For the next three weeks, Cecily and Bhaltair indulged in their relationship. As all love birds in the first of their time, their hands could not be kept from each other. The first week, they secretly met in the gardens of the Keep, the woods behind town, and even in the town itself—though disguised in mask and cloak.

In those hours alone, all they did was speak to each other, revealing secrets about themselves, all in hopes to learn who the other person truly was. The following weeks were the first step into a physical relationship, experimental for Cecily but not so much for Bhaltair. Gradually it developed into something both people could not do without.

Cecily spoke to her lover about her struggles, her father’s unwillingness to allow her to adventure and learn of the world—though she took swordsmanship behind his back, taught by the head guard—his extreme worry and love for her. Bhaltair spoke—though Cecily found it hard to understand she listened quietly—about his difficulties opening his well of power.

How strong he would be once he’d achieved that, he spoke of fantastical tales of his father and brother carrying boulders the size of a wagon and battling monsters through and about. That had Cecily imagining him carrying her around like a princess from the books.

But, most importantly, to them both, they spoke of their desire for these moments to last an eternity. Moments like these, though far and few in between, were the happiest either had been in a long time.

On one afternoon, Bhaltair sat in their usual spot with a worried face, looking almost lost and infirm. She asked again and again for him to speak to her, but try as she might, he would not open his mouth. That is until she denied him of herself until his lips loosened and heart softened. He spoke, how was he not to?

Cecily learned on that eve how difficult their love would be, but she told him that patience and perseverance were virtues she took a calling too—at least from that moment on she did.

He smiled, happy for the first time that day. He hugged her hard and wouldn’t let go.

Their relationship could not be made public lest his father demand they separate. They had to wait, and he must propose as any virtuous noble would, they were its epitome after all. They scheduled for the day before the nobles caravan was planned to leave, giving him full control over the town and its neighboring hamlets and mines. It would be Bhaltair’s to manage, and Cecily’s to indulge in.

As they separated to clean up for dinner, he reminded her again and again of how important it happened this way. Otherwise, what they had could not exist. But, Cecily took little heed in his words, men were always overly wary and worried. Their minds always seemed to find the worst scenarios as the most probable.

Finished with her cleaning, she ran to her room, choosing a beautiful flowing dress of blue and white—her father had, many times, said it made her amber eyes and golden hair to stand out—and tied her hair back into a tail. Rushing out of her room, she found the head maid standing outside her door with a brush and a whole menagerie of strings and jewelry. She didn’t say a word but instead, just smiled kindly at Cecily who in turn scowled.

“They hurt a lot, Ulera. And make me feel like I have a big head,” Cecily said in a mumbled groan.

The head-maid, understanding her quiet words, nodded, her smile never faltering. Instead, she simply guided Cecily back into her room.

It took a long and arduous thirty-seven minutes—Cecily counted every second —until the Ulera finished her ministrations. Leaving her with a beautifully braided set of hair, tied with ribbons and ties and even gems and rubies.

“Finally,” Cecily exclaimed.

But before she could get away, Ulera grabbed hold of her arm at the elbow. In a sweet old voice, light of tone and filled with happiness, the head-maid spoke to Cecily.

“You’ve forgotten again, Milady. We are going to the ball today with your lover’s sisters and mother,”

Cecily turned red at the mention of Bhaltair. She stuttered and stumbled her words, trying to convince Ulera that she had no such thing, especially not with a noble. Yet, in the end, she found herself begging the old maid not to tell anyone. Her father would be furious, and grandmother would eat her hide for a fortnight if not longer.

“Don’t worry much, Milady. Your secret is in an unending well. Oh, how beautiful you’re going to look on the day you get married…I-I just hope to be alive to witness it,” Ulera said, finishing off in nothing more than a whisper.

“Will you be well in a few weeks?” Cecily said in a smile so wide her jaw began to ache.

Ulera’s eyes widened in disbelief, then a smile matching Cecily’s graced her wrinkled face. Tears began to well up in her eyes. She sniffed and coughed, trying to hide them.

“Truly?”

“Yes, now it would not do well for us to keep my future mother-in-law waiting, would it,” With that, Cecily turned around with a flourish and led the way out until she remembered she didn’t know where to head to exactly. Turning back towards Ulera, the head-maid had a patient smile on her face.

“This way, Milady,”

The ball was held in a theater her father had built just for these occasions. Unlike the Keep—which was made to be a defensive juggernaut—this building was made to look lavish and elegant. It was shaped in beautiful arches and domes, covered in layers of bright colors, and even had clear glass windows to see out from. The Nobles’ found it satisfactory, as were most things in the growing town her father had built for the Lord.

For the first time, in the lives of those who lived here, they were in the same room as the owners of the lands they tilled their existences on—even if they never got the chance to actually see them up close. As for the nobles, it was a statement of power and strength as they showed off their magic, much to the delight of everyone else. They’d show how easy it was for a female child—thin, short, and young—to pick stones ten men would struggle to budge or run faster than an arrow launched at the same time.

Cecily saw it in another light, with every feat they committed she saw Bhaltair in their steed. He was the one carrying the boulder, showing off his strength to impress her. The one speeding to and fro to gather wild and unique flowers to please her. The day would have been perfect, another in a succession of weeks, but the heavens had other plans for her.

“Look who it is, the high and mighty Cecily,” a cruel voice said from behind her. “Daydreaming in the middle of a ball,”

“She thinks she’s better than us commoners to dance and join in the fun,” another said.

The third just laughed like this was the funniest joke she’d ever heard.

Cecily sighed, shoulders slumping. Looking back without a smile, she studied the three before her. Melinda, Jaclyn, and Henna, the three idiots—Cecily had come to call them—were persistent in their stupidity. Always looking for some issue to cause or simply make her life hell. Cecily hoped they were actually naive enough to attack her, but with only words, they were always in safe standings.

“What is it now? I don’t have time for your banter,” Cecily tried her best to channel her grandmother. From the way Melinda smiled—her red hair dancing on her head and black dress matching her heart—she probably failed.

“Cecily,” Melinda said in a sickly sweet voice. “I thought we were friends, don’t you want to see me,” her large and supple lips pouted as the other two giggled like hyenas.

“No, we are not friends, Melinda,” she said her name with as much hate as she could put into her voice. Cecily saw her left eye twitch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do with my life than waste it with any of you.”

With that, Cecily turned around and began walking away. Leaving the three stooges to their own fumes.

“I heard you had a lover,” Melinda suddenly shouted.

Cecily froze in her spot. Her heart skipped a beat. Stomach began to twist and turn into itself. How did they know? Did Ulera break her trust? No, not sweet Ulera, she would never…would she?

“I bet he is short, fat, and ugly,” Jacklyn said.

“A-and he doesn’t have training in anything…” Henna added, “That’s a good one right,” she whispered to Melinda.

Cecily didn’t hear what Melinda replied with, but that wasn’t important. They didn’t know who, they only guessed based on rumor. With a smirk, she turned around to see Melinda with one to match, though her’s faltered as Cecily faced them.

“He is tall, fit, and utterly handsome. Oh and Henna,”

Henna answered with a raised eyebrow.

“That wasn’t a good one, I’d even say it was a terrible one,”

All three faces darkened at the same time. Their symmetry was play like, of all the bad they had stuffed into their tiny bodies, they had that one thing going for them. Melinda’s snarl was the worse of the three, though. Cecily knew her to hate being beat in anything, incredibly so. But that meant the worst of her was coming out, she did not want to be here to witness any of it. But, before she could escape, though, the tiny lady exploded.

“He may be the perfect man, but he is just using you like the wench you are,” Her voice was high pitched, painful on the ears. “He doesn’t love you and never will. What does he tell you? To let no one know? That he will marry you soon? Ha, lies! They’re all lies! After he is done using you, he will throw you away like the dirty rag you are…” Melinda continued without end, attracting an audience.

Cecily walked away in a hurry, biting her lips, she knew better but …

Cecily hugged him tightly in the market square. Nuzzled into him as they were wont to do alone—the way he loved it. She took a deep breath smelling the sweet aroma of nectar he happily doused himself in. She basked in his imposing figure. Looking up with a smile, her heart caught. It tinged with worry. The whispers of the bustling market all but forgotten at the moment.

She knew this was wrong, but the constant whispering and gossips had finally made her cave in. Or at least that was what she told herself to be convinced of this course of action. In reality, it was her fear and insecurity that forced her to this.

Her promise to not make this public was all but forgotten in her downward spiraling cycle of negative thoughts. The dread of being alone, thrown away by someone far above her station haunted her nightly since the incident at the ball. How could she not think about it? How could she not dwell over the fact that if he left her then and there, she could do nothing to change it.

In the end, in her desperation, she committed herself to this.

Bhaltair had a surprised face, eyes wide and mouth even more so. She felt his hands shake, tears blooming at the edges of his hazel eyes. The pain was evident in his being as he struggled to cope with what had just happened. He mouthed one word to her, and it broke her heart.

“Why?” he whispered again, only for her to hear. “I love you, don’t you feel the same?”

Cecily stuttered, unable to put coherent words together. This wasn’t supposed to happen, none of this was supposed to happen. How had it become like this? Why did she listen to the devil’s raging cries of desperation and approval? She didn’t need to prove anything to anyone, just to herself…yet, she had gone too far.

“I-I…please,” Cecily begged.

For long seconds Bhaltair did not reply. His head lowered unlike ever before. He looked up. Eyes dull and dark. There was no forgiveness in them, none to be had or given. With a snarl, he pushed her away with incredible strength—more than she had witnessed from him till then. His lips quivered, but she knew he was set to what was coming next.

“No, please,” She begged again from the ground. Her beautiful blue and white dress stained in dirt and mud.

“Touch me not, commoner. Exalted, I am to be in your presence,” his tone was sharp and formal—a lord speaking to his peasants—as a light haze of orange settled around him. “Touch me not again, or your wrists shall be severed from their mothers. It is only your due to your father’s place do I give you this small mercy.” With those words, he turned away with a huff of wind, leaving her in the dirt to stew in her own stupidity. He closed the door to his wagon, crushing the metal door behind him.

Cecily tried to shout for him to stop and listen, but his back felt too imposing to call. The streets were dead silent as she cried, then sobbed in her spot, the only sound was the cruel high pitched voice that led her to this.