I love the forest on the homestead. The sun trickling through the leaves on the trees, leaving dancing patterns of shadow and light on the ground. The wind swaying in the branches, the deer who are rarely aware of my presence. It's a place of peace, a place of tranquility.

At least, it is most days. Today the air is full of the sounds of my betrothed's cursing.

"Son of a whore!" she explodes as the knife misses even the edge of the target by 6 inches.

I chuckle, the sound of it surprising myself. I can't help it really. The words coming out of her lovely mouth would put half of my initiates to shame. It's such a far cry from the Mahayla Waltson she's always trying to present, the one she meant for me to meet the first time I called on her.

I like her better this way.

Hayla hears me laugh and turns to me with a glare. I quickly mold my face into an expressionless mask, one that should be easy to make after years of practice. I find that it's not.

In the month since I asked Mahayla to marry me there's been a near constant smile on my face. It feels foreign without it. Not that it matters much right now. Hayla sees right through me.

She gives me a disbelieving look. "Connor Kenway, do you truly expect me to believe that the laughter came from a bird passing over head?" I will my expression not to change and she sighs. "What's the point of this, Hake:ton?"

Her use of my native name makes me shiver, as it always does. A fact she knows and is now trying to use to her advantage. Clever woman.

"Why do I need to learn this? I've seen you with a dagger," she says, her eyebrows raised. She's referring to the night I asked her to marry me, when she followed me into the woods and I accidentally held her at knife point. "You're good enough for the both of us. I'll keep forging the weapons and you can keep using them."

The point, of course, is that I won't always be around. I travel, on occasion, on business for the Order. I hunt in the woods, farther away than a scream could carry. I won't have the Templars tracking me down here and hurting her instead.

But Mahayla knows nothing about this. She has no idea she's to marry the mentor of the Assassin Brotherhood, or that Templars even exist. I know I should tell her, and I will, but... Hayla is the one thing in my life I've ever had just for me. I can't lose her.

"The point, Hayla," I say, walking over to her, "is that you forged these daggers." I take one from her and attempt to bend the blade, failing of course. "You smith some of the best weapons I've ever seen, and yet you can't use one yourself."

She's realized her charm isn't going to work and she's back to glaring. I try not to laugh again, limiting myself to my now familiar smile. Big Dave warned me she was a woman with her own mind.

"Think of it this way," I offer, "this is the opposite of my disapproving of your smithing."

Her eyes narrow at me. She grabs back the dagger with a huff and turns back to the target.

"You can do this," I tell her. "Picture it in your mind, the tip of the dagger piercing the straw."

Mahayla refocuses on the target, a determined look to her face, and let the dagger fly. And it hits! Granted it's the very edge of the target and it falls to the ground almost instantly, the force behind the throw not enough to make it stick, but it hits.

Hayla squeals in delight and launches herself at me, her arms going around my neck. "Did you see that, Hake:ton? I did it!"

Her enthusiasm is contagious and I chuckle. "Yes, you did."

I lean down to give her a kiss but am interrupted by a voice behind me.

"I had no idea this is how you were handling training these days, Connor."

I turn instantly to meet the intruder, shoving Mahayla behind me, but breathe a sigh of relief. It's only Dobby. Then the thought registers. Damnation. It's Dobby.

"This one doesn't look like she's any good, though," she continues. "Might have to cut her loose." Her tone is not friendly.

"Connor," says Hayla, peeking out from behind me, "who's this?"

"Deborah Carter," cuts in Dobby aggressively. "And you are?"

I can already tell she's made a judgement call about Mahayla. Going by the dress, the poise, the complete lack of fighting skills, Dobby's judged her a standard lady, easy to intimidate. Dobby's wrong.

"Mahayla Waltson," she says, stepping forward and giving me a push out of her way, "his betrothed."

Dobby stiffens, her gaze turning to me. "She's your what?"

I open my mouth to answer but Hayla doesn't let me. "His fiance, his intended, his bride-to-be," she states, not giving an inch. I may be the warrior, but she definitely has the warrior's spirit.

Dobby's eyes are glued to me. She looks to be in shock. "This is why you haven't checked in for nearly two months? I thought things had gotten busy here on the homestead, I came today to lend a hand." Her voice is rising in volume and she looks... betrayed. "You promised me, Connor! You promised when you were ready to be more than just an assassin, to have a family, I would be the first to know."

"Dobby-" I start, but she continues on as if I haven't spoken.

"But I wasn't, was I? She was. And she can't even throw a damn knife!"

I glance towards Mahayla to get an idea of how far she is from me in case Dobby snaps and tries to attack. I find her standing stock still, ignoring Dobby all together, her eyes focused on me.

"Assassin?" she asks, her tone indecipherable. "Did she just say you're an assassin, Connor?"

"You haven't told her?" asks Dobby, disbelievingly.

I close my eyes and shake my head slowly.

"He's not just an assassin," she tells Mahayla, "he's the mentor of the entire order in the Colonies."

I don't want to open my eyes. I don't want to see the fear wash across her features. I should have explained all this to her before, tried to get her to understand. I fear it's too late now.

When I do open my eyes, though, it is to find that I, too, have misjudged her. There is no fear in her expression. There is anger, betrayal, hurt, but not a touch of fear.

"That's what this weapons training is really about, isn't it? So I can defend myself against any of your enemies that come after me?" She turns on her heel and strides away.

She only gets a few steps before I grab her arm and turn her around. "Mahayla-"

She shakes me off angrily. "When where you planning on telling me, Connor? After the wedding? The birth of our first child? Or never at all?"

"Hayla, I-"

"I trusted you!" she explodes. "I told you my secrets, every last one, and I thought you'd told me yours as well."

"I couldn't lose you," I say, taking her by the shoulders and looking into her eyes. "I couldn't take the chance that you wouldn't understand. I love you, Mahayla."

She shakes her head and takes a step away. "If you had just told me, you wouldn't have lost me. But now... now I think you have."

She storms off and this time I don't try to stop her. I watch her figure retreat through the forest.

"It was bound to happen sooner or later," says Dobby from behind me.

"Leave, Dobby," I say, still staring after Mahayla.

She falters. "Connor, I-"

"I said, leave!" I yell, turning to face her with fire in my eyes.

She seems surprised, shocked even, that I'm yelling at her. I worked hard under Achilles to calm myself, to keep my temper under control, but that doesn't mean it's gone. Any control I have over it seems to have snapped.

Dobby nods once and leaves, disappearing back the way she came. I turn back to Mahayla but she's out of sight, probably half way back to Big Dave's by now, canceling wedding plans. Perhaps even packing to return to her parents.

I've lost my mother, my father, my mentor, and my tribe, but right now, at this very moment, I've never felt so alone.