Out the Gates

I likened myself to a ghost under the Margrave's roof. Your roof. Ours, even if I didn't think of it as ours back then, the morose little thing that I was.

For all the good that I did back then, I might as well have actually been such a spectral being floating through the deep red halls, twiddling away to keep the hearths lit, but nothing more. A tidy estate where, at best, the people tolerated my presence.

When the sickly little prince with dark curls knocked at our door for respite, a letter practically begging for protection, I'm ashamed to say I turned him away to his relatives in the Capitol with little hesitation. I used a starch white stationary, bordered with Brecht's crest, to decide his fate. My reply refusing his safe haven was perhaps my ultimate fatal error, yet, at the time, if I was to make any noise whatsoever, I couldn't fathom the consequences. I had no pity to spare the child, not when my own place as the lady was already so tenuous. Meddling with imperial succession wasn't something I could afford to do, not even for a boy less than ten. When the winds brought news of his passing… Well, a few errant, stubborn tears may have been shed, in private. Was it wrong to shed them?

Time passed, and I continued, and I forgot.

I spent my days in perfect acting, a shy noble lady. Detached. Lovely. Lonely. I used my magic as was expected of me and not more, a marvel which your vassals resented yet clung to. I thought of my girlhood dream. The Mage's tower! I imagined how I'd take the sparks from my fingers and dig them into new runes. A power of my own, I thought, though I knew at that point the binds which imperial mages adhered to, different from my own yet still not free. I occupied my mind with our growing library, my one indulgence.

I resented the emerald stone on my finger which bound me to you and Castle Brecht. I resented the Cassoways who had all but sold me to you. How wrong could one dreadful girl be… I was soon to find out in equal parts suffering and happiness.

Perhaps my first inkling to my failure of understanding occurred when you returned from the war for good, those trunk-like calves sprouting from your worn boots, ragged soldiers roaring at your back, dirt and a soft, exasperated frown coloring your face.

You reached for me, fumbling. You took my hand and shook it like a confused acquaintance, so flustered I almost laughed. "I'm home now." You said, as if it were the first time we'd spoken. The Setdan dead lands were finally stable, and you had nothing holding you back from living. It was five desperate years since I had become your lady in name, yet it wasn't until that moment that the title meant anything real. It took a while still for me to trust it.

In the end, you stayed, and that made all the difference.

I hadn't expected much to change, let alone for sunshine to return with you. You'd avoided me for five years, yet now that we were safe... How could I have anticipated meadows of warmth, kindness, and genuine love to blossom between our awkward selves? I put your soul to memory, as you did mine, and we built our little castle piece by piece in the little peace we had. We made up for lost time. For ten years, even through setbacks, pain, and loss, I had you.

If I could have had you until we were old and grey, like the hope of a dandelion beneath the shade of a mighty oak, I think it could have been enough.

But, like I did not anticipate the coming sun, I could not anticipate its fragility.

His majesty's sword was cold.

I will remember that cold till the end of time, yet his eyes were colder still. I only met them once, as he stood over you, his dark curls spilling over his forehead, face set in a detached frown. But, I didn't look at his regal self any longer than the seconds it took to understand the end as what it was; tragic, final. I reached my hand to touch yours, my back aching, but I could not reach you. I settled for your eyes. They were always such a honey brown that I could never help but drown in their sweetness. That moment was no exception, even laced in terror.

"My wildflower." You said, "Please. Save her, sire. Please—"

"Veris, no—"

The pool of blood between us grew. The world turned gray. His majesty's sword was in your chest. He kicked you over, tearing the steel from your chest. Then, satisfied, he left.

Those were terrible last words, you know? They will haunt me forever.

In our last moments, your face was turned from me. I could see your dark hair, cropped at the neck but long in the front, little pepper kisses of white just starting to star across it. How I longed to see it turn grey and then white as the seasons passed… The Emperor left your body less than three steps from me. A continent away, really, to your dying wife. One final cruelty.

Did I close my eyes first? Or you?

Ten years.

Only ten years.

My stomach twisted in anger. In anguish. It wasn't enough. I wished to kiss you. No. Be kissed. Both. A goodbye kiss. One more then. No. A million more. Hello kisses and good mornings and good nights. The weather's lovely dear, isn't it? You look gorgeous today. Thank you. I'm sorry, forgive me? I love you. Nothing said. Evening talks that last till dawn. Soft, urgent, languid, sweet, bitter, angry, repentant, happy, wanton, in love. Kisses like those. All of them. Decades of them. One wasn't enough, but I wouldn't get even that. Not even for one. I stretched my bloody hand toward you. I looked to the ring on my finger, the green gem which bound us together that first fragile day, a gem tucked into a warm gold band. Trembling. Fading. I brought it to my lips. I'd have to settle.

"Ver. I'll see you soon."

But it wasn't enough.

…

And then...

"A g a i n"

…