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Dove was loyal. Whether you knew Dove personally or not, that much was undoubtedly true.
Dove was loyal, at the very core of her, where her heart, her soul, would be, there was loyalty. Or- no, that wasn't quite true. Where her heart would be, there was empty space, a hollow void, a dead star. A wilted flower. Her soul, though, the fabric of it, was woven with threads dipped in, soaked in, spun from loyalty.
She hadn't gotten to be a knight- part of the royal family's personal guard- with luck and skills alone. Her unwavering loyalty- to the people, to the kingdom, to the crown- that was what had gotten her this far.
Her heart had proven untrustworthy. It wasn't something she intended to follow again.
That was what she told herself, over and over and over, now, here, guarding the celebration hall for the wedding of the princess.
"We suspect that the traitor may attempt at sabotaging the wedding," the king had told them, hushed, and even now, years after when he had first ascended to the throne, his eyes were still sharp and clear as they rested on her. The traitor, he had said, instead of any name, as if there could only be one person he could possibly be referring to. That much was true. There was only one. "We're counting on all of you to ensure the traitor does not succeed. We cannot allow such a fate to befall our beloved princess- and as a result, our entire kingdom." Dove could have sworn that he looked straight at her then, even though logically she was aware he couldn't have known who she was beneath her visor. "I ask you to remain vigilant."
She could still remember his cold eyes on her, piercing through her armour to stare her down.
You are loyal, she reminded herself, the handle of her sword shifting beneath her hand, the blade clanging softly in its sheath, as if to echo the statement.
She'd been wrong, that was all. It happened to the best of them. And she would make up for it. She would. That was the last mistake she would ever make, and even this, she would rectify.
"I know it's sort of a niche interest around these parts, but really, have you ever considered this thing I like to call relaxation?" Dove felt herself tense, her eyes snap to alert, her teeth grit. She could hear the grin in the voice, the arrogance, the haughty look that would be sure to be in her eyes. She had always thought herself better than the rest of all of them. Dove had never known just how serious she had been when she spoke that way- but she did now. "Guess not."
"Magnolia," Dove said, and it was a breath of horror, of rage, the name rolling off her tongue with ease, dripping like poison into the crevices of her soul, filling the empty space of her heart. "Magnolia-"
"Yes, yes," Magnolia said, a laugh, bitter, in her voice as she seemingly materialised out of the darkness beside Dove, as tense and cat-like as ever. As Dove now was. "I'm here, dear. You called?"
Dove wasted no time- she lunged at Magnolia, sword out in a flash of cold metal, a high arc of blade that Magnolia only barely ducked under, laughing, laughing, laughing. Dove didn't relent, bringing her sword sharply down, braced her weight on one foot as she spun with it, spun after that damn laughter.
Magnolia had not softened, as Dove knew she wouldn't. She slid and glided and ducked, leading them on a merry dance outside the hall, the sounds and noise of celebration loud enough that they went unheard there in the corridor, the oddly empty corridor.
"What have you done to them?" Dove asked even as she knew the answer, knew it within her bones, the knowledge lodged deep and chilling.
"You can ask better questions than that," Magnolia said, sneered, scoffed, reached out, and curse Dove to the sky and back, she let her, sword an unwieldy weight as Magnolia flipped her visor, caressed her cheek. "I know you can, Dove. My Dove."
"Fuck you, Magnolia," Dove snarled, blood blazing, face jerking away, sword raising to trap Magnolia against her, the blade at the back of her neck. She could kill her, she could kill her, she could kill her. She should kill her, let her blood wash over her armour, wash away the one mistake she made.
"Hm," Magnolia said, bare hands on Dove's metal-clad shoulders, and Dove could have sworn she could feel her, feel her hands, feel her skin on her own. There was nowhere for Magnolia to go. Dove should kill her. "You know I much preferred it when you did that."
"What are you doing here?" Dove said in lieu of addressing that comment, the heat of her skin, the memories she refused to relive.
"Oh, you know," Magnolia murmured, shuffling closer as Dove pressed her sword in closer, trapped her. Just a bit more and she could draw blood, red and swelling, a clear line of it. "Saving my son from making the same mistake I did."
"Your son?" Dove echoed and she felt, in that moment, sick, an overwhelming sea of nausea, a lurch of the poison beneath her ribcage, sloshing and acidic.
"Don't be jealous, Dove," Magnolia said, laughed, encircled her hands around Dove's shoulders, uncaring for the bite of the sword. "He's not technically my son, but I did help make him. Who knew technology could be so advanced outside these pretty walls. He turned out quite perfect in the end, you know, but, well. There are certain things I cannot allow to... befall him, as it were."
Dove stared at her, this murderer, this traitor, this witch. "Your technology- your magic," she hissed, "is an insult to the purity of the throne. What are you talking about?"
Magnolia grinned, wild, ferocious, fierce. "We made the first homunculus, Dove. And I'm here to make sure you don't trap him in that infernal golden, jewel-encrusted, royal cage you adore so much. I will not allow it, Dove."
"You didn't," Dove said, denied, pleaded. "You didn't. You cannot have played at royalty, divinity to that extent, Magnolia-"
Magnolia was laughing. She was laughing, and laughing, and laughing, and Dove could feel her blood freezing, turning to red shards of ice, piercing her. "Oh, but I did. And I will keep your divinity's claws off him if it's the last fucking thing I do."
Dove hadn't noticed when her grasp on her sword had started loosening, but Magnolia did. The widening of her razor-smile was the only indication Dove received before she had slipped away, slipped around Dove, easy and smooth, the barest smudge of crimson left on Dove's hanging sword.
And Dove froze. She froze, not because Magnolia was behind her, her tiny knife in front of her lips, not because Magnolia could wedge it under her chin, pierce through the soft skin there. She froze because now, in front of her, there was someone who most definitely should not be there, staring with too-wide eyes and a too-blank face.
"Prince Malachy," Dove said, whispered, warned. The princess's fiancé, the prince, the key to their new dawn. "My Prince, you must-"
"Mint," Magnolia cut her off, something indescribably fond, relieved, in her voice. "Mint, you made it out."
"You took care of the other guards," Prince Malachy said in a voice too sweet, too soft. "It wasn't hard, mom." Mom, he said, mom, and it echoed, reverberated. "Are you having trouble with this one?"
"No, Mint, no, I- we leave her alive. She will be our witness. A prince running away from his wedding of his own accord is a much better story for our cause." Dove felt the shake of Magnolia's knife, resting on her lips, cold, cold.
Prince Malachy, nodded, shrugged, accepted it, and Dove was falling, falling, falling. Her sword, at the very least, did.
"No," she whispered. "No. You- he- no-"
"You go ahead, Mint. I'll deal with her."
Prince Malachy turned his eyes on Dove, his wide eyes, his inhuman eyes. "Okay."
"You're not going to kill me," Dove said, Dove knew. "You can't bring yourself to, can you?"
Magnolia sighed, turned her round, knife still on Dove's lips. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
"What mistake?" Dove asked, ignoring her, ignoring the glide of her lips against the cold of the sharp metal. "What mistake did you make that you're preventing him from making?"
Magnolia stared at her for a long time, cold eyes assessing, assessing, assessing. Magnolia stared. "Marriage, I guess," she said and Dove inhaled, too quick, too sudden, felt it stick in her throat. "We never were... right for each other. You're too good, Dove. And I- well." She laughed, bitter.
"You think marrying me was a mistake," Dove said, broke, as if she hadn't had the same thought herself, a hundred times over after Magnolia turned traitor.
"I-" Magnolia looked away. "I'm protecting him from what this place does to people, Dove. Did to us. Now don't make too much noise."
When they found her, later, Dove could pretend the tears were because of the stab wound in her abdomen, pretend the blinding pain was from the stab wound, pretend she'd collapsed from the stab wound. Nothing from the words she couldn't unhear, nothing from the face she couldn't unsee, nothing from the woman she couldn't unlove. Nothing from the parting kiss still stinging her lips.
She could have stopped them. She knew she could have.
She was just too damn loyal.