RE: Monarch

Despite all efforts to still my reaction, something in my face answered for me.

Melody immediately backpedaled. “Not like that! It’s just—at the center of so much gossip mystery, you’ll have a long line of ladies looking to make an introduction. Some of whom you likely wish to avoid offending. Were we to secure a temporary engagement, it would lighten that burden of suitors somewhat. Not completely, but…”

Melody trailed off and placed her face in both hands, a flush creeping down her cheeks to her neck.

I patted her gently on the back, keeping my hand high. “I admire your courage, my lady.”

“Stop. I’ve never been so embarrassed.” Her hands muffled her voice.

“If it helps, I’m also a little embarrassed,” I said. “Here I am, in the company of a woman as beautiful as she is clever—”

“Stop.” Melody dragged out the word.

“A woman I wouldn’t bat an eye at courting, were circumstances different. And yet, I cannot reciprocate her advances.”

Melody evaluated me, some of the drunkenness fading from her eyes. Her mouth dropped open, as if the gods themselves spelled it out for her. “Your heart is spoken for.”

The statement startled me. I was aware I’d underestimated Melody from the beginning, but I couldn’t fathom how she’d put that together. I stared out into the night. “Honestly, it’s the opposite. I’m not sure I’m capable of love.”

She was quiet for a few moments, absorbing the statement. “You know, you can’t just put something like that out in the open like that without explaining it.” Then, a beat later. “Wait. Did something happen between you and the infernal emissary?”

“No,” I said. But I’d hesitated, and Melody pounced on the lapse.

“Of course,” Melody groused. “She’s so mature, and put together, and capable of magic, and she’s always swishing that tail of hers back and forth so seductively—”

I snorted, then laughed. Perhaps it was possible in certain contexts for an infernal to swish their tail back and forth seductively, but it was most often an expression of nervousness. Almost a tic.

“You’re making light of me.” Melody turned away and crossed her arms.

“I’m not. Just—indulge me—what gave you that idea? That there was anything between the emissary and me.”

“Hate and love often act as the sun and moon. Distant reflections of each other. She’s… too angry with you,” Melody said. “Sometimes, in the quiet moments, when conversation ebbs, and she’s reminiscing, it’s like she’s simmering just below a boil. That kind of anger doesn’t come from nowhere. Either you did something awful—which I’m having trouble imagining—or she loved you once, and you let her down.”

“We—” I paused, weighing my words carefully. If it was anyone else, I might have fed them a tall tale about some foreign fiancee my father intended to pair me with. But considering how perceptive she’d proven herself to be, it was entirely possible she’d see through the lie and draw the wrong conclusions. “It was a little of both. Maya and I had a moment. We were close for a long time. But when things grew dire, I did something difficult. Something I thought was necessary to protect her. And my actions wounded her deeply.”

“Was it as necessary as you thought?” Melody asked.

Yes. The answer jumped to my lips, then faded unspoken. There was a time I could have sworn to it. When I believed that cutting all contact with the sanctum and allowing almost everyone I knew to think I was dead was the correct course. The only course. Beyond being unfathomably powerful, Thoth had eyes everywhere and used augury to spy on her enemies frequently.

The enchanted ring on my finger glinted in the dark. It grew hot to the touch and trembled in the presence of a scrying spell, along with blocking the effects. With it, I hid from Thoth after the fall. It made sense. You can’t spy on a dead man. And if she’d looked in on any of my close allies, she’d see all the grief one would expect from those who recently lost a friend.

It was necessary in the short-term, to be certain. But after the first year, when the ring grew cool and never once warmed again, I’d maintained my silence.

I told myself there was no way to be sure. Thoth was unpredictable. It wasn’t beyond her to pretend to lose interest as a shrewd feint, only to start back up again and catch me unprepared. I intended to wait only a few weeks to make contact. Those weeks stretched into months and beyond.

Because it was more than just caution. More than just busying myself with clearing dangerous corrupted creatures from the sanctum.

I was afraid. Terrified of what she’d do to the infernals for hiding me, but more intimately, afraid of coming face to face with her again.

“I don’t know,” I finally answered.

Melody appeared lost in thought. Not wanting to rush her, I pushed the wineskin away and took up a bowl of stew. It was cool, bordering on cold, the steam filtering up from the bowl long since faded. But the flavor was exquisite. Salty, and rich, and perfectly spiced. I peered at it suspiciously.

“Did a fae sneak into camp and replace the cook?”

Melody scoffed at herself. “My mother’s recipe. Was supposed to be a part of the whole pitch. ’Not only is she cute, she knows her way around a stew!’ But then I choked and messed up the order.”

“Happens to the best of us.” I pointed my spoon at her. “But let it be said. You’re a stew artist.”

“A stew aficionado?” Melody tried.

“A mage, with the element of stew.”

We shared a quiet laugh. The air took on a sudden chill as evening slid into night.

“You know, you never answered me,” Melody said suddenly.

“About what?” I asked.

She gave me a meaningful look. “Whatever happened, Maya still cares for you. You made a mistake. Maybe it’s fixable, maybe it isn’t. But if you truly believe what you said, that you’re incapable of love, it won’t be.”

I nearly accepted her advice and moved on. But I couldn’t. The offhand remark I’d made was tied to something deeper, something I was almost desperate to unpack.

“It’s not that I’m incapable. In some ways, I fall a little too easily. A chance meeting, a sultry glance, whispered words in the dark. I’ve never been with someone I didn’t love in some capacity, even if only for a day. I think that might be part of the problem.”

“How would that ever be a problem?” Melody demanded.

“Because once I’m in it—up to my neck in something real and special and right—it’s like I lose all perspective.” I saw Lillian, staring down at me lovingly through a canopy of hair. I’d burned down the kingdom avenging her. Thoth just came in after the fact and made the fire literal. “It consumes me. Everything else loses meaning. My world shrinks down to two people, everything beyond us forgotten, and all I care about is her. Forging a life for us. Making her happy.”

“Oh no, how horrible,” Melody said dryly.

My pensive mood soured. “Just forget I said anything.”

“I’m sorry!” She threw up her hands in frustration. “Nothing you’re describing comes close to being this giant, life-altering issue you’re making it out to be.”

“Really?” I raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like the makings of a good king?”

“Well… not entirely,” Melody said. “You’d need to be careful. Court someone with goals and ambitions similar to your own. Do that, and if her happiness is truly so important, you’ll find the right path.”

There was wisdom in that. But my thoughts drifted towards Infaris.

“There’s… someone else,” I admitted.

Melody’s eyes took on a glint of anger. “With all due respect, Prince Cairn, how many women are you juggling?”

“It’s not like that. There’s a woman in Whitefall I care for. Deeply. We aren’t right for each other, I know that now, but I can’t move on until I say goodbye.”

“So? Say goodbye,” Melody said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“I intended to. Put dreams of a life with Lillian to bed, move on. If it all went to plan, I’d see her once—make sure she was healthy and well, then leave it all behind. But someone important told me that was folly.” The last argument we had before I left the sanctum. She’d been so stern, so emphatic and unwilling to bend. And I’d effectively told her to kick rocks.

“Who?”

“A goddess.”

“Just a goddess, then.” Melody smiled coyly, then balked. “You’re serious? Why would—not to be rude—why would a goddess give two coppers about your social affairs?”

I chuckled. She wasn’t wrong. Sometimes I wondered the same thing. “Infaris. She’s got a fixation on truth. Believes deceit rots the soul, weighs it down, whatever. Maybe her point of focus was odd, but it taught me a valuable lesson about the way I treated people. That I uh, tend to let my own biases of what others should want color my perceptions of reality. And even if it was demonstrated through the lens of a romantic relationship, it could have been a fatal flaw if it festered.”

“Alright, but what was the problem of what you intended? It sounds like you took her advice wholeheartedly and put it into action.”

I swallowed. “Infaris told me, that no matter what I thought, no matter how capable of following through I believed I was, it wouldn’t matter. That her presence would hound me. That seeing Lillian would be the end. Of everything.”

“That seems strangely cruel.”

“It was… frustrating.”

“Have you ever heard the Verslet of Tainted Devotion?” Melody asked.

“No,” I admitted.

Melody took on a thoughtful expression. “A man loses his betrothed on the eve of their wedding. He contracts demons to guide him through the afterlife to find her, so he can fulfill his vows to marry her and she can join him in the Elysian Halls. The demons refuse payment, proffering a wager instead. A wager for his soul. They blindfold the man, and tell him they’ll remove the blindfold once they’ve found his wife. If he succeeds, his passage is free. If he fails, his soul is forfeit.”

“Accurate to my experience with demons,” I muttered.

“The man agrees, and they depart on a stolen ferry. But as you’ve probably guessed, demons don’t play fair. It starts small. The voice of a friend, asking for his help. The lullaby of a long departed mother. With no success, their attempts grow crass, cruel. Almost more than the man can bear before the ferry seemingly tips over the edge of a waterfall. The man can hear the demons screaming, feel the boat capsize beneath him, and finally, frigid water, swallowing him whole. But even as he struggles to the surface and swims for shore, he leaves the blindfold on.”

“Seeing as how these legends never end well for the mortals, what gets him?” I asked.

“He swims for hours, finally reaching something that feels like a shore. Exhausted and half-dead, he drags himself onto the beach. At first it’s quiet. There’s a low rumble, as if creatures massive and unseen are burrowing deep beneath the earth. Then the man hears another sound. His wife, crying. Weeping. Damning the gods that he abandoned her.”

I snorted. “That’s suitably demonic.”

“It worked,” Melody sighed. “Unable to hold off anymore, desperate to see his wife again, the man removed his blindfold and his soul was whisked from his body to the hells, separated from his wife forevermore.”

“Pretty grim.”

“In some ways it’s beautiful. That we have these forces of nature in our lives, with gravities so compelling they’re irresistible. Maybe that’s what Lillian is to you. Why Infaris wanted you to stay away.” Melody made a thoughtful sound. “Not to be rude, but I am jealous in some regards. To have a love so strong and consuming, it forced a goddess to intercede. Cruel as it is.”

“Cruel as it is,” I repeated.

The night air took on a bitter chill, and Melody shivered. We talked some about unrelated topics, but the mood never fully recovered. Once the caravan paused, she clambered down with my help, bade me farewell, and departed towards the noble carriages.

I smelled burnt vurseng, harsh and acrid—and not for the first time on this journey.

“Did the enclave add an espionage course to your diplomacy curriculum?” I spoke out into the night.

Maya stepped out from the wreath of shadow beneath the wagon, a cherried pipe in her hand. “If they had, I’m sure they would have included a section where they covered the dangers of talking about things you prefer to keep private out in the open. Not really fair to accuse someone of spying when she was out on a walk while you announced your problems to the masses.”

“Right, of course, you were just out for a walk.” I rubbed my forehead. Maya hadn’t softened, as I’d hoped. She was just good at putting grievances aside in a time of crisis.

Do I have to die to get you to talk to me?

Tired and frustrated, I sent down a circle for her. Maya peered at it, then chose to ignore it, climbing the wagon effortlessly and sitting beside me. We jostled as the signaling whistle echoed through the caravan as lanterns were lit, bathing the surrounding plains in a dull orange glow, and the caravan began to move.

“How are you?” Maya asked quietly.

I reached out to the air, my brow furrowed, adjusted the currents so they stopped our voices from leaving the small perimeter. “All turned around.”

“Your father was not what I expected.”

“Nor I.”

“He’s craftier than I’d imagined from the stories. More reserved.”

“He killed one of his honor guard right in front of you,” I pointed out.

Maya shook her head. “He’s a violent man, to be sure. Savage. But he wears that savagery like a cloak. Disguises the cunning within. Shrouds himself in blood, the way others put on airs.”

“Not all the savagery is for show,” I warned. “Right now, we’re something he wants. People he has plans for. Mostly, that violence is exactly what it appears to be.”

“You’re being reductive,” Maya accused.

“You’re picking a fight.”

“Hardly.”

I rubbed my temples again. “Well done, by the way.”

“Well done with what?” Maya asked, her expression defensive.

“With everything. For how you dealt with my father. That was a diplomatically charged situation in every possible way, but you played your hand perfectly. And made sure you had a winning card up your sleeve.”

Maya crossed her arms and looked away. “I expected you’d be angry that I didn’t mention the queen’s progress.”

“Sure, I would have liked to have known. But it’s not as if the gods have spoiled us for time since I returned. And if it wasn’t for you, everything would have spiraled out of control.”

“You’re welcome,” Maya said. Her brow suddenly furrowed. “How many times did you die, fighting the drephin?” Maya asked.

I studied her, trying to understand why she was bringing this up now. “Once.”

Maya leaned forward, elbows perched on her knees, the pointed tip of her tail snaking up and wrapping around her wrist. “I realized something during your absence. Kind of pointless given the timing, but in a twisted way, it was a comfort.”

“Tell me.”

“That even if you hadn’t died, the version of you I cherished could have disappeared without warning. Experiences we shared, still fresh in my memory, gone to you. A passing moment in my life spanning an eternity in yours.”

I felt brittle, exposed. What she had just stated so clearly, I’d been too cowardly to dwell on.

“It’s less than you think,” I said quietly, referring to the time I’d lost to resets. It was impossible to pin down exactly how much. If I was forced to guess? Probably a year and a half, maybe two.

I reached out a hand, and Maya passed the pipe. I took a long drag and held it, feeling that old familiar tingle in my lungs, then breathed out. Maya stared into the night, searching the shadows.

“The quantity doesn’t matter,” she finally said. “What matters is that the gap between us will never diminish. It was always going to grow. You’ll change and adapt, do whatever you need to do to overcome whatever trials you face. Meanwhile, I stagnate. And eventually, one day, I’ll no longer even recognize you.”

I wanted to point out the fact that she’d changed nearly as much as I had, if not more so. But that would only lead to an argument. And there was a troubling degree of truth to the greater point she was making.

“Where does that leave us?” I finally asked.

“I don’t know,” Maya admitted. “All I can say for certain is that I believe in what you’re trying to do. To the point I was ready to carry on alone, doing everything in my power to bring the future we imagined to fruition. I won’t abandon that commitment now that you’re back.”

“I’ll take all the help I can get,” I admitted. Then, I hesitated. “I’m sorry, Maya. I never meant to leave you in the dark for so long. She just…” I trailed off.

Maya placed her hand on mine, and I started. Her face was hard, her lips thin. “She scares me too.”

We sat in silence for a while. It reminded me of the chilly evenings we’d spent out in the cold on Barion’s roof. On many of them, we hadn’t talked at all. It was a rare thing, to find a person I could sit alongside in silence without growing uncomfortable. Sometimes, we do our best talking without uttering a single word.

The sun finally crested, light rolling through the crossing like a growing wave, illuminating vast meadows as the incline flattened. The caravan shifted east, taking the mountain pass towards a nostalgic sprawl of buildings, their roofs covered in white, diminutive in the face of the massive castle that loomed over them.

Maya stood up suddenly, straining to see “It’s huge. Is that…?”

I thought of everyone I was about to see. My sisters. My mother. I’d never intended to stay away for so long. Even now, there was a part of me that wondered if they were truly alive, or if we’d arrive to find the castle empty, dead.

But I could see thousands of people coming to and from the city gates. None of them were running. There was no smoke in the distance, no fire. Thoth wasn’t lurking in the tall grass, ready to leap out and gloat that she’d taken action early.

My kingdom, the people I’d once spurned, and the family I’d once rejected. They were all waiting for me. I’d do things right this time. No matter the cost.

I stood and stretched. Maya continued to stare at the carved-out mountain, awestruck.

“Welcome to Whitefall.”

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