---

Odersten had been haunted by banshees of hunger, once wailing spirits belonging to men and women whose waists withered.  Malice that had begun to leech into the streets like a vile, rotten waste permeated the impoverished sectors of the city.  Some of it was cut away and bodies began to accrue where happiness once dwelled.  The corpses of children, of the famished, were carted from their homes.  Many in the city were still oblivious to the dangers of the Red Queen's rule, of her dominion on the farming town of Dunmeath.  They were preoccupied with their entitlement, their glistening gold that could sustain their stomachs despite the famine sweeping over Vufrien.

Too, were they busied by the fliers bolstering with enchanting font the union of one house Lyon and the chosen broodmare for house Beleveron, Arabella.

Not many knew her real name.  For a time, neither did she.  Only recently did we discover that she was the lost princess of a tribe since forgotten.  To the denizens of Klewyth, her people were nothing.  To us, they were a fundamental instrument for forging our futures.  Without her sire's guidance, perhaps I would have ended up like my greedy father.  He taught me to hunt and track and wield a sword.  Wisdom passed down to the son he never had.

Without her, though, I would have been miserable.  That's why the wig was tucked into place, the scent of lavender wafting from its curls.  I tucked the edges of the blindfold over the telling stare of my heterochromatic gaze.  The cloth was thick enough to hide the mismatched eyes but thin enough that I could see.  I'd enter the estate like this lest my parents see that their son had disobeyed the orders of his commander.  A letter was sent instructing me to return to the front lines to prepare for retaliation against the red queen's grasp.

Instead, I was here, looking, hawk-like gaze piercing through the ebony blinder until I found the ivory gown that stood out from the others.  Without regard for those around us, I'd approach her, a hand offered as was the noble custom.  "Madam."  The corner of my mouth lifted into a slanted smirk.  "You seem so... miserable.  Would you like to go someplace a little more quiet?"  And despite the risk of exposing my guarded truth, I'd lift a single edge of the blinder to expose a hazel, briefly winking eye.

---

Despite her resignation to the way things were to be, she couldn't help this destitute feeling. She had agreed. Why couldn't she truly fake a smile, genuine enough to remain upon her lips as she had in prior times? Why couldn't this merely be treated as yet another minor inconvenience? Her eyes fell, her expression with them. Because, in the end, this was the last thing she could give. It was the last thing she had to give.

She supposed that in the end it wouldn't have mattered to her. She had nothing. No home. No family. She was such an incredible distance away from the only place she had ever known it wasn't a possibility to merely turn and run from these problems. She was no longer a wee child who was able to hide from her searching father among the swaying limbs of the gilded grains of the fertile lands. Her hair no longer blended in with her surroundings to hide her from sight of those who would seek her. Just like the issues she faced after his death, she merely had to keep her head held high and cope with such things.

That's what she'd thought it would be like. That's what she had told herself it would be like, and yet there lingered one small selfish piece of her that didn't want to merely give this last sliver of the girl named Daesn'yri away. It would come to pass. She knew it would because she couldn't take away what may be the only chance for the real Arabella had to recover from whatever plagued her. She had always been a frail child, as long as Dae had known her, at the very least. To give her a chance to live unburdened by her illness, perhaps she could live for them both. It was better to think of giving the dame this gift rather than her merely bartering with the tattered pieces of herself. It was almost so much better to give gifts, after all.

Her quiet musings were interrupted by a soft greeting, and she nearly jumped in her skin. Her thoughts were far from the present, and the sound of footsteps must have escaped her notice while she was otherwise preoccupied. "Madam." The solitary word was accompanied by the extension of the man's hand, one which she had to force herself not to scowl at. Wasn't it obvious that she didn't wish to be disturbed? Bewilderment was barren on her brow, however, at the covering over his gaze, one that did nothing to hide the slight simper that settled over his mouth. She would place her hand within his, a customary greeting instilled upon her by Babington. "You seem so... miserable." Sight would avert, but there was familiarity within the tone. One she dared hope she had mistaken. "Would you like to go someplace a little more quiet?" Her cheeks would redden slightly as her suspicions were confirmed with the slight ascent of his blindfold. She had to admit his disguise was convincing for anyone that knew him. She began to call him by name, though after the first bit, she would bite her tongue, losing the whispered edge of her tone as she offered him the customary curtsy as another guest happened by them. "I would, Sir," she would greet, her words an anxious rush as they were once more left alone and she would search his expression. "I-I thought you had to leave?"

---

It was customary for the bride to appear as the shining gem of the event, to be lavishly decorated before the eyes of the guests so none could doubt the prosperity of her groom's great fortune.  The grace of lovely Aphrodite; the pride of fair Bastet.  The belle of the ball - as they say - in all the family's finery.  Daesn'yri did not disappoint in that regard.  Beneath the subtle white powders and vibrant blush, housed within the cage of her ivory gown, the lace and crystals that accentuated her features, only the blind and envious could claim her to be the grotesque Quasimodo.  She was far lovelier than I could ever imagine and I hated it. 

This rage that nipped at me now, prodded me with reminders that this wasn't her wedding, I loathed it.  It should have been Arabella standing here with a wide smile on her face.  It should have been Arabella spinning in her gown ready to marry a rich man that some may find conventionally attractive.  This wasn't Dae's place to stand.  But, again, I felt helpless to pull her away from it and the encumbering claws of parental greed.  Then I remembered the gaunt features on her face, the sickly colour of her skin, and the crumbling hull of my stomach that rained down to my feet like arctic ice.

Arabella didn't have long.

Petal-painted cheeks flushed with vibrant reds and I couldn't help widening the slant of my smirk.  A sentiment veiled behind a solitary, hushing finger when the whole of my name threatened to spill to the roving ears of wandering witnesses.  Thankfully, she caught herself and I almost let out a sigh of relief.  Instead, she offered the traditional greeting instilled by Babington and a curious gaze that seemed to sweep the entirety of what could be seen of my face tucked back beneath the eye-covering veil.

"I-I thought you had to leave?"

"And miss such an anticipated event?  Perish the thought, madam."  I positioned my arm so that she could wrap hers into it, should she wish.  "Is there a place where we may speak?  Privately?"  Though she couldn't see it, the edge of my brow piqued curiously.

---

She wasn't sure what she had expected. What would be worse. To not lay eyes on him. Or for him to be there. Either way, her throat felt as if it had closed off entirely. The discomforts of the day, made only more miserable than the gleeful old crones that delighted in her embarrassment. She couldn't sa his presence alleviated any of them. To say it didn't simply add another layer to the hurt also wouldn't be wholly a lie.

No, the tears she had fended off for the most part came rushing back. They threatened the dam of her lashes beading dangerously close to overflowing before she would rapidly blink them away. She would force her ribs to expand within the confines of the painful corset that embraced her with a cage of metal bones. She'd never been forced to wear one before, and she recalled how she'd squealed as the air had been knocked from her lungs gs with the forceful tug of tightened strings. How anyone could deal with such discomfort was beyond her and if it wasn't a vital part of her garment, she'd have long abandoned it along with the heels.

"And miss such an anticipated event?  Perish the thought, madam." She would give him a sour look, brows furrowed into a frown at his poor humor. Anticipated event. Sure. As he offered her his arm, she would allow her head to tilt slightly in observation. She didn't trust herself to speak. She dared not allow the treachery of her tongue to beg him to help her escape again. If she answered anything, it would be to runaway. Something she couldn't do. Not to the real Arabella. "Is there a place where we may speak?  Privately?" She would allow her fingers to alas settle within the curve of his elbow. Her lips parted as she forced herself to swallow that damning, desperate plea. She would merely nod instead, tugging softly in the direction that she had initially come from, her dressing room.

As she opened the door, Sira would gasp slightly, hand over her lips before she would release a shaking breath. "F-forgive me," She would speak to the maid, perhaps the only one she trusted in this entire manor. Including the man at her side. "Please, watch the hall for me. Don't allow anyone in without informing me." She would wait for the woman to leave, who offered the masked 'stranger' an openly suspicious look as she departed. Alas, she would face him once again, her gaze steeled now, walls raised. "Is everything alright?" There was still that forcefully slow drawl, the given attempt to keep herself from stammering.

---

 
There was an expected melancholy around her, a swarm of quiet desperation heavy like mountain boulders bearing down upon the macabre circumstances of this celebration.  I use that word loosely as this affair was anything but laudatory.  Would it have been better had I kept her guarded from the truth of her identity?  She was not the sickly girl promised to the son of lord Lyon.  She was not the girl lying in her bed, trapped within the cage of her failing body.  Had I been wrong to tell her that she was the proud princess from beyond the sea?  Beyond the shores of Klewyth, a land of strength and courage.  Was it wrong of me?  Telling her the truth.  To fall to the temptations of a boy's long-ago dream.  To reach out my arm and seek solitude with another man's to-be?

By her guidance, we walked through the halls of the foreign estate.  The path before us was obscured by black silk as I settled the blinding cloth over the telling features that'd betrayed my guarded identity.  Only when we were truly alone and behind the safety of - presumably - the guest room did I fully remove both the blindfold and powdered wig to free the golden locks beneath.  Each was placed on a table beside the door, carefully settled beside the vase of freshly plucked flowers. 

Their ivory petals filled the room with a pleasant aroma that mingled with the faint smell of powders and spritzed perfume.  A telling sign that this room had been reserved for a woman.  I could only assume it was her's and the thought filled my chest with dread.

"Is everything alright?"  My body stiffened beneath the suffocating nicety of my attire.  Suddenly it felt too hot, too stuffy.  My stomach clenched until I was certain that the morning's milk and tea would expose itself at our feet.  I could have lied to her again, told her all was fine, play it off as if I was simply wishing her the best in this future endeavour.  Pretend that I was happy for her, for him, and for the life that waited behind their matrimonial arch.  We'd both had enough of lies though, hadn't we?  From the venom of my parents and their countless schemes to those who were coerced into complying with their imprisoning demands.  I almost snarled at the reminder. 

My fingers tightened their hold on the wig still settled on the table.  I wanted to scream at her, tell her nothing was right with any of this.  Instead, my voice came out like a dark hiss pushed through clenched teeth.  "No."  The bulge of my knuckles turned white, the hold of my fingers like an iron vice.  "I can't let you do this."  For the first time since entering the room, my eyes met her, drank her in, and truly saw that she was nothing like the Arabella she was forced to portray.

"She wouldn't let you, Dae... and neither can I."  There was a pleading there behind my eyes, in the wavering of my voice, and in the way I moved towards her with cautious steps ready to halt should she show any discomfort.  "Come with me...  let's go away, together."

---

Silence reigned between them as she watched him remove the powdered wig, the scent of lavender wafting from it, and she couldn't help but wonder where it had come from. She knew nothing of him in recent times. A staggering feeling that made her almost feel like she'd been struck. Once upon a time, she'd have sworn she knew him inside and out, but this bitter, distant creature was a far cry from the boy she had known what seemed like a life time ago. Certainly, his tongue had been sharp upon his arrival, a haughty air about him that had driven her to taunting and teasing him. Telling him his hands were too soft. Pinning him within the sand, filling his pockets with their own form of gold. Savages. Feral. She knew now what his family had thought of her and her people while they had traveled in their company, but she would like to think that his change had been far from an act.

She was a beast of habit. If one made a promise, she expected it kept. No matter should it be an age old friend or a complete stranger. If she gave her word, it was worth just as much as the gold his parents coveted so dearly. She was devotion, and she didn't belong here. She was blind trust and always tried to behold the good in everything. Living here, however, had stripped that vulnerable wool from her eyes. She had been forced to see this place and its people for what they were. The man her father had held as a friend. Another wave of disgust clotted her mind then. Had they known who she was when they picked her for this filthy affair? Was she savaged beyond recognition to them? Starvation? The brutalities that had cost her her memories? Just as she had been to him? Did they simply not remember those they had sold their blood weapons to?

Did they know?
Did they simply not care?

Her eyes lingered upon his hand, its contents that rested contently on the table, unwilling to drag her eyes to those familiar features. Not until she  heard the difference in his breathing, the slight hitch as he stiffened all together. It was just a slicing gaze from her peripherals at first, before she would alas turn her head to behold him in full. Her hands writhed within one another, nails biting harshly at the small beaded detail upon the intricate gown as he seemed just as adamant to avoid laying sight on her. "No." When those mismatched eyes finally transcended to her, she would raise her chin slightly, unsure of his tone, of the almost angry way he observed her. She didn't know him anymore. She didn't know what it was that he considered. "I can't let you do this."

Confusion admittedly furrowed her brow, her crown tilting slightly instead. "Aethelos..." She began, fingers trailing instead to her arms. They would clench there, stormy gaze averting to the floor as instead of sequins and satins, she would bite into soft flesh instead. "She wouldn't let you, Dae... and neither can I." She would allow her focus to find him once more, her teeth set against one another to fend back that overwhelming, tempestuous ocean of unbridled, unruly emotion. The tears threatened, but she didn't allow them to fall from glassy eyes. "Come with me...  let's go away, together." Those words threatened her restraint the most. Oh did he not know the temptation he offered? How she had longed that this option would be presented to her? Lips trembled as nails dug harder to keep her arms crossed, to keep the ravenous tide locked within her breast that raged to destroy her thin semblance of control. "I can't... You said it yourself." Her voice could not raise above a whisper around the knot within her throat. "I-if I don't do this... A-Ara needs this." She would shake her head slightly, relinquishing a shivering sigh.

"And I keep my promises."

---

 
Daesn'yri stood in all her bridal beauty and while others may have been more inclined to stare, I couldn't bear to even look.  I was left to stand there with my thoughts, my memories, and the howling of countless words each demanding their own attention.  My head swam with visions, these quiet torments.  The same that recalled how she'd sneak into my room in the late hours of the night.  The same nights where her cheeks were freed of their powders and shimmer, bare for me and the moon to see.  Cheeks that glistened with the grave remains of fear.  Fear for the storm that roared outside - fear of the demons plaguing her within. 

I tried to send her away but like the bull-headed girl in the desert, she was steadfast and adamant about staying.  That night - and many others to come - I slept in the chair by the balcony window while she was happily squirrelled away beneath the coverlet.  One night, I refused to leave my space and she welcomed the challenge.  The following morning was the first time I woke with her in my arms.

Over time, it seemed that my door mattered little to her much to my dismay.  Especially when it came to my bathing time.

Perhaps it was her stubborn insistence to be near me with that damned smile and the dumb way she laughed at minuscule things that languidly began to awaken this long-ago sensation of hidden adoration.  I tried to push her away.  I tried to keep her out.  To lock the door and toss away the key, throw it into the sea never to be found, but it seemed that each attempt only made her try harder.  No matter how many insults I threw her way, she came back.  Like a beaten dog eager for the warm touch of its master.  Again and again, returning to that familiar touch.  Why?  Why couldn't she have let me be?  Why did it have to be her that my parents brought to fill Arabella's place?

I heaved a low, quiet sigh.  I couldn't do it anymore.  I couldn't hold her at arm's length when something worse threatened to steal her away.  I couldn't deny what this was anymore.

"Aethelos..."  Her voice stung my ears despite how gentle it was.

I didn't want to look at her.  I couldn't bear to.  My eyes, however, travelled on their own accord to the beautiful gems braided into her golden tresses and the various paints powdering her face, accenting the blues in her eyes and the pink in her cheeks.  I watched the way she stood, the way she moved, the slight shifting of her jaw as her mind surely raced, too, with thoughts that wanted to be freed.  How could it not?  If only I'd realized sooner... saw the truth through their countless web of lies. 

If only I'd let go of my bitter nature, my hatred, but this rage was so much easier to feel.  Easier to express in the way my brow knitted tightly against my face when she spoke again.

There was no restraining it, me, and this tide of emotions that welled within.  Everything felt like a rolling tempest, like thunder beneath my skin.  I moved towards her with one quick stride and attempted to pull her - gently - by the waist until she was flush against my torso.  "We can go now.  We can leave before anyone notices."  The words hissed through clenched teeth in a futile attempt to stop the waver in my voice.  "Promise me, then..."  I started, softer, more controlled if only marginally.  "Promise to marry me instead."  Had I pulled her to me, my fingers would tangle in the frills of her dress, holding it tightly in my fingers unwilling to release their hold and the seeking curve of my mouth intended to descend on hers.

---

He was quiet, that lingering moment in which she paused. She listened to to the quiet way he breathed, to the way it faltered in and out of his lungs in a wavering of quick and steady. She didn't know what it was racing through his mind at this given moment - ever, anymore. It was a slight scare, to be completely honest. To have a bare recollection of someone - including herself - the bones of memories from years ago. They were broken, but was it from her own faltering, or was it from the distance that time had posed betwixt them?

She knew she stood across from and shared a home with Aethelos, but was this truly the same one that she had shared the desert with? He had confirmed such a thing, but he seemed so much... different from then. Was she also? Did she remind him of that girl upon their first meeting? If not then, did she now? Was she so vastly different before her mind was broken, when she was younger, when she was content to believe that she was Arabella? She knew she'd changed since the weight of the crown had found her. It wasn't just the decorative circlet, it was the responsibility, the sudden fates that rested squarely upon her shoulders. Their well being depending on the choices she made.

A sharp pain traced the pressure of her temple and she nearly winced. There was always only so much before her reeling, racing thoughts were forced to anchor. However, there was naught to distract her from such things. Her emotions evaded her, the sense of detachment necessary to protect her fragile shreds of sanity. It was much easier to be angry, to snap and snarl like an animal rather than to try and muddle through the truth behind the eruption. This was a present she never would have imagined for herself. She had not once pictured herself in the world the twins had described to her. Let alone masquerading as a natural to its vile whims. Claw tubs filled with steaming, scented waters. Petals floating atop tranquil surface. Maids to wait on the majority of her needs. It had been almost endearing when the true Arabella had learned that she was not simply a guard, but a member of the royal family.

Where were her hand maids? Where was her tiara? Why did she work to tear down and rebuild their huts like the 'commoners' of the tribe should be doing? She had only laughed at the time, ignorant of their way of life, but after seeing such extravagance and the flaunting, it was now easy to understand her confusion. A whole 'nother realm she hadn't even been aware she'd stumbled into.

As he moved, her focus would sharpen upon him, his silence. His touch was something that made her blink, her hands relinquishing their grasp upon her own arms in reaction to the pull, though it was far gentler than she had at first anticipated. Her palms would come against his chest, brows furrowed in bewilderment as she searched his countenance. The one now uncovered, by more than the simple blinder. "We can go now.  We can leave before anyone notices." Her breath caught with his insistence, and while she would deny it, verbally, there was naught that could hide the spark of innocent hope that lit behind her doe-eyes. She didn't speak. Didn't breathe as he spoke through his teeth. Then, softer, as she peered up, sight steady upon those mismatched eyes. "Promise me, then..." It wasn't his normal address to her, certainly. It lacked that margin of distance and caged resistance. It didn't sound like he was speaking to a formal acquaintance. "Promise to marry me instead."

His grip shifted, drifting from the lithe curve of her sides to instead bury within the fabric of her gown. Rabbit heart pulsed rapidly as she finally relinquished the breath she'd withheld, enough to make her dizzy, the sensation only growing as she noted with certainty the descent of his crown. The closeness of his lips. Their warmth upon hers. She couldn't deny it. This wild drumming staccato that so haplessly raced within her. It flooded her veins, threatened to stifle and snuff like a candle's flame. She didn't speak, she couldn't. It was merely the slow withdrawal of one hand from the strength of his chest to demurely caress his cheek that wordlessly whispered her response. Reinforced by the careful brush of her own mouth.

---

 
Many times I dreamt of it, this, her.  The wildfire of the desert now smouldering with civilized demurity.  I often found myself wondering how her lips would taste, how her body would feel ensnared in mine.  Were they as warm as they looked, as soft?  Tangled in a lovers tryst speaking louder than any voice, any word.  Even before I'd discovered the truth of her name, my thoughts roamed here with each of those enlivening giggles and the gentle way she smiled.  They wandered dangerous grounds that would damn me to act now lest I never have that chance to spill open the hounding thrum of my heart and expose the instrument within.  A hardened harp that only she could rouse to sing with the delicate pluck of those lithe fingers. 

In part, I wanted to feel the sting of her violent hand on my face.  I wanted the crushing weight of her screaming rejection to lay heavy on my shoulders, to shatter me like glass on the cold stone floor.  There was part of me that wanted to feel the sear of her nails digging into my throat like she'd done in the manor on our 'first' meeting.  Everything would have been easier if she hadn't reciprocated. 

Would it have been better had I not kissed her?

But I couldn't let go.  I couldn't deny the way my pulse rushed like river water against my ear or throbbed rebelliously along the column of my throat.  Nor could I abandon the intrusive thought to gently push her back until her spine aligned with the towering post of the guest bed.  Someone could walk in.  They could witness the scandalous affair of the soon-to-be Lyon bride.  I didn't care.  I didn't want to.  All I wanted was her.

The soft caress of her palm lured me to lean my cheek into the gentle, albeit, cautious touch.  Her quiet answer.  The one thing that let loose the tethers of my restraint that had already teetered on the brink of madness.  It was mad, this, but I cared little for thoughts right now.  Instead, I kissed her with impassioned demand and unadulterated wanton.  Aeons of imprisoned emotion now released with the gingerly glissade of my mouth as it trailed to her bottom lip, her chin, back to the inviting curve of her mouth again.  Sword-worn hands cradled her cheeks and held her in their cupping embrace as I delved into the crease of her lips with the asking tip of my tongue.

---

First and foremost, she had been soft. She had been malleable, pliable. She had been innocent and truthful and devoted and her world had revolved around her family. Then, she had been made hard. The silken touch of her skin was torn, it was calloused. It was worked and remodeled after years of training. She went from being the vulnerable image of a soft skinned lamb to the predatory hunger and prowess of a wolf. That tenderness that only she seemed to have been born with was never quite weeded out, but it was encased. It was protected by the thorns of experience and the bricks of defenses she had needed. It was her biggest weakness as a warrior in a world that showered brutality and carnage with gold and plenty. Only those willing to bleed and make blood of the weak had survived.

It had been her own little secret.
Just like the way she had looked at him.

She was certain her father had seen through her rouse, that was probably why he was so cold and cruel to the boy then. Why he had threatened him when he'd been spotted too close. 'Thuor uwus waunkur.' He had warned her, a mere whispered breath over the curve of her shoulder. 'Thuw auru nis loru es.' How true he believed that to be, he would have still been amazed by the sights she had seen here. Many of her tribe had been bare, modesty not something common among them in face of the heat and the razing rays of the sun that they could not very well escape. Her generation had been the beginning of breaking that cycle. Life amid the dunes was impractical now without visiting the pier. It was nearly impossible, but they were not welcome. Not unless they were clothed, covered. Because the pier was the tide pool of the civilized world where she was from. Before those who assumed themselves the true rulers of the sands had forbid their presence all together. It was only there that she wore the soft caress of silk and cloth. In the dunes, it was furs and leathers. It was steel. It was plating and chain links.

The very same armor she wished she had here.

Especially as reality began to spiral within her thoughts with the cool press of the wooden anchor at her back. His kiss deepened, demanding, feverish, threatening to devour her whole in the tide of his unspoken feeling. The other hand at his chest that offered the insurance of space between them faltered, dragging instead to grasp his shoulder.  Her eyes opened, though her head still tilted in unbidden instinct to his touch as his lips departed her own but not her skin, allowing her to regain her breath. A blessing and a curse, she felt. A fever roared just beneath her skin, it rolled along her fingertips where she met his presence. Her cheeks burned, vibrant cherry vermillion as everything seemed to crash around her. She shouldn't be doing this, she knew that. To say that no part of her revolted would be a small lie, but it was miniscule, uncertain. It wasn't out of disdain, disgust. It was that very same part of her that she had once built walls around, the one that donned the thorn wreath. In the same breath, he cradled it, the softness of his work scarred hands settled upon her own cheeks. To feel safety and danger in the same breath was utterly foreign, and it made her wary. It made her skin prickle and crawl. A mixture of excitement and adrenaline that made a cold chill to slowly unfurl down the length of her spine.

Still, she could not deny as his tongue traced the curve of her lips and she would allow her own to taste his kiss. A soft hum escaped her lungs, breathy, wistful, stolen. Her teeth would rake, soft, inviting as she allowed herself to shut out the droning, nagging feeling of guilt that had sought to wrest her from this moment.