"People aren't meant to be saved, they are made to be loved."

"And if I can't save you? What then?"

"Then the sun will rise the next morning, and you will live the life everyone else fears because there is no one more capable of doing so than you."

"You barely know me."

"I don't need to. I trust you."

I block Henry's blow and use the momentum to get him off balance before swinging for his legs with one of my own. He reacts quickly enough to jump and avoid the kick, but I'm not fast enough to block his fist that manages to hit me in the ribs. I recover quickly, launching an attack to force him onto the defensive.

"You said you trust me. Why?"

"Because you've earned it."

"How?"

"You've done nothing to show me that you don't. You've saved my life more times than I can count, stayed with me, and pulled me out when the nightmares get rough and I wake up wanting to chop your head off. My trust isn't held by many people, but I'd be a liar if I said I don't trust you."

Henry stays standing, meeting my every blow with a block. Blow after blow and he still stands. Sparks fly as our swords meet. Again and again. The sparks have my power clawing to get out. It needs to. I need to. I need to run or drown in ice. I need-

Henry's elbow finds my gut, and I duck before his sword can behead me, landing my own blow to his side. I don't let up, swiping at his feet again, catching his ankle enough to get him on his back. He rolls before I can plunge my sword down, and then I'm on my back, and he pins my arm - but doesn't get the second pinned quickly enough. We roll and wrestle for the upper hand until we separate and stand, and then we're going again. Punch after punch. Swing after deflection, and again, my power sings in my veins, burning the blood to a boil.

"What you look like won't change my mind. I don't need to know your face to know you'll be here when I need you."

"I know. But I trust you."

I trust you.

I swing harder, causing the sparks to be more than just tiny lights and rather large firebugs that take longer than half a second to be put out. I feel Henry's arm falter under my next blow, but I don't stop.

I trust you.

"Darius I-"

I trust you.

"Darius-"

Just...trust me.

"Darius - dammit-" I swing again, but this time he sidesteps and kicks me in the side, shoving me off balance. I turn-

Pain explodes in my jaw, and I stumble a step.

No other blow comes, nor any sound of one. My hand's already touching my nose, coming away with a red blotch on it. I clench my jaw and ignore the agony that bursts at the friction of my teeth and spin, my fist clenched as I whirl, only to find Henry already there and staring down at me. The look in his eyes stops my arm from releasing the blow it so badly wants to land.

"Do it," he orders. His jaw is clenched just as tightly as mine. "Go ahead. Hit me. Let it out, Darius."

My anger rises in response, but it never acts upon it. That's when I notice the silence that's entombed us. Everyone's stopped their own sparring to turn and face us, all of them have left the other two rings to draw closer to the one we're in.

"Whatever you're feeling, let it out. Set yourself on fire if you have to - set the entire city on fire."

My power pulses and I feel it's strongly tempted to do just that. To explode and burn everything it could possibly touch to ashes and leave nothing behind.

"Let. It. Out."

Rather than do just that, everything does the opposite. My power fissures out, my anger dulling enough for me to take a deep breath and calm my breathing and shaking hands. Sweat beads on my brow and in my palms. The pain in my jaw begins to slowly set back in as the adrenaline wears off. I close my eyes to gather my thoughts, but those words - those fucking words - still echo in my head.

He steps closer to me slowly, keeping his voice low so only I can hear it. "There is an entire army, and an entire city full of hopeful people who look up to you outside of these walls. They'll sense your anger, and they'll mistake it as fear. The last thing they need is a reason to be more fearful than they already are. And they especially don't need their King, to be in the wrong headspace as he leads them to march towards the southern border to prepare for a potential war. You fighting on nothing but anger will get us nowhere but to a damn funeral for a King who didn't even live long enough to rule for longer than a month. You're better than this, Darius. We leave in two hours. So get it. The fuck. Together."

I meet his stare, defiance undoubtedly filling my gaze. But it too disappears within a blink, and all the tension leaves my body. Well, almost all of it, but at least I'm not going to punch anyone.

"He's right." I look to Lachester but quickly find myself downcasting my eyes. It's not him. It's who stands next to him. "You're a King now, Darius - and not only that, you're a King who's looking to unite all the kingdoms of Ker on one united front line. You have no room to show fear or weakness. Not when our future starts now. That responsibility doesn't lie with just him, however," he states louder so it's clear that he's talking to everyone now.

"It is expected of all of you. The Kings and Queens of Ker will only ally themselves with the strongest, which means they'll be especially determined to find even one weakness within you. If one of you is weak, then all of Thralia and Vandaria are weak. You must remember that. The second you step out of these walls, you'll have thousands of hundreds of eyes upon you to catch every stumble and trip you take. This is what ruling a kingdom means. This is what war means. This is what fighting for peace and prosperity looks like, and it will never come unless you are willing to do what it takes to earn it. I'm not telling you all to push down your emotions and keep a neutral face on. Neutral faces help no one and nothing, especially now. Especially when people will be looking for smiles and reassurance. What I am telling you, is to use your anger as fuel when fighting the enemy - and only the enemy.

"The worst kind of war isn't one so big as the Great War. It's a civil war. If you bring division within yourselves, you'll have lost the war before the actual fighting has even begun. And then what? What will you do? Your biggest strength is working together. Your biggest weakness is allowing yourself to deny that and allowing for it to become something The Eternal can sink his teeth into. You are a King. And you are a Queen. And the rest of you are not only the royal guard but the guard of the people of both Vandaria and Thralia. Come what may you have none but one duty, and that is to protect the kingdom and everyone within it. And should another kingdom use their brain and smartly join us, then that duty will extend to them and their people. That is your duty, but that does not have to be the reason you fight.

"You have two hours to figure out why you're fighting - why you have been fighting. Don't waste a single minute of it, and don't disappoint me. If you do, you'll find that my own anger will be a worse opponent than anything that old fucking bastard the underworld created can be."

"That's for sure," Rohana agrees.

"Watch it," he warns, shoving a finger in her direction. "Now begone," he directs to the rest of us. "You all need to bathe and be ready for your journey. Maybe bathe twice for good measure. You all stink of shit, rot, and dejection. It's utterly pathetic."

"We are your humble servants, grandmaster," Gabe jests, sketching a rather grand and dramatic bow. The older man scowls down at him but doesn't move to lift the stick he still holds.

Gabe claps loudly twice, summoning attention. "Now come on people, you heard the ancient carcass. Time to bathe!"

I feel Lachester's stick cut through the air and whack Gabe hard on his upper arm. That'll surely bruise.

"Run!" Gabe starts running, Ethan following when Lachester lifts his stick to swing at him too for laughing at Gabe's name-calling.

Everyone slowly follows after that, walking sluggishly behind them. We woke up earlier today, knowing we'd have to leave around eight bells for the border. The troops are going to move slower than a smaller group of us could, but it'll work to our advantage to make our arrival time as latest as it can be.

Showing our strength on this border will also help to convince the other kingdoms that we're ready to fight. It's not the largest of armies, but hopefully it'll be enough to make allies and double or triple, or multiply those numbers exponentially. Six days from now, The Eternal will flip over one of his cards, but it won't be all of them, which is why we need the support. We can't do this alone and I need to do the work of buttering up my fellow rulers and playing the many games that come with being a King.

But this isn't a game. War isn't a game, it's a matter of life and death, and that is not a thing to take lightly. I can't lie when it comes down to talking to people whose numbers, loyalty, and trust we need, not when they'll be looking for even the slightest of reasons to leave us to our own defenses and ally with each other instead.

Lies are unforgivable, no matter how the person who lied justifies it.

I've lied plenty in my life, but that doesn't mean that those times that I did, and the times which I most likely will in the future are justifiable and not wrong. They are wrong and will be wrong, no matter what reasons I believe myself to be supportive of the fact. Nothing good comes from lies, even when we think it's the lesser of two evils.

Clarice lied to me about what she planned to do on the night of the Elysian Ball, and she ended up getting tortured and losing her memory, and the rest of us suffered through worry and pain in a different sense, but we suffered nonetheless. I know why she did it, and I will admit that I would've done the same thing, but lies shouldn't be kept from someone who you said you trusted. If she trusted me, she would've told me. She would've included me in her decision despite the likelihood of my standing in opposition to her plan. I mean Gods know I would've never been able to stop her. Gods know that when Clarice puts her mind to something, she doesn't let it go until it's complete.

She said from the first day we all met her that she would train us to fight against someone like her, and she did. Even when she knew she wouldn't be able to, she made sure that Lance did. She kept true to her words and ensured that we could last longer than our enemies would think us to last.

She fought. Because she never stops fighting.

Funny. I went from being so angry that I nearly knocked out one of my oldest friends, to melancholy as I lower myself into my basin full of lukewarm water to bathe. At least I won't scrub my skin so hard that it turns red and becomes tender later.

I think as I remove the dirt and grime, running the bar of soap over my body twice to rid of stray dirt and the shit, rot, and dejection Lachester claimed we stunk of. Something tells me that The Bhaltayr are doing the same. Despite our - or rather my - outlandish behavior in the past, we all run off of orders given to us by mentors and teachers. I may be a King, but if Lachester tells me to do fifty pushups for a snarky remark, then I'll get on the ground and do fifty pushups in front of y Kingdom with my crown on my head, and dressed in all the regalia our treasury could hold.

I'm a King, yes, but I'm not a King who has a stick up his ass and thinks so highly of himself that I'm below such menial tasks and people. I don't want to be that King.

Once I finish, I find Thomas already in the bedroom, my clothing for the day laid out across the bed while the elemental crown, two rings - one with the crest of Vandaria painted on the onyx stone, and the other painted with Thralia's on a white agate, - and a new livery collar that's gold and intricately designed to have the shape of a phoenix on each link, sitting on cushions on the vanity. That last touch was likely Thomas's own touch. He's the only one who would've asked and had such a thing made.

He leaves me to put on my own clothes and returns just as I finish to help with the jacket, the annoyingly red, heavy, fox-furred lined cloak, and then the accessories.

"Is it essential to wear this damn thing?" I grumble, trying to shift my shoulders under the weight of the cloak.

"You won't be complaining when it keeps you warm against the cold," he answers, not looking up from where he clasps the cloak's buckle.

"It's not that cold."

A hint of a smile shows on his face as he turns and reaches for the leather gloves that are likely also lined in fur. "It will be, and you won't be riding at a fast enough pace that would normally keep you warm on your own. You'll be trotting at the most, which will keep you plenty exposed to the winter chill, and the cloak is long and thick enough to extend its warmth to Melody. A mare, I might add, who has a tendency to have quite the attitude when trudging in cold weather."

He's not lying. Melody loathes the cold, but I'll keep the both of us warm. "It seems you've forgotten that I can literally sustain my own body heat, as well as those of others around me," I point out.

He gives me a glare as he adjusts the livery collar to sit perfectly on my shoulders. I can't even notice the weight of it thanks to the weight of the coat. "The people will expect a spectacle when they see you. They need to know that you intend to hold up the vow you make during your coronation."

"I haven't had my coronation yet."

"No, but now's a better time than ever to prove that you'll protect them to your dying breath and that when you do speak those words one day, no one will be able to question them. And you will speak those words, Darius."

He slides the rings on over the gloves and then puts the pin with Vandaria's crest over my heart. Next, come the boots, which I have to hold onto a bedpost to keep my balance while lifting one foot for him to slide just a single boot on.

"I'm not sure how the people of Vandaria will react to me wearing that crown rather than that of normal tradition."

He looks down at it with me, angling his head as if considering. "There are Thralians and Vandarians alike currently occupying the castle and the streets outside of it. Neither care which crown you wear. They only care that you're here, and you're leaving to fight. Will there be a few who would question this crown?" he asks rhetorically. "Yes, but their opinions are only that. Opinions. Not fact, and they'll surely change once they hear of who you are as a King."

"And who am I as a King?" I prompt. Because I have no idea.

I don't want to be my father, and yet I can't help but feel like I'm turning into him every passing day. My father lost his soul, and I feel as if I'm losing mine. My emotions are becoming lesser, and my anger is still the only thing that I can truly feel with such surety. I care for the well-being of others, I do, but there's no emotion or connection there, only a sense of what's right and wrong and how I'll always choose right. People tell you to follow your heart because it'll never lead you astray, but what happens when your heart no longer speaks? My mind is the only thing that I can listen to because it's the only thing that's talking. My heart has stopped whispering its desires and needs, and now only beats because it has to pump blood through my body to keep me alive.

So what kind of King am I?

Thomas sighs, stepping in front of me so that I'm forced to look at him and not the flaming crown. "You're a King who needs no crown for people to simply know and trust in the title that stands before your name. You're a King which the people chose long ago, and waited for despite what they had to live through to get here. You're a King who fights for the innocent and the good because it's the right and just thing to do, and no one could ever debate otherwise with you because they would lose. You're a King who constantly worries about being a bad King, which makes you an even better one for it. You're a King that would rather pick up a sword and stand in front of the front line, rather than be kept behind his entire army and people and locked in a cellar to ensure his safety and chances of living. You fight for those you love, and it's because of that love that you'll be a King who's remembered for eons as one of the many Greats - if not the Great."

I scoff at the ridiculous claim, not entirely sure that I'd want to be called that, let alone carry the pressure of it. Thomas ignores it, turning back to the crown that lies on its cushion.

"It doesn't matter what was nor even what is. It matters what you plan to do to ensure that what could be, is what happens." He picks up the crown, turning it until the front faces him. "This crown is the mark of the Pater Princeps, yes, but it'll soon become the symbol of two kingdoms united. It'll become the symbol of stories told throughout history. Stories full of how one kingdom was lost and burned, and another welcomed them into their own homes. Of how its King - and its Queen who was not only chosen by the people but by the King's heart long before any title or name was given-" I downcast my eyes at his implication "-brought about peace between two kingdoms that hadn't been done before. People will look to this moment in history - to this crown, for the hope that the rest of the world will follow its example is proving that peace and acceptance of adversity are possible. That's what this crown means, but that's also what your name will carry. That's the kind of King that you already are."

I have no words for a response as he places the crown on my head. It doesn't shift this time, having already settled onto my head once before, and slides on perfectly.

Maybe he's right. I mean, the Vandarians didn't really have a choice in accepting that the Thralians are now a part of Vandaria, but I haven't heard of any fights or protests against the decision. Then again, the people have larger problems to deal with at the moment. Perhaps after the war their opinions will take root and spring to life, but that's a problem for a future date, and I believe that I can fix the problem before it arises.

He spoke the truth, even about...about my heart having chosen Clarice before I knew of her bloodline and rightful title of Queen of Thralia. Gods even with her words - those fucking words that make this pit in my chest feel like it's swallowing me whole - I still...I don't know. I don't know what comes next between us, especially not with everything to consider, but I want...I want to fight for it. I've always fought for it as soon as my subconscious knew it was there, and I don't want to stop now.

There's just...there are limits to how much I can take.

Yesterday, when she said those words, a hundred thoughts swarmed my head so quickly and so violently that I felt my chest closing. I felt the world caving in and causing my breath to turn rampant and hard to come by. My hands shook within seconds of turning and walking away, and every muscle in my body tensed as all those thoughts made me want to scream. It took me serious self-control to keep myself in somewhat composure long enough for me to make it to my chambers and jump into the basin of cold water, clothes and all. Garrison and Henry were the only two who followed me in, the others posted in the hallway. They calmed me down, then left me to change and find some sleep before evening training started. I didn't get sleep, as