Melia's breath caught in her throat. She hadn't been expecting that. She'd even been gracious enough to give him an out – let Yumea be the villain, coercing him to participate in countless atrocities. Perhaps she'd have found the strength to trust him, if only he'd played along. But he took the blame onto himself willingly. Why?

She crossed her arms, feigning confidence. Impatience quickened her heartbeat as Lucio took a moment to gather his thoughts.

"About a hundred years ago… I was young, rose through the ranks too quickly," he said at last. He cast another glance down the corridor, in case his first inspection had been inadequate. Though he was seemingly satisfied, he didn't relax. His earlier stillness dissolved and he balled his hands into fists to keep them from touching his wings again. "I'd been Her Highness's guard for a decade or so. Long enough to develop a friendship. She confessed—"

He cut himself off, shook his head. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. It isn't my place to reveal the secrets she entrusted me with."

She nodded once then gestured for him to continue. Whatever Yumea had confessed to him, it didn't concern her. How could it when she hadn't yet been born? And her biological mother had likely still been a child at that point. This matter was between Yumea and Lucio and it could stay that way. Unless she asked… But no. She doubted she'd get a straight answer from her stepmother. It wasn't worth her time – or the inevitable hostility – to pry.

"Thank you." The tension in his brow eased somewhat and he sighed. "Suffice it to say that she shared very personal information with me. This information influenced my decision, but she didn't force my hand. She tried to talk me out of it, actually." He laughed for a moment before his expression turned grave. "I killed her father."

"What?"

Lucio pursed his lips, pretended he hadn't heard her. "Killed… That could be misconstrued as an accident. No, it was an execution. The emperor couldn't do it. Or wouldn't. So, I did."

A chill ran down her spine. All signs of his nervousness faded, transforming into something akin to glee. He was remorseless. She couldn't help but wonder what else he was capable of. And now she was alone with him; he'd made sure of that. His reverence was all an act. A tactic to get her to drop her guard. Her back hit the wall behind her with a soft thud.

"That bastard thought he was untouchable," he continued, ignorant to her growing fear. "Imagine his surprise when he answered a summons from his daughter and met me instead." The pride faltered. Guilt flickered over his features like it was struggling to take over.

"Odd that you would only feel regret now." Her voice remained cold and even despite her spiked heartrate.

"It's not that. Well, sort of…" He spoke a little quieter as if they were conspiring together. Or perhaps he assumed she sympathized. "I will never regret killing him. Ever. He was a monster and Alcamoth is better off without him. But I let him go out as a hero – more than he deserved."

"What do you mean?" She just had to keep him talking, distracted. The longer she stalled, the more likely it was that someone would come across them and help her. Either that or she would figure out her own escape plan. A little more time and she could make it out of this alive.

"I spent a month planning so I wouldn't get caught. I memorized the night guards' patrol routes. Back then, they only stationed men at the emperor's suite, so it was easy to set the scene." His brows furrowed once more, his voice less certain. "I just needed to shift the blame, make it seem like Yumea's father wasn't the intended target. That he'd died protecting the one who was. Kallian wasn't supposed to wake up…"

Melia's mind froze at the mention of her brother's name. All plans of escape were abandoned, replaced by an anger that scorched her insides. She clenched her fingers in the soft material of her skirt and willed herself not to strike him, not to summon any ether to assist her.

By then, he'd finally recognized her unease. His eyes flew wide open. "Please forgive me, Your Majesty. I didn't mean to hurt him, I swear! I would never intentionally harm the royal family. He just… I couldn't let him remember." He fell to his knees and bent over until his forehead touched the floor. His shoulders shook as he awaited her answer.

She stood stony-faced and silent before his groveling. This was what she wanted, wasn't it? To see the absolute worst part of him, gain the leverage to bring him to heel. The rush of victory should have swept through her, overpowering the terror. He couldn't touch her when she held enough evidence to imprison him forever. Or have him put to death.

But it didn't feel like a victory. Something small within her twinged with pity. If his story was true, if Yumea's father was as evil as he claimed, if he genuinely hadn't meant to harm anyone else… So many ifs, and yet, she wanted to believe them all. She needed allies more than she needed to be right. Especially ones that had no qualms about killing as she commanded. And a little empathy went a long way. How long had he carried that guilt on his own? She doubted he'd ever admit to Yumea that he'd hurt her precious son.

It wasn't enough to make her trust him. She probably never would, not completely. But he could be useful.

"That must have been a terrible burden," she said, pushing herself away from the wall. Her voice betrayed no emotion. And her face held no answers either, not that he dared move to check. A smile threatened to break through her neutral façade. She couldn't let herself revel in it, forced herself to continue on.

She strode past him then paused, listening. With her back to him, she gambled her life on intuition. He could easily drive his spear through her heart. All he had to do was move. Yet, there was no shuffling behind her, no prickle of imminent danger running down her spine.

"Well? Are you coming?" She set her gaze on the wall at the far end of the corridor. As if her vulnerability didn't bother her. "I happen to find myself in need of a guard."

"I… am forgiven?" His spear dragged across the floor as he clambered back up to his feet.

Did he make so much noise on purpose? Her lungs constricted until her chest ached. What sounds did he intend to hide from her? But still, she refused to turn around. Doubt was weakness. His footsteps echoed through her head, making it impossible to tell how many he'd taken, how close he was. She steeled herself for the burn of a blade in her back.

It never came. He stepped around her, lingered at her side. But his sword was sheathed and the tip of his spear pointed up toward the ceiling. She exhaled the breath that had stuck when her lungs malfunctioned. Softly, so that only she could hear it.

"No. It is not in my power to forgive you," she said, easing back into the stiff formality of the court. "I am not the victim of your miscalculation; Prince Kallian is."

"Of course."

"Now, come along." Her voice strained with cheerfulness. Anything to distract from her conflicting feelings and everything she'd just learned. They would discuss further, when she'd had time to process it all. No need to overwhelm herself with questions she wasn't sure she wanted the answers to. "Some fresh air will do us both some good."

Dunban watched the sun set through the windows of Whitewing Palace. The ministers had been arguing for at least an hour with no end in sight. They didn't respond to Kallian's demands for order and so, the prince leaned back in his chair, letting the chaos unfold.

"Our forces have not seen combat in centuries," Caul said, just loud enough to be heard over the others. They all quieted. Even Fannar, who seemed to be the most belligerent of the ministers. "It is irresponsible to launch a full-scale invasion of Mechonis without proper preparation. We have no knowledge of their numbers or tactics. Their last attack left a severe dent in our air force. Our top priority must be the defense of Alcamoth."

"Ah, so the men you've been training all this time aren't up to the task?" Fannar smirked then turned to Kallian. "Your Highness, Minister Caul's ineptitude has cost us too much already. Perhaps, it is time for a change?"

Kallian ignored him, eyes fixed on something at the end of the banquet table. But Dunban couldn't determine what had caught his attention. The expectant silence only lasted a moment before one of the generals jumped in to defend Caul.

"It's peacetime," he said. "We haven't the resources to run our army like we would during a war. That includes the more complicated combat drills. General maintenance has been more than enough for our needs."

The Minister of Finance interjected with an exhaustive list of the resources at their disposal. He'd scarcely finished when the shouting began anew. Attendees paired up with their political rivals and carried out their own, separate arguments.

Dunban leaned over to Kallian so they could speak without having to raise their voices much. "I hope this isn't how these meetings usually go."

The prince cracked a smile, though it was short-lived. "Father managed them better than I can." His eyes shifted back to the far end of the table where Lorithia murmured something into Asdis's ear. Tension seized his shoulders and he turned away a bit too sharply. "My… illness has made it difficult for me to keep them in line."

"Melia explained—"

"Did she?" His eyebrows shot up. Then he reined in the expression, tucked it neatly behind a cordial blankness. "So, you should understand why I can't step in."

"Well, you could," Dunban said. "They just might not listen."

"Would you like to try? Be my guest." Kallian made a sweeping gesture with his arm that made his sleeve ride up. He froze, yanked down the errant fabric, and hid both hands beneath the table.

Dunban frowned, but aside from that initial reaction, he pretended he hadn't noticed. What was the point of embarrassing the prince further? And any comment he made would be inappropriate, anyway. Or worse, risk drawing more attention from less-than-empathetic sources. He took in a deep breath and, on exhale, cleared away all his reservations. Then he stood.

One by one, the members of the council fell silent. He hadn't spoken a word during the entire meeting, despite multiple attempts to ascertain his stance on the matter. They couldn't help themselves. How would they manipulate him to their side if they didn't know his original thoughts?

"Thank you for answering His Highness's summons on such short notice," he began. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kallian give the faintest nod. "Your love for Alcamoth and her people has been noted. However, it's clear we won't reach a decision tonight. Let's take a few days and reconvene once the situation in the city has calmed." He paused for a moment to let his words and their implications take root. This wasn't a suggestion; it was an order.

"Minister Caul, I'd like you to gather the relevant details about your— our military and deliver a report to Prince Kallian before the next meeting. We'll need a thorough understanding of our current resources."

"Can His Highness be trusted with such important data?" Lorithia said before Caul could reply. "Forgive me, First Consort, but I believe it would be a grave mistake to allow him access to sensitive documents. As for yourself—"

"Prince Kallian's health has been improving," Minister Eirena said, voice soft yet resolute. She sat on Kallian's other side and Dunban still almost missed her protest.

Lorithia's gaze flicked to the Minister of Health. She narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips, as if she'd been interrupted by a particularly annoying fly. "How fortunate… Even so, I suggest we exercise caution." The left corner of her mouth twitched. "His situation is a delicate one. Any little inconvenience might trigger a regression. We cannot depend on him."

"Don't be ridiculous." Eirena scoffed. "He would do anything to protect Alcamoth."

"Anything?" Lorithia laughed – a genuine one, by the sound of it. Though, of course, Dunban didn't know her well enough to judge. "Your faith in him is admirable, but foolish. Misguided. A man who attempts suicide cares only for himself. He cannot claim to protectanything aside from his own self-interest. You need only look at his neck to see the truth. His people needed him and he was having an affair."

Every pair of eyes turned on the prince. He shrunk back into his seat beneath the weight of the scrutiny. But he didn't speak, didn't defend himself. His face paled and his hands clenched into fists in his lap, struggling to contain the emotions this accusation stirred.

"He had those marks before the air raid sirens went off," Dunban said, uneasy. He'd lost control of the room, had no idea how to pull them back together. Or, at the very least, how to convince them to retire for the night. And Kallian's silence wasn't doing him any favors. "Regardless, his personal relations are irrelevant."

Minister Asdis looked up from her furious notetaking. "It may not be relevant but it's so exciting! I never imagined we'd have two royal weddings in the same century. But the same year? It's practically a miracle."

"That's enough!" Dunban snapped, slamming his fist down on the table. "This meeting is adjourned and I will hear no more of your helpful comments." He turned his full attention to Caul. "Complete the report I requested before the next council. Deliver it to me if you have doubts about His Highness, but the empress is not to be bothered."

Lorithia opened her mouth. Before she could voice her concerns – or thinly veiled insults – Asdis spilled her usual tower of documents onto the floor at their feet. Any words she had planned for Dunban vanished as her need to berate Asdis took precedence. But she still stooped down and helped the disorganized minister gather her papers and writing utensils.

Kallian stood, fled Whitewing during the disarray. Eirena followed. Dunban stared after them, but couldn't make himself move right away. Some vague sense of propriety kept him in place. It didn't feel right to abandon the ministers when half of them seemed on the edge of physical violence. Someone had to stick around to break up Fannar and Caul. Both men returned to their previous antagonism, though this time, interruption was much less likely.

But what could he do? If they wanted to fight it out, they wouldn't stop to ask his permission. So he said his goodbyes to a room that wasn't listening then jogged to the transporter.

As soon as he'd left Whitewing, the headache set in. It started in his temples, crept behind his eyes and toward the base of his skull. Or perhaps, the pain had been there the whole time and he simply couldn't recognize it over the discordant ministers. He leaned against the wall to collect himself.

Kallian and Eirena stood closer to the end of the corridor, only a few feet from where it merged with the Great Hall. He considered joining them, but hesitated. The minister rested a hand on the prince's arm, speaking into his ear. Both sets of shoulders were rigid.

Then Kallian's head shot up and he made eye contact with Dunban. He shook off Eirena's hand. A paper-thin smile pasted itself over his lips as he strode back up the hall. Leaving Eirena to stare after him. But only for a moment. She turned on her heel, continued into the Great Hall until she disappeared around the corner.

"You look like you could use a drink."

Dunban pushed himself off the wall. "I'm fine, thanks."

He stepped around Kallian to walk away but the prince followed. Sighing, he turned to confront him. "What do you want?"

"Nothing." A pause. His gaze dropped to the floor, studying the tile pattern a little too closely. Then he looked up, a mischievous grin in place of the brief insecurity. "Well… I suppose, if I must want something, it would be the company of my new brother."

"I'm not your brother."

"High Entian law says otherwise," Kallian said with a forced laugh. It ended just as abruptly as it had started, as if it had only been imagined. He popped his knuckles to fill the silence. "It would be kind of you to accept my invitation. And I think Melia—"

"Leave her out of it." Dunban's voice trembled as he struggled to control it. Heat flooded his face. It took all his strength not to act on the rush of emotion Melia's name had caused. Emotions he didn't know how to process or how to make them right. Whatever that meant.

"Touched a nerve, have I?" Kallian smirked.

Or, at least, Dunban thought he did. But when he'd calmed himself enough to focus on reading expressions, the prince's face had gone blank.

"Please, forgive me," Kallian said, frowning. He fidgeted with his fingers again but his knuckles wouldn't crack. "I'm not sure why I said that. It isn't my intention to fight with you."

Dunban took a deep breath, willed the heat of his anger to cool. Though labelling the mass of emotion didn't help much, it took off the edge a bit. He knew how to deal with anger. Even if he hadn't handled it well in the last few days. But recognizing it was a step in the right direction, letting him figure out exactly what had triggered it. He didn't trust Kallian, not after all his previous antagonism. Perhaps he'd brought up Melia with the sole purpose of manipulating Dunban into cooperation. Like he could see the guilt as strings, twisting through his opponent's limbs. And he was an expert puppeteer.

Another breath. Kallian wasn't his enemy and they weren't on a battlefield. He couldn't keep acting like they were. Hypervigilance would only lead to fatigue. Draining him until he had no energy to spare for the true foes. He had more than enough to last his entire lifetime. Metal Face and the rest of the Mechon. Whoever had orchestrated the attack during his wedding. Why make more trouble for himself when he could just try being nicer?

The prince wasn't much of a threat, anyway. He'd already bested him in a one-on-one duel rather easily, so if he had to— But he didn't want that. Not again. He remembered Melia's face the first time, couldn't forget it.

"Alright," he said at last. "Let's have a drink."

'A drink' turned out to be closer to ten for Kallian. Possibly more. Dunban hadn't kept count at first, but the more Kallian drank, the more he wished he had. They'd selected a small tavern on the upper level of Alcamoth – one that had few patrons and a convenient back room for VIPs – so there wasn't much risk of causing a scene. Still… How would they manage to get back to the palace unnoticed when the prince could barely stand?

They'd talked about harmless things until the alcohol kicked in. Dunban's impressions of the city, Kallian's recommendations for restaurants to try or shops to visit. Nothing too deep and certainly not political. But that was an hour ago. Now, Kallian was hardly coherent, complaining about the ministers, while Dunban stared into his own cup. Rum that had long since been watered down by its ice.

"And Lorithia is…" Kallian trailed off. He downed the rest of his drink in one long gulp then reached across the table for the bottle. His hand struck the side instead, knocked it over.

Dunban caught it before any of the liquor could spill. There wasn't much left, anyway. But he still slid it closer to himself, out of Kallian's reach. He didn't need more. Frankly, Dunban should've intervened after the first few drinks. It wasn't his responsibility and yet… he kept finding himself thinking of what Melia would want him to do. Look out for her brother, of course. Put aside their differences long enough that they'd both make it back to the Villa unscathed.

"Lorithia is…?" He didn't particularly care about Kallian's gripes if they didn't affect Alcamoth. It was all just gossip, as far as he was concerned. But, without a distraction, he doubted the prince would stop drinking of his own volition.

Kallian looked off into space, eyes foggy. The alcohol tore down his usual walls and Dunban could read every expression as it flitted across his face. Anger then grief and pain then nothing. But this wasn't like the blankness that Dunban had seen before – the calculated kind, the barrier he used to defend himself and his deepest emotions. No, this expression was closer to confusion. Like walking into a room but forgetting why.

"Do you know what?" Kallian rested his elbows on the table, cradled his head in his hands. "I don't know how I got here."

"We walked," Dunban said. A hint of questioning tilted his tone. Could Kallian really not remember? If not, then he'd allowed the situation to progress much further than he should have. He wished he hadn't accepted the prince's invitation at all…

"I suppose so." He paused, examining the woodgrain beside his arm. "I've been walking for so long and now I'm here. It's like… walking by a cliff and the path gets narrower – is that the right…? Right word. Yes. And this narrow path only has enough space to put one foot before the other. Didn't even notice until it was too late to turn round."

A coldness settled in the pit of Dunban's stomach. His eyes darted to Kallian, tried to study him. But, from the way he was hunched over the table, he couldn't see his face clearly. "What are you talking about?"

"The path's crumbled ahead. I have to jump across but the other side is thinner than…" He struggled for words and sat up to gesture vaguely. "Here. Thinner than here. And I'll die if I land wrong and I can't go back."

Before Dunban could process the words and determine the context, Kallian stood. His chair clattered to the floor and he nearly followed it down. He grabbed the table's edge to steady himself.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm hungry. Are you hungry?" Any hint of his sullenness vanished. Replaced – or perhaps masked – by cheerful energy. He staggered to the door then paused, looking back to Dunban, who was still seated. "What?"

"It's getting late. I should check on Melia…"

Kallian waved the idea aside. The gesture threw him off balance and he fell back against the doorframe. "Ah, she's fine. Cat's watching her."

"Catlaina was injured at the wedding attack. Melia is alone." Dunban sipped his rum to cover his grimace. A knot twisted in his chest. He shouldn't have left her. Not when he hadn't made any headway into his investigation of the Imperial Guard.

And, now that he'd revealed his negligence to Kallian, he was certain the prince would rage at him. Just as he had before. He tensed his muscles in preparation and his wounded rib gave a small twinge. So much fighting already… Could he survive another one? Who had the greater disadvantage? Sleeping on the couch for a few hours hadn't done much to refresh him. If anything, it had almost reversed the effects of the healing he'd received. But surely, he'd be able to subdue a drunken prince. Right?

Kallian blinked. Then worry creased his features. His wings twitched and he curled his hands into fists. Actual anger, though, was absent. Just an inner turmoil that Dunban could see but not understand.

"She's… okay, isn't she?"

"Yes," Dunban said, frowning. Truthfully, he didn't know. Melia had been stable when he'd last seen her, but that didn't guarantee that complications weren't possible. He doubted the traitorous guards would try to harm her again so soon. Still, he didn't want to linger here longer than necessary. He stood, leaving his drink on the table. Mostly untouched.

"I want— I need to see her." Kallian's voice was small, a welcome departure from the loudness of his earlier ramblings.

Dunban's frown deepened and he considered refusing. Melia wouldn't want to see her brother like this. But he'd rather start heading back to the palace than stay here, arguing. With any luck, Kallian would forget about his request on the way. Or pass out before he could fulfill it. So, Dunban nodded.

The return journey took three times as long as the walk to the tavern. He'd decided to cut through the less populated alleys and roadways to keep a low profile. The main thoroughfare would've been a straight shot to their destination. But even after sunset, he expected a crowd.

Then there was Kallian. His balance worsened as they wound their way between shuttered stores. By the time they reached the palace, he leaned his full weight against Dunban. They'd managed to avoid prying eyes the whole way, only to be stopped by a guard stationed in the Great Hall.

"Your Highness?" The man's eyes flew wide as he noticed Kallian's state.

"Just drunk," Dunban said before the guard could come too close. Something about the man made his skin prickle. "I've got him."

He let them pass without another word. And Dunban exhaled the breath he'd been holding. Just had to make it to the Villa now and they'd be in the clear. But, as he steered them toward the transporter, Kallian pulled away from him.

"That's the wrong way," he slurred. He took a step backward then crashed into the wall.

"No, it's not." Dunban couldn't keep the impatience from his tone. He'd done well to suffer Kallian's presence all evening when he could've been resting. But his limit was fast approaching. If he didn't deliver the prince to his room soon, he worried he'd just abandon him somewhere. With a sigh, he grabbed Kallian's shoulder, pulling him up off the wall.

He didn't put up much of a fight, let Dunban drag him onto the transporter. Not that he had another option. He was too drunk to break free and run the way he'd wanted to go.

"Let's get you to bed. You can see Melia in the morning, when you've sobered up." He wondered if High Entia processed alcohol faster than Homs did. Maybe the same? Their biology had to be fairly similar, otherwise Melia wouldn't exist. He tried not to extend that line of thinking to his marriage and Sorean's expectations…

Kallian cocked his head to one side but didn't say anything.

It took several more minutes to reach the prince's suite. Several agonizing minutes. They passed in silence and that was the only good thing to be said about them. His ribs ached, muscles strained. Having to take on most of Kallian's weight worsened his fatigue until he began to doubt that they'd make it to their respective rooms. If not for the recent security concerns, he'd have left Kallian on the floor, in some forgotten corner. Out of the way enough that he wouldn't become a tripping hazard. But the guards would've had no trouble finding him and hauling him to his bed themselves.

A shame that he couldn't trust any of them. He kept circling back to that point. What was he supposed to do? Aside from taking over as Melia's guard, he wasn't sure. Even then, that plan didn't make sense in the long term. As soon as he had a lead on Metal Face's location and a decent strategy, he would leave her behind.

And, if he didn't die, he would come back.

She might hate him by then, but that would be okay. She had every right to. Still, he'd promised himself that he'd fix it. Fix them. And, if she didn't hate him after what he'd already done, he liked his chances of future reconciliation.

Dunban passed Kallian off to the guard stationed outside his suite with little ceremony. The rest of his defense team were out in the city, searching for him. One had remained in the Villa just in case the prince wandered back on his own. Which seemed plausible enough that Dunban didn't really think about it. He bid the prince goodnight then headed back to the empress's chambers.

The idea of sleeping on the settee seemed appealing to him now. He needed rest. Discomfort wasn't a factor he wanted to consider. Given enough time and the aid of a wall, he'd probably be able to fall asleep standing up.

As he rounded the last corner, his stomach dropped. Lucio? He slowed down, rested a hand on the hilt of his sword.

"What are you doing here?"

Lucio whirled around, wings flaring outward in surprise. "I didn't hear you coming." He maintained a firm grip on his spear but his entire body trembled. "Her Majesty assigned me to guard her while Catlaina is unavailable."

"If you've harmed her—"

"I haven't and I won't," Lucio said with an eyeroll. Then he stepped away from the door, gesturing for Dunban to enter. "You can see for yourself that she's safe. Somehow managed to survive our very deadly walk through the garden this evening." He couldn't suppress his snicker.

Dunban ignored him and shoved the door open. The sitting room was exactly the way he'd left it – a bag of his clothes on the floor beside the couch, his blanket in a pile on one of the cushions. No forced entry, no conflict. But he couldn't relax until he'd seen her. He ghosted across the room, to where the door of her bedroom lay open, and peeked inside.

Melia sat in her bed, the sheets pulled into a cocoon around her. Her hair blocked her face from his view as she hunched over the book in her lap. A mug perched on the edge of her bedside table. It was half full, no longer steaming. She looked up, like she'd sensed his presence. And the ether lamp glimmered in her eyes. The tears she hadn't yet shed caught the light too. His heart twisted.

"Are you alright?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt like an idiot. Of course she wasn't alright. Her father was dead, she couldn't trust her guards, and the Mechon could launch another attack on Alcamoth at any time. And now, the man she'd been forced to marry was in her bedroom, asking questions with obvious answers. He would've kicked himself if he could.

"I'm fine," she said, closing her book and setting it on the nightstand. "How are you? It worried me when I woke up without you."

After a second, she realized what she'd said and her cheeks reddened. "You… you know what I meant…" She shifted in her blankets, refused to meet his gaze.

He hadn't noticed the awkward wording until she pointed it out. And it left him with questions. Did she think of sharing her bed with him, of waking up at his side in the morning? His own cheeks grew hot. But he wouldn't embarrass her – or himself – by asking.

"Kallian asked me to attend a war council with him." He leaned against the doorframe and studied her reaction. But, as he'd expected, there was none. "I'm sorry I worried you."

She pursed her lips, opened them to speak, then stopped herself. With a faint sigh, she tried again. "You're forgiven, if you'll summarize the war council for me. Not now. I don't have the energy now. But when I'm feeling better…"

She didn't have to finish her thought; he was already nodding. He'd never intended to keep the meeting or its results from her forever. Just long enough for her to recover in peace. "Take your time. I can handle everything until you're ready."

"That's too kind," she replied, but she shook her head.

He didn't give her the time to verbally refuse. "Let me help you, Melia. I'm capable and I want to do it. I want—" The words died in his throat. I want to be what you need. That was… a lot. Too much.

When he cut himself off, she frowned, brows furrowing together. But she didn't pry. She never did. It was one of the things about her that he liked – even if it frustrated him at times. He appreciated the consideration for his emotional privacy, though he wished she would just ask. Sometimes, he didn't know what to say, how to start the conversation. So, his ideas or concerns that were ready to come to light remained unspoken.

"Perhaps, I could take a day or two more," she said at last. A fragile smile twitched at the corners of her lips, stifled. Then her eyes dropped to her hands. She flexed her fingers, pulled her blankets tighter around herself.

Just as he'd convinced himself that she would say no more, she spoke up.

"You avoided answering my question." Her expression was deadly serious, as if she'd suspected him of lying by omission.

Well, that was the truth, wasn't it? He hadn't wanted to burden her more than he already had. Let her have at least a moment of quiet, a moment to come to terms with her new reality. The Mechon dragged her people into a war they weren't prepared for. To deal with an abrupt transition of power on top of that… And the ministers were hungry. He'd witnessed firsthand the way they'd leapt to discredit one another. How they'd clawed for scraps of influence like vultures over a carcass. What right did he have to demand any of her energy, her consideration?

He forced a smile. "I must've forgotten, but it isn't important. You should—"

"Yes, it is." She sat up taller, shoved her blankets away. A shadow crossed her features as the ether lamp flickered and rendered her expression unreadable for a moment. Though, the shape of her wings, flared outward with indignation, was distinct as ever.

When the light stabilized, her wings settled back against her head. Her mouth drooped into a frown. Not nearly as angry as he had been expecting… With a sigh, she pushed herself out of bed and approached him. Each step tested the ground in front of her before she put her full weight down. Like she assumed the floor would fall away, crumble. And she would plummet into the abyss below.

She positioned herself against the opposite side of the doorframe, leaving little space between them. "I am not broken. You can still count on me."

"I know that," he said. He'd meant to be reassuring, deflect again so he wouldn't have to think about his own inadequacy. But the edge in his voice gave him away.

Melia huffed. She folded her arms over her chest and her pupils darted about as she scanned his face. If she were anyone else, she might've tried to argue with him. She would've pressed for the answer she wanted until their terse conversation devolved into shouts. That's what had caused the fight between him and Sharla earlier. A bitter taste washed over his tongue at the reminder.

But Melia wasn't Sharla. She let her arms fall back to her sides and her features softened. "When you feel ready, please talk to me." An undertone of resignation highlighted her words. She smiled, though it was tinged with sadness.

Dunban waited for her to say more, unsure of what his own response should be. He didn't want to make any promises. They'd promised to save the emperor's life and they'd failed. Badly. A knife of guilt sank between his bruised ribs. It manifested real pain in him. No matter how hard he tried not to think of it, it was unavoidable. The pain forced the air from his lungs like a well-aimed kick. He doubled over, arm curling around his injury.

"Dunban?" She gripped his shoulder, leaned in close.

He straightened when he'd recovered and brushed off her hand. "I'm alright."

"When Metal Face…?" she asked, not really seeking an answer. Or perhaps, she'd just resigned herself to not receiving one. She clenched her teeth for a moment. "Did you visit the infirmary? Let me see."

"I did," he said, stepping out of reach, "and they took care of it. There's no need for you to—"

"They mistreated Kallian when he was in their care." Her voice wavered as she spoke. The tears returned to her eyes, turning them glassy. "If they've harmed you too…" She shook her head and gulped down a lungful of air. "In our current situation, it would be prudent to trust sparingly."

Before she'd finished, he began undoing the buttons of his shirt. She was right to be cautious. And a second opinion never hurt anyone. The physician he'd seen might've missed something – malicious or not. He pulled the last button free then dropped his hands back to his sides.

To her credit, Melia didn't react to the sight of the bruise. Not a gasp or a cringe of sympathy. She laid her palm over his abdomen, her touch so light that he almost didn't feel it. But her skin was warm against his. He suppressed a shiver and focused on her. The way she closed her eyes, steadied her breathing. As experienced as he was with his sword. Though, while one could practice the sword without real battle, one couldn't heal without real wounds. What horrors had she seen before she'd even reached adulthood? Shredded muscle and twisted bone? Severed limbs?

"Everything feels correct," she murmured. Still consumed by the trance of her magic, she hadn't realized he was watching her.

A rush of heat infiltrated his skin, bringing with it relief from the soreness that plagued him. The color drained out of Melia's face. She swayed on her feet until he grabbed her upper arm. It took only a moment to figure out what she'd done.

"Why did you do that?" He guided her back to her bed.

She sat and smiled up at him – weak, but genuine. "I wanted to help you." Her words slurred together, the energy to enunciate properly spent.

"You—" The rest of his sentence stuck in his throat. He worried she'd think him ungrateful if he continued. But his healing had directly caused her harm. He couldn't just stay silent. "I appreciate that, but please… don't do it again. Not for me."

Her fingers encircled his wrist, tugged at him until he sat beside her. "I'll heal as I see fit. Within reason." She yawned. "I wouldn't have been able to sleep again if I…" Her grip on him loosened, her head drooped forward.

He caught her before she could slip off the bed. Despite his misgivings, he couldn't stop the little grin that curved his lips. If she was sure she was alright, then there was no problem. He didn't have to force his view of himself on her. She thought he was someone worth helping. So why strive to change her mind?

She didn't wake as he lifted her then laid her down. Even as he tucked her pillow under her head, she didn't stir. He'd never seen her so peaceful before. Her brow always crinkled under the weight of thoughts she'd never share. Now, with her eyes shut and breaths even, all her waking burdens were set aside. The tension in her forehead smoothed away, her lips slightly parted.

This was what he wanted to defend. For everyone. When the war ended and his revenge had finally come to fruition, he could devote himself to peace. It was the least he could do, wasn't it? After all the pain he'd caused… His place was here, alongside his friends, protecting the world they would craft together. He didn't fancy himself a politician, but maybe he could be. If doing so would give Melia more moments like this, then he wouldn't mind so much. She deserved the rest.

And, frankly, he owed her.

He draped the blankets over her then stepped toward the nightstand to dim the ether lamp. His eyes caught on the book she'd left there. Its front cover bore no markings. Strange… A journal, maybe? He reached for it, but redirected his hand to the lamp. It wasn't his to read. Shame coiled in his chest. He shouldn't even have been tempted… What was he hoping to find? That she'd written about him?

Stifling a groan, he fled from the bedroom. If he was considering stooping so low as to invade her privacy, he really needed sleep…

He shrugged off his shirt, throwing it to the floor beside the rest of his things. The couch called to him, but each time he settled down, a nagging feeling dug into his mind. Like the poke of a needle. He checked the front door's lock five times. Then he'd pace, return to the sofa and lay awake for a few minutes. Only to get up and check the lock again.

The last time he laid down, he swore he wouldn't get back up until morning. He gripped the blanket in his fists when the urge struck once more. His heart hammered against his chest, his head ached. Nothing's changed, he told himself. It's still locked. I'm fine. Melia's fine. The words lost their meaning, he'd repeated them so many times. But it didn't help much. Just delayed the inevitable.