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Serinepth has never looked so regal. A crown rests on her head over layers of diaphanous veils, fastened with gem-encrusted pins to the hair that has been dyed black and slicked back from her forehead. Her face and neck are perfectly painted in a masterpiece of tiny brush strokes. Her left hand raises a goblet of wine in a toast as she concludes her speech welcoming her guests to the ball.
She has never looked so regal, nor so much unlike herself.
Phillip can see more, now, than he could before Wildcliff, before his eyes turned gold. He can see in the dark, and into the Ethereal Plane. He has to remind himself to ignore the invisible guards that the other guests without truesight can't see. There’s an arcane sharpness to his vision, as well. As he watches Serinepth’s speech from the far end of the ballroom, he notices the royal family motto engraved on her signet ring.
But it’s more than just seeing--he remembers . Before everything, time would have softened the sharp corners of the memories. It might be easier to slip into an arranged marriage, if every glimpse of this woman didn't remind him of a time that he pretended he could have been hers. Her face is seared irrevocably into his memory. True, he can't see through the pigments on her face in the way that he can see through the glamours that everyone at this ball is wearing. But now, when he sees the way the candlelight shimmers across her cloth-of-gold gown, he remembers the way her scales shimmered under bioluminescent lights one summer night on the lawn in the enchantment department, years ago now, and it's like he's reaching out and brushing his fingertips along her skin again, back when he could touch her without repercussions.
It has been a year since he finished his fourth year at Wildcliff, and it’s been two seasons since the love of his life married someone else.
–
Serinepth drinks the toast from her goblet, the orchestra strikes a chord, and the buzz of conversation resumes. She descends from the dais, deftly navigating her heavy gold skirts as she slides back into the fray. She’d gotten used to more practical clothing while at school, but the muscle memory came back the first time she put on a ballgown again. At least this cage crinoline was made for dancing; it doesn't especially hamper her agility.
Lord Peters is the first to capture her attention. “An excellent speech, Your Highness!” he remarks, tucking a hand into the crook of her arm and falling into step with her as she glides towards the table of refreshments. "You do great honor to your husband in his absence."
“That’s very kind of you to say, Lord Peters,” Serinepth smiles.
“Your mother has taught you well. You know, I remember the first ball that your mother hosted. It must be thirty years ago now! It was an event celebrating the maiden voyage of a new ship. A six-masted sailing vessel, the likes of which had never been seen…” As his story continues, Serinepth relaxes for a moment in the familiarity of Lord Peters’s storytelling. She laughs at the right times, exclaims “She didn’t!” at the proper junctures, and enjoys herself for the first time tonight.
But she must make the rounds, so she excuses herself and surrenders to the whirlwind of conversations. Compliments on outfits must be delivered. Dances must be requested and accepted. The accomplishments of her peers must be admired. And most importantly, strategic introductions must be made. After all, that’s the purpose of this event: to stroke the appropriate egos and secure the compliance of certain aristocrats from the south who rarely make it up to the court. No party is ever just a party anymore.
She's standing in a circle with three other nobles, holding her own in a complicated conversation about the role of abjuration magic in the construction of new architecture, when she glimpses a distressingly familiar figure approaching. Phillip. He wears his family colors more easily than she ever wore her own. Red and black velvet pour down from his shoulders, and the train of his robe sweeps behind him as he strides towards her. With each step, the quiet click of his riding boots is somehow deafening.
He made it after all. She hadn't thought he would. She must not betray her surprise. She cannot. Now is not the time. She manages to complete one more sentence, then gestures towards him.
"What good timing! May I present an old classmate of mine, Lord Phillip Maisel. He is currently pursuing higher education in the arcane arts, and I'm sure he can comment on the use of noncrystalline stones as foci for abjuration spellcasting."
She dips slightly into that barest of curtsies afforded by a princess to a former equal. Phillip performs a perfect bow, except he pointedly refuses to deferentially lower his piercing golden gaze.
"Your Highness," he murmurs.
"Lord Maisel," she replies, automatically extending a gloved hand. He reaches out to take it, and as he hesitates just a fraction of a moment before pressing his lips to the thin layer of silk that covers her skin, she is immensely grateful for the thick armor of makeup that obscures her blush.
“I’m pleased that you were able to attend. May I introduce Lady Dominika Horst, Lord Carlin Lisle, and The Honorable Tirrin Finley. Tirrin was just suggesting that the mathematical placement of masonry might mimic the crystalline structure of other stones."
Tirrin takes this as an invitation to launch into an explanation of their theory, but Serinepth has lost her focus because of the unbearable weight of Phillip's presence. Mercifully, he makes what must be an insightful comment, because Tirrin, Carlin, and Dominika nod when he speaks.
When the conversation has returned to its previous intensity and her departure will be ignored, Serinepth makes her escape. She leads Phillip to an open window, looking out over the castle courtyard. He places himself a respectful distance away. Out of arm's reach, looking out the window. Neither speaks. Neither makes eye contact. The noise of children playing outside and the music of the ball fill the space between them.
"I didn't expect you to come today," Serinepth finally says. "I haven't seen you since…"
"Since your wedding. It was rude of me to leave after the ceremony without saying hello, but there were a thousand people there. I didn't think the prince and princess would miss me."
"Your absence is always felt, Lord Maisel."
He bristles, ever so slightly, when she uses his title.
"I was surprised you invited my family, Your Highness. You know that my parents never attend these events when they're out of town on tour."
"Your name was on the invitation as well. I've realized that it's time for our generation to start… playing the game."
"What's this party actually about, then? Surely it's not just a ‘winter soiree' like the invitation said."
Serinepth smiles. "You understand. Well, you met Lady Horst, and I know your family has stayed with Lord Woodkeep when you've traveled in the southern foothills. Their respective households are both visiting for a few weeks. They've both been trying to illegally open new copper mines in lands traditionally occupied by twelve clans of nomadic halfling goatherds."
"So you care about disputes about mining rights now that you belong to the royal family? What does this have to do with me?"
"It's more complicated than that. The people of the area insist that there are dangerously magical things underground but the Horsts and Woodkeeps refuse to listen. I know how much time your family has spent down there. Lord Woodkeep likes you, and it seems I was right that you and Lady Horst would get along. My hope is that your presence here reminds them that the Castle cares about them and that that will make this week's negotiations easier."
He bristles again. "Your Highness, if you've only brought me here to do you a political favor…"
"It's not just politics; it's the well-being of a dozen clans whose lives are at risk--"
"Serinepth." Hearing her own name cuts her short. One of his hands clasps the window sill, knuckles white. Serinepth realizes how hard she's been gripping her goblet, and lets her hand slacken. "Your Highness. I need you to tell me the truth. There are other people that Lord Woodkeep likes; you don't need me to do this. Why am I here? We've always been honest with each other."
"Except about this, Phillip," she whispers. "You know why."
He doesn't respond, but he finally turns to look at her. From the hand holding her goblet, she extends one finger to point discreetly towards him, and casts a message.
“Because I want you here.”
A peal of children's laughter drifts through the window from the courtyard below. They both look down to see two kids chasing each other through the gardens.
"Do you remember my first betrothal?" she asks aloud.
"You hated the idea so much that we ran away. He didn't want anything to do with you after that."
"I thought I could escape it forever."
"You could have, you know."
"I could have. But there are terrifying magical things in this world that the royal family refuses to acknowledge, and what happens to those goatherds in the foothills if nobody in Ashua makes it their business to know about things like the hatch and Neska and whatever the hell is under the southern foothills? The court mages are more concerned with protection and divination. You know, the royal family brought me in partly because they want more control over hereditary sorcery for their own purposes. But is this another Progenitor? Another existential threat? The royal family doesn't care unless they can use it." She sighs. "I guess I am asking you a political favor. Your... friendship means more to me than that. I'm sorry."
"I'll do it."
"What?"
He grasps the last vestiges of the telepathic connection, and she hears his silent voice reply:
“I would do anything for you.”
Serinepth opens her mouth to reply but stops herself as she sees Phillip's eyes dart sharply towards the dance floor. She catches sight of Carlin approaching in her peripheral vision.
"Your Highness!" he beams, and extends a hand. "The orchestra is starting the minuet and I've come to collect on your promise of a dance."
"Of course, my lord." She takes his hand, and glances back to Phillip. "Forgive me, Lord Maisel."
Phillip gestures gallantly. "Far be it from me to deny anyone the pleasure of a dance with the princess."
As Serinepth glides towards the dance floor, arm in arm with Carlin, she forces herself not to look directly back at Phillip. But she reaches out to him with her mind in that quietest of ways.
"Leave a window unlocked tonight."
-
Since marrying into the royal family, Serinepth has taken over the management of more and more household events from the Queen. The staff already trust her--most of them watched her grow up or grew up alongside her--and her keen insight, competence with finances, and kind management have won their respect. Still, the only person she trusts implicitly is her lady's maid, Martina.
Managing royal events provides another advantage: information. She can find out who is assigned to be where, who is expected to be in the castle, and when they're expected to leave. She didn't even have to pry to find any information about Phillip's accommodations. His name was right there with the rest of the guests. She knows he's staying in his family's apartments in the castle. His parents are still abroad; he came with only a few attendants, who themselves would be staying in servants’ quarters. He's alone. And like her own private rooms, his quarters overlook the large central courtyard of the castle. Barely more than a stone's throw away.
In her chambers after the soiree, the maid Martina helps Serinepth out of the heavy cloth-of-gold court gown and into more comfortable evening attire.
"It's been a long day," she tells Martina. "If anyone asks, I'm going to the bestiary to visit Virgil."
"Okay," Martina says, and she smiles knowingly as she hefts up the golden gown into her arms. She never asks where Serinepth will actually be; they both know that their reputations are built on plausible deniability. "There's fruit on the table in your living room if you want to bring him any. Have a nice time."
Serinepth holds the heavy oak door open for her as she carries the gown down to the laundry, and then locks the door behind them and heads the opposite way down the hall.
First, to the bestiary. Appearances must be maintained, but it's also nice to spend time with her pet now that he's too big to climb the stairs up and down from her rooms. With her right hand she carries a bag of fruit for Virgil; with her left, she absently tosses and catches a pomegranate as she walks. Down the corridor, down the big stone spiral staircase, across the breezeway, into the courtyard. As she walks through the gardens she stays in the well-lit areas, letting the stiff heels of her shoes clatter against the stones, nodding to anyone she passes. She is not hiding yet; it's important that she let herself be seen.
On the way back through the courtyard, though, she disappears into the orchard. After checking her scrying amulet to ensure that she's alone, she drops her shoes into the now-empty fruit bag. With the twist of a magic ring on her finger, she turns invisible. With a whisper and a wave of her invisible hand, she lifts into the air.
-
Phillip is trying not to get his hopes up. He has before, and he was disappointed.
Leave a window unlocked. At first he was certain she was coming, but as the minutes tick by, he’s less and less confident. He stares out the open window, watching the gauzy curtains sway in the cold winter breeze. He paces in circles in the living room. He sits and tries to read. He paces some more.
Finally she appears, and she’s an absolute vision. Her wavy hair floats weightlessly around her head, and an amulet on a silver chain hovers just above her chest. She lands, barefoot, on the windowsill, and as she drops the levitation spell, her silken blue robes drape themselves over her body.
“You came,” he says. Can’t get any other words out.
She steps down from the sill to the floor, and she bites her lip and points with her chin towards the open window. He hurries to close it, and when he draws the drapes she drops her invisibility.
She doesn’t say anything at first, just sets down the bag she’s carrying.
“Do you want to sit?” He gestures vaguely towards the divan by the fireplace, out of view of any of the room’s windows. She nods, and places herself primly on one end. He sits on the other.
“Phillip–” she begins, then pauses. He waits. The wait is intolerable. He can't.
"Please don't tell me you're here to debrief me on my conversations with Lady Horst and Lord Woodkeep."
She laughs, once, harshly. "No, I-- I'll see how they are tomorrow." Another excruciating pause. "I'm here because I missed you."
Something washes over him. Relief? Pleasure? Pain? Maybe he would know if she would close the distance between them.
"And I'm here because you asked me to be. What… what do you really want, Serinepth?"
She stands, and looks away.
-
What I want breaks my vows. What I want would make me powerless to help anyone, if the royal family found out. What I want is treason.
Being here isn't wrong. Having a friend isn't wrong. What she actually wants–that’s what’s wrong.
She turns back to the divan, and sits back down, this time within arm's reach of this man she has loved her whole life. What is that expression on his face? He's never let it show before. She reaches out to stroke his beautiful dark curls, and as he melts into her touch she has never felt so powerful, nor so weak.
"Phillip…" She looks at him. She leans in. She can feel the warmth radiating from his body. There was a time that this would have felt comforting; now it feels charged.
She pulls away. He exhales sharply. They sit in silence for one minute, two, three.
Phillip breaks before Serinepth does: "Angelika says she heard Frederick is having an affair."
"Of course he is. Everyone is."
"Everyone?" It's a loaded question, and they both know it.
"Almost everyone," she corrects herself. "Except Fred probably thinks he's the only one, and thinks it's justified because it's true love or something."
"Is it? True love?" He smirks, but it's still another loaded question.
"Does it matter?"
"Would you feel better if it were?"
"What I feel doesn't matter. I've made my bed and I'm going to lie in it."
He doesn't say anything for a moment, then: "So who’s the prince’s true love?"
Serinepth can't help but smile. "Angelika must be rubbing off on you. I'm not telling you that."
“Tell me something else, then. Is this happening, or are we just going to keep making each other miserable?”
“‘This’?” she asks, though of course she knows what he means.
“Us.”
He places a hand, tentatively, on her knee. She takes it and lifts it to her cheek. He slides his palm around the nape of her neck, and when his fingers grip her hair it's like lightning suffusing her body. With her eyes screwed shut, she feels the warmth of his breath on her cheek, and then their lips meet, and it’s like thunder crashing through her.
-
They’re still lying on the divan when the morning sunlight bleeds through the window. Her body is wrapped around his, her arm draped over his waist. She snuggles her face against the back of his neck.
“My parents are expecting me back tonight,” he says flatly.
“Frederick is coming home this afternoon,” she replies.
“We don’t have a lot of time.”
“They’ve never given us enough time.”
He rolls over to face her, and the intensity of his expression surprises her. “Would your husband even care if he knew about us?”
“I’m not as worried about Frederick as I am about the king and queen. Me being here with you like this violates my marriage contract, and that’s one thing. But betraying a prince is technically treason, and that’s a capital crime. You know, they’ve got a court mage who can kill you with a single word.”
“They won’t find out.”
“Probably not, but I’d have to live knowing that they could.” She runs her hand down the side of his face. “And it probably wouldn’t be me that they’d want to punish.”
“I’m the one who gets to decide how much risk I’m willing to take, Ser.”
“I know.” She sighs. “If I loved you less, this would be easier. If I didn’t care so much, the risk wouldn’t matter. Is that how everyone else does it without feeling so guilty?”
“I don’t think they care about anything as much as you do.”
“Why doesn’t the risk bother you?”
He thinks for a moment, idly playing with a strand of her long hair. “I just want to be happy. And if I can be with you, even if it’s only sometimes, and in private, I can be happy. I can go back to Wildcliff and actually enjoy it because I know I’m going to see you again.”
“Philip…”
“I guess I never told you why I was traveling with my parents.”
“Uh, I figured it was just a vacation between semesters.”
“No, I wanted to stay at Wildcliff. But they thought that time away would help me forget you.”
Her throat seizes up. “Your… your parents know about us?”
“Ser, they can read me like a book. But nothing bothers them. They don’t have any scruples, except that they’ll stay quiet about anything. I don’t even want to think about what they do in their spare time.”
“You’re saying…”
He takes her hands in his. “I’m saying they’ve done worse than this, and they’ll never breathe a word to anyone.”
Serinepth exhales, and realizes she’s been holding her breath. “So I’m guessing the time away didn’t help?”
He smiles fondly. “No, obviously not. But I don’t really forget anything anymore. Even if I did want to forget you, I don’t think I physically could.”
“This is too much. I should go.” She tries to extricate her fingers from where they’re intertwined with his, but he grasps them fervently.
“I don’t think you want to go,” he says, and he’s right. But she disentangles their hands nevertheless, and she stands.
“I don’t want to,” she agrees, “but I have to get ready for a diplomatic luncheon.”
He sits up and watches as she straightens her robes and combs her fingers through her hair.
“Will I see you again, Serinepth?”
She looks down at her hands fiddling with the ends of her hair. If she just focuses on pulling apart this tangle, she won’t have to see the pain on his face.
“I don’t know. I just–I really don't know.”
She picks up her bag from its spot on the floor, then triggers her ring of invisibility. She becomes weightless, rises from the floor, and looks back over her shoulder. Even her tears hover around her eyes, refusing to fall.
Phillip lurches to his feet and cries her name, but she’s gone.