By the time Jemma and Fitz turned fourteen, they had become fairly proficient in riding and combat, due to Bobbi and Lance's tireless efforts. Jemma had seen nothing of the almost mythical leader of the Cavalry, but Bobbi's skills alone testified to the existence of the secret army. A pair of daggers was her weapon of choice, but Bobbi could wield a broadsword as well (or better) than any male knight, and her horsemanship was superb. The group of women was small, Bobbi had told Jemma, and, more than anything, it was entirely secret. Though she expected that Jemma would tell Fitz everything, Bobbi stipulated that Jemma tell no one else in the palace, including her parents and her aunt (since Mack already knew). Fitz, for his part, had been instructed by a now-fully-functional Hunter, who, despite his many accidents and regular trips to the infirmary, was actually a very good swordsman and an only slightly less skillful rider. But the lab was still where Jemma and Fitz' hearts laid.

Any spare moment they spent in their almost dungeon-like room, sometimes with a tutor, but more and more often just by themselves. They were always working on some project or other, for the infirmary or for their tutor or just for themselves. And as they worked, they talked about anything and everything. Bobbi and Hunter. Speculation about the Cavalry. Whatever book Jemma or Fitz had read the night before. Guesses at what Mack and Jemma's father and the king were doing out on campaign. Gossip about the newest squires from Lincoln who, as anticipated, had easily fit into their group. There was always something to discuss, something to learn, something to argue about, and even when they stopped talking to focus for a minute or two or ten, the silence said as much as their words did. They worked together seamlessly, two parts of the same machine. Everything was easy, effortless, almost like breathing.

"Jemma, can you-"

"On it." Jemma picked up a vial from the table next to them and passed it to Fitz who accepted it with a nod of thanks. She moved back across from Fitz, staring down at the dagger that lay between them.

Fitz narrowed his eyes in concentration. Their latest project had been a liquid that would cause almost instant loss of consciousness as soon as the compound entered an individual's bloodstream, to reduce death on the battlefield and to help in the infirmary. They were currently trying to figure out how to apply the solution to blades of swords and daggers so that the knight wouldn't have to continually reapply the compound. Fitz had, much to the horror of the palace swordmaker, requested some old, broken, or otherwise unusable swords that he could poke holes into and break apart, so as Jemma worked with finalizing the compound, which was slightly different than the one they had made for the infirmary, Fitz had been poking around swords with hot metal rods, trying to find a solution.

"Almost," Fitz said, letting little drops of the compound run into the small hole he had created. Fitz moved the sword and all of the liquid ran right out again.

Fitz sighed and let his head fall into his hands. This project had been so frustrating. They had made such a breakthrough with the infirmary, but they'd hit a wall again.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Jemma offering him her usual half-smile that always came around when one of their ideas wasn't working out. He recognized the combination of frustration, sympathy, and, more than anything else, hope and determination. She believed in him. She always had.

"You'll figure this out, Fitz," she said softly. "You always do. You've put so much work into this already. We'll get past this obstacle, and we'll have new, non-lethal weapons for the cavalry!"

Fitz sighed again. "Thanks, Jemma. It's just taking longer than it normally does for me to figure this out." He paused for a moment. "And I thought my father might like this since it helps him and his knights. I thought maybe he'd come down to the lab or something. I don't know." He stared back down at the table.

"Oh, Fitz," Jemma said, her voice full of sympathy as she rubbed his shoulder. "Your father-"

Footsteps echoed in the corridor, stopping Jemma's words. They glanced at each other, confused. It was rare for them to receive visitors down here.

Around the corner stepped a well-dressed boy just a year or two younger than Fitz himself: Donnie, one of the palace children that had grown up around Fitz and Jemma, now a page due to become a squire in not too long.

"Your Highness." Donnie bowed to Fitz. "Miss Simmons." He inclined his head at Jemma before turning back to Fitz. "King Coulson wishes to see you, Your Highness."

Fitz turned to Jemma, his eyes widening. His father had never sent for him from down here before. Really, his father rarely sent for him at all.

Jemma shrugged but tilted her head at Donnie telling Fitz to go.

"Oh, uh, thanks, Donnie," Fitz said awkwardly. "I'll go see what he needs then."

Donnie bowed and then turned so Fitz could follow him out.

Fitz threw one last, confused glance at Jemma

She offered him a reassuring smile as she grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently. "Go!" she said with almost a laugh.

Fitz tried to return her smile and then left the lab, hoping that whatever her father had to say wasn't too serious.

Fitz followed Donnie in silence up the stairs into the palace itself.

"So how are you these days, Donnie?" Fitz asked, aloof. He and Jemma had never been particularly good friends with Donnie, or with any of the other palace children for that matter. No one their age had ever been particularly interesting to either of them. Really, apart from Lincoln, there wasn't anyone close to their age who they would have considered any sort of a friend.

"I'm doing quite well, Your Highness," Donnie replied formally. "And yourself? I see you're still spending much of your time with Miss Simmons."

Fitz smiled to himself at the mention of Jemma. "Yeah. We're partners, me and Jemma."

Donnie offered him a polite smile, but Fitz could see the slight confusion behind his eyes. Fitz was used to it. He and Jemma had been getting looks like that since they were little.

He and Donnie didn't speak until Donnie stopped in front of the double doors that led to the throne room.

"He's waiting for you here, Your Highness." Donnie bowed again and then threw open the doors for Fitz to enter.

Fitz had been to the throne room many times before, but the last occasion had been at least two or three years previously. As he stepped inside, he found his father sitting, not in his throne, but on one of the chairs that lined the gallery that were used by advisors, petitioners, and visitors to the palace. The king stood up as Fitz entered.

"Leo," the king greeted him warmly, as he met his son in the middle of the large hall. There was a smile on his lips that did not quite reach his eyes. "Thank you for coming. I understand you were in your lab with Jemma."

Fitz smiled at familiarity with which his father mentioned Jemma. The king, though often absent, was known for being personable, eschewing formality and calling subjects by their first names rather than by titles more often than not.

"Yeah, Jemma and I are working on a compound that can make someone lose consciousness almost instantly," Fitz explained. "We already have it being used in the infirmary, but we're trying to incorporate it into daggers and swords so we can use it on the battlefield."

Fitz's father raised his eyebrows. "That's very impressive, Leo. And it would be very useful to the cavalry."

Fitz nodded. "That's what we're hoping for." Fitz paused. "So was there something you needed from me, Father?"

The king sighed and turned away. "Yes, Leo, there's something we must discuss." He walked to the side of the gallery and took a seat, gesturing for Fitz to sit down beside him.

Fitz lowed himself into the chair, concerned. He had never seen his father look this worried before.

"The new ruler of the kingdom to the west of us is coming to pay us all a visit," the king began slowly, with the air of one trying to put off bad news. "His name is Grant Ward, and I met him about a year ago when the cavalry and I were over that way. His father was a good king, but I'm unsure about Grant. He always seemed rather power-hungry and obsessed with honor and revenge." The king stopped, clearly deep in thought.

"So you're worried about him coming here?" Fitz prompted. "That's what you asked to see me?"

The king shook himself out of his thoughts and turned back to Fitz, frowning. "While I am nervous about him taking the throne, that is not why I asked to speak with you. You see, Grant is only one of the visitors I am expected. The other is his younger sister, Daisy." The king smiled to himself. "She's one of the most fiery and enthusiastic young women I have ever encountered, and she's just your age. She's very bright and eager to learn, and I think you'd both get on very well."

Fitz narrowed his eyes. Was this really what his father wanted to talk to him about? "Father, if this is you trying to get me to marry this princess, I don't want any part of it."

"Oh, no, no, Leo," his father replied hastily. "This is far more than that. I'm trying to warn you. There's a very pretty and vivacious girl coming to the palace, and I want to prepare you-"

Fitz stood up and started walking toward the door. The very last thing Fitz needed right now was the sex talk from his dad in the middle of the throne room about a girl he hadn't even met yet.

"Leo, please. I'm trying to tell you about the curse that was placed on you as a baby."

Fitz stopped in his tracks and whirled around to face his father who was still seated on the side of the hall.

"What?"

The king took a deep breath. "An evil sorcerer placed a curse on you when you were two weeks old. There was nothing we could do. Maveth…" He trailed off.

Fitz walked slowly back across the room toward his father, shaking his head in disbelief. "I don't understand, Father."

The king looked up as Fitz sat back down beside him. He offered his son a small smile and then began his tale. "We were having a party for your christening. Half the cavalry and their wives were there and many others from the palace besides. Your mother and I were so happy. Everyone was. The kingdom had been secure for almost an entire year, crops were flourishing, towns were thriving, and you…" The king stared off into space, smiling almost wistfully at the memory. "You were perfect. Our beautiful little boy, born without a hitch." He paused. "But then Maveth arrived.

"No one knows where he came from, but Maveth is a sorcerer with unprecedented power. I'd considered him a fairytale, a legend, but then he appeared in the middle of this very room in a cloud of sand and wind and stone. He approached your cradle and offered you a gift." The king stopped and dabbed at his eyes, the memory clearly upsetting him.

"I tried to save you, my son, I tried," the king continued, sniffling. "We begged, we pleaded with Maveth, but he was unmovable. And then one of our knights, our youngest, the most daring-"

"Fitz," Fitz filled in, now understanding what Dame Isobel had meant when she said that her son had died trying to save Fitz's life.

The king smiled slightly. "Yes, young Eoin Fitz, Dame Isobel's son and Lady Mackenzie's first husband. He stood up to Maveth, charged toward him, tried to kill him, but Maveth pulled him into a vortex, and when the wind died down and the sand fell out of the air, Maveth was alone and Eoin was gone." He hung his head. "Not a day goes by that I don't regret not having done something, anything. I took a son from his mother. A husband from his wife."

"They don't blame you, Father," Fitz said desperately, wanting to help his father in any way he could. He had never seen the older man look so hopeless, so helpless, as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. His father had always been strong and brave and kind, if a bit standoffish. The man hunched over in the chair before Fitz was a far cry from the hero Fitz had always both looked up to and resented for his lack of attention. "They've never said anything even remotely-"

"They wouldn't," the king interrupted, looking up at his son sorrowfully. "No, they don't blame me; they're too good, Margaret and Isobel. I don't deserve their kindness."

Fitz didn't know what to say.

"So Eoin disappeared," the king continued after collecting himself, "and Maveth returned to you. He picked you up, ignoring Margaret's screams, ignoring your cries, and he cursed you that though you will be brilliant and hardworking and determined, as soon as you kiss the lips of your true love, all who know you will forget you and your true love will hate you more than anything."

Fitz recoiled in horror, standing up and walking a few paces away from his father. He was cursed. Actually cursed. He had never met anyone who was cursed before. In fact, he and Jemma had not been quite sure curses existed, or at least that they existed in such a dramatic a fashion as was commonly believed. But here he was, living proof that curses existed and could, apparently, horribly affect the lives of those they were cast upon. If Fitz had not been so terrified, he would have been fascinated. But there were still some questions nagging at the back of his mind. He took a deep breath and turned around to face his father. "Why?"

The king looked at him, confused. "Why what?"

"Why did Maveth cast this spell on me?" Fitz clarified, beginning to pace back and forth in front of his father, gesturing his arms wildly. "Was it punishment for something you did or for the cavalry or for the wars before I was born? Did you fail to invite him to my christening?" he added half-joking, referencing one of the fairytales that he and Jemma had been forced to listen to as children in the palace nursery.

The king barely cracked a smile as he sighed and shook his head. "It was nothing we did. Maveth can see the future, or at least parts of the future, and it seems you were to bring about his destruction."

"Then why not finish me off back then?" Fitz asked, still pacing, his head reeling. "Surely it would have been easier to him to kill a defenseless baby rather than wait for me to grow up and fall in love."

"Maveth said that before you bring about his destruction, you are, apparently, to 'be his salvation,'" the king quoted. "Whatever that means."

"Then why not kill me instead of making everyone forget me?" Fitz continued his questioning.

"That's what Maveth does," the king answered, shrugging, his eyes on the ground. "The name Maveth means 'death by punishment.' The idea is that in making the entire kingdom forget you, you will be so punished that it will be like death or will even cause your death." The king finally looked up to meet Fitz's eyes. "He means to have the pain destroy you."

Fitz took a shuddering breath, stopping his pacing and staring off at the dais where the thrones of his parents stood over everything. He imagined their expressions of horror as the sorcerer stood in their midst and cursed their baby, just weeks old, not for any crime of theirs, but for something the child would do in the future. He could see Lady Mackenzie sobbing on the far side of the hall as Dame Isobel comforted her. Perhaps Jemma's parents had even been there, her mother heavy with child, ready to give birth to Jemma in no more than a week and a half's time. A whole crowd of people had been there, his father had said, and yet Fitz had never even suspected.

Fitz finally turned back to his father. "So what do we do?"

"We kill Maveth," the king answered. "That's how to end the curse."

"Where is he?" Fitz asked.

The king sighed again. "That's the thing; we have no idea." The older man shook his head. "We've been searching for over fourteen years, Leo, and we've barely found anything. Just leads, but never anything real. He's a sorcerer. How do you even kill a sorcerer?" The king threw his head in his hands.

"So that's where you've been all these years," Fitz realized, speaking more to himself than to his father.

The king nodded. "Yes, for the most part. I mean we have to deal with smugglers and keep the peace with our neighbors, but we spend most of our time searching for anything on Maveth. For you, and for Eoin."

"Do they all know?" Fitz asked another question. "The cavalry, I mean. Do they all know what they're looking for?"

The king shook his head. "Some do, most don't. The highest ranked ones that happened to be at your christening certainly do, John Simmons for one, and a few others besides that – Alphonso, Lance. Lance was actually taken on as a squire younger than one would normally be just because we needed more men for the search. Jemma's father told him everything but made him keep it quiet."

Fitz raised his eyebrows slightly. He and Jemma had always considered Lance to be a gossip, someone who couldn't keep a secret to save his life, but here was the second life-altering secret Fitz had discovered his friend had kept, after Bobbi's double-life with the Cavalry. Apparently their friend wasn't as careless as they had thought.

"I'm sorry I haven't made more progress, son," the king said finally, looking meek and penitent. "We don't know where Maveth is. We don't know how to kill him. We just have lead after lead after lead. You deserve better than me."

Fitz felt disgusted with himself. As long as Fitz could remember, he'd resented his father for his near constant absences, for sending news to Fitz by way of Mack and Lance and Bobbi rather than contacting Fitz himself. Fitz had complained to Jemma about him more times than he could count, and he'd let more than a few comments on the matter spill out to his other friends and even to his mother. But now the truth came out. Fitz's father did not dislike him as Fitz had always worried; rather, the king loved Fitz more than he had ever known. Fitz had never been so humbled, so ashamed.

"Don't apologize, Father," Fitz insisted, trying to atone for all the now-unfounded bitterness he'd felt for so long. "He's an evil sorcerer; you're just a man, even if you are the best king we've ever had."

Fitz's words did nothing to alter his father's expression.

"Do you want Jemma and me to help you figure out how to kill him?" Fitz asked after a moment.

This caused some reaction in the king. He looked up at his son, shaking his head definitively. "Absolutely not. Jemma must not know about this, Leo; indeed, no one must know besides those who know already, and you shouldn't discuss the curse even with them. This secret is of the utmost importance, Leo, and there can be no conversation on the matter."

Fitz narrowed his eyes at his father. "But Jemma-"

"Need not be bothered with this," the king interrupted. "Nor should you be. This is my job, Leo, not yours. Enjoy your carefree youth for now, just bear all this in mind when the princess arrives next week."

Fitz sighed. "The princess won't be my true love, Father, and even if she was, I just won't kiss her. That's easy."

His father offered him a half smile. "Maybe not so easy. But thank you, Leo. You may go back to your lab. I'm sure Jemma's wondering where you've gone."

Fitz hesitated, unsure of how to leave things with his father. "Thanks for telling me about this," he said finally.

The king nodded, a small smile on his face, and Fitz walked out of the throne room.

As the doors closed behind him, Fitz heard another voice in the room he had just left.

He stopped and pressed his ear against the door to listen, grateful the corridor was deserted.

"How did he take it, Phillip?" The voice was his mother's.

A sigh. "As well as can be expected. We have to find that monster, Audrey!" His father's voice was angry now as it hadn't been when speaking to Fitz.

"Phillip, you will. You'll save him. We'll save him."

The room grew quiet, and Fitz moved away from the door, walking aimlessly, not paying any particular attention to where he was going. He was cursed. A sorcerer wanted him dead, or at least dead to everyone who mattered to him.

Bits and pieces of his life started adding together. The close friendship he and Jemma had always had with Dame Isobel that had just always existed but that Fitz had never questioned. It had started with the sorcerer, with the curse. Then there was the insistence that Fitz learn to fight, that Fitz take all sorts of lessons in science and other subjects, subjects about which no other children in the palace were learning. It was all to help Fitz if he had to figure out how to kill Maveth and save himself all alone.

"Fitz!" Jemma's voice brought him back to reality. Apparently his legs had carried him back to the lab. "I'm so glad you're back! I had an idea about the compound!"

Fitz tried to smile at his friend but he was unable to. Even the guilt over his feelings for his father was overshadowed by the fear of a specter, a curse, things he couldn't remember but could only imagine.

Jemma had been about to explain her idea, but she stopped at his expression. "Is everything okay?" she asked, concerned, walking over to him, clearly no longer thinking about their project. "You look as though you've seen a ghost." She offered him a small smile in reference to a previous conversation in which they had mutually agreed that there were no such things as ghosts.

Fitz's expression didn't change. "I'm fine, Jemma."

"What did your father need?" she asked, her eyes narrowed, clearly not believing him.

"Nothing." Fitz moved back to the lab bench where the dagger laid on the table waiting for him to get back to work.

"It can't be nothing," Jemma insisted, following him. "Just look at you!"

"It's nothing, Jemma!" Fitz repeated, his words coming out much more harshly than intended.

His friend shrank away from him. "Fine," she said almost to herself, her eyes cloudy, an expression on her face that Fitz had only seen directed at rude tutors and some of their more obnoxious fellow children.

Fitz instantly felt sorry for snapping at Jemma, but he didn't know what he could do. His father had forbidden him from telling Jemma about the curse. He just wanted the whole matter dropped.

Usually when Fitz and Jemma had had a row, the anger or annoyance lasted only a few minutes before some problem or breakthrough or mutual unspoken decision to forget the matter entirely brought them back together. But it seemed this argument was different from any they had ever had. For the first time Fitz could remember, he and Jemma did not speak to each other for the rest of the day. Fitz was giving Jemma space, and Jemma, it seemed, was still mad at him. He worked on his dagger. She worked on her compound. They stayed in opposite sides of the lab, and the only noises that could be heard were the sounds of water dripping in the passageway and of muffled footsteps from the palace floor above them.

As dinner approached, Jemma left without a word, leaving Fitz to follow. She turned in the direction of her family's quarters without even waiting for Fitz to emerge from the basement. Often he and Jemma would go call on Dame Isobel or Lance and Bobbi after an afternoon in the lab, but Fitz was left in the corridor without so much as a word. Apparently he would dine alone with his parents that evening.

As Fitz slowly walked toward the palace dining room, a sinking feeling in his stomach told him that this was far more than a little argument between friends. As if he didn't have enough to worry about what with an evil sorcerer and a curse hanging over his head. This was the first time in Fitz's memory that he had parted with Jemma angry, and Fitz found that this fact was even more upsetting to him than a curse cast by an enchanter with the name "death by punishment."

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Reviews are absolutely lovely!