Archive of Our Own

Far away, long ago, the world ended with a kiss. A fit of passion, an imploration, two lovers arm in arm.

Ill-fated, stars slated against them. They tried, they loved, they died.

It started in a garden, though neither could correctly tell you when.

Muggy sunlight sent beads of sweat dripping down the back of Prince Brant’s neck, and he hadn’t even left the palace proper yet. Guards straightened as he passed, not that he cared. He had more pressing issues on his mind--hence the walk.

Polished rings--gold--flashed on his fingers as he adjusted his sleeves, allowing himself a single breath before he stepped out into the palace gardens. Expansive, twisting, and well-manicured, they provided a welcome reprieve from, well, anything.

Right now, from distraction as he plotted.

And oh dear was there much to plot.

His rings seemed a mockery as sweat built beneath them, and Brant twisted them as he walked, gardeners and other personnel quick to clear his path. Golden, gleaming but for the slightest beginning of wear on the underside, jewels maintained and buffed by whoever it was that cleaned his quarters.

If only they had a thousand rings more, jewels twice the size to overflow from the treasury. Then he could inherit the kingdom in peace, rather than the cracking facade he was set to rise to. Every meeting he sat in on skirted the shame of drying coffers, as if the issue wouldn’t exist if they didn’t look at it.

Crown Prince Brant didn’t have the luxury.

He trailed a finger through a spot of stonecrop. They couldn’t ask aid from their neighbors without risking debt--or an opportunist imposition, perhaps even an invasion. Already they imported too much grain from the south, and their exports dwarfed in comparison.

The civil unrest didn’t help either.

It seemed each month a new report came in on dwindling labor, impassioned speeches in public squares, an interrupted note in indecipherable code. Complaints of wages, conditions, taxes, the color of their sandals. If only they realized if they did their jobs, they’d earn more, their workplaces would be maintained, they wouldn’t need to tax as they did because they could export more. They created their own discontent.

Another issue to inherit, he supposed.

His old tutors would--

Brant’s foot rolled beneath him and he flung his arms wide, hand crashing through the brush at his side as he fought for his balance in a split moment of pure panic.

Indignation flared as the empty bottle he’d stepped on clinked against the stone as it rolled, and he leaned over to collect it. A pale red condensation gathered inside, a whiff of something floral lingering on the rim.

It was one thing to drink in the gardens, another to deface it so callously.

Brant scanned for the culprit, already bursting with a reprimanding, and caught sight of another empty bottle a little ways off the path.

He passed this one by--the gardeners could clear it--and strode forward around the corner.

The path widened into a paved circle, rimmed with reaching, manicured bushes that did nothing to provide shade.

Or to hide the figure sprawled on a far bench.

Blond hair met him first, spilling to the ground, and he didn’t look beyond it as he demanded, “Is this how you treat the King’s hospitality? Debasing his generosity?”

They didn’t respond as Brant stepped forward, kicking another bottle in the process--it clattered vigorously across the stones. They shifted and groaned, whipping around to glare at the disturbance--or at least tried.

Their head lolled, their arm simply flopping as their features twisted and scrunched--and Brant stopped dead.

“Pyren.” Was this how he spent his days now?

“Hmm.”

Brant eyed the space, the man. “I do believe you’re no longer allowed on palace grounds.”

“Ah, fuck off, boy. Whadda you know of…” he trailed off, staring straight into the air, a sudden breath stirring the hair stuck to his face.

“I happen to know,” Brant straightened his rings, “all about it. It’s not every year a royal advisor falls so hard from grace.”

Pyren bolted up at that, glaring at him. Scuffs marred his sleeves, and the back had entirely suctioned to the contour of his spine. “That king--” he started. “There was nothing wrong with--with my advising. It was that king who--a coward, I tell you.” Pyren had stood, shakily, and advanced towards Brant with a pointed finger. “If he’d had the spine, I’d have saved us all.”

Brant swatted away the finger and looked the ex-advisor over with a renewed interest. He didn’t actually know all about what’d happened--but now he wanted to. If only for the amusement of it. “From what, exactly?”

Pyren scoffed, throwing his hands up and unbalancing himself as he spun and stomped away. “Oh wouldn’t you like to know. As if--as if you could understand. The ingenuity.” The word slurred, and it took Brant several moments to decipher it.

By the time he had, Pyren had sat himself in the center of the space, laying back to stare up into the sky and mutter to himself.

Brant debated with himself for a moment, glancing the way he’d come. “It’s a pity,” he began, “that the king was too cowardly to appreciate you. Your genius.”

Pyren stopped muttering about whatever inane thing had gripped him to tilt his head back and eye him. “You think you’re sooo much better than I, don’t you? With your…whatever and all. You think me mad like the rest.”

“I don’t,” he lied. He leaned forward, setting the bottle down.

Pyren snorted. “It would’ve worked. All that power--that potential. Beg a wish and you’d get anything. Anything you want. But he couldn’t stomach the risk--a king! So he’ll sit and pass on his rotting kingdom to his rotting son and they’ll alllll see. That I was right.”

“A wish?”

Pyren’s eyes had fallen closed, and his throat worked with a rough swallow as he waved towards the sky. “Wish on a shooting star--bah! Stupid. They’re not even stars, and they’re so…they’re so…far. But it’s right there, and it is a star. Offer it…offer it something it’ll like and it’ll…it’ll…you can do anything.”

His voice quieted with each word, until Brant was nearly certain he’d fallen asleep.

“Do you mean the sun?”

“A son…give it a son…it’ll like that, I said. But nooooo.”

A smile twitched Brant’s lips; no wonder his father had fired the man. Brant turned to go.

“Here I am, living proof, and still he refused.”

Brant paused. “Living proof?”

He snorted again, pointing without direction for emphasis. “I made a wish, lifetimes ago. Do you know how old I am, boy? Older than your stupid kingdom--and here I still am. Because I was right.”

The taste of dirt lingered under her nails no matter how many times she’d washed them--she’d simply accepted it at this point.

But Jolie’s lip still curled for a second as she bit at one, brushing the front of her shirt smooth with her other hand and adjusting her cross-body bag as she hurried through the streets. She’d sponged off the worst of the sweat and grime to try and make a good impression, but that battle was lost from the start.

Especially with the way the sun beat overhead--in its zenith, leaving zero shadows for her to take even a moment’s solace in.

It was no small relief when she reached her destination, the door creaking emphatically as she pushed inside. She paused for a moment, lifting her heavy braid to fan at her neck, scanning the aisles she could see down for her uncle.

Windows framed the building, but with the tall, cluttered shelves, the light only reached the outermost aisles--the rest were lit with strangely glowing vials in pinks and blues, the result of some chemical concoction her uncle had explained and she’d immediately forgotten. New patrons always fumbled through the dark, but Jolie’d known each warped floorboard and teetering shelf before she’d learned to say her own name, and she went over what she needed in her head as she bee-lined to exactly where each poultice, balm, and herb would be.

Her bag clinked ever so slightly as she slipped and squeezed to the back, restocked, coin-purse in her hand to pay.

The back counter was abandoned, so she started counting out coins, tallying the price in her head.

“Joles? Is that you?”

Before she could respond, arms were around her, squeezing tight--lifting her ever so slightly off the ground.

Jolie laughed, turning once her feet were beneath her to throw her arms around her Uncle Kesler for a proper hug, grinning as he ruffled the top of her head.

“It’s been too long--I think you’ve grown a full inch.” He looked her over critically, illuminated by a stark pink as he placed a hand on his chin in mock thought.

“It’s been barely a week,” she protested. “And I stopped growing years ago.”

A door behind the counter creaked, followed by her aunt’s head poking out. “Is that Jolie?”

“In the flesh,” Kesler answered.

“Oh, good--it’s been too long,” she smiled--wider when she saw Jolie roll her eyes. “Stocking up?”

She nodded. “Just a few basics--I’ve already counted out what I owe you.”

Kesler made a noise, shifting around a precarious pile to join his wife behind the counter. “No, no. You shouldn’t have--it’s on the house. You know it is.” He pushed the coins back towards her.

She pushed them back. “No, no. I insist.”

She’d lost track of how many times they’d had this debate--and she’d long lost track of who had won the most, but she wasn’t backing down today.

“You’re family, Joles. I couldn’t possibly let you.”

Juline shook her head at the two of them, then pushed Kesler out of the way before Jolie count retort. “How about this--family discount. That good enough for the both of you? And get over here!”

Juline leaned over the counter, pulling Jolie into a hug even firmer than Kesler’s, swaying her back and forth for a moment. She winked when they pulled apart, letting Jolie know she’d noticed the folded slip of paper Jolie’d dropped into her pocket.

“Fiiiiine,” she sighed, accepting a few coins back. “But next time I’m paying full price, family or no!”

Kesler made a noise of protest, but Juline covered his mouth. “Will you be back for dinner? Your parents invited us over tonight.”

Jolie smoothed a few flyaways from when Kesler had ruffled her hair. “Maybe--hopefully. I’m not sure how long it’ll take.”

Kesler pulled Juline’s hand away. “Where you headed this time?”

“The palace. Something with their swans. Dad was going to go, but--”

“You be careful up there, alright?” Kesler frowned. “Stay alert. Don’t trust any of those--”

Juline swatted his arm. “You be careful talking like that. There are ears everywhere. But do stay safe, dear, alright?” She caught Jolie’s eye for a few seconds, holding it. Raising a brow Kesler couldn’t see.

“You know I always am.”

They smiled, pulling her close once more before seeing her out--and Kesler sneaking another few coins of “family discount” into her bag, though she pretended not to notice. She could slip them back later. This evening, hopefully, if she was back in time.

Barely a few minutes into her walk she missed the shade of the apothecary, and everything was sticking to her again by the time she made it to the first checkpoint. Twenty minutes of verification and checking her summons, her name, her parents’ names, their jobs, her name again, her purpose here, and a veritable ton of warnings against misbehaving before she was finally greeted by a kindly man who introduced himself as Jurek.

“They’ve been increasingly aggressive for the past few days,” he explained, moving swiftly through halls and around clatter and bustle, though she tried dutifully to map out their route in her mind--the number of doors, windows, but those weren’t what she was looking for. “And I can’t figure out why. I’m afraid I’m better with equines than aves, and our resident specialist is no longer with us.”

Jolie nodded along. “Oh, that’s a shame. I’m sure you’ve done all you can--as will I.”

“I can ask for nothing more.”

They’d reached the other end of the palace, and Jurek pushed through a busy door into what must’ve been the back gardens. The grounds closest to the palace were all raised pavement, leading to steps down into winding paths that led to gradually greener and greener areas.

Jurek headed to the left, pointing to where a body of water could be seen over the tops of a few hedges. “They nest there. Will you be alright if I leave you here?”

“Yes, of course--though where should I find you when I’m done?”

Jurek had already started moving away, though there was no malice in it, only the haste of a busy, overworked man. “You may ask any of the staff for me--they’ll know.”

He’d already disappeared by the time she’d worded her farewell, so instead she eyed the paths ahead. It wasn’t straight to the pond, but she was certain she could navigate it without getting lost.

She was mostly right, though she’d had to climb onto a bench to see over the hedges and adjust her path once or twice, and she’d startled a hummingbird out of its reverie and still felt bad. But then the path had opened to a near perfectly circular pond, bordered by increasingly tall grasses that blended into shrubbery the further back she looked, dotted with flora. Ducks floated across the surface, honking and waddling through the shorter grass--ever so slightly yellow given the recent intense sun, but not quite crackly yet.

A small copse of trees shaded a patch of the water to the right, and beneath it Jolie spotted her target.

A swan nestled next to the shoreline, and she approached carefully--aggression wasn’t typical as a whole, but the whole reason she was here was for atypical behavior. A visual scan revealed nothing amiss, though it started tittering and shifting as she took another step closer.

Trumpeting accompanied it from nearby, and she shifted slowly to peer behind it--a second swan neck protruded from the grass. Black, stark against the grass now she knew where to look.

Unfortunately for her, that swan was seated firmly upon their nest, and did not look pleased to see her. She couldn’t blame them, though she wished she had some way to tell them she meant well. It was surprising they hadn’t been more aggressive, given how close she’d already gotten.

Fortunately for her, this was her area of expertise; Dad was best with four-legged things, Mom knew more than anyone about aquatics and bugs, but Jolie knew birds. She’d come prepared.

One of the herbs she’d grabbed from the apothecary was a certain species of grass, pre-laced with a calming agent. A wonder when she had to get up close and personal--set a leg or treat a laceration.

From there it was a matter of careful movements and observations, of which she could find nothing immediately wrong with either adults.

So, she turned her attention to the fuzzy grey cygnets in the nest, who’d rustled and peeped as she’d taken her time with their parents. She counted five, and carefully observed and palpated each--or at least, that was her intention.

Perched carefully next to the nest, keeping a careful eye on the parents in case she’d underestimated her dosing, she set down the fourth--cleared like the others--only to find the fifth had vanished. The area immediately near her revealed nothing, nor had the cygnet tucked itself away beneath her squat, or waddled behind the tree.

Perplexed, she widened her range, searching the water (nope), her bag (as if that made any sense), the nest again (still missing one), before she crept a little ways back to stand for a better angle.

It’d just been there. Where could it’ve--there.

Jolie’s eyebrows shot up as she spotted a tiny little grey mass waddling off in the distance, little palmated feet slapping against the stone path and bee-lining for the world beyond.

She started after it, watching its gait--she didn’t have a good angle, but one of its wings might’ve been hanging funny.

It turned a corner into the labyrinthine garden, and Jolie quickened her pace. She didn’t need to chase it, just to catch up; it’d tire long before she did, but that wouldn’t matter if she didn’t know where it went.

She turned the same corner just in time to see it round another, and she huffed. Little rascal.

When it happened again, she started jogging--which was a mistake.

She gave a small shriek as she crashed right into someone on the next turn, and they made a startled noise as they both stumbled back.

“I’m so sorry--” she started, holding up her hands, leaning around them so she didn’t lose the cygnet. “One moment--”

She ignored whatever the stranger had been about to say, skirting around them to finally corner the little thing inside a small alcove with a stagnant bird bath.

Gently, she scooped it into both hands, tucking it into her chest--one of its wings was definitely crooked, likely a break, which would explain the increased aggression from its parents. Which she should get this fledgling back to as soon as possible--though it wouldn’t hurt to set the wing here, so she wouldn’t have to deal with said parents thinking she was doing anything to it.

She still had her bag and everything she’d need--though she’d have to adjust for cygnet proportions.

Jolie nodded, mind made up, then turned back to the stranger. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t let this one get away--I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

His face was blushed red from the sun, hair dark and sticking out a few ways, partly on purpose and partly from messing with it, she thought. Loose red fabric flowed, slightly off center on his shoulders, slates through the sleeves for airflow and a high collar, embroidered with golden thread in a pattern so intricate it should’ve been framed.

He fixed one of several rings on his fingers--rings!--as he gave a polite smile. “Be careful--are you new?”

“Hmm? Oh, no--well, yes. I’m only here for this,” she indicated the cygnet. “One-off job.”

He looked closer at the cygnet and frowned. “It’s wing--”

“Yes--actually, could you grab--there’s wraps for a splint in my bag, but my hands are full.” She scanned this section of the garden, spotting a bench a little ways away that could work.

The poor thing peeped in her hands, and she made little cooing noises as she carefully placed it down, keeping her hands on it so it didn’t dart away again.

She turned her head back; he hadn’t moved. “There’s also this vial of grass--blue yarn around the rim. Get that too, please.”

He blinked, raising his eyebrows. Then complied, carefully reaching into the bag at her side and rummaging for a few moments. “This?”

“Yes--give it a few pieces, and you can just set the wrap down.”

He dutifully fed the dosed grass to the cygnet, which would take a little bit to set in, but she didn’t need it to be in full swing to get started.

It peeped at her in dismay as she repositioned, keeping it still as she bound the wing close to its body. That way it’d stay in the proper place while it healed.

“Sorry,” she whispered to it. “I know. I’m nearly done.”

The stranger eyed her as she finished, letting out a breath and rising back to her feet, cygnet tucked in close. She cradled it with one hand, using the other to tuck her things back into her bag.

“Okay,” she said. “Thanks--and sorry again…” she trailed off, realizing she’d never asked his name. “I’m Jolie, by the way.”

“Brant,” he said. “You’re awfully brave to be talking like that.”

Jolie blinked, and looked him over again. Crisp hems on his cuffs, elaborate embroidery, rings…Brant.

Well, fuck her.

“Your Highness, I--”

His lips quirked, and he waved away her words. “All forgiven, Jolie. You were only doing your job--have you worked with animals long?”

She resisted the urge to shift under his attention. This was exactly what Juline and Kesler had been warning her against, yet she’d found a way to blunder into trouble anyways. She knew near nothing of the prince except his name, and had no idea how to play this. “Yes, I grew up watching my parents do the same. Your family contracts them from time to time, but they couldn’t make it today.”

“Well thank them for me, I suppose. And for the chance to meet you.”

Before Jolie could form a reply, the cygnet started noising off, protesting how long she’d been holding it.

They both glanced down at it, and as she was trying to figure out how best to politely extract herself from a conversation with royalty, the prince decided for her. “May I escort you back to the pond?”

She nodded after a moment. Saying no would probably be rude, and she’d already been rude enough bossing him around. No wonder he’d made the faces he had. “Thank you,” she added.

Brant started down the path, leaving enough room for her to walk beside him; was that proper?

“How long will it take to heal?” He nodded towards her cargo.

“A couple weeks, typically. Provided the splint holds.”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

They turned a corner, which Jolie could’ve sworn was the wrong way, but she also had no clue the layout of this place--yet. “This one’s a troublemaker, so I can’t be certain of anything.”

Brant laughed, glancing down at it. “A little gremlin, huh?”

She smiled in spite of herself. “That’s one way to put it.”

The path rounded slightly, and she was certain it hadn’t before. Jolie glanced at the sky, beginning to orange. Depending on how late Juline and Kesler were staying, she might still have the chance to catch them.

“Is there anything else to be done for it?” Brant adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves and straightened a ring, though it’d already looked fine to her.

“Hmm? Oh, I’ll need to find and talk to Jurek about that.”

“Who?”

“Jurek? Doesn’t he work for you?”

Brant made a noise. “I can’t know the entire staff, especially with it in constant flux.” Finally, finally, the hedges around them were starting to look familiar. “Tell me what you need to tell him, and I’ll ensure it reaches him.”

Jolie shook her head. “It’ll be best to give Jurek my instructions directly. The more people it has to pass through, the more chance it’ll get distorted.”

“You doubt my abilities?”

Ah, fuck. She’d walked right into that one, but she lifted her chin. “I’m sure you’re quite capable, Your Highness. But your prowess would be better focused elsewhere.”

A beat of silence had her tensing, but then Brant laughed, sharp and sweet.

The path finally opened back into the space with the pond, and Brant slowed, forcing Jolie to do the same. “You’re a master of gilded words, aren’t you? Oh, how I’d love to sic you on my father. Don’t tell me you don’t have critiques of the man,” he said when he saw her eyebrows shoot up. “There’ll be plenty of shit to clean when I take his place.”

“And you called me bold,” she said, unable to help a small smile. Of course she had her own thoughts on the way the kingdom was run--more than Brant could possibly assume--but for the prince himself to share at least a few?

She quirked her head, looking him over a third time before she turned to make her way back to the nest. The dosed grass had taken effect by then, but she wouldn’t put it past this one in particular to continue causing trouble regardless.

“You flatter me--though perhaps,” he said, following, “you don’t mention this to the man, should you meet him.”

Jolie didn’t respond for a few moments, concentrating on sneaking as best she could to deposit the cygnet back to its parents. She moved back quickly once she’d let go, the thing already peeping. Its parents’ doses hadn’t worn off yet, which was the only reason she’d been able to do so without being chased off. That, and their preoccupation with the rest of their fledglings. To them she was barely more than a ghost, and she preferred to keep it that way.

Letting out a breath, she smoothed her hands down her pants. “Your secret’s safe with me, Highness. The odds of me even seeing the king are miniscule, much less having a conversation with him.”

Brant acknowledged that with a tilt of his head, watching the swans. “Will you be back?”

“What?”

He repeated the question, and she wondered what on earth he was still doing here.

“I’ll return in a week or so,” she said. “To check it’s healing well. But otherwise, only if another bird needs assistance--Jurek mentioned your bird expert was no longer here,” she explained at Brant’s look. “And that’s my specialty.”

She couldn’t read whatever briefly flashed over his face as he nodded. “In that case, on behalf of the staff, thank you for lending them your expertise. I eagerly anticipate its recovery--and I’ll release you to do what you need,” he finished, and Jolie had to hide her relief.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

He gave a smile, wider than proper, and turned his back to her, settling into a confident gait as he readjusted his rings, again, and made his way back to the palace.

She watched him leave before she fully relaxed--and it was a good thing she did, because he glanced back once. It wasn’t that he’d been a bad conversationalist, but he was royalty. And the many critiques she harbored of royalty didn’t make her so foolish as to brazenly push back and make herself a target.

Not yet, at least.

Adjusting the strap of her bag, Jolie set off.

But not to find Jurek, not quite yet. She had a second job to do: get hopelessly lost.

Oil light flickered over the dusted volumes as Brant perused the shelves, making faces at volumes that’d tortured him in his tutoring as a child as he passed them by. He knew where his family’s lineage was recorded, every cousin, child, and relation traced back centuries; but he wasn’t sure where other important figures’ were kept--or if any mentioning the former advisor would still be there.

It was all he had to go on, though, so that’s where he started.

The book of his family sat proud atop a pedestal in an alcove near the front of the library, so visitors touring the castle from foreign lands--advisors, messengers, representatives, royalty themselves--could conveniently find it and peruse their long-standing history without needing a full tour of the library.

He ignored it, already familiar with its contents, and looked to the surrounding shelves.

Thick volumes lined the walls, similar in color but for age, small engraved plaques denoting alphabetical order. He trailed them until he found the section for P, and set his light down. With the first volume, he confirmed these were, in fact, the birth records of other families of note in the kingdom. His father’s cabinet, his generals, and--he nodded in satisfaction--his advisors.

Several volumes were sparse--recently promoted people whose history hadn’t been recorded until now, individuals with unknown parentage or scandalous affairs. But he was certain Pyren’s would be more complete.

The library was silent but for his movement and a few faint coughs in the distance, those studying late or attendants he didn’t want to bother with, as he moved to the end of the Ps. It took a few attempts--a Pyzer and a Pymm to be precise--before he found Pyren.

He took it and his light to the nearest table, leaning over it as he skimmed the pages. He felt half a fool even entertaining the notion of an inebriated social pariah, but no one had to know. In either case, he could prove the man wrong if he ever saw him again.

The volume was emptier than he’d expected, barely any entries--though what there was was incredibly thorough.

It took him no time at all to locate Fintan Pyren among the names. It was the last one, and the only Fintan in the list. .

It took him significantly longer, however, to understand the dates listed beneath.

The advisor’s date of birth was listed as over 4,000 years ago.

Brant sat back, rubbing at his cheek. Beg a wish, he’d said. I was right, he’d said.

Was he?

His father hadn’t thought so--had fired and practically exiled him instead. But it was his father’s guidance that was running this kingdom into the ground. That, and the ridiculous titillating of the people.

He was inheriting a near rotten corpse, metal disappearing faster than they could breathe.

What did he have to lose?

What did he have to gain?

Brant returned the book to its place, mind whirling with potential. What to wish for? What to give in return--what would be worthwhile? He didn’t have a son, as Pyren had mumbled about, and acquiring one would take significantly longer than he’d like. Plus, there were better things to do with sons than sacrifice them, he assumed.

His lamp flickered as he left the library, hardly watching where he stepped.

What would the sun like? How did one even go about giving it a gift?

Pyren would know, but did he really want to talk to the man again? Horrid company, nonsense words, nothing at all like--

Brant paused, changed directions. He moved with a purpose, turning corners and alighting down the stairs until he neared the servant’s quarters.

He addressed the first person he saw. “Jurek,” he said. “Do you know where he is?”

She was little more than a girl and started. “Your Highness, I--no. But perhaps near the kitchens? I think I heard--”

He’d already moved on, and heard a faint sigh behind him as he left. But the kitchens, once he found them, proved fruitless. As did the dining halls and the baths, and Brant was starting to wonder whether the man existed at all. Everyone he questioned seemed to know of him, and yet.

He’d nearly resigned to leave the matter to the morning, starting back towards his quarters--on the complete opposite side of the palace!--when he heard the voices ahead.

“I’m so so sorry again--” He knew that voice.

A second. “You must be careful--ah, Your Highness.”

The pair drew up short, and the man dipped a bow his companion didn’t match.

Instead, her eyebrows shot up and her mouth fell ever so slightly agape. She’d smoothed back a few of the stray bits of hair that’d been stuck to her forehead in the heat, and the downy feathers that’d gotten caught in her blouse and the crook of her loose, pale green sleeves had been brushed mostly away.

“That was far quicker than a week,” he said, grinning.

Jolie made a face, cheeks flushing as she scowled. “This place is a maze, Highness.”

He let out a slight laugh, watching her companion look between the two of them with raised brows. “You could’ve asked for an escort. Though you seem to have found one eventually.”

“Jurek, Your Highness,” the man said as Brant turned to him in question.

“How perfect,” he said and meant it. “I’ve been running around this maze trying to find you--no one I asked knew where you were.”

Jurek stiffened. “My apologies--”

Brant waved it away, which only made the man frown. “Jolie here told me we’d lost our bird expert. I’d like to hire her as a replacement--you’d be the one to coordinate that, yes?”

“What?” Jolie cut in.

“I could be, yes, Your Highness.” So formal.

Jolie shook her head, gripping the strap of her bag. “I can’t, Highness.”

“Why not?”

She made a noise that made Jurek nervous. “I have responsibilities at home--I can’t shift so suddenly.”

Brant inclined his head in acknowledgement. “What if it was partial? Not all of your time, but some? And to be our first call in the event something like today’s gremlin happens again.”

Jolie puffed out her cheeks, then let out all the air as she thought it over. “I…I may be able to do that. But why? You just met me.”

He grinned. “And how refreshing you were. How about tomorrow--come back at noon, and we’ll work out the details. Show you around.”

She mused it over a moment more, but he’d won her over. “Alright, Highness. Noon.”

Voices, joyous and boisterous, sounded as Jolie approached home, and she perked up.

Darkness had fallen by the time she’d left, so she’d assumed she’d missed her aunt and uncle entirely--but when she pushed open the door, already swinging off her bag (carefully--it held glass), they greeted her warmly.

“Joles! We were just wondering how much longer you’d be--they really put you to work, huh?” Kesler’d seen her just that afternoon, but he still pushed back his chair to wrap her up warmly in his arms, and she laughed.

She pulled back to embrace Juline, who’d gotten up, too. “It wasn’t too bad.” She turned to her parents, who’d also gotten up to get at her, even though she saw them every single day. “Cygnet had a broken wing I set, that’s all.”

“Then what took you so long! I thought I’d have to march up there and demand you back,” her dad said, ruffling her hair much the same as Kesler; at this point in the day she didn’t even want to know what it looked like.

She pulled the tie from the end and started unraveling the braid. “You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“We’d never laugh at you, sweetheart,” her mother said, to which Grady added, “Well…if it’s funny…” dancing away as she swatted at him.

Jolie made a moue. “There was this guy, Jurek, who was in charge and showed me where to go. But then he had to go off, and when I was done, I was supposed to find him again--but I swear he’s impossible to track down. I got lost.” She made a face at her dad as he badly covered a laugh with a cough.

“Oh dear--how badly this time?” Juline had a look on her face Jolie knew no one else noticed, or if they did, that no one else understood.

She shook her head. No luck. “Not too bad--Jurek actually found me pretty quick, and then…” she trailed off, not exactly sure how to approach this next part.

“Then?” her mother prompted, pulling out a chair next to her that Jolie sank into. It creaked the way it always did, and she pulled one leg up.

Jolie stole her dad’s glass of water, taking a sip before she mumbled, “I ran into the prince and he wants to hire me.”

Everyone went quiet for a moment, as if double-checking they’d heard her right.

“The prince?” Kesler asked, only slightly horrified, at the same time her father repeated, “Hire you?”

Jolie pursued her lips, tracing her fingers along the grain of the wooden table. “They don’t have an avian specialist anymore--and it’ll only be part-time. I told him I had other things to do.”

“You already said yes?” Of course it was Juline who caught that.

“Jolie--what would that even mean?” Grady asked, worrying at his chin.

She shrugged. “I’ll find out tomorrow at noon--think you could take care of that chicken I was supposed to follow up on for me?” She smiled, a tad sheepish, but she’d made up her mind.

It’d be complicated, no question about that, but it was a second chance--one she wasn’t supposed to have, and one she desperately needed.

“Of course, but--”

“Grady, love,” her mom said, laying her hand over his on the table. He fell quiet, and sat back. “You’ve thought this through, haven’t you?”

Jolie nodded. “I know it’s sudden, and I know there will be things to work out, but--I think it’ll be stable. And we can always use that.“

Her father visibly held his tongue as Edaline leaned forward, holding her gaze. “Sweetheart. You know nothing about our family’s money is your responsibility, right? That’s for your father and I--and Kesler and Juline--to worry about.”

“I know, Mom.” She couldn’t tell her the real reason. “But I want to help--more than just one-off jobs. I know it’s been harder lately, with the funding dropping,”--she scowled--”so let me do this, please. I’m not a kid anymore.”

Juline swirled her glass, looking at her fondly. “No, you really aren’t Joles. If you think you can handle it…I believe you.”

Jolie turned to glance at her, inclining her head with everything she couldn’t say in present company. “I think I can.”

“No, I know you can--but it’s my job to worry,” Grady said, reaching around Edaline to give her arm a light squeeze. “But we’ll worry about all that tomorrow, kiddo. For now, have you eaten?”

Her shoulders sagged, relieved, and she shook her head--which was unacceptable to everyone present, and she nearly had to fend them off as they fought to assemble her a plate with an unbelievably stacked helping of everything under the sun.

She was fairly certain she’d forever be a waddling tot in their eyes, but she loved them too much to mind it.

Though that didn’t stop her from firing back at each of her uncle’s jokes, or kicking back at her mom underneath the table.

Plates long since cleared, including dessert--which had been saved until she’d arrived--Jolie tucked away on the back patio, working at her lip as she admired the stars. Kesler was talking over some new ingredient or recipe he was working on with her parents, potentially one they’d specifically commissioned from him, and she knew without looking that it was Juline closing the door quietly to sink next to her.

Her aunt glanced back once, confirmed their solitude, and got right to the point. Who knew how long they had. “I presume you didn’t find it.”

Jolie made a noise of frustration. “It’s an actual maze, I swear. I wandered a while before anyone interrupted me--but not long enough, apparently.”

“Working there’s a smart cover--but easily blown, so be careful, Joles.” Usually she’d retort back about how often she heard the phrase, and of how well she’d taken care of herself already, but Juline was right to be worried. This could go wrong in so many ways. “How’d you get the prince to hire you?”

Jolie fiddled with her sleeve and said, “I didn’t actually. It was a surprise--but I won’t question it too much, since it gives me another chance. You’ll pass that along?”

Juline nodded. “And I passed on your note from this afternoon--but I think that assignment’s best reassigned for now, since you’re doing this. Can’t spread you too thin,” she smiled, and ruffled Jolie’s hair. Louder, she said, “You’ll have to come over some time and I’ll teach you the recipe.”

“I’ll help too--with the eating part,” Kesler said, leaning out the door and smiling at his wife. “Anything else, my dear?”

Juline stood, brushing off her backside and shooting Jolie a quick, secret grin. “I believe I’m all set--unless you intend to crash here tonight. Tell us everything, okay?” she added, turning to her and leaning down to pull her close.

She could feel the unspoken words in the strength of the embrace, the tight squeeze and quick kiss pressed to her temple. Be safe.

“And I thought you hated to gossip,” she teased, waving to Kesler as her mother saw them all to the door.

Her father took Juline’s place, bumping up against her hard enough she shoved back, hiding her smile.

“How’s the sanctuary?” she asked before he could get started on being careful and whether she was sure and really, kiddo, Mom and I have it covered. Even though we haven’t told you just how badly the palace cut funding, and I don’t know that you found out by snooping when we weren’t home, and--

“Not bad--those chicks really miss you, though. Started pecking at my ears as the day went on. I don’t know how you do it.”

She let out a slight laugh, imagining it. “If I told you my secrets, you’d take over half my work.”

“It’s called helping!”

“Sure it is.”

“Is this man bothering you?” her mother asked, relatives successfully out the door, settling onto Jolie’s other side.

Her response was interrupted by a drawn-out yawn, and she lifted her hand to cover it. Wiped at her now-watering eyes. She was always so busy, busier than most people knew.

Edaline brushed a strand of Jolie’s hair behind her ear. “Long day, huh? Let your father tidy the kitchen tonight--get some rest for tomorrow.”

Grady made a half-hearted protest, but he’d already risen to head inside and do exactly that.

She considered protesting herself, but her mom had switched to rubbing her back that way she’d always done when putting her to sleep as a kid. And while part of her lamented, again, how little she’d always be in their eyes, what came out was, ”Okay. Love you.”

“Love you too--forever and always.”

The issue of Brant’s wish burned in the back of his mind as he made his way to the gardens for the second time in as many days.

Anything he wanted. All the power, success, anything. He just needed to figure out how to ask. If Pyren could do it, so could he.

But that was for later. It was nearly noon.

The man whose name he’d already forgotten looked jumpy and uncertain as Brant joined and promptly dismissed him. But not before taking the contract he’d asked him to draft last night, which he tucked under an arm while he waited.

The guards looked equally uneasy around him, and he ignored a few whispers--though he did promise himself he’d train them better against gossip when he took charge. Perhaps he should wish for some manner of control over his people.

Brant adjusted his rings, waiting.

He didn’t have to wait long; she was punctual.

And looked adorably confused as she noted him standing there, waving away the guards ready to question her. He handed over the papers when she reached him and said, “Details enclosed. I trust everything’s in order.”

“I--you’re here? Highness,” she added after the fact. “This can’t be how you’re supposed to do it.”

“Ah, but you’re not supposed to order around princes either, so I think we’re already past that,” he said, turning to lead the way inside. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Her mouth worked for a moment, caught between starting to read the paper, following him, and finding a “proper” retort. “Surely His Royal Highness has better things to do than…” she trailed off, unsure what it was they were doing, and he slowed his pace so she could catch up.

“Than giving my personal newest hire, and therefore my responsibility, a comprehensive, thorough tour so she can complete her job properly?”

“You can’t possibly be familiar with everything I’ll need to know--you pass that off to your servants. Highness,” she added again. “It’d go much quicker--”

He smiled, wider than he’d let himself the day before. “Who said anything about being quick? Careful, or I might think you’re trying to dismiss me.”

She scowled for a moment before she fixed her expression. She clearly held something back, but he couldn’t interpret it from the twist of her lips, the scrunch of her nose. Her hair had been pulled into two braids this time, and she tugged on the end of one of them.

“Well don’t hold back now,” he said after a minute, pushing open one of the many doors that led out back to the gardens--and housed many of their animals. A few people cleared out of their way, seeing who he was, and Jolie smiled at them more than politely.

“Hmm?” she asked as the door closed behind them, and he paused on the plateau overlooking the expanse of green.

He leaned backwards on the railing so he could face her, look her over better instead of in the oil light of last night, or while wrangling a fledgling. Sun freckles dotted her exposed arms, and her pants appeared to be the same style as yesterday. Her lashes cast stark shadows over the blush of her cheeks in the sharp su, her eyes an even brighter blue than his.

She watched him with them, and he remembered she’d asked him something. He shook himself clear. ”I preferred it when you talked back,” he confessed. “Everyone here’s far too nice to me.”

Her eyebrows raised. “That’s why you’re bothering with me? You’re tired of people being nice?”

He grinned. “Yes, exactly, like that!”

She pressed her lips together, puffing out her cheeks for a moment. Then, shook her head and took their momentary pause as an opportunity to try and read through her contract anew. She shifted from foot to foot as she did so before joining him at the railing, though she faced forward and kept a healthy space between them. She raised her hand towards her face, but caught herself and dropped it.

“Two full days twice a week--days of my choosing,” she said after a minute. “Though I also make myself available to be called upon for emergencies outside of that, for no overtime compensation, and may be requested to help with non-avian animals for half-rates.”

Sounded reasonable enough, he thought, though he had nothing to compare it to. But he held back his comments, watching her instead.

She folded and tucked the details away, saying, “I can do that.”

He smiled. She gave him a smaller one in return, and something in his stomach fluttered. She had a lovely smile.

“Well?” she said after a moment, breaking him from the observation. “Are you going to show me around or not, Highness?”

He pushed off the railing, a warmth in his chest, and nearly offered her his arm before he remembered how inappropriate it would be. Instead, he gestured her to join him--beside him, instead of following. Which also wasn’t appropriate, but to a lesser degree. And who was going to question him anyways? His parents and future advisors (though he planned to replace the lot of them) weren’t here, and they’d stopped monitoring him as closely as when he was a child.

Jolie took the place at his side without question or comment, instead looking over the garden as if with fresh eyes. Since she’d work here now, she’d need to know it better, he presumed.

“Everything animal is housed in a series of buildings near the horse, I believe,” he said, starting towards the stables at an easy pace.

“You believe?”

“Jurek’s busy. I’m doing my best, Jolie.”

“Of course, Highness.”

The fuzziness in his chest built then, and he glanced at her--and met her eye, because she was looking at him. She quickly averted her gaze, readjusting the strap of her bag, which was much quieter than the day before.

“You said you grew up working with animals, yes?” he prompted into the silence that followed, though he wasn’t sure why.

She nodded. “Yes--my family works with injured animals as part of their conversation efforts. It was easier to take me along than co-ordinate constant childcare, and they’d wanted to teach me about that side of the world anyways. I’m certain I have enough experience for whatever it is you need, Highness.”

“Oh, I had no doubt of that. Did you enjoy it, growing up?” He guided her through a few twists.

He couldn’t read her tone as she asked, “Your Highness, are you making conversation with me?” She was tugging on one of her braids again, squinting at him.

“Is that so wrong?”

Jolie deliberated for a moment and he slowed their pace, knowing the stables were only a little ways further. She looked around, eyes catching on statues and memorable markers. “You would know decorum better than me,” she evaded.

He blinked. The words had an uncharacteristically airy quality, and she hadn’t looked at him as she’d said it. “Does that mean I may continue?”

“I did enjoy it, yes,” she answered, and he grinned openly. “Learning of the world we’re in is invaluable, as is caring for it, and starting early gave me a…unique perspective,” she decided, nodding to herself.

Brant tilted his head. “Shame I missed that opportunity then.”

She waved him off, then realized what she was doing and stopped. “Many say that, but it’s never too late to start.”

They’d reached the stables, but he stopped them outside of it. “Hypothetically, how would one start?”

“Pay attention, look around you, and ask questions about it. What bird makes that sound, where do they rest, what do they eat? Do they have enough of it? Why or why not? Can you do anything about it--and if you can, should you, or is it the natural fluctuation of the natural world?” She counted off on her fingers, gesturing around them where a few birds did, in fact, flit about. He hadn’t even noticed them--but that was her point.

She cleared her throat, lowering her hands. “Anyway. Are those the buildings you mentioned, Highness?” With her chin, she gestured, and he followed her gaze away from the stables in front of them, bustling with people shoveling and grooming and hoofing and who knew what else, to the connected string of structures.

“Yes.” He turned away. “You can look through them later--come, this way.”

Jolie’d started towards them, but paused one foot in the air. “Highness?”

He waved her over. “Later. The tour’s not done yet, and your contract hasn’t started. You’ve got the time to spare.”

“Tour of what?” she asked, but joined him as he started moving back the way they’d come, though he was taking a different, round-a-bout route, similar to the way he had last night.

“The palace, of course. Can’t have you getting lost again, fun as it was to run into you.”

She made a face, then-- “Fun, Highness?”

Brant straightened his rings, buying himself a bit of time. “Too forward for your tastes, Miss…?” he trailed off, realizing she’d only given her first name, and while his family apparently employed hers, he’d never overseen any of it or heard about it.

“Ruewen,” she supplied. “I prefer Jolie.”

“Jolie,” he repeated, though he’d already known the name. “I prefer Brant.”

She smiled, a little rueful, sidestepping a bit of brush on the path. “We’re in public, Highness. I can’t call you that.”

“And if we weren’t?”

Jolie slowed, glancing around them. There were other people about, but none of them near--no one looked their way, or seemed to realize their prince was among them. He’d underdressed on purpose. “What do you mean?”

He adjusted his rings again, though they didn’t need it. “Busy as the palace may be…there’s plenty of places to be alone. Or alone with another.”

“Highness--Brant, are you…you’ve known me a day!”

“Not even,” he corrected, smiling. She’d used his name. “I’m trying to change that. Too forward, again?”

Jolie glanced around again, crossed her arms to her chest; she wore a charm bracelet, he noticed, filled with various animals. He couldn’t begin to identify half of them. She pulled her lip between her teeth, then puffed out her cheeks for a moment. Then, “I never said you were too forward.”

Brant’s pulse picked up speed, and he had the sudden sense that every move he made from here on out was infinitely more important. “Is that a yes, then?”

“A yes to what?

He wasn’t sure, but opened his mouth anyway; she seemed to realize, and glanced around a third time. He’d forgotten entirely about a potential audience.

She turned back to him, smiling sweetly, a little mischievous. “There’s even more places to be alone outside the palace, Highness, if you can stand to ditch the finery for a night.”

Brant glanced down at himself, already underdressed. He wasn’t sure he had anything less fine, but he’d worry about that later. “Tonight?”

Jolie shook her head. “Not tonight--two nights after. A little past sunset. Where will you be?”

Pausing for a moment, he ran through his options. He could walk out the front door, but that’d be highly suspect, and even though his tutors had long since stopped monitoring him as closely, that would be pushing it. He could take the servants’ passages, but those would be full of servants, and he didn’t trust them not to gossip.

Then, he recalled the trouble he’d gotten into as a kid, always running off where he wasn’t supposed to be. Disappearing into alcoves and empty rooms, finding his way into meetings and discussions he wasn’t even supposed to know were happening, much less where they were.

An additional guard had been stationed outside his room, “for his own good.”

And yet still he’d disappeared.

Brant hadn’t touched the passages hidden in the walls in years, and yet, “West side of the palace, back near the embracing statues. It’s a blind spot the guard’s never fixed.”

She raised her brows, but whatever it was, she didn’t share it. “Alright then, Highness.” Then, as if none of that had ever happened. “Are you going to finish the tour?”

“With pleasure, Jolie.”

Jolie could hardly believe herself, and could imagine what her parents--her aunt--would say if they’d overheard her.

Flirting with the prince? Have you gone mad? He’s the prince!

She stole a glance at him, following the sweep of his arm as he indicated the feast hall, which was a room she’d never need to know about, but he was showing her anyways. She wasn’t going to complain--though a tinge of guilt pittered in her chest, using him like this. A secret breach in the palace the guards overlooked?

But it wasn’t like she’d nudged him this way; he’d kept moving past the quarters with pets, the servants work spaces, their bathrooms without any prompting. It just happened to be incredibly convenient for her entirely by coincident--surely that absolved her.

The prince--Brant--fiddled with his rings again, and she couldn’t help wondering at the smooth spread of his skin. Clean, manicured, oiled. She still had dirt beneath her nails, not that she minded.

Two nights.

She’d have to invent a reason to be out that wasn’t a clandestine meeting with the prince--an emergency at the palace? She was contracted to be called upon, and her family would have no way to know the difference, even if it’d be a little too soon after being hired for an emergency. What were the odds?

But she certainly couldn’t tell them the truth--yes, Dad, I know you’re still furious about the funding cuts to our conservation efforts, but the prince is fun conversation, and he has pretty hands. He helped with the cygnet and seemed to like it when she’d broken decorum--though if she’d known, she wouldn’t have dared nearly so boldly.

And it was only one night. What was the harm?

Alright, fine. Even she didn’t believe that. Even now, listening to him talk of who used the rooms they passed, she kept an eye out--for people watching, for the guards, for the one room in particular she wanted.

But dammit, she was curious.

“Am I boring you?” he asked, cutting through her musings.

“Hardy, Highness.” She indicated their surroundings. “Doing my best to commit it to memory. Since I’m sure I’ll be here a lot.” She made a face at the library’s entrance to emphasize her point.

Brant smiled, and inclined his head in defeat. “Fine, I’m taking liberties. No one will reprimand us, though.”

“No, they’ll reprimand me,” she said, and he blinked, like it hadn’t occurred to him. Which it probably hadn’t. She balanced between appeasing him, as the prince, and overstepping, since he was the prince. Even though he’d said he preferred she call him otherwise, they weren’t alone--yet. And she’d have to be careful even when they were, but she was confident she could manage. She’d become an expert in watching her words.

He adjusted a ring. “I suppose they could. Shall we return to the gardens, then?”

She shook her head. “No, no, continue. I must know where the royal bathrooms are, Your Highness.” Alright, perhaps she was having a bit too much fun. But she did want to see more of the palace, though it’d make it harder to feign getting lost later--not that she’d feigned it entirely the first time. The place could very well serve as a labyrinth; whoever’d designed the place must’ve discovered some mushrooms they’d taken a fancy too.

“Of course,” Brant said, playing along. She already knew where the closest stall to where she’d work was. “That’s essential information.”

It must’ve been another hour they spent, tracing every corner of the palace from one end to another. Until Jolie was certain the mental map she’d carefully constructed as they went was accurate down to the proportions of the windows. There were a few rooms even Brant’s princely authority couldn’t justify showing her, such as his parents’ bedroom, or the advisor’s meeting hall while being used. But aside from that, his guidance was so complete she nearly felt she herself had grown up there, she’d been the one to climb out that third story window and break her ankle, and she’d stolen pastries from that counter in the kitchen.

The asides painted a picture that only piqued her curiosity further as Brant led them back to where they’d started, the raised plateaus that overlooked and led down to the gardens, leaning on the rail as they had earlier that afternoon.

She’d known nothing but rumors and gossip about the royal family growing up, and then when she was old enough to understand them, she’d based that understanding on their political choices--announcements and missives and laws enacted, where they sent funds and how much.

She had no frame of reference for the people behind it all--not that Brant himself had been, but all that meant was she knew the least about him of any of the family. What he liked, what he did with his time, where he’d gotten those rings.

He intrigued her.

That was why she’d said yes to the tryst--purely for herself, not to use him.

And he’d never know, so it wasn’t like it mattered.

“You’ve made that face again--what does it mean?” Brant asked, interrupting her musings. Was she making a face?

“Nothing, Highness,” she said. “This has simply been a very interesting day.”

“In a good way, I hope.”

She inclined her head. “You’re pleasant company.”

“Could you stand it a little longer, then?” he asked, and she wondered how kingdoms were ever run if kings spent their princedoms gallivanting off like this.

“Are you sure you have the time, Highness?”

“Certain.”

Jolie adjusted the strap of her bag, already feeling dampness begin to pool beneath; fortunately, the sun had already done the worst of its damage while they’d been inside, and so it was merely like being roasted above a flame instead of in it. “Well, then. I defer to the royalty present.”

He waved that away. “Nonsense--I’ve been leading this entire afternoon. Your turn, Jolie.”

She pursed her lips, looking away. Her choice. Did he mean it? There were so many rules she didn’t know, and they were breaking half of them anyway, and oh, Juline would hate it, but--

“To the pond,” she said. “It’s only been a day, but--”

“The little gremlin,” Brant finished, already moving to what was surely not the most efficient way to get there, but she followed.

As she did, she spared a look over her shoulder to the palace, still looming despite the space they put between themselves and it.

Her mind turned to the cygnet, to Brant, but a whisper of herself lingered behind.

All those rooms, alcoves, doorways and halls, and she hadn’t seen one hint of where to find the treasury.

Brant took a roundabout way to the pond, moving slowly. He hadn’t enjoyed himself like this in ages, and already eagerly anticipated the coming night’s rendezvous.

Jolie kept looking around at first, but the further into the maze they got, the more she relaxed, and broke into a grin when the path widened into the clearing with the swans’ pond. She pulled ahead of him, pausing only to pull off her shoes, which she kept in her hands, as she darted forward into the swaying grasses.

She stopped a ways from the water’s edge, and made no move to go any further; she only watched.

“There,” she said, when he reached her. She raised a hand and pointed. “They’re learning to swim.”

A trail of little swans bobbed in the water, rocking on the surface and shivering, their parents nearby. “They don’t already know?”

“Were you born knowing how to walk?” she answered. Her eyes trailed them, assessing something he wouldn’t understand. Her head inclined, and she clicked her tongue. She pushed a few strands of hair from her face, then pulled out her shirt to fan it out a bit; they’d walked a fair bit. More than he ever did in a day, and his soles had begun to ache with the use, sweat pooled between them and his sandals.

Perhaps he should wish for an immunity to heat.

With the thought, he turned his eyes up, squinting towards the sun. It wearied towards the horizon, but not enough to start coloring the sky, and he wondered anew what to give it. What did the sun care for?

He twisted a ring--would the sentimental value mean anything to an unfeeling ball of fire? Did it understand generations and heritage?

Who was he kidding? He’d be barred from ever inheriting the crown if he was heard thinking like this.

What had Pyren given it?

He’d never know unless he asked the man himself, which would be…annoying. Stumbling upon him had been entirely accidental, and he had no doubt he’d made himself scarce since. Though he’d been wallowing enough that perhaps he hadn’t.

How to find him without asking around was the question.

He really should’ve interrogated him more when he’d been right in front of him.

“Everything alright, Highness?” Brant had been staring into the sky for too long, and already had a faux smile plastered on his face by pure reflex by the time he looked down to meet Jolie’s eyes.

She’d settled into the grass, knees pulled close, a few mini flowers plucked and set on her knees.

“Entirely,” he said, smile fading into something genuine as he hooked his thumb into his pockets, gazing out over the pond. The fledglings had finished their lesson, returned to the nest to be fussed over, but there were plenty of other waterfowl--and bugs--to observe.

Observe he did, but his thoughts strayed--towards the sky.

Everything wasn’t alright, but it would be.

Soon.

Jolie arrived last, as she’d been instructed, slipping in through the back door to further reduce any attention she’d draw.

The Endals’ living room was lit with the subtle glow of her uncle’s alchemical lights, bottles spaced strategically throughout the space on tables, shelves, and cabinetry to evenly illuminate the spread of faces lounging. Waiting for her.

Juline handed her a glass of water as she settled into the first available seat she saw, a well-loved piece across from her with the pattern near worn off from all the people who’d used it. She sipped from it as the muted conversation continued a little longer, enough information exchanged anyone questioned after the fact would have enough to spin together a semi-true story of what this get-together had been.

She heard talk of a shop-keeper overcharging, an exchange of recipes for a simple bread in case normal ingredients weren’t available, talk of siblings and parents and a creaking door that needed oiling. Jolie offered tidbits about her recent work, mentioning the cygnets but not where she’d seen them, the heat, stray gossip she’d overheard walking the streets.

Juline ruffled her hair and messed up her braids, but otherwise pretended they hardly knew each other. They all did.

Then, as if practiced, because it was, the conversation shifted.

“They’re getting suspicious,” a man with blond hair and olive skin said into the lull. She’d heard his name once, but they so rarely worked on the same projects it’d never stuck. He sat beside the Endals, twisting his hair around a finger. “In the west sector. Guards are jumpy.”

“East is much the same,” a woman with dark skin and bright braids said. She sucked at her teeth, peering into her glass. “They nearly botched our recent grain redistribution. It’s getting close.”

She didn’t clarify what “it” was, but Jolie had an idea.

“I have the next publication ready,” Cyrah said, returning from a jaunt to another room. She held a few pages in her hands, copies, and passed them about the room. Jolie simply passed them on--she already knew what they looked like, having helped design them, the curved swan her own work. Everyone here knew what it said, as they’d discussed it at length; it was about getting the message to others. Those angry, but afraid. To reassure them they weren’t alone, and to build the numbers they’d need to enact what they really wanted. “They’ll be posted within the week.”

A few heads nodded--the team who’d be working through the night skirting the civil guards to paste the message all over the public. That would’ve been her, if the prince hadn’t taken an…interest, in her. Her note to Juline had been meant for Cyrah.

Cyrah’s husband--she couldn’t recall his name, either--spoke up next, disentangling his hand from the blond man to push a few of his locs behind his ear as he leaned forward. “There’s whispers of further increased taxes next season.”

A dismayed groan swept the room, and Jolie clicked her tongue, glancing at Juline. She didn’t like Jolie to worry about the apothecary, but she couldn’t help it. As popular as it was--the Endals had bought their alchemical lights there--that didn’t make taxes easier to bear.

“Again? So soon?” She didn’t recognize the voice.

“It’s not surprising,” her aunt said, leaning against her hand. “They’d have done it regardless, we’re just a convenient excuse. That doesn’t mean we stop, though. Not even slightly.”

“How comes preparations?” Cyrah asked, recollecting her pages and tucking them aside. She’d settled back next to her husband, who now held her hand.

Juline smiled. “Ahead of schedule. Everything will be ready by the time we move.”

“We need to be much more certain before making a move like that,” Errol said from his place at the counter across the room. He’d stayed uncharacteristically quiet, but perhaps that had something to do with the deep bags under his eyes.

“Yes, we do. Any progress?” She turned to Jolie, and the room’s eyes followed.

She’d never get used to it, but she straightened, well aware she was the youngest in the room. And in charge of the most vital piece.

“It’s proving tricky,” she said, keeping her tone even. “Wherever the treasury is, it’s hidden--which only makes sense. But I’m employed at the palace now, so I have cause and excuse to be on the grounds. I’ve already learned the layout well, so I’ve eliminated a lot of places. All I need is time and I’ll find it.” She held off on Brant’s mention of the statues’ passage until she had a chance to see it for herself.

“We may not have time,” someone said, and she nodded.

“It’s my top priority,” she assured them. “The moment I find it, I’ll pass word to Juline. So be prepared.”

The conversation turned from her, and she sat back in her chair, exhaling.

Juline leaned in, and whispered, “Everything went alright?”

“Of course.” Don’t ask about the prince.

“You didn’t see the prince again, did you?” Well, fuck.

“He’s got better things to do,” she shrugged, looking away and focusing back on the conversation. It was a technically true statement, even if it didn’t directly answer her aunt’s question. She needed to re-direct. “Has Kesler caught on?”

Juline sighed, pulling out a loose thread from her skirt; it was older than Jolie, and had more patches than she’d spent years on this earth. “Of course not. I’m not new to this, Joles. Have your parents asked any questions?”

Jolie shook her head. “I’m not new to this either.”

Juline ruffled her hair and smiled slightly. It looked almost pained. “Sure thing, kid.”

Neither of them brought up their facades for the rest of the evening, switching back to mindless chatter and chivalry as people began dispersing the same way they’d arrived. Jolie and Juline would leave together next to last--the blond next to the Endals would be the very last, though the way he was whispering to them and they back, she wasn’t sure he’d be leaving at all.

Juline had convinced Jolie to sit before her on the floor, so she could have a better angle as she reworked her braid. Her fingers scratched against her scalp in gentle passes, combing out tangles and sending tingles blooming across her skin. She hummed as she worked, and Jolie’s eyes fell closed.

“If it gets to be too much,” her aunt said suddenly, not pausing, voice barely more than a hush, “you bail, okay? Promise me.”

Jolie kept her eyes and mouth closed. They might not get another chance if she couldn’t make this work. But Juline’s hands had stilled in her hair, pulling her to tilt ever so slightly back.

Jolie opened her eyes, met Juline’s. “I promise,” she lied.

Brant’s heart pounded with a thrilling adrenaline as he snuck through the castle, dressed like a servant, head down. He had to move confidently, so no one would question him, but not too confident, or he’d give himself away--he’d learned that the hard way as a kid.

But now that he was older yet not on the throne, no one was looking over him or would search him out before he returned.

Which meant he could slip out the long-abandoned passages on the west side, hidden under the overhang above as the dual statue looked on, its two figures so entwined he didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

Running bare fingers through his hair, he squinted into the falling dark.

“Looking for someone?” a voice asked, and he’d already broken into a grin as he turned.

Jolie smiled back, less reserved than she’d been in the gardens, as she stepped out from behind the statue. She’d let her hair down, and it fell nearly to her waist in free golden waves, save for a few braided pieces secured back. Her bag was missing, revealing a simple flowing green top, which practically melded with the matching skirt, which ended just below her knees to show off her sandals.

He realized he’d been staring, and straightened. “I believe I’ve found her.”

Jolie’d been looking him over, too, and tugged at a strand of hair. “Better not lose her,” she teased, and he already loved her new looseness. Just how tempered had she truly been?

“I don’t intend to.”

Jolie glanced about, looking up the wall. “Have you ever truly seen the kingdom, Highness?”

“Not through your eyes.” The fading light turned them dazzling. Or maybe that was the pounding in his chest.

She looked back at him. “Would you like to?”

“Please.”

She started back the way she’d come, gesturing him to follow with two fingers, leading the way.

He followed dutifully, studying her from behind. He nearly made a comment or two about avoiding the guards’ watch as they skirted their sights to slip into the streets beyond, people still milling about despite the waning hour, but she’d made it to him just fine. She didn’t need any help.

That thought itself was intoxicating.

So many demands hanging over him--the throne wasn’t his yet, but its weight still haunted.

Yet Jolie said, “This way,” with confidence, directing him towards a line of stalls not yet closed.

She pulled a purse from a pocket he hadn’t realized she had, and had already exchanged two coins for two cups of something cool and spiced by the time he’d caught up to her. Jolie took a few steps away from the cart, exchanging words in a language he didn’t know but had heard in passing, and carefully pressed the cup towards him.

He took it, and she made sure their fingers didn’t brush, as she continued. “I grew up with this as a treat after long days in the sun,” she said, sucking on a piece of ice. “And I’d always steal a little extra from my dad’s share.”

She’d slowed now that they were in the streets proper, and he could walk beside her to ask, “What’s your father like?”

Jolie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and he wondered if she’d like earrings. “Stubborn,” she decided after a moment. “Passionate. He loves what he does, and always goes off on these tangents--if you can actually get him talking, that is. Half the time he’s off in his own world of animals and beasts.”

As she spoke, he took a tentative taste. The tangy aroma hit him before the citrus did, and his eyes widened for a moment as he tried to place whatever fruit that was. He couldn’t.

“Your mother?” Brant couldn’t recall the last time he’d exchanged more than a sentence with his.

Jolie’s tongue stuck out slightly between her teeth as she held back a laugh. “Stubborn. Passionate. Even more so, I’d say. It’s not easy being so into aquatics when there’s no sea for miles, but somehow she manages.” She took another drink. “Your parents--or is that classified?”

He made a noise and took another sip. “They’re exactly what you’d expect. Busy.”

Jolie’d finished her drink and disposed of her cup in a nearby bin, but he wasn’t quite done. Thankfully, she left the subject of his parents alone. “Favorite animal?”

“Hmm?”

“These are called introductory questions, Highness. They’re how you get to know someone.”

He smiled. “I’ve never thought about it. Yours?”

She made a face. “You’d think I’d have one, working with them all the time, but I’d feel bad picking. What if the others got jealous? I know, it’s ridiculous,” she said when he laughed.

“Charming,” he corrected. “I’d certainly be jealous.”

Jolie glanced at him, rueful, and he grinned. “You’d know more about charming than me, Highness.”

“You think I’m charming?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” she answered, and pride blossomed in his chest. Then, “Hear that?”

He paused as she tilted her head, and he copied her. “Is that music?”

“Oh, this is perfect,” she breathed, nearly reaching for him before she stopped herself at the last minute and dropped her hand. “Come, this way.”

He followed dutifully as she followed her ear, pausing at corners and intersections for a few seconds to determine which way to go. He marveled at the buildings, their slants and the crackling clay, peeling paint on the doors. They seemed so small, everything cramped and closing in around him. But Jolie didn’t seem to notice.

“Am I allowed to know where we’re going?”

“A night performance,” she said, pointing up ahead to where a crowd had started to gather. “They’re never planned--the guards could never approve officially, but by popping up sporadically--” she cut off, pursing her lips. “The point is, they’re fun.”

Brant wondered what else she’d been about to say, about the guards. He hardly thought of them, but perhaps he should pay more attention. Especially when he took the throne.

She eyed him, waiting for a response, he realized. “Show me,” he said.

Jolie led them closer to the fray, and he found himself bumped and jostled as they wove between people, and he nearly lost her once before they reached the denser inner edge, which opened into an empty space--empty save for the dancers.

Off to the side, people in mismatched colors and bright paints worked furiously at strings and woodwinds, their tune near deafening at this proximity. It was a testament to their lung capacity how far away they’d been able to pick up on it.

In the middle, people from the swaying, laughing crowd darted in and out, twirling together and stomping in tandem.

“Do you know how to dance, Brant?”Jolie asked, leaning near his ear. Her breath tickled his skin, as did his name on her lips. It made him painfully aware of the space she’d left between them.

He shook his head. “Not like this.” He could waltz, if without passion.

“Watch carefully.”

That was all the warning she gave before she burst from the crowd, laughter edging into a giggle as she melted into the throng. Her skirt flared with each turn, arms raised high above her head, which she’d thrown back. Someone slipped a necklace over her head, an alchemically pink light glowing at her breast, illuminating the curve of her throat.

Brant hardly noticed the jostle of the crowd--these weren’t his clothes anyways--as he stared, each movement captivating.

Every dance he’d been taught was careful, reserved, a challenge and imposition.

This was…

Jolie’d grabbed hands with another girl, spinning each other about, and they edged closer to the crowd; she winked at him as they passed by, face flush and eyes bright, like she’d gotten when talking about the ecosystem the other day.

A mere few days and he couldn’t stop his pounding heart, the wish that they’d met sooner, because they’d already missed so much time. He’d have to make it up, starting now. His parents had spoken of courting and relations and all manner of his future, and so had their advisors, and there’d been rumors searing through the palace about him more times than he could count. But none of it had ever interested him.

Because none of it had been her.

Jolie laughed loud, audible even over the drums, chest heaving as the music shifted, and she turned to look at him.

Whatever shone on his face, she tilted her head to the side, brows pinching for a moment. She smiled softly, and shook her head at herself.

Brant’s breath caught, and he wondered, for a brief flash, whether the giddy feeling that bubbled as he watched her circle closer, letting go of her dance partner’s hands, was something he should consult the palace physicians about.

Surely you weren’t supposed to become infatuated so easily.

She’d captured his attention so completely he nearly missed the man stumbling through the crowd near him, face screwed up.

Brant did a double take and wondered if this girl was a good luck charm, reaching out to grab his arm before he could disappear into the throng.

“Advisor Pyren?” he said, tightening his grip.

“Who the hell--”

“Advisor,” he said, entirely unprepared. “We spoke a few days ago. About your wish--how did you ask for it?”

Usually, you were supposed to exchange pleasantries, dance around what it was you wanted until the other party offered it as if you hadn’t been goading them towards it. But Brant didn’t have the choice--the advisor tugged at his arm, lips curling.

Pyren’s eyebrows raised, and he focused unsteady eyes on him. “The brat from the garden,” he sneered. Was he drunk again? Did he do anything else? “What is it now?”

Brant blinked. He repeated his question, glancing over his shoulder to where Jolie stomped to the beat. How long did he have? “I intend to prove you right, advisor, if only you’ll tell me how.”

“Why should I?”

“I’d reinstate you,” he lied. “Ensure everyone knew it was you who deserves credit.”

Pyren pondered for a moment, squinting at him. Then, “Give it--give it something you don’t want to. Doesn’t matter what”--he swayed, twisting to glare at the musicians--”so long as it matters to you.”

“How? How do I give it?”

“Draw its likeness on the ground--it’ll like that. Put it in the middle. And mean it.”

“Mean it?”

“Mean it.”

Pyren yanked his arm away with more strength than Brant would’ve expected, shoving off out of the crowd before he could grab him again. But he’d gotten his answer, so what did it matter?

The exchange couldn’t have taken more than thirty seconds, and yet his head spun, and it took him a few more to put it from his mind--that wasn’t why he was here. Though it did help, quite a bit. Now he didn’t have to track the man down--unless he’d left something out.

Jolie’s laugh caught his attention, and his eyes snapped up to find her again as she twisted, hair in her face, and he let it push all thoughts of wishes and advisors to the back of his mind.

His lips lifted, and he watched her drift closer, until she let go of her partner’s hands and, chest heaving and flushed down to her collarbones, she slipped back into the crowd beside him.

Her lips started to form words, but she couldn’t, gasping instead--then laughing at herself, and he marveled at the difference between this girl and the one in the gardens. Smile so much wider, eyes so much brighter--so unrestrained.

“Your--your turn,” she teased, straightening, and he dropped his hand from where he’d been about to hold her steady.

“Do you want me dead?” he laughed, her own infectious.

She pushed her hair out of her face. “I’d get into horrible trouble if the--if you died under my watch,” she said. Then looked around at all the faces, pursing her lips in thought.

Her breathing had started to even, and he nearly reached out to brush their hands together--so they wouldn’t get lost, he justified--when she crossed her arms.

“You looked exquisite--a bird in flight,” he told her.

Jolie gave him a look he couldn’t quite interpret--incredulous? Flattered? “You give interesting compliments, High--” she stepped aside to let someone pass. “I know somewhere quieter,” she said.”

“Somewhere private?”

That look he knew--mischief. “Why I think it is, Highness.”

Brant nearly reached for her again, but she’d already started moving, gesturing him to follow again as she wove through the crowd with a grace he couldn’t hope to match. He kept bumping shoulders and pulling up short, until the crowd figured out he had no clue how to move in it and started stepping aside for him.

Jolie paused near the fringes, letting him retake his place at her side as she navigated away from the noise and fray, hand resting on her new glowing necklace as she squinted at their surroundings--harder to make out in the increasing dark.

Their footsteps echoed as they walked, streets mostly empty but for a few stragglers--and the guards at their strategic stations, though he knew there were more than they were passing, and wondered if Jolie was keeping him away from them on purpose, in case they recognized him.

A few pages fluttered on the ground as they walked, and Jolie brushed past them, but he couldn’t help his lip curling. The curved black swan in the corner taunted him--swans were Jolie’s to him now, and these idiotic rebels were co-opting it and stirring up trouble--again. They’d grown bolder, it seemed. He’d have to do something about that when he took over.

“Did you enjoy your first revelry, Highness?” Jolie asked as they walked, and it took him a moment to realize she meant the music and dancing.

It’d been loud, and crowded--and Pyren had been there. “It was enlightening, dear Jolie.”

She raised her brows, but didn’t press further. She was too busy holding her light up to a street sign to figure out if it was the one she wanted.

“The best place is a little too far, but this park is a good second,” she explained as they walked.

Almost without warning, the buildings faded away, giving way to grass and copses of trees--a welcome break from the heat during the day, he presumed. Bugs chirped about them as they wandered, until they couldn’t see the streets anymore, only the bushes and shrubbery, rustling with night creatures.

Jolie dropped to the ground in an area with a better view of the sky, fewer roots beneath them, and he joined her. He stayed upright as she lay back, hands on her stomach as she let out a deep breath.

Brant let his eyes shamelessly sweep over her. Her freckles were harder to make out in the dark, but still prominent, and her repose gave him a perfect view of the hollow at her throat. The chain of her glowing necklace pooled in it, catching the warm alchemical light. She’d pulled her knees up, and her skirt had pooled at the base of her thighs, spilling around her hips in green and teal waves. The tips of her fingers were lost in them, and he wondered at the feel of her skin. She’d been so careful in the gardens, in the revelry--but they were alone now. Well and truly, as they hadn’t been in the palace.

“Do you intend to stare all night, Brant?” He loved his name on her lips.

“If you’ll let me.”

She smiled a small laugh. “I can hardly let you do anything, Your Royal Highness. You are law. But it’s kind of you to pretend.”

“Not pretend,” he said, continuing to look. “I’m not the law out here.”

Jolie reached to adjust the spill of her hair. “Nature has its own laws, yes. But we are not separate. The kingdom decides what is cut down, what is saved. Which animals are useful, which we can ignore.”

“You think about this often.” He hadn’t before.

“It’s my job.”

Brant shifted, leaning his head on his hand. “I could use someone like you, when I’m king.”

“You’ve already hired me to work in the gardens--how many positions do you plan to offer me?” she teased.

“As many as you’ll accept.”

She didn’t respond for a moment, and he worried he’d put her off. Then, smiling, “You’re even worse when we’re alone, Brant.”

“You don’t mind?”

“I told you--it’s charming.”

Brant grinned, and ran his tongue over his teeth. “You have plenty of your own charm,” he told her.

“Do I?”

“You’ve captured my interest,” he said. “No one else has managed that.”

She looked at him. “No one?”

“No one.”

“Well, I better not mess this up, then.”

Jolie turned her head back to the sky, and silence fell between them, comfortable. Brant wished it would last an eternity.

It was a good thing Jolie’d stopped at the apothecary on her way to the palace--everything left behind from her predecessor was in disarray. The people filling in in their absence had tried their best, she was sure, but they’d made a mess of their organization--presuming it’d been organized in the first place. Supplies were missing and mixed, and even a few weeks later she hadn’t sorted through it all yet.

But she planned to remove the cygnet’s splint today, and needed everything handy.

Jurek raised a hand in both greeting and farewell as she passed him by, though he always looked at her with a wariness she didn’t understand.

The paranoid part of her wondered if he knew about her rendezvous with Brant, though they’d both been so careful about it. She’d met up with him thrice since that first night, twice the same way, and once--this most recent time--in a corner of the palace he swore up and down was private. She believed him.

And that wasn’t to mention all the times he “accidentally” crossed her path while she worked--lost in the garden, retrieving something from the palace. She had no clue how he found her, as she never saw him approaching until she heard his suave voice, a mischievous undercurrent to it.

Then they’d play their game of pretend, prince and subject, as if she hadn’t stolen him from the palace just the night before, nearly reaching for his hand to drag him further from the pomp and circus.

Jolie stopped herself every time, though, and Brant hadn’t pushed; she’d already crossed so many lines, and yet that one felt…bigger. To lay hands on the prince in the dark. So she crossed her arms, fiddled with a necklace, her charm bracelet, bit a nail, satisfied herself with watching the lines of his body as he reposed in the park.

His mouth was certainly interesting enough to occupy her--always some bit of wit or a compliment to her hair, her dress, the way she furrowed her brows as she’d thought. She wondered whether they taught smooth talking at the palace, or if he’d simply been born with a silver tongue.

Jolie rounded the corner to the pond with confidence, and smiled when she saw Brant lounging a ways around its edge.

He didn’t move, and she didn’t approach him, but she knew he’d spotted her.

His eyes trailed heavy on her back as she made her way towards the swan’s nest, pulling the grasses she’d haggled with her uncle over from her bag--she’d won this time, and Juline hadn’t interfered. She’d slipped Jolie’s newest note into her pocket behind her husband’s back--no update.

She couldn’t search as openly as she had feigning confusion that first day, but she steadily ducked into every nook and cranny of the palace. Jolie bet she knew the palace better than Brant already, and now she was rechecking her work, searching painstakingly for a passage or something hidden that’d settle everything into place.

The sun hammered away as Jolie worked, lost in thought, coaxing the little thing away and placating its parents. Wedging it in place between her legs so she could work with both hands, peeling back her wrap and prodding at the bones, nodding to herself as she felt how they’d set.

She’d grown extra fond of the poor thing, watching it tag behind its brethren. Keeping an eye on it whenever she passed through. Not only because she fell a little in love with every bird she worked with, but because without it, she’d have never run into Brant. Literally. And he’d proven to be an infinitely entertaining companion.

“Gremlin’s well, I trust?” Brant asked as she brushed herself off as she walked. She’d taken the long way round so she’d pass by.

She slowed, glancing around. “Lovely, Highness,” she said.

His tongue passed over his teeth, and she could practically hear what he’d have said if they were alone. Not as lovely as you. Instead, he said, “Glad to hear it.”

“Anything else I can help you with, Your Highness?”

Brant pursed his lips, a hand on his chin, and looked her over. “Perhaps. I’ve been thinking recently,” he said, “about making some changes to the gardens. Once I’m in charge, of course. May I borrow your professional mind, for input?”

“Of course, Highness.”

He grinned and stood, gesturing for her to follow. She began a step behind, but he insisted she walk at his side, and--well, what was the harm?

She maintained a respectful amount of space between them, and put on her most supplicating face for any passersby. “You’re quite good at that,” Brant told her as they started strolling.

“At what?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d believe you to be any odd servant.”

“Technically, Highness, I am. I do work for you.”

Brant’s lips twisted. “You’re better than that.”

“I’m not better than anyone else here just because you like me, Highness,” she scolded. “Besides, you need us. Your palace--your kingdom--runs on our work.”

“Have you been reading those fliers?” Ah, fuck. Too far.

Jolie sighed, and made a moue. “I’ve spotted them once or twice--they’re hard to miss. But regardless of what they say, I’m still right. Do you maintain any of this?” she interrupted when he started to open his mouth, gesturing to the walls of brush and leaves they enjoyed. “Do you wash your own clothes, prepare your own meals? Could you have splinted Gremlin’s wing?”

Brant closed his mouth. “No.”

She smiled. He could be taught. “You need our labor, and we need the money. Highness,” she added. She kept slipping, recently. She’d nearly called him Brant the other day--in the center of the palace, of all places!

“Always money,” he said, shaking his head. “And it’s never enough.”

“We don’t all have the luxury of an infinite supply of gold at our fingertips, Highness. We have to be careful.”

Brant started to say something, then stopped, thoughtful. “Have I offered you an advisor’s position yet? If so, I really should.”

“You have.”

“I do hope you said yes.”

Jolie fought back a smile and tugged on one of her braids, considering re-doing it. “Patience is a virtue, Highness.”

Brant let out a small laugh, and the conversation moved on. When someone neared, he switched to asking--a little louder than necessary--about incorporating bird habitats into the gardens, moreso than just the scattered baths in alcoves throughout its twisting paths. About what species would thrive best where, and she answered as faithfully as she could.

More birds in the palace meant more work for her--but that could be good. More work meant more time on the palace grounds, and that meant more opportunities to look about. Even once she’d found the treasury, she could stay on and help further.

Though her parents would miss her at the sanctuary, and her uncle would fret about whether they were overworking her. Her aunt would understand, even if she had to publicly discourage her like any good over-concerned family would.

Honestly, she was starting to wonder whether or not the treasury even existed. Perhaps they were just a common fable--surely she should’ve caught even a whisper of it by now, right?

She knew every door in the palace, could draw the layout of each room by memory, could count the number of windows in a single hall with nothing but her mind.

There weren’t even any places unaccounted for, unless she counted the royal quarters. No mystery doors or crannies she couldn’t get into but might lead to something more, if only she could reach it. Would she have to get into the king’s bedroom? Surely not--but she was running out of options.

“Is something wrong?” Brant asked, and she realized she’d started frowning.

She fixed her face and shook her head. “I’m…worried about a few friends of mine,” she said, which was technically true. If she couldn’t deliver…

It was his turn to frown. “Who?”

“You don’t know them, Highness.”

“But you care for them?” he confirmed, and she nodded. “Then so do I. What can I do?”

Oh, how sweet of him. If only he knew. “They’re worried about the tax increase,” she hedged. “It’s on many people’s minds.”

“Even yours?”

“Of course, Highness. I’ll pay same as everyone else.” Her family would manage, she thought, but that didn’t make it easy. Especially with the decreased funding from the palace--though her parents still hadn’t told her about it.

Jolie shook herself off, putting it off to worry about later. She’d already fretted over it on trips to Juline more than enough for the week.

Brant’s mouth had set in a funny line, gaze to the sky, then flicking back the way they’d come. “I see,” he said eventually, though she doubted he really did.

Silence fell for a moment, and Brant still looked…troubled? Contemplative?

Jolie let him be, turning to admire the flora and brush, reaching out to run a finger over a particularly large leaf. “Do you have a favorite place in the gardens?” she asked suddenly.

“Hmm? Aside from the swans’ pond?” He quirked a grin a her. “There’s a few I prefer--let me show you.”

Jolie followed, and nearly reached for his hand.

Jolie was going to hate him for this.

He had to do it anyway.

Brant paced his room, the rug’s color bleached from years of this very path, debating himself round and round in circles until he came to that truth.

He went to his window, leaning against its ledge; he had a lovely view of the gardens--he’d watched Jolie from here more than he’d ever admit to her the past weeks. He looked for golden hair and braids, and admired her work from afar--he’d written poetry of her splendor, watching her.

Mere weeks, and she gripped his mind like a blaze on a log, consuming him.

Every word she spoke was precious, with only more to discover. She’d opened his eyes to a world he ruled but had never known, and smiled entirely unaware of how hopelessly enamored he’d become.

Pyren words burned in his ears, as they had for weeks since his first foray into the kingdom proper, trailing his girl.

He pushed from the windowsill and grabbed a bit of charcoal, resolved. Jolie would hate it, and so did he--but that was half the point, Pyren’d said. That’s what made it mean something.

Jolie never had to know.

He straightened his rings as he walked. Out his quarters, down the stairs, through the garden--though he stopped near the stables first.

He paused when he reached the pond. He could turn around, find something else. Anything else.

Brant continued forward--it would be worth it. He believed it would be, truly. Nothing worthwhile came easy, without sacrifice.

Brant edged closer to the swan’s nest, trying to mimic the way he’d watched Jolie’s feet fall as he held out the dosed grass to the parents.

Her face filled his mind as he waited for it to set in, the scrunch of her nose and the worry lines in her brow as they’d walked those days ago. The kingdom’s taxes, raised because their coffers leaked and leaked and leaked, how she thought of herself as a laborer.

She was an artist, a muse, a--

Gremlin didn’t trust him, honking and protesting as he inched closer, satisfied the parents were taken care of. C’mon. The only reason he’d been able to get so close was because they’d started trusting Jolie, and he’d always been by her side.

Money. There was never enough of it.

Brant didn’t care who watched as he lunged, wrestling the writhing thing into his arms, panting. It honked and squeaked, as if it knew what came next, but he ignored it--he’d misjudged and had angry swans to run from.

He disappeared into the garden’s paths, hoping swans had horrible senses of smell, that their dazed gait meant the grasses had slowed them, and that Gremlin in his arms would stop making such a racket. With each turn, his breathing eased, step one accomplished.

Now he needed--what did he need? An open space, to draw its likeness.

There were plenty of those in the gardens, but he kept moving until they became sparser, deeper, until he was practically lost. Less chance of anyone walking in on him.

Gremlin squealed as he tensed, thinking he heard voices, but it was nothing but the wind.

Brant found an aside he liked, the entrance at such an angle you could hardly see what was inside unless you stepped in. Uneven stone disturbed by roots lay in a circle, a pair of backless benches either side, a statue with its face to the sky at the very furthest point from the door.

Now secluded, he took a breath.

His heart pounded with anticipation, no longer nerves--Jolie would never know. He had nothing to fear.

Brant shifted Gremlin to the crook of one arm, freeing the other to retrieve the stick of charcoal from his pocket. It’d stained the inside fabric and smeared on his fingers, but those were nothing in the face of what he was about to do.

He found the center of the space, peering down and turning.

Brant was many things--charming, intelligent, powerful--but he was no artist.

Gremlin complained in his hold as Brant crouched down, concentrated as he carefully twisted, surrounding himself in a shaky circle. With a thumb, he tried to clean it up, but hopefully the thought mattered more than the look.

He nearly glanced at the sun to double check his work before realizing how supremely stupid that would be, and frowned down at the sketch instead.

The plain circle looked so boring--surely there had to be more to it. He’d seen plenty of artworks and symbolic representations of the thing in those books he’d been forced to study growing up, perhaps he could use that.

He added decorative tendrils in as even a pattern as he could manage around the shape--yes, much better. Now it could pass as a sun, rather than a lopsided circle.

Discarding the charcoal and wiping his fingers off, he readjusted his hold on the baby swan.

Gremlin, who’d quieted down, had led Jolie to him.

She adored the thing, and he’d watched her admire it for hours--out the palace windows, from the sides of the pond, even just talking about its progress as they snuck away into the kingdom under nightfall.

She’d never forgive him if she knew--but she wouldn’t. Accidents happened all the time in nature. They gave her half her job.

And what he’d get in return…what he’d do…

Brant set the baby swan under the midday sun in his drawing of its image.

Excitement thrummed in his chest.

And mean it, Pyren had said.

Brant held the swanling in place and looked to the sky.

For you, he thought. I ask of you.

For Jolie. For him.

For you, he repeated, letting go of the baby swan, and meant it.

His chest heaved as he stared up, closing his eyes against the burn, feeling the weight of the sun’s rays against his skin. Prickling, burning, soothing, inviting--

Brant looked down. The baby swan was gone.

His fingers clenched and unclenched, nearly dizzy with satisfaction, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. Anything he wanted, anything he could wish for, and it was his. A million possibilities rushed through his mind; all he had to do was ask.

But he’d already decided before he’d even entered the garden, had decided days ago.

Jolie had given him the idea, brilliant and beautiful as she always was.

I wish, he began, for everything I touch to turn to gold.

The weight eased, burning fading to a warm caress as the sun released him from its hold, leaving a hollow chill in its wake.

Was it done? Had he done it?

Brant flexed his fingers. They felt no different.

He cast his gaze about, searching--the charcoal.

It left more smears in his palm as he picked it up, pinching tight, waiting. An eternity passed, his heart racing in his ears, then--slowly, spreading from his fingertips, he watched it shift and shimmer.

Into gold.

All the riches he could want, could need, at his fingertips.

Brant grabbed at the nearest flower, cupping it between his palms and watching--it took a little less time before the metal began to spread, until he held a perfectly solid specimen in his hands.

He’d done it.

Brant laughed, loud and wild.

Jolie would love this.

“Watch your step,” her dad told her, as he had a million times before.

“I tripped once,” she complained, descending the singular step with ease and elbowing at him. “When I was seven.”

Grady just grinned, hefting his load higher. The thick bags trailed a bit of feed out the corners, and left a residue on his clothes, but he never complained when she asked for a hand.

And she did need one--she’d already been helping near full-time at her parents’ sanctuary before she’d gotten her position up at the palace, so now she had seven days worth of work to cram into five. Her parents had taken up some of the slack, of course--they’d gotten along just fine before she’d been old enough to help, after all, but she didn’t want them doing everything for her.

“Any time now,” her dad said as she paused, unlocking the coop so he could pour in the feed. This particular one had a latch that always stuck no matter what they did to it, but it only took a bit of finagling, so they hadn’t replaced it yet.

Jolie sighed, smiling. She pulled open the door, and he ducked in, withdrawing a knife from his pocket to slash open the bag before making a hasty retreat. “Scared of some chickens?” she teased. She pretended she hadn’t seen the poster folded and tucked into the back of his pocket, the black swan from her pen peeking out.

“I swear they have evil in their hearts, Joles.” He pocketed his knife, brushing off the dust the bag had left on him as she closed the door.

“Whatever you say, Dad.”

“Hey!” he complained with no real malice. “We can’t all have a magic touch.”

He reached over to ruffle her hair, and she smoothed back some of the strands he’d mussed loose. “Okay, what else?” she asked.

Grady looked at her for a moment, then said, “You know, your mother and I can take care of everything.” Jolie sighed, looking to the sky. “You don’t need to push yourself--you’ve been so busy lately with--”

“I’m fine, Dad.”

“You say that now, but--” “Dad.” Jolie crossed her arms. “I have it handled.”

He held up his hands. “I know, kiddo. You’ve always been good at balancing things, but it’s my job to worry. You haven’t talked about it much.”

She looked away, smoothing a bit of fur off her shirt. “It’s like any other job, Dad.”

“But it’s not, Joles. It’s at the palace--that’s not like making a house call to a neighbor.”

“I know that--I meant what I do up there. It’s the same stuff I do here.”

Mostly. But her escapades with the prince weren’t anything he needed to know about, though she wasn’t fool enough to think she could hide it forever. She’d keep it to herself as long as she could, though.

The idea of her family finding out…she nearly shuddered, but her father still watched.

“If you say so,” he sighed, trying for a smile, though his brow still creased. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you--anything ever does, you tell your mother and I right away, okay?”

Jolie smiled back. “I have it handled, Dad.”

His wan one twisted into a wider grin. “Met anyone cute up there? You and Vertina--”

“Dad!”

He laughed loud, dodging her shove, and turned back to their tasks with a gesture for her to follow. But he seemed content to move on, and she let out a breath of relief.

She started after him, but stopped when she heard, “Jolie?”

Her mother repeated her call, rounding the corner and scanning for her as she tucked a loose hair behind her ear.

“Yeah?” Her father had paused too.

Edaline came up to her and handed her an envelope--thick, rich paper, her name on the front. “This came for you just now--”

“From the palace,” her father guessed, coming to frown over her shoulder down at it. He looked up and made eye contact with her mother, but Jolie’d stepped away to open it.

Per your contract, your assistance is required outside of contracted hours for emergency work.

“What’s it say?” Grady asked, looking like he wanted to grab it and read it himself.

“Emergency summons,” she said, folding and tucking it away so he couldn’t. “They’re part of my contract, remember?”

Her mother nodded. “Right. Well. Better answer, then.”

Jolie nodded too, but glanced back. “You’ll be able to handle everything, right?”

“Of course,” she answered. “We’ll see you for dinner, won’t we?”

“I hope so--are Kesler and Juline coming over again? Tell them I say hello if I don’t make it back in time,” she said when her mother confirmed they were.

“Be safe,” her father called, brow furrowed, as she waved a goodbye.

“Love you!” her mother added.

“Forever and always,” Jolie smiled, darting into the shed to pick up her bag, grateful she’d restocked it yesterday so that she didn’t have to stop for it now. She could just grab a quick drink and an apple, summons in her other hand as she closed the door behind her and started for the palace.

A month working there and she knew how to get to it from practically any place in the kingdom.

As she hurried, she wondered what was so urgent. She hoped it wasn’t Gremlin.

She polished off the apple as she reached the palace, sucking juice off her fingers and trying not to think of how much dirt and grime was on them, too, though she’d wiped her hands off before she’d started eating.

The guards recognized her, and hadn’t given her any problem for her comings and goings the past few weeks, but this time--they stopped her.

She started. “I have a summons--” she began, holding it up.

“We know, Miss,” one said.

“Just following orders,” said another.

Jolie opened her mouth to ask more when someone she didn’t recognize joined them, telling her to follow them. The guards unblocked her path, and she trailed them, though she had to walk briskly to do so.

She followed their route through her mental map of the palace, confounded. “Where are we going?” she asked, but received no answer.

Not until they stopped outside a pair of large double-doors, and Jolie nearly started laughing. She kept it in, though, feigning confusion--though some of it was still genuine--as her guide gave her an odd look and returned to whatever it was they’d been doing before.

Left alone, Jolie raised her hand and knocked twice. Hard.

Near immediately, the door opened, and Brant beckoned her inside, exuberant.

She entered, and he shut the door behind her. “Jolie,” he said, rushing to her with a hand outstretched before he pulled himself up short at the last second, jerking his hands back into fists, then clasping them behind him.

“Brant,” she returned, brows raised. His eyes shone, his grin wide, but she was torn between watching him and taking in the room.

She’d never been before, since it would draw too much attention--Brant didn’t have a pet bird they could use as an excuse for her to be up here, though he’d seriously considered the idea for a while until she’d warned him of the commitment.

Everything shone, wooden armoire polished, paintings spotless. His covers pristine, but for an outline where he must’ve just been sitting, crisp red to match the slightly faded rug. The handles on each drawer were polished gold--same with the sconces, the vases, even the door handles.

And the space--his quarters must’ve been double the size of her house.

“Jolie,” he intoned again.

“Highness,” she shook her head, a laugh bubbling. “Did you truly take advantage of my contract to call me to your bedchambers? Are we children?” If there was no true emergency, she’d have to invent one to tell her family when she returned.

“Jolie,” he pleaded, and her smile started to slip. “Jolie, listen.”

He leaned towards her, urgent, hands held painfully tight behind him. Pupils dilated in those blue-grey eyes, his chest heaved with the quickness of his breath, teeth working at his lip.

“What’s wrong?” Jolie took a step forward, heart beginning to pound, lifting her hand towards his face, propriety be damned.

She stopped dead when he flinched away. Dropped her hand. “I’m sorry,” he said, “it’s not what you think--it’s--Jolie,” he repeated, grin spreading wild. “I’ve done it.”

“Done what?” she asked, tucking her hands under her arms. “Brant--”

He took a step back, bringing his hands before him, turning them this way and that as he wiggled his fingers.

Jolie opened her mouth to beg more explanation, but--his rings. She frowned. He wore those things everywhere, though she always reminded him to remove them before they snuck out. One on the pinky and pointer on the left, middle and pointer on the right. All red gems, but for the one green.

Except now, they were each solid gold.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“I made a wish,” he said, as if that meant anything. “I made a wish, and now--look,” he said, casting his gaze around, searching.

A portable oil lamp sat on his desk, and he lunged to grab it, holding it tight between them.

“Look,” he repeated, insistent.

Jolie started to shake her head, confused, then, “Oh--what--Brant.”

Gold spread from wherever he made contact, spiraling slow, then faster, until in mere moments the entire thing became solid, gleaming metal. Brant spun it in his hands, grinning, then looked up to her.

“How--how--what?” Her voice had gone quiet, looking between him and the impossibility between them. She reached forward, almost without thinking, and he passed it to her, keeping his hands beneath it.

She nearly dropped it from the weight, turning it over in her hands, playing that transformation in her head over and over again.

“Imagine,” Brant said, turning and searching again. He grabbed a decorative tray, and she watched as again, metal spread from his touch. Not even a minute later and it was worth more than she’d ever see in her life. “No more worries--no more empty treasury--no more debt--no more raised taxes.”

Jolie blinked. What? “Debt? What about the treasury?”

Brant waved a hand, setting down the tray. “For years we’ve been in decline--but this will fix it! Isn’t it incredible? All it took was--” he cut off, looking around again.

Jolie looked about with fresh eyes. Had the sconces always been gold? The filigree on the windows?

“You made a wish?” she asked, marveling at the lamp she still held. Oh, to have a wish…

Brant looked at her, then glanced away, and she could’ve sworn she saw a grimace for a flash of a second. “I did. You gave me the idea. Here”--he went to a corner and picked up a flower, already solid gold, and held it out to her--”from the gardens.”

Setting the lamp down, she took it, twirling the stem between her fingers. “It’s beautiful, Brant.”

He sighed as if in relief, pressing his hands together and holding them in front of his face. “You understand, don’t you?”

She shook her head, partly to try and clear the lingering daze. “How…how does it even work?”

He picked up a glass, and they watched it shift. “Everything I touch, love, everything turns to gold. An infinite supply.”

“Everything? How do you turn it off?”

Brant paused, golden glass in hand. “I…don’t know,” he admitted.

Jolie seemed…confused, twisting the flower in her fingers, looking around his quarters again.

“But--” he started, shaking away the tiny doubt that wriggled into his heart. “But it’ll be worth it, don’t you see?”

She looked at him, top to bottom, and said, “I think you meant well.”

“Meant--? No, no, no.” A nervous laugh bubbled out, and he pulled on the cuff of his sleeve. “You need to understand, Jolie. I--”

“Your sleeve,” she interrupted, pointing, and he looked down.

He hadn’t even noticed the creeping gold, the weight pulling at him as the fabric stiffened into golden threads. He jerked his hand away, unsure what to do with it. “It’s fine,” he said, automatic. “No--it’s fine, Jolie.”

“Brant,” she said, like it was the beginning of so much more.

No. No, no, no, she had to understand. “I did this for you.”

She stopped. “For me?”

He stepped forward, reaching, and she tensed. He stopped dead. “I’d never hurt you,” he whispered.

“I believe you. I believe you,” she said, gripping her flower tighter.

“Don’t you trust me?” he begged.

She nodded, unhesitating. “I do, Brant. I do. But--”

“But what?” he nearly shouted, breaths coming quicker again, running his hands through his hair.

“There are better ways, Brant!” she insisted. “There are people working to make it so, to connect people and support each other and--”

“They’re thieves!” he interrupted. “They’re--they’ll ruin themselves and us along with them, with their inane speeches and papers.” She started to argue, but he shook his head. “No, no--you’ll see. Just--you need to see.”

He just needed to go bigger. Then she’d see.

Then she’d understand.

Without thinking, he grabbed for her hand.

Jolie took a step back, though it killed her not to reach for him. If she could hold him, hold him back, maybe he’d understand.

He had to understand.

His hands stopped between them, and something in his face shifted. His fingers curled into fists and he dropped them to his side. A long moment. ”You don’t trust me--you don’t believe me.”

“Brant, that’s not--”

“It’s not enough--I have to--” he pressed his hand together, head swiveling. “It’s okay,” he said. “You’re scared. You don’t understand. But I’ll show you--I’ll--”

“Brant,” she pleaded, though she didn’t step closer.

He didn’t seem to hear her. “You’ll understand,” he repeated, beginning to pace. “I’ll--I’ll turn everything--more than it could hold--we won’t even have to dig up--let it rot down there--you’ll see.”

Without warning he spun, fist pressed to his mouth and his brows set--eyes wild.

“You’ll see,” he swore, striding for the doors. He grasped them by the handle and yanked, disappearing down the hall.

Jolie didn’t think he even realized the doors had turned to solid gold.

The stem of the flower cut into her hand as she gripped it, watching after him, replaying his words over in her head.

He’d just given her exactly what she needed.

Brant strode the corridors with determination.

He just had to go bigger.

She didn’t understand--she didn’t see the full picture.

But he understood--he knew what it meant. He’d show her, even if she fought the whole way--it’d be worth it, in the end. And then she’d see, the world he was giving her.

He trailed his fingers along tapestries and reached to press his fingers against sconces, doorways, the framing on the windows. Decorative bowls on the tables, the tables themselves, fingertips tingling with the metal he created.

Noises began sounding behind him, confusion, shock, but they didn’t matter.

Brant tuned it out, rubbing his fingers raw on everything he could touch--and then he was outside, striding to the railing they’d leaned on and palming it with both hands.

It took mere seconds before it gleamed so bright it burned his eyes, and he turned.

His feet fell heavy on the stairs, and he paused for only a moment to untie the solid gold his sandals had become, tossing them aside.

Gold spread from his every step as he descended, reaching out to touch birdbaths as he aimed for the labyrinth of hedges. He trailed his fingers through their leaves, and they solidified instantaneously.

They’d never worry for money again.

When Jolie saw how infinite this was, the sheer volume, she’d understand.

Those rebels with their pamphlets in his streets would see. With power like this, they’d never dare disrespect and disrupt his kingdom again. He was in charge.

Brant saw the pond up ahead, and started trailing his fingers through the tall grass.

Jolie’s feet pounded the pavement as she sprinted--she had no time at all.

People in the streets saw her coming and started clearing out of her frantic path. She cursed the apothecary for being so far and the Endals for being even farther.

It didn’t matter who she told, she just needed to tell someone and let them spread the message from there. Then she’d be done and she could--she tried, and failed, to shove Brant from her mind.

What had gotten into him?

She’d never seen him like this--something had to be wrong. A fever, or a--

But that didn’t explain the gold, the flower still clutched in her hand.

It shouldn’t have been possible, but even if she believed him--and she did, dammit, she did--it didn’t make any sense. Money didn’t work like that.

She’d spent her life intimately familiar with it, its scarcity, learning how to fix it.

And they were so close--all she needed was to tell someone.

More than it could hold.

We won’t even have to dig it up.

Let it rot down there.

She’d never found the treasury or even a hint of it in the palace because it wasn’t there.

They’d buried it.

If she could just tell--

Someone shouted, and another gasped, and Jolie’s head whipped around. More followed, and she slowed, looking around--guards? Rabid dogs? A house fire?

“The palace--”

“Is that--?”

Jolie followed the people’s pointed fingers and her heart stopped. She could hardly bear to look at the palace the way it shone, sun setting the whole thing ablaze with a passion.

Solid gold.

Brant.

Her throat burned and a stitch cramped her side as she stood there, mind racing. She swallowed, looking back to her path, all the blocks she had yet to run. There was never enough time.

Jolie turned back and sprinted.

Brant nearly couldn’t see with the way everything glittered, the world transformed beneath his fingertips, his feet.

He stopped at the pond’s edge, ducks honking and scooting away, but he didn’t care.

He reached down, mouth set, and cupped a handful of water, letting it run through his hands.

Sunshine spilled from his fingers, dissipating into golden shimmers in the lake, and he grabbed another, watching it shift.

Incredible.

The water mixed with the seeping scratches across his palms, earned from running his fingers through his golden grass.

The red trailing across his palm turned to gold, too.

He paused, holding both his hands before him, watching the gold trail back from the rivulets in his palms, creeping into the cuts themselves. Soon he’d have gold running through his very veins, become more than human.

“Brant!”

Jolie slipped into the palace, the place in chaos as people panicked and marveled and ran, confused.

Jolie threaded through them, eyes jumping from one place to another; everything--everything--had turned to gold. The tapestries, the window glass, the very stone of the walls.

She didn’t stop despite the way her chest heaved, the burning in her lungs, tracing the halls she’d memorized and bursting out the doors onto the plateau overlooking the gardens. He’d turned them to gold, too--rows and rows of golden hedges and flowers, a monochrome as far as she could see. People panicked here, too.

For only a moment she stopped, scanning for black hair, a half-gold shirt, anything--nothing.

But as she turned to the steps, a pair of discarded solid gold sandals greeted her.

She took off, knowing exactly where he’d headed.

Not Gremlin, she pleaded. Just don’t touch him.

The golden pavement made it hard to see as she took the turns at breakneck speed, until the former stone gave way to former grass, scratching at her as--

“Brant!” she called, not caring who heard.

He kneeled by the side of the pond, gold dripping from his palms as he stared, transfixed.

Golden grass snapped beneath her feet as she raced down the slope, momentum nearly sending her topping into the pond as she dropped to her knees regardless of the way it stabbed.

“You need to stop,” she told him, gasping. Then, “Can you stop?”

Jolie.

It took him a moment to understand the movement of her lips, so transfixed was he by the flush across her face, breath ragged.

Then--”Stop?”

“Yes, love, this is too much. I know you mean well--I get it, I really really do, but--please,” she begged. “Please, love.”

I get it, she’d said.

He looked at her, eyes wide and glistening, lips parted, hands on her knees--knees that bled as his golden grass cut her.

He blinked. No--he’d promised not to hurt her.

Brant sat up straighter, and looked around--nothing but gold as far as he could see. The only thing left was the water in the pond, and even that had started to shift.

He looked back to her.

“I--I can’t,” he said.

Jolie inhaled, fingers tightening on her knees, though she wasn’t surprised.

She looked him over, and--was he bleeding gold? The edges of his cuts had started to shine and catch the light, and horror bloomed in her chest.

Her mind raced, and, “You said you made a wish?”

“A wish,” he confirmed, voice soft--scared?

How cliche, she thought, to make a wish.

But maybe, maybe that was the key.

Maybe they could fix this

Maybe she could.

Jolie met Brant’s eyes, such a lovely greyish blue, watching her.

Her gaze trailed down, and landed on his lips.

She reached out, and he took the golden flower from her, held it between them. .

Jolie pressed her palms to his cheeks, pulled him close, and kissed him.

Far away, long ago, the world ended with a kiss. A fit of passion, an imploration, two lovers arm in arm.

Ill-fated, stars slated against them. They tried, they loved, they died.

It started in a garden, and it ended in it, too.

Some say if you find that golden kingdom, at its center sit two figures of solid gold.

Embraced.