On the day of Alexei's departure, we hold one last meeting in our designated room. Karim stands at the head of the table with shelves stocked full of books I've never read behind him. He lectures on our future temple—one that has yet to have official approval from the Goddess's priests—and speaks rapidly of tasks I have no experience with.

This time Alexei and I sit next to one another. At first I thought it a thoughtless coincidence; Alexei wasn't paying attention when he sat down, but no matter the reason for our proximity, I struggle to pay attention to Karim because of it. Alexei's arm lays across the table between us as his other hand rests along the top of another chair. He watches Karim and I watch him.

My eyes trail a vein winding through his inkings and down his forearm then study the large, attractive nature of his hand. My ogling is rebuked when Alexei glances at me, so I catch the end of Karim's sentence: "...however, we cannot commence construction until winter's end because of the frost."

I effectively question, "Because of the frost?"

"Frost prevents the mortar from binding," Alexei tells me.

"Oh?"

"Karim, you've managed plenty of planning in very little time," Alexei says, facing back to him, "but, before we leave, I'd like to finish the contract."

Karim clasps his hands together. "Oh, yes, of course. I have the most recent draft implementing alterations made yesterday." He shuffles through his parchments and draws out a small stack. "If this version requires little tweaking, then official copies can be written and signed when we return."

"Then let's do just that, shall we?" I mutter and take my copy when Alexei passes it to me.

Even as they discuss our agreement, my mind fixates on the fact that Alexei is leaving today—probably after this very meeting. I hoped such a drastic separation wouldn't faze me, but as the hours drain, I heed a sense of panic spreading within. I reach for a cup and pour water into it from the jug sitting off to the side. My hand quivers as I drink, and Alexei glances again.

The meeting concludes once our draft has no more flaws to extract. Karim and Alexei's two other men gather the documents and leave to ready for departure. I remain seated, and Alexei does as well, but I speak before he can present a reason for doing so. His want for a private conversation can prove to be my execution or resurrection—I cannot entertain the risk.

"Well," I stall, "I suppose I will see you when you return."

Now adjusted to face me, Alexei answers without haste. "This is goodbye?"

"Yes. I won't be coming to the gate."

"How come?"

I roll my lips together. "It will hurt."

The second I say such words, I am enveloped in regret. My surprise in my own confidence shows through my wide eyes and parted mouth, and I push my seat back. "Anyway, you should prepare and set off before the day is lost, so, goodbye, Alexei."

I stand but pause because he says, "I don't want you to be in discomfort, you know that, don't you?"

My fingers clamp the backrest of the chair hard enough to make them stiff. My chest rises and falls—the only movement for some moments—as I contemplate the most reckless things. Alexei doesn't waver and waits for me to do or say anything, but I can't—not the things I yearn to do most of all. "In a sense I do, but pain is a part of our job."

"I doesn't have to be, not for you."

"So you're going to take my pain away?"

Alexei rises. "You keep too much from me."

"What I keep from you is beyond your reach. I-It is as inescapable as our mate bond and as—"

"Brea," he interjects and takes my hand. My chest ignites and my hand melts in his own. "What is keeping you from telling me?"

My lips downturn as my heart lurches. "I cannot trust you."

"Do you believe I'll be angry with you?"

I restrain myself from spewing any more because I cannot fall into the trap of his affection and understanding. I cannot tell him what he wants to hear and burn for it. My heartache plagues my senses and numbs my fingertips, but I cannot break down here.

"I'll see you in a few days," I murmur and release my hand from the only comfort I've felt in a long while.

I swallow my frustrations and force myself to exit the room even though his stare is demanding I stay. I force each step down the corridor the opposite way of the gate and force myself to be stronger than this.

Alexei has the same bond as I, yet he seems to have no quarries with leaving. He doesn't look tired because he tosses and turns all night, and he surely doesn't turn red and blubber pitiful things like, "It will hurt." Two hundred years of war and leadership are destined to riddle him with his own inescapable pains, yet he radiates perfection.

Why can I not be as compelling? Solid and unreadable and certain?

In my chambers, I fill my bath as I used to before receiving my demon men. It is easy to quiet my mind with laborious chores, but my thoughts are louder now than they tend to be. He is leaving at this very moment, and I repetitively picture him passing through the gate, not peering back.

I step into the bath—one steady leg first—and shut my eyes. The water is an all-consuming caress, warm and so alive with my desires that my skin isn't anymore wet than it is worshiped by his touch. I lower the entirety of my body into the bath as if he is laying behind me, sliding his arms across my stomach to will me the slightest bit closer. But my daydreams never feel real for long enough. When I open my eyes, I fall against the tub and he sinks away. I touch myself to spark any sense of him, but nothing I do will be enough for I cannot mimic what I've never felt. So I sink, too.

Maybe we can find each other at the bottom.

The bond strains and aches as Alexei tears himself from me. Each step his wolf takes is a thread splitting and falling loose, so I surface and massage my heart to soothe it. These feelings are due to worsen until he returns, but I'll distract myself and then assure him of my well-being when he does. What is it but another lie?

A routine knock sounds at my apartment doors after my bath. Made decent by the cover of my winter robe, I answer to find a housekeeper, and she greets me with a meek nod and smile. "Good afternoon, Alpha. I have come to inform you that the tailor for the dresses you've ordered requires new measurements."

"Oh, alright," I say and fold my arms under my chest. "You may arrange an appointment here in the keep for tomorrow morning. I'd prefer it be before I enter my study so as to not interrupt my work."

The housekeeper nods again. "I will contact the tailor and tell her of your specifications. Thank you, Alpha. That is all."

I send her off with my own polite nod before retreating and shutting the door. It was an impulsive decision to order new dresses similar in style or color to the one Alexei chose, and I won't be able to wear them without being so obvious, but I'll keep them for myself, possibly to wear once Alexei has forgotten about the original. Besides, now that I've been wearing dresses so regularly again, I'll need to replace the ones that no longer fit.

My fingers sneak under my robe and my hand massages one particular spot on the plain of my chest where the bond tenses again. The discomfort is out of reach under impenetrable bone, but I continue my nursing and begin to dress.

The day will stretch on, and my night will offer no peace, but I'll sleep in a cradle of pillows much too soft to be his arms and dream of a place where my body isn't spoiled—where I am as high up as the storm clouds and as chilling as them too.

~•~

The skies are clear today and bluer in tone than the winter normally permits. I wake with sunlight in my windows and warmth on my blankets. I lean on the windowsill as I gaze out at the roofs of the city, and they sparkle elegantly with the moderate amount of snow that fell feebly overnight. Protected poorly by my nightdress, I draw open the doors to my terrace and step carelessly onto the frozen, snow-dusted stone barefooted.

The weather may be tame, but the temperature is vicious. My limbs curl inward to preserve the heat from my bed, but my lungs awaken and appreciate the frigid air unlike any part of my body.

I squint to observe any alarming clouds on the horizon, yet I can see the Living Mountains—rarely seen distinctly until summer—which are named after their prismatic appearance caused by a high content of labradorite. My mother told my brother and me that when the mountains shine yellow, they are pleased, and when they shine blue, they are upset. Some of the peaks flash purple around midsummer, and my mother said this is because the mountains love the heat of the sun most of all.

I argued that purple was not a color of love—red is the color of love.

She disagreed.

The appointment for my measurements is to take place in the room equipped for fittings. The keep used to employ a personal tailor, but the position faded after my mother died. Many feminine facets of the keep were covered with white sheets and never restored. Gardens sprawled and withered with the cold, never readied for the spring, and time spent as a family was redirected to my father and brother's obsession with the war.

They left me to myself for three months as I mourned our mother. Tabitha distracted me with her enchanting ways—reading stones and performing innocent rituals gave me something to wonder about. She'd bloom roses from cups of dirt set in the center of four candles, then she'd throw the flower into the air and it burst into a downpour of petals.

I recall the velvet feel of the petals when I would reach to pluck one from the air. I'd rub it between my pointer finger and thumb then smell its fragrance, one Tabitha mimicked after my mother's oils.

I enter the old fitting room and find a lone girl sitting on a stool at the farthest mirror. She turns her head away from me to rid her face of what I assume are tears, so I hesitate. She cannot be much younger than I.

"Miss?"

She springs up and fans her blushed cheeks. "Excuse me, Alpha."

"I don't recognize you," I say and ease over. "You're here for my measurements? You're the tailor?"

"My mother was your tailor, Alpha, but she died very recently."

The girl tidies her red curls then brushes out the wrinkles in her skirt. I wait at the mirror's platform and ask, "And you are alright? The loss of a mother is tragic, and I can have my measurements—"

"No, please, you must excuse my tears because there is something crucial that I need to tell you."

My head pulls back. "I'm sorry?"

"My mother—"

The main doorway which I came through opens just enough for a housekeeper to enter discreetly; regardless, she captures our complete attention and scurries over to hand me a letter. "From Alpha Tophet," she discloses then hurries out of the room as if noting the strange air.

I look at the front of the letter—a standard parchment which would be sent quickly by messenger—and I read my name written by him. My nail teases the edge of the letter, daring to open it without scrutinizing.

"Alpha," the tailor's daughter draws me back to the floor. "It's urgent. It's about your witch."

I clench the letter and question, "My witch? Now, darling, you may want to tread carefully. A young she-wolf as yourself should have no business with such things."

"My mother was one too. They were friends before she turned on her." The girl's face scrunches again and tears drip from her puffy eyes. "She killed my mother just as she did the Alpha and your brother!"

"I've heard everything, Alpha. She spoke with my mother about all her plans. S-She needed them to die so you would become Alpha. I was," she wipes her tears, "always at the top of the steps; their talking would wake me in the middle of the night."

"I'm sorry, but I knew I had to tell you to make things right. They found my mother's body in a pigpen four miles from our shop just this morning. The Goddess blessed me by—by having your measuring this afternoon. Your witch is an evil, evil monster. You must do something, please. M-my mother is dead all because of her, and my mother had nothing to do with the deaths in your family. She warned Tabitha not to do it! I heard her tell her!"

"Please!" I command and then take some steps backward. A breath shoots down my throat just before my hand can cover my mouth. The letter crumples further, but I don't let go; its crinkling keeps me from slipping away. "Just for a moment...please."

The girl straightens and leaves her leftover tears to fall. I find my breath and stare into the space before me, but every rational thought can hardly make it through the culminating turmoil.

"You're a witch?" I ask the girl.

She shakes her head, obliging.

"Have you seen your mother's witchcraft?"

She looks me over, inspecting for something magical, then nods only once. I waste no time before swiping my hand and summoning my men, not bothering with staging and instead calling them right in front of me. The girl keeps her chin to her chest, and her hair curtains to ward against temptation. Carden and Larris are things she would rather not see, or, perhaps her mother has taught her well.

"Find Tabitha," I direct them first, pausing to breathe properly after a staggered breath. "And make sure she doesn't escape you."

Carden and Larris turn a heavy shoulder and proceed toward the doors.

"Come with me," I tell the girl, and she peeks from under her hair. "We will find a housekeeper to bring you to the dining hall for something to eat. Do you have any other family in the city?"

The girl shakes her head. "They say I'll go to the orphanage."

"Well, then let's find you somewhere to stay here, alright? These walls know how to care for a girl left alone."

I motion for her, and she obeys.

"Thank you, Alpha."

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This part was not as long as the others, but I am so excited for the next update. Even though I'm going through finals right now, I'm working on this story a lot, so I'm hopeful that the next chapter will be up soon. Thank you for all your sweet comments!