Chapter 8: Turning of Hearts

Half a mile from the castle, Athena stepped into the cool area beneath the Forbidden Forest's trees, entirely unaware that Mortesen had been fighting for his life only a short while ago. There were several paths she could take back to her home, but the most direct involved crossing here to cut across a wide, reaching arm of the forest.

Trying to ignore the feeling that someone was watching her, the blue hedgehog began to walk, saying aloud, "Pardon me, but I won't be here long."

She tried to go straight, but the trees grew thicker, crowded with brush and thorns. The only clear pathway appeared to lead deeper toward the center. Leery of going that direction, Athena's hands glowed as she used her Element to move some of the thorny vines blocking her way.

Without warning a branch swung out and struck her back! Athena fell onto her face, then scrambled up, clutching her Karok disguise with a death grip and darting glances in every direction. There was no wind and not a single leaf stirred. Everything was unnaturally quiet. She felt her hearts thump with rising panic.

"Mortesen said you wouldn't harm me. I didn't mean to trespass. I'll leave right away if you'll just let me out."

Nothing changed. Then she noticed that the way she'd come now looked impassable. Despite the autumn coolness, sweat started to dampen her fur. Whatever this unseen presence was, it didn't have any interest in releasing her.

Swallowing the fear, Athena resigned herself to this situation and allowed the forest to choose her path.

Rakar's whole body felt as though a Lightning-user had sneaked up from behind and given him a jolt. Every cell screamed with a pain that wasn't physical, but just as striking.

"They're lying. They have to be!"

"Rakar," Mortesen sounded so reasonable and he looked down once more at the letter from Ayortha that outlined the specifics of his Royal gift, "I questioned them for over an hour separately. Windsor never told them anything and they never plotted against us."

"But they knew something!" he insisted. "There's no way they couldn't at least suspect he wanted the throne."

The black hedgehog shook his head. "Yes, but they were never part of it and that's the difference. I'm releasing them at the end of the week. Sherry and the duchess will be banished after Windsor's execution."

Rakar seethed. "The entire family of a traitor is usually executed, Brother."

"That's not justice; it's vengeance."

"Would you really feel that way if those blasted vermin had stabbed Amuera in the heart while you watched?" he threw out, one hand going to his chest as the vivid, painful memory returned.

Mortesen didn't turn angry or resentful. If anything, a deep sadness filled his eyes and he touched the small obsidian bracelet briefly. "I hope so. It's the sort of thing she would have wanted."

For a moment Rakar stood still, completely stunned at his brother's words. Then his mouth set in a firm line. "Well, mine wouldn't. You may have despised her, but she's still my mother and I loved her."

He turned and left the study before Mortesen could make a reply. After starting down the stairwell, Rakar paused for an instant to note his brother hadn't felt the argument important enough to pursue him. Quelling the beginning of resentment, he forced himself to keep walking.

The image of the previous day's funeral rites played before his eyes, returning repeatedly to the moment when his father's body dissolved into a burst of sparkling wind. Seconds later so had his mother's, though Priscilla's Element showed itself to be a soft, spiraling plume of smoke that danced gaily above the mourners, almost as though glad to be free.

Not paying any attention, he followed the predetermined path set by his feet that inevitably led to the dungeon. Upon reaching the barred door, he stopped to look closely at the wolf posted there. His fur was dark gray, the chest and the undersides of his arms white, and he looked to be about ten years older than Rakar.

"You... Aren't you the one who healed me?"

"Yes, my Prince," he replied looking somewhat nervous. The physician had been quite stern with him about his method in healing Rakar's eye.

"What is your name?"

"...Gregory of the Wulfenbach Clan."

Rakar looked at the bolted door, thoughts twisting with anger. "If by some chance the traitor down there got injured, would you heal him?"

The wolf looked surprised, then a flicker of understanding lit his eyes and he gave a toothy grin. "Oh, I see. Yes, I can make sure there are no visible scars, my Prince."

Rakar nodded, then he reached for the door.

"I only wish the crown prince hadn't decided to release those good-for-nothing women. I overheard Duke Windsor telling his wife he had money stashed away." Gregory's voice was full of disgust. "Once she and her daughter leave Cosium they'll still be living in luxury. Banishment will hardly be any burden at all."

The hedgehog clenched his fists. "I wish I could do something about that. After what Windsor did to my parents I refuse to let them escape punishment so easily."

"If there's a way, you'll find it," Gregory said with certainty, making Rakar turn to him in surprise. "You're quiet, my Prince, but you're not as passive as you've always pretended."

He paused, not sure exactly what those words meant, then without saying anything more he proceeded down the remaining steps. Taking a torch, Rakar went along the dungeon's long hallway, peering into each cell. A little ways down he found three hedgehogs.

Chains kept them fastened solidly to the walls. The duchess and Sherry sat beside one another, almost looking like twins with their pale blond fur, while the duke was held directly opposite them.

Rakar unlocked the door and immediately noticed the unpleasant shudder that they all experienced at his nearness. For the first time in his life, a surge of pleasure swept through him knowing he could affect them this way. Then the feeling transformed into something livid as he stood there, glaring at the one who had been directly responsible for the attack on his parents.

Windsor shook off the discomfort caused by the young hedgehog's presence and gave a taunting sneer. "Did your father squeal and beg for his life when they killed him?"

Three hard punches to his jaw knocked him nearly senseless, then Rakar grabbed the duke's left hand, trapped in a manacle.

"I'd like to hear you squeal, traitor!" he snarled with a viciousness he didn't know he possessed.

Fiery hatred flushed a wave of heat through his entire body and there was nothing he wanted better than to make this murderer suffer. With deliberate slowness, he bent Windsor's smallest finger back until it gave a sharp crack and the prisoner made a stifled cry. Once the rest of those fingers were broken and Windsor was throwing the most foul curses at him, Rakar pulled a dagger from his belt.

"My father was stabbed through the chest just about there," he emphasized the spot by pressing just hard enough to draw blood, "but I'm afraid doing that would kill you too quickly. Why don't I show you what it's like to have your muscles carved up instead?"

Windsor spat and jerked, now beginning to show the first traces of fear as Rakar aimed for his shoulder. A voice stopped him.

"I'll tell Mortesen! He would never allow you to get away with this!" Sherry sat straining against her chains, an angry, defiant air about her.

But he knew she was right. Mortesen would be furious if he knew what Rakar was doing in the dungeon right now. He might even be more lenient with the two women if he knew they had watched the duke's torture.

Hardly realizing what he was doing, Rakar crossed the cell, seizing Sherry by the throat. At once her body went rigid as he touched her soul without pulling it away. His eyes bored deep into hers and suddenly he felt something else become clear: her soul had layers.

Mentally the prince peeled a few of them back, noticing her frenzied eyes unfocus, then he began to murmur in a low voice.

"You don't want to tell Mortesen. If you do, the same thing will happen to you. Your pretty face will be scarred so badly that no one will ever want to look at you again."

The words settled there, like little seeds, and he loosened his hold on her soul so that the layers folded back over the thoughts he'd embedded in it. She wilted, jaw hanging slack as though she couldn't remember how to talk. Her eyes continued to stare blindly into the distance.

Before he could forget how he'd done it, Rakar reached for the duchess even as she screamed, demanding to know what spell he'd cast on her daughter. The same thing happened. He left a deep impression that to tell Mortesen or anyone at all about the torture would result in pain and humiliation so great that she would rather be dead.

He didn't stop there. More words flooded the privacy of her soul, saying Windsor had left them destitute and all this talk of money was one continuous lie.

When he let go and she hung limply in her chains, Rakar nearly fell to his knees. He hadn't been aware of the energy being sapped from his body. His red eyes drifted over to the duke again, whose face shone clearly with alarm.

"Well, you might be good for something after all."

A second later Windsor was missing half his soul and suffering the loss with horrified confusion. "Wh-What are you? Some kind of devil?! You aren't Negolas's son!"

"I don't care what you say about me," Rakar hissed, already stronger from the stolen energy. He could sense years of Windsor's hatred toward the king and jealousy for his throne. "I don't mind the desperate rambling of a condemned man. It actually makes me wonder exactly how much more fear I can make you feel."

The dagger plunged into the duke's shoulder and twisted one way, then the other. Pained shouts echoed throughout the dungeon, causing the other prisoners to shrink down. A dozen non-fatal wounds scarred the green hedgehog before he passed out.

Faint memories that did not belong to him were playing along the edge of his consciousness. Without realizing it, he'd used knowledge from the dead bandits to decide how exactly to go about torturing Windsor so that he suffered as long as possible without accidentally killing him.

Rakar cast a look at the two females and they huddled against each other, whimpering in terror. He went to the stairs, but as he mounted the first step the young hedgehog noticed his dagger dripping blood.

A horrible sensation tugged on his innards, threatening to make him throw up. Had he really done those things? It almost felt like some mad, bloodthirsty beast had taken him over, feeding off the pain he caused.

The heavy door partway up the steps opened before he had a chance to knock. "My Prince, sit down a moment, if you can."

Rakar collapsed into the guard's chair.

"I'd best heal his surface wounds to keep him from bleeding to death," Gregory commented, noticing the condition of the dagger. He motioned to a bucket of water in the corner. "It may be wise to clean up a little. I'll be back very soon."

Dipping his bloodied hands into the water, the prince found himself shaking. The dread in their eyes...the disbelief... And what was it he had done to Sherry and her mother? Had he taken away their free will in affecting them that way?

A few minutes later the door creaked open once more as Gregory returned. He looked...impressed?

"Very well done, my Prince. It was the least he deserved."

Had the wolf given even the slightest hint of disapproval, Rakar's shame might have overwhelmed him to the point that he regretted his actions. As it was, to receive nothing but praise vindicated his cruelty so that he could rationalize it, justify it.

But not only that. For as long as he could remember, the young hedgehog had felt weaker than everyone around him, unable to fully grasp his Royal gift so that he was completely at its mercy. Now a sense of strength and power flooded through him. The knowledge that they were helpless and he was in full control gave him a pride he'd never known in his entire life.

In that one instant, everything changed.

"I mean no disrespect when I say this," Gregory said, pulling Rakar from his thoughts, "but I've seen your brother's type many times in both my own clan and here in the army. Prince Mortesen will most likely be the softest ruler Cosium has known since Queen Susan the Gentle. He needs someone to be his backbone. You can be the arm that enforces his law, whether he knows it or not."

Rakar's mind whirled around this new purpose. Most siblings of the king or queen moved away because of marriage, but that possibility had been so remote, if not impossible ever since he first realized he gave off a sense of creeping unease he was unable to dampen. What woman would want a husband she could hardly touch without being repulsed?

But now...now he knew he had a place in the castle. Even if Mortesen did turn out to be weak, he could be the strength that kept his brother's reign firm.

"My Prince, if I may be bold enough to ask, would you be offended if I swore allegiance to you? I know under your direct command I can better serve the Crown."

As noble as his intentions were, it was the first deliberate step toward the rift between himself and Mortesen. Staring down at the soldier who knelt before him making a pledge, Rakar never imagined that rift would turn deadly.

One Day Later

It troubled Mortesen that all business was conducted in his father's study, but the maps, books and relevant documents he needed were there. He refused to sit in the ornate chair at the far end of the table. It felt wrong even to consider taking that place.

"Do we have to discuss this today?" Mortesen groaned, leaning tiredly against the table.

"If you want good relations with your people as king, then yes," Master Snowfoot said, setting a paper down in front of him. "This is a list of princesses and Coizard nobles who are eligible for you. There is a certain amount of stability a queen provides if she is present from the beginning of a new reign. If she comes along later, tensions can build quickly as they did with your mother and the nobility. They never fully accepted her, and not simply because she was King Negolas's second wife."

At the reference to Queen Amuera, Mortesen's fingers instinctively went to touch his bracelet. He tried to shake off the secret yearning for her by glancing at the page.

"Why is Princess Glaciana at the top? Are you leaning toward your native country for any particular reason?"

The Arctic hare frowned, then stood fully upright, ears straightening so that he towered even more over Mortesen. The prince was suddenly reminded that his tutor had been a boxer in his youth and still occasionally accepted challenges.

"Do not mistake anything I do for favoritism of any kind, my Prince. I have ordered them from most advantageous to least. The Ice Empire has been on fair terms with Cosium for years, but if the two countries were closer, proper trade routes could be permanently established that may help the villages in the portion of your kingdom closest to the mountains. They are remote and suffering badly, in case you didn't know."

"No," Mortesen answered. "But it seems as though everyone is suffering, whether it's from bandits, their own barons or the price of flour."

"Oh? You noticed that, did you?" The burly white hare appeared surprised.

"Yes, but I don't know why it happened."

"The price of grain went up because of a drought two years ago, but last year when it ought to have been normal, the barons decided together not to lower it. Your father knew, but he didn't like to be bothered with such inconsequential problems. He thought the bakers could simply charge more for their bread and didn't consider that the people who would be most hurt by it were those already enduring much."

"But..." The black hedgehog stared at the list without seeing it. "Why would the barons purposely do such a thing?"

"They don't care. Who is there to stop them? If your father wasn't willing to intervene and the dukes don't prevent it, they can do anything they like. Unless the peasants revolt, of course."

It sounded so much like what Athena had said when he asked why a baron would make young children do hard labor. He unconsciously touched a bulge from something in the inside pocket of his vest.

"Is that what most of the rebellions are about, Master Snowfoot? Unfairness?"

"Mostly," the hare nodded. He tapped the map of the kingdom, indicating some of the towns that had been suppressed repeatedly over the years. "Strict, unyielding control embitters more often than mellows."

"But Father always said that control was most important when ruling a kingdom."

"He may have said that, but did he believe it?" The hare placed a hand on Mortesen's shoulder. "Did he ever attempt to control you?"

"Never," he replied with an indignant undertone.

Master Snowfoot gazed at him thoughtfully. "How very interesting that the king didn't follow his own purported philosophy. Maybe it's because he understood its flaws within his family, but didn't see its flaws when applied to the kingdom."

Mortesen couldn't keep Athena out of his mind. What would she say? He ran a hand down his face, wondering what the right philosophy to rule a country ought to be. The paper glaring up at him came back into view and he gave a start at the fifth name on the list.

"Wait...who is this Princess Rosella? I've never heard of her."

His tutor gestured to a larger map on the wall that depicted all the countries on this side of the ocean. One of the nations recently had its borders adjusted and it bore a new name.

"Two months ago Marcuria officially became Daventry and the conquerors raised a noble family to Royal status to rule there, so it may be a profitable match if you'd like to build good relations with that country while it's still young."

His face turned to stone. Mortesen stalked over to the windows, placing his hands against the wide ledge and staring mutely toward the sea. Although he didn't understand, Master Snowfoot recognized emotional turmoil when he saw it and tactfully made an excuse to leave, saying they could discuss the matter of a match some other time. A moment later the prince was alone.

Why? Why was it that no matter what he did, his thoughts always went back to her? It was as though the entire world had conspired to place constant reminders of Athena in his path.

His focus shifted inland and he blinked. Brow furrowing, he stared at the Forbidden Forest. Its treetops seemed to be moving in an unusual pattern...rippling like ocean waves. Grandmother Lake had to know about his father. She probably wanted to discuss it with him to make sure he was all right. And since he hadn't gone to her after his mother died, it felt important that he go now when he'd lost his father. Maybe she could also get his mind off Athena.

With that destination firmly in mind, he went down to the stables and saddled his horse, taking a side gate so that he didn't have to pass through Cosium Town to reach the woods.

Some time later when he came into sight of the hidden valley, Mortesen could see Grandmother Lake standing on the water. She bobbed slightly with every rhythmic wave that came from the spring-fed waterfall. Her eyes were fastened on the cliff face that rose up above the lake, its grooves and jutting rocks formed into the uncanny likeness of a wing.

"I knew he died the moment it happened," she said, her voice soaked with sadness. "The Cosmos Diamond cried out in such pain that every nature spirit in Cosium felt it... Negolas had his faults, but he was good at heart."

Mortesen kept his gaze focused on the willow tree at the water's edge, trying to push down the heartache that threatened to overwhelm him as he thought about the scepter that currently rested on the king's empty throne.

"The Cosmos Diamond will have a new king by the Kindling Festival."

"A bit quicker than I expected, but I suppose since you are sixteen already there didn't seem to be much point in waiting." She turned and walked to the shore, her not-quite-clear feet making no impression on the grass. "Can you do it? Take your father's place so soon?"

She always seemed to find just the right words to make him confront the very issues he wished to avoid. Mortesen shut his eyes tight and tried to hold back the acute pain. The loss of his mother had been expected since she'd been sick for weeks before succumbing, but his father's death had come with no warning.

"In this place you can always express yourself without fear of judgment, Mortesen," she whispered, one hand going to his shoulder. "If you do not give yourself the freedom to mourn, you will never be able to let go."

Her words evoked the sorrow he'd been trying so hard to suppress. Minutes later he came back to himself as the tears finally died away, finding he was sitting among the willow tree's bulging roots. Grandmother Lake knelt beside him, allowing his head to lean against her chest as she stroked his black and red quills in a comforting, motherly way.

"I thought I had already cried away my grief days ago," he confided, wiping his cheeks dry with his sleeve.

"That was only the anguish of the moment. The tears you shed today were for the real loss once you truly realized the full impact of his life on yours and that he will have no physical part in your future."

"My future..." His thoughts turned once more toward the subject Master Snowfoot had been so adamant about. "Grandmother, they want my marriage to be on the same day as my coronation. I don't want to make the same mistake as my father by marrying for political gain. It didn't last long in either case and he ended up with two wives he tolerated rather than loved."

"True. I watched your grandmother grow up. She did not believe love was possible in an arranged marriage, so she never made the attempt. It doesn't surprise me your father was something of a cynic as well. But you're different, aren't you, Mortesen?"

"I suppose…" The heel of the prince's boot dug a small hole in the damp soil, but he continued to sit beneath the old tree's boughs as though he hadn't the strength to move. "Whoever I choose, I want to be a real husband to her. Is it better to marry someone hoping that we learn to love each other...or should I wait and search for someone I love first, regardless of how long it takes? Do I even have that luxury as a king?"

"I certainly wish your father had brought me that question, but he was always very independent when it came to taking advice." Grandmother Lake stood, looking down at him with one of those mysterious expressions women are so talented at. "Still, you should know better than to ask me to give you a plain answer. I can give you a clue, however."

"Very well," he said, determined not to be like his father when it came to welcoming guidance from those older and wiser than himself.

"Then listen." The word filled the air around him, reverberating off water and stones. "Listen with your heart."

The forest spirit drifted away, fading into a wave of mist that swept down from the waterfall. Mortesen was left looking about for her and feeling more lost than ever. How could he listen with his heart when he didn't even know what he was listening for?

Wind rustled the grass around him, scattering a flurry of flower seeds so that they spun off and vanished into the blue sky. Should he listen to the passions that shunted him this way and that the same way the wind carried away those specks of dandelion fluff?

No... To listen with his heart was more than that... It was to give himself fully to the reception of a message so that he heard, not merely the words or sounds, but the essential meaning. Like the way he used his truth-telling, only deeper.

But he couldn't receive any message until he asked the right question...

Priscilla had been a reasonable queen as far as he could tell: taking her duties seriously and keeping relations with the nobles fair. But on a personal level she was manipulative and haughty.

On the other hand, Amuera had scorned her place as queen, focusing instead on her role as a mother. As much as Mortesen had appreciated her, he'd also realized very early on that this created much friction between her and Negolas since he felt she should take more interest in queenly affairs. But all she did was accept his criticism silently with eyes lowered, and nothing ever changed.

From observing his father's marriages, the crown prince had naturally taken away the idea that it was nearly impossible for a good queen also to be a good wife. He had been mentally separating the two all this time.

What was best for both Cosium and himself?

"Mortesen?"

He jerked to his feet, spinning around to stare at the figure emerging from the trees. She looked as though she hadn't slept all night, there were bits of grass and leaves snagged on her dress, and he could see berry stains on her gloves.

"Athena..."

"Please, can you show me the way out? I don't know what I did wrong, but this place won't let me go."

There was something almost begging in her tone, and he could hardly blame her for the wide-eyed fear that made her so skittish. If he didn't know Grandmother Lake personally, the forest's way of moving unexpectedly and its silent, faceless presence would be intimidating. He went forward and folded his arms around her, feeling the shudder of her quick breaths. She dropped the black clothing she'd been hugging tightly to her chest and clutched him instead, holding on as though afraid he would disappear.

"The forest won't harm you. Don't be afraid."

The sight and nearness of someone familiar after having been trapped in this green prison for a day and a night stabilized Athena. Within a minute or two she regained her full composure and drew away, brushing off some of the clinging leaves self-consciously.

"I would appreciate it if you escorted me to the edge now."

Somehow Grandmother Lake had known and set up this meeting. He didn't want to waste what could possibly be his last opportunity.

"I liked you before," he said quickly. "At your ball last year you refused to accept any disrespect. You weren't afraid to speak your mind and a threat wasn't simply words to you. So different from any other princess I've ever met."

She stared at him, distant and chin set almost stubbornly. He couldn't tell what she thought about his statement.

"That night I invited your mother to bring you to Cosium so that I could see you again under less formal circumstances. She said she would consider it. Is that why they came here after your family was exiled?"

Athena's face had become less defensive at the mention of her mother. A breeze rustled the grass around them as he waited for an answer, making them both shiver as it carried a slight chill.

"I don't know. They never mentioned it to me. Maybe they thought about it, but the humiliation of being dethroned and the strong possibility that we would be rejected probably kept us from coming to Cosium Castle."

"If we'd known your family was here we would have protected—"

"It's pointless to dwell on it," she interrupted bitterly, growing withdrawn once again.

"You're right," Mortesen admitted. "And I'm sorry that whenever I considered marrying you it was more of a wistful thought than a serious one. I never let myself think very hard about it because I knew no one would approve, and I have no doubt my father would have physically prevented it from happening."

"I knew you wouldn't." Her crimson eyes were filled with pain she didn't have the strength to hide anymore. "I knew you couldn't."

"That's not true." Mortesen took her hand impulsively. "My tutor told me that my marriage ought to be advantageous so that I can solidify relations with a country. Thanks to you, I understand the country I need to repair my relationship with is my own. You know more about my people and what they've been suffering than anyone else. Your kingdom was stolen from you, Athena...but you never stopped being a princess. That's the one I want to marry: a princess of my own people."

Athena started to whirl away but he clung tightly to her hand. Then he realized she was trying to keep him from seeing her tears.

"I can see that you truly care about my citizens and you wouldn't be afraid to tell me when I do something wrong, making you more fit than anyone else I know to be their queen. But I also feel that you'd be someone I can respect because of who you are." He leaned forward. "If...if you could find it in yourself to consent to be my wife, I will honestly do everything I can to make you happy."

There was a moment of silence between them, then she turned, meeting his eyes.

"Mortesen, I think...I think I've respected you ever since I saw the way you stepped outside the castle and involved yourself in the lives of your people." Athena's hand was limp as she started, but then it began to tighten gently on his. "During the ball I realized I liked spending time with you. When you let me go yesterday, it took all my strength to leave you behind knowing I may never see you again. I sincerely want to be with you."

They had stepped closer without quite realizing it. Mortesen reached up, stroking her cheek, soft and affectionate.

"Will you marry me, Princess Athena?"

"You and no one else, Prince Mortesen," she answered, cheeks beginning to color.

Grandmother Lake watched invisibly as their lips met with a tentative, curious touch. To those as old as herself, the patterns of mortal lives were at times very clear. She'd known the first time Athena entered her domain that the thread of her life could be intertwined with Mortesen's. A little maneuvering didn't hurt, though.

She gave a secretive smile, sensing the beautiful flowering of love neither had allowed themselves to acknowledge until this moment.

Their eyes drank in the sight of one another, and he guided her over to a stone. Gesturing for her to sit, Mortesen knelt down at her feet.

"I want to give you something."

She felt her cheeks warming even more, but then Athena stopped and raised an eyebrow as he pulled off her boot. From a pocket inside his vest he pulled a familiar shoe. Once he'd placed it on her foot, the prince looked up...only to see her staring at him, arms crossed and lips pursed.

"You gave me back my own shoe? If you had found the other one I threw away too, I'd understand, but this makes no sense. Do you expect me to hop back to the castle on one foot?"

Mortesen gave an uncomfortable shrug. "...It seemed like a good idea at the time."

She rolled her eyes and shoved him playfully. "I thought you were trying to do something romantic, and instead you put a shoe on my foot. I can't tell you how 'overwhelming' of a gesture that is."

"Well, you have very lovely feet. They shouldn't be hidden by boots."

"Fine, but they're all I have right now."

When Athena reached for the boot, he pulled it away with a mischievous expression. An instant later she tackled him and they rolled on the grass, laughing. Once she recovered it and was in the process of putting it back on, Mortesen's attention turned to the hat and clothing she'd dropped earlier.

"Are you planning to go gallivanting around the kingdom now that you're going to be queen?"

She threw a smile at him. "In Marcuria we had legends about Karok too. He appeared whenever he was needed and disappeared when he wasn't. I think with you on the throne, there is no reason for him to keep an eye on the country. You can be Karok to your people without a mask."

The prince didn't reply, simply holding out a hand to her. Grandmother Lake continued to watch, and as soon as they vanished into the undergrowth, she picked up the discarded outfit.

"I'm sure Karok will be needed again someday. I'll keep this safe until then."

The End

A/N: I don't know why the prison scene gave me this creepy and yet thrilling feeling that left me giggling like a crazy person as I typed. Liyu, the creator of this world, didn't want the final sequence to end without including her shoe, but it didn't seem to make any sense, so after a bit of discussion we decided it was best as a joke. And I'd also like to thank the ever-helpful writer Qoheleth for giving me some philosophical tips regarding what exactly it means to "listen with your heart." I just don't get that sort of thing.

There will also be a short bonus chapter in a day or two to clear up a handful of post-story questions, so look forward to it.