Many thanks, as always, for all your continued readership! :3

I also have a playlist for the story now! The link can be found on my profile page if you guys want to listen! Shout-outs to mordengrey, blue-starr-in-the-sky-port, and dustjacketduck for pointing out songs to me! If any of you have music recommendations, I'd love to hear them!

And for everyone who's read this far, left messages, gave feedback, sent me art, or reblogged this story, I can't explain what it all means to me. I love you all! Let me know if you have any constructive criticism or concerns! All feedback is worth more than gold. :3

ALSO hey, who has a tumblr? :D

Curse of the Dragon
Chapter 16
Fugue

"How did this go again?"

Ahiru pressed her heels together. Toes out, from the hips … What else did Rue say? Surely, she'd be disappointed in Ahiru for slacking on practices.

She gripped the edge of her desk, transitioning with a slide into second position.

Perhaps she could've asked Karon or Raetsel where she might find a ballet teacher, but it didn't seem right learning from anyone other than Rue.

Ahiru missed her. She missed everyone—except Raven. They all must've been so worried, not knowing where Fakir took them, lost and scared deep underground. Did Malen stop drawing? Did Hermia and Freya, kind and lovely as they were, resent her?

She shook her head. No, she couldn't think that way. What did Fakir tell her yesterday? He paused in his writing to glance over his shoulder at her and said, "Doesn't matter what our reasons were. What we—what I did to you was wrong. There's no excuse."

And if Fakir really felt that way, it certainly explained the amount of hard work he'd put into his writing over the last few days. After their talk, it seemed he found his inspiration, and he promised her they'd come up with a solution to everything soon. They had answers now, and knew what was wrong with Mytho—at least, most of it—and knowing the problem was half the battle!

Fakir seemed … relieved.

After all, he never held her like that before.

Ahiru relaxed her shoulders, her form slumping out of her balletic posture as she stared down at her feet.

It wasn't as if they'd never hugged before. That night, by the lake, or the time when he grabbed her to keep her from harm back in Wyvern … But this was the first time he openly embraced her. So tightly. So securely, with strong arms and determined, comforting words. And right before, when he stared down into her eyes, his height more reassuring and protective than imposing as it had been when they first met, there was a certain clarity in those emerald depths that she'd never seen before. And she thought she knew all of his looks by now.

"It was all you. Always."

Just like that, Ahiru felt like they could do anything.

Her cheeks grew warm.

"Ahhhh!" She shook her head again, drawing herself out of her reverie. "I can't just be standing here," she chastised to herself, "There's so much that I have to do today! Umm … aaaah … I'll just practice later. Yeah." With a determined pump of her fist, she straightened and set out to get dressed. Usually, Pique and Lilie came in to assist her, but Ahiru took to changing herself lately (Lilie had a penchant for lacing the corset as tightly as physically possible and Ahiru was no longer accustomed to the constricting garment). After a quick bath, she chose to wear a rather simple frock, the pale yellow material loose and comfortable over her filmy slip. She pulled the mess of her hair into a high knot—simple, and out of the way. Hurriedly, she scrubbed at her teeth while fishing for the large sack of birdseed under her bed. The birds outside always appreciated it and it was rather nice falling back into the old habits she had back in Hedeby.

Finally, she picked up her pendant, the red jewel glistening in her palm. And after a moment's consideration, she fastened it around her neck.

There, now. She was ready to face the day.

She greeted the guard who stood in the halls with a vibrant smile, her steps full of purpose as she crossed the wing to Mytho's bedroom. First thing was first: tend to him. See if he was awake. Be there in any way she could for him!

When she turned the last corner, however, she paused just as Mr. Katz stepped out of Mytho's chambers, his lips pursed into a grim line. He twirled his graying whiskers in thought.

"Mr. Katz? Is everything okay?" Her voice hitched a little. "Is Mytho awake?"

The wrinkles around his eyes seemed deeper as he forced a smile. "No, not yet, my lady. Please, I will be but a moment, so come in, nyah~? I'm certain my nephew would appreciate your presence even as he sleeps."

Ahiru's shoulders slumped, but she tried to keep her chin up. "Okay—ah, I mean, yes, alright."

He held the ornately carved door open just long enough to allow her to slip inside and strode away, the heavy wood slowly creaking closed after him.

Mytho wasn't alone. She expected him to be the only one there, lying silent and motionless in his bed, surrounded by soft pillows and heavy blankets. But it was Fakir's tall frame that she noticed first, leaning against the dark wood post of the curtained canopy. He stared down at Mytho's prone figure, his brows knitted and arms crossed, and he only looked up when the door fell shut. Fakir's expression softened when he saw her, his lips parting in surprise and hands slipping into his pockets. "Hey."

"G'morning." she replied with a weak grin, suddenly and strangely aware of the warmth in his eyes. With a blush, she crossed the room to Mytho's bedside, focusing her attention on him.

Comely features, long lashes, the picture of a beautiful, sleeping prince—but pale, with dark shadows under his eyes. Ahiru bit her lip. At least his breathing was steady

She sunk into the mattress beside Mytho and lowered her voice. "Did you get any sleep?"

"A little. More than the past few days, anyway. You?"

"Yeah, I did." She reached out to brush a few wayward strands of pearl hair from Mytho's forehead—and tried not to flinch away from his stone-cold skin. She slowly withdrew and tangled her fingers into the fabric of her skirt. Her smile was forced as she turned her gaze to Fakir. "Ah! So … um, you talked to Mr. Katz?"

He wasn't looking at her, even while he nodded in reply—in fact, he almost seemed determined to avoid her gaze. Was that just her imagination? "He left to go tell the others. Seemed grateful for the information."

"At least everyone's talking! That's good!"

"Yeah. It's something."

She glanced back at Mytho, watching the steady rise and fall of his breaths beneath the duvet, and sighed heavily. "I was hoping he'd be awake by now. Maybe we'd be able to help him, you know? Make him happy, keep him strong. But I dunno what to do while he's sleeping like this …"

"... I tried writing about him. Nothing's working on my end." Fakir kept his eyes to the floor. "What he needs is your presence right now."

Her shoulders slumped and she sighed again. "Maybe." Why did she feel like that wasn't true at all? She couldn't even hold his hand without pulling away. What a great fiancee she turned out to be …

Fakir's footsteps echoed as he suddenly made his way to the door.

"Eh?" Ahiru stood. "Where are you going?"

He turned to look over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. Somehow, it bothered her that she didn't know what it was that glimmered in his eyes—apparent and brimming. Resolve? Acceptance? "That story isn't going to write itself," he finally said with a wry smirk, "My hand's gotten enough rest. And I should check on Uzura and Lamp."

Right. Autor was still looking for them. Her thoughts drifted back to their friends in Wyvern. "Oh … okay." She stopped him from reaching the door once more. "Wait! I … Fakir?"

He waited patiently for her to continue.

"... Do you think …?" She swallowed. "Is Drossel—is Mytho already—?"

Thankfully, he understood what she meant, and swept in to rescue her from having to continue her dreadful thought out loud. "We won't let him. I promise." The certainty in Fakir's voice wrapped her in a blanket of hope and security. "We'll bring Prince Siegfried back. To you."

For the first time that day, a grin came easily to her. "Right!" With a determined nod, she pumped her fist. "After you write today, let's practice the thingy! So come find me after, or any time if you need any help!"

"If I do, you'll be first to know. We'll meet up later." He paused to smirk. "For the 'thingy.'"

Ahiru's heart leaped at the smile he gave her just then. Warm. Teasing. Almost effortless. She stared owlishly at the door even long after he took his leave.

She cleared her throat and sat back down beside Mytho, remembering where she was and who needed her right now.

Mytho … Did he really know she was by his side? Even if she was scared to hold him … could her feelings reach him?

"We'll save you, okay?" With a gulp, she reached out and placed her palm to his cold cheek, trying to transfer her warmth to him despite her trembling fingers. "So just hang on a little longer!"

Rue kept mainly to herself these days. Wyvern was colder now, whatever cheer or solace she used to find in this darkness snuffed out like dying embers. Her friends were no longer themselves. Ahiru, Uzura, and her brother were gone. The only father-figure she'd ever known was ashamed of her.

Wasn't it just last month that they celebrated so happily? That they had hope? Were they not dancing and laughing just those weeks ago, with Ahiru finally within their grasp and freedom just a touch away? Why did it feel as though they were right back at the beginning, so close to the end?

And … why did Rue do nothing about it?

Guilt crept up from her belly, spilled into her throat, and flooded her mouth with bitterness.

The lady bugs kept their distance, leaving Rue alone in the underground fields, the gleaming petals an expanse of starlight in the depths—at least, from what she remembered of starlight.

No one came down here anymore. Why would they waste time lounging about with lady bugs and sun flowers when they were busy preparing for freedom? Or was it freedom they were even after anymore? Rue hardly knew.

Fakir's writing, or what was left of it, sat in a messy, disgraceful heap beside her, half-hidden among glimmering flowers in the darkness.

Tentatively, she reached out to brush against the corner of one, torn page, Fakir's smudged, neat penmanship both familiar and foreign to her all at once.

The girl with the brightest spirit and warmest heart stumbled and—

The rest was illegible. But Rue somehow knew it was about Ahiru.

Who else would Fakir write about so fondly? Who else would Fair value so much as to forsake his own people to save her?

It distressed Rue even more, knowing that part of her understood why he did it. Rue betrayed him first with her dance. A dance that didn't even work. And it was that same understanding that drove her to gather up Fakir's discarded items into her arms and hide them away instead of informing Elder Raven immediately. She was despicable. A wretch.

Didn't she love Elder Raven more than she did her brother? Or even Ahiru herself? How could she let herself choose anyone over the one who'd been there for her even in her darkest moments?

Days went by—far too many for it to be considered at all safe. How many weeks did they have left, if at all? Time was short.

And yet, there she was, huddled up in the edge of the abyss among glowing blooms. With a resolved, firm gaze, she picked up the messily wrapped bundle of Fakir's belongings.

A decision had to be made.

So, she chose.

… Please, forgive me, Elder.

She held up one torn page, pursed her lips, and blew.

The embers warmed her cheeks as the orange-red streams cracked and fluttered from her mouth. With one, simple singe, the corner of the paper she held caught flame, the fire growing as it licked over smudged, silvery words, the flickering heat like the sun among the starry flowers. She watched the dissipating ribbons of smoke as they lifted and vanished, taking the evidence with them.

It calmed her, somewhat. As if her doubts and hesitations burned along with it.

She hadn't been an optimist in a long while—not since losing Giselle. But she felt that ... this was alright.

"Rue?"

Rue whirled around. "Autor." She hurriedly gathered up the items into a pile and attempted to block Autor's view with her body. Flustered, she spat, "What are you doing here? Don't you have something better to do?"

"... We still can't find them. But I was so sure—I thought I saw them in those mountains. I still see them in those mountains."

There were no words to comfort him, and even if there were, she doubted she'd say them.

"... I thought I'd visit you. But you weren't in your room."

She glanced over her shoulder. There were heavy bags beneath his eyes, prominent despite his lopsided spectacles. The sight of the purple bruise on his cheek made her wince. She almost felt a little remorseful, hiding away when Autor received the brunt of the pressure. When their scouts came back with nothing after searching the mountain range, Raven took the frustration out on him.

Rue turned away. "Well, you visited me."

"Rue … there's something I want to say. Something I need to say."

Her eyes closed and she fought a sigh. "Stop, Autor."

"With everything that's happening, with how close we are to—before any more time passes, I just want to tell you—!"

She ground her teeth together. He didn't know what he was talking about. "I said stop."

"No, please! Please, listen! For over three hundred years, Rue, I've always—!" He crossed with long, rushed strides to her side, before trailing off.

She wasn't quick enough to hide the items she held in her lap.

"—What's all that?"

"It's nothing."

Autor lowered to his knees and held out his hand. "There's broken glass there! Here, let me—!"

In a rush of panic, she thrust the bundle away from his reach, threw it to the ground, and hurriedly released a gust of hot flames from her lips, igniting the pile with a decisive blaze. The surrounding flowers caught fire and the lady bugs coughed and fluttered off in a frenzy.

"Rue!" Autor scrambled back to his feet, stepping forward to stifle the fire beneath his shoe.

She didn't move or respond, even after he'd successfully extinguished it in the next minute or so, her crimson eyes never leaving the remaining ashes. Some glass, burnt bedsheets, but the rest … unrecognizable.

Her decision was finite. And she had to live with that—for however long that was.

"Rue, what were you thinking?! Setting a fire that large, all the way down here?!"

"Getting rid of some old belongings of mine," she lied, lifting her nose up haughtily as she rose to her feet. Rue turned away, crossing her arms over her chest (and trying to rub the gooseflesh from her skin). "I would've done it more carefully, had you not interrupted me."

"Rue, I just—"

"I'm tired. I'm going back to my room." She crushed the grass beneath her feet as she made her way to the ladder leading to the upper grounds.

"I still want to talk with you …"

"And I still want to be alone."

She left it at that.

Fakir, Ahiru, do not abandon us.

The text began to blur in his tiredness.

Mr. Katz shut his book with a dull 'thud,' then sprawled out on the divan. He released a wide, feline-like yawn, arched, and stretched his sore muscles. Keeping vigil over the slumbering prince was an unexciting task, but it had its perks by way of the pretty ladies in the staff. They frequently visited him with offers of comfortable blankets, treats, and tea, and to his delight, most were quite unmarried (and unreceptive to his offers of matrimony, but that was beside the point).

He rose from his seat to cross the room, his posture poised and hands clasped behind him as they usually were. If he wasn't reading, making delightful conversation with the visiting ladies, or taking catnaps, he paced around the prince's canopied bed, watching Mytho for any visible changes.

Nothing roused him. Music, splashes of cold water, even smelling salts had all gone unnoticed. The doctors of the Chateau assured him that Mytho was quite healthy, and it appeared that he was simply sleeping for an extended period of time.

But Mr. Katz knew better.

This was no natural slumber.

He fought back a shiver at the memory of those fierce, pink hues of his eyes, the ferocity with which he swung his blade toward Mister Fakir's weakest points, his snarling, bitter words …

It'd been a shock to all of them. Even now, the consequences spread all throughout the Grand Chateau like ripples. Knights whispered their rumors, staff members gossiped within the servants' passages, and those of greater authority fought to keep it together in the wake of war itself. Strife, both external and internal, threatened the very state of this peaceful kingdom.

He thought of Lady Ahiru's plight. He thought of that dragon's stories. Just two, perhaps three months ago, these events could've been mere fairy tales to him.

Mr. Katz had always been intrigued with the idea of stories coming to life. The mysteries of the legendary D. D. Drosselmeyer were a wonder all throughout the land. Now, he knew better.

As he leaned over the bedside table to light another candle, the covers rustled, Mytho's eyelashes fluttering as he shifted. Immediately, Mr. Katz was at his nephew's side. "Mytho?"

The prince hummed, weary and low.

"Mytho, you've slept for two days now." Mr. Katz placed a hand upon his forehead. Cold. He reached for the pitcher and cup on the bedside table. "You must have some water. Some food. How are you feeling?"

"... I don't know."

Mr. Katz almost dropped the cup as Mytho's eyes gradually opened.

Gone was the sharp, pinkish hue of his irises, as was the insidious intent behind them that was so unlike his prince. He thought that seeing the familiar gold that matched his own would've been a relief. A comfort.

But the emptiness in those eyes was vast. They no longer held resentment or false cordiality. Nor did they hold the warmth, kindness, and goodness that so characterized everything the prince was.

Like mirrors, they only reflected, as if nothing lay within.

Mr. Katz swallowed. "... You do not know? Come, now. Sit up and drink."

Mytho did as was told without question, expression unchanged. He took his cup and sipped until he finished every drop, and then turned back to his uncle, waiting.

"... How are you feeling now, Your Highness?"

"I don't know."

"Do you want to eat?"

Empty and blank, Mytho merely shrugged.

Perhaps he was still exhausted. Mr. Katz forced a smile and placed a hand upon his nephew's shoulder. "Why don't you rest a while longer? You must be out of sorts. I'll … come and wake you a bit later when you've regained your strength, nyah~?"

Once again, Mytho did as he was told, lying back and shutting his eyes without question. Without will. Without emotion. And he slept.

Mr. Katz promised Lady Ahiru to retrieve her as soon as Mytho woke up, but …

Unnerved, he lowered to sit on the bed beside him, a chill running up and down his spine.

"Fakir-zura! They made me a dress-zura!"

Fakir gathered his latest story into a neat pile on the desk, satisfied with the day's work, but ill at ease. Twelve days left. They were really cutting it close.

"Fakir-zura?"

"Sorry. What was that?"

"They made me a dress-zura! I'm going to the party-zura! They said Lamp can come, too, as long as she doesn't scare any of the guests-zura!"

Fakir's lips curled up into a small smile. At least someone was carefree. If they could give Uzura this, then that was something. "Just behave yourself."

"You're not coming-zura?"

"I'll be too busy." After capping the inkwell, Fakir stood, massaged his sore fingers, and slipped on the fitted vest hung over the side of the chair. With a blush, he also grabbed the cloak from the coat hanger in his guestroom, just in case he—well, just in case. He took Uzura's small hand in his while Lamp buzzed along by her side and led the way out the door and into the hall.

He grimaced upon coming face-to-face with Dame Annerina. She met his gaze with a dull sneer, her long face an unpleasant scowl. His escort, no doubt. They followed her without another word, even though he was familiar enough with the Chateau to find his own way.

Dodging those same curious and suspicious glances from the staff and other knights as they made their way through the ornate and decorated corridors, he still couldn't help notice the busy, yet heavy atmosphere. They occupied themselves with the preparations for that ball, but there were whispers in the halls, tense looks between servants …

He had a feeling he wasn't the only one they gossiped about.

Before his thoughts could linger heavily upon the still-slumbering prince, they arrived at the entrance hall where Karon, Raetsel, and Sir Demetri awaited them.

"Dame Annerina and Sir Demetri will lead a small group to escort you and Lady Ahiru outside the city walls," Karon told him, his hands clasped behind his back. "We cannot allow you to go alone. You understand."

"I get it. Where is she?"

Raetsel brought a finger to her lip in thought. "She said that she forgot something. I hope she didn't get lost on her way back."

"Wait, wait, wait, I'm here, I'm—!"

With an undignified squawk, Ahiru scampered into the entrance hall and skidded to a halt, her cheeks flushed and chest heaving when she realized what a mess she must've looked like. She attempted to straighten herself out, her shoulders squared as she patted down her hair. "Um—I mean, I'm … I'm sorry I'm—pardon me, I had to go and get …!"

Fakir bit back a smile.

"Ohhhhh! Ducky-zura!"

"Uzura! Lamp!" Ahiru, cradling a ball of thick fabric, greeted them with a bright smile. "Fakir! You—oh! You already brought one!"

He blinked down at the cloak that hung over the crook of his arm.

"Cloaks?" Raetsel wondered aloud, "The weather's fair today. I don't think you'll need them."

"Ah, actually, we might, 'cause I dunno if this is going to work or anything, and maybe it's good that we have more than one just in case!"

Uzura hummed. "Ducky doesn't like it when Fakir gets naked-zura!"

Raetsel, Karon, and the knights visibly froze. "Pardon?"

Fakir felt his throat close up.

Ahiru didn't seem to fare any better, her freckled cheeks and tips of her ears a bright crimson and her hands dropping the cloak as she waved them back and forth in front of her face. "N-No, it's not that I don't like—wait, no, no I mean, he doesn't get naked, it just happens, and it was only once or twice and I didn'tseeanythingmuchIpromise!"

He didn't even need their appalled and accusatory glances to absolutely hate himself. His head and heart might as well have exploded. His words rushed out in a flustered tumble as he grabbed her shoulders to steer her out the grand doors. "Ahiru—stop, stop. Okay, you know what, we're going. We're going. Let's go, let's just go."

"Your faces are all red-zura."

"Let's go!"

Their ensuing trek was uneventful, thankfully. It gave Fakir the time to compose himself and let the overwhelming embarrassment thin out a little.

Perhaps Ahiru needed the same, because she was uncharacteristically quiet, even as Uzura and Lamp happily skipped and fluttered around her, and the townspeople greeted their future queen with gracious bows. Her smiles were still plain to see, but he knew when there was something on her mind. She cheered up a little when Uzura's friends scampered up to wave and call out for her, but otherwise stayed muted for the duration of their walk.

He found it more comforting to watch over her than to pay attention to the spectacle they made themselves out to be, as Ahiru was dressed finely (though, not as finely as she had when they first met) and a company of knights marched in order just behind them. It was easier to deal with when they just blended in.

Finally, they reached the castle walls, following the canal out to the green expanse of the open fields. The river extended eastward into the afternoon horizon, and Uzura and Lamp wasted no time in bolting out into the grassland where a large patch of wildflowers grew.

He looked over his shoulder toward the knights. Dame Annerina's expression was hidden beneath her helmet, but Sir Demetri discarded his, waving toward them with a grin. The agreement was they'd keep their distance until they felt Lady Ahiru was under threat.

He knew that those weapons were forged cold iron. And somewhere behind those walls, trebuchets were prepared for any suspicious actions on his part.

Well, at least they cared.

While Uzura and Lamp were still within sight, Fakir led Ahiru further out where he felt there was suitable space for this 'thingy' she wanted to try.

But first thing was first.

"You're quiet. Spacing again?"

"Eh? Oh! No, no, I … well, yeah, maybe, a little." She shuffled her feet, the pale fabric of her dress swaying gently in the fair breeze. She was quite pretty in that color, her hair pulled up into a knot, falling in loose waves over her shoulders. In more casual attire, comfortable with him, herself, her surroundings …

Quite pretty. How foolish of him. She was extraordinarily lovely, and he was a mess.

His jaw clenched. This was supposed to be about her. He was being an idiot. "What's wrong?"

"Umm … I guess a few things. I mean, whenever you change, it hurts you, so … yeah, I'm kind of nervous about this thing, and it was my idea, so you might be harmed because of me. Again."

"I can handle it." He crossed his arms and stepped closer, leaning down a bit so he could see her downcast eyes. "What else is on your mind?"

"I also left your cloak back there …"

"I have one here." He gestured to the crook of his arm. "And?"

"I'm …" She scratched the back of her head bashfully. "I don't actually know how to say it right. I don't know how to put it into words."

Fakir smirked. He'd gotten used to figuring out the mess that was her usual ramble. "Try."

Her cheeks turned pink, and he thought his might've, too. "Okay. Um. Back there, I … I really behaved badly, didn't I? I mean, it's not behavior my mom would've shown. I was running around, and kinda being loud. Maybe it's because I was away for a month or something, but it's really hard to remember my manners. I don't really feel like much of a future queen—I don't even feel like a duchess anymore. I just … sometimes wonder if, you know, if I wasn't already engaged to him … would Mytho even like me?

"I-I'm sorry! I feel really, really weird, worrying about these things when so many worse things are happening. I sound … I dunno. I'm sorry."

Fakir's heart sunk.

How was this at all fair?

How was it was okay that someone as remarkable as Ahiru could wonder if she was good enough?

And what kind of world did he live in, where it was alright that a sixteen-year-old girl felt guilty for feeling these things? Where it was alright that she could make everyone else feel so appreciated for who they were, and have none of that satisfaction for herself?

Fakir scoffed, reaching up to tug gently at a lock of hair that fell over her shoulder. "Look. See that canal? We first met there."

"Oh! Oh, come to think of it, you're right!"

"I'll be honest. You acted like a snob. Couldn't stand you."

"E-Eh!? Well, you kidnapped me!"

"Yeah, I did. And that's unforgivable." He didn't allow her to cut in. "What I did was wrong, regardless of my reasons. So you had every right to be a snob. You had every right to be as nasty and difficult as you wanted."

His fingers left her hair when he realized he lingered too long. He shoved his hands in his pockets instead, suddenly unable to meet her gaze. Revealing too much would be … too complicated. "Instead, you were kind. You opened your heart. I don't think you'll ever understand what that meant to us."

That jar of ink …

He wished he kept it.

He wished for a lot of things.

His hands clenched in his pockets. "If Prince Siegfried doesn't fall head over heels in love with you, and whoever you choose to be, then that's his loss."

"... Fakir …"

"And you're allowed to feel this way, alright? Tch." He scoffed again, staring bitterly up at the cheery, clear blue skies. "This is the sort of thing a person should worry about. Not about curses and war. You shouldn't have been involved in the first place.

"It's alright to have your feelings. Who doesn't want to be enough?"

Good or bad? Right or wrong? A village or a girl? Freedom or a flash of light?

Every choice by every person … Didn't it all come down to being enough? For another? For himself? For a greater good, or a personal wish?

Allowing his people to perish wasn't enough. Sacrificing Ahiru wasn't enough either.

But being by her side, even just like this, was. In a small, tiny ray of hope, this was enough for him, until they could fix everything else.

That was how he found himself here. Even if he could never hope to be enough for her.

"It's fine to worry that you aren't enough." He took a breath, the lines of his brow softening. "Just try to remember that you are, Ahiru."

Without waiting for her reply, he reached out to took her hands in his, bringing them up to his cheeks. "Now, come on. We're out here to practice, aren't we?"

Grinding gears, turning cogs ... his heartbeat the ticking of a clock.

"Ah, so my precious main character shall bring about the next act! Your Highness, awaken! A good prince does his duty! Follows his role!"

He obeyed, empty, heartless eyes snapping open as he mechanically sat up in bed. An older man with a mustache like whiskers lounged and snoozed in blissful ignorance in a couch across the bedroom.

So familiar …

"No, no, Your Highness, you do not know the man!"

Oh.

"Quickly now! Our task must be completed before time ticks away!"

He moved with quiet grace, but with a detachment likened to a puppet.

His feet were bare on the ground, though he didn't feel cold. He didn't feel anything at all.

"Be sure to keep out of sight, now! We wouldn't want our little act to be interrupted by a rude audience!"

Like a ghost, he drifted out into the hall, stopping when servants approached and hunching behind wayward suits of armor or around small corners. He let the voice guide him.

"This room!"

He turned the knob and stepped inside.

"Ah, there now! Those pages, you see?"

A stack of paper. Neat cursive scrawled out on the surface.

"Burn them."

Autor bolted out of his seat, his glasses falling from his nose.

Images washed over his mind, the dam bursting and overwhelming him. A kingdom, a prince, a war, a runaway dragon and a young sacrifice, two quills scratching miles and miles apart, yet seeking to overwrite the other with desperation.

He almost fainted from the onslaught, his head trying to catch up with what he already knew. And the hope that left him just minutes before ignited in his chest like dragons' flames.

His hand scrambled for a quill, and he almost tipped the inkwell over in his rush. The words flew by, as if it was his own memory, as if it was being fed to him after he starved for days on end. And he devoured it all, eyes wild as his scrawl grew jagged and inconsistent, but at least this was truth that he poured into the parchment this time.

Autor wrote until he almost bled. His digits burned and his hand throbbed.

And when he finished, he sat back, his hand growing limp around the worn quill.

He knew where they went. He knew Fakir's secret.

… And he knew Rue kept it from them.

"Elder Raven!" Autor rolled up the pages and bolted for the stone doorway, crying out into the empty abyss of Wyvern. "Elder Raven, Elder Raven!"

Raven looked older. A strange thing to consider, as they hadn't aged for almost three hundred years. But the deadened look in his eyes, the lines marring his face, the sneer that took a permanent place upon his lips …

Autor fought down a fearful shiver and slapped the pages into Raven's awaiting hands. "Look and see!"

"It had better be useful this time." The threat beneath Raven's words stilled Autor's heart. Raven placed a hand upon the sloppy words and let his eyes fall shut, and Autor waited with baited breath for the vision to pass through his mind.

They went largely unnoticed to the apathetic villagers, but for one. Rue emerged from her home, biting her lip in apprehension.

Autor couldn't bring himself to look at her. He had a feeling she wasn't looking at him either.

Finally, Raven's eyes snapped open, immediately focusing on Rue. With long strides, he dropped the stack to the ground in a flurry of pages before snatching Rue's arm with a firm, digging grasp.

Autor winced at the sound of her yelp, but did nothing.

"You knew," Raven snarled, his crimson eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Elder …! Elder, please, forgive me, I—!"

"You wasted our time. You are a failure. Useless and worthless, just like your traitorous brother!"

With a harsh shove, he sent her sprawling back onto the hard, stone ground. Autor kept his gaze away, his jaw clenching.

"Our scouts will return," Raven declared, "and then I will take half of us to retrieve the girl and lay waste to whatever and whoever stands in our way! I will set that entire kingdom ablaze if I must!"

Finally, Autor looked toward Rue. Her hair, tangled and mussed, obscured her face, her prone figure trembling on the ground.

"Autor, I leave Wyvern in your hands until we return. Two days, and the sacrifice will be in our grasp once more!"

The villagers gathered in the square, already having prepared to leave at any moment's notice. Among them, Hermia, Freya, Malen … others, just as gentle, but stern-faced. Warriors for their cause. Changed for the sake of their freedom.

… This was supposed to be a triumphant moment. Why did Autor feel this way?

Weakly, he lowered to reach for Rue.

She slapped his hand away.

Incensed, he finally broke. "Why … why do you always do this?! You always push me away. You always keep things to yourself. You let us wait this long, thinking that we'd actually lost, when all this time—!"

Her glare was scathing and sharp as she pulled herself to her feet. "Leave me be. You've found her, haven't you? You have your answers, don't you?!"

"Rue." Autor shook his head. "Don't you see? I just …" When she tried to walk away, he reached out for her. "I love you!"

At this, she stopped.

"I've loved you! For three hundred years! For longer than that, Rue! I've loved you! Don't you care about our future?! A life together, taking the world back for ourselves?! Don't we deserve that?!"

The stare she gave him disarmed him all at once. A cold smirk, guarded eyes …

He bared his heart to her, and this was her reply?

"You've pined for me. For three hundred years. But you don't know me. You don't know my heart. My desires. We're still the same, miserable people as back then! Nothing has changed. We haven't changed. You don't love me."

He felt like he was punched in the gut.

"I don't know if anyone ever loved me anymore. I don't know if anyone ever cared. Giselle is long since dead, and the only one who ever made me feel like I could have another friend in the world who could ever want to understand me is miles away from here, and she is doomed!

"Three hundred years wanting me?" She laughed, bitter and sullen as she walked away. "If you think I owe you anything for that, you're sorely mistaken."

Autor stared after her, ill and desolate, ignoring the chaos that was Wyvern's villagers preparing to emerge from the depths of their prison.

They were to transform and take to the skies. Set ablaze any who stood in their way. Take back what was stolen from them. And in the end, they would all rule what was rightfully theirs.

This … this was supposed to be a triumphant moment.

The dragon emitted a roar of anguish, throwing his head back as his obsidian scales glinted like daggers in the setting sun.

And below, Ahiru stood, clutching the cloak and burying her face in her hands.

"Fakir … M-Maybe we should stop for the day?!" she bellowed up to him, kicking sadly at the grass beneath her shoes.

She was somewhat aware of the shifting of metal a small distance away, knowing that the knights drew their weapons. Honestly, after the first three transformations, she thought they'd get the clue that Fakir wasn't going to harm her.

If anything, he would be the first to protect her.

"It's fine to worry that you aren't enough. Just try to remember that you are, Ahiru."

She fought back a blush as the dragon before her lowered his head, slowly dropping until he rested on his belly in the grass. His hot breath rustled through her hair, but she didn't move away. His eyes bore into hers. "I mean it!" she asserted, reading his expression, "We've been at this too long and you must be really tired. I mean … if it's not working, then … then maybe it wasn't me after all."

He nudged her shoulder with his nose, and she stumbled. "Qua—! No pushing! Fakir, you're so stubborn sometimes!" She leaned on him with an exasperated sigh, her arms slung across the top of his snout and her chin settling on the smooth scales. His massive tail brushed the grass behind him and she thought she felt him stiffen, but it could've been her imagination.

Idly, her attention wandered to Uzura and Lamp. Even hours later, the wildflowers gave them much to play with, several flower crowns adoring Uzura's small head, and a tiny band of woven forget-me-nots around Lamp's neck.

It reminded her of the flowers in Wyvern. Those dreamy, ethereal blooms …

When she turned back to Fakir's large, green and yellow eyes, they were staring at her. She blinked. "Oh! Sorry, did you wanna change back now?" She pulled away from her rather comfortable spot and lifted the cloak, keeping her eyes averted. "Okay, ready!"

… This was always the worst part, though. Her eyes screwed shut, the telltale sounds of furious roars and the cracking of bone melting into anguished cries and panting breaths.

Why would he want to keep this up?

When his breaths fell into composed silence, she whimpered. "Fakir? Are you …?"

The cloak was snatched from her outstretched hands, and she heard the rustle of fabric. "I'm … fine. You can look now."

"Okay …"

He wrapped the material closely around him, his expression tired, but still determined. The remnants of one last scale sunk into his cheekbone and vanished. "Once more."

"Fakir, really. Can we stop?" She bit her lip, staring down at his bare toes. She hated hearing him suffer. As if he hadn't had enough of that in his life already. "It's not me. What helped you before … I don't think it was me at all. It's not working."

"It was you. I felt it. I know."

She glanced up, warmth creeping back up into her cheeks at the confidence in his words and his eyes. How was it that he had so much faith in her? Even earlier …

"If Prince Siegfried doesn't fall head over heels in love with you, and whoever you choose to be, then that's his loss."

In an attempt to avoid his piercing gaze, she glanced back at Uzura and Lamp, undisturbed by Fakir's transformations. "It's really not worth you getting hurt over and over again. You're always getting hurt because of me."

"That's not true." Fakir glanced toward the setting sun, his expression unreadable. "Back in Wyvern … the night we left. Rue tried to sway my heart under Raven's control as she did for the rest of the village. Her dance should've worked.

"But I felt something from inside me. The same warmth as back then, when you stopped my transformation after it already began … Maybe you've been the one protecting me all this time."

Truthfully, she didn't think herself capable of that.

But when Fakir's eyes were so soft and so sure, she couldn't find it in herself to argue.

He … made her feel stronger.

Why was he telling her all these things today?

"Fakir, I—" She … what? What did she even want to say? Thank him? Tell him that he was wrong? Tell him that he was right? Ask him why he kept pushing himself so hard? Why he ended up choosing her instead of the fated path? Did she want to ask about their embrace the day before? About what he said, with Mytho falling head over heels in love with her? Why he didn't smile more or—?

"What?"

She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but Demetri's voice cut through the air, sharp and urgent.

"Lady Ahiru! Mister Fakir! His Highness has awoken! His Highness has awoken!"

Her heart leaped into her throat, and she glanced up at Fakir. He gave her a nod of encouragement and urged her forward with a gentle push at the small of her back.

With a deep breath, she called Uzura and Lamp to their side, and headed back toward the town walls with Fakir right behind her.

And as the sun sunk below the horizon and the nighttime overtook the day, quiet steps followed the shadows as they encroached upon the darkening streets of Vineta, their hoods obscuring their carefully-hidden features, their sights set on the towering majesty of the Grand Chateau.

One bandit ducked behind a bakery, now closed for the evening, and studied the pathways of the village carefully. This would be tricky, with that large lake encircling the castle this way.

She released a heavy breath, toying with the handle of the axe tucked beneath her robes.