"So," Oris started the conversation anew, watching Bren scoop their youngest brother, Seth, into his arms and spin, and spin, in wide, looping circles.

"She said, 'why can't we all get along?' Ridiculous, isn't it?" she continued as the child laughed and giggled loudly in the hold of his favorite brother. "I just ignored her and carried on to the market, and do you know what she dared to call me as I walked away?"

"What?" Bren asked and came to a stop, his blue eyes twinkling and the exact shade of the sky above him.

"She called me a good for nothing, whoring tramp," Oris said then pouted, biting down on her lower lip and raising a hand to block the scorching Ray's beating against her face. "I had the urge to punch her right there."

"Did you?" Bren placed Seth on the floor of their porch but the two year old chose to cling to his leg instead of letting him go.

"No?" Still feeling wronged, Oris crossed her arms then let them fall to her waist, not knowing what to do with the anger pooling in her gut. She threw back her head, her braids lashing around her neck as she stared at the ceiling. She wanted to scream and be rid of it all.

"You should have," Bren said softly and ran his hand through his blond tresses. "I would have."

"Oh, really?" Oris' smile, though wide contained a hint of sadness. She turned on her heel once before resting her gaze on him. "I have to go."

"So soon?" He raised an eyebrow. "You just got back. . . Look, Seth misses you."

"Are you referring to the boy clinging to you as we speak?" She squatted and eyed the child who glared at her before burying his face in folds of Bren's tunic. "He doesn't seem to mind."

"He's still not talking to you?"

"I don't mind either," Oris said and laughed as she stood. "I know that I'm still his favorite and you're just his shield."

"I don't mind being a shield." Bren stated and smiled, reaching forward to tug on one of Oris' braids. "Are you upset that I didn't reject Astrid's advances?"

Oris didn't say anything, simply turning her head to the side and shrugging. It didn't matter to her what he did.

"You already know who I have eyes for," Bren said with all seriousness.

"The barber's daughter?"

"Oris."

"The farmer's daughter?"

"Oris!" Bren grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her twice. "Stop it, will you?"

She looked at him and swallowed. The anger dissipated slowly, like a cube of my ice left on the dining on a blazing summer morning. "It's me, isn't it?"

"Of course it's you," his hands moved to cup her face and she shivered at his touch. It was always cold, no matter how hard the sun scorched in the afternoons. "It has always been you."

"Prove it," she whispered, and he leaned in and scattered her anger-turned-jealousy with a soft, gentle kiss that left her breathless and wanting for more.

"I don't need to," he said, his forehead resting on hers as his thumbs drew small, cool circles into her cheeks. "You can see it for yourself."

"Bren," Oris murmured as she was roused from sleep by a noise from beside her. The dream had been a memory, coming from a time she had long chosen to forget; a time she thought she had hidden deep enough to never resurface again.

She woke up with her heart racing and her breaths heavy but she didn't open her eyes, hoping to call back the dream and sink back into it. It was one of the sweetest things she owned, that memory.

It had been so long since she had felt so loved, she didn't want to go back to the cruel world, the reality where she had to fight to survive.

It had been so long since his name had passed her lips. So long used to addressing him as her Knight, Oris had thought those four letters would never form on her tongue again.

Yet they had.

And she missed it.

She missed him. Her Knight, her first love. But like the sands of time and dessert, the dream slipped through her fingers entirely, leaving her heart hollow and aching no matter how hard she clenched her fist.

"Our Mistress has been asleep for a day and two nights," a voice argued quietly from somewhere not far from where she laid, "I doubt that she will wake in time for the selection."

It was the voice that had woken Oris, and it belonged to Mayree.

"Hmph!" The person the maid was conversing was conversing with was not pleased. "The selection cannot be delayed any further, if your mistress cannot attend then even the female god of damsels cannot save her."

And then he left, his footsteps like knocks against Oris' skull, a dull pain compared to the rest. Mayree left as well, retreating to a place unknown, but Oris didn't dare to call her.

Who knew if they were being watched?

She opened her eyes slowly, already expecting to be in a dungeon or its close equivalent. Her experiences had given her enough mental fortitude to anticipate imprisonment fearlessly even when it meant that she was dated to attend an execution.

She was met with darkness at first, as her sight slowly adjusted. There was a throbbing pain in her neck and it hurt to move her limbs, but she figured that that was because she had been laying down for too long.

Two nights and a day. It wasn't too long compared to how she had suffered at the convent. In fact, the experience now gave her a better understanding of her body.

She had not been injured badly and simply lost a bit of blood. Her throat was sore and she could already tell that it would hurt to swallow or speak, but that was only because the wound was on her neck and her body was reacting in order to clear infections.

A simple concoction of herbs would fix her up straight away.

Slowly, she sat up, the movement just as grueling as she expected. She lifted a hand and touched the gauze wrapped around her neck.

For a queen, she had already accumulated a handful of scars, both from her times as a peasant and ruler. But the one she knew would form where she now touched pained her especially.

She had always avoided injury to her face and hands. Call her vain, but she didn't care.

Though she didn't find herself as beautiful as Eve, a man once called her the apple of his eye.

He once teased her, saying that she should not sleep in the barn any longer before the donkeys there confused her head for an apple. And she had replied him by turning the bucket of grain she held over his head of blonde hair.

If her scars were where no one could easily see, then it would be easier to forget about them. And if he didn't see her scars then as her Knight he wouldn't take the blame for them.

Oris shut her eyes tightly and hugged herself, drawing her thighs to her chest as she silenced the sob about to escape her lips.

Bren, why did you leave me? You promised never to leave my side. If you didn't leave, none of this would have happened!

She pressed her head to her knees, the emotions tumbling in her chest too heavy to suppress. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks as she remembered his fingers, how their touches had claimed her skin; his lips, how they had stolen her breath away countless times; his words, how they had made her give him her heart without a shred of hesitation and in the end shredded it to pieces when he gave her up for the sake of the kingdom.

She was his, she had always been. So why couldn't she marry him? Why couldn't she bear his children? Why did she now have to enter the harem of a man who wanted her dead?

She knew the answer to all these questions but she didn't want them. She wanted someone to hold her and tell that everything would be okay; she wanted to be able to cry freely without worry of being discovered. She wanted her heirs to live a life unlike her own. Even if they were condemned to a lifetime of poverty, she wanted none of her descendants to sit on a throne ever again.

But she—

"My Lady?" a voice called out quietly from the darkness, making Oris freeze and immediately wipe her tears away.

Despite not getting a reply, the voice continued, "Are you crying?"

Oris lifted her head and found a familiar silhouette standing at the foot of the bed she was lying on. "Mi-Mikeal?"

Her voice was hoarse and scratchy but he didn't wince. He walked towards her until was at a distance where if she chose, she could reach out and touch him. Finally, she could see his features. His tanned skin had nearly cloaked him in the darkness.

"Sister," he greeted playfully, and sat down on the bed, just an inch from her bare toes. "You have suffered so much, my heart goes out to you."

Oris blinked at him, willing his image to become clearer. "How. . .long have you been here?"

"I planned on staying the night," he said, sounding somewhat sheepish, "but I fell asleep while guarding you."

"Guarding me?" Oris echoed, then shook her head slightly to clear her thoughts. The movement caused her to gasp in pain.

"Don't move too much." Mikeal warned, concern fluttering in his gaze like a one-winged butterfly.

Oris watched the strange emotion vanish and sighed. She was not in the mood to read into the behaviors of the men that now surrounded her. She was too tired to be observant. "Alright."

"I heard what happened and I wanted, needed, to see you. Hermes really was too cruel."

"Did anybody. . . see you?"

"No need to worry. I snuck in here."

"Where?" Oris said simply, her throat already too sore from speaking so much. She motioned to the space around her, hoping Mikeal would understand.

"This is a room in the harem," e said. "The one you would have been showed to, if not for the incident at the gates."

"Not the dungeon?"

Mikeal laughed and shook his head as though what she said had been funny. "No."

"Did you save me?" Oris asked quietly. If he did, that would place another target on her head. It was best if she was simply cast away and forgotten, having anyone help her would make things worse.

"No," the Knight answered then leaned towards her until their noses nearly touched, mirth clear in his brown eyes. "If I did would you have been happy?"

Oris glared at him and he laughed again.

"Childish," she scoffed but felt some warmth flood her chest. If someone cared about her wellbeing, how could she not be happy? She wasn't that cold-blooded.

"I can see that speaking is hard for you. Lucky me. Now I don't have to listen to you scold me for not saving you."

"I didn't need your saving."

He ignored her and continued, "After you passed out in the Great Hall, there was an uproar. The officials demanded an investigation and fair trial to prove the Empress Dowager's accusations. They said the death of one of the bride candidates would not look good. Hermes was pressured to agree and said he would think on it and here we are."

"So. . . My case is being investigated?" Oris asked then pressed her hand to her mouth and coughed into it. "And I'm still forced into the selection?"

"Are you okay?" Mikeal asked softly answering neither of her questions. "You were crying earlier."

Oris stared at him and placed her other hand on her chest. She coughed again, the pain in her chest unbearable. "I'm fine," she wheezed.

He reached out and touched her forehead, a frown on his lips. "You have a fever."

"The selection begins tomorrow. . . I can't have a fever."

Mikeal shook his head. "You are really desperate to get in, aren't you?"

Oris didn't answer him. She was desperate, but she had no strong desire to become the property of Hermes. She was doing what she thought was right. For Rodholf. For her rebellion. For Eve. For her four foolishly loyal maids.

All her decisions chained together to form a net that trapped her in this moment. A defeated queen competing for the Emperor's attention.

How ridiculous.

"I'll go and alert your maids," he stood up, but before he could take a step Oris grabbed the hand that was about to leave her forehead.

"Don't go," she said quietly.

"You need medicine, or else you won't be able to get off this bed tomorrow." Mikeal argued.

"Don't leave," she repeated, her fingers tightening almost painfully over his. "I'll be fine."

"Fine," he sighed and sat down again. "What can I do for you, sister?"

"Call me mother," Oris said and squeezed his hand till he winced. "I insist."

"It seems like you're getting better already," Mikeal rushed through his words, his other hand now wrapped around Oris' wrist in an attempt to lessen his pain, but she knew he wouldn't hurt her. He was too kind for that.

In the end he conceded. "Mother."

"Good boy," she let go of his hand and smiled.

Then she realized something, her free hand reaching up to cup her face.

"I'm not wearing my veil," she narrowed her eyes at the Knight and he smiled mischievously.

"You truly are beautiful."

"Mikeal!" she shouted his name in anger but felt warmth in her cheeks instead. "It. . . This is highly improper."

"Says the person begging me to stay," he teased. "Just consider it another privilege I have over the Emperor."

"Do not speak to me of him," Oris took her hand away from her face. "He and his mother want me dead."

At her words, Mikeal's expression hardened. "Things aren't as simple as they appeared to be that day, do not take it to heart."

"Are you defending him?" Oris stared at him blankly, but before he could reply, she continued, "Unfilial son."

The smile that appeared on the Knight's lips was forced and he said nothing more, but she didn't comment on his strange silence.

"If I get selected, will you be my personal guard?" she asked, her throat feeling slightly better. Or maybe she had just gotten used to the pain

"Of course."

"I won't ask, Mikeal," Oris said suddenly and closed her eyes, leaning her head on the wall behind her. "I don't care about your relationship with the Emperor or what you had to do with what happened at the gate. For the fact that you didn't tell him I instigated the whole thing, you have my eternal gratitude."

"I already told you, Princess," Mikeal said softly, "your secrets are safe with me."

A smile tugged on Oris' lips. "It's mother to you, Knight."

Mikeal's only reply to that was a laugh. "Go to sleep, sister. In a few hours, it will be daybreak and by then you will have to face the world."

Oris touched her neck again and laughed as well but softly, as opposed to his that was loud and hearty. "Thank you, Mikeal."

"For what?"

"For everything."

~