Disclaimer: I'm only playing in Pat's beautiful playground.

Chapter 21: A Better Man

.

Spring came and went, painting Renere with a spectrum of color. The days grew warmer and brighter, the sun stretching higher into the sky to breathe new life into the worn and weary roads. The city awoke from the cold winter, the streets bursting with life again. Laughter drifted from the open windows, their shutters thrown wide to tempt the shimmering sunlight. And all the while, Julian and I walked those roads together.

I saw him the next day, and the day after that. He seemed inclined to carve out as much time with me as possible, and I did not object. And the time we spent together was pleasant and light. And interesting. Julian was interesting. We talked in circles around each other for endless hours, our words threading together in a pattern of dance. We strolled the city and explored everything on offer within its boundaries. We went skating in the last days of winter, and when grass broke through the frigid ground at last, we rode horses from the finest stable in all of Renere. We attended readings and plays and poetic exhibitions. He brought me presents — beautiful things that I handled with tremendous care, for I knew these necklaces and bracelets and earrings would pay in gold at any pawn shop.

I finally let him take me to bed a span and a half after our first evening together, which was far longer than I had waited with any other man to date. Though the bed we chose for the endeavour was his, not mine. I didn't mind. It was soft where mine was stiff. Endlessly large and dressed with pillows and fabrics of the finest silks and satins. My bed was plain. Narrow, with sharp edges and hard angles. With only room enough for one. I liked his far better. And the time was spent pleasantly enough, as these things go. In that moment, his skin against mine was warm, and that warmth seeped into me, too. Deep enough to lodge there and pulse within me. As if the burnt out fire within my soul still lived beneath the coals, and his touch was the wind that sent them stirring. I still remember his eyes in that moment, alight with the edges of something familiar that pulled me in. And the thought of giving myself to him didn't seem so hard. Or so horrible.

The truth of it was that I liked Julian. He was kind. He had an easy laugh that amused me in the light and pulled me out of shadows when the dark descended. He was bursting with endless inspiration, as if he simply pulled it from the world around him. Breathed it in from the air. It made me want to do more. To reach more. And he wasn't afraid to lay himself bare before me. He spoke of his troubles. His parents. Of the unbearable weight of an oppressive future, looming in the distance like an airless fog. But still, he was oddly free despite not being free at all. Perfectly Julian for all that.

So spring bloomed into summer, and still we carried on. In the first span of Solace, I told him the truth; not the whole truth, of course, but Alana's truth. Really, it was simply another lie — the one buried beneath the layer of lies he already knew. More specifically, it was the lie I'd shared with Gerald span ago.

"My father knows." It was evening, and we were walking through some of Renere's finer gardens. The air was thick with music, which drifted from the nearby outdoor stage. It played through the trees, carried to us on the light summer winds to filter through the rustling leaves above. I suspected it was what had inspired me to speak, and my voice held honest penance, and a small bit of regret.

Julian glanced at me, his warm eyes catching the fading light. "About us?"

Us. I glanced away. Another lie, and one I wasn't prepared to confront. Not then. "What I'm really studying."

He let out a sharp breath. "Your poetry."

"Yes." It wasn't really a question, but I answered it anyway. His hand, held loosely around mine, tightened. It was warm. "He's known a while."

Julian said nothing. I stopped beneath the canopy of a large oak and turned to him. There was concern reflected in his eyes. "Is he angry?"

"Very."

"Will he bring you home?"

I shook my head. "I refused."

"You did." His eyes widened. "We spoke of it, but I was not sure if you…"

"If I were serious?" I breathed out a tiny laugh before meeting his eyes. It sounded appropriately bitter. And truthfully, it was. The web of lies I'd woven about me was so thick that sometimes it felt like drowning. "The truth is I haven't been entirely honest. It happened far before we ever met."

He contemplated me for what felt like a terribly long time. "And he has continued to support you?"

"No." I held his gaze. "He hasn't"

"But how have you…" He paused, eyeing me. "Have you taken up bank robbery, my lady?"

I laughed, its lightness etching away at the hard knot in my chest, before admitting the truth. "You were right about The Guild. I do get in for free. I've been working there in the mornings. To cover my membership. And they pay me a bit besides. "

"All this time?"

I nodded.

He brought a hand to my cheek, trailing his fingers gently against my skin. His voice serious now. "Why? Surely you know, I would—"

"I know," I confirmed. "I'm embarrassed. It's been months, you see. And I'm not sure… even if I come home now, I'm not sure he'd… want me to stay." I felt the words catch in my throat and I glanced away, my eyes stinging with their truth. Even if he were still alive, would Father even… This city felt different without them in it. Colder and harder. The Renere I'd once known was gone. And I wasn't that little girl anymore. I pushed the thoughts forcefully away, though they still clung to my words, infusing them with feeling. "I'm not such a lady anymore. And you… you're—"

"I don't care." He lowered his arm, taking my hands in his instead. He held them for a long moment. "It doesn't matter if your father disowns you. It is his loss. You are so beautiful, and smart, and braver than all the world. This is nonsense. You are still a lady, Alana. And even if you weren't, it doesn't matter."

"Doesn't it?" I said softly.

"Not to me. I have rank enough for us both. And if I must be a politician, then at least you should be a poet." He offered me a bold smile. It was unwaveringly confident. Like the one he'd worn the night we first met, though now I knew the man beneath.

A good man.

We spent the remainder of that evening together, and the following morning I said goodbye to Frames. Julian put me up in the finest inn in Central, The Golden Mark. There was no reason, he insisted, for me to waste my time working at The Guild to scrape a living when he could easily afford the cost of my membership. No reason to spend my precious coins on room and board. The owner of the Mark was a family friend. It would be no bother to put me up there. No bother at all. And it was so much closer to his own rooms, which took up an entire floor of the nearby building — an architectural marvel with floor length windows made of perfect glass.

He'd first suggested I simply join him in his lodgings, but I insisted I needed my space. It was much too soon. Absolutely improper. What would his parents think? In truth, the thought sent me into a near panic; all my lies tangling together in my mindscape until they formed a suffocating web that threatened to drag me down. I hid the fear well enough, though he must have seen at least a glimpse of it in my eyes; for in this respect, at least, he didn't push. And I conceded to his other offers quickly enough. In the end, they were exactly the things I'd been hoping for all along. And there was no reason to refuse them.

My new rooms were spacious. There was a bedroom with a wide canopy bed, laid with a luxuriously soft mattress. It was decorated with more pillows than I could imagine functions for, wrapped in satins, silks, and velvets. The wardrobe was hung with colorful dresses when I arrived, the fabrics richer than anything May had given me. There was a sitting room, set with lounging sofas and small tables. There was something Julian delightfully called a "Writing Nook" — a small enclave off the sitting room where a dark wooden desk sat in a corner beside a stuffed bookshelf. A narrow window bathed its polished surface in gentle sunlight. And a balcony in the sitting room overlooked the flowering gardens below. If I leaned out and looked to the right, through all the trees and flower tunnels between, I could just see one of Julian's windows. When the light was clear and hit it just right, I could even see a trace of the room inside — a room I knew intimately, for I had seen it often in the night.

We stopped by The Guild that evening, where I apologetically told Gerald the news while Julian handed over a royal with an easy smile.

"We will miss you, Lady Alana." Gerald spoke pleasantly enough, though his eyes seemed to probe deeper than I would have liked. I offered him a smile, which he returned; the arching of his lips as brittle as my own.

"Do not worry," Julian laughed, looping an arm around my waist, "you will see her plenty still. Just not in your kitchens."

"That is good. As is befitting her station," Gerald agreed, his voice even. His eyes still probed mine. But there was nothing I could say. I had walked in deep. Too deep. And there was only one clear path forward now; the one where Julian stood, his hand reaching out to beckon me along. So I kept walking, even as the lies grew thick as trees between us. The forest stretching on. Until the light filtered and dimmed. Until everything but the life I'd meticulously crafted was lost to the shade.

Even Denna.

Oh, there were so many times I wished I could tell him everything. There were times I even thought, perhaps… perhaps it wouldn't matter to him. Perhaps… But there was too much of it. It was too heavy. How could I possibly say it? The things I'd done weren't forgivable.

So I did my best to bury them in the heart of the girl I'd been before I became Alana. Otherwise, I worried I wouldn't find the strength to keep walking. To keep doing this. So the most I ever told him of a real piece of myself was the music. My love for it. How beautiful I found it when the harmony of song and instrument twined together. It was art, breathing and living. He brought me to a music hall the next evening, where Sir Stellan Antal was singing The Lay of Sir Savien Traliard, his wrenching tenor fading only after reaching the far edges of the hall.

I cried for a long while after that, my tears thicker and heavier than even the song had ever asked for. I don't reckon Julian really understood the depth of them. But he was there. And he was there in my darker moments, when the memories I tried to bury inevitably surfaced, and it all became too overwhelmingly hard to bear. But they didn't surface often, and most of our time was filled with pleasant afternoons and more pleasant evenings. With days that flowed easily from one to the next, and a summer that stretched on and on. I let it carry me, to push me along the ebbing and waning currents, as if time didn't matter. As if summer were an endless, perfect season, and Reaping would never come.

It was a particularly fine evening. Julian and I had been to see a performance of The Tenpenny King in the gardens, presented on the outdoor stage by Renere's royal troupe. They were under the patronage of King Roderic Calanthis himself, so the standard of quality was high and the cost proportionally so. Tonight was no exception, and entry and drinks had cost Julian well over a noble. An incredible sum of money, though it hardly made a dent in his purse and he kept us well plied with wine for the duration. It was a small mercy. The play was much sharper than my memories of it.

We were properly nearly drunk when it was over. Julian suggested a walk through the park before dinner and we set off into the fading light, rehashing the finer points of the performance.

"Inspiring," Julian called it.

"Too simple," I replied, the wine taking the edge off my bitter anger. "Every problem was solved immediately. There was hardly any struggle."

"He struggled," Julian protested, enjoying the debate."Ten pennies is hardly enough for a meal. When he lost his bread, I felt it here." He touched his chest for emphasis. "Come, I saw you tear up."

"It was sad," I concedeed. I had been sad. But it had little to do with the plight of the king. No, it was my own memories that had surfaced, tugging at the edges of my eyes. Haunting me. "He was never truly in danger of starving."

"All right. Then what of Bryn? You cannot say she did not struggle. And through it all, she shone bright as a candle flame in the eternal night. Could he have found a worthier queen than one so connected with the common populace?"

"No… but for a hundred girls like her, ninety-nine won't be so lucky. They'll meet no magic tinker or king in disguise. They'll live in poverty. Die in poverty."

"But even so," he pressed, not noticing the way my voice shook and my words faded, "such love stories do exist. Look at us! Of course, we are not comparable. I am no secret king, and you are a lady, Alana, but…"

I said nothing, my words turning to silence. A lady. I had read the play before, a long time ago, with Denna. The concept of a young king abandoning his stately castle and masquerading as a pauper to fall for a common girl had intrigued me then. The excitement. The mystery and adventure! All that pretending. For Denna, it had always been the love story that drew her in. Love first, then riches after. A happy ending.

She had always loved faerie tales…

"But in truth, it would be fine to be such a king," Julian said, and the image of Denna's face abruptly fell away, sinking back into the deeper reaches of my mind. His arm rested loosely around my waist. "Do you know, sometimes I wish I could do this. Dress in rags and pretend I am someone else."

I stopped, turning to look at him. "Do you?"

"Of course." He paused as well, meeting my gaze, and we stood together beneath the canopy of rustling late-summer leaves. I could see the wild spark of excitement dancing in his eyes, drawing out the blue in the fading light. "Can you imagine the freedom? Walking through the shadows of the city where not a single person knows your face or name, rescuing fair maidens..." He let out an easy laugh, the sound trailing into the soft wind. "It would be like living and breathing inspiration. Think of all the poetry we could write. The stories. The plays!"

Freedom.

A shiver crawled up my arms, cutting through the warmth of the evening and the pleasant buzz of the alcohol. When I spoke, my words felt too sharp to wield. "It's easy to live freely like that if you're a king. If you have a palace full of jewels and gold to come back to whenever you like…" I stopped, my words trailing to nothing. If he only knew, what that freedom cost. How much it cut.

He smiled, his eyes still on me. Something brushed lightly against my hair, startling me, and he reached out and plucked a yellowing leaf from my elaborate curls. He let it fall, and for a moment we both watched it tumble.

"You are right, of course." He smiled, his tone perfectly conciliatory. "Moreover, I am much too enamoured with you to rescue another fair maiden. A king needs only one queen." He pulled me close, rubbing a hand along my arm. His interest in the discussion fading. "Are you cold? You are shivering. Let us go to dinner."

And he pulled me along the path again, until we reached the edge of the park, where Julian flagged down a two-horse carriage that drove us to a restaurant as fine as any we had frequented in the last few months. The sort a true tenpenny king could never afford.

Dinner was lovely.

I smiled through seven courses. It was easy enough to slip into my mask; to keep pretending. Especially when the serving girls put so much food before us that there wasn't room enough to dwell on our conversation. The fucking Tenpenny King. It didn't really matter how Julian saw it. He wasn't plagued with memories of Denna, who had given her life for the hope of living out just such a story. He never would be. He had never been properly hungry, or cold, or knew what it felt like to have nothing but ten pennies to his name. And if Tehlu kept smiling upon him, he never would.

Truthfully, I hoped he'd never know. And it didn't matter. It wasn't why we were together — whatever together meant. It wasn't why I sat across from him now, helping myself to more food than I could stomach. If anything, it was the food, not the company. And the hoard of jewelry safe in my room a mile away — the sense of security I wrapped around myself like a rich eiderdown. Julian… was extra. But I enjoyed his company. With him it was far more than half a loaf.

So it was easy enough to smile and laugh as we worked our way through our most elegant meal in several span. By then I had done it so often that it was just another part of me. Pretending. Julian laughed louder and brighter with every course, and so did I. I was the perfect mirror image he craved. The female version of him with just enough imperfections. Enough weaknesses. And beautiful for all that. I had taken such pains to frame my face with paints. To arrange my lengthening hair into artful topknots. An image of perfection every day. It was only what he expected of me — what I had promised, by unspoken agreement.

Still, the dinner was finer than the occasion warranted, and I should have found it odd. I may have, had I left room for contemplation. But I had chosen to eat and drink and laugh, and to not contemplate anything at all.

He pushed me against the wall of the corridor leading to my rooms at the Mark and kissed me. The kiss was rough. Passionate. We were six feet from the door, but I wrapped my arms around him, letting his tongue push against mine. It was the sort of day which promised to stretch into the night. I would wake up next morning with Julian beside me. I was only surprised that we were at my rooms and not at his. As lovely as mine were, his were infinitely more so. But Julian had led me here.

"Let's go inside," I breathed finally, after he freed my lips to draw air.

"Just another moment," he murmured, cupping my face in his palms. He kissed me again, his lips burning against mine. Urgently. As if I would run off the second he let go.

"Why?" I managed. "Are you feeling adventurous enough to have a romp in the corridor?"

He burst into laughter, letting go of my face. "Only if that is what the lady wishes."

"It would be different," I mused. "The lady will consider. But maybe another time."

"I shall hold you to it. Come, then."

He took my hand, pulling me along the rest of the way. He paused at the door, turning to me. I knew he certainly had a key to the room, but he never used it — a trait I appreciated. I reached into my dress pockets, searching for the cool metal shape of it.

"Alana," Julian said softly. "I…"

I found the key and brought it to the lock. Julian trailed off into silence. I turned to glance at him.

"What is it?"

He opened his mouth and closed it again, as if unsure of his words. That surprised me. Julian was never unsure of his words. He had too many words, really. A lot of them superfluous in that way that tongues of noblemen could be, though he meant well enough. But the supply never ran dry. I wondered if he had finally managed to drink his limit, though it hadn't seemed like quite that much alcohol.

"Alana," he began again. "There is something… something I need to say."

But he didn't say it. He simply looked at me, his eyes holding mine. Something unspoken simmering below the surface. A sudden unease lanced through my chest. Was he bored of me, then? Was he moving on? The kiss — a final suspended moment before he shattered the pool of our reality?

It was fine. Fine. I'd prepared well-enough. I could be gone tomorrow.

Why did the thought leave me cold?

"Let's go inside," I said, when he remained silent.

He nodded, and I turned the key the rest of the way. This was it. There was a click — the gears sliding together in perfect rhythm. I liked him well enough. It would be sad to go. The door creaked slightly as I pushed against the polished wood, the doorknob cool in my hands. But he wasn't anything to me. Not really. I stepped inside the room.

The first thing I saw was red. Red everywhere.

It was spread across the floor. It dotted the lounging sofa, the side tables and chairs. Like drops of blood, spattered. It was dancing in shadows across the walls. Burning across my vision.

Freezing my chest.

"Alana," Julian said from behind me. His voice firm and confident again, all the trembling of before forgotten, and yet it was so far away, as if there was a moon between his brightness and my falling night.

"I love you. I am in love with you."

And I realized they were roses. Endless roses everywhere. Standing in vases on side tables. Draped across the sofa. Scattered across the floor in a sea of petals.

Rose petals filling my lungs. Until I couldn't breathe.

His hand was on my shoulder. Squeezing. Pulling. I turned. I can't remember making the motion. But suddenly the roses were gone. It was only him — only Julian. Framed in the bright glow of the corridor, his face half in shadow. In his hand something glittered.

"Marry me."

He grasped my hands in his, sliding the ring delicately on my finger as I stared at him in shocked silence.

"Marry me," he repeated. "You are my queen, Alana. You are everything. You make me yearn for an honest life."

My lips felt dry as parchment. I drew in a tiny breath, but it did nothing to dispel the tightness in my chest. And my silence seemed to only motivate him to speak, his words bursting forth as if they couldn't be contained.

"I never thought I would settle down. Never. But with you…" He grasped both of my hands in his, stepping toward me. Behind him, the door swung softly shut, until there was nothing but him and me. Candles and roses. The glittering ring on my finger, sparkling in the light.

"You have it," he whispered now, softly, his lips inches from my own. "The spark I have been searching for. Marry me, Alana. Anything you desire — I will give you everything. This world will be ours."

I couldn't seem to speak. Within me, my heart had frozen. I closed my eyes, searching for the tiniest space where my thoughts could form. Rearrange. But all I saw in the darkness were the roses. Imprinted on my eyelids. Roses everywhere. Roses in the distance, over his shoulder. The vase shattering. Red everywhere. Derren's blood on my hands.

Denna's blood.

Everything was red.

I drew in a gasping breath, the air stabbing at my ribs, and my eyes snapped open. Julian's face was inches from mine, a tiny frown pulling at the corners of his lips.

"Alana, what is wrong?" he breathed.

I weakly shook my head. The ring, slightly too loose, twisted sideways on my finger.

"Just shock?" he murmured through a laugh. "I apologize. Truly. I wished to surprise you."

"I…" I began. But I couldn't speak. My mind was blank. And my vision swam with memory. He couldn't have known.

"What do you say?" His hands were holding mine again. "Is it yes? Will you be my lady wife?"

Tehlu, he loved me. I could forget Anilin. Everything. I could marry him. Stay in this city forever… In this city, where Denna had given her life searching for a love story just like this. My hands trembled in his, and I pulled them away.

"N-no," I whispered. It was barely a sound. I shook my head again, more firmly.

He frowned. "No?"

"I— I can't."

I turned away, staring at the room he had taken such pains to decorate. How had he done it? He must have arranged it with the staff. My eyes flitted between the candles, burning low in their elaborate holders. The room had been set for hours, just waiting for us to return.

"You can't?" His voice cracked. For the first time since I had known him, I heard the vulnerability he carried seep into his words. "But..."

"I can't," I repeated weakly. Tehlu, Denna had loved him. Trent. And it still wasn't enough.

"Why?" I felt him draw in a breath behind me, felt his body shake, though there was six inches of air between us.

It broke me a little. My hands clenched into fists, the unfamiliar shape of the ring digging painfully into my palm. Tehlu, what had I done?

He was a good man.

And I didn't love him.

"All right," he said behind me, his voice growing stronger. He grasped at my shoulder, and I felt the warmth of his hand against my skin. "It is too soon, isn't it? I am sorry. We don't have to marry. Not for years, if you wish it. Forget I asked. It is the wine. I got carried away."

I said nothing. The wine? Was it the wine that had transformed my rooms into a flowering field? Was that what this ring was made of? Wine? Did he take me for a fool? No. I was his lady of rescue. His own personal Bryn. He had all but swept me off the streets. And now he was collecting his due. His own living love story.

He stepped around me, until he was facing me again. His lips curved in the tiniest smile. "Truly, forget marriage. It will be as it was."

It would never be as it was.

"For as long as you need," he said softly. "Until you are ready."

I couldn't do this anymore. I had been taking and taking. For months. And now he was asking for more than I could give. The rose room around me shimmered, the shadows stretching along the walls until they faded into memory. I was in May's basement again, lying upon the tiny narrow bed. Her weathered face watching over me.

"And if my heart isn't there to give?"

I had asked her that. So easily. As if I knew the turings of my heart and how they'd grow with time. Now, with Julian beside me and the ring so heavy on my hand, I couldn't imagine how I had asked such a question. I couldn't have known what it would mean. Back then, it hadn't weighed so much.

"Then you leave. And take them for all they're worth. And you go."

I had done the one thing May had told me not to do. Overstayed my welcome.

"I can't see you anymore." The words bore a quiet sort of sharpness, slicing through us both as they slipped into the air between us. Leaving only silence.

"No," he said finally. His hand reached for mine, brushing lightly against my skin before I pulled away. "Alana, why are you… no…"

"I'm not good for you," I managed. "I'm not—"

"You are perfect." His head was shaking in refusal. Back and forth. "You are everything I want. The only thing."

"You don't want me," I said firmly. "You—"

"I do," he insisted, his arms reaching round my waist. Pulling me against him. "I promise you, I—"

"You don't!" The words tore my throat as I hurled them into the candlelit room. I pushed away from him, his ashen face burning into my eyes as I turned away again. "You don't." I repeated the words. More softly. "I'm not who you think I am."

"Of course you are," he said firmly. "You are Alana. My lady."

"You don't know the half of it."

"What else matters?" His voice rose, strengthened by his assurance. "Everything else is scrapped parchment and dried up ink."

I felt my body tremble, and I wrapped my arms across my chest, as if my hands could hold me together. "I'm not your Bryn."

"I didn't ask you to be…" His hand brushed my back. "Is this about the play? I didn't mean… Alana, please. You told me when we met that you were looking for love. Don't you remember?"

I did. I did. I felt my eyes sting and said nothing.

"Is it your parents after all? Your father? We can go to Kershain. I will put myself at his mercy. For you, I would—"

"Stop," I whispered, and he froze, his words falling to silence. I felt my heart thud painfully against my chest. It was done. I had to say it. "I don't…"

Love you.

But I couldn't. I couldn't hurt him any more. I had never… never meant for it to go so far. And now the seconds were ticking away, and still I stood, frozen.

In the silence, Julian dropped his hand.

"Go," I whispered finally. "Please. Just go."

"Alana…"

"Please, Julian." My voice cracked slightly over the shape of his name. "I don't want this anymore. Not marriage. Not the future you envision. None of it. Not ever." My hands shook, and I squeezed them firmly into fists. "Please, go."

He didn't say another word, but I heard his footsteps, muffled against the soft rug, fading away. Until they were buried beneath the thud of the door. Quiet in its finality.

And then there was silence.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, though only the rose room remained to hear. "I'm so sorry."

Tehlu, I'm so, so sorry.

My tears fell thick and hard, and didn't stop until the candles burned low enough to fade. And the shadows fell to darkness.