The Winter Rose

by Alessia Heartilly

The passionate, ardent love his destiny apparently had in store for him would not come true. It couldn't. He wouldn't let it come true. The brown doe eyes looking at him could draw him in if he wasn't careful enough. But he had spent years perfecting the craft of indifference and independence, and a pair of eyes, fine as they may be, would not make his defenses crumble.

5. IV: Growth

Author's note: I hope you can forgive me for the long wait. I want to finish this story this year, so please bear with me!
With this update, I corrected a small mistake in the prologue (thanks Pinnadraws for telling me; y'all should check her art, it's amazing!). In the next few days, the new version of chapter 2, revised and with new scenes added, will be published.
Now on to the story!
What is Rinoa playing in this chapter? The song Rinoa plays in the final scene of this chapter is the Third Movement, Presto, of Concerto No. 2 in G minor, Op. 8, RV 315, "Summer" (L'estate) by Antonio Vivaldi. Two versions of this piece can be found in the Spotify playlist I created for this story.

THE WINTER ROSE
IV. GROWTH

For the first time since he accepted to join the tournament, Squall woke up from a dreamless, but restful sleep. He had concocted a plan before falling asleep; he wanted to make sure he knew the entire truth, and the only way to achieve that would be by doing his own research and seeing with his eyes where the truth stood and what he could do about it.

He knew there was no black and white; reality was never so simple. There were so many shades of grey in between, and sometimes people chose to believe one shade over the others because it suited them. Perceptions, standpoints, perspectives drove people apart even more than the truth did; and what could look like a simple and beautiful, even desired solution to someone, may look like an unsurmountable obstacle to someone else. He knew that. He had seen himself too many greys to remember them all.

Yet, he could not help to think that the Knighthood of a cursed Sorceress was definitely a black and white matter.

A Sorceress without a Knight would lose control of her power, and unleash her madness upon humanity. This wasn't something the Princess may have told him to manipulate him into agreeing to be her Knight; it was a known fact. It was what happened to his family, and now, as his sister had so eloquently written to Lady Edea and Lord Cid, they were broken and suffering. So if it was true he was her one true match, and he was inclined to believe it was, not becoming her Knight would trigger a sequence of tragedy that he wanted to avoid at all costs.

On the other hand, it was the kind of bond that he absolutely did not want for himself. He didn't want any kind of bond, to be fair. He had spent his life striving to be independent and self-sufficient; and he believed he had finally managed to become who he wanted to be. He would do anything to protect himself from whatever becoming a Knight would entail; falling in love, losing a loved one, finding himself completely alone again. No, it wasn't worth it, even more so because Princess Rinoa was cursed, and he was sure he couldn't give her the kind of love that breaking her curse required. It was setting himself up for failure and heartbreak, and he wouldn't allow it. He could admit he was attracted to the Princess, possibly enjoy her company, her talent at the harpsichord, her undoubtedly sharp wit, maybe even entertain some sinful thoughts about her, in the deepest recesses of his mind. But he wouldn't surrender himself.

He was caught anyway right in the middle. On the white side, he understood the Princess's desire for freedom and for the connection they had a glimpse of at the end of their duel. He knew she had probably seen something she desperately wanted and felt the need to try and grasp for it. He couldn't fault her for wanting to experience the kind of love Sorceresses and Knights usually shared in tales and legends, and he certainly couldn't blame her for wanting to live, as much as she couldn't blame him for being the man he was, broken by sufferance, hardened by pain, with a steel resolve not to need anyone or anything. And on the black side, he knew it was possible that having found her one true match and being rejected could start the slow, unrelenting, and unstoppable process of descending into folly. And that was something he couldn't ignore, because it was something that would haunt him for his entire life. A responsibility he loathed, because it meant having too many people depending on him.

Still, he felt he needed to do something about what he came to know. Even if Sorceress Rinoa would succumb to her curse - and that idea made a shiver run down his back - her power would survive, and he would still be the one true match for it. He felt as cursed as the Princess was. And he would set himself free from this curse, looking for the ancient and forbidden books the Princess had mentioned and reading them all to find a different solution himself.

Now the only problem was finding those ancient and forbidden books - forbidden meaning there was the very real possibility he wouldn't be able to read them. Maybe he could ask Earl Dincht; he knew the Earl was developing quite an attachment to a young lady named Kavya Windrider, who was very close to the Princess thanks to their shared love of books. He was a good man, after all, even though too boisterous for his taste; he also seemed to admire him for some reason, and Squall knew he would be very eager to help him, if only he found the right words to ask for it. With some discretion, he could engage the Earl's help and the Princess would be none the wiser. At least he hoped so.

With that plan in mind, he felt lighter. Not exactly free, but lighter. He could trust himself, and if there was a different solution, he would find it. His shell would not break under pressure, and with that knowledge, he left his apartments to join the Royal Family for the dreaded ritual of breakfast.

---

When he entered the room, Princess Rinoa was alone, playing idly with some food on her plate. She raised her eyes when she heard the door open, and gave him a smile that was not quite cold, but that lacked its usual sincerity. He nodded, sitting down, and thanking the attendant who had immediately moved to serve him breakfast.

He cleared his throat. "Good morning, Your Highness."

His voice seemed to pull her out of her mood. If she was trying to feign coldness and distance, she was failing; her eyes sparkled with something he didn't dare to identify, and her smile was a bit warmer now, more sincere, less masked. "Good morning, Sir Leonhart. I hope..." She fell silent, delicately wrapping her fingers around the ring she wore on her chain. Whatever she may have wanted to add was lost, though, when her parents entered the room and they both scrambled on their feet to greet the King and Queen. When they all sat back down, Squall stole another glance at the Princess; but it seemed her parents' presence made what she wanted to tell him unfit for their conversation.

"I have already ordered some of the monsters we discussed yesterday, Sir Leonhart," said the King after greeting them. "Their arrival is estimated in a week, give or take."

Squall nodded. "I'll make sure to prepare the men, Your Majesty," he replied, watching as the Queen looked at him with an interested glint in her eyes.

"I think you'd be a magnificent Commander, Sir Leonhart," she said, pausing to sip on her tea. "I heard nothing but praise about your ability and your strength."

Squall swallowed, a little awkward. "Thank you, Your Grace."

"And I think you have great manners, too," she added, putting down her tea. "Your admiration of my daughter's music, yesterday, was surely a surprise. I guess there are many things we still don't know about you, Sir Leonhart."

"Did our daughter play?" asked the King, with an affectionate smile to the Princess.

"It was the allegretto Baron Watts composed last year, Father," she replied, and Squall watched as Rinoa's cheeks became warm and rosy with excitement. "Lady Edea has been teaching me to play it on the harpsichord for a couple of months, now. Yesterday was the first time I managed to play the entire piece without fault."

The Queen smiled, looking pointedly at Squall. "Sir Leonhart immensely appreciated the result, my lord," she commented, and Squall felt his own cheeks become warm and rosy with an unwanted blush.

"The Princess is quite talented," he said, trying to find a way to politely compliment her without sounding like an eager suitor. "And the melody was strikingly compelling."

"Yes, compelling," breathed Rinoa, and when Squall looked at her, she seemed to him even more beautiful. Music was something she was clearly passionate about; and the sensuality he had noticed the day before crept again into his mind, slowly coiling in his belly as some kind of unwanted desire. "Baron Watts composed it to remember his and Baron Zone's fathers, and how valiantly and bravely they fought for Timber's independence. It is a celebration of harmony and order, and it feels so refreshing, don't you think? The way the music rises at the end... it reminds me of heavy rain, and how cleansed the sky feels after that. Oh, I love that piece so much!"

The King laughed. "I'll have to listen to you play it again, my dear."

Happiness suited the Princess in a way that Squall found dangerously enticing. He was used to her melancholy expression, to the guarded look of her brown eyes, to the way she moved into the world as if she didn't want to disturb it with her presence. Knowing the true extent of her curse, the raw power running through her veins, and her desire to set herself free, without having to depend on someone else to do it, opened something in his mind that was quite similar to the distant camaraderie they had before their duel, and its unexpected outcome. He felt like a moth dancing too close to a flame; perfectly aware of the danger, yet unable to distance himself enough, because his foolish sense of duty wouldn't allow it. But he also knew the pain that came from touching the flame, the scorching hot sufferance that took away his ability to spread his wings and fly. He had built that ability again on his own and would guard it with all his might. The flame could be sensual, and enticing, and utterly astonishing in its simple beauty; but it was an amazing mask for an unbearable pain, and he knew better.

"Do you like our herbal teas, Sir Leonhart?" asked the Queen all of a sudden. Pulled out of his reverie, he turned to look at her with an inquisitive glance.

As the heir of the Esthari Empire, he was used to several rituals and celebrations that required drinking the renowned Esthari herbal teas; and he had missed them during his journey to Centra. Finding new varieties of teas in that strange winter landscape had been a surprise, albeit pleasant; and it was truly one of the aspects he loved about Centra. Its eternal winter suited him, as he liked the cold - as the Princess had so eloquently stated, the Guardian of Winter was very becoming of him. And Centra's hot herbal teas, rich and slightly flavored, gave him a sense of nostalgia. For a short moment, he felt at home, and in the deepest recesses of his mind, where he allowed himself to truly feel, he could delude himself into believing his sister would come in and join him, and their father would soon follow.

He shook his head. He couldn't reveal he was Esthari - the King and Queen didn't need to know anything more than what they had to.

"They are quite exquisite, Your Grace," he said, finally. "I used to drink tea a lot when I was a child - being able to drink it again here was a pleasant surprise." Yes, this was safe enough.

"Did you know that my daughter helps prepare them?" asked the Queen.

Oh, so that was why she asked. She wanted to impress him with her daughter's skills - first her musical talent, recalling her previous day's performance at the harpsichord; and now with this. "No, I didn't," he simply replied, stealing a glance at the Princess, just in time to notice her cheeks turning pink. He wondered if she knew what she was doing - if this was some kind of ploy to get him to pay her attention. But the way she looked slightly embarrassed, like she didn't want him to know she helped prepare teas, told him that ploy was all her parents' doing - and particularly, her mother's.

"I'm glad you like them, Sir Leonhart," continued the Queen, unrelenting. "My daughter spends so much time preparing the leaves after harvest."

"Mother, please don't overstate my role in it," said the Princess, with a firm voice. "The merit should go to all the people harvesting the leaves. Their labor is so much more important than what I do after," she concluded.

"It is still important, my dear," said the King, putting down his cutlery and standing up, offering his hand to his Queen. "We have to excuse ourselves, now; Lord Cid wanted a word with us both. Sir, I'd like to have a report later on the way you plan to prepare your men for the arrival of the new monsters for training."

"Of course, Your Grace."

"Enjoy your meal, Sir Leonhart. My dear, I hope I can listen to that allegretto later this afternoon."

"Of course, Father," nodded the Princess, and once again they were alone.

There was a short silence, which Squall filled by sipping on his tea. Its woody flavor, combined with the sweet fruity aroma of oranges, and a light touch of hibiscus, gave some soothing warmth to his stomach.

"I am sorry," said the Princess, when he put down his cup. "My parents are particularly overbearing lately. You have impressed them so much; I think they don't even comprehend how awkward they are making the entire situation."

Squall shook his head. "Nothing to be sorry about. It's not your fault." He paused, and then added, "I can understand why they are doing that. I do not blame them. And I don't blame you."

"But it's still uncomfortable for you, isn't it?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but her blunt question made him pause. He looked at her, and there was no smile on her face; just a slightly curious gaze, like she was trying to understand the inner workings of his mind.

"They don't know everything they should know," he said, finally. "I kind of feel we are misleading them, and it's... unsettling."

The Princess nodded.

Another silence followed, and Squall, finding it unsettling too, asked, "You work on preparing the teas?"

Rinoa sighed. "The servants usually harvest them around my birthday. Since it is... a particular time of the year, I try to distract myself by preparing the leaves. They are left to whither after harvest, and when they are ready, I help roll, toss, or crush them, and then I follow the entire process until they are ready to use. The tea you're drinking was made by adding dried oranges and hibiscus flowers on my sixteenth birthday."

"This is not something the members of a Royal Family usually do. I understand why your parents are so proud of what you do," commented Squall, trying to ignore the birthday comment.

"Is it something to be proud of, when it's done for such selfish reasons?" she asked, with a kind of self-deprecating irony that Squall found so painful to hear. He said nothing, though, and the Princess played some more with the fruit on her plate, before settling down her cutlery. "I am sorry," she said again. "I'm not looking for pity. It's just-"

"You don't have to justify yourself, Your Highness," said Squall, a little stiffly, for he was not used to comfort someone else. "Your... peculiar situation explains a lot of the things you do. As for your selfish reasons, I don't think they are selfish at all. And I think the servants you're helping by experiencing their hard labor yourself agree with me. Manual labor is not something a selfish Princess would do."

The Princess raised her widened eyes to look at him. With her mouth slightly agape at what could pass for a blunt compliment from him and the rosy color his praise had given to her cheeks, she looked dangerously enticing, like the flame that could burn his spread wings. "Thank you, Sir Leonhart."

He wanted to add something, dwindle the impact his words clearly had on the Princess, but someone chose that moment to knock on the door. A servant entered the room and curtsied. "Sir Leonhart, Earl Dincht would like to have a word with you. He says it's of the utmost urgency."

"Please, let him in," Squall said, and stood up when his comrade entered the room.

"Sir," started the Earl. "Your Highness," he added, with a polite curtsy to the Princess. "I am sorry for troubling you, but something happened that requires your immediate attention, Sir." His eyes darted to the Princess, and Squall nodded.

"You can speak with the Princess present, Earl Dincht," said Squall, understanding his comrade's mannerisms.

"Of course, Sir." He drew a breath, taking his time to choose the right words to use in front of the Princess. "During the usual morning drill, it came to my and Earl Kinneas's attention that two of our soldiers were not present."

Squall narrowed his eyes. "Who are they?"

"Esquire Raijin and his sister, Lady Fujin."

Squall swallowed a curse. The Esquire and his sister notoriously followed Baron Almasy wherever he went. They were his adoring audience, hanging on the Baron's every word, never questioning his behavior. If they had both disappeared, it was probable the Baron was gone, too. And it was his duty to figure out where.

"Anything about Baron Seifer Almasy?" he asked.

"Nothing." Earl Zell Dincht spared a glance at the Princess, who was still sitting at the table, listening to their conversation without moving; he knew the Baron was a previous winner of the yearly tournament, and he wondered whether the Princess would still be affected by what happened to him. "There are rumors that he hasn't been seen since you defeated him during the tournament's final duel, Sir."

"I see." Squall fell silent, pondering on his next move. He needed to find out where Baron Almasy had gone; and that would bring him to Esquire Raijin and Lady Fujin, too. He could probably speak with Lord Cid to determine what had happened after the tournament, while Earl Dinch could start investigations with Earl Kinneas. "You are dismissed, Earl Dincht. Please find Earl Kinneas and meet me and Lord Cid in the strategy room. I will give my orders then."

"Understood, Sir." Earl Dincht curtsied again to the Princess before leaving the room.

Squall turned to look at her. Her hands were folded in her lap, and her eyes were fixed on her plate. She looked almost... dejected? "I am sorry, Your Highness. I need to deal with the fallout of the Esquire's disappearance."

The Princess nodded, raising her eyes. "I understand, Sir. Please don't feel the need to apologize for your duties." She sighed, squeezing her ring again. "I... Can I suggest something?"

Squall narrowed his eyes at her. Her demeanor had completely changed when the name of Baron Almasy had been mentioned. "If you think it could help," he said, cringing a little at the bluntness of his words.

"Baron Almasy seemed particularly interested in Sorceresses and the legends surrounding them and their Knights, Sir," she started, choosing her words carefully. For some reason he couldn't pinpoint, Squall thought she was giving him only the information she deemed absolutely necessary. It felt slightly disturbing.

The Princess rose to her feet, needlessly brushing her dress on her stomach. "It may be wise to consider that the only living Sorceresses without a Knight are me and Sorceress Ultimecia, the Mistress of Time and Space. And it's safe to say I am... unavailable, for the kind of dreams Baron Almasy wants to achieve."

Squall looked at her through narrowed eyes, feeling his jaw settle into a hard clench. "What kind of dreams exactly, Your Highness?"

"It is not my place to tell, Sir Leonhart," she murmured, coming closer to him. "But please, be careful."

"I... see," said Squall, trying to relax his hands, as he had involuntarily clenched them into tight, almost painful fists. Her unwillingness to be clearer was grating on his nerves. There was a problem; he needed to solve it; she was stalling him with partial information she had however deemed useful enough to share; and he didn't know enough about Baron Almasy to understand his motives without her help. Knowing she had spent time with the Baron, just as much as she was forced to spend it with him, was making him curious about her motives, though; and what kind of dreams was she talking about? What was exactly the unavailability she had mentioned?

And asking him to be careful? She knew his strength. He had managed to defeat her in a fair duel. She was the Mistress of Pure Magic, and he was the only true match for the incredible raw power she mastered.

"Fear not for me, Your Highness," he said, with such a sharp edge to his voice that she raised her eyes. "I am the one true match for one of the most powerful magic in this world, am I not?"

She gave him a smile - slow, melancholy, with an edge to it that was part tender, and part extremely ragged, fragile. "You are, Sir Leonhart," she said, nodding.

That smile was even more disturbing than their entire exchange was. "I beg your pardon, Your Highness. My duties cannot wait further."

She nodded again, and he exited the room, closing the door behind him. Only outside he felt finally able to breathe again.

---

As the door closed behind him, Rinoa exhaled a long, trembling sigh, and leaned against the breakfast table to control her spinning head.

She felt light-headed, as she had always felt when she had tried to force the magic boundaries around the castle, forbidding her to reach summer. She swallowed, turning to clench her fingers around the water pitcher, squeezing hard for fear her trembling would make her drop it to the floor. She gulped down a glass of water, sitting on the chair her unwilling Knight had vacated a few moments before, unconsciously playing with his teacup. It was still warm.

It seemed like the pull of the Bond was trying to force the Knight's boundaries; and when he had acknowledged, in such a blunt, unmistakable way, that he was her one true match, inside of her something had swelled, and risen, and the subsequent freefall had felt even more perturbing.

Squall Leonhart was a living and breathing contradiction. He tried to look stern, cold, uncaring, unmoved by the emotions that drove everyone else; he wanted to be indifferent, as glacial as the Guardian of Winter he was granted when he joined her elite division. He looked calm in his coldness, collected in his ability to completely mask his emotions to others; but he was as conflicted as the Guardian of Storms inside his mind. He would probably look at her with contempt, if he knew how well she could read beyond his mask, beyond his intentions. And he would probably be upset at the mere idea this contradiction inside of him, the hard shell around his core, could be so fascinating to her.

The day before he had been cutting to the point of cruelness. He was blunt, trenchant, and sometimes even rude, despite his perfect manners when her parents were present. For someone who seemed to treasure silence and quietness so much, he knew how to use words to hurt, if that meant he could be left alone to his thoughts. And for someone who seemed to think she had been selfish, only thinking about what she wanted and needed, the day before, he knew how to make her feel like her working with herbs to transform them into teas was valuable and admirable. Trying to reconcile those two opposing aspects of his personality was a daunting task, and yet she couldn't help but want to try and understand him. She sensed a complexity behind his masks that intrigued her. She wasn't attracted to him just because he was a very handsome young man; she was attracted because he was different from anyone else, not eager to get her attention, not seeing through her like she was a simple pawn in a game, a pawn that could be gone in a few months, so it wasn't really worth it, because her worth was only in what they could obtain through her. She felt seen, somehow; not in the way she would have liked him to, but he saw her nonetheless. He wasn't afraid to tell her the truth about what he thought of her behavior; he wasn't confrontational, yet he wasn't yielding, either; and to him, she wasn't the Princess, as much as he liked to underline their distance by calling her Your Highness; to him, she wasn't the powerful Mistress of Pure Magic; to him, she was Rinoa, a girl he could rebuke because she didn't give him a choice in his own Knighthood, calling her selfish, and yet a girl he could praise for doing manual labor, too, telling her it wasn't something a selfish princess would do. A girl he could distance himself from because he wanted nothing to do with her magic, and yet a girl he could admire when she played her music, too.

But those masks frustrated her so! She wanted to see him, too. The real him, inside his core, where he was conflicted. She wanted to understand the roots of that conflict, and maybe help him through it, if he allowed her to. Maybe share the burden, like a Knight and his Sorceress were supposed to do. She knew part of what she was feeling was her magic yearning for him, and for the connection he embodied; but a larger part of her knew it was him, and it would have been him even if he wasn't her destined Knight. Behind his masks, so layered and so well-crafted, there was a man she only had a glimpse of; a man who looked almost worried about his disappearing comrades, curious about her suggestion on Baron Almasy, maybe even intrigued by her stance on the matter. And she wanted to know that man, and yet she wanted to respect his need to have a choice in what was going to happen to him.

She drank some more water to calm her nerves, before getting ready for her usual morning activities. Lost in her thoughts, and if she wanted to be honest, lost in her yearning as well, she didn't hear the hushed voices outside the room, and the door opening and closing again. A gentle hand came to rest on her knee, and Rinoa jolted.

"I'm sorry, my dear. I didn't mean to scare you," said Edea, as her pupil shifted her leg away from her hand.

"It's quite alright," answered the Princess shaking her head. "I was just... thinking. I didn't hear you."

Edea sighed. "Thinking about him?"

Rinoa blushed. Edea didn't even need to mention his name. "He is... worried, I think," said the Princess.

Edea looked taken aback. "He told you so?"

Rinoa shook her head, drinking another gulp of water. "I noticed he was... different. Earl Dincht came to tell him two of their comrades are nowhere to be found."

"Mh. That is peculiar. Squall is not the kind of man you can read so easily." Edea watched her pupil carefully, taking in the way the Princess almost squirmed on her seat, under her gaze. "There is something you're not telling me, dear."

Rinoa sighed, setting her now empty glass down. Once again, she brushed her dress on her thighs, idly playing with its lace decorations. Edea respected her silence, watching her as she raised to her feet and went to the window, looking out at the snowy expanse of her limited space. Edea knew Rinoa's eyes were searching for the border line, the neat point in which winter ended and summer bloomed. Her heart squeezed for her beloved sister in magic.

"He has... said something," Rinoa finally admitted. "Something my magic reacted to."

"There are few things that magic reacts to," commented Edea. She briefly considered reaching the Princess and forcing her to turn and look at her, but her demeanor told her it was better not to.

"It's just that... apparently those comrades have some kind of connection to Baron Almasy."

"I see," said Edea, when the Princess fell silent. "And you told him what happened last year?"

Rinoa shook her head and finally turned. "I just mentioned the Baron's ambitions, sparing him the details. I thought it would be better for everyone involved to let him know that the Baron was particularly interested in Sorceresses."

"Oh, Rinoa, dear," interjected Edea, standing up to reach her pupil and gently put her hands on her shoulders. "You can't give him partial information. We already know how much he hates that."

"I didn't give him partial information. I told him all that he needs to know to understand. My humiliations are my humiliations only, Edea. If he becomes my Knight, with a true Bond, then he'll know, whether I want him to or not."

Edea tenderly squeezed Rinoa's shoulder. "What did he say, then?"

"Since I asked him to please be careful, he said I didn't need to fear for him since he is the one true match for one of the most powerful magic in the world." The Princess scoffed, bringing her cold fingers to her forehead. She felt kind of feverish, and the hotness of her skin made her desire for some of the rigid winter's air surrounding her castle. She needed the cold so much that she could bear the hate she always felt pricking her skin whenever she went outside. "He looked almost offended, like I had insulted him by saying he needed to be careful. He probably believed I think him weak."

"He wanted to be scornful," Edea mused aloud, letting her hands fall from the Princess' shoulders. "He doesn't know what it entails, saying out loud that he is your one true match, dear. He didn't want to hurt you."

"I know," Rinoa said, rapidly. "But I saw behind his masks, for a moment, and he was worried about his comrades, and..." She shook her head, pressing both her wrists against her eyes. "He is so frustrating," she scoffed, finally.

"If you felt this kind of pull, he had to feel something too." Edea gently moved a lock of hair that Rinoa's mother-of-pearl comb couldn't hold. "I don't think you can hide what happened with Baron Almasy from him. To be completely honest, I don't even think you could hide it even if he didn't feel anything when he admitted he is your one true match. There were... rumors, about the Baron's rivalry with Squall. I'm fairly sure what you said reignited whatever feud there was between them."

"I will not be a prize for the two of them, Edea," said the Princess, with a fierce expression in her usually sweet eyes. "I'll die on my next birthday before becoming someone two men can fight over!"

"I didn't mean it like that, my dear." She sighed, searching for the right words to get her point across. "I just mean that as you saw behind his masks, he probably saw behind yours, too."

Rinoa said nothing. She placed her hands on her elbows, almost trying to hug herself, and looked again out of the windows. "What should I do, then?" she asked, eventually.

"Be truthful," answered Edea. "Tell him everything. You said you saw behind his masks, didn't you?"

"I promised him I wouldn't be a burden to him anymore," said Rinoa, without looking at her.

"Let him decide what's a burden, my dear."

The Princess closed her eyes. For a moment, she looked so young, so lost, and Edea felt her heart squeeze for the young woman. She had not been blessed with children of her own, and taking care of Rinoa, being her sister in magic, had filled that void in her life. In front of her, in that moment, there wasn't the powerful Sorceress, the revered Princess, the beloved Daughter; there was Rinoa, a scared girl grasping at hope, feeling an intense desire for a connection that was still begrudgingly tolerated on the other side.

But when the Princess opened her eyes again, Edea's breath was taken away. Gone was the scared little girl; in front of her, she saw a determined young woman, confident and ready to face the consequences of her choices.

"We'll need to be alone. Maybe the Loggia, again. My mother can't hear. You will come with us."

"What do you plan to do?"

"I'll give him a choice."

---

Squall had not entered the strategy room, the day before, so seeing the tapestries adorning its stone walls made him grimace. They represented battle scenes, as that was considered becoming of a strategy room for SeeD; but now, he recognized a theme, something eerily similar to the paintings opulently adorning the Royal Loggia. Seeing those Knights, probably fighting for their Sorceresses - or dueling with them, for all he knew - was unsettling, and also an unpleasant reminder of the kind of deception he had been a victim of.

Shaking his head, he placed a torch on an iron sconce, and the warm, dancing light created an intricate pattern of shadows across the stone floor and the large wooden table dominating the room. Even though it was only morning, the room was unusually dark; the weather, outside, did not let some light in, and they all had become accustomed to using torches even when the entire castle could go without them just fine. Squall scoffed when he saw Earl Kinneas' boots on the table, amidst the maps and various documents about the monsters King Caraway had agreed to provide. The cold coming from outside had slightly curled the map's edges.

"Boots off the table, Kinneas," said Squall, and the Earl shrugged, sitting straighter. Squall moved towards the large, richly carved wooden chair placed beside the hearth and its warm, cheery fire. He didn't like its plush cushions, as he was not a man who appreciated comfort and luxury; but he liked that chair for the power it represented. It meant control, to him, and Hyne knew that he needed control oh so much in his life at that moment. Yet, even those carvings, he noticed, depicted epic battle scenes and heroic legends. Everything in the room spoke of Knighthood. He felt even more of a fool.

"Told you!" quipped Earl Dincht from his place beside the fire, where he was cleaning his gauntlets. Earl Kinneas shrugged once again, made a dismissive gesture with his arms, and moved toward the fire, to warm his hands. Squall sat down and looked at the two men; behind them, through the narrow, arched window of the room, he could still see the snow-covered landscape, and the frost pattern of the glass, combined with the snow accumulating on the window-sill, almost smelled of oranges and hibiscus to him, like the tea Princess Rinoa had helped prepare.

Even in the room of the castle that should have been as far away as possible from Princess Rinoa, everything managed to remind him of her.

"Lord Kramer is busy with the King," started Squall, without much preamble, glancing at the documents and the map on the table. "I wanted to wait for him to discuss the situation with the Esquire and his sister, but I don't know if we have the luxury of time."

"I don't think so, Squall," answered Earl Dincht, dropping the formalities now that there was nobody else but them in the room. "According to what we managed to gather, the last time the Esquire was seen was approximately yesterday evening, around the time the tower clock struck ten. We think he reached his sister and they left together."

"Any ideas on where they went?" asked Squall.

"Not really," shrugged Earl Kinneas. "I asked some questions, but around the barracks nobody knows what happened. Everyone thinks they just went after Baron Almasy, but there's no way to know for sure. For all we know they could have left because they were sick of this winter, and the Baron has nothing to do with it."

Squall leaned against the back of his chair, crossing his arms. "And would you believe that?"

Kinneas opened his arms. "Not really, but we can't dismiss it either."

Squall sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "What about Baron Almasy?"

"Seems vanished into thin air," answered Dincht. "The last time he was seen around the castle was right after the tournament. I don't believe half of what they say, though. Word around the barracks is that he was extremely angry about losing and he didn't even let a Sorceress of Healing cure his wrist."

"There's some embellishment on the damage you caused to his hand that isn't interesting," added Kinneas, dismissing the concept with a wave of his hand. "Someone swears he was last seen around the Magic Border, and since he hasn't been seen since then, that would mean he managed to cross the line and reach the Uncursed Plains. Nobody knows what happened after that."

They fell silent, pondering over what they already knew. "They haven't been gone for long. Where could they possibly be?" asked Squall, gesturing towards the map.

Earl Kinneas unfurled the map and took an inkwell to stop its corners from rolling back. "Supposing they walked all night," he started, moving his fingers on the map, "they may have reached this old encampment used for training a couple of years ago. Rumor says that its hidden pathways and concealed shelters could still be used, and it could be plausible for the Esquire and his sister to hide there to avoid detection, especially if they are trying to track Baron Almasy."

"It's also wise to suppose they had to stop when it started snowing," added Earl Dincht. "The encampment is still on cursed land."

Squall hummed, tapping a gloved finger on another point on the map. "What about the Southern Fortress?" he asked. "Could they be hiding in the lighthouse?"

"Negative, Captain," answered Dincht, shaking his head. "With the upcoming arrival of monsters, the Fortress is out of the question. They would be found before they even realized we are searching for them."

"So the Baron apparently left after the duel allegedly with his wrist still injured and therefore, unable to fight. And that means he has at least a two-day head start. He could have reached the ruins of Odin's Sanctuary by now," mused Squall.

"But no chocobos were stolen from the stables, Captain," noted Earl Kinneas. "And he'd need one if he was still injured and trying to avoid a fight."

Earl Dincht shrugged. "Could have captured one as soon as he crossed the border to the Uncursed Plains."

Squall was silent for a long time. Princess Rinoa's words about being careful and how wise it would be to consider the Baron's peculiar interest in Sorceresses and Knighthood kept ringing in his head. If she was right about that interest of his - and he had no reason to doubt her words - then the only Sorceress he could manage to pledge himself to was Ultimecia, the Mistress of Time and Space. And she lived on the other side of the continent, he thought, his fingers following the path of his mind on the map. A captured chocobo would easily reach her castle in a few days. The idea that the Baron could decide to try and be Knighted by Sorceress Ultimecia made him grimace, both because of the kind of Sorceress the Mistress of Time and Space was, and also because it reminded him that the only other Sorceress available for such a ritual was the one he could, but wouldn't, claim for himself.

He met his comrades' gazes, curious and fixed on him. He kept their gaze with his steely one, and nodded. "Kinneas, form two squads. Send one to the old encampment and one to Odin's Sanctuary. You decide which one you'll follow. You're the leader of the search mission. Make sure that all the men assigned to the squads know that the Esquire and his sister are not to be harmed. I just want to know they are safe. They will have a choice in the matter of their fate; they are not to be forced back to the castle if they want to leave, and they are not to be hampered if they want to come back."

"Understood, Captain," nodded Earl Kinneas.

"I could lead the other squad, then," commented Dincht. "The one Kinneas doesn't choose."

Squall hesitated. He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling, once again, his comrades' curious gazes on him. Finally, he decided that he had to ask, if not for himself, at least for the promise he embodied for the Princess. It was the honorable thing to do, and Esthari men were nothing if not honorable.

"Actually, I have another mission for you, Dincht," he relented. "It's of the utmost importance, and I need you to talk about it with me and me only. Kinneas, I expect discretion from you, too."

"Of course, Captain."

Squall pondered over his choice of words. He took a letter opener and began twirling it on the map; whatever happened between him and the Princess needed to remain a secret. Sighing, he decided on the course of action he liked less. Lie. "You both do know what winning the tournament entails, don't you?"

Kinneas and Dincht exchanged a glance. "We do," said Earl Dincht, nodding.

"Princess Rinoa spent time with Baron Almasy too, since he was last year's winner. And she learned something about him... and this something could potentially help us."

There was another silence. Kinneas and Dincht kept looking at each other and then at him; there was something unusual in Squall's demeanor, something they couldn't pinpoint. Squall Leonhart was cold, and difficult to deal with, but he had enough merits to command loyalty, because he was direct, he was sincere, often blunt. Now, he looked like he was trying to hide something, and they couldn't understand what, or why.

Squall stopped twirling the letter opener and sighed. "The Princess said something this morning, and I have no reason to doubt she could be right."

"She knows the Baron better than we do, that's for sure," commented Kinneas, his eyes still fixed on his friend's weird behavior.

Squall nodded, trying to ignore the sense of annoyance and discomfort he felt when the past acquaintance between the Princess and the Baron was mentioned. "The Princess told me that the Baron had a particular interest in Sorceresses and the legends surrounding them. And if we are right, and the Baron managed to capture a chocobo..."

Earl Dincht finally understood what Squall was trying to say, and placed a finger on the map. "The castle of Sorceress Ultimecia."

Squall simply nodded. His friends had no doubts about his reasoning; his ruse had worked as intended. Managing to steer their opinions toward his worries about the Baron's whereabouts, no matter how justified they were, he had also managed to keep his possible Knighthood a secret and obtain the information he needed, while respecting the Princess' secret, too.

"The Princess also mentioned some ancient and forbidden books in the castle's library. I need to read those books. If the Baron is trying to be Knighted by the Mistress of Space and Time... I need to know everything the Knighthood entails," he concluded, watching the Earls.

Dincht nodded. "Seems sensible. Why don't you ask the King, Captain?"

Kinneas snickered. "After all, it seems he already considers you as his son-in-law. He won't deny you anything."

Squall pinched the bridge of his nose, annoyed by the comment. "First of all, that's not true, and second, this is just a possibility. The Princess talked to him last year; for all we know, it was a passing interest and we're wrong about everything."

"Still, you think it's worth working on it further, don't you, Captain?"

Squall shrugged, trying to feign indifference. "We don't know anything and we are working on speculations. Might as well gather all we can, even though it later proves to be useless."

Kinneas nodded. "Fair enough. Better be prepared and so on and so forth."

"So what exactly do you want me to do, Captain?" asked Earl Dincht.

"How familiar are you with the librarian?" asked Squall, looking at him pointedly. Dincht blushed, and Kinneas snickered once again.

"Isn't it great?" joked Earl Kinneas. "One Earl spends more time courting the librarian than wielding his weapon, and our noble Captain is all taken with the tales of romance, Knights, and Sorceresses!"

The other two men groaned, but Kinneas was undeterred. "Perhaps you can charm the librarian into giving those books to you, Dincht. And maybe we could fell two foes with one blow, and you could get some books to help our noble Captain in wooing our lovely Princess, too. She seems quite... intrigued," he concluded, and Squall didn't like the sudden serious nuance of the Earl's voice.

"Drop it off, Kinneas," said Dincht. "I get you're trying to be humorous, but do you see us laughing?"

"I see you annoyed, which was the purpose all along. And our Captain seems particularly affected, don't you think, Dincht?"

Both looked at him, and Squall sighed. Massaging his temples, he replied, "I'm not affected. As you said, I'm annoyed. Can we go back to business, please? This is serious and I don't want to overlook something and risk lives."

Kinneas gave a dramatic sigh. "I see you are bereft of all merriment," he commented, leaning against his chair. "And we are your friends, whether you like it or not. And we also have eyes and ears. People talk, Captain. Rumor says the Princess is quite intrigued, and you don't look as indifferent as you think."

Squall chose to ignore the statement for the time being, and went back to the real task. "I'll ask again. How familiar are you with the librarian?" he asked, watching Dincht and ignoring Kinneas' scoff.

"As familiar as a gentleman can get when he is sure his feelings are returned and he has the utmost respect for the lady's honor and reputation."

Squall nodded, satisfied with the answer. "I need to read those books without anyone else knowing. Can we trust the lady's discretion?"

"Lady Windrider is loyal, Sir. She won't betray my trust."

"Good. Then please fetch those books for me. We'll meet her later tonight, after dinner, so I can take them directly to my room. Please be discreet. I don't want the King to know just yet. I'm sure you don't need this particular order, but keep acting as SeeD's honor and decorum commands."

"I'm not Earl Kinneas, Sir," replied Dincht, with a lopsided smile.

Kinneas crossed his arms, scoffed, and muttered, "no lady's reputation and honor have ever been harmed by me. You'd better remember it."

"Kinneas," continued Squall, ignoring the banter of his still sullen friend. "Do not forget your Guardians."

"Understood, Captain. The Guardian of Nature and the Guardian of Silence will come with me."

"Report to me as soon as you find out something. Anything."

"Aye, Sir."

"You are both dismissed."

The Earls filed out of the room to carry out their orders. A frigid gust of snowy wind momentarily chilled him, and he leaned back, closing his eyes and enjoying the fire. He didn't like lying, but he didn't want to talk about his possible Knighthood yet. For starters, he felt like he could avoid it; and he would share his discoveries with the Princess, as a gift, and would go on with his life. Still, there were several things that he hadn't understood yet; his sister's vision, the deceit of Lord and Lady Kramer, the real extent of what being a Knight entailed. He hoped to clear all of that with the books Zell would provide, and yet, there was an unsettling feeling in him, a kind of foreboding telling him he wouldn't like the results.

A servant knocked on the door, and Squall sat up straighter. "Come on in."

"You report, Sir.," said the servant with a polite bow.

"Thank you."

He opened the parchment and quickly read through the various reports about the borders of the Cursed Lands. Frowning, he glanced at the map and sighed.

"Do I have to wait for your answer, Sir?" asked the servant.

"No, thank you. I'll deal with this myself. You can go."

The servant nodded, bowed, and exited the room.

Squall sighed, reading the parchment again. His best men were already busy with the other tasks he had assigned them - and he felt a slight pang of guilt, considering that one of those tasks was utterly selfish.

So that meant he would have to deal with it himself, as he had told the servant.

He just hoped it would take his mind off of things.

---

For the first time since he won the tournament, Squall was late for one of the meals he had to share with the Royal Family. When he entered the room, still a little disheveled after the morning's activities, the Princess looked at him with a smile, blushing when she noticed the evidence of physical exertion on his body, and Squall couldn't help but feel slightly flattered by her reaction.

It was foolish to be flattered, though.

"It's unusual for you to be late, Sir Leonhart," started the King, as Squall was being served his food. "I hope everything's going smoothly with your men."

Kinneas' words about the King already considering him his son-in-law rang through Squall's mind. Clearing his throat, he replied, "There were unusual monsters' movements near the border, Your Grace. We contained them, but I think we may have to monitor them a little more closely for the next few days."

The King nodded. "I trust your judgment, Sir."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

There was a hint of pride in the Princess' eyes. He didn't understand it, he didn't want to delve into it, and he didn't want to indulge it. The meal went on amidst the Queen's idle chatter about the Princess' musical accomplishments of the day, and the King's warm acceptance of whatever kind of praise his daughter was apparently worthy of.

When they moved to the music room for the afternoon, Squall was almost itching to talk with the Princess. He wanted to apologize; he wanted to get rid of that guilt that had been accompanying him since Edea had talked to him the day before. Feeling guilty for him meant accepting some kind of responsibility, and that was the last thing he wanted. He was there to become SeeD Commander; his behavior toward a lady, especially to one of such a high rank as the Princess, had been reprehensible; but that didn't mean he accepted a responsibility he didn't want.

"Your Highness," he started, after half an hour of difficult, meaningless conversation. "I noticed a courtyard yesterday, from the Loggia."

"The Royal Courtyard?" said the Queen from the bow-window she was sitting in, with her embroidery work. "My husband designed it himself. He was so very proud of it! It was meant as a private space for our daughter."

The Princess was watching him, her eyes curious and attentive. She understood. She knew. "Do you want to see it, Sir Leonhart?"

That was it. "Yes, if you may. The morning was... intense," he said, cringing inwardly at his own words. "The Garden seemed very calming, and the weather today is not as punishing as it was yesterday."

The Princess tried to mask the way she took in the air at the mention of the weather, and Squall almost bit his tongue. Wrong thing to say. And since when did he learn such pleasantness, anyway?

"I'll get my mantle," said the Princess, standing up. Once again, she smoothed her dress over her stomach; something she didn't need to do, and yet Squall guessed it was her way to do something with her hands when she was nervous. What was she hiding, now?

"Lady Edea, will you come with us?" asked the Princess before her mother could interject. "I'm sure Lady Tilmitt would rather stay by the fire, today."

Lady Tilmitt nodded, in such a way that Squall thought there was a silent conversation going on between the three women. Only he, and ironically, the Queen, were excluded.

They met again out of the music room, each one of them wrapped into the warmth of a heavy mantle. For some reason, he had decided on his most elegant one; made with the finest leather, all black, lined in wool and velvet and with a candid white fur around the hem, the result of his first fight against a Mesmerize, the rite of passage for the heir to the Esthari Imperial Throne. It made him proud because of what it represented, and the chain closing it, fastened with a clap shaped like a lion's head, completed the image he wanted to give to the world: the proud, strong lion who didn't need anything or anyone, a symbol of independence.

This time, he didn't need someone to tell him what to do. He offered his arm to the Princess, and with a small smile, she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. "This way, Sir," she said, pulling him gently toward a corridor.

Behind them, Lady Kramer's footsteps died down, and he realized only when they reached the doors to the private courtyard that she had purposefully left them alone.

It was unsettling, and made him wonder if he was about to discover another life-changing secret.

The Princess pushed the doors open, shivering a little when a gust of frigid air engulfed them. She moved towards him ever so slightly, to the point he thought he had imagined it, and then she stepped out on the Courtyard.

It was stunning.

Built as a traditional Galbadian cloister, the Royal Courtyard was a spacious area enclosed on all sides by stone walls and surrounded by covered walkways, with tall and pointed arches opening into the small garden. The columns were simply decorated with the Princess' insignia; a rose blooming in the middle of angel wings. The large and uneven flagstones departed at the corners of the area, meeting in the middle, where a majestic fountain representing Siren, the Guardian of Silence, stood, covered in snow and with small icicles hanging from its edges. The Courtyard, even though not as opulently decorated as the Loggia, was elegant, and magnificent, and its silence provided a serene atmosphere.

The Princess stood in the middle of the walkway, observing the fountain. Around her, the useless garden beds were covered in snow, and the torches set in their iron sconces cast gloomy shadows. Between the heavy, overcast gray sky above and the candid white around them, the Princess, with her lilac mantle, was an unusual splash of color.

Then she turned, and a lock of black hair fell out of her mother-of-pearl comb, and she raised a gloved hand to move it aside.

"I guess there is something you wanted to tell me, Sir?"

Squall nodded. "I suppose it was obvious, wasn't it?" he asked.

"A little," she replied with a gentle smile. "But you need to remember that what's obvious to me may not be as clear to my mother. There is..." She fell silent, once again clasping her fingers around the ring she wore on her chain.

"There's some kind of Bond, isn't it?" he asked. He sounded defeated, even to his own ears.

"Don't you feel its pull, sometimes?" she replied. She watched him intently for a few minutes, and then she turned, watching the fountain once again.

Squall opened his mouth to say something, but immediately closed it, pondering her question.

Eyes fixed on the elegant curve of her naked neck, he wondered. Did he feel the pull of the Bond? He probably did, and that was why he felt this attraction to her. He guessed that was why he kind of enjoyed her company, why he was terrified of what it meant. Why he tried to deny it.

"I guess I do," he conceded, and when he noticed the subtle tension in her shoulders, for he was still watching her neck, he added, with a kind of haste that embarrassed him, "that doesn't mean my stance on the matter changed, Your Highness."

The Princess relaxed her shoulders, and her melodious, yet empty laugh filled the courtyard. "I won't ask you to change your mind, Sir. There is... something I want to tell you."

Squall sharply sucked in a breath, bracing for the impact of this something she was apparently going to drop on him. Then she turned, looking at him.

"You had something to tell me too, right? Please, go ahead. I don't want to be selfish."

Squall sighed, crossing his arms. The gesture moved her attention to his lion-head clasp.

"I need to apologize, Your Highness," he started, and Rinoa tilted her head, watching him curiously.

She was too beautiful, and she was too dangerous.

Lowering his eyes, Squall continued, "My conduct toward you has been reprehensible, my lady. I wasn't... aware of some things that made your behavior understandable."

The Princess' eyes were intense, her gaze almost palpable. She looked at him through narrowed eyes. "I wasn't aware of some things that made your behavior understandable either, Sir Leonhart. And I must admit that I wasselfish in asking for the duel so soon."

The guilt he felt, somehow, intensified. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

Silence fell between them, and Squall tried to search for the words that would bring the conversation back to the path he had imagined. The Princess turned and started to walk along the walkway, her steps looking firm and dignified even with the irregularities of the stone floor.

She didn't ask for his assistance.

Almost unwittingly, Squall followed.

Suddenly, she stopped and turned. The light of a torch set in its sconce cast a gentle, warm glow on her face.

She was too dangerous.

"I should have given you a choice, Sir," she started. "I should have been sincere with you. I am truly sorry for my choices. I wish I could do it again differently."

Squall was momentarily stunned. Nobody had ever acknowledged how important being able to decide for himself was to him. "I understand why-"

The Princess shook her head. "No, you don't. I saw you during the tournament and felt something different. I hoped you'd win. We danced, and I knew you were unique. I saw you fight, on the day of the duel, and knew you would be the one. My magic recognized you, Sir. There's no other way I could describe it."

Silence fell again, and under his stare the Princess blushed, pulling her mantle tighter around her, as if she needed to cover herself. Somehow, Squall had the disturbing feeling he was a little more naked, too.

"I wanted the duel and asked for it. I didn't stop to consider what you would think of it. And for that, I am truly sorry."

Still stunned into silence, Squall swallowed, trying to find the best way to answer such a raw, honest confession. "I... I don't know what to say. I truly appreciate your respect, Your Highness."

The Princess nodded. She seemed intent on something, and then, shaking her head, she continued, "This morning, I wasn't exactly transparent with you, either."

Squall narrowed his eyes. Secrets, again? "About what, my lady?"

"Something you said may have some... consequences that I feel you wouldn't want, Sir," she replied, turning with a melancholy expression towards the statue of the Guardian of Silence. "I know it wasn't what you wanted, and I'm going to free you."

Free him?

She stepped towards him, extending her hand. Unwittingly, suspiciously, he raised his own to let her rest it in his palm. Lilac velvet against black leather, her hand seemed small in comparison to his. Delicate. Fragile. It made the power it exuded feel even more electrifying.

He wanted to duel with her again.

"When you affirmed that you were the one true match to my power, my magic reacted, Sir. I am sure you must have felt something, too."

Silent, as his hand tensed while almost holding hers, Squall tried to recall their conversation in the morning. They had talked about how she helped the servants prepare the tea harvests; then she told him to be careful about Baron Almasy; and then...

She was watching him carefully, with the same kind of part-tender, part-ragged smile he had found so disturbing that morning. He thought back to the moment he had tried to defiantly quench her worries by telling her he was strong enough to defeat her, and then...

Squall swallowed. "I did, my lady," he replied, his hand unconsciously squeezing hers. If she noticed, she didn't show it; instead, she kept patiently watching him as if waiting for him to realize what she meant.

It had been suffocating. He had felt like he was able to breathe again only when he wasn't in the room with her anymore. There was nothing forceful in what he felt, but there was something that craved surrender and he couldn't give in. It was too terrifying. It was too vulnerable.

"Those words were like... a kind of acknowledgment, Sir," the Princess continued when he stayed silent. "I am sure that was not what you meant to do."

Squall scoffed.

"I want a Knight out of love, Sir Leonhart," she whispered, delicate as the snow he could crush under his booth. "And of all the things a Sorceress can force upon people, love is not one of them."

"What do you mean, Your Highness?" he managed to sputter. Something frantic was expanding in his chest, something he didn't want to deal with, and yet something he was forced to recognize. His lungs felt compressed, as they did that morning, and Squall felt it once again: in the deepest recess of his soul, some part was craving surrender, and yet was also waiting patiently for him to take a step forward. He was standing in front of the first real choice of his life, not forced by his mother's death, his sister's departure, or his father's pain; not forced by his need for independence, for self-sufficiency, for loneliness mistaken for aloofness. The sensation was like that of a freefall, terrifying and yet so, so liberating.

It was so ironic that it was coming from a woman who could claim him whenever she wanted. For all his might, he would not be able to truly resist the pull of the Bond, if she decided to force it.

And she knew, and she was giving him a choice.

It was stunning.

"Your words have created a connection you don't want, Sir," replied the Princess, her hand still in his. "I'm freeing you of that."

An icicle fell from the fountain's edges, crashing against the ground. The sound, piercing and brittle, filled the still air around them, like they were suspended in time and they were suddenly brought back to reality; and the consequent tinkling cascade of the fragments hitting the ground reminded him of the glistening, clinking magic dissolving when Meteor bound them.

The Princess was doing something with her hand. Through the lilac velvet and the black leather, her delicate, almost fragile hand exuded some of that electrifying power that fascinated him so; and an impossible frigid warmth penetrated his skin, crawling up his arm. She was severing the connection he had created in his obliviousness, and all of a sudden it wasn't what he wanted. He felt like this choice-

"Excuse me, Sir," came the voice of Earl Dincht.

Squall let go of the Princess' hand before she could complete the severing ritual. The magic sizzled behind them, fire and frost at the same time, and the Princess looked stunned, like she didn't expect this outcome.

Squall didn't expect this outcome either, and he realized that he had already made a choice. He needed to see it to its end, because he was an Esthari, and Esthari men were nothing if not men of honor.

"Earl Dincht," said Squall, turning to acknowledge his comrade. "I suppose you have something urgent to report?"

"Yes, Sir," replied the Earl, taking a few steps forward and bowing to the Princess. She barely greeted him, still too stunned by the way Squall had interrupted the ritual. The Earl's eyes went first to the Princess and then to Squall, and he waved his hand. "You can speak with the Princess present, Dincht."

Dincht nodded. "Kinneas has sent word from his expedition. It appears the squad sent to the old encampment has found the Esquire and his sister, Sir. They have been very firm in saying they don't want to come back to the castle."

"Is Kinneas back already?"

"Negative, Sir," replied Dincht. "He has sent a messenger with the news about the Esquire and is waiting for your orders about the squad sent to the old encampment. He is leading the squad to Odin's Sanctuary, for the..." His eyes darted to Princess and back to Squall. His leader's expression didn't change, it looked like the Princess wasn't really listening, and yet he felt that he should leave some part of the information out. "For the other hunch we decided to follow this morning, Sir."

Squall sighed. He was certain the Princess would ask about it as soon as the Earl left.

"The messenger is waiting for your answer with the new orders, Sir."

Squall crossed his arms, looking sideways at the shattered icicle now adorning the Courtyard's ground. "Kinneas should continue to the Sanctuary," he said, finally. "I want the old encampment's squad to follow the Esquire and his sister, of course without being discovered. I think they will reach the Sanctuary, too. My orders of the morning must be respected - the Esquire and his sister must remain unscathed. I will personally deal with whoever may cause them harm. They won't be forced to come back and they won't be hampered if and when they seek refuge in the castle again."

"Understood, Sir."

"Please handle the message, Dincht."

The Earl nodded, bowed to them both, and left the Courtyard.

Something changed in the air around them. Squall felt the need to clear his throat, and the Princess was roused from her reverie. Her brown doe eyes looked even bigger, even brighter, and the frigid air had given some colors to her cheeks.

"I am sorry for the interruption, my lady," he started, but she shook her head, her comb spilling out some locks of dark hair.

"I don't understand you, Sir," she replied, and he scoffed at that.

"I don't need people to understand me, Your Highness."

He was putting on his masks again. He was so frustrating. Through the feeble connection she hadn't managed to severe because he interrupted the ritual, she could almost see the layers he was guarding himself with. His core was as distant and inaccessible as ever, for her, and yet she could see it, she could almost touch it, she could stretch the finger of her mind to reach his through their universe. How could he not feel it, too? Didn't he feel this frustration, this constant being on edge, torn between the need to surrender and the inability to do so?

"Why did you stop me, then? I don't want to be a burden to you!" she hissed, pressing the cold heels of her hands against her eyes, as if she was trying to quench the fire raging inside of her.

"And you aren't," he replied, with a kind of cold, cutting edge to his voice that contrasted with his almost reassuring words. "But where I come from, honor is everything. And I am a man of honor, Your Highness. I still don't know enough of Knighthood to make a choice, and I'd be glad if you didn't try to force one on me, now."

"I thought..." The Princess shook her head, turning abruptly so he couldn't look at her face. "This was not forcing a choice on you, Sir. This was respecting your desire to have nothing to do with Knighthood."

"I am aware of that fact, and I appreciate your concern and your respect. But a man without his honor is nothing," he said, and with bewildering clarity, he knew what she had become to him, as much as he wanted to deny it. There was a Squall Leonhart before their fated duel, and there was a Squall Leonhart after that; two different persons who could not be reconciled anymore. He hated this, but he also knew what he had to do. His honor guided him. "And I can't refuse the fact that you became some sort of responsibility to me, either." There, even though admitted with a strained voice, lay his choice. He would see it to its hand. He was the one who could avoid the madness, even though he couldn't possibly break the curse; and he would shoulder the responsibility, and deal with the guilt.

"First a burden, and now a responsibility?" scoffed the Princess. Her neck was tense, Squall noticed, and her breath was ragged, like she was trying not to cry.

"I never described you as a burden, Your Highness," he rebutted. It was becoming increasingly difficult to deal with the Princess, and his frustration was coiling in his chest, ready to explode. "But I also know what happens when a Sorceress doesn't have a Knight. I am sure Lady Kramer told you."

The tension in the Princess' neck rose. "I am sorry. She told me only to help me understand, Sir."

"I don't blame her," he continued. "That doesn't mean I like it, Your Highness. My past should be my past only."

The Princess' shoulders relaxed. In some deep recess of his soul, he felt some sort of resonance; some kind of understanding; some spark he quickly crushed.

Silence fell between them, and some snow started softly falling down on the Courtyard. The Princess shivered, and he knew the gallant thing to do would be to give her mantle. Yet, he stayed silent, uncomfortable with the kind of intimacy they already unwittingly shared.

Then; "Earl Dincht said you sent a squad to Odin's Sanctuary."

Squall remained silent, waiting for her to continue. That was already a slippery slope, and he sure wasn't going to say anything about his decisions as a leader. He knew they were rooted in something he wasn't ready to acknowledge, especially to the Princess.

"I may have never left this castle, Sir," continued the Princess. "But I have seen maps." When Squall said nothing, once again, she added, "I know what lays outside of the Cursed Lands, Sir Leonhart. I know where Sorceress Ultimecia, the Mistress of Time and Space, resides." She moved her eyes along the Courtyard, setting them on some point on the West. To an outsider, it seemed like she was looking at a plain stone wall; but Squall remembered Lady Kramer's words from the day before. She once told me she feels like there's hate in the air around her, whenever she is out of the castle. She felt Sorceress Ultimecia's presence. He wondered how it must feel, to be unable to get some fresh air without feeling constantly hated. Once again, he felt a pang of sympathy for her situation; and for the first time, he recognized they were both lonely, even though in much different ways.

"You told me about Baron Almasy's particular... interest," he conceded, choosing his words carefully. "The Esquire and his sister had disappeared, probably to follow the Baron. If your intuition is correct, then searching the Sanctuary for clues seemed like a sensible decision."

The Princess said nothing. She was still not watching him, and he had the disturbing idea that she was, once again, hiding something.

"Unless there is something I need to know about this decision, too?"

The sardonic, kind of cutting edge to his voice wasn't lost on him, and apparently wasn't lost on the Princess, either. She turned to look at him, and her brown eyes were majestically stunning; fierce, untamed, powerful. He couldn't help but swallow.

"You don't know what you're asking, Sir," she cautioned him, and he let out a bitter laugh.

"Do I ever?"

She looked stung by his counter-question, and lowered her eyes, almost as if she was ashamed.

"You are aware of what winning the tournament entails, Sir. The official rules, and the more... unofficial one," she started. She was looking at him with a sort of calculating gaze he had seen in her eyes only the morning of their duel. Was she evaluating him?

She wouldn't find him wanting.

"I do know that you had to spend your time with previous winners, too. And apparently, you had to duel with them to prove them worthy of being your Knight."

"Interesting choice of words," she rebutted, still with her calculating gaze, and then lowered her head, sighing deeply. "Baron Almasy proved he couldn't be my Knight."

"I gathered as much," commented Squall.

The Princess fell silent, pulling the fur-trimmed edges of her mantle closer together. Squall had the feeling she was debating with herself on what to say next. If she wanted to say something.

"No more secrets, please. Your Highness, I deserve the complete truth. Don't you think?"

The Princess nodded, once, twice, and turned once again, in a flur of lilac, lace, and fur. "No more secrets," she repeated, and he watched as her hands slipped over her elbows, as if she was trying to hug and comfort herself. It was slightly disturbing. "I waited three months for the duel with the Baron," she started. "My magic didn't react as... as it did when I watched you, Sir. But I... kind of fancied the Baron and I hoped it was just inexperience on my part, and perhaps I didn't see the signals. But I wasn't wrong. My magic didn't react. The Baron was defeated even before I started using my magic."

She turned to look at him, with a kind of teasing, conspirational smile that looked so new, so fascinating, that Squall felt his cheeks redden a little.

"I didn't lie when I told you you were the only winner who survived that string of blows."

Squall tried to ignore the small swell of pride rising in his chest. It was foolish. Proud of being a Sorceress' Knight? Never.

But... proud of being the one true match to one of the most impressive magical powers in the entire world? Possibly.

The Princess gave a little smirk, noticing the rise and fall of pride into his eyes, and turned once again. "I heard you and the Baron were rivals," she commented, and for a moment, Squall didn't understand what she was aiming to say.

It looked like she was waiting for an answer, though, and so he replied, a little curtly, "The rivalry was more on his part than mine."

She stole a glance at him, curious at his choice of words. "It may be enough for you to imagine that he didn't take defeats very well."

"I am deeply sorry to hear of it, my lady." He knew how scathing the Baron could become when crossed, and the feeling of humiliation at suffering defeat at the hand of a woman, no matter how powerful, would surely ignite an explosion that the sensibility of the Princess was too delicate to sustain.

"I don't wish to dwell too much on details of what happened next, Sir Leonhart. You think that your past should be your past only, and I share the sentiment about mine. I am confident I will receive your understanding on this matter."

He nodded, but couldn't help but notice how melancholy her expression had turned.

"Suffice to say, he didn't want to accept the defeat, insisted in sometimes improper ways to have another duel to prove himself, and became even more enraged when I defeated him again."

"Sounds like something the Baron would do, my lady." He found himself strangely inclined to comfort her, somehow, since she was clearly still a little distressed at what had transpired. But he didn't know what to say, and silence fell yet again between them. Then he sighed, realizing with astounding clarity that her insight about the Baron could be invaluable. Of all the people he had thought he would have to consult about the situation with the fugitive nobles, the Princess wasn't even at the bottom of the list. He guessed there was a lot he didn't know.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked instead. There was something, in what the Princess usually did when he was involved, that he couldn't pinpoint, and not understanding her motives made him feel on edge. She perhaps considered him her Knight, and possibly her way to freedom from her curse, but he felt there was something else. Deeper. Clearer. More innocent.

"You sent your friends to the Sanctuary, Sir," she commented, turning to look at him with slightly disbelieving eyes. "I just wanted you to be aware of the danger that may lay ahead."

The word friends unsettled him in a way he didn't like. "Those aren't my friends, my lady," he replied, curtly. "Those are my soldiers. At best, my comrades."

She turned fully, stepping a little closer as if she wanted to inspect his face for the truth. He held her gaze, even though she was so close he could smell her soft perfume; hibiscus, frost, dried oranges. Like the teas she helped prepare.

"You're a liar," she said, and he scoffed, crossing his arms.

"You don't know anything about me, Your Highness. And you don't know anything about military life."

She narrowed her eyes; hinting at her forcedly secluded life stung her, and he suppressed a pang of guilt. He couldn't think of her as anything else than a responsibility he would accept as a matter of honor; and she couldn't think of him as anything else than a man who defeated her, but couldn't free her.

"I know enough about it to know that sometimes, bonds are forged through battles that cannot be forged otherwise. The Esquire and his sister left the security and comfort of the castle because of their loyalty and friendship to the Baron. And you have enough respect for them not to interfere with their decision."

"This doesn't have anything to do with friendship, my lady," he replied, narrowing his eyes at her too. Her gaze was still calculating; piercing; he felt bared to his very soul. He hated it. He felt vulnerable, and he would strike back.

"I don't believe you," she said, still holding his gaze, fierce against unmoving. It hinted at a kind of intimacy he was terrified of.

"It doesn't matter," he replied, with a voice firm enough to be cold. Not as scathing as the Baron would have been, but stinging enough to make her recoil.

Except, she didn't recoil.

"You are so frustrating," she huffed, shaking her head in disbelief. "I see through your masks, Sir. I know you are worried about your comrades, since that's how you want to define them. If you didn't care, then it wouldn't matter. But you ordered for the Esquire and his sister to remain unscathed, for their decision to be respected, and you sent a squad to the Sanctuary because you are somehow worried about the Baron, too. Or at least, about what he may do. And Earl Dincht clearly admires you."

She was silent, waiting for his reply, but he didn't say a word; instead, he narrowed his eyes even more, reducing them to silvery slithers.

"Deny it all you want, Sir Leonhart. Some part of you cares about those people, and you've been listening to me because of that care. Everything else you're saying is just a distraction maneuver."

"And how would you know that?" he asked.

She narrowed her eyes too. For a split moment, they flashed yellow, rich in magic and power; and then they were brown again, intense, soul-searching, the kind of stare that made him swallow.

"I dueled against you. I know your patterns."

"And yet, I defeated you."

And how glorious it had been.

"Do you actually take pleasure in being so mean to other people, Sir?"

"Only when I wish to be left to my own counsel, Your Highness."

This time, she recoiled. Her perfume of hibiscus, frost, and dried oranges became fainter as she took a few steps back, and he could breathe again. The air in his lungs hurt.

"I'm just trying to help," she replied. "I don't wish to be a burden. I wish we-"

"Friends are for those who can afford to be vulnerable, my lady," he said. This time, the cutting undertones in his voice were definite, piercing, somewhat made to hurt. "I stopped having that privilege a long time ago."

It was blatant what he was hinting at, and the Princess fell silent, cheeks red with shame and hurt.

Someone cleared their throat behind them, and Squall turned to find Lady Kramer, discreetly pulling her mantle's edges closer together. "We should go back to the music room. Her Majesty the Queen could grow suspicious, otherwise."

Squall wanted to scoff at the suggestion; the Queen would probably grow suspicious, but not for the reasons Lady Kramer feared. In fact, they may find her already dealing with nuptial preparations. It was frustrating, and they were setting her up for a greater pain down the line.

The Princess simply nodded, moving towards the door in a flur of lilac fabric and frustration. He followed, eyes narrowed at Lady Kramer as if he was challenging her to say something. She replied with a silent stare of hers.

Inside, he held his elbow out for the Princess to take it, and she did, her hand tense and cold inside her glove.

For the entire journey back to the music room, he felt like something frosty was clutching at him. And yet, when the Princess hastily removed her hand, entering the music room with a false smile, and the clutching stopped, he undeniably missed it.

---

Under the warm, flickering lights of the candles and torches, the music room seemed even more majestic.

The deep burgundy velvet curtains had been drawn on the tall, arched windows, closing off the sight of the winter outside. When Squall entered along with the King, the fire was cracking cheerily in the fireplace, and the Princess and Lady Kramer were already seated at the double harpsichord, playing a fast, almost frantic tune that captived Squall, compelling him to listen intently.

He sat in one of the plush chairs, letting the King join his wife. A servant offered him some liquor, but Squall sent him away with a flick of his hand; he observed the Princess and admired, once again, how much of her musical talent could shine in those fast, intense melodies she seemed to love the most. It suited his mood well, he thought, and when he recalled their discussion in the afternoon, he thought, not without some shame, that it probably suited the Princess' mood, too. The melody was almost exceedingly bright; the crisp sound of the notes was almost biting, almost sharp, reminding him of the storm accumulating over the sea, the first summer he came to Centra, and how powerfully it had raged for the good part of an hour. It was still the wildest expression of nature he had witnessed in his entire life; scary, and yet fascinating; thunderous and dangerous, and yet cleansing. He remembered the sky was like a tapestry of blue gradients, the dark colors giving way to softer hues, the rich, silver mark of the storm shining on the horizon, and the gentle pink and amber glow of the sun breaking through.

And this music was a storm.

He was not an expert, but it seemed like Lady Kramer was simply accompanying the Princess, who was playing the main melody with such an intensity that her cheeks glowed rose, her mouth slightly parted, a tooth biting her lower lip. The speed of her fingers moving on the keys was impressive, and the clarity of each note, even through their intricacy, was resonant enough to sound relentless. The melody swirled, turbulent and insistent, tense and rapid like the thunders exploding over the sea; and the brightness of the higher notes was almost chilling, when she played the lower, broodier ones.

It took his breath away.

The melody took a wilder, almost chaotic edge, and it felt like being at the center of the storm, fierce winds resonating in his ears, sharp rains hitting his skin like small, chilling icicles, and the Princess' fingers kept moving thunder-fast on the keys, bringing forth through them all the power, the intensity and the eeriness of a summer storm.

Then it ended, and the Princess looked slightly out of breath, raising her hand to move a rebellious lock of hair from her face.

She was far too beautiful. Far too dangerous. Far too alluring.

And she cleansed his inner storms with the tip of her fingers, and this was far too unsettling for him.

The Princess turned, beaming at her father, who was clapping. Everyone in the room clapped too, and she looked at every one of them with the same radiant smile, even though it faltered a little when she looked at Squall. He thought he could see, in her eyes, another flash of hurt. There was no time to dwell on it, though, because the King raised his hand. "You promised to play the Allegretto from Baron Watts for me, my dear," he said, and the Princess nodded. Lady Kramer rose from her seat and occupied another plush chair near the Queen; and a few rustles of music scores later, the melody she had used to cleanse their storms the day before filled the air once again.

He almost couldn't bear it. She looked so enthralled. So passionate. So alive. How unfair he wouldn't be able to save her.

A servant discreetly stopped by his side. "Pardon the intrusion, my lord," he whispered, so as not the disturb the Princess' musical performance. "I have a message that requires your attention."

Squall rose from his seat, nodded to the King and Queen to take leave, and followed the servant to the door. As he was about to exit, he unwittingly turned to glance one last time at the Princess, certain she would be playing with her eyes closed and wouldn't notice; but she was watching him, and he watched her, and he felt something thunderous explode inside of him.

She was too dangerous. Too alluring.

Outside, the servant gave him the message; Earl Dincht was waiting for him in the strategy room with the books he requested. "Do I have to wait for your reply, Sir?"

"No, thank you."

The servant nodded and left, and with some kind of heavy foreboding in his heart, Squall joined Earl Dincht in the strategy room.

"Good evening, Sir," the Earl greeted him as he entered, a gust of snowy air blowing over the fire.

"Good evening to you, Dincht. First of all, did we receive word from Kinneas'?"

"Not yet, Sir. I sent your new orders, and I think we'll hear from him tomorrow at the latest."

Squall nodded and stopped near the table. A couple of books had been placed there; one was a Grimoire, and the other was a book of Chronicles of Lord Vascaroon the Sage. He opened them both, leafing through the pages, as the Earl cleared his throat. "I feel compelled to mention these are forbidden books, Sir," he started. "Lady Windrider has let me borrow them because she trusts me, but she said you can't keep them for long."

"How much time do I have?" asked Squall, opening his mantle to hide the books underneath it.

"Ideally, the books should be back in the Royal Library come morning, Sir."

"I'll make sure to give them back to you tomorrow morning, Dincht. With all my gratitude to Lady Windrider."

"Is it that serious?" asked the Earl.

Squall sighed. If only he knew. If he listened to the unsettling feeling of foreboding in him, he would reply yes; but he didn't want to rely on the Earl, and having already decided the course of action he should take, he would persevere.

Still, the Earl had helped him and deserved an answer that was as close to the truth as possible. And his exchange with the Princess about the Baron was still weighing heavily on his mind.

"It depends on what Kinneas will find at the Sanctuary."

Dincht nodded. "Well," he said, rising from his seat. "You have a lot of work for tonight, and we have to meet early, so..."

"You're dismissed. Good night."

"Good night, Sir."

In his apartments, Squall undid the clasp on his mantle and threw it haphazardly on the plush chair near the fireplace. A servant had taken care of the fire, but they were used to leave him alone, now; and he could work undisturbed on his research. He set the torch in its sconce, using it to light a few candles for his writing desk. With his heart beating uncharacteristically fast, he opened the Grimoire and studied it rapidly; there was nothing of particular interest in it. Spells and incantations weren't useful; the rituals were merely guidelines for the preparation of concoctions and such; and the invocations were things he already knew everything about, having been given two Guardians at his arrival.

The Chronicles were much more interesting and much more useful.

As the Princess has recounted, they began with the legendary battle between humans and Great Hyne, and the acceptance of the magical power hidden in Hyne's body by the First Sorceress and how fragmented the power had become. It recounted how eager men, hungry for power, fought over it until Lord Vascaroon the Sage himself put a stop to that folly; and finally, Squall found the answers to the questions plaguing his mind.

The gracious Sorceress shall evoke her mastery over the arcane and ethereal forces by embarking upon a trial of valor and will; and she shall seek her one true match through a most formidable contest against those who dare to vie for her favor. Only those valiant enough to challenge her will be granted the honor to prove their worth; and only those pure of heart and with noble intentions will be chosen by Great Hyne as Knights to his Sisters in Magic. The grand duel will crown a victor, and the one who can best the Sorceress in fair combat shall be deemed worthy and recognized as her rightful consort, for the love between the Sorceress and her one true match will forge the Bond and render it eternal.

Through besting the Sorceress, the Knight will be entrusted with the sacred duty of protecting her spirit and mind; in their union, a balance shall be found between might and magic, and between mind and soul, and between will and essence, for noble heart, steadfast valor, and unbreakable honor are the sacred divine signs of Great Hyne's Chosen.

The Illustrious Sorceress and her Predestined Knight shall therefore govern together the realms of both the seen and the unseen.

Such is the Sacred Bond of Knighthood.

Squall swallowed. He read the paragraph again and again; he started back and reached that point again, in case he had missed something; and yet the answers were there. No more secrets, he had asked the Princess that afternoon; and no more secrets lay between them now. She had not been lying. She may have been naive, perhaps even fancying herself in love after their duel, and once again, he couldn't blame her. But according to the ancient and forbidden books the Princess herself had mentioned, there was no other solution to his conundrum.

He had been deemed worthy by besting the Sorceress.

He was not humble enough not to admit that he had a noble heart, steadfast valor, and unbreakable honor, and had therefore been chosen by Great Hyne.

He was not stupid enough not to realize that some Bond was already forming, had probably started forming even before the Princess finished whispering Meteor on that fated night, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

He was trapped. And even though he loathed that word, especially after the Princess had so kindly offered to free him, it was the only way to describe his situation. The silence of the world around him, interrupted only now and then by the wood crackling in his fireplace, amplified his turmoil to an impossible degree, and when he looked around the room, its opulence, albeit unpretentious enough, felt suffocating. His eyes set on the necklace the Royal Family had gifted him after his victory; a token of our respect for your abilities, came the Princess' voice, booming into his mind like the thunder he imagined while he was listening to her music. And the storm she had evoked so eloquently at her harpsichord was now raging inside him. He had fallen asleep, the night before, with a clear plan in mind; he had even lied to his comrades to obtain the information he needed; and now he realized he had hoped a little too much to find another solution - and ironically enough, tempering his hope was at the core of his entire philosophy. Independence, self-sufficiency, and a gloomy outlook on life; that was his way to avoid suffering.

So what was he feeling now?

He rose from his seat, pacing around the room. He wished he could fall asleep and stop thinking, just stop thinking; and yet, there was something rushing through his veins that made him feel as alert as ever. His eyes fell, once again, on the chain Princess Rinoa gifted him; they ran, almost feverishly, over the features of the lion's head. Proud, strong.

What he wanted to be.

The lion's head morphed into all the expectations placed upon him. The Princess, looking for a Knight in him; the Queen, looking for the end of her daughter's curse in him; the King, looking for his SeeD Commander and son-in-law in him; the Kramers, looking for their success in him; even his sister, looking for redemption and second chances in him.

And what about his expectations? What was he looking for in himself?

His life had been rocked, and he wasn't sure of anything anymore.

He let out a bitter laugh, when he realized he had made becoming the SeeD Commander his dream, without knowing what SeeD truly was. Everything was so out of sorts.

Closing his eyes, he passed a hand over his face. He was so exhausted, and maybe it would be better to just surrender. Something swelled inside him at the idea, and yet something else was still incredibly terrified. He could fulfill his destiny as Princess Rinoa's Knight, and then what? She only had six months left to live. He wasn't the kind of man made to love and be loved. He had come to terms with the idea that certain desires were not made for him, and he was fully prepared to keep living in solitude. He couldn't bear the thought of being loved and then losing that love the following day.

For now didn't work for Squall Leonhart.

But he was drawn to the Princess, and not for the kind of Bond that was already forging itself between them; even though he felt its pull, sometimes, it was faint enough that he could still resist. And he suspected the Princess wasn't forcing it as she could, if she wanted.

It was because she was different from everyone else. She was kind enough to share manual labor with servants; she was strong enough to deal with such a horrible curse; she valued independence to the point she tried to set herself free from the boundaries holding her captive; she didn't want to be a burden to anyone; and even though she made mistakes, she was willing to make amends for them.

And she had given him a choice. Even though he chose something that stunned him too, she had been the first to let him feel like he had a say in his destiny, even if that meant she would pay the ultimate price - and that said more about her character than anything else.

And he was attracted to her. To her simple beauty, to her virginal countenance, to her formidable might with the gunblade. To her talent with music. To the way she tried to accommodate his needs, too, in the farse they were forced to share. It was enough to make him terrified at the idea that it wasn't a farse anymore; it was becoming something real, something almost tangible, something that existed so much that he could almost taste it in his mouth.

He wished he could pull it out and throw it into the fire.

He couldn't surrender. His defenses couldn't crumble. The weight of his duty was overwhelming, but he would resist and stand proud; and as he said to the Princess only that afternoon, friends were made for those who could afford to be vulnerable, and love was no different. He had stopped having the privilege of being vulnerable when his mother drew her last breath, and whatever dealing with the Princess entailed, now, it would mean getting vulnerable again, and he didn't have that luxury.

He sat heavily on the bed, staring at the dying fire. There were so many things running through his mind, and he just wished he could stop thinking, but he felt like he couldn't sleep until he found another solution. It was best to deal at the best of his abilities with what had been thrown into his lap; and fulfill his duty as a Knight, while still rejecting with all his might the duty of a Husband. He wished he could say those words to the Princess, and yet he feared what he would hear in return; and he knew, even though they had only spoken a few times, even though they met only a few days before, that she would accept his decision without trying to change his mind. She had shown him so much respect, he couldn't doubt it.

He undressed, and blew on the candles at his desk, with one last, desperate look at the Chronicles of Lord Vascaroon the Sage. Then he extinguished the torch, and in the utter darkness of the room, the vast, white expanse of the snowy Cursed Lands he could see out of his windows made him swallow, and wonder how would the Princess feel, looking at those expanses every day, knowing they marked her time on the world?

He knew the dangerous path that kind of thought would take him, if he followed them. Wondering could lead to caring, and caring could lead to something more, and it would end in suffering. Isolation was much simpler, much safer, and yet, there was a growing warmth in him that he couldn't suppress.

When he fell asleep, the fleeting glance the Princess gave him when he left her music room was still lingering in his thoughts.

---

Author's note: sorry for the very long wait! I got stuck on the scene with Squall, Zell, and Irvine, and for some reason, I found inspiration for it in the last few days. Next chapter will finally introduce some action!
Standard note about English not being my first language, so please feel free to point out mistakes that Grammarly didn't find.