wascertainly cryptic and elusive. He never really revealed what he wanted, he never expressed his inner desires and conflicts and hurts. He hid it, he buried it, he might have pretended it did not exist. He controlled his emotions, he kept them in check, he would never so quickly reveal them. Everything he did, it was done for a reason, for a good, logical reason and barely of sheer emotion—that sometimes, it seemed, he had no emotion at all.

Maybe it's because, this is what culture and society tells us, especially us Bernese. Men are supposed to be men. They aren't supposed to express everything they feel, most especially if it is a weakness. They were only worth their rank or how much they earned or what they achieved and how strong they were.

In a sense, that makes them no different from us women. We are judged only for our beauty, or the marriages we make or the number of our children. But if we are no different, how can we be so different?

"…Does your father say anything he wants? Does he keep no secrets from you?" Kumiko's thoughts made way for a question to her attendant Miranda, who was with her in her sitting room, humming as she stitched the golden embroidery in what she was sewing to be her father's shirt. The young heiress looked up from her stitching to the queen, puzzled at the sudden question.

"I would not be so proud as to say that my father keeps no secrets from me," said Miranda. "But whatever he can part with and tell me, he does."

"But he tells you of his emotions? Of his hurts, his desires? The things men do not usually say?"

Miranda began to look genuinely puzzled. "He… speaks of them when he has to. Vaguely. In that certain, witty courtier way that he always does. Why do you ask, my lady?"

"Just a curiosity," Kumiko immediately answered. "I'm just trying to unravel the mystery of men."

Because, men were certainly mysterious.

From Zephiel to Murdock to Jaffar, even to seemingly charming men like Matthew or Legault. The latter two keep their secrets well as well; only they opt to hide behind charm to mask their pains. Even the supposedly more open men like Sain were still a mystery; his joyful, jovial demeanor will always be so animated to a point of planned out—it was as if the true Sain will never be unveiled, and does not plan to be. Because that is what culture dictated? That men were supposed to be solid and strong, never sharing their weaknesses or fears? Even to the people they love the most?

Ridiculous. You hide nothing from the people you love the most. Kumiko thought of men like her mentor, Alecto, who was by all means the definition of a strong, brilliant man—and yet kept nothing hidden from his wife or his daughter. Of men like Mark, who is a great tactician and great man, and yet is unafraid to say his fears, his worries… Men, too, must share their emotions. Only they chose who to share it to.

"You tell Nino everything, don't you?" Kumiko asked Jaffar once.

Jaffar said, "Of course," almost automatically. "She is my wife. Why should I keep secrets from her?" …And if I do keep secrets from her, they are always for her own good.

"...If only all husbands were like you, Jaffar."

Jaffar replied, "If only all wives were like Nino. Open and trusting. I am never in fear of telling her anything because I know she will never be quick to judge."

Men, too, share their emotions, Only they chose who to share it to. Was I not worthy of Zephiel's trust? Does he think I will be quick to judge?

Maybe he does. After all our arguments, I am not the perfect candidate for sharing anything, any inner thought with. At all. "And so the fault is mine…?" Kumiko whispered silently, to the air.

Jaffar—too skilled to not hear even the tiniest whispers—caught on Kumiko's thoughts and then solemnly offered his wisdom. "If I may, Kumiko? …Trust is a two-way lane. You do not trust someone who is not worth trusting. And for men, we barely trust someone who does not trust us herself. Do you trust him yourself?"

"I tell him everything—"

"Telling someone every little thing does not equal to trust," Jaffar quickly said. "What about things that you do not tell, things that you do not share? Things that you hold back?"

"W-What do you mean?" Kumiko asked, all of a sudden nervous at Jaffar's implications. "You mean to say my body, am I right? Am I?"

"Well, that is part of what I am—"

"Why is it that you men always want the same thing!" Kumiko exclaimed, raising her voice a little, alarming even the usually composed Jaffar. She just cut in his sentences like a woman offended. "Why must we always have to prove ourselves by giving in to a man's physical desires? It that the only expression of trust that men acknowledge?"

"…His Majesty is your husband," was all that Jaffar said, refusing to go beyond that and explain further. He knew Kumiko would do the elaborations and explanations further in her head. Surely Kumiko knew that thread of reasoning all too much, with many people—and maybe even her own husband—repeating it to her. Jaffar refused to travel down that path and potentially annoy Kumiko.

Instead, he said, "I sincerely hope you get over whatever sense of fear you may have for that issue, but if I may also say that, no, it is not the only expression of trust that men acknowledge. It is not the only way we feel that a woman trusts us. There are other ways."

Kumiko looked up to him, and the expression on her face was clearly asking, "How?"

"...You appeal to the male nature. Such as, it is in men's nature to protect," Jaffar said. "And so you allow yourself to be vulnerable in front of him. Share your pain. Share your secrets. The intimacies you would only tell your closest friends. There must be something there to share that you have never told him yet." Because no man or woman ever runs out of secrets.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | The Grand Ballroom

Men love to feel like men. To feel like protectors, to be the answer to every woman's problem, to be a refuge. To feel powerful, in a sense. That is why women appeal to us. They are the softness in contrast to our strength.

Kumiko couldn't help but feel puzzled as she thought back on Jaffar's statements. She had always thought Jaffar to be an intelligent man, but for him to talk like that, as if some philosopher or scholar, was unexpected. But then again what would you expect from the man who used to be one of Bern's greatest assassins? He must have watched people more closely than any ordinary man, must have pondered on things people usually do not ponder on. Strengths. Weaknesses. Human desires.

And is that why you fell in love with Nino? she asked him. Because she is soft and feminine, the contrast to your strength and steel?

That would be one way of putting it, Jaffar said. I was stained and dirty. She was pure and innocent. She was what I needed. What made me feel complete. Could you figure what would make your husband feel that way?

Kumiko glanced at the man beside her, seated on his throne, watching over all his courtiers as they danced and conversed and made merry, the expression on his face distant and still somewhat annoyed. What did he need? What would make him open up and trust her and tell her his secrets?

If I trusted him with mine, will he tell me his, too? There was no telling that. Now that Kumiko thought on it, Zephiel was always guarded, elusive. Even in the days when they were getting along well, he usually wanted to talk about her as opposed to about himself.

How will he trust me when I seem like his mortal enemy more than his wife?

He caught her staring at him, and he turned to her. And for a moment, the annoyance on his face shifted to puzzle. "Why are you staring? Is there something on my face?"

...I never meant to be his enemy, Kumiko thought. I never wanted to. I never even dreamt of it. "Nothing," she told him, as she reached out to him, to hold onto the hand that he had resting on his throne's armrest. He visibly jerked at the contact, surprised. And then she asked, "Will you humor me, my lord, and dance with me? We should enjoy the evening."

"I don't feel like it. You have my permission to ask someone else."

She gave him a pleading little smile and said, "No one dances as well as you do, my lord. And you know I dance so horribly that I will probably trip over anyone else. You are the only one who leads so well that I don't commit those errors."

He looked at her with disbelief, as if a man trying to figure a false coin from the real one. But in a second, he decided to get up, and oblige her. "Just one dance," he told her, as he led her down from her chair. "And then I shall leave and go to bed. All the noise makes me feel ill."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Everything fit into place, as she danced with him. It almost seemed as if, along with the music, memories of two years past came back to her mind.

...He was strong; he was dependable. She was weaker and easily got tired; she was shaky and unpredictable.

...She liked to talk about herself and share stories of her adventures; he liked to be the one listening to them.

...He was never truly one for the wait. When he wanted something, he constantly kept at it until it was his; she took her time.

...She liked to listen to music, to dance to music. He liked to be the one orchestrating it.

The little things, the big things, they all came back to Kumiko's mind. He and I were different. But never in the way that it made us argue. We complemented. Strong where the other war not, patient for when the other one was impatient. We... completed each other. In a way.

And then, for the first time, she felt that she wanted to understand him—and not only because she wanted to figure out why he started the war. Because she truly, absolutely did.

He looked down at her, bewildered. He was surprised to find her face flushed as she looked down from him, almost coyly. And then she looked up to him again and asked, "Are you still angry at me, Zephiel?"

"...I was angry at you?" he asked, as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

She gave a slight nod. "You are angry at all your servants and subjects. You yell at them for the slightest mistakes. And you barely talked to me the entire week, too. Did I do anything wrong? Are you angry at me?"

She sounded so... innocent, that for a moment there, he believed that she was, that she knew nothing about the defeat in Lycia, so she could not understand why he was ill-tempered and evasive. "No, of course not," he said, "you did nothing wrong. I... I'm sorry. I wasn't angry at you. I would never be angry at you."

She smiled, and gave him a little embrace. The entire court watched in silent awe and thought that, maybe, they were witness to the end of the king's ill temper, and Bern Keep would resume to its former peace.

0o0o0o0o0o0

BERN KEEP | Four days later

They were right—the king's storm of anger had died down, much to everyone's relief. His servants and courtiers breathed easier, knowing the king would no longer throw a string of barbed words for every little mistake he saw. Appeals were now thrown at his footsteps, praises to his greatness, greetings for his victories, when before everyone was scared to talk to him or step anywhere near his path. This caused much rejoicing among the men and women of Bern Keep. It seemed like the dark days of Narshen's loss were over and hardly mattered anymore. The Wyvern General, of all people, was the happiest about the fact.

But the king never forgot the failure. It just so happened that something more puzzling was taking his thoughts.

He watched, bewildered, as Kumiko continued to act kind towards him—even after he had already clearly told her that he was not angry at her and after he had stopped frightening his servants with his ill temper. He understood why she was silent and understanding when he was visibly angry—she did it out of fear. But why would she still be kind even after that has passed? There was no point after that. Is she that happy of his loss at Lycia that she could take it this far? That as long as he was making no move at war, she would be kind?

Or was she simply tired of the arguments, tired of the fighting, tired of resisting?

That doesn't make sense. She isn't usually like this. Not the past weeks and days ago. People are only kind to you when they want something.

But she was unfailingly good to him—serving his meals every morning instead of his servants, seeing to everything he needed, helping with some of his duties, and asking him to spend time with her and dance with her every evening. She was flawless in her choice of conversation—she was pleasant, she was not demanding, she did not have that tone of hidden grudge that he always seemed to make out from her voice. And why was that?

A trick? Manipulation? Using charm and kindness to get something?

But... that was odd. Kumiko had tried this already in the span of this war. Kumiko always tries this when she wants to get something she wants. But she could never stick to it. She could never stick to acting kind to someone when that isn't what she actually feels. She cannot stomach the lying, the pretending. Sooner or later her intentions show.

But, four days, that is a record. What if she actually wants this?

...Who am I kidding? Why would she? People are only kind to you if they want something. People only use love to get what they want. You can never really trust anyone.

But then that evening, and the evenings before that, she actually waited for him to get to bed. It was a challenging task, because he stayed up so late and she was barely one to do that. And yet she stayed up. While he read in his study and told her to go to sleep, he would come back to find that she was instead pored over a book, reading, or writing, or working on her embroidery, suppressing her yawn. And she would wait for him, and climb into bed with him, but she would say nothing and ask for nothing, and would just quickly fall asleep.

And he would only pull his arm around her sleeping form, wondering what she needed.

000o0o0o0o0o0

The answer—or a variant of it, came the next evening. Zephiel entered their bedchambers late in the evening—kept from sleeping by an urgent meeting—and was still a little surprised to see Kumiko awake, sitting on the carpeted floor before a low table with a small lamp, finishing the embroidery for a piece of cloth that was to be sewn to be her gown. Kumiko was barely interested in the craft, but she started to do it these days, a way to kill time as she waited for him.

"It's late. I thought you'd have slept already," he said, breaking the silence, as he took off his cloak and hung it over a chair.

She heard him for the first time, and was startled, pricking her forefinger with the needle. "Careful," he said, as she put her finger to her mouth, sucking on it. "It's too dim to be sewing. You should have slept. It's too late."

"I was waiting for you," she said, with alertness in her tone that by all means said that she was still wide awake. She looked up to him, but then she found him undressing, changing from the royal garments that he wore for the day into a sleeping robe. She quickly looked away. She always found it ridiculous that he had to change into or out of his clothes in their very bedchamber, when there was a dressing room a few steps away. But then again, he was alone in these rooms for a long while before she came along. He was used to it. "You haven't given me leave to sleep yet," she said. "I have to wait for you to allow it before I get to bed."

He knew very well that that was not her reason. He had waited for over a week now for her to say what her reason truly was. He knew that one day, one evening, she would show her motives. But he was tired of being puzzled and waiting. He was going to confront her about it. As soon as he finished dressing himself, he drifted towards her and sat with her.

"...Is there anything you need to tell me?"

Kumiko only looked up to him, absolutely bewildered. "Your Majesty?"

"What do you want from me?" he asked, tone confrontational. "Go ahead and tell me what it is!"

"...I don't understand what you're talking about," she said, a little frightened, but still puzzled. "Did I do anything wrong, Zephiel? Are you angry again? What did I do?"

He looked at her with disbelief. Is she lying? Does she truly not understand what I am talking about? So this isn't a scheme? He studied her again and found her fearful, afraid of his anger—but not one hint guilty. That was odd. Usually Kumiko could be read like an open book. Hiding her true intentions and emotions was not her strong suit. When did she develop this skill for deceit?

But he shook his head to himself and knew that Kumiko was too proud and honest to carry a deception of such scale. It was his turn to feel guilty, accusing her of something horrible for being good. "...I'm sorry," he said. "...I've had a long day," he offered, as some sort of excuse.

She dropped her embroidery to the table, and the look of fear in her eyes quickly shifted to concern. "Are you feeling ill? Would you like to go to bed already? Or maybe something to drink or eat?"

She actually got up as if to call for a servant or get some food or wine, but then he quickly took her by the wrist and said, "No, Kumiko. I'm alright. There's no need for anything."

She stopped, and a silence took over. Not knowing what to do, Kumiko took her seat on the floor again, picking up the embroidery that she had been working on and resuming to it.

Zephiel watched her, as she filled out the intricate pattern of a snowflake onto red cloth with gold thread. She was getting better at it. As was typical of Kumiko—if she is taught something, she learns it. She was as quick to learn as he was. "...How was your day?" Zephiel asked, a bit awkwardly, as he had been, a way or the other, accusing her a second ago and was now trying to talk to her as if nothing odd was going on.

And then he realized that, maybe, nothing odd was truly going on. He remembered two years past. Kumiko always slept before he did, but she always waited for him in their chambers before she actually climbed to bed. And before she slept he would talk with her for a while, about her day, about his. It was only when she found out about the war was the pattern upset; she moved out of their shared chambers and refused to wait on him.

Does she forget so easily? It's like the war never happened. If I didn't know any better I'd think that the attack on Ilia and Sacae has not even started, that I dreamt all of it.

She looked thoughtfully into her sewing as she answered. "Nino and I spent all day looking through the bolts of cloth that the merchants from Liestal sent us. And following that, we started drawing different fashions of gowns. I actually drew one for Anko to gift to her sometimes." Kumiko said with a little smile. "...And so now I am laden with embroidery, for all those new gowns we shall have made."

He laughed a little. " ...And I am assuming that I already know who is going to have to pay all the seamstresses. I am doing the paying, correct?"

She laughed, too. "Of course. You are my husband," she said, as if she expected every husband in the realm to just pay for everything their wives picked up. "And you should be thankful, too, since I and my ladies are all trying so hard to make sure you do not have to pay too much. That is why we're doing all the embroidery."

He laughed louder, and she laughed along with him. In their shared moment, it truly felt like the war never was and what was currently happening was a scene from two years back.

0o0o0o0o00o

"…Did you ever know my father?"

After they have talked about Kumiko's gowns, and the number of perfumes in her cabinet, and the affairs of the nation that were being reported to Zephiel by every minister of the land, a silence fell, and then, Kumiko just asked him that.

Her father. What is this leading to? Another trick? Despite the laughter he had shared with her earlier, despite how their earlier conversations played out as if no strife has ever occurred in their relationship, the question caused him to be alert, as if the word 'father' was the warning light that always caused him to be cautious. He looked at her cautiously, and she stared back at him; she had abandoned her sewing minutes ago. "If you refer to Alecto, yes, I know of him. He taught me battle tactics in my youth," he said, deciding to play safe and not start a discussion about horrible fathers.

"…Not him," said Kumiko. "…My blood father. Lord Regrada."

Ah, so we are going to discuss horrible fathers. Is this your motive, Kumiko? Is this what you want to talk about? "I remember him," said Zephiel, staring right at Kumiko's face, interested to see her reactions all throughout this conversation. Trying to calculate if all this was another trick to get his guard down. "You have the color of his eyes, his nose, the color of his hair…" Zephiel intentionally pointed out. He knew she hated it when people told her how much she looked like her father. "You look just like him."

Kumiko flinched, but she took everything and admitted to it. "Yes," she said. "I look like him. Did you ever know how I was born?"

"Through your mother. Because she let your father do something to her that you apparently would not let me do to you," he retorted sharply, on edge, already communicating that he didn't want to hear whatever it was she was going to preach.

She bit her lip, but she disregarded his remark, too engrossed in her narrative to care. "I was an illegitimate, Zephiel. He was married and she was married. I know such affairs happen a lot among courtiers and nobles and you're used to hearing them—but my mother was never a courtier. She was a Knight, goodness' sake! She tried to follow what was good and moral and true."

She looked so truly, painfully concerned about her narrative that he saw it and could not help but listen intently; he could not help but feel her pain and feel the desire to protect her from it. "She never wanted it. He forced her into it—some big, drunken sin. And I was born out of that. I was born out of someone else's expense."

"…I never knew that," Zephiel said, settling beside Kumiko, putting a comforting arm around her shoulder—if only because he wanted to see the pain in her face go away, even if little. Even if this might be some trap—but now, I hardly think it is. He knew Kumiko was an illegitimate child, but because he thought it was the way with all almost all illegitimate children of nobles. Like with Guinevere. Her mother knew what she was doing and knew that she was a mistress and that Guinevere would be an illegitimate, but she did it for the benefits that came with being connected to a powerful man. Kumiko's mother never wanted that.

"…And so she loathed you?" Zephiel asked, suddenly recalling what it felt like to be an unwanted child. "Because she never wanted you?"

"Oh, no!" Kumiko answered, as she shook her head. "She loved me. She did her best to love me. She and her husband did. But I… I always felt like I had to prove my worth. I thought if I worked hard, I could be great and they could be happy I was their daughter. But then he… Regrada… he called me back. After trying to hide me so many years and pretending that I didn't exist, he called me back. He was getting along in years and he didn't have a legitimate child, he had no heir. So he dragged me back to the castle and had me trained as a woman of the court and be educated. I despised all of it."

This part of the story he has heard from other sources like Anko, but never from Kumiko's very own mouth. "But he clothed you," he said. "Sheltered you. Educated you. Gave you access to books and art and literature. You never would be the woman you are now if he had never picked you up, Genevieve."

He defended her father like he had tried to defend his own father, years and years ago.

"I realize that," Kumiko said, letting Zephiel slip for calling her by her other name, her real name—Genevieve. He was the only one who really had leave to do it—because he and she knew that Kumiko was the commoner Strategy Queen; Genevieve was the woman with enough peerage and noble blood to be Queen. "I realize that he had brought some good things in my life. But I was just an object to him. To be married to some other lord's son that he could control to do his bidding. I was only good to be married, because I was a girl. And because I was a girl, I would only have to forever do what he, or the boy I would marry, would tell me."

And so he heard the words that were part of the recurring theme of Kumiko's insecurities—I was just an object. And then a realization hit him.

That was what she had been trying to tell him. That was what she needed from him, the reason she had been kind to him for over a week. She was not trying to trap him into saying something, into admitting some statement that she could use against him. She was giving him something, explaining herself, sharing one of her weaknesses.

...She was trying to prove her worth. She was trying to help him understand her.

She had told him about her weakness, about her frustration. Yet at the same time, she had been trying to prove that she was worthy—worthy of what, he didn't exactly know—but one thing was sure for him.

She wanted his assurance.

She had asked him, so many times, even before this war happened, even before they were married, about what he truly thought of her. Am I just an object to you? Am I just a woman who you think will do as she is told?

He had answered her always in the negative, back in the days. Kumiko, I never saw you as an object. Nor do I think you will blindly follow a man for the rest of your life if you disagree with him. You're the Strategy Queen—you are your own person. How can someone ever think you merely an object? Whenever she would ask the questions again in her most troubled times, he would give her the same reassurances. You're beautiful, Kumiko. You're smart. You're brilliant. The song goes on and on. She was a woman who constantly, constantly, had to be reassured.

It can be tiring to love a woman like you, Zephiel thought, as he looked down at Kumiko, settling herself in the spread of his arms around her shoulders, trying to take comfort in it.

"I am scared of men," Kumiko admitted, out of the blue. "Of powerful men. The men that are so high up everyone around then could be nothing but mere toys to them."

She wanted her safety. She wants to not have to fear. She wants to be able to trust me. "...Men like me," he pointed out, knowing that that was where she was getting at anyway. "A man who can order for another man killed—and it shall be done. A man who can order a woman away from her husband so he could have her—and it shall be done because he wants it. Powerful men. Men like me."

"…Yes," she said. "Men like you. I am scared of men like you."

"You don't have to be," he said, quickly. "I am not like them. I will never be anything like them."

But then Kumiko frowned a little, and thought, You already are, Zephiel. You started a war. You don't care how many people die, how many families get destroyed, how much sweat and blood is shed. You are so high up, you can't be bothered to care about it. You are just like them. A part of me will always fear you.

"…You don't believe me," he said, backing away from her and looking at her with disbelief, after he saw the emotions that crossed her features—that look of worry, that look of… fear. "…You think I'm lying."

Do you truly not realize it, Zephiel? Do you still think you are nothing like them?

She gave him a little pained smile and he knew he was right.

"…And so this is my fate," he said, with a frown. You want to be able to trust me. You want my assurance. And I have given it. I have given it ages ago, don't you see that? I married you and let you into my life even though I know that one day, though you are the woman I care about the most, you could also be the one who would cause me the most pain. Isn't that an assurance enough? I've assured you and told you so many times already. You just don't want to believe me. What do you truly want, Kumiko? "Am I to be forever with a woman who despises me for something I am not?"

"I do not despise you, Zephiel—"

"Then what is it you feel for me?" he screamed, and his voice echoed all throughout their chambers.

She did not expect him to do that. She did not expect him to start taking everything so badly. Usually, he would listen a little longer. Usually, he would try to soothe her and quickly assure her that he believed her. "Zephiel, I—"

He groaned as he got up, pacing the room, arms flailing around as he looked annoyed. To Kumiko it seemed that he was fighting back the urge to hit her or shake her violently. And then he turned to her and said, "Do you not know how frustrating it is, always with a woman who either hates you or loves you? Which is it? What do you truly feel?"

She was at loss for words. In two years, he had never asked her that. "I… I…"

"Nothing," he said, cutting her words short, getting ahead of her. "You feel nothing for me, as you always do."

"I wouldn't have married you if I didn't—"

The expression on his face intensified, and she realized she had said something wrong, falling into the pit that he had fallen into once. "I know why you married me," he told her. "I never forget. You keep repeating them to me yourself—that you had no choice, that you were getting along in years yourself, that you wanted the influence and the power to be able to help others—it was never about me. I married you because you were in the way and you married me because you wanted the leverage it would give you. I am an object to you as much as you think you are to me."

"You know that's not true—!" Kumiko protested, raising her voice a little. But his words were familiar to her because two years ago, that was exactly what she was thinking. Those were her reasons for getting married to this man. For the leverage. For the power. For the influence. To be able to help more people than she could compared to working alone, as a tactician. While it was a far better reason to get married compared to him who just wanted her out of the way, it still meant the same thing: she married for herself. The other person was hardly to be bothered about.

"...Does it hurt, Kumiko?" he asked, with his own hurt in his voice and smile. "If it does, then you'll know that it is indeed true. Because that's how truth works. It always hurts."

She tried to speak, but she found that the words were lost to her. He turned his back on her and walked into his study, leaving her alone.

0o0o0o0o0oo0

It bothered her so much she couldn't get any sleep.

She lay in bed, restless in the thought, in the accusations that he launched against her. The idea of seeing Zephiel as an object was just absurd. He was a good-man, absolutely multi-dimensional—not just a piece, an object to move in a game. He was Zephiel. The most powerful man in Bern.

...But that was exactly the flaw of her idea of Zephiel. He is the perfect king. The perfect man. He doesn't hurt. He understands everything. He doesn't feel. He is flawless.

But then for the first time, she saw him absolutely hurt and disappointed at her. He wanted her to feel something for him. He wanted her to treat him as a man that you grow feelings for as opposed to a man or an object that you always seem to expect to be there, to provide whatever you needed.

He wanted assurance, too. He wanted the same thing she wanted.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

After a long while, she got up, and made the seemingly long walk to his study. She stood by the entryway, a hand holding the onto the wooden posts, as she looked at the king, seated on his chair in front of his desk, back turned to her.

She had to say it. She had to say it or else her conscience was not going to let her sleep.

"I'm sorry," she said, and was surprised by how easy it was to say the words despite how difficult it sounded to actually do it. "I'm sorry," she said again, louder and firmer this time. "I'm sorry if I said that, before. But I really did—and still do—admire you, Zephiel. Truly. I admit the opportunities and leverage this marriage gave me helped me decide as well, but above that... I trusted you, too. I knew you would take care of me. I believed you."

There was no reply; he said nothing, nor did he make a move to indicate that he heard her. For a moment she began to think that he was asleep, but just as she was about to go away, he spoke.

"...I know that," he said. "I know you too much, Kumiko. I just wanted to make sure you..." But then he shook his head and shook the words away. "Let's go to bed. We should get some sleep."

She nodded and she climbed into bed with him, but after a silence wherein she was still not sleepy, and she knew that he was not asleep as well, she started apologizing to him again. "I am sorry, Zephiel. I want to know you believe it. I want to know that you're not just shrugging it off. What can I do to prove it to you?"

He turned towards her in bed, and looked at her seriously, as if trying to size up if she meant her words or not. "...Do you mean that? You'll do anything?"

She was sitting up in their bed, looking down at him. His question made her shiver a little, as if she knew what he was asking for. But there was no backing out now. "...Yes," she whispered.

But what he said was not what she expected. "What do you feel about me? I want to know. And what do you want?"

She was obviously surprised, so he let the words sink in for a moment. "Tell me what you want," Zephiel pressed, "so I know and I can stick with it and then hopefully there will be mo more arguments."

She was stunned for a moment, and relieved at the same time that Zephiel did not hold his anger or annoyance at her for her any longer and was already trying to make peace, and that he did not actually ask for what she was thinking a while ago, proof that he was not at all a typical, perverted noble. And then she thought long on his words.

No more arguments. Is that what you want, Zephiel? Is that what you really desire? Peace between the two of us?

"...What do you want, my lord?" she asked him.

I want you. I want you to trust me. All I ever really wanted was your trust. Because you never gave it. You kept yourself distant behind your fears. "I know you are afraid of men like me," he said, "but can't you find it in you to take away that fear, if only for me?"

Not fear you? What would make me assured in your affections? You've called me an object, you said you should have just had me killed—that was your mistake. I will never forget that you said it, Zephiel. We've hurt each other too much already. "You are king with absolute power in the land," she told him. "You can do anything you want, have anything you fancy. Who would not be afraid of you?"

"Not my wife," he told her. "She is the only person in the land that has nothing to fear from me. I would never try to hurt her intentionally."

"Me?" she said. "I believe I've told you before—even queens are never secure. In fact, of all wives, they are the least secure. A king can simply throw her away if she wanted to. A king makes the law, he is the law. He can divorce his wife quicker than any man."

"I'm not going to let you go," he said, determinedly. If her talk was prelude to her once-desire of having their marriage over and done with and being dethroned—he has still not forgotten about that—he was not going to let it happen. Every woman I actually cared about has slipped from my fingers. Mother. Guinevere. But not you. Not you, Kumiko. "I would never throw you away and replace you. I would never take another woman." Not like him. I will never be like him.

She looked away from him, still afraid to make a decision. She knew she had to try. But when I think of how much more pain this might cause me in the end…

He saw her fear, and so he inched closer to her and whispered, "I am not like them, Kumiko. I am not like your father. Or my father, either. I'm a different man. Someone you can trust."

Trust—so he himself believed and knew that I didn't trust him, Kumiko thought. He saw it, he noticed it, he knew all too well about her fear. And yet how was he able to tolerate me all these years? Is it because he hardly cared about me at all or because he cared too much? Which is it? "I am afraid you will hurt me," she said.

He smiled a little and then fixed her brown-blonde disheveled hair away from her face. "Kumiko. Trust always comes at the risk of pain. I've learned that long ago, the hard way." I've learned not to believe everything everyone said. I've learned that love is a pitiful excuse humans use to hurt each other. I've learned that you lie to the people you love the most. I've learned that when you trust—the smallest trust—you must always be prepared to get hurt. Promises were made to be broken. Trust was made to be tarnished by lies. ...And yet I still desire her trust. "...When you trust someone, you do it despite the knowledge that he can hurt you."

She was silent, pondering his words in her head. He only smiled and then kissed the top of her head. "Tell me when you're ready. I'll wait until then."

End of Part One.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Author's notes:

The reason I divided this Chapter into two parts is because I didn't want to confuse their agenda and theme and all that, but I didn't want to split the next part into a new chapter because it occurs in the same timeframe—that is, the deadly silence after Bern retreats from Lycia, which I imagined took months. It was an opportunity for me to fill things in, so I took it, before the 'Prologue' part of this fic ends.

And so, the themes and key points of Part One—reactions to this would be welcome, if you can afford them, but these are just a few things for you to think about if you want to take a break from reading:

Do you believe that in relationships, it is necessary to keep certain secrets? Or do you prefer to know everything about the other person?

In my last chapters, I went about the topic of gender discrimination against women; that they are expected to act a certain way because of gender. Now I explore the other side of the coin and think about the expectations from men. Do you think men keep more secrets than women, just because they are expected to talk less? Do you think they have it just as hard as women?

My ex-bf and I used to talk about gender roles so much—not in an argument, more of, in an intellectual manner. He talked of his awareness of weaknesses in the female nature, and how he (and probably most other men) uses them to his advantage. He said that a female weakness that he learned to use to his favor was the female indecisiveness. As long as the girl wasn't outwardly saying no, he knew he could change her mind and push for what he wanted instead. (I swear we sound like evil people to discuss that.) Though I've more than once used vulnerability to gain an advantage over a male, and it sometimes works (sometimes doesn't), what do you guys think is the real weakness of men that the other gender exploits? Or women?

Do you think it's alright to hurt the person you love the most for his or her sake?

And, on some random trivia from real life which has found its way to this novel: I find it odd, or it's just the men around my area, but they love staying shirtless or naked in their own home even if they don't have the best bodies on earth. My ex used to do it. He'll change his shirt in front of me (even when the bathroom is like, less than ten steps away). All my friend's boyfriend's act the same (They hang around their house shirtless or even nude even if their bodies aren't exactly works of art. I pity my friends for having to endure those sights.) My dad, according to my mom, is like that, too. They just like to feel so macho, even if they physically aren't. Err, why? Now I am puzzled.

ALRIGHT, ONTO SERIOUS AUTHOR'S NOTES. The next chap of The Journey will hopefully be posted this month, but it will also be cut into two parts. I have too much drama going on in real life, sorry. I fear everyone in this chapter is OOC, tell me what you think. Matt and Heath return at the next part, though this part mostly concentrates on our two main charas. I hope it didn't drag a lot for your tastes. Some stuff fresh off the keyboard, so if there are any major mistakes, please tell!

Thanks! Please review!