For a moment, all either of them can seem to do is gape at one another. Then Kamaria - because it really, truly, is her - shakes herself out of her stupor, giving quick glances at the watching guards as she drops into a curtsy far lower than what is required of a noblewoman. “Your Highness,” she murmurs. 

“It’s you.” The words come out half choking, half laughing. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, I -”

“Your Highness!” A deep male voice comes from somewhere in the house behind her, and Kamaria visibly stiffens, stepping back and to the side so that Lord Alaric can appear in the doorway. “I am honored to have you visit my estate,” he says with a bow.

Before Bruno can respond, the man has turned a heavy glare on Kamaria. “Go on, stupid girl, fetch us some tea! Were you really going to leave His Highness just standing on the doorstep all day?”

Her eyes meet Bruno’s again for just an instant, but it’s in that moment that he actually takes in her full appearance, not just her existence. She’s dressed practically in rags, sweat causing stray brown curls to cling to her dirt-streaked forehead. A purple bruise is smudged across her cheekbone. There’s very little of the elegant, proud woman he’d met in the orchard and at the ball, or the fiery assassin he’d last seen. 

She’s not just a commoner, as he’d guessed she could be. She’s a servant. It’s no wonder that no one had heard of her before.

The moment passes when she gives a respectful nod to her…her master…and hurries away. He stares after her until Lord Alaric’s voice brings him back to the present.

“My profuse apologies on behalf of that idiot of a servant girl, sire. Please, come in and make yourself comfortable.” He steps back and gestures with another slight bow. 

Bruno grinds his teeth together, forcing back the arguments he’s dying to make and pasting on a polite smile, instead. “It’s no problem at all. Thank you.” With a look to his guard to stay put where they are, he enters the house and follows the man to the sitting room. 

It’s furnished well, if a bit outdated. He takes a seat on the edge of an armchair, unable to relax knowing that Kamaria is here and he’ll be able to finally talk to her very soon. 

“I wish that I had known to expect you,” Lord Alaric says as he sits opposite the prince. “I would have had something much better prepared than what I’m afraid we have on hand for tea now.”

Bruno raises an eyebrow. “Did you not hear of my travels?”

“Of course!” Alaric spreads out his hands, then clasps them together in front of him. “Seeing as how there are no eligible maidens here for you to consider, though, I had not assumed that this would be one of your stops.”

His other eyebrow goes up. “None, you say? And what about uh…” Something holds him back from revealing that he knows her name. “What about the girl at the door? Is she not eligible?” 

Alaric barks a laugh, tipping his head to one side with a dubious expression. “Cora? Eligible in the strictest sense, I suppose. But I would hardly think that Your Highness would find a dirty Navarian servant girl worth consideration.”

Cora. Is that her real name? Did she give him a fake one, after all? But no, he can’t quite believe that. Cora doesn’t fit her. It’s an Ethorconite name, and Kamaria is Navarian. A name change then, perhaps. But why? It’s clear she’s proud of her heritage, why would she change her name?

Bruno’s lips press together in a tight, fake smile. “As I’m sure you remember, all eligible maidens were invited to attend the ball. Navarians and commoners included.”

A door on the other side of the room opens, and Kamaria reappears with a tea tray balanced in her hands. Immediately a wave of relief comes over Bruno - not only that he doesn’t have to keep listening to this horrid man, but that she hasn’t somehow vanished into thin air once again. 

She seems to have washed her face. That only makes the bruise on her cheek stand out all the more. He can’t stop staring at it as she lays the tea out on the table between them, wondering…did she fall? Bump into something? Or did her master hit her? Even after this short conversation, he wouldn’t put it past the man at all. 

But then there’s something else, too, something that keeps drawing his attention from one face to the other. He can’t quite put his finger on it. There’s something there that isn’t quite right…

Alaric’s gaze meets his, and Bruno’s chest tightens as it finally clicks. The eyes. Those green eyes that glared at him the night of the ball are there, on this man’s face. Older, of course, and hardened by hatred. They don’t stand out on his pale face like they do against Kamaria’s dark skin. But there’s no mistaking the similarity in shape and color.

He thinks he might be sick.

Kamaria straightens, and Lord Alaric leans forward, picking up one cup to hand to the prince before reaching for the other. Bruno’s hand comes out to block him. 

“That’s for her, thank you. You are dismissed.”

Those eyes snap up to him once more, black eyebrows furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

“You are dismissed,” Bruno repeats, deadly serious. “I’ll speak to Kamaria now. If you have an issue with it, then I can take her with me and pay you for the displeasure of losing a daughter to me.”

Alaric’s jaw clenches and unclenches as he fights against the urge to argue. But eventually, he sits up, hand drawing back in, and nods. “Of course, Your Highness.” There’s an underlying tone of anger that wasn’t there before. “Whatever you say.” Standing, he pauses to give Kamaria a hard stare, then marches straight out of the room. 

Relief that he’s gone wars in Bruno’s gut against the knowledge that no one denied his accusation. But he pushes that aside and smiles up at her, gesturing toward the seat her father has vacated. 

“Please, join me.”

__

Kamaria is still in shock that the prince is here. Shocked, relieved…and ashamed. This is not the version of her that she ever wanted him to see - the real her, the girl too helpless to fight being enslaved by her own father. 

She shouldn’t care. Tries to convince herself she doesn’t care. As far as she knows, he’s the man who had her family killed, no matter how much she doesn’t want to believe that after having gotten to know him a little. 

Yet she finds herself scrubbing her face and smoothing her hair, and avoiding his gaze as she waits on the two of them. She thinks, to start with, that at least he doesn’t know that they’re related. Being a servant is bad enough. But then he’s throwing out the word ‘daughter’ as he kicks her father out of the room, and Kamaria can only stand there with shame burning through her and the fear of what this will mean for her later churning in her gut.

“Please, join me.”

Forcing her fingers to release the tight hold they had on her apron, she sets down the tray on the table and sits lightly on the chair. She’s normally not allowed on the ‘good furniture’. It’ll be just one more thing for him to add to her infractions later, she’s sure.

“Had I known you were coming back to this, I wouldn't have let you leave.” His blue eyes are practically boring into her, but she can’t quite meet his gaze.

“So you would have what, kidnapped me?” 

“So I could have spoken to you about a lot of things,” he continues, ignoring her sarcastic response. Reaching for his hip, he removes something attached to his belt and leans forward to set it on the table next to his cup. It’s her knife, the one she’d left buried to the hilt in his shoulder, now clean and shining with the blade facing back toward the prince. “The guards were very much enthused by the fact they found this.”

“Your guards clearly need some more training.” The guards that are waiting outside of her house at this very moment. Do they know who she is? Is that the real reason he’s come, to have her arrested? Why all this fuss, then, why not just seize her as soon as she’d opened the door?

“My guards are mad at me, don't worry. Apparently King Tristan wasn't impressed with how clumsy I was when I fell onto the darned thing.” He picks up the teacup and takes a casual sip.

That’s the story he went with? Really? She doesn’t understand why he even let her get away with it to start with, why he didn’t shout for the guards right then and there or at the very least tell on her after she was gone. But the fact that he’s somehow convinced everyone that he fell on a knife and stabbed himself is just ridiculous. 

It also pushes her one more step toward believing he isn’t capable of sentencing an entire village of innocents to death. 

“I found a lead.”

Kamaria’s heart skips a beat. She glances back at the door her father exited through, certain that he’s going to barge back in at any moment. “What do you mean, a lead?”

“Like I may be able to find answers. And find the truth out.” He looks at her earnestly, hands wrapped around the tiny cup. “Did you honestly think I had forgotten?”

Yes. “I wasn’t sure.” She looks down at her lap, picking at a loose thread. “I meant to come and find you after a while, I never meant for you to…come here.” To see me like this. “But…it was difficult to get away.”

He chuckles a little and takes another sip. “Believe me, I would have waited, but I was more terrified of waking up to you on top of me with a blade at my throat. Plus, looking for you was something rather new and fun for me. Anything to get me out of that blasted castle.”

That second part is the first thing he’s said that she doesn’t quite believe. He doesn’t look like he’s been having fun, he looks…tired. There are shadows underneath his eyes that weren’t there the past times they met. 

She can’t focus on that right now, though. “What kind of a lead?” she presses anxiously, trying to steer them back onto the right path before this conversation gets brought to an abrupt halt and she’s never able to find out what he knows. After all, the chances of her father letting her get away with seeing him again after this are…slim.

“I'm figuring out something went wrong or there was deception involved.” He’s turned serious again. “I remember some of the knights involved. I'll figure it out.”

Kamaria frowns in thought. Deception? Of whom? Her eyes flicker up to his. “You went through all this trouble just to let me know that you’re still working on figuring it out?”

The prince’s lips twitch and he clears his throat, a faint pink rising in his cheeks. “I'm really close. I wanted you there so we can find out together.”

“There?” she repeats, surprised. “What do you mean, I can’t…” She glances back at the door again. “I can’t go anywhere.”

His forehead crinkles. “What do you mean? He won't let you?” Abruptly, he sets down his teacup and stands, straightening his jacket as his own gaze fixes onto the door.

“I can change that right now. Wouldn't you want to be away from all that?”

Kamaria is on her feet immediately, a rush of fear causing the words to spill out rapidly. “I don’t need you interfering with my life…sire.” She sucks in a deep breath, trying to calm herself, forcing her eyes to stay down and not look at the door again. “I let you believe I was a higher station than I am for a reason. Besides, you’ll…only end up making things worse.” 

Maybe he’s the prince and he could somehow make all her troubles go away. She can’t believe that, though. Her father has always had the upper hand, has always been able to make her life miserable no matter what. If Bruno attempts to interfere…she doesn’t want to imagine what that will mean for her. 

Bruno just stares for a moment. He swallows, clears his throat again, opens his mouth and shuts it. “I... I um... well... wasn't really expecting a no…”

She purses her lips and raises one eyebrow. “You probably don’t get told no very often, I would assume.”

“No one has tried to, but they have always had the chance to.” He shrugs. “No one takes me up on that offer.”

Kamaria inhales deeply, shutting her eyes for a moment. “Listen, I want to find out. If it really wasn’t you, which…I don’t want to believe it was,” she admits, “then I need to know. I just…it took years of waiting and planning to get that one chance to slip away. I don’t expect I’ll have another anytime soon.” In fact, she knows she won’t, not with the way her father has been treating her since then…and not with the way he’ll be treating her after today. 

His voice is quiet when he finally answers. “Well... as long as you are safe and well cared for here, I'll come by when I find out or send an invitation.”

She wants to laugh at that. Safe is…a relative term. Well cared for? She has a roof over her head and food to eat - most of the time - if that counts. 

“I’m fine. And…I appreciate it. Truly.” She just hopes that his efforts are not in vain, that she’ll be able to hear the answer from him once he finds it, one way or another.

For a few seconds longer he just looks at her as if trying to read her mind, then slowly nods and rubs the back of his neck. “Well…” He gives a half laugh. “If Lord Alaric asks, I had more houses to visit.” Bending over, he picks up the knife off the table, waving the hilt a little at her with a grin. “I’m keeping this, though. Just as a promise to get you your answers.”

Kamaria presses her lips together and gives a nod. He’s kept his promise so far. She just has to hope that he will continue to do so, because her hands are tied.

Her father still hasn’t reappeared, surprisingly, though she fully expects him to waste no time doing so once she’s alone. So she escorts the prince to the front door, bending low in another curtsy for the benefit of the awaiting guards. He bows back with a smile.

“Until next time, Lady Kamaria.” 

She cocks an eyebrow at the title, but quickly smooths her expression out again and keeps her head respectfully bowed. A moment later, he and his guard have mounted their horses and are riding away down the drive. Kamaria closes the door firmly behind them.

She can feel his presence there without turning around. His hot breath fans over the back of her neck, voice low and menacing. “Would you care to explain what that was about?”

The entrance hall by itself could fit her father’s entire manor inside, she’s fairly certain. Everything gleams, from the marble floor that she can nearly see her reflection in, to the golden ceiling high above. A magnificent waste of money, on display for all to see. 

That’s nothing new to her, though. Nobility all think the same - why waste your riches on helping people who desperately need it, when you can spend it all on flaunting your status?

She’s arrived late out of more than one necessity. First off, she had to wait until her father had taken the carriage to come this way, himself, before she could even start getting herself ready and make the long walk. But more importantly, the ball is already well under way. No one but a few staff members have noticed her entrance. She doesn’t have to mingle with the rich, doesn’t have to be announced, and of course, doesn’t have as much of a risk of running into her father. 

There’s a gold-framed mirror hanging on the wall to her right. Kamaria takes one last glimpse at herself, avoiding actually looking at her face in favor of adjusting the stiff dress and brushing back a few stray curls.

Then she takes a deep breath, skims her hand across the knife hidden safely in the folds of her skirt, and forges further into the castle.

She has a prince to find.

She expects him to be in the ballroom, right in the thick of the festivities. After all, this entire spectacle is about him. King Tristan is determined to find him a wife, and every eligible young lady around is here throwing themselves at his feet tonight. 

Technically Kamaria fits that description, as well, but she has no intentions or delusions of marrying. Even if she did, Prince Bruno is the absolute last person on earth that she’d ever consider.

It isn’t hard to find the ballroom. All she has to do is follow the sound of lilting music, which grows into a cacophony of instruments, murmuring, laughter, and the clinking of glasses the closer she gets. The doors are thrown open wide, with a few guests spilling out into the corridor.

Kamaria stiffens when she sees them, adjusting her posture and expression. The last thing she needs, when she’s finally this close, is to be called out for not belonging. Her heart pounds, but she reminds herself of the reflection she just saw.

For tonight, she is as noble as her blood. No one can see the scars on her back or the callouses on her hands. No dirt or ash smears her cheeks. She looks the part of a lady, and so long as she plays it, no one should be the wiser.

Swallowing hard, she edges her way into the ballroom, but stays on the outskirts, slowly circling the room. Beyond a few columns on one side is an open section that no one seems to be utilizing, too eager to press into the center and be near all of the action. Kamaria gladly takes it for herself. It’s no quieter, but the lighting is dim and it feels much safer than being within the crowd. From here, she can linger in the shadows and still see everything.

There’s a dance ongoing, couples swirling by in a dizzying whirl of color. The prince will likely be out there, dancing with some lucky girl who’s caught his attention. He doesn’t seem to be with the king and queen, sitting on their thrones on a platform overlooking the festivities, anyway. 

She has honestly no idea what he looks like. She’s counting on the crown to give him away. Faces are going by too fast to catch from this distance, but she should be able to spot the flash of gold in the torchlight.

“You have the right idea, I believe.”

Kamaria is so caught up in her search that she doesn’t notice the man’s approach until he’s upon her. Jolting, she grabs fistfuls of her skirts and tries to calm her suddenly racing heart, giving a quick sideways glance up at him. She has to think of something civilized to say. 

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” There’s a smile in his voice. “I mean that, uh…this can all get to be a bit…much.” With one finger, he indicates the dancers and the crowd. “Sometimes I need to hide away, too.”

Part of her automatically wants to agree with him, but she can’t give away how very out of place she feels here. “Yes, well, I just…needed to catch my breath for a moment. All that dancing, you know.” She cringes inwardly at how stupid she sounds, but then again, maybe that’s for the best. Let him think she’s just another airheaded noble. She doesn’t really care what he thinks of her as long as he doesn’t call her bluff, she needs him to move on so she can continue looking for the prince. 

“Right.” She can see him shift out of the corner of her eye, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Personally, I’d stay back here the whole night if my father wouldn’t hang me for it.”

Something about the way he says it has her taking a second, longer glance at him, just enough that the golden glint above his brow is quite obvious. Suddenly her heart is in her throat, pulse roaring in her ears. 

It’s him. After all these years, the prince is standing here, right next to her, close enough to touch.

Her fingers itch to reach for the knife, but she can’t. Not yet. Not here.

She clears her throat, trying to find her voice again. “I’d think that you would enjoy all of the attention from so many young ladies, sire.”

He sighs. “Well, if any of them were interested in more than just the position my father is offering them, perhaps I would.” She can feel his gaze on her. “What about you? I’m fairly certain you haven’t attempted to approach me yet. You won’t even look at me now.” He sounds amused. “Am I not what you thought I would be? Or has someone already claimed your hand?”

Drawing in a deep breath to steady herself, she spins abruptly to face him, chin tilted up to meet his gaze. Whatever response she was concocting is gone immediately. His blue eyes light up, and a smile spreads across his face as he voices the exact words running through her mind.

“It’s you.” He chuckles, as if Kamaria’s whole world hasn’t just come screeching to a halt. “I’ll admit, I’d kind of hoped to see you here tonight. I was foolish enough to leave without getting your name before, which made it rather difficult to find you again.”

Her mouth has gone dry. “You…you’re Prince Bruno?” Maybe it’s a misunderstanding. Yes, he has on the crown, and he confirmed that the eligible ladies were here for him, but…maybe she’s made a mistake somehow.

“That would be me.”

Every part of her wants to turn around and leave, to find somewhere quiet where she can process this and decide what to do now. But no, nothing has changed. Her plans haven’t changed, she still has to follow through. Just because an hour conversation with this man had made him seem kind and caring and polite and funny and nothing like any other man she’d ever met, that doesn’t erase the last decade of knowing that he has to die.

“You, um…you failed to mention that you were royalty during our first meeting.” She prays he can’t tell how fast her heart is beating or hear the slight quiver in her words.

The prince gives a sheepish smirk. “Yes, sorry about that. It…didn’t seem relevant at the time? We were having such a nice conversation, and…”

He didn’t want her reaction to him to change by knowing who he was. And he’s right, it definitely would have changed. Just not in the way that he was expecting. 

“Of course.” She tries to force a smile. So far, he doesn’t seem to suspect anything, not even that she’s actually a servant. Thankfully, she’d been presentable that day in the orchard, wearing a clean dress and having just washed her face and braided her hair. She probably looked like a peasant, at best, but then again, he hadn’t been dressed like a prince, either.

She opens her mouth to suggest that they find somewhere quieter to talk, but he speaks before she can get the words out. 

“Would you dance with me?”

Kamaria can feel all of the blood drain from her face. “I…I couldn’t, I don’t…” I don’t know how, she almost blurts, but every lady should know how to dance, right? “I’m…not very good at dancing, I’m afraid, and…” Her eyes flit over the crowd. “There’s…so many people…”

His gaze follows hers. “I understand. A dance with me unfortunately would draw a lot of attention. How about right here, then?” He gestures to the dimly lit space around them. “And don’t worry, I won’t judge your dancing skills.”

What can she even say to that? She has no excuse to say no anymore, none that would be acceptable.

Why does he have to be such a gentleman?

Forcing another half-smile, she reaches out her gloved hand to take his outstretched one. “I’d be honored.”

His hand wraps around hers, engulfing it in warmth, and a tingling sensation shoots all the way up her arm. It makes her automatically want to jerk it back, but she just clenches her jaw and steps in closer. He’s smiling so genuinely, sliding his other hand gently around her waist to rest on her lower back. It feels like ice against her spine. 

Touch like this isn’t usually gentle. It’s usually harsh, possessive, accompanied by Lord Roderick’s leering face and nauseating words. And that’s the only kind she gets, other than her father’s fists striking her. She can’t even remember the last time that someone touched her and it didn’t hurt or repulse her. Even now, with no evidence in his stance or expression that he’ll change from exactly what he’s doing right now, she desperately longs to disappear.

But instead, she does exactly as she always does. She stays very still, focuses as hard as she can on her breathing, and pretends not to exist. 

The orchestra begins a new song, a slow, violin-led waltz, and Prince Bruno’s feet start moving in rhythm, pulling her along. “Just follow me,” he murmurs. “And don’t worry if you step on my toes. I have tough feet.”

This is not what she’s supposed to be doing right now. This is the exact opposite of what she should be doing right now. Being held firmly in his arms, swaying and twirling through the shafts of moonlight that illuminate the floor, like two lovers…she feels dizzy, and it’s not from the dance itself. 

He’s a murderer, and a perfect gentleman. She allowed herself to like him, the day they met, to think about him often since then. Now, knowing who he really is, the thought makes her sick. But at the same time, she still feels herself drawn toward him in that same way. The way he looks at her…it’s nothing like she’s ever seen before. He makes her feel wanted, and no one has wanted her in many, many years. 

Kamaria sucks in a sharp breath and pulls her gaze down to his shoulder. If he actually knew who she was - a servant and a Navarian - he wouldn’t want her. Perhaps he’d order her death, like he had dozens of others.

“Are you alright?”

He sounds so concerned, and she can’t take it anymore. She stops abruptly, stepping away and yanking her hand from his grasp like she’s wanted to all along, before she fully realizes what she’s doing. Luckily, she’s granted a plausible reason as soon as she glances past him. A group has gathered between the columns, gawking, apparently having noticed the movement of their dance and realizing that it’s their prince finally dancing with someone. Kamaria stares at them for a moment, heart still pounding, long enough for Prince Bruno to turn and see for himself. 

She has to get out of here. There’s a door in the corner, she has no idea where it leads, but it has to be better than this stuffy room full of curious people and too-loud music. Leaving the prince behind, she lifts her skirts slightly and runs toward it as fast as she dares.

To her immense relief, it lets out onto a large balcony, overlooking the gardens at the back of the castle. Kamaria crosses to the railing and drops her skirts, leaning heavily onto her hands and taking in gulps of the cool evening air. She’s trembling all over. 

The door opens and shuts behind her, and she tenses, fingers gripping the rail. 

“I’m sorry about that. Unfortunately, that kind of attention tends to follow me.”

She swallows and forces her voice to work. “Will they now? Follow you, that is.”

“No.” He’s walking a bit further onto the balcony, but staying back away from her. Giving her space, presumably, because he always seems to somehow know what she needs. “I’ve ordered a guard to hold them off, with the promise that I will return shortly.” There’s a pause, even his footsteps quieting. “But I don’t have to. I don’t actually have to return at all. Will it tick my father off? Yes, but I don’t really care.”

No. No, he doesn’t have to return. He doesn’t deserve to return, doesn’t deserve to keep living his luxurious, perfect life being fawned over by hundreds while her people’s blood stains the ground. 

The knife is out of its hidden pocket and in her hand without her really thinking about it. She turns slowly and begins to walk toward him, the rush of her blood once again filling her ears.

He has to die. It doesn’t matter how good he seems now, he sealed his fate ten years ago. 

He’s leaning against the wall, watching her. She can’t look him in the face, if she does she might falter, and that’s the one thing she can’t do. Close enough to hear his breaths, she places one hand against his arm to brace herself. 

She’s ready. Just like all those times she’s practiced. One sure, swift movement, and the knife is buried in his flesh.

There’s a quiet choking sound, deep in his throat. He sucks in a sharp breath, huffs a laugh. “Was it…something I said?”

Kamaria stares at the knife hilt protruding from the prince’s shoulder, at the bright red blood seeping out from around it, at the blue silk glove on her hand that still holds it. She should pull it out. Stab him again, in the chest, where she’d meant to stab him to start with. 

She can’t seem to do so.

"You're not the first to do that. And I'm sure you're not the last.” He’s still talking, still so bafflingly calm despite the fact that the woman he was flirting with has just stabbed him. “Do you really want me dead? Because you sure didn't think I was a terrible person when we were talking a few weeks ago.”

She’s shaking again. Or still, perhaps. It’s unclear whether or not she ever stopped. 

This is supposed to be her moment. She’s been planning this for so long, been waiting for the perfect chance, and now it’s here and…it’s all wrong.

His hand comes up, slowly, and covers her, wrapping around the knife just as gently as he’d held onto her inside. "How about we talk about this. You can keep the knife there, or not. Preferably, I would like to live after this, but if you are determined enough, I suppose I could go."

Now he doesn’t even care whether she kills him? He wants to talk, rather than just shoving her away, shouting for the guards, having her arrested and hanged?

She shuts her eyes, jaw clenching and unclenching. “You weren’t supposed to be…nice.”

"I wasn't supposed to be a prince either, but things don't work out that way, love. I'm sorry I wasn't a terrible person like some think of me."

Kamaria’s eyes fly open, and she finally looks him in the face, glaring. “You are a terrible person. You killed them. And I’ve been waiting my whole life to return the favor.”

"And who told you what I am?" His brow is furrowed, confusion with flashes of irritation playing across his features. "What would I have succeeded in the death of others? If you think that low of me, then go ahead, twist the knife, or go for something lethal this time."

His hand releases hers in favor of raising both in surrender, obviously moving the left carefully to avoid jostling the knife. "There's nothing I have to hide, my dear. Nothing. If you want answers, then I'll do my best to help you find them. If you want to do away with me once you have your truth, then so be it."

She knows the answers already. She just doesn’t understand them now that she’s here. What if she’s wrong? What if she’s had it wrong all along, and this is really not the man she should have been looking for?

Her eyes search his, looking desperately for the truth. "I don't know. I can't...I can't reconcile the man I met in the orchard with the one who had my family killed. Which one are you? Was everything you said to me...a façade? Or are you going to try to convince me that you've changed, because that was all so long ago? Or that it was a necessary loss for the good of the country?"

"I'm the same man I've always been, the one you met. I have not lied to you since the moment we met, and I don't plan on changing that about myself." He lowers his arms, noticeably gritting his teeth as he does so. More blood oozes out and stains his crisp white shirt. "I did change, but not in the way you imagine. And I would never…what loss would make the country great? Our people are our people. What would there be to gain from killing those that I'm supposed to protect?"

"You tell me!” she spits. “Because those were royal soldiers that burned down the village that night. I was there. I saw them.” The memories of that night are seared into both her mind and her skin. “And all fingers have pointed to you as the one who sent them." She pauses, still watching his face, ready for her next question to reveal his true nature. "Was it because we were Navarian? Because we were outsiders?"

He does react, but not in disgust like she expected. He flinches, as if she’s physically struck him. "I never sent my troops to harm your people." She can almost see the thoughts racing in his mind. "Navarian or not, I swore to protect their lives as well."

He just keeps on denying everything, and Kamaria doesn’t know whether to believe him or stab him again for it. She leans in a little, putting more pressure on the knife. "Then why are they dead?"

Prince Bruno tightly shuts his eyes, the pain obviously getting to him. "Let me figure that out with you. You want justice, and I'll make it happen. I never wanted to hurt people." He opens his eyes to meet hers, and she hates that she can see honesty shining in them. "You have no reason to trust me, but I need you to give me a chance to prove my innocence. Because if I didn't do this, then that means someone else will just let it happen again."

She wants to believe him. She wants to see if he can actually find different answers than the ones she’s always known.

Part of her, the part that has planned his death since she was twelve, also wants to be done with this here and now.

But as she’s debating, the clock tower in the center of town begins to chime. Her attention jerks to it. Midnight. Far later than she ever planned on being here. Her father won’t stay much longer, and she still has to walk all the way back home. If she’s not there when he gets there…

“Fine.” It’s an effort to pry her fingers away from the knife, but she does so, taking two steps back. “You have your chance. If you didn’t kill them, then find out who did. And I’ll find out if you’re lying to me.”

She has to go. She doesn’t know whether to hope that she ever sees his face again, or not. But she turns, hurrying toward the door on the other end of the balcony, one that doesn’t lead back into the ballroom. 

"Wait, can I at least have your name this time? I want to find who hurt your people, and I want to be able to tell you when I do."

Her steps slow, then stop, and she stares at the ground, debating what to tell him. If he comes looking for her, he’ll know that she’s a fraud, a pathetic lord’s daughter being used as a servant in her own home. Maybe he won’t even want to help her anymore.

She should tell him something, though. And since her father refuses to call her by her real, Navarian name anyway… “Kamaria.” That will have to do. She’ll just find him herself as soon as she can get away, and make sure he’s holding himself to his vow.

She looks back over her shoulder at the prince, still leaning heavily against the wall with her knife sticking out of him. “Don’t let me down.”

“You’re just too stubborn to take care of yourself. The most stubborn man I’ve ever met.” With a final poke, she wanders away from the bed, back toward the corner where she usually sleeps. 

He follows her across the small room. “Well you’re certainly the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. Wouldn’t even speak for so long I was convinced you were mute. Won’t take anything I offer you, won’t listen to anything I say -”

Kamaria whirls around to face him, chin jutted and eyebrow raised. “Maybe I just don’t like you.” They both know that isn’t anywhere near true, though actually admitting how he makes her feel is one area where she really is stubborn. 

Bruno’s eyes are sparkling with playful mischief. “Now listen here…” His hands land on her shoulders, bumping her back into the wall. 

Whatever he might say next melts into a meaningless hum. Kamaria’s body reacts automatically, muscles going limp and expression blanking as her breath sticks in her chest. 

She’s been pinned like this many times before. It’s best if she just lets it happen, and if her mind is as absent as possible. 

But then his hands fall away. Vaguely, she registers that he’s stepping back, and his voice comes into focus again when he calls her name. She blinks, and her lungs suddenly resume working. Her eyes dart back and forth, taking in Bruno, his distance from her, the crushed look on his face…and it dawns on her what, exactly, she just did.

“Kamaria, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean -”

“Don’t.” Her voice comes out in a croak. Shoving away from the wall, she brushes past him and walks the few steps to her corner. The fear and dread that had set in so instantaneously are still there, gripping her chest, and the fact that she’s feeling that about Bruno is sickening. She sinks to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees as tightly as possible to try and hide the trembling.

“I wasn’t thinking. You know I would never -”

“I said don’t.” 

She does know. She hasn’t always known, but she does now, she trusts him, which is something she never thought she’d say about any human male, ever. And that’s the main reason, besides the instinctive fear, that she’s so shaken up right now. She hates herself. Her stupid self had to turn pliable and pathetic just because the position she ended up in reflected one used against her many times in the past. Now she’s made Bruno feel guilty, which he doesn’t deserve. It feels like she’s erased months of progress in their relationship in one brief moment.

She’d been getting so much better. Life…Bruno…everything was so much better. She hasn’t had to be afraid in so long, he’s even protected her from the guards that want to make advances. 

But now it’s like she’s right back where she started, curled up in this corner, unable to even look at him. 

“Kamaria.” He crouches down to her level, but stays back to give her plenty of space. “Talk to me? Please? I want to know what you’re feeling.”

In her periphery, she can see how devastated he looks. But she can’t talk to him. She’s too ashamed of what she is, too afraid that she’ll look at him and see an assailant - her master - instead of the kind, caring man she’s come to know. She buries her face in her knees and stays silent.

After a long moment, Bruno releases a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’ll leave you alone.”

She hears his footsteps retreating. He can’t go very far in the tiny room, but only a minute later the food slot on the door opens, and she hears him talking to someone out in the hall. Locks click, and the door creaks. Kamaria almost lifts her head, almost says something to stop him. If they’re letting him out of the room, it can only really be for training or a fight, and he’s already so tired all the time. He doesn’t deserve to have to leave just because she’s such a mess.

But she hesitates, frozen in place, and the opportunity is gone. The door shuts, and the room is empty. She didn’t want to talk to him. She doesn’t want to be alone with her thoughts and her steadily growing guilt, either. 

Which she’d be doing, no problem, except that The Brute showed up. Nothing new about that, either, and normally an encounter with him doesn’t exactly dampen her mood. But today, she really wishes that for once, he wouldn’t be so annoyingly good at his job. Why can’t he just leave her alone today? She just wants to kill the stupid criminal and go back to headquarters to lick her wounds in private, but she’s stuck here in one of their half-hearted fights, listening to his one-sided banter. 

“Looks like somebody didn’t get enough sleep last night.” Brute dodges yet another of her knife swipes easily, returning it with a punch that she just barely manages to miss herself. “You’re slow today.”

Usually she’d throw a barb right back at him, but just the thought of speaking makes her throat burn. She throws a knife, instead, which sticks in the brick wall just beside his ear.

“Ooh, not enough sleep makes you grumpy, too, I guess. Or should I say…even grumpier than usual? Going for the ‘silent and deadly’ style today.” He yanks the small knife out of the mortar and inspects it. “Doesn’t really bode well for me.”

Yes, she’s grumpy. She’d like to growl at him to shut up, she’s not in the right headspace to make light of this situation. Their fights barely qualify as such, since neither of them really want to harm the other, a fact that she absolutely refuses to examine and adamantly pretends isn’t true. She even sometimes enjoys getting to battle it out with the hero, even on days when her pain level is worse than usual. 

Maybe it’s because she can’t snark back at him and get into the mood of the fight. For whatever reason, she just wants to get this over with, but unfortunately just because he seems to kind of like her doesn’t mean he’s willing to back off and let her do her job. She’s going to have to somehow give him the slip if she wants to avoid even more punishment when she gets back.

“Seriously? Nothing to say at all?”

I have plenty to say. I’d like to say go away. Leave me alone. I need to do this so I don’t get beaten to a pulp tonight. 

I’d kind of like to ask how the only gentleman I’ve ever met ended up fighting on the side of the people I hate the most. Or why you seem to give a flip about me, a villain, at all.

I’d like to tell you that it feels like someone lit my back on fire, because I get the feeling you’d be the only person in the world that somehow actually cared.

She swings at him again, just nicking his arm with the tip of the blade. He doesn’t seem to notice, pushing closer and grabbing onto that wrist. Anyone else, she’d bring her left hand up and stab them directly in the chest. But it’s Brute. She can’t kill him, no matter how aggravated she might be with him. So she allows him to get close and doesn’t fight back yet, unaware of just how uncomfortable it’s going to be until he grabs her other arm, too, and spins her around to press her back into the bricks.

Her breath hitches in her throat, but her mind is only partially on the pain coursing through her back. He’s never pinned her before, she doesn’t usually let him. Being pinned means being hurt. 

But this is Brute. He never hurts her, not badly, at least. 

But he is hurting her. 

But he doesn’t mean to. 

Still, no matter how logical she tries to force herself to be about it, her instincts and memories are stronger. She struggles against him, face carefully blank but heart pounding too fast. 

Let go let go let go let go 

“Hey, calm down, Shadow. I’m not gonna hurt you!” He doesn’t let up, his grip strong but not bruising. “What is your deal today? Are you mad at me or something?”

Again, if he was anyone else, she’d be using the little bit of movement she has in her left arm to reach for another knife. Instead, she kicks at his shins, hoping to dissuade him. 

“Ow.” He still doesn’t let go. She might have to go for the knife after all. The longer she’s trapped, the less she’s able to think straight to see the problem with just stabbing him. 

“Shadow. Look, I’ll let you go in a second, but can you just tell me what’s -” He cuts off abruptly, leaning his face in closer. “Crap. What happened to you?”

She realizes suddenly that this close, he can see the bruises peeking out from underneath her hood. That’s not what she wanted at all, now he’ll start asking questions and she’ll have to try to explain, if not now then some other day because he’s Brute and he doesn’t give up. Forget not hurting him or her own split-open skin, she needs to get away. She shoves hard and kicks out again, reaching for the knife at the same time.

Thankfully, he lets her go this time, backing away with his hands spread in front of him. She still bolts away from the wall, adjusting her grip on the handle and holding out the blade as if he’ll attack.

“Who did that to you?”

Her back is even worse than before, thanks to scraping it up against the bricks. Now she needs to use her voice, too. “Doesn’t matter.” It sounds exactly as horrendous as she imagined it would, and feels like she’s swallowing nails. 

“Yes, it does.” He sounds so deadly serious about it. Is he offended that she’s faced off against someone besides him? If he knew it was her own handler he wouldn’t be. He’d probably laugh in her face about how pathetic she is.

“We’re in the same line of work. You know these things happen.”

Brute sighs, shaking his head. “I can barely get a hit on you…most days other than today. I know there’s more to this, Shadow.”

Kamaria forces a smirk. “Maybe you’re just not as good as the other heroes.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Or maybe there’s a villain that’s been picking a fight with you.” Crossing his arms, he looks her up and down. “So who is it? Asking for a friend.”

“Can’t stand for someone else to be the one beating me up?” He needs to drop the subject so that she can stop talking. Maybe she can pretend to lose her voice altogether.

“I don’t think that counts as beating you up.”

“Not everyone is as reluctant to dirty their hands as you are.”

“Are you sure it was their hands they were dirtying?” He’s walking closer again, and she resists the urge to skitter backwards until he reaches out like he’s going to lift her chin with his fingers and inspect the bruises again. His hands go back up in surrender when she jerks away before he can touch. “I’m sorry! I won’t touch. But Shadow…” He sucks in a deep breath, jaw clenching and unclenching. “Is that a boot print?”

She can feel it almost as clearly as if it’s happening right now and not a few hours ago. Her lying on the floor where she’d been struck down, Roderick looming over her. The tread of his boot pressing, pressing, pressing into her throat. The delighted smile on his face. Her body jerking without her permission, desperate to get away even as her mind tells her she’s not allowed to fight back. Realizing with sudden dread that he may actually completely crush her throat, either killing her or taking away her voice for good. The darkness slowly taking over her vision as her oxygen supply dwindles.

Kamaria inhales sharply as if to prove to herself that she still can and focuses back in on Brute’s face. “I still think you’re jealous.”

“No, I’m not jealous because I have no desire to do such a thing to you.” He sighs again, running a hand through his hair. “You’re just as stubborn as always. Would you actually tell me if something was wrong?”

No. “Nothing’s wrong.” She smiles a little, trying to reassure him. Nothing’s wrong, this is just how my life is.

He grumbles a little under his breath. “Fine. Can we at least call this done and go home, since you clearly don’t feel like being here? You can just nod, you don’t have to speak.”

Grateful but trying to seem nonchalant, she gives a distinct nod. 

“Good. I’ll see you around, Shadow. Take care of yourself.”

He turns to leave, and Kamaria begins walking in the direction she was heading before, toward the criminal’s place of work. 

“Excuse me, I’m fairly certain that’s not the way you should be going right now.” Brute is glaring at her, arms crossed. Again, being annoyingly good at his job when she really needs him to just let her be.

She gives him her best innocent stare, but he just points toward where she came from. “I won this fight. That means you go home and don’t cause any more trouble today.”

She’s screaming now, she realizes. Something between screams and sobs, ripping straight from her chest. She wants to go back to the place where everything was meaningless. She doesn’t want to remember, but now she can’t do anything but remember. 

The one thing she’s always feared finally happened. She’s relived it in her dreams over and over again, the night when she, as a young girl, had to witness her friends and family being attacked. She’s imagined it happening to herself nearly as many times. And now it has. 

Just because it’s over doesn’t mean the fear is gone, though. It’s still choking her, like it’s happening all over again right here, right now. 

“Kamaria, please. It’s over. I’m here.”

Bruno. He’s always tried to keep her safe. He tried this time, too, but he couldn’t. He can’t save her now, from her fear and her memories, but she clings to his voice, anyway. 

“Help, help, help me, help me please…” She doesn’t know what she’s saying, the words spill out on the heels of her sobs as she rolls toward him, trying to find his face through a blur of tears.

“I’m here, I’m right here, love.” His voice is hoarse, a barely-there rasp. She remembers now, that in the midst of her own screaming, he was screaming, too. A heartrending sound that she could barely even focus on. Right now it sounds like he might be crying along with her. “It’s just us. No one else is here. Just breathe, okay? Breathe, Kamaria.”

She can’t breathe, not as long as this pain persists, reminding her of everything that just happened. But she tries. For Bruno, she tries to calm herself. Her eyes finally latch onto his, whole body trembling as she forces deeper breaths into her lungs. 

“That’s it, there you go. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Her face crumples and a fresh batch of tears begin pouring down her cheeks. She hasn’t cried like this in so many years, but she has no control over it right now. She’s so weak. None of this should have ever happened, she should have been able to fight it, but there were just so many of them. And even now, she should be able to handle it. She’s experienced much worse pain than this so many times, has been in so many horrible situations. Why must this be the thing that has her coming undone?

“Ey lamoste, ey lamoste.” He doesn’t need to have to deal with her right now, they need to be figuring out a way to get free and get out of here. She sucks in another breath, trying mostly in vain to wipe her cheek on her shoulder. 

“No, you have no need to be sorry. I’m sorry. So, so sorry, Kamaria, I…I tried, but it wasn’t enough. I failed you. I couldn’t stop them, I wasn’t strong enough for you.”

She shakes her head, swallowing down more tears. “You couldn’t…there was nothing you could do. You shouldn’t have tried to sacrifice yourself.”

“I had to, I couldn’t just let them -!” What little remains of his voice catches, and he looks up at the ceiling, blinking back his own tears. “But I did. I let them do exactly what I was trying to prevent.”

“It’s not your fault. They had you chained up, you had no way of getting to me. I couldn’t fight them, either, I’m the one who…who let them.” Another wave of memory washes over her and she gasps, curling in on herself, pain shooting through her center when she moves. 

“Hey, hey keep breathing, love.” He’s rolled back toward her now, leaning as far forward as he can with the chain around his neck holding him back.  “It’s alright. It’s not your fault, either, okay? You can’t blame yourself. Just keep breathing, and focus on me, right here and now.”

She can’t not blame herself, but she does focus on him, matching her breaths with his for a moment. “If you…if you had managed to sacrifice yourself, like you wanted…if you’d left me behind and gone off to…to die, or whatever you were trying to do…I’d have never forgiven you. I would have hunted him down until I found you and got you back. You’re not supposed to do that, we’re supposed to fight together.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But Kane, he…he’s nearly impossible to beat. He’s too powerful, has too many men behind him, and he knows…he knows exactly what to do to break people. I didn’t want that to happen to you. I deserve what he was going to give me, I’m a war criminal. You don’t deserve any of this. You shouldn’t have to be here.”

“Shut up,” she hisses. “Whatever you did…I know you, and I know you wouldn’t do it without a really good reason. That doesn’t mean you deserve death, or captivity, or any of the rest of it.”

Bruno sighs heavily, wincing a little and readjusting his position. They must have beaten him at some point, he has a split lip and a bruise forming on his cheekbone. “I had a very, very good reason for it. And I will tell you about it…someday, I promise. But that doesn’t change the fact that I committed a crime, and Kane is determined to make me pay for it. He won’t be satisfied with just my death, though. He could have taken me up on my offer if that was the case. He wants to punish me, and…” He gazes at her, eyes full of sadness. “And he’ll use you to do it.”

The thought of having to go through what just happened again makes her heart stop beating for a moment, but she pushes through this time, forcing her lungs to work, forcing her expression back into neutral, clenching her jaw until it aches to keep herself under control. It hasn’t been this hard to do so for a long, long time. 

“I can handle pain,” she tells him once she’s sure she can speak without crying. “You know I can.”

His face says that he knows exactly what’s going through her head, regardless of what she’s saying aloud. “I know. That doesn’t mean I want you to, though. Watching you go through everything with Roderick was bad enough, I…” Shaking his head, he stares at the ceiling again. 

“Kamaria, I don’t know what’s going to happen in the coming days. It’s going to be hard, and I don’t know how long he’ll let me survive. I will do everything I can to protect you, though.”

“I don’t need you to protect me. Protect yourself for once, please.”

“Not if it means…” He turns to her, and he looks almost…defeated. “Not if it means you going through that again. I can’t…” He swallows hard, breath shuddering as he draws it in. “I’m going to do everything I can to protect you. And I want you to remember, no matter what happens to us, that I love you, okay? I will always love you.”

Saying it is still so new, it feels like trying to learn Common all over again. That doesn’t make it any less true, though. “I love you, too, Bruno. Always. Ey ti ameil.”

“Ey ti ameil.” 

She doesn’t poke fun at him for his accent, he’s so genuine and the moment is too fragile. At any moment, the little bit of peace they’ve found will shatter. She’s always prided herself on being strong, but she isn’t, not right now. She needs him, needs his love, to get through.