The Book of Knowledge

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On the evening before a great battle, the sorceress Arhyn gave to the Princess Bethany Duncan, heir to the Senoth throne, a book. This book was enchanted, so that no matter how much was written in it it could never be filled. It was here that Arhyn bade Bethany to write of her life, and it is here our story begins.

I'm sitting here by the light of three candles, which cast orbs of golden light on the blank pages before me, marred only by these few words I've written yet. I'm wondering why in life I'm doing this; writing out my memories, my history, at the insistance of one who has known me since I was pressed from my mother's womb. As if I hold any secrets from you, Arhyn.

Still, your request seems simple enough, easily done. I should be sleeping this night, God knows, for the morrow sees me upon the battle field at my father's side. But to be honest, were I not sitting and writing this for you I'd probably be laying awake in the middle of my bed, staring at the darkness and wondering if Death lurked there for me, if it waited for me in the decieving light of the morning. What a frightening thought! I think I'll ruminate on something else.

I'm hoping that your request, dearest Arhyn, does not mean you forsee such a fate for me in the morning. You have named me a brave soul, though I oft do not feel that way, but I do fear Death. Perhaps that is foolishness for one of my years, but I do, and I cannot deny it.

Perhaps it comes from my very birth, a birth which you have told me countless times I should have never survived. Perhaps the lingering fear of simultaneously being thrust into the world and being torn from it remains me still. Rather a romantic notion, but not impossible.

I shall expound on things you already know, as you have requested, and I shall refer to you by your name, as if I were not writing this for your eyes to begin with.

My name is Bethany Duncan. Rather a plain name when you forgo all the titles, but as I am named for my paternal grandmother, I know well such plainess can hide greatness. The senior Bethany was, in her day, both a matriarch and a warrior, though she wielded no sword save her own tongue, no armor save her own will. I wish sometimes that I had known her, especially after hearing my father speak for hours on his beloved mother. If you did not know me, hearing my name would perhaps bring images of farming, or herding, or merchanting, or a million other occupations individual minds would associate with such a name. I could be anything, anything at all, from harlot to priestess in the Church.

Imagine me, a priestess! Imagine me, a harlot!

Hold that vision of me for a moment, whatever form and face your mind has conjured up at my name, whatever occupation or situation you see fit. Hold that image, for it is a very personal one for you. Keep it tight, before I melt it altogether.

Hold it but one moment more.

Now...

My name is Bethany Duncan, second born daughter of King Gareth Duncan and Queen Lauren Duncan, of the Kingdom of Senoth. Heir Apparent to the throne. Guardian of the People. Future leader of one of the most powerful countries in the known world. General by appointment of His Majesty Gareth.

Now you see why I gave only my name at first. Were I to sign that all the time whenever my signature were required, I'd need a second sheet of parchment.

From the above statement you can glean many more things from me now. Ah! A princess, and not priestess or whore (though I've imagined myself as both). Hmm. Second born, yet Heir Apparent; perhaps her life has already been tinged with tragedy or scandal? Parents seemingly still living, ergo her age cannot be all that great, though it can be very considerable. General...no doting, beskirted lady this, if enough of a warrior to denote such a title.

Have I greatly shattered your picture of me? Allow me to shatter it further.

I am second born, yes. My elder sister Amethyst was Heir Apparent before I. However, there is no tragedy here, only marriage. I felt a chuckle rise in me at that; there are those who would argue that point with me!

She was married to her love, the prince, now king, of a neighboring country. She gave up our lands for the marriage, which my father did not contest. Indeed, he was overjoyed at her happiness. She now has three young, beautiful children, and could not be more contented. I have nothing but love and happiness for her and her family. However, it did leave the throne of Senoth resting upon my shoulders instead.

I am young, as well. Hardly into my second decade, a mere child at twenty-one. I can hear you laughing at that, dear Arhyn! Yes, I know; I'll probably label myself child still when I am a dottering old woman at eighty. I cannot help it; despite whatever years pile on me, I feel as if I'm stuck most permanantly at the age of twelve; as if I should be off chasing june bugs rather than sitting at my desk writing this on the eve of what could see the end of my young life.

There I go again; despite my distraction, I've managed to go back in a neat circle to the one thought I had wished to avoid. Let's try this again. From the beginning. Details will unfold themselves in the natural course, and any questions you have will be summarily answered as you read. At least, I hope they will, for I am no writer.

I was born on a stormy night in the summer months. My sister Amethyst was only two years, and rode my father's shoulders as he paced the anteroom, waiting for Arhyn to arrive. Midwives had already descended on my mother as she strained to birth; both my parents loathed midwives, and neither had called them this night. They'd merely appeared, as if they had smelled the birthing, like wolves.

Arhyn finally did arrive, wrapped in her cloak over her bed clothes, her normally perfect curled hair in slight disarray as she offered my father a reassuring smile.

"Thank God it is you." He said with great relief. "The midwives are already here. I'd like to strangle whomever keeps summoning them!"

"They are merely trying to do their job, milord." She replied with a mischievous smile.

"I'd rather have one of you than the whole blamed lot of them!" He grumbled as Amethyst's tiny chin rested on his head, her eyes starting to slip closed. The birth of a new child was not a concern for her! She merely wanted to sleep.

Arhyn offered my father a tiny kiss on his cheek, in reassurance, before she swept into the room and hustled the midwives out, not waiting for kindness. They squawked and protested and fluttered like birds, but dared not contest the king's own sorceress. In moments, mother and Arhyn were alone in the room.

I can hear yourself asking the question; how is it that she knows so much of her own birth? Of the conversation held as it was taking place? I'll tell you; Arhyn told me. Many nights as I was growing up would she relate the tale, mimicking my father's stature and voice as he paced, acting out the ridiculous flutterings of the midwives. I'd always laugh riotously at this point, until tears painted my cheeks. But as the story progressed my amusement would turn into somberness, the tears of laughter into ones of sympathy as she described my mother.

Lauren did not have an easy moment, bringing me into the world. I was turned about wrong, and refused to be budged; she had strained for countless hours, and every nuance of her fatigue and pain was plain on her face. I have no doubts that if any other than Arhyn had been there, she would have perished. And so would I. Then what would you be reading tonight?

Arhyn worked nearly as hard as mother did, straining to turn me the proper way in the womb, muttering enchantments and spells designed to aide the pain and bring on good fortune. When finally I slipped into the world I was blue, limp, with no life in me. The cord was tight about my neck, and both were afraid I'd been throttled long before I was even turned. My mother began to weep.

Arhyn, however, did not despair. She removed the cord from my throat and breathed into my tiny lungs, urging me to life. She whispered words into my ear between breaths. Strange, but it seems now, as I write this and search deep into my memory, I can still hear the words as they pulled me from the arms of death itself.

Fancy, of course. Fancy that has done nothing more than bring me back to the subject I continuously wish to avoid; Death.

I have returned. I'm sorry, Arhyn, but that slight blotch at the end of the last paragraph was me throwing down my pen in frustration and fear. I removed myself from my desk and paced for several minutes, wondering as to this subject and my own fate in the morning. I know I should not fear so much; I believe in God and His angels, and I believe that those righteous shall dwell in His kingdom. Yet I do fear, for I am far from righteous. I'm a sinful beast; perhaps not as much as some, but far from the grace that would earn me salvation. I wish you were here in person to speak with, but you are down in council with my father. I wish Lion were here to hold me in his arms, cradle me as he had when I was a child, but he is off on some errand. I wish too that Vincent were here to lend me strength, but he is away, riding for the north to implore his own father and kingdom for our aide. Much as I dislike it, I must face my fears and my memories alone. Such is life.

Where was I? Oh, my birth. I see now.

Needless to say I began to breathe, letting out a lusty cry, my skin turning from the blue-purple of a bruise to healthy, flushed pink. My mother laughed in relief through her tears; Arhyn grinned so brightly the room was nearly lit by it. She bundled me tightly after I was clean, and lay me in my mother's arms for the first time.

"A girl." She said to the queen. "As beautiful as the morning."

I always blushed at this part, hearing it.

"A girl." Replied Lauren as she held me tightly. "Her father will be enchanted by her, as he was Amethyst."

They paused only to allow Arhyn to clean the room and my mother enough that the king could be allowed in. He burst in, as if he'd sensed the distress, only to relax as he saw my mother and I in her arms. He was indeed enchanted, naming me for his own beloved mother right there and then.

Arhyn says that Amethyst yawned, unimpressed by the whole thing.

I was only a year and some months old when another sister joined my elder and I. Princess Clarinda, as blonde at the moment of her birth as she remains now; quite the contrast to Amethyst and I.

My elder sister is quite dark, both in hair and eyes. Her skin is also many shades duskier than mine, as she takes greatly after my father. She has an exotic beauty about her that brought suitors to the door even well before she was of marriagable age. She is quite kind, thoughtful, demure, a delight of a woman and a good friend as well as sister. She is not much for physical labor as I am; not that she wouldn't wash a dish or think it beneath her to muck a stable - she merely preferred the indoors and more quiet past times.

My younger sister Clarinda is quite fair, which startled both our parents, as she hardly resembles either of them. Her hair is long and as golden as sunlight, her eyes a soft brown three shades lighter than either my father or Amethyst. She is taller than either of us as well, a lithe, thin woman more given to gliding than walking. She was more of a rough-and-tumble when she was younger. As children more often than not we argued and pushed each other down, in a mud puddle if it were handy. I dealt scrapes and bruises to her and received them in kind. She cared not that I was older or thicker than she; she would take on the world. As she aged she seemed to outgrow this, giving more time to court and needlepoint than she did to wrestling or horseback. She seemed to waver between my world and Amethyst's world; seems to waver still. She has never quite found the niche into which she fit, yet she seems contented and cheerful enough to me, especially now that she is betrothed.

Myself; I find I hesitate to describe myself. Of all things, I loathe vanity and selfishness, and it seems both to me to write about ones description. Yet I have promised you, Arhyn, that I would be honest and so I suppose I must. I will try to be as precise as I can, which means that I must say what others have said about me, whether I wish to or not.

Alas.

I look more like my mother than father. While my hair is dark it is not as dark as his or my sister's, tinged more with red, bordering on chestnut rather than ebony. I adore long hair, but alas I cannot keep it as long as I like; when you spend your days wrestling and swordfighting, it is not a grand idea to have locks to your waist. Not to mention such hair gets horridly hot. So I compromised with myself; I keep it shoulder length, allowing it to get neither longer or shorter, and on this I'm very particular.

My skin is fairer than either of these first two sisters I have mentioned, but still I am darker than my pale mother, who had northern blood in her veins. I am darker still in the summer, when the sun lends its color to my skin. During the brightest months, I can nearly compare with Amethyst.

I am taller than my elder sister, shorter than Clarinda, of a height with my mother, and nearly with my father. I am average in this respect, neither tall enough or short enough for comment.

My eyes are grey, or so I'm told. They so easily pick up color from their surroundings and the weather that they can be either blue or green, or both if the situation warrents. They can be violet, or hazel, dark or light, even golden in the right atmosphere. This is the only trait I took from neither parent; my mother's eyes were very distinctly blue, without arguement.

I wish to leave it at that, but again, I promised Arhyn I'd be specific, so I suppose expounding is necessary, though I loathe to do it almost as much as..but no. I'm not going to return to my thoughts on the coming dawn.

I have been told that I am beautiful, though I disagree fervently with the claimants. I can see nothing remarkable in my features when I gaze in a glass. I have nothing of Amethyst's dark exoticness or Clarinda's lithe grace. Yet, as I have been told this again and again, by perfect strangers...well, I suppose they can't all be liars. Still, I never came to believe their words, even slightly, until I heard the same thing whispered from Vincent's lips. I find it hard to believe such lips would ever lie to me.

I wonder now if he's all right, riding north alone. I wonder if he's been stopped by the Goskins, ambushed by highwaymen, waylaid by robbers, or illness, or despair.

I must stop thinking such things, or I'm going to make myself ill. Back to my narrative.I must stop thinking such things, or I'm going to make myself ill. Back to my narrative.

It seems if I concentrate hard enough, I can recall Clarinda as a babe. It is my first memory; brief glimpses of a tiny face, clenched hands, slightly pouting lips. Of course, there were three more daughters born to our house after her, and one son. Easily these memories could be of any of them. I've since lost my interest in babes and birthing, having seen so much of it. It's commonplace, second hand.

I was tutored in the castle from the moment I could walk. I took to reading and writing much swifter than my sisters did, and much disconcerted one of my teachers when I found a rather steamy letter of hers, and read it aloud in all innocence. Alas that this recitation was at the dinner table. I can still see the tears running from my father's face as he bellowed in laughter, nearly spilling himself from his chair. Even Arhyn's face was amused as she snatched the paper from my fingers and hustled me off to my room, Lion a silent shadow behind us, as he always was. Letters and parchments were more carefully guarded around me after that.

I loved..and still love..my father dearly. He is a jolly, genteel soul. Even when he pretends at sternness his eyes sparkle with amusement and good-nature. He is a good king, a wonderful king, and the people love him as they have no other. He is a competant warrior, a superb horseman, both despite his rather ponderous girth that seems to extend slightly year upon year. Fortunately, none of his children have inherited his propensity to fat, though my youngest nephew, sweet Prince Allen, seems to be heading already that direction. I oft sat on my father's knee, me on one and Amethyst on the other, as he told us stories of this and that, sometimes merely telling us what he'd done that day. He had a knack for turning the most boring drivel into a riveting saga the envy of bards for miles around. My mother would usually be occupying the opposing chair, sitting closer to the fire for even in those days she was easily sickened by cold winds and drafts. She would chuckle slightly at these tales, shaking her head on occasion and smiling slightly. Invariably the finish of his tale would prompt her to say, "Gareth, you are such a jester!"

Again, I must apologize. Ignore the slight brown splashes on the words above; they are my tears, and I'm afraid they've spattered the ink slightly. Writing about my father has brought a very strong and real grief to my heart; not for him, but for my dear mother. I recalled her words so strong it was as if she were leaning over my shoulder as she did often in my youth, whispering them in my ear.

Alas, if only she would! If only she could!

My mother was never in the best of health. She suffered a slight affliction of the lungs which only worsened over the years. Every winter that I recall her voice was a bit hoarser, her cough a bit more rakish, more persistant. She grew ill easily and became well only slowly, and with great difficulty. Arhyn did all she could to help ease her, and it is most likely her influence that gave my mother the life that she had. She never gave in, did my mother. She never let the pain get hold of her. When she went, last winter, she went with very little fuss, silently in her sleep. The look on her face was that of a contented angel that had done the work she'd set out to do.

God, I miss her. I'd give anything I have and more just to have her back.

She and my father were the happiest two that I have ever known. They were so much in love that it almost hurt others to look at them look upon each other, as if they shared a secret that even if told, no one could understand. My father was curiously contented when she died; he shed no tears. I ventured to ask him about this once; me, who had not stopped weeping since she'd gone. I still remember his words.

"Beth, your mother was part of heaven that God allowed down to grace us. We are very, very lucky that He let us have her as long as He did. We cannot blame Him for taking her back. We can only try to be worthy enough to join her when our time comes. We will be together again."

Ah, if only I had half his conviction and courage, I would not be so feared now.

There I go again, thinking on those things that I wish to avoid. Curse my mind, anyway.

As soon as I was of age, and when I showed an interest and propensity for it, my father arranged for me to learn the crafts of war and survival. I was taught swordplay, as well as the finer art of fencing. Archery, wrestling as mentioned before, strategy, endurance, small weapons battle, large weapons battle; I took to all of it like the proverbial fish. My sisters in turn showed momentary interest in these things; Amethyst abandoned it almost right away. Clarinda held to it longer. Now, it seems young Sarissa might follow my path. She has kept to it more than the others.

By the time I was thirteen, I was already besting seasoned men twice my age. I was the pride of the army; I was their pet, where Amethyst and Clarinda were pets of the court.

I don't know why Arhyn gained interest in me out of all my father's children. Perhaps I whispered something back to her on the night of my birth that so narrowly I avoided making the night of my death. I know this was to be a narrative of my life, meandering as it has been, but no life is a story unto itself. To understand what I tell you about me, you must have history on those closest to me, for they have helped to mold me into what I am. Of all those in my life, the two closest have always been Arhyn and Lion. I cannot tell of myself without telling of them, as we are good as one.

Arhyn came into my father's service at the age of seventeen, fleeing a man who wished to slay her for her magic. She had gained her power, some said, as a young child of no more than five years, when her father's horse had birthed a unicorn, and its power transferred to her. I do not know if this is fancy or not; I never cared to ask her. She became my family's most trusted advisor and friend; she midwifed my elder sister's birth only a month after she was taken in to the castle. She midwifed mine, as mentioned afore. She was attendant to the births of all my sisters and my brother. Through all of it she seemed to hold her age; even now, she appears not a breath older than I. She is odd in her manners if you do not know her; one moment reticent and withdrawn, the next cheerful and more boisterous than my father can be in his best moments. She is a witty, endearing spirit that draws all who know her, though her very prescence demands respect and defference. And she always gets it, even from kings. She is my mentor, and my best friend, and as close to me as ever my parents were.

Ha, Arhyn, now it is your turn to blush!

And of course where ever Arhyn is, there too goes Lion.

He is the only of his kind I or anyone else in Senoth have seen, though he claims there are more, and there probably are. He is a Faerie, but not one as you have probably heard of in child's tales, or the fanciful words of half-drunken wanderers. No tiny being this, with wings of gossamer and clothes sewn of leaves. He is every bit as tall as a human man, and just as winged as one. He bears the face of a cat, with a brown and white striped mane that flows over his shoulders. He is strong, and silent, and quick, and my rock. He is Arhyn's dearest friend, and, as Arhyn, he has always been there. He has made himself my guardian, and my brother in all but blood.

I could take up pages with my knowledge of the sorceress and her Faerie, but this is supposed to be about me. God knows, there are more worthy subjects, but I shall not let Arhyn down. Already I've gone off on enough tangents to make all my old tutors roll over in their crypts. Even those of them that still live.

I was thirteen that morning I first met Vincent. I would have rather been in the courtyard, practicing, or fighting, or shooting, but we were expecting the ambassadors and prince of a nearby kingdom, and so I had to fill my role of princess. I was not yet Heir Apparent, so most of the pressures would be on Amethyst, but as far as I was concerned I was readying for torture.

Lion was brushing out my hair with long, gentle strokes as he sat behind me, his legs crossed as they almost always were when he was sitting. I had already squeezed myself into the obliged dress, which itched in three or four places inaccessable by one with proper upbringing. I was fantastically irritated, but I said not a word of this to Lion, or to Arhyn, who was pacing back and forth before me. Her scarlet cloak was brushing the ground, and the look on her face was one I long recognized. She was not in a jesting mood this morn.

Good. Neither was I.

"What about them bothers you so?" I asked as I watched her. "Surely tis but another ambassadorship, seeking trade or treaty or ally or somesuch. You've never been concerned before."

"I'm not sure." She answered honestly. At times she could be frustratingly vague, but she was invariably honest. "It is an unease, nothing more. Perhaps nothing to worry about."

"Yet you do." I pointed out, then cursed. "Watch the pulling, Lion." I claimed. He had, of course, not pulled. He never did, but I loved to goad him.

"Yet I do." She said, coming to a stop and facing me. "We shall see what we shall see, I suppose."

Lion finished his minstrations on my hair, and I slid from the chair, turning to the glass and frowning at my own reflection. "I look like a fake in this." I said.

"How so?" Ahryn said as she came up behind me in the mirror. That was Ahryn for you; most adults would merely have sniffed and contradicted me; she wanted to know the root of my feeling.

"I was not made for dresses." I replied. "I was made for armor. I was made for horseback. I want to be there now."

"I know you do." Her hands on my shoulders, comforting. "And you will be back in your beloved trousers and return to the courtyard with all vigor I'm sure before the sun sets this eve. But for now, you know this is necessary."

"I suppose." I resigned. "Still, I feel a fake."

Her patient smile, only.

"Why is there a prince coming with the ambassadors?" I asked, meeting her eyes in the glass.

"His father wished him to come." She replied. "Probably he hopes the prince will take interest in Amethyst for marriage. Perhaps he hopes your father will see the same possibilities. I'm not certain."

"Amethyst can't marry, she's only fifteen." I said. Arhyn laughed and even Lion looked amused at this.

"She is nearly an adult, dear Beth." She said to me, glee sparkling her eyes.

"She's still too young." I replied. "Besides, I don't want her to get married."

"Whyever not?"

"Because, then they'll start expecting me to do the same, and I don't ever want to get married."

More laughter from her. "Ah, sweet child." She talked like that sometimes. "You know as well as I that your father would never force any of you into marriage were it not wished by you. You could go your life without wedding, without argument, if such was your wish."

"It is." I said adamantly.

"You will change your mind."

"Never." I responded.

I changed it not an hour later.

When I was properly bedecked, I followed Arhyn's cloak through the halls of the castle that was my home, Lion on my heels. I felt like the middle of a sandwich, a sandwich where the bread is nothing but the finest, softest grain, but the meat in the center has been left to sit too long, and has gone green and sour. I resisted the urge to step on the hem of her cloak; I was feeling mischeivous, but even I would not do such things on situations where donning skirts were required.

The castle had been built by my ancestors long ago, though newer parts had been added and repairs were made whenever required. It is an enormous structure, a maze of corridors, stairways, towers, halls, rooms, and courtyards. Even now, after living and wandering said halls for twenty years and some, I can find myself in places I don't recognize if I don't pay attention to where I go. We were headed from my rooms to the main hall, a fairly direct route and one I knew well, so I let my mind wander as we went. I did this often as well; I was and still am quite the daydreamer.

I suppose there are many common folk who dream of being princesses in their own castles, with the glories of court and the fine clothes and food. However, I'll bet that none of those common folk ever imagined that those same princesses they desired to be, in turn, desired to be them. I easily slipped into fantasies about being a farmer's daughter, working the fields in honest day's labor. Or about the travelling life of a merchanter's wife, seeing the most splendid places and settings, handling goods that would soon grace the tables of emperors. Holding clothes that could find themselves on the backs of anyone at all.

In my life of illusion I have been everything; theif, priestess, highwayman, prisoner, judge, pigkeep, shepherd, harlot...there is no occupation I haven't once imagined myself having. As a child I fell into these dreams very easily, but as I have grown I've found less and less time for them. Lion understands my grief at this. Then again, Lion understands a good many things others do not.

On this occassion, walking solemnly behind Arhyn through the corridors of my home I imagined myself a condemned prisoner, wrongly accused, being led to her death by the executioner. I imagined those we passed looking on me with sympathy, or solemnity, or even disgust as I was brought past; in truth they were probably amused by the sight of me in skirts.

We arrived to join the rest of my family all too soon for my taste, condemned or not. My mother came to me immediately, crouching slightly to kiss my forehead and murmur words of sympathy. She knew I hated dresses such as this.

Amethyst was at my father's side, and looked far more comfortable than I. Part of her hair had been drawn up, the remainder fell in dark waves over her shoulders in a length I envied. She could keep her hair as long as she wished, since by then she'd long since stopped wrestling. Clarinda was also there, a nearly twelve year old goddess. For her part, however, she did look as fairly uncomfortable as I. Fortunately the scrapes on her knees I'd given her the previous day were hidden by the lengths of her skirts; as were the bruises she'd returned to me hidden by my sleeves. She looked at me as mother straightened, and stuck out her tongue. I returned the salute with one of my own, and we giggled slightly.

July, ten, was near Amethyst, and looked almost a smaller version of my elder sister. There were differences, of course, but she certainly promised to be every bit the lady that Amethyst was. She too was comfortable in her clothes, as that was all she ever wore.

Sarissa, then six, was less patient with her irritation. She bore a glare on her face that could easily turn into an all out tantrum. And had she been in but the company of her family she would have done so with all fervency. But for this moment we were more than her family. We were a king, a queen, and princesses, and even she and her hot temper knew how to behave themselves.

I felt a tiny hand slip into mine, and looked down to four year old Loretta. Her eyes were wide and blue, her face absolutely tiny. She was...and still is...my baby. My doll. My shadow at times, as much as Lion is. I smiled at her; she was trying to comfort me, for even she knew that putting me in a dress was asking for trouble.

I had said before that my family was numerous; perhaps you did not appreciate this until I mentioned them all. And at this time, my mother had had two stillbirths and was destined to have another before my last sibling, my brother John, was born.

Again, births in my life were commonplace, second hand. Babies had lost all their mystery to me, and were merely that. Babies.

We were announced in the Royal Hall, and we followed my parents out to where the courtiers were gathered already. The soaring, golden ceiling above and the smooth, yellow tiles below were offset by the color of their raiment.

We walked in our line, my father leading with my mother behind, then descending in age. Little Loretta trailed at the rear, doing her best to look as grown up as the rest of us.

All the courtiers were on their knees as we entered, cloaks and skirts pooled on the ground as they lowered their heads. Even the ambassadors, who formed a cluster near the throne, were down in deference. I glanced over them quickly, while they could not see my eyes.

There were about seven of them, all men, and all dressed in a manner that told of their northern kingdom. Thick furred clothes and cloaks, heavy boots and low caps. Each bore a moustache or beard, save the youngest of these.

He was the one who caught my eye with his own, being naughtily irreverent by lifting his head before my parents were seated. He could have been no older than fourteen, with thick black hair and pale blue eyes; an unbelievably gentle face. I met his eyes for a moment before turning them again to Amethyst's back.

There were three thrones on the dais. My father's was the grandest and centermost, of course. My mother's was at his right hand, and Amethyst's as heir was on his left. They sat, the rest of us taking soft, velvet backed chairs that were off to the side of the dais. Loretta clambered onto my lap as Arhyn took up station in her place near my father's seat, remaining on her feet.

The courtiers rose, as did the ambassadors. I looked again on the young man, wondering if he was as uncomfortable in his silks and his finery as I was in mine. He was doubtless the prince that Arhyn had mentioned; his bearing would have betrayed him had his garments not done so. The men addressed my father, and instantly I tuned them out. I was quite good at that as well. Still, I could not ignore them all together; I had to pay them some attention in case Arhyn questioned me about their words later, as she often did.

It seemed they were here to open trade routes, and to seek Senoth as an ally from their enemies; the normal things. I surpressed both a yawn and the desire to tickle Loretta, who was dozing in my arms.

How I wished I could doze as well! To have back the freedoms of such youth.

Then they came to the subject that made me grin slightly. That of marriage.

"It is His Majesty Adrien Winterhall's wish," The spokesmen of the group was saying. "that his second son, His Majesty Vincent Winterhall, be considered for the hand of your eldest daughter, if such a union will make it easier for our treatise to be considered."

At this the irreverent young man with the dark hair stepped reluctantly forward, lowering himself to his knee. "Your Majesty." He greeted.

My father's voice was even, yet I could still hear the everpresent sparkle of amusement. "You are more than welcome to our aide and our friendship." He said. "We have had no arguments with your kingdom and desire none; and it is well known that the people of Senoth are generous and gracious to all in need. It is not necessary for a marriage to take place in order for me to consider such a treatise. Indeed, as all my kingdom well knows, I will not force any of my daughters in to marriage for any reason, political or otherwise. However, you are more than welcome to remain as guests in the castle for as long as it takes to rest yourselves. We will supply you with a signed treatise covering these things, as well as any food and goods you wish to begin the peace between our realms."

"You are most gracious, Your Highness." Vincent said, still bowing. I could see the relief in him; he'd had no desire to marry either. I wanted to laugh again, but of course I did not. Probably because of the look Arhyn shot me from her place, as if she had sensed my amusement. I noticed then that his eyes again flickered momentarily to mine as he lifted his head, retreating to his place.

The time was set for the signing of the treatise and the ironing out of details, and only minutes after we had entered the hall all was said and done. Such preparations I'd endured, and for this? My irritation grew.

As soon as I was able, I fled along the halls back to my rooms, a giggling Loretta fast on my heels, her little legs flashing as she tried to keep up. I waited and halted for no one.

Once safely in my room I set about shedding those heinous clothes, scattering them hither and yon, scratching thoroughly. Loretta, needless to say, was absolutely delighted at this, dancing around and trying to catch the flutters of cloth as they rained down all about her. I was apparelled at last in my comfortable trousers, and heaved a sigh of relief.

"I hate court, dearest." I said to Loretta.

"Me too." She said firmly. She did not, of course. She said it merely because I had.

"I don't know why this meeting had Arhyn pacing in concern." I continued, pulling on my calfskin boots. I was feeling more human with every moment. "It seemed simple enough to me."

"Simple." She said, clambering up into my lap. I held her close, kissed her head, fluttered her fine, light brown hair. My doll.

"Come on, down to the yard." I said, lowering her from my lap as I stood, taking her hand firmly. "Let's see who we can irritate."

She, of course, was all for this.

As we went more sedately through the castle, I found myself thinking on the young royal that had come to court. I wondered if Amethyst would take to him. Certainly he would take to her! I wondered how it would be if they married, how it would be to have a brother-in-law. You remember that at this time I had naught but sisters; I was eager to have a brother, for it was the only novelty where children were concerned left to me. If that dark-haired lad were my brother, at last I'd have someone to really and truly wrestle!

I think it was about this time, whether I realized it then or not, that I first began to suspect marriage wasn't such a horrid prospect.

What a coincidence! The young royal was in the courtyard when we emerged, alone and wandering about as if he were the most forlorn and lonely being on Earth. I felt sorry for him; so far from his family, and with such pressures on him.

He did not see me at first, so I did what I'd been wanting to do all day, and the only thing I knew would cheer me up were I in his situation.

I went up and pushed him.

Yes, yes, I blush again to recall it. But I honestly did have the best of intentions. I wasn't being consciously cruel; when I'm down the only thing that cheers me is hand-to- hand, and so that's naturally what I assumed would cheer him as well.

Simplicity itself.

He fell, twisting as he did, and landed hard in the dust, direct on his nethermost parts, and gaped up at me as if he couldn't believe that I had dared do such a thing.

I was beginning to suspect I'd made a great mistake.

"Princess!" The sharp, commanding tones of Arhyn.

Now I knew I had made a mistake.

Three strides saw her hand like iron on my arm, her eyes burning accusations into mine as Lion silently stooped to aide the young Vincent to his feet.

"Forgive Princess Bethany, Your Highness." The apology dropped from her mouth as swiftly as, regretfully, only years of practice had perfected. "She's rather impetuous."

He looked at me, dust in his hair, his fine clothes. I really began to feel lower than the dirt on which we stood. His eyes dropped to his feet, and without a word he turned and walked off towards the keep.

I felt the heat in my cheeks, and dropped my own eyes. Suddenly my boots were the most fascinating thing in the world. I could have watched them for hours, if only it meant not having to look into those accusing eyes.

"Come." She said, pulling my arm around and steering me inside. No other in the castle save my very parents would have dreamt of handling me so; but then, no other in the castle was Arhyn.

I prepared for the inevitable lecture. Lion had gathered Loretta up and had taken her back to my mother. My shame was only compounded by the fact that she had witnessed my stupidity. If it were possible for a human to climb deep into their own skin and by such vanish, I would have done so without second thought.

Arhyn returned me to my rooms without a word spoken. She shut the door behind us and faced me, arms folded and face still stern. I sat on the bed, my eyes downcast and my hands folded between my knees. I was the picture of regret.

"Why did you push him down?" She asked at last.

"He looked lonely." I replied.

"I'm curious as to why the problem of loneliness prompted a solution of humiliation."

The slightest shrug on my part. "I was going to wrestle him." I mumbled. "I thought it would make him feel better."

"Did the thought of inquiring as to whether or not he wished to wrestle cross your mind?"

"No." I answered, and it hadn't.

"And what do you think you need to do to rectify this?"

"I must go and apologize." Answered I. This was the thing at the moment that I least desired to do; that is how I knew it was the proper response.

"You must. And if you don't want him to be lonely, try being his friend, rather than his antagonist."

"Yes, Arhyn." I said, rising. I went to the door, certain things were finished, when she stopped me by taking my shoulders.

"You know that you are the dearest thing to me in the world, Bethany." She said, her sternness having faded into wistfulness. I stared at her, unsure how to respond. This was not something she'd admitted to before, though we both knew it. "And I know that you sometimes have problems, for you feel yourself so different than your sisters. But when you are in a war, sweetheart, you need to find allies and not enemies."

"What war?" I asked, rightfully confused.

"You war within yourself. You wish to make your parents proud by being a good daughter, yet you also wish to be independant. You envy Amethyst and July for being high ladies of the court, yet you scorn that as well, wishing to be as rough and tumble as possible. You feel you don't fit in here, or there, or anywhere."

How could she know these, my innermost thoughts? Thoughts so deep they were hidden even fully from my own sight? I regarded the floor again.

She lifted my chin, then kissed my forehead. "Go, Beth. Apologize to Prince Vincent for your rudeness and your assumption. I promise you will lose nothing from such an exchange; indeed, you may gain some humility."

I nodded, no longer trusting my tongue, and removed myself from my rooms in order to offer my regrets to the blue-eyed, black haired Prince of Dust.

He was understandably wary at my return, eyeing me as if I were going to attack him. He had cleaned the best of the dust from his garments, but a light coating remained on his black hair, sparkling it gold, and powdering his shoulders. He said not a word as I drew near, but regarded me as a dog that might bite.

"I'm very sorry." I said to him. "I did not mean to hurt or humiliate you. The pushing, I mean. There was no malice in it; I wished only that we should wrestle. You looked lonely, and such things always lift my spirits when I'm in a dark mood."

"You wanted to wrestle me?" He asked slowly, cautiously. I nodded. "But..." Here it came. I knew it was going to come. "you're a princess."

Ah, not exactly the 'you're a girl,' I was suspecting, but close enough.

"Aye," Answered I. "Second born of King and Queen Duncan, at your service, Your Highness." I swept a bow, for curtseying in pants only looks ridiculous. I was being cheeky, and I knew it.

He placed his hand over his heart, bowed stiffly himself. I noticed his eyes never moved from me; he was still suspicious. When he replied with his own name and title, I sensed a tad of cheekiness in his tone as well. I began to relax; this was a boy I could grow to like! "Prince Vincent Winterhall, second son of His Majesty, Adrien Winterhall of Gand, as well at your service."

"Well, now that the formalities are out of the way; aren't you dreadfully uncomfortable in those things?" I indicated his clothes. He plucked at his silken tunic as if noticing it for the first time.

"A...bit." He admitted. He indicated my garb. "I see that you have changed; were you uncomfortable in the dress as well?"

"Hideously." I replied instantly. I stepped forward, took his arm as I pulled him towards the stables. He balked a bit, uncertain.

"Where are we going?"

"To the grooms, of course. I'm sure one of them is enough your size that they can lend you clothes that are far less itchy than those things." I stopped, realizing I was being overbearing again. "That is, if you want."

He looked at me, his eyes as clear and innocent as the sky above, his lips parted slightly in what could only be indecision. Finally he nodded, the spark of revolt lighting slightly behind those eyes. "Only if you promise not to push me down again."

And so started a great friendship.

That first visit, Vincent was here with his ambassadors only a week, as the treatise was drawn and signed, and the goods loaded onto wagons for journey back to Gand. I showed him how to ride a horse with both feet and all ones weight on one stirrup in order to use the animal's body as a shield; he showed me how to skip rocks. I showed him how to get out of a seemingly impossible headlock; he showed me, much to the stablemaster's disconcert, how to swing from a rope tied to the hayloft at just the precise moment to terrify the grooms.

After he left, we wrote each other constantly. In my letters I detailed our daily life, telling him when any event of moment occurred. He did the same. He described to me his father, and his elder brother (he had only one sibling, the wonder of it!), and his mother the queen. He also described his father's mistress. I laughed at such stories as he wrote, and looking forward to his letters was always a bright point in my life.

Despite Arhyn's discomfort when he and his ambassadors had arrived, nothing seemed to come of their visit that would warrent such a thing. Indeed, only good things seemed to have happened. It wasn't until much later that her feeling was explained; and it nearly cost a life in the discovering of it.

Sorry about that, I had to take a break for a moment, and gather my breath again. The night has grown silent outside, but the candles have hardly burnt down and I know it is still many hours until dawn. I write of these things, of my ways as a child, and I feel as if I write about some other than myself, for I am few of these things now. Least, I try to be few of these things. The last paragraph before I halted was a hard one for me to write, harder even than writing of my mother. The reason for this, as you already well know, Arhyn, is that the life that was nearly cost to discover an act of wicked betrayal was one that might be ended shortly anyway if things go ill in the morning.

It was my own.

But we haven't reached that tale yet. Where I left off I am still young, a girl of only thirteen who stupidly pushes princes down in the dust and caused more than one young groom to embarrass himself by flying down out of the barn eaves like some vengeful revenant, scattering straw in her wake.

The seasons and days melted together. All too soon, I turned fourteen, and then fifteen. I continued my letters to Vincent and my training in the combat arts. I remained fond of trousers though I could stand dresses a bit longer than I had before. For my fifteenth birthday, father gave me a fully trained warhorse descended from his own mount; I was more than ecstatic. The mare is as white as the snow, save a dark patch on her offleg. I promptly dubbed her Winter, perhaps in deference to her coloring, perhaps because Vincent's surname started such.

As told, Senoth was a very generous and giving country. The people loved their king, for he was not an indifferent monarch as many became, even the best intentioned. I shall give you a for example of our interest in our people.

There had been an accident. A man had fallen beneath a wagon when the horse he was trying to hitch spooked, and had recieved a broken leg for his pains. He had a wife and two very small children, and his whole life revolved on his field crop, which he could no longer tend due to his injury. His wife tried her best, but she had the children and the house to run as well. Things were falling behind, and they were in real danger of starving when winter came.

This news arrived at the palace. Mother was having a rather hard week, as I recall, and father did not want to leave her side. So I tacked Winter, gathered a column of footsoldiers, and we rode out to the farm of the poor unfortunate.

He was a bit surprised to see me; it was not every day a princess knocks on your door, I suppose. He was even more surprised by the purpose of our visit.

All that day, the soldiers and I worked the fields for him, clearing the weeds and deepening the trenches so that water reached all of the small sprouts. We hauled rocks, worked in the dirt with our fingers, and tended to the plants as if they were our own. Many times, the man would hobble out of the house, leaning on his rough wood crutch. He seemed mortified that I was doing his labor.

"Please, Your Highness," He begged repeatedly. "I cannot allow you to dirty your hands for us simple commonfolk; let your men finish if you insist, but come into the house and let us offer you what hospitality we can."

"Nonsense." I replied, not halting. "I will work as hard as any other, for it is men like you and yours that make this kingdom, and if you suffer all suffer. I'm as human as you are, highborn or not, and God sees that no human shuns his neighbor when said neighbor is in need. Would you deny me whatever blessings I can gain from this?" I was growing cheeky again.

"Certainly not," He said hesitantly. "But you are the daughter of the king, who is ordained by God; surely your place in heaven is already assured?"

I laughed goodnaturedly at this. "No one, highborn or not, is granted a byway past God's laws. Even if we were, I would still be here in the dirt, for it is the right thing to do. It's as simple as that. Indeed, we have more of a responsibility to set an example for those we lead; I cannot expect those commonfolk of Senoth to do what I myself am not willing to! I, as the others, shall not leave until it is done; and we shall return to make certain the work is kept up as you heal. Your family will have food and clothes this winter, sir. That is a fact."

I was a bit surprised when he burst into happy tears. I was more than embarrassed when he grabbed my filthy hand and kissed it, resting his forehead on my knuckles, thanking me over and over until the words were lost in his sobs.

"Please, please stop." I begged him in turn, pulling him fully to his feet. "Go, into the house and rest."

He obeyed, still crying. My cheeks were so red I could still feel the burn of them as I returned to labor.

This was not the first time this had happened. Long before I was born, indeed, before he was even crowned king, my father often went and helped those who needed it. He went less after he was king, for his council feared his safety and his business kept him occupied. However no unfortunate went without; as soon as the news of such reached us, clothes or food or money if necessary was sent out to them. This had been the first time I had gone on a personal trip to aide, but it was not the last. In fact, I enjoyed it so much it was not a uncommon sight to see me and my men riding through the city on the way to help at a farm, or to see us in the midst of the city, repairing a shop that had been destroyed by fire or waylaid by ruffians. Often, after a banquet, I would gather the best of the leftovers and pass them out in the streets. I kept a pouchful of candy at all times to hand to children who would flock about our horses in surprising waves, appearing from buildings and alleys like magic.

I think I may have been driven to this by pride, or fear; I have told you I am not a righteous person. My soul bears its own share of sin and then some, and these things will hardly cleanse it to pure when I stand before the final judgment. Still, I cannot stand to see others suffer or miserable when there is something I can do to aide; because I am wicked doesn't mean my wickedness must harm others when it can be avoided.

When I was seventeen and Amethyst nineteen, she finally married. Her chosen suitor (and believe me, she had them aplenty), was Prince Tahn of Nahvar.

Unfortunately, he was the heir to his throne, and his country is far enough that a merging of the kingdoms did not seem plausible. Poor Amethyst, she wept so about it. She did not want to let father down, but she could not imagine life without her Tahn. The whole family was distraught over the whole thing, save father, who remained unusually silent. Finally, during court, he announced quite proudly and without argument that his eldest daughter was to marry Prince Tahn. She stared at him as if she could not accept his words, as if it had to be a cruel trick. He took her from her throne, there in front of the court, hugged and kissed her and wished her the best.

"Do..do you mean it father?" She asked softly.

"Of course! You marry for love, and that is all I ever wanted for you." Replied he. "But what of Senoth? I cannot abandon her."

"No, you cannot, and you will not, as long as you live how we have taught you. As for the kingdom, your sister Bethany will take up in your stead. I'm sure she will make a glorious queen."

My jaw dropped at this point, despite my upbringing. I wasn't even aware when Lion, who stood behind my chair, reached gently around and shut it for me. Me? A queen? ME?

"Father," I heard the word drop from my own mouth. "I am hardly a fit queen for Senoth." I was desperate, looking around at my family, ignoring the murmuring courtiers.

"You would deny your sister her happiness?" He asked.

"No, no, never. Of course I would not. I am nothing but overjoyed; Tahn is nobility incarnate. However, perhaps..." I searched frantically. "Perhaps Clarinda would be a better choice?"

"We shall talk on this later." He said, kissed Amethyst again, and sent her down into the crowd, where Prince Tahn was already pushing his way to the fore. He took her up in his arms and hugged her tightly.

I was more than delighted for her. Really I was.

But I was no queen, and I well knew it.

I met with my father after dinner, protests already on my lips. He silenced me with a look as he closed the door to his library, and bade me sit. I did so.

"Why do you not wish to be queen?" He asked as he took a chair opposite. The fire in the hearth was bright and cheerful, the smell of books and burning wood a balm as it had always been, but even this failed to soothe me completely.

"Father, do you really need to ask that?" I inquired. "You well know me and my habits. Do I seem a suitable queen for Senoth? I'm no court lady; far from! I'm at home on horseback, with a sword in my hand, and not on a throne."

His brown eyes were flecked with orange from the fire, and I knew from experience mine were probably a bright hue of the same color.

"The ruler of a kingdom needs to be strong as well as genteel." He responded. "Were our kingdom to fall at war, a strong arm with a sword would be more welcome than skirts and grace."

"War." I snorted a bit. "We haven't had a war since your father's father was on the throne." I replied. "I have no patience with court."

"I know you don't, but you will learn it."

"I make horrid speeches."

"You will learn."

"I don't know my right foot from my left when dancing."

"You will learn."

"I'm hideous at making policy."

"You will learn."

"Dammit father!" I slammed my hand into the arm of my chair and stood, pacing fervently. "Why bother to teach me when there are those of my sisters who already know?"

"Bethany."

I stopped pacing and faced him.

"Sit down." He ordered. I reluctantly obeyed.

"All that I am to tell you is not to leave this room." He said, leaning forward a bit, his eyes intense in his round face. "That is an order of your king, as well as a request by your father."

I was startled. "Of..of course." I nodded.

"I was absolutely ecstatic when I learned that Amethyst had fallen into a situation that would take her off the throne. I love her completely, and she is a very good woman. She would have made an adequate queen, but not a wonderful one."

Never had I ever heard my father speak anything ill of any of my sisters. I was stunned into remaining silent.

"You know her as well as I, Beth. She is a perfect lady of the court, but she is no leader. She is too easily swayed by the opinion of others, for she wishes to please everyone. Once upon a time, she may have been just what this kingdom needed, but not now."

"And I am what it needs?" I asked warily. He took my hands.

"You are a caring, giving person with a generous spirit. Yet you are also strong, and willing to fight for that which you not only believe, but know is right."

My cheeks were coloring again. What balderdash was this? "This is not true, father." I interrupted. "I am none of these things."

"You are modest as well." He smiled. I shook my head.

"Not modesty, but honesty. I have committed more than my share of sins."

"As have any you can name."

It was different, I knew it was different. But I remained silent, for to speak further would have revealed myself. I lowered my eyes, feeling unworthy to meet his.

"You will be queen, Bethany. By right of birth and by my order." He continued gently. I said nothing. "Your sister will wed Tahn and be queen at Nahvar. She will be insanely happy, which is all I, and I know you, wish for her. As soon as she is wed, you will be named Heir Apparent. You, not Clarinda or July or Sarissa or dear little Loretta. Not even baby John."

I looked up finally in his eyes, feeling despaired, wanting anything but this. I had no desire to rule, could he not see it? Of course he could, but I was going to anyway. I closed my eyes momentarily, then wound my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

"It will be as you wish, my father." I whispered as he returned my embrace.

"Good girl." He whispered back. "I knew I could count on you."

And so I became Heir Apparent, and future queen of Senoth. What joy. And yes, that was meant as sarcasm.

Don't misunderstand me; I love our lands, our people. I would see Senoth prevail over all others if within my power. I just was not worthy to rule her. But there was no convincing my father, or my mother. Nor Arhyn, who listened to all my concerns only to pat my hand and say, "You will make a wonderous queen."

Yes, a wonderous disaster of one. Pity.

Yet I will do my best to rule, as it is all I can do. I will try not to let my father down, or sully the memory of my beloved mother. Provided, of course, that both Senoth and I survive tomorrow.

Today, rather, as it is now past midnight. Still the candles are burning strong, not yet halfway to their nubs, and I have more time to write. My hand is growing weary, but I'm ignoring it; my sword is hand and a half, and I'm as accomplished with it in either, so this weariness should not affect my swing at dawn. No knock has come to my door to interrupt me; I suppose you are staying away in respect for your request, though I halfway wish you would come. Lion is probably absent as well at your insistance, and father has too much to prepare to interuppt me.

Another pause. I retreated momentarily to the kitchens for a pitcher of water; not wine as I will need all my wits about me in future hours. I suppose I went more to see a living human face; I had fallen into a deep melancholy, and was beginning to wonder if there were any still but mine. I had started to fancy that I was the only being left in the castle, such was the silence. Or worse, the only in the whole of the world.

There is my imagination for you. Cursed thing.

Of course there were people in the kitchens, and in the corridors. I was reassured that I was not alone in creation. Loretta came and walked by my side in silence for a moment before I kissed her head and sent her to bed. She did not need to lose sleep as well. She went reluctantly, casting many tear-filled glances back at me. I think she fears the same I fear; my death.

My poor little doll.

But now I have returned with pitcher and goblet and rested hand, and am prepared to take up this narrative once again. I hope I can finish to your satisfaction before I am called at dawn for battle; I hate to read things that are left unresolved, and have no desire to inflict this upon you with my own writing.

Amethyst was wed and I was appointed, both of which led to an incident that led a weaving path back to the ambassadors from Gand, and dear Prince Vincent, whom I hadn't seen since he'd left Senoth four years previous to return home. We still wrote, of course, and so our friendship endured.

A month had coursed by since the wedding and my appointment. Amethyst had already gathered her belongings and had left us in a flurry of tears, parcels, and goodbyes for her husband's kingdom. It felt odd in the castle without her, and many of us were a bit melancholy for the longest while.

It was at dinner that night when this incident began. We were eating as a family as court had not been called that day, cozy in a small dining room lit by fire and torch. It was still strange for me to be sitting at my father's left at dinner; that was always Amethyst's spot. But I was growing used to it. Arhyn sat at my side as well, and of course Lion was always hovering silently about.

It was a cheerful evening. We laughed about many things, talked of many others, and just enjoyed the company of each other. We ate, we drank, we made merry. Isn't that how the old adage directs?

More than an hour into the meal (our suppers were always long), I fell silent in my chair. I cannot quite describe to you what I felt; it wasn't exactly illness, but I was suddenly grated on by everything in the room. The voices cut through my head and seemed surreal; the food on my plate turned my belly in ways acrobats have yet to master. After several minutes of this I rose and leaned to my father, excusing myself with a whisper in his ear. I did not even truly pause to allow him to dismiss me, but left and headed promptly to my rooms.

I cast myself to the bed without removing anything but my boots, and only moments later I fell into a deep sleep.

I woke to darkness, and unbelievable pain.

My guts felt as if I had swallowed liquid fire, and it was seeking to roast me from the inside out. My bedclothes were in a heap on the floor, for I loathed their touch, yet I shivered violently, freezing from the outside even as I was being boiled from within. I tried to move, but I had no energy left to my body. Tears coursed from my eyes, which themselves were blurry and felt slightly swollen.

I passed hours in this state, curled upon my bed, in absolute misery, wishing to die. I grew slowly worse, and at one point I think I hallucinated. Perhaps I had fallen back into slumber and had dreamt, but given the amount of suffering I was in, I doubt that I had. Either way, there suddenly seemed to be a crowd of people around my bed, touching me with fingers that felt like a corpse's must; hard and soft at the same time with decay. Dreadful voices whispered to me, and faces flashed on my eyes as if imprinted there by the vengeful finger of some devil. I plead weakly with them to go away, and after a while they did, and I was alone again with my pain in the dark of my room.

I was aware of my door opening only as a memory. Only when I felt a very real, very gentle touch on my forehead did I recall that it had just opened, and someone had come through. I tried my best to focus on them, but the whole world was a blur now; it was easier just to close my eyes.

"Bethany, I am going for Arhyn." The whispered words, unmistakably those of Lion. A great relief only slightly deadened my agony. "Hold fast."

I was so weak I could in no way acknowledge his words, and that swiftly he was gone. I endured until he returned; I had no other choice, though I wished he hadn't left. Several eternities later, and what was really probably only a minute or two, he was again by my bedside, Arhyn with him. Her cool hand touched my forehead as well, her voice whispered in my ear. I closed my eyes again, becoming still enough that they probably believed I had passed out. How I wish I could have told them my pain was too much for unconsciousness! I heard their words.

"How long has she been like this?" Arhyn's voice sounded strained.

"I came to you the instant I saw."

A touch on my wrist, then a light one on my forehead. Delicate, slightly shaking hands.

"Water and cloths, as swiftly as you can find them."

A soft flurry of movement. I felt her prescence draw closer to me, her hand on my face, then my shoulder. "We are here for you, sweet child." She whispered in my ear. "Don't despair."

I had no response within me.

Lion returned, and the gentle touch of a cool wet cloth was on my face in place of her hand. I was swimming in darkness, yet still remained aware of the exchange.

"Fetch King Gareth and Queen Lauren immediately." She urged the Faerie. I heard him turn to leave as fingers gently touched my lips. A moment's pause.

"Lion...better fetch the priests as well."

The priests! Had I not been in such a state I would have felt a thrill of horror at that; priests were only called if one was in danger of dying. I was going to die!

"The priests..." His gentle tones. "What should I tell them?"

"Tell them..." Another pause, as if she were unsure, or unwilling to admit the truth of it. "Tell them the princess has been poisoned."

I well and truly passed out after that, floating in a pool that left me oblivious of everything but the sharp molten metal that had become my guts. I regained my awareness sometime before dawn, and now there was a true crowd in the room. My sheets had been regathered about me, and they were the purest torture. Without opening my eyes I moved weakly, trying to shed them, for their very contact on my skin was horrifying. Hands came to me, ceasing my movement and resettling the blankets. I wanted to weep, but had no energy. I could sense the amount of bodies in the room, and could now hear the soft chanting rythyms of the priests' voices. I even recognized the words; they were giving me last rites. My urge to weep grew, but resulted in only a single, slight tear that was instantly evaporated on my fevered skin.

"Is she awake?" The voice was my mother's, trembling and tight. She coughed for a moment. I wanted to sit up and urge her to return to bed; she was ill and should not be here!

"I don't think so." Arhyn replied from much nearer by; it had been her hands that had resettled the blankets. "With the state she's in, she may not come around. She's probably unaware of anything."

If only you knew, Arhyn! I never told you of my awareness that night. You remained oblivious of it until I penned it just now. But don't admonish yourself; you could not have known and I could not make it known.

A soft sob from somewhere, probably again my mother. The younger children would not have been allowed in.

"I demand to know who did this to her, and why!" The voice of my father, much changed from any other time I had heard it. He had never sounded angry at anytime in his life save this moment; now he sounded righteously furious.

"Please, Your Highness, I know of your feeling." Arhyn soothed. "But she may be able to hear you, and your emotion will not do her any good now. Let her last memories of you be of your kindness, and not your anger."

So Arhyn too believed I would die. And if she believed it, there was no hope at all. Again I wanted to weep, wanted to shout my fear, but all that I emitted was the softest of groans, more a heavy exhalation of breath than a controlled sound. It so weakened me, did this one, tiny act, that I lay as still as I had before, unable to move. There was a long silence, even the priests had halted their chantings.

"Is she...?" My mother's voice was so tremulous the words were almost unrecognizable. She believed, as probably did the rest of them, that that exhalation had been my last, that I had just expired before them. And I could do nothing to reassure them!

God, but the pain was terrific. I was soldered in it.

The gentlest touch of fingers to my throat, then a palm before my nose which I more sensed than felt. Then Arhyn's voice as I had never before heard it, relieved but near tears.

"No, she still lives."

More exhalations of breath, my mother's gentle crying and soft coughs. I could almost picture my father's arms around her in comfort.

I determined right then and there I would not die. Pain or no pain, despair or no despair, regardless of what even Arhyn believed.

Even as I made that determination the waves of blackness were again pulling me into unaware agony once more.

When I woke again, the pain was gone. I lay and revelled in it for a long moment, feeling a heaviness about me. I felt as if I floated, as if I touched nothing.

I thought I had died, that this was what it was like to be dead, and again I grew afraid. Using all my will, I managed to just barely crack my eyes.

There was light in the room, from the window. Dawn had come; or perhaps I had spent many days unaware, and this was another dawn. Through the slit of my lids I saw a nearby chair, in which Arhyn sat, leaning back, her eyes closed as her head rested on the wings of it. Her eyes seemed sunken and bruised, a crease between her eyebrows where none had been before. The fall of her curly hair was in disarray, and on her cheeks were the dried marks of tears.

I had never seen Arhyn weep before; I had never seen evidence of her weeping.

There were others in the room; I heard soft voices, felt prescences, but I saw only Arhyn as she slept there. I wanted to sit and waken her, tell her I was well, but I had no energy still for it. I closed my eyes again and slept.

Well and truly slept.

Hours passed.

I again managed to open my eyes. The light was brighter, the day later. The chair was vacant. I licked my lips slightly, turned my head. Father and mother were there, turned away from me, his arm about her shoulders, hers about his waist, and his head resting on hers as they regarded the other window. Arhyn was still there, pacing about as she had that day that Vincent came, hands clasped behind her and head lowered in thought. Lion was there as well, sitting on the floor, legs crossed of course, watching Arhyn.

There was no sign of the priests; doubtless they had chased them off when the chanting grated their nerves.

I licked my lips again, silent a moment as I watched this scene, feeling a slight smile tug at my lips. I could not help it; I sought in my mind for a while for some dramatic way to make my consciousness known, but at last I settled for a mere; "Good morning."

Never had I gotten attention with any words as swiftly as I did with those two. Instantly all eyes were on me, my parents turned, Arhyn ceasing her walk. They stared at me as if I were a revenant, which is probably how I appeared.

"What?" I managed. "No good morning in return?"

"Damn you for your humor!" Arhyn said, her voice relieved as she was at my bedside, kissing my forehead and cheek, touching my face. My mother was at my other side the next moment, her frail fingers stroking my hair, tears flushing into her eyes.

"Don't cry," I urged. My throat was hot every time I spoke. "There is no need to cry."

"There is every need to cry." She said, the tears spilling. "You are all right."

I kissed her face, then slumped back, exhausted onto my pillow. Her fingers found mine. "Who has done this thing?" I asked thinly.

"We don't as yet know." My father. "Don't concern yourself on it right now; you need to regain your strength."

"Don't concern myself?" I said. "I think I'm the one who should be most concerned, don't you?"

"Shh." My mother. "Your only concern at the moment is rest. You nearly..." She could not bring herself to finish, but we both knew what the next word would have been. I fixed my eyes upon her, my voice softening.

"You should not be here, mother. You are ill; you need to be in bed."

"How could I have remained in bed during this?" She asked. "My little Bethany, we almost lost you!"

"But now I am here, I am found, and you need to rest." I urged. I looked to my father, pleadingly. "Make her rest, please."

"Only if you promise to as well." He replied, as I knew he would. I resigned. He came over as Arhyn rose, and hugged me tightly, his tears on my face as surprising as the evidence of Arhyn's had been. My father weeping frightened me, for some reason. He, too, kissed my cheek. Without a word, he rose and took my mother's shoulders, leading her from the room.

Arhyn reseated herself, touched my forehead, searching for traces of my fever, no doubt. I looked to her.

"Do you know who did it?" I asked. Her head shook, her disgruntled curls swishing over her shoulders.

"I do not, or your father would have them on his gallows by now." She replied softly.

"Why would they wish to do such a thing?" I asked. "I've done my best to harm no one."

"You have harmed no one, sweet child. Alas there are those out there who do not need an excuse for wickedness. Perhaps it was one who wished you not to inherit the throne."

"My sisters would never do such a thing!" I shot.

"Of course they would not, and they did not." She reassured.

"The only one who does not seem to wish me to inherit the throne is me, and I hardly did such a thing to myself." I replied.

"This, too, I know." She said. I looked at her eyes, seeing the soft sheen of tears there again.

"Why do you weep?" I asked quietly. "I am here, I'm all right, Arhyn."

"I know you are." She replied, just as quietly. She again kissed my forehead before rising. "You need rest. We shall be here when you awake again."

I regained my strength, and my health, though I have always retained an unfortunately clear memory of that night's pain and experiences. I remained abed for a week longer than necessary at the insistance of my parents and Arhyn. I hated this, for I felt they were being overprotective and doting. Could they not see I was well?

I was, at last, allowed out of my rooms. Loretta had been my shadow before; now she was my skin, refusing to let me out of her sight for weeks on end after the poisoning. Had it been any other I might have been irritated by this; but I could never be irritated with my doll.

However those who had poisoned me had not been found, and by my father's order I was to remain within the castle and tight in sight of guards at all times. This DID irritate me, and I argued fervently with him about it. He did not budge, and I was forced to endure this heinous thing. I knew I could not do so long, so I set myself about finding out who my attacker was so that I might more swiftly be released from this sentance. Of course, I had no luck. And this was the one they wanted to be queen!

Months passed with no incident. I returned to argue with my father about his restrictions, but got no leeway. I was in real danger of losing my sanity!

I turned eighteen in the midst of this. Three days after my birthday I was sitting in my rooms, looking in my mirror as I brushed my hair. Loretta was nearby, brushing her own, talking of this and that.

"I wish that I were as pretty as you."

I stopped, not sure I had heard her correctly, then looked down at the lovely little doll at my side. "Why do you say that, dearest? You are the picture of beauty."

She was nearly nine then. Her hair had darkened in the manner of Amethyst and July, but her eyes were light blue, lighter than mothers. She promised to be taller than my elder sister, and every bit as graceful as Clarinda. I adored her, but I could not understand her words.

"But I'm not as pretty as you." She insisted. She looked in the mirror, her hand lifting to play with a lock of my hair. "You look like an angel."

I could feel the color flushing my cheeks.

"I am no angel, dearest." I replied as we both looked in the glass. "I'm plain at best."

"Why are you lying?" She asked, knitting her tiny eyebrows. I was taken aback.

"Lying? I'm not lying, sweet. Why would I wish to lie?"

"I don't know." She replied. Ah! "But you are." Damn!

"It's nice of you to say." I told her, taking the brush from her fingers and starting on her hair. "You are very beautiful, Loretta. You should never wish to be something that you are not."

Such words from my mouth! I was telling her this, me, who had wished I was everything from criminal to dancer.

"I do it all the time." She said cheerfully. "Can I brush your hair?"

I resumed my seat and allowed her to brush mine in turn. She ran her fingers through it as she did so.

"You have pretty hair." She said. How I wished she'd stop with these compliments! Time to change the subject.

"Thanks, dearest." I said. "How are your lessons progressing?"

She made a face as I knew she would. That launched us in to speaking of tutors and classes and the horrid crime that was called 'mathematics.' We laughed a few times, and in the midst of this laughter, a knock came.

"Enter!" I called cheerfully. It was Arhyn, Lion hovering behind.

"Good news, Beth!" She smiled at me. I looked at her, stilling Loretta's brushing hand with mine on her wrist.

"Good news?" I questioned. Perhaps they had found my antagonist, and I was free of my restriction!

"Indeed. Prince Vincent and his entourage are here from Gand."

I blinked. I had not seen Vincent since he was fourteen, five years before, although we had stayed in touch.

"He is?" I removed the brush from Loretta's fingers, setting it aside as I rose. "Why did he not tell me he was coming?"

"I don't know." She answered. "But he is here. He has requested audience with the court and your father."

Oh, no. Not another dress.

The thought must have been plain on my face, for she grinned, then moved in and took my hands. "Come, we will dress you swiftly; court convenes in less than half an hour. You too, Loretta."

"I'm already in a dress." She said indignantly. Arhyn laughed.

"Yes, indeed you are, but you have mud upon your skirts, and a stain of jelly on your sleeve."

Loretta pouted, but went to change.

Again I found myself squeezed into a gown, but I was too excited to even be irritated by it; Vincent was here! I wondered if he had grown much. Perhaps he had acquired a beard, as his ambassadors all had worn. I wondered then how he would look with a beard. I couldn't wait to see him.

Finally I was properly dressed, and was again following Lion and Arhyn down to the hall. Loretta skipped into place next to us, taking up my hand. I pressed hers tightly.

We entered in our line, as always. The only difference being that now I was following my mother rather than Amethyst. As the others took their chairs, Lion holding John, I settled myself into the heir's throne, searching through the gathering before us for a sign of Vincent. I did not see him at first; there were only the bearded ambassadors. The same ones from previously, unless my eyes were decieving me. I searched again...then saw him.

He had indeed grown, and was much taller than last I had seen him. His shoulders and arms had thickened as well, and his hair was longer than before. He was not dressed in his silks, but in the same thick clothes the others wore. He had not grown a beard, but his chin was shadowed slightly with stubble. His eyes were just as blue.

When I first saw him, I thought for a moment he was ill; he looked pale, and his mouth was open a bit. Only with the greatest of effort did he shut it, and turned his eyes away.

I wondered what the matter was.

The ambassadors stepped forward and spoke, and as they did I continued to look at Vincent, my eyebrows knit as I tried to decide what was wrong. His eyes were sliding all over the place, to his feet, to my father, to his men, to the wall. Everywhere but at me. I began to be upset; had I angered him in some way? What had I done that he would avoid me so? I began to dwell on this, so much so that I missed what was said until I heard my father's incredulous utterance of one, simple word.

"War?"

War? I perked up, turned to him.

"Yes, Your Highness. The country of Goskin from across the sea has made war upon us." The ambassador spoke. "They are even now shipping their soldiers en force over the waters. We are no match for their numbers, and seek your kind aide."

"But why would they wish to war with you?" He asked.

"For our lands." The man replied. "We are a small kingdom, but we hold a strategic place. They wish to take our lands, for in concert with theirs they will have a greater bastion for taking more lands."

"Such men..." My father sighed regretably. "Of course you shall have our aide in this. Give us some time for preparations, and we shall send as many of our columns as necessary to help Gand."

"You are too kind." The ambassador bowed, and as he did I realized another oddity; Vincent, as prince, should have been the one doing the speaking; why was this bearded underling talking in his stead?

Court was again dismissed, but this time I did not flee immediately to my rooms to change, but made my way onto the floor, heading after Vincent as they moved through the crowd. Courtiers parted and bowed for us both as we went, but I ignored them.

"Vincent!" I cried in desperation. He heard me, for he stopped, his shoulders tensing visibly. I HAD angered him then; I thought fervently for the reason. I stopped behind him, touched his shoulder. He turned only slowly, reluctantly, jaw tense and eyes unreadable. "Vincent," I plead. "It has been so long since we have seen each other, yet you treat me coldly. What have I done to anger you? Please tell me, so that I may rectify it."

His arm was trembling with his emotion beneath my hand. I looked at him urgently, fearing what his answer would be. "You..." He began. His voice was far deeper than I recalled, but still gentle. "You have done nothing."

With that he turned and pulled away from me, heading again through the crowd. I stood and watched him go, tears rising in my eyes. I was more confused now than ever; if I had done nothing, then why did he shun me so?

I returned to my rooms, sat again at my mirror, this time without changing. I looked into the glass as I took up my brush again, wondering if the girl who gazed back at me through it held the answers to Vincent's odd behavior. His scorn had hurt me deeply, more than I thought such a thing would. I could do naught but wonder what had brought it on.

Had he lied when he said I had done nothing? Why did he regard me now with so much hate?

I began to weep, seeing the tears on my cheeks in the glass before I felt them. I touched the mirror as if I could wipe hers away, but of course it was nothing but cold. Instead, I wiped my own.

Another soft knock. I didn't bother to call an acknowledgement, but set to brushing my hair again. I heard the door open and knew it was Arhyn; she was the only who would dare enter unbidden. I did not look at her, even as she came up behind me and appeared in the mirror, even as she took the brush from my fingers and gathered my hair.

"Why is he mad at me?" I asked softly. "I've been over and over everything we ever said or wrote, and can think of nothing that would spark such ire. Why does he hate me?"

"I don't think he hates you, sweet child." She said.

"Of course he does." I responded. "He couldn't look at me. He ran from me, and when I stopped him, he spoke as if I were a stranger to him. What have I done?"

"I think you need to speak with him." More strokes with the brush. "Change into the clothes he knows you best in, and go and speak with him."

"What have my clothes to do with it? Speak with him? So that he can shun me again?"

"Trust me, dearest." She kissed the top of my head, handing back my brush. "And obey me. You will see."

She left me then and again I regarded the girl in the mirror. She was silent, and had no answers. Finally I spurned her as well, rose, and changed. Back in trousers, I headed out to find Vincent and discover the source of his hate.

I nearly met my eternal fate in those halls. My attacker had not given up, merely slept for a while.

There were few guards about; already my father was setting about his preparations to aide Gand in the threatened war. I easily moved out of sight of those there were, heading down the back corridor steps to where I knew the prince would be quartered. My boots made soft echoes in the narrow space. I was not armed; I had not thought to arm myself in my concern over this matter.

So silent was he that moved before me I did not see him until he was but feet away, the dagger in his hand shooting towards my breast. I instinctively leapt back, missing the blade. I slipped as I did so, and fell, sliding towards him and tumbling us both down the stairs. I felt the bite of the knife across my palm as we crashed to the ground and rolled into the hall. He was swifter than thought, and before I could recover myself he was upon me, thrusting me down to the ground, pinning me. His breath was sour from his lips, the tangle of his beard falling like a grimy cloud from his chin as he lifted the blade into my sight again. My head was swimming from the crack on the ground.

Suddenly a descending form. A hand clamped on his wrist, wrenching it and him around. The knife clattered to the ground and skipped away across the stones. I blinked, regaining my wits, to see my attacker, the very ambassador from Gand, caught in the grip of Vincent.

"You filthy treacherous blackguard!" He snarled, his eyes blue fire as he slammed the man hard against the wall. The ambassador bared his teeth, thrusting against Vincent in an attempt at escape. I had not exaggerated when I said the prince looked thicker; he easily held the much larger man at bay. I rolled, scrambling for the dagger, grasping it in my burning, bloodied hand. I leapt to my feet as the ambassador renewed his determination, shoving and driving Vincent finally off balance. He slipped through his grip, fleeing down the hall. I tossed the knife and he screamed as it buried itself in his thigh, falling. Instantly guards were there, bared weapons in hand as they took in the situation. I pointed, righteous ire flooding me.

. "Arrest him, for an attempt on my life, and on the life of Prince Vincent of Gand."

The guards went white as they gathered up the struggling, cursing, injured northernman, handling him roughly. One ran off, doubtless to inform my father of what had transpired. In moments the entire castle would be alerted.

I was out of breath, and placed my wounded hand to my chest as I gathered my composure again. Vincent turned to me, and went flat white; I suddenly realized how I must look, clutching my chest with blood flooding from my fingers.

"Bethany!" He cried, rushing to me, grasping my arms.

"No, it's all right, Vincent." I said, lifting my wounded hand and showing him. "Only a cut on my palm; nothing threatening."

"Thank God." His voice sounded strange, almost choked. He hugged me so tightly I was stunned; hadn't he hated me not an hour before? "Oh, thank God."

"Vincent..." I started. He did not make any indication he'd heard I had spoken. "Vincent! Release me at once!"

He did so, startled, looking at me. Color ran into his face, and he looked much as he had when I'd pushed him in the dust on the day of our first meeting. His hands dropped from my arms, but I was not finished.

"I tried to speak with you earlier and you shunned me as if I were filth, and now you act as if I'm your best friend again." I nearly shouted. "Hate me or not, Vincent, I wish you'd make up your mind!"

"Hate you?" He said. "No, of course I don't hate you, how could I?"

"Then why the coldness in court? Why did you avoid both my eyes and then myself when I ran after? Why did you speak to me in such a way? How did I hurt you, Vincent, to garner such a greeting after so long?"

"No, it was not hate that made me act such a fool." He said. His cheeks were still colored, and he had taken my shoulders again. "I could no more hate you than I could cut off my foot and feed it to dogs! I had not seen you in such a long time, and you were hardly as I remembered you. I felt not hate, but..."

"But what?" I demanded. My hand hurt, I was still on adrenaline from the attack, and I was hardly in the mood for such round about talk.

In response, he leaned closer. I thought for a moment he would hug me again, and I was prepared to cause him pain for it. How dare he not answer me! But he did not hug me. Instead, his lips lightly touched mine, his hands on my shoulders suddenly softer. It seemed this day was full of surprises for me! I had mistaken his avoidance of my eyes as anger, but it hadn't been that. I had thought his words cold, but now I know they were not meant as such, but were the words of a man unsure. His embarrassment is what had caused him to flee me, not hatred. The more fool, I!

I kissed him back, hardly knowing the reason I was doing it, save that it was making me lightheaded. The cut on my hand must be bleeding more than I had first thought. He released me at the first sound of running footsteps, and I'm sure his look of bewilderment was echoed on my own face. He dropped his hands from my arms as Arhyn, Lion, my father, and an entire platoon of guard appeared in sight.

"Bethany, are you all right?" Father burst as he grasped me, nearly shoving Vincent aside in his urgency.

"Calm down, father, I'm fine." I told him. "Tis but a scratch."

"Scratch?" More concern in his face. "Where?"

I showed him my hand and immediately Arhyn set to binding it. He turned to the guards behind him. "Where is the traitor who has done this?"

"Arrested and celled, sire." Came the answer. "He is one of the ambassadors from Gand."

"Gand?" My father's accusing eyes on Vincent. Immediately I took the king's shoulder.

"No, he was from Gand, true, but his motives were not Vincent's. Indeed, were it not for Prince Winterhall, I would have suffered more than a tiny cut."

"Hardly tiny." Snorted Arhyn, but she said no futher word.

"I do not know why he acted so, sire." Vincent said to my father. "I have known this man since I was a child, and would have trusted him with my life. He gave no warning as to this attack."

"I believe you." My father replied. "And my deepest thanks for aiding my daughter. I owe you a debt I can never truly repay."

"Nay, sire, you are repaying it, through your assistance to my kingdom. Though this debt hardly needs repayment; Bethany and I are good friends, and I have no wish either to see her harmed."

Good friends? Even good friends did not kiss each other like that. I still did not understand the man.

"And why were you out without guards?" This accusation was directed at me. I was not in the mood for it, and for the first and only time in my life, I snapped at my father.

"Without the guards, without the guards...is that all you can say father?" I was rapt with fury. "Am I to wander halls I have since I could toddle the rest of my life with guards on my heels? Better to tie a leash to my throat as if I were a pampered pet than your own daughter. Or better yet! Lock me in my rooms and never let me free again! Then, certainly, you would not have to worry about the unexplained designs of traitors!" With that I turned and stormed off, back up the stairs I had descended so ungraciously ten minutes earlier. So much was my anger the very stones seemed red to my eyes.

Little wonder no one followed me. Had I been in their place, I would not have followed me either, on fear of my life.

I've just looked at the candles as I took another drink of water, flexing my hand to ease the cramp that threatens to overtake it. They are down considerably, and I'm amazed at what time has passed since I halted last. I shall have to speed this account if I'm to finish before I'm called; if I am unable, do not hold it too harshly against me. Hopefully I will be able to take it up again after the battle.

No one came to bother me for hours after I left them in the hall. I paced about my rooms for some of this time, waiting for my fury to be spent, but it did not seem to want to release me. Finally, I cast myself to my bed, ignoring the boots still on my feet, and planted a pillow firmly over my face. Holding it down so tightly I could scarce breathe, I screamed into it. The sound was muffled, but fulfilling.

I could stand it not a moment more! Caged inside my own rooms, guards following me hither and yon like lost puppies. What was I, a beast? What was I, a madwoman? Not now, but soon if this continued.

And what of Vincent? Did he hate me? Did he love me? Was even he unsure as to which it was? One moment he is saving my life and kissing me like a common maid within my father's own castle, the next he claims me merely friend.

And how did I feel of him? Of course I loved him; he was my closest companion save Arhyn and Lion, despite the distance between us. But did I love him as such, or did I love him as something more?

Perhaps I could understand his confusion, at that.

My anger wore me out. I slept.

When I woke the anger was gone, and I was mortified about what I had said to my father. I dared not come out of my rooms. He may have restricted me, but at that moment I was slave more to my own shame and fear of facing him than I was of his orders.

Arhyn came, of course, to speak with me. She entered without even a knock this time. Lion moved in behind her, shut the door, and perched himself on my bed.

"Dinner will be served, soon." She said.

"I will not be at it." I replied.

"You should eat."

"Leave me be, Arhyn. I need no patronizing now."

She sat beside me, her arm about my shoulders. "He is not angry with you."

"He should be." I muttered softly. "I was obstinant."

"You were rude."

"Ungrateful."

"Unmannered."

"A downright uncouth brat." I finished.

"He's not mad."

"He should be." I repeated.

Silence.

She took my injured hand gently, unwrapped it. The palm and fingers were greatly swollen, the wound a dark line that broke it. My new lifeline, I suppose. Carved from a hand who only wished me death. Hold to that irony, you grim spectre!

"This could have been your throat, dearest." She said, placing her hand over my palm. Her touch burned my wound and I made to draw back, but she held me tightly. "Could have, but isn't." I replied.

"You could have died on that night you were poisoned." She continued.

"Could have!" My voice was lifting. "But didn't! What is the purpose of this, Arhyn? Why do you so pester me?"

"Am I pestering you, or do you pester yourself?" Her eyes bore into mine, and I was stunned into silence. How could you answer a question like that?

She removed her hand from mine, and the wound was greatly improved, the pain and swelling less, the gash itself lighter and thinner. Arms slipped around my shoulders as Lion sat close, holding me as if I were young again. I started to cry softly as Arhyn rebound my hand.

"I only wish to go outside." I murmured weakly. "I did not ask to be heir, did not ask for the murderous anger of whomever it is that is angered of me. I do not want to be queen! I only wish to go outside."

"I have talked with your father." She said to me. "I think that he will allow you to return to your normal habits. You must understand, Bethany, that he was only feared for you. That night you nearly left us struck him hard. It frightened him greatly."

"Nothing frightens my father."

"A good deal frightens your father."

Silence again. My own, confusing thoughts. "Let's go to dinner." I pulled myself from Lion's arms and straightened my clothes. Arhyn rose, wiped my cheeks with a soft smile, and the three of us left the room.

The ambassador from Gand, whose name I learned was Meader, spent many a passing day in our dungeons. He was most uncooperative with our interrigators; he refused to divulge any word on his plots, plans, or accomplices to even Vincent, who plead with him in righteous fury.

He was deeply struck by the betrayal of this man. It was to him as Lion or Arhyn suddenly betraying me or my family. An unthinkable act that had shattered his heart and left him bitter.

I came upon him near the pond outside the castle, where as children we had skipped rocks and teased minnows. I was reveling in being able to go about Senoth again, and had not expected him there. He sat, the waning sun casting a purple evening light about, the first reflections of stars and moon in the water; water that was occassionally broken in ripples by the selfsame minnows leaping for bugs.

I stayed quiet, watching him for the longest time, unsure of how to approach. We had not spoken since the attack.

I almost left him there. I would have left him there, had he not turned his head at some slight sound and caught sight of me.

He rose so fast he tripped over his own cloak, and nearly joined the minnows in the pond. However, he caught himself rather gracefully, I thought.

"I see your balance is still as unpredictable as it was." I could not help the joke or smile. I had missed him terribly, and to see him stumble like that had brought back all the warm feelings of our youth.

"Alas," He replied, and I was relieved to hear his tone was jesting as well. "I have not had you around to correct it."

I stepped forward, taking his hands, the smile on my face as wide as any I had ever borne. "It is good to see you again, Vincent! Many were the times I read your letters and wished you were there to speak the words in person, and help me frighten the grooms!"

He laughed, a strong, rolling sound as he squeezed my fingers. "We were such torture to them, weren't we? I can still see the stablemaster's hands clenching in ire, wishing he could skin us as we fled, laughing."

I sombered a bit. "I am terribly sorry about Meader, dear Vincent. I wish I had words to console you on this."

He looked down, his face transforming from gaeity to hurt again. "Obviously, if he could even contemplate such things, he was never a loyal of ours."

"That does not make the pain less." I replied.

"No." He admitted. "It does not."

I had well known the pain of the body, but one of the spirit as he must have felt then I could not imagine! I perhaps got a glimmer of it when my mother left us, but her death was expected, and not a betrayal of a heart I loved.

"Father wishes to try him, with your permission, for what he's done." I said softly. "He will leave it to the councillors to decide his fate, for he is too close to the matter to make a judgement of justice."

"Your father may do as he sees fit. Meader chose his fate." He was resigned to it. It was all he could do. I felt that he would rather be alone, and bid him good night, turning to leave.

His hand never released mine, halting me. "Please, don't go."

"I would not think you would wish company right now." I said, looking back at him. I had not returned to my place closer to him, but neither had he surrendered my hand.

"Another's, perhaps. But yours is always welcome." His voice had changed again, much as it had in the hall when he swore he bore no hatred for me. I searched his eyes, trying to understand him.

"Even the company of friends," I must have sounded bitter upon the last word, for he flinched a bit at it. "must be unwelcome."

"Bethany," He whispered. He used his strength to draw me closer again. I must admit, however, I did not resist him much. Had I really wanted, I could have broke free of him.

"No." I told him, the ire from the afternoon returning. "You cannot continue with this, Vincent. You cannot act as if I am something more to you, and then turn the next moment and claim me just friend. You cannot treat me coldly one moment and warmly the next. Tell me what you want!"

"I claimed you friend, for that is what you are to me, and always will be. A friend with whom I have shared things I have not even shared with my father, or my brother. But you are more to me than just that. You were more to me than that even as we frightened stableboys and tormented fish. When I saw you enter court, after so long having seen you, I could not believe how much you had changed, yet how much you remained the same."

"I have not changed. I'm the same I was then." I insisted.

"No, you had changed. Have changed. You were the promise of loveliness, the promise of beauty then. Now, you are the fulfilment of such a promise. If I could not meet your eyes in the hall it was because it hurt to look upon you."

"You have been taking lessons in flattery, I see." I, of course, believed not a word of it. He was seeking to soothe my ire with pretty words!

"I speak the truth." He insisted.

"Yet to my father you said I was only a good friend." I pressed the point, trying to get away from his compliments. I was glad the dusk was such he could not see the color in my face.

"I was not about to claim a relationship that you did not want, nor was I about to announce in such a tense situation that I had kissed his daughter beneath his own roof!"

"He would not have cared." I said. "You know my father, and he knows me as well; had your intentions been ill he would have trusted me to handle it and heighten your voice by three octaves!"

He regarded me in silence, but he still held to my hand. I fought to control my temper, and spoke more softly. "Please, Vincent. You have done nothing but confuse me since you returned. Now, simply and clearly, tell me what you want."

He stepped closer, releasing my hand as his arms slipped about my waist. His lips found mine again.

I suppose he could not be any clearer than that.

Love had never seemed to be part of my life. Least, not love such as Vincent's. That seemed to belong with the dresses and skirts of court and not out where I preferred to be. Yet, it found me, as I suppose if finds even the most wayward of us eventually.

I cannot now imagine what life would have been without Vincent. I pray even as I write this that he is safe on his ride home to seek help, that God overlooks my sins for his sake and protects him.

I am further running out of time. Already I can hear stirrings in the courtyard and the castle about me. Dawn is but an hour and a half at best away. I must continue or I'll never finish.

Meader was judged by the council for his attempt on my life. They could not charge him with the poisoning, for even Vincent had reluctantly admitted he'd been in Gand at that time. It made the situation all the more confusing; exactly how many people wished me stretched in my casket? And why?

My father was present during the trial, though he was not presiding. I was there as well, sitting behind the table at his side, watching as the evidence was heard. Meader stood in chains, his eyes defiant and blazing above his rag of a beard, as if someone had idly lit them along with the torches. The hatred and malice in his gaze for me was overbearing; I was dizzy meeting those eyes. I have no doubts he would have leapt the table and throttled me with his bare hands, had not chains and guard been present.

Who was this man, and why such hatred? These were familiar questions to my mind now, and I still held no answers for them.

I wanted to take his shoulders and shake him. I wanted to demand the answers from him, shout at him to explain himself. Of course I did not. He was in enough trouble as it was.

The councillors, of course, found him guilty of treachery, and of the attempt on my life. Both were punishable by death, but he could only be killed once. I felt uncomfortable with this; I did not wish the death of any man, regardless of what he had done. Still, I remained silent. Speaking up on his behalf would have gained neither of us.

Vincent was right; he had chosen his fate.

I had to be present at the execution, as well. It was my duty as the heir. Only my mother and my sisters were excused from it. Lion was there, as was Arhyn, her face as set and angered as it had ever been. Had I not known her better, I could almost have sworn she was enjoying it. If she'd been presented the opportunity, she might even have spit upon him.

Many did, as he was led from the castle to the gallows in the city square. Fruit and vegetables were pelted at him from the milling crowd, curses called upon him. He was on his knees on the wood, face smeared with the rotted plants and clots of mud, eyes glaring everpresently forward. I spurred Winter forward, nearer the wagon, and admonished those who were abusing him to cease. The crowd, stunned at my protection of him who had nearly taken my life, retreated slightly. One man cried out to me.

"Why do you protect him, who would have killed you?" He asked. His cry was taken up by others. My father's eyes were on me, but I did not look at him. I lifted my own voice.

"His punishment has been decreed, by the council. Shortly, he will be facing another judgement, and the only fitting punishment to his crime, which is the one God will present. Let the Almighty pelt him with vegetables, if He sees fit! I will not allow you to take his dignity on this day, not on this, his last journey. Show that you are better than the actions he would have done. Show that you are higher in God's sight than he, and stay your hands and words."

The man who had cried seemed admonished, as had the others. The crowd settled and retreated a bit more, allowing the wagon more smooth progress. Not another clod of dirt or bit of tomato moved in his direction. I returned to my place.

He was hanged, there in the square. He died swiftly, his neck doubtless shattered by his own weight, for he only kicked once as the knot tightened, and that was it. His state was confirmed, his body cut down to be burned. We returned ourselves to the castle.

I could not help weeping.

Our troops were sent to Gand a fortnight later. Of course, Vincent went with them. I bid him goodbye in the courtyard, hugging him tightly, wishing that he could remain or I could go, but of course both were impossible. He kissed my forehead, my cheek, swore that he would return.

"Even should I die in battle," He said. "I would return as a spectre to haunt you."

"Don't say such hideous things!" I cried. "You might tempt fate into bringing them about."

"Do not fear for me, Beth." He whispered. "I have no desire to die, and intend to fight Death with all my strength. If he comes for me, I will run HIM through."

"Don't joke." I replied, much softer. "Events about are confusing at best, and I am frightened by what they might mean. Many dark things lurk under bright covers, and I cannot understand them. I have a certainty in my soul that if you ride through that gate I will not see you in this mortal life again."

"Don't fear." He said again, kissed my lips briefly and embracing me one last time. I wanted to cling to him, to physically stop him from going. Instead I released him, watched as he climbed his mount, and moved to the head of the soldiers. I watched them ride out, and he lifted his hand before he vanished in a final goodbye.

Lion's arm about me. I leaned on his chest without looking at him, still keeping the place Vincent had vanished locked to my gaze.

"Let us go in." The Faerie said.

"I cannot. If I move my eyes, he will be lost to me forever." I said.

"You look at nothing." He replied.

"I look at the memory of his prescence." I returned. "I cannot turn."

"He will be safe."

"Promise me."

"I promise you. Come. Inside."

Comforted by Lion's promise, for he had never before lied to me, I turned my eyes from the spot and we went in.

We heard little news of the situation in Gand.

It was a case of no news being bad news, for if they could have gotten messengers through, they would have. Vincent had so promised.

The more time passed without messenger or letter the more worried I became. I did not engage myself in any of my normal pursuits, but rather haunted the halls of the castle, brooding deeply, trying not to lose myself in worry and not succeeding.

Loretta offered some words, but for the first and only time in my life I ignored her, hardly even hearing her over my own thoughts. Hurt, she retreated to her rooms for hours.

I felt badly about this, and apologized to her later. I took her with me down to dinner, and apologized again to my family for my coldness. They, of course, understood it.

I tried then to be more cheerful, returning to my pursuits and throwing myself into the aide of the people of Senoth. I was never more helpful or generous in my life as I was during this time! I felt the more kindnesses I did, the more God would be willing to have Vincent safe.

I was returning home with my men from a day repaving one of the older streets. I was sweated and tired, my hands scratched and dirty from the work, but it had kept my mind off of things. We approached the gates, and as we did I immediately sensed something wrong. The strongest urge came upon me to turn Winter about and flee, to never return home, but to start work where we had left off and continue it forever.

I did not of course, but continued within.

Arhyn and Lion awaited me in the courtyard, as did my father. My fear compounded, and I dismounted.

"What has happened?" I asked, my head already swimming. The king had a parchment in his hand, the seal of wax broken upon it the color of blood. Wordlessly he handed it to my keeping, as Arhyn placed a hand on my shoulder. I shook hers off; if I denied her comfort, then there would be no reason for it.

I read the letter, and have committed it from memory as follows.

To His Majesty, King Gareth, Monarch of Senoth and Most Esteemed Lord.

It is with a heavy heart that I pen this.

Your columns arrived in time to thwart the Goskin attack, and aided us bravely in battle. Though many of them fell, those who still live are on their way home victors and heros. We owe you more of a debt than we can name.

However, this has not come without its own defeat. My brother, His Highness Vincent Winterhall of Gand, fell in battle as he lead a valiant attack that saved the lives of many men. Alas, his body was taken by the Goskins and dismembered in a demonstration common to their ilk when enemy royalty is slain; we could not even save enough for a proper burial.

That was not the whole of the letter, but truly I did not read more. I can tell you only that it was signed by Vincent's elder brother, Prince Durn, the Heir to the Gandish throne. I did not read more because as I read of Vincent's fate the yard seemed to spin about me. The parchment fluttered away from my fingers, and for the first and only time in my life, I fainted.

I woke in my rooms again, my boots gone and a foul smelling concoction being waved beneath my nose. I woke weeping, and promptly turned from all there, curling into a ball as babes did unborn, and wished I could feel the pain of the poison again. What a trifle it would be, compared to this! And perhaps this time it would take my life and save me this misery.

My Vincent, my dear sweet Vincent was gone. I could still see him with the dust in his hair and clothes. I could still see him sitting by the pond in the dusk, before he nearly tripped on his cloak to greet me. I knew I shouldn't have moved my eyes from the gate once he rode through it. I had lost him, and he was gone.

I lay that way for four days, not rising to eat, not hearing anyone. Loretta held me for the longest time, and for her I wept. She wept with me, for she had cherished Vincent, and hated to see my hurt. Arhyn too was there, but Lion stayed away. I think he thought I would not welcome him, for he had broken his promise. And perhaps I would not have. Of all the times in my life, the once he lied had to have been on this!

My poor, dear, sweet Vincent.

Finally I did rise, listless and uncaring. I took food only because my body needed it, and for no other reason. I took no pleasure in anything, for I saw no reason to take pleasure anymore. I went to the chapel and wept again, as I begged God for an answer as to why he had taken my Vincent.

He did not answer.

I begged him to take my life.

I still lived.

Then Lion came to me, and I took myself into his arms, crying hard against his chest as he soothed me. I fell asleep thusly, and he carried me to my bed, as he had often when I had dozed as a child, listening to my father's tales.

Our soldiers returned home, beaten, bruised, rag-tag. I came out to greet them for it was my duty, and something to do. I watched them trickle in with no caring stirring in my breast; wounds I saw that would have horrified me and sent me rushing to aide now were merely there, things not to interest myself in.

I may have been breathing, but I had all but died.

They were given care, their wounds bound and dressed, their bellies fed. I took no part in it, but wandered along their suffering ranks, ignoring the hands that clutched like dying things at my cloak, as if by doing so I could find Vincent hidden among them. Of course he was not there. Arhyn appeared and led me away.

She put me to bed, murmuring soothing words I did not hear, remaining till she thought me asleep. She slipped out quietly, and almost immediately I rose, dressed, and returned to the gathering outside. I did so with no expression, a puppet urged by others, my strings manipulated against my will or caring.

I was accosted in the hall.

A cloaked form, dark in the shadows, grasped my arm and pulled me aside. I saw no weapon in the gloved hands, but I was certain he meant to finish where Meader had failed.

I did not fight him.

I did not care.

I only waited for the strike of the knife, or the press of his hands in my windpipe. I stared dully into the halfseen face beneath the hood.

But he did not attack me. Instead, he threw back his garment to reveal frantic blue eyes, a hungered face darkened by a week's growth of beard, and disarrayed black hair.

My legs weakened momentarily, but then his arms were about me, holding me close.

"Bethany, Bethany..." He murmered my name over as if trying to memorize it. I gasped in an incredulous sob, feeling coming back to me in a wave. I touched his face, his hands, his lips, his hair, trying to believe it was him.

"Vincent..." I said at last, the word sounding hysterical to my ears. "Vincent!"

"I am here." He said, kissing my forehead. "It is me." He kissed my face over and over, and I kissed his.

"How? Your brother told us of your death at Goskin hands. Are you truly a spectre to haunt me from beyond?"

"I am no spectre; feel my flesh?" He pressed his hands tightly into mine, kissing my face again. "I am real, I am blood. I was not slain, but almost wish I was, for I know now of the cause of all our pain."

I was crying again, tears of joy at seeing his face, holding him here. God had heard my prayers, and delivered him. Lion's tongue had indeed spoke truth. "Tell me. Tell me all that has happened!"

"I must bring this news to your father, and the story must be heard by his ears as well. Come, we've no time."

We ran down the halls to my father's library and burst in upon him unannounced. He had been sitting at his table with a book afore him; but he rose like lightning, hand moving to his sword as we entered. His mouth opened to call the guard, but shut when he recognized me. He paled when he recognized Vincent.

The story poured forth, my love speaking like lightning. Despite his speed, it took more than an hour for the whole thing to be understood; my father and I could only listen in shock.

Four of our surrounding kingdoms; Harmoness, Fatrie, Laberdowick, and Scalls, had allied with each other for a devious plot. They had all been allies of ours for a generation, and seperately all were small enough to be considered no threat. However together their forces matched ours in strength, and they held Senoth surrounded by their lands.

Apparently this plot had been developing for years, the fabric slowly being laid for our destruction. They had contracted with the Goskins after the treatise with Gand, knowing we would send forces to their aide by order of the selfsame treatise. The Goskins had attacked, and by such had distracted us and struck a blow to our own defense by weakening our armies.

"I do not blame my brother for thinking me dead; he was told so, and I believe that our foes thought me so as well. I overheard several of my father's most trusted speaking of this." He said. "Meader was not the only one treacherous, it seems. He was merely a small part of a larger evil."

"Then it was them who attempted on Bethany's life with the poison." My father said. "And it was them that sent Meader to try again."

"Yes." His voice was harsh now.

"But why would they want ME dead?" I asked. "If anyone, shouldn't they have targeted my father?"

Vincent took my hands. "Think on it, sweet Bethany. The blackguards did not first strike until your sister was wed and you were appointed heir. The four kingdoms knew of this, which is why they tried the poison."

"Are you saying that Amethyst was somehow involved?" I asked.

"No, no, not at all. She's as innocent as can be in this." He said. "The four kingdoms did not care when she was heir, for she was no warrior, no threat to their designs, which were not to come about while Gareth reined. However, when the crown fell to you, they sensed a very real threat could stop their plans. They wanted you gone, so that Clarinda would inherit, and that threat abate."

"Then why did they attack Gand now? Why decimate our army now, if their revolt was not to happen until my father was gone?"

"All with the plan." He said. "All has been to distract us, nothing more, from the activities of these kingdoms. They are building their own forces, their own wealth. They planned to continue their attempts on your life until one succeeded. They did not count on me discovering their evil, and they still do not know I have. This is why I snuck into the castle such instead of making myself known; I could not be sure if their spies were about."

"Spies!" My father was in a near fit with all he'd heard. "Spies in Senoth...the devils!"

I am nearly out of time. I have hardly half filled the book you gave me, Arhyn, but what I had feared seems to be happening; I won't have a chance to finish as I'd like. My candles have snuffed themselves, expiring. I felt almost sad watching them go; they'd been the closest friends to me this night. However the light through the window now is enough that I can see to write without their glow. I've only minutes at best until the knock comes to my door.

My hand is trembling now.

There was little we could do regarding this. We made a thorough investigation, but could find no spies in our castle, or our lands. The Goskins left Gand and slowly trickled south, towards us; they now hold a pittling kingdom between us and the northern countries, and it is through them my Vincent has gone to seek aide from his father.

This has all happened over the course of the last two years. We have worked hard trying to rebuild our army, but of course the four have had more time for their forces than we've had warning. Two more attempts were made on me, neither successful. Both assassins were caught, and both refused to divulge anything before they were executed. The four kingdoms gained their full strength and now we face almost certain defeat at their hands.

They did not bother for my father's death, after all.

That is the knock at my door. My time is spent. I have called out to them, but they will wait only a few moments. I must finish now, and I hope this has been to your satisfaction, dear Arhyn. As I write this, my sisters and brother are being smuggled out of the castle and are on their way to neutral lands. If they remain unfound for the next hour by our enemies, they should breathe forever in safety. Hopefully time will see us reunited.

If we should see victory, and if I should live to return, I will sit myself here again and take up the narrative where I have left it. If nothing further marrs these clean pages when this book finds itself in your hands, be you Arhyn or other, you will know that I lay slain, for I will not let myself be captured.

If a Goskin or one of the four kingdoms reads this, perhaps you will know exactly what you have stolen from us. May God have mercy on you all.

I must go now. I'm done. The knock has repeated and is urgent, I can dally no longer. May your prayers be with us and with my family. I love you, Arhyn, and Vincent, and Lion. I love you my doll, my Loretta. I love you all my sisters, all my people.

I love you Father. Mother.

I will sign this by merely my name, so that you may perchance to regain that innocent vision of me you had when this began. Whatever it was, however you saw me, I wish more than anything that was the truth of it.

God's mercy and speed on us all.

Bethany Duncan.

---

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