hate when people use titles in front of your name, and you're afraid of the power both crown and title give you. A King who rules with the fullness of his heart rather than the weight atop his head will always be a greater King than one who rules with the other or even an equal weight of both. You made those men back there believe in you without realizing that you were doing it. You were just being yourself, and yourself is always enough."

"You should take your own advice," I tell her, sitting with her words that somehow make the world look clearer.

Her cheek leaves my back, leaving it to shiver against its absence of it. "What?"

"You should be yourself because yourself is enough." Her whole face falls, and for some reason, it makes me happier to see her walls go down. I know that her walls are never down and that when they are, it's not something you should go announcing to everyone.

Calling the voices of the wind is easy enough, and soon the outside world is silent even as everyone continues to talk.

"You're stronger than you think, Clarice, and everyone knows it. There's no need to try and always prove that you're okay. It's okay not to be okay."

"Says the man who lies as easily as he lifts a sword," she quips, her expression just barely lifting in a teasing manner.

I have no response. Partially because she's got me there, but also because we'll just keep going back and forth, pointing out the flaws in our own advice. There's no point in trying to fix each other when we, ourselves, are messed up.

"I think it's time for a subject change."

She laughs, shaking her head. "Fine then. What do you say to a friendly game?"

"Like I Spy?"

"Oh, Gods no. Mak made me play that with her while I was still cooped up in my room, and I never want to play I Spy again." I glance at her again to find her eyes starting in distant horror to the east.

Now I laugh, imagining her scrunched nose when Mak wasn't looking, and her poor attempts at pretending to falsely guess what it is Mak's spot. "Then what game are we supposed to play?"

"How about...a challenge."

I glance sidelong at her, not liking the impish expression on her face. "What kind of challenge?"

"Whoever gets the other's mood to completely change in less than five words, wins."

"This isn't going to end well."

"Oh, come on, it'll be fun," she begs, poking me in the side. "Just one round?"

Saints, she's doing those puppy dog eyes again. You know the one thing I do miss about the old Clarice is that she never did this. She told you what to do and if you didn't do it then she'd pull you by the ear and force you to. It's uncanny to see her purse out her bottom lip and look up through her lashes with glistening eyes. And it's cruel because I can never say no.

"Fine - one round."

"Yay! And since I'm feeling generous, I'll let you go first."

"Do you think that's a good idea?"

She sits up straighter, her chin lifting in confidence. "Do your worst, boy King."

The name-calling has my competitiveness rising. A few ideas pop into my mind, but they just seem so harsh that I'm afraid of using them and actually hurting her feelings. The uncertainty has me wondering if she masterminded this game so that I lose. It's annoying that I don't know if it is or isn't.

On one hand, I could do my worst and win without losing some of the friendship we've recreated, but on the other, I throw it all away in five words or less. I suppose it'll be some kind of record, but that won't make my guilt feel any less acute.

I end up biting my lip for a few moments before making my decision.

Please don't fuck this up, I beg myself

I look her in the eyes and at her smug grin, and despite what I decided upon, words I didn't mean to speak leap out of my mouth. "You were one of the few I never thought would betray me."

Somewhere inside me, an emptiness hums at the sound of the words, dulling my own smirk and the gleam in my eyes. It sings its hallow tune, filling me from head to toe with its presence. I can see just how the words affect her, yet it still seems as if my own words backfired and killed me instead.

I blame her for her own capture, but I don't blame her for choosing that over any other outcome. It hurt to find out what she had done, and it hurt more when I realized that I had a group full of people who cared about my well-being surrounding me, yet I felt apart from them. Distant. Alone. I felt like the thing that once tied my whole world together had snapped. I couldn't tell anyone what it felt like to feel part of me go missing, nor could I hide it from them. It was like walking straight, only straight was a circle, and the circle was small.

"Wow," she whispers.

"I'm sorry," I apologize quickly, wincing at her blank face.

"I was wondering how long it would take before you pointed it out, though I did picture you yelling and storming off all dramatically. I'm kind of disappointed that you didn't."

I - "What?"

Her smile returns when she see my utter confusion. She's supposed to be depressed and apologizing to me, not the other way around with her shrugging in dismissal. "I kept secrets from you. I lied and schemed and I hurt you. It's okay to want to strangle me after what I did. It's understandable."

"I - I don't want to strangle you."

"Yes you do - but that's okay," she adds when I try to object again. To be honest, the words tasted like lead on my tongue. "I deserve to be yelled at."

Part of me wants to laugh because the old Clarice would've never allowed such a thing unless she was the one who yelled louder and got the last word. The other part of me wants to yell at her. She raises an eyebrow as if waiting for me to reign hell on her, but all the fight goes out of me. So long as she knows that she's to blame, I think I can hold my tongue.

For now.

"I don't hate you, you know?" I say.

"Well you might not now, but you will in a minute."

"Oh, really?" There's that smug expression again. "Alright then. Try not to wound me too badly."

She starts looking around slowly which makes me kind of nervous. She clearly already knows what it is she wants to say, so why is she dragging it out? Why wait to make your move?

Her eyes find mine again and I suddenly get a chilling feeling.

"Willdred. Maron."

I knew this fucking game was rigged. She didn't even have to say his last name before my hands clenched into fists and my jaw started to work itself. Two words. She got me in two words, and her laugh is only making it worse. "You cheated."

"I did not!"

"Liar."

"You're just mad because I knew how to pin you without actually attacking you personally," she boasts.

"No, I'm mad because you cheated."

"I didn't cheat."

"Yes, you did."

"Nope."

"I'll agree to disagree." She must agree to disagree too seeing as she doesn't respond. I try not to make it look like she obviously won, but it's hard to stop my jaw from working and my grip on the reins lose. Especially when I look over at said asshole and find him yawning on top of his horse.

I'm sorry. Are we boring him? Is none of this exciting enough for his demented mind and tendencies?

"Darius?"

"Hmm," I mumbled, still glaring at him. I hate that the clothes we've loaned him fit him so well. He should be in rags and as skinny as a stick. He's already pale, but he could be paler and blue-lipped to my satisfaction.

"Darius," Clarice says more intensely.

I turn to her harshly, slightly annoyed that he got under my skin without doing anything or saying anything. I fucking hate him with an unrelenting deep passion.
"What?"

I expect her to get mad at my tone, but instead, her features soften. "Why do you hate him so much?"

"Many reasons." I look straight ahead, not wanting to look her in the eyes and risk her reading every word I don't want to speak, and because if I look at him again, I'll end up turning him into roast without the spit.

"That being..."

I sigh. "That being reasons which justify all of our actions and hostility towards him."

"I don't hate him."

"You should."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because what?"

"Just - because." She doesn't pry again, and I try and take a few breaths to calm down the anger rising. I shouldn't take my anger out on her, though she kind of deserves it for letting him live for so long. Just months ago she was breaking his bones and mauling his skin because she was so angry at him for all that he had done. Now she defends him and says that he doesn't deserve punishment. It's all so confusing and angering.

Her arms tighten around my waist and her cheek settles against my back again. It's moments like these when her body is pressed against mine that makes me want to just pull her into my lap and hold her there forever. That's all I want to do most of the time when anger and stress aren't dragging their claws against my skin. Hold her. Never let her go. Not have to worry about the shadows nearby leaping out to slit our throats. Just...us. In peace.

"I didn't mean to make you so angry," she apologizes.

I shake my head at the vulnerability in her voice alone."It's not anger."

"Liar. I saw that vein in your arms pop out. You were angry." She takes hold of my hand, loosening the still tight grip before taking my wrist in her hand and running her thumb against the vein at its center. I furrow my brows at it, wondering how neither of us noticed it before. Or maybe she did notice and just never mentioned it, tucking the small fact away for herself.

"I was angry with myself, not you." Though my anger slowly disappears with every stroke of her thumb against my pulse.

Her chin shifts to sit on my shoulder, or attempt to. With me on the saddle and her a few inches lower on Melody's back, it brings up a challenge. On I end up finding cute. "Why were you angry at yourself? I'm the one to blame."

"No, you did what you thought was right," I correct. "I cannot blame you for that. And I was angry because..."

"Because...what?"

"Fear." Saying it out loud makes it hard to admit anything else. It's like I've given her my most tightly wrapped secret, and now that I've done it I want to take it back. I don't want to say anything else out of fear - which is ironic - and I don't want to admit to anything else that I, myself, can't handle knowing.

Her thumb stops its pattern which only has me wanting to jump off and walk for a few miles. I feel so...exposed. As if everyone can see the hollow shape of my face and its worry lines. I've built a shell around me like a snail, and I hide in it and use it to keep the soft things protected. But snails are small and slow with progress. I want to be a cheetah, fast, quick-witted, and fully capable of defending myself. I want to be how she is. Tough and brave. Unafraid to try something new or do something wild. I don't want to explain, but now I feel the need to. I want to explain so that she doesn't assume. I don't want her to think of me as a coward, I just...I'm human. Ish.

Gods, it still hasn't hit me that I'm technically immortal. I definitely don't feel immortal.

"Everything was...normal before all of this," I tell her. "I had my future laid out for me, my lines were written, and then you and your brother came along and threw it all off of the table. It was strange to not know what would happen next for once in my life. Then...well, things changed. What I thought would be a bit of fun turned into something else, and suddenly I began to fear for everything that was suddenly happening. I began to miss the simplicity of before. I missed the legacy I was going to be handed and the everyday repetitive life of a Prince, all because when I was being told what to do, I at least knew that no matter what I did, it'd still be there. With you and your brother and your countless possibilities, anything was possible. Even death and despair and loss. I'm fearful because a thing I once chased after to feel, is something I now run away from to never feel again.

"I don't hate that you saved him, I fear what your choice may bring. I fear that he's not what he seems to be. He could be bad and acting good, or good acting bad. It's scary not knowing which one it is. It's scary not knowing if he's going to slit your throat the next time you talk to him. It's scary now knowing if our powers will be enough to stop all of this or to keep us all alive. We train day and night, but how are we supposed to trust that it'll be enough?

"I'm only angry because fear is driving me. Not pride or love, but fear. How am I supposed to lead kingdoms and armies bravely into battle when I, myself, am fearful for what's to come?"

"Easy. Don't hide your fear." She says it so simply that I turn around again. There's no fear there, no concern or doubt to drop her certainty. How does she do it? "People become more nervous when they see you trying to hide your fear. If they see you just as scared as they are, yet still determined to stand, they'll fight. The people love you, Darius. Fearful or brave they'll stand alongside you."

"Why?" I ask her genuinely wanting to know why anyone would do something so idiotic.

"Because you'll still step in front of them to protect them even when they do. Because you'll travel every inch of the continent to look for them, and then burn a whole kingdom down to get them back. Because you'll never give up on them and you'll be there to make sure they never give up on themselves. And because...well because I'll be right there with you to make sure you don't do anything stupid - and don't try to deny that you won't. I've seen your friends, Great King, and they're not necessarily the brightest bunch."

She looks over her own shoulder to look at the Bhaltayr. They're likely doing something stupid to prove her point without realizing it, but I don't look at them. I just look at her.
She's been through the gates of the underworld more times than one would think possible, and yet she still smiles and jokes and laughs as if there's nothing to truly worry about in the world. She shines so brightly that one might mistake her for a Goddess. She may be changed, may not have her memory, and yet she still manages to make everyone around her feel loved and special. I've always been in awe of her, but...I don't know. This feels different. It feels...strange.

She turns back, laughing at something she saw. Her eyes meet mine and I take in the wide smile and gleaming eyes. I usually look away, embarrassed to have been caught staring. Not this time. This time I can't help but stare, admiring the moment and the strength of the woman in front of me. If you told me three months ago that the Ebony NIghtingale would be named a Queen, I would've laughed in your face and given you a gold coin for making me piss in my pants from the laughter.

Two months ago, however, I had already given her the title without knowing it. Heathens, not because I had fallen for her and wanted her to marry me - she's been in enough chains, physical and invisible - but because she deserved it. She earned it, bled for it, cried for it, sacrificed for it. She's as strong as a leader should be and wiser than any King can ever claim to be. She thinks of others before herself and cherishes their gifts whether it be wrapped in a box or the simple sound of their laughter.

I can't force her to take the title, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't love saying it before her name. Even if she refused the crown and its responsibilities, she'd always be a Queen to the people, and - with the way she looks now and the way she inspires me - a Queen to me.

"What?"

I don't answer right away, which only has her expression going from blushy to concerned. I still love it when she blushes.

"Darius?"

It's easy enough to find the voice and feel my fingers tingle in anticipation. The wind barrier falls bringing the echo of conversations back around us, and fire sparks at my fingers before lighting on top of her head, forming a crown. I admire it for a second before proudly facing forward to find the Ginerva and Kat all looking back at us. They each bow their heads and put two fingers to their brow, Mak winking before returning to their conversation.

That buzzing feeling when another element is being used thrums through my body and I look down to find her hand open, palm up. A thin blue mist floats over her fingers, and then I feel something move against my forehead. I don't have to look to know it's a crown of her own making sitting in front of my brow. That buzzing feeling is still there though the mist is now gone from her hand, and it settles into my skin within seconds.
I glance up to find Kalla soaring up before freefalling down towards Víđarr. He runs back towards us, eyes shining brighter than before. Kalla shrinks as she dives until she's the size of a large macaw. She swoops beneath Víđarr's running paws before pulling up again right in front of his face, wings at full extension, his golden eyes peeking just above her wings.

She's right. I can't hide my fear nor try to let it rule me. Kalla and Víđarr remind us of that, and they remind us of how even the impossible can become possible, so long as we're willing to try.

*****

"You're smiling." Garrison stands over my shoulder, arms crossed as we both watch Víđarr chase after Clarice and Roseia in his smaller form. It's like a puppy chasing its owner.

"You act as if I've never smiled a day in my life," I respond.

"Not recently you haven't," he argues.

"I have too."

"Not like that."

"Like what?"

"Like we're not walking towards a war that will end in death." Well, I'm not smiling anymore. "I didn't mean to remind you, just answer your question."

"It's alright. You're right, by the way. I'm not worried about the war - not right now, at least."

"Hmm." I look at him, finding his eyes squinting and a small, pleased smile of his own on his face.

"What?"

"You're falling for her all over again." I open my mouth to deny it, but I end up closing it and returning to watching her laugh as Víđarr jumps for her feet. "It's not a bad thing, Darius."

No. No, it isn't. I fell for her once and it's still a good feeling, it's just a different feeling this time. Last time it felt like big booming fireworks and a grand ball full of dancing people, lively music, bright colors, and pure joy. This time it's more like a slow dance. Rhythmic and gliding, a single voice singing above the string and woodwind instruments. It's smoother, but it feels more like falling than the first time.

"Maybe I was wrong."

"About what?" I ask distantly.

"You're not falling for her. You've already fallen."

Maybe I have. Maybe that's why it feels different. It's hard to tell seeing as I've never felt like this before, but if I had to think of a feeling that was at least close to it, this would be it. This warm feeling in my chest isn't the fire element. The way the breeze slows when she smiles and dances through the strands of her hair. How every beam of the sun that shines over and around her makes it look like she's wearing a halo over her head, and bathes her in gold and yellow hues.

Maybe I have fallen, and maybe it'll get me into some serious trouble, but I think I can handle the trouble. I think we all can.

I take a moment to look at the Bhaltayr who are all watching nearby too, not saying a word, just watching Clarice and Víđarr as I am. The sentinels talk about how kind and brave she is and none of them comment otherwise. They just