If he kisses my hand one more time, I'll remove it.

I held my breath and counted far into the hundreds at my future husband's side, picking away at the sumptuous meal provided and giving despairing glances to Anya. She only shook her head and glanced away, a hushed embarrassment shared when I tried to wipe off the flecks of food and saliva Gaston had left in his charming kisses. The slob. I sighed, folding my napkin again and again in my lap and fading in and out of the animated conversation between Toltette and Monsieur Roste.

"Quality, Roste - this is what makes my breeds sell so well, finest in High Rock."

"But is it not all about salesmanship, my friend? The finest stallion will never sell if the seller does not represent his product, after all."

"Ah, father l-loves his debates." Gaston turned to me with a grin, one that split his face in half though no warmth shone in his eyes. "Why can't we just... just enjoy our meal, hmm? No useless chatting."

Useless chatting? Is that what you call discussing the fine points of what pays for those silk cuffs? I smiled, hoping it looked less sickly than it felt before turning back to my plate and eyeing the quail with a queasy grimace.

"Delicious meal, ch-cherie, simply delicious. I love a woman who can cook." Gaston winked, eyeing my untouched food. "Rude to ask for seconds, so why don't I finish off yours?"

And I thought I felt sick before.

"Gaston?" Roste clinked his glass, clearing his throat and raising a brow. "Haven't you got something to say?"

"To say? Oh, yes, of course." He muttered, rising from his chair with a groan, catching mum and Anya's attention as Toltette grinned. "I have a most wondrous announcement. The, er , Monsieur Toltette has given me the most great honour - " He paused, coughing before continuing in near gasps. "Of his p-permission, to court his most lovely daughter, Gabriel. These past weeks..." Past weeks? You mean the three times I've met you? "Have shown me that she is more than a worthy daughter of the Roste family, and so I have the most dubious - er, deviant..." He flushed, great cheeks swelling red under his father's reproving stare. "Er, delightful! Yes, delightful t-task of asking her to marry me." He turned his gaze on me, and I felt a flicker of pity - he was far more nervous than I. "My dear Gabriel, would you do me the honor of - "

"Bended knee." Roste hissed, just loud enough for Gaston and I to hear.

"Yes, yes!" Gaston gasped, falling on his knee and reaching into his pocket, clutching a ring in his sweaty palm. "Miss Gabriel, would you take the honour - I mean, give me the honour, of taking my - your hand in marriage?"

Honour, marriage, family. I stifled a sigh, daring to meet Gaston's watery gaze before cracking a weak smile. "It would be my pleasure, Monsieur."

The night finished with cheers and clinking glasses, Mum and Anya kissing me on the cheek, whispering condolences in my ear as Toltette and Roste shook hands on a profitable business endeavor. The room cleared slowly, Gaston taking my arm and leading me down the corridor behind his father and Toltette as he blathered about our future.

"Children, of course. Lots of children." His voice lowered to a whisper, his laugh almost a snort. "We should get started on that as soon as possible, eh?"

I blinked. "Pardon me?"

"Well, you know." He sniggered, blinking furiously and reaching to wipe beads of sweat from his brow. "Why wait until the w-wedding, yes? The sooner, the better. My room is just this way." He reached back, catching my arm and quite nearly dragging me behind him.

Not a toad. I pulled away, staring hard at him. A boy. A poor, foolish lecherous boy.

"No."

He stopped, swallowing visibly. "What?"

"No. I can't do this." I pulled back again, wrapping my arms around myself like a shield and grimacing. "I won't marry you, Gaston. Not now, not ever."

Toltette and Roste turned to us, Roste turning pale while Toltette faded sickly yellow. "Gabriel - "

"No." I spat, backing down the hall, shaking as a mix between anger and pity laced my blood like poison. "I will not. I'm not some empty-headed doll, or some puppet conductor - " I glared at Roste. "I won't marry your son. I won't marry a man who can't even take care of himself."

"You've had too much to drink, dear." Roste hemmed, lip curled and eyes narrowed as he looked me up and down. "Surely, this is just - "

"It is what it is. Business. And I won't be a part of it." I hissed, seething as I broke off from a slack-jawed, reaching Gaston once more. I breathed heavily, giving him a final look and gritting my teeth. "I wish you all the best, Messieurs, should it have nothing to do with me."

And I ran.

Through the garden doors, into the night, a chaotic orchestra of coos and cricket's song the only sound. Through the trimmed hedges, to the brambles, to the unkempt grasses and weeping trees beyond - I tripped, my dress ripping with a satisfying crack around my feet, my shoes abandoned and toes laced with dew. When my breath came in gasps, white breaths rising to the stars, I reached a brook - burbling and reed hidden - and sank to my knees.

I didn't cry.

I watched, instead - my reflection as it dimmed in the water, twisted and strange.

"So." I paused, meeting my gaze, lip caught between my teeth. "Who are you?"

She never answered, but something did. I flinched as I moved, something prodding into my waist. I drew the forgotten blade from my bodice, warm from my breast, unfolding it from its handkerchief fingering the carvings and drawing it through the water in silver streaks. I lifted it, watching rivulets descend before sliding it along my braid, and holding my breath.

Between that moment and the next, I remember nothing. Just the tickle of my hair falling. I watched, breath caught as the black braid floated downstream, somewhere distant, somewhere nobody would find it. Tufts of my hair followed, chopped haphazardly until I ran my fingers through it, short and tight curled to my head.

I walked away slowly, savoring the night whispers, the trembling along my skin, the smile on my lips that I carried through sleep.

I strode into the kitchen that morning, my hair sticking out like a newborn chick's, and waited.

"Oh, Dusty."

Mum pursed her lips, pouring herself tea and shaking her head as I forced down the rising lump of guilt in my throat.

"Maman - "

"No, dear. I understand." She smiled, lashes downcast. "You would never have been happy. Too headstrong." She chuckled, rising to sweep a hand through my hair. "It suits you."

Toltette wasn't so pleased.

"You little idiot." He snarled, stalking in circles around me as I calmly sipped my tea. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Ruined our connection with the Rostes, shamed me, made yourself into an ass - " He could only shout so long, and when I thought he was on the edge of simply bursting into flame he marched off, growling under his breath.

I was told the news that night.

"Gabriel..." Mum murmured, with a careful glance over her shoulder at Toltette. "Dusty. Your father and I have decided that it would be best for you - "

"And for us."

"If we sent you somewhere, dear." Mum took my hands in hers, eyes dark and shining, a small smile on her lips. "To practice magick arts. We're sending you to Cyrodiil, to the Arcane University in the Imperial City."

Toltette cleared his throat, eyes narrowed. "As soon as possible."

My breath hitched. "Cyrodiil?"

"Yes. But if you don't want to go, darling - "

"No!" The word jumped from my throat, my skin tingling as excitement jolted my blood. "I want to go. Please, maman."

"I knew you would." Mum breathed, clutching me close as I caught my own breath. "Turdas, then. Go and pack. Are you certain? Cyrodiil is distant, child."

I was sure. And Turdas couldn't come fast enough.

Cyrodiil - I had read of it, traced the names of its lands on maps as a child. The home of the Septims, the holy bloodline. The distant Imperial City, where remnants of ancient Aylieds became a palace, the Imperial Simulacrum, legends of Jagar Tharne - it became almost a holy place, the Zanarkand so close, yet so far away. My blood tingled constantly as I read, curled in my nook for the final time, surrounded by histories of a strange new world. With every new legend, everything I learned, my heart leapt farther in my chest until I was certain it would come out dancing between my lips.

Turdas was cool and balmy, the skies a dismal grey and meadows turned into bleak moors. Anya, Toltette and Maman watched, a flicker of a smile on my sister's lips as I pulled bags of books behind me. The horses whinnied and pawed at the earth in frustration, the old wagonman spitting tobacco and telling me with a silent glare to hurry up as I gave my family one final glance.

"You were always too smart to be cooped up here." Anya smiled, pinching me on the shoulder as though we were children again before holding me tight. "Be happy. I'll miss you."

I had expected Toltette to only watch, and fidgeted when he approached. He cleared his throat, impossibly awkward as we pointedly avoided each other's gaze. He spoke stiffly, a formal farewell, before moving away without ever having touched.

"My sweet Dusty." Mum whispered, laughing weakly as I squeezed her tight. "I'll miss you. Write to me."

I bit my lip to stop tears, muffling my words in the warm crook of her neck. "I'll miss you too, maman. I'll be okay."

"Damn straight." She chuckled, drawing a hand through my hair. " You're mine, after all. You'll be alright."

I slid into the carriage, clutching a leather-bound journal to my chest. The old man cracked his whip, and the wheels began to turn.

I never looked back.