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The King of Soluna was… well, in many ways he was warm. So like the fires he wielded, bringing warmth and light to life with a flick of the wrist, he embodied warmth.
It had almost scared Apo, at first, when she was a brand new knight, spear clutched too-loosely in her hands, still struggling to get her footwork right. More than once, she’d been left flushed with embarassment or taught with anxiety- he was warm, and kind, and she didn’t quite know what to do with that.
The kindness didn’t so much go away as grow tight. His laughter, that all but disappeared, but the moments where he looked after his knights like they were his own (“I want that man gone by morning,” He’d ordered, faux-casually, the day a man accosted Apo and accused them of treachery and manipulation, snarled that there was no way they’d managed to get here of their own prowess. They’d half-been willing to accept it; it was all talk, and they’d certainly faced spies who bit harsher words, but the king had heard none of it, and so the man- no longer noble, in the eyes of the court, title stripped bare- was ousted that same night) never seemed to entirely disappear.
Until the very end, he was all warmth and flame, and then he was cold.
Cold to the touch as Cherri found her way to his body and sobbed, and then screamed, bitter wails of uncaring fury and desperation, cold when Apo glanced into his eyes as he was laid to rest, cold in everyone he’d ever touched’s hearts where there should have been warmth.
Cherri had, in many ways, gone cold once the burial was over. Closed herself off. It wasn’t as if she’d been talkative before, when she was worried out of her mind- and for good reason- about her father and kingdom, but now it was as if a shadow had fallen onto her entirely, and, though she dully ate and found her way to bed, Apo could barely get her to respond to anything else. Questions were met with hums, vague agreement or disagreement, any attempts to rouse her taking root for only a moment before she was back to her position; staring, at the walls or the outside world, blank, shuttered gaze uncaring for anything at all.
On the third day after her father’s burial, she was crowned queen.
There was no time for a proper coronation, and though it was offered that one be held, well-meaning advisors and scribes at the ready, she shook her head, head held high. “This is a time of war. When the enemy no longer attacks our land, it will be a time of celebration, but, for the remainder of this war, I will be in grieving for what they have and are taking from us. There is no space- nor resources- for celebration. Send out missives to inform everyone of these happenings.”
For that moment, when Apo looked at her, there was no longer the princess she’d known at the palace, but instead the queen she’d now been forced to become, holding herself with the same rigidity of steel burned in the hottest of forges, eyes burning with the weight she was holding.
The moment everyone cleared the room, though, the fire in her eyes dimmed, and Cherri gave her a hollow, weary smile. “I’ve no clue how my father did it,” She confessed, voice only wavering slightly at the mention of her father, “I feel I’ve made a mistake already, it’s… atypical, not to have a coronation, I don’t wish for people to believe I don’t want to see them, or that things are truly dire, even if they are.” She buried her face in her hands.
Awkwardly, hesitantly, Apo opened their mouth. Closed it.
“...If I may, my lady,” They began slowly, giving Cherri ample time to cut them off as her eyes locked on them, hope and anxiety warring in her gaze, “I believe your citizens will see it as it is; an act of grief and preservation of resources in this time of need. They will not fault you for it, and, if they do…” Their hand tightened around their spear. “Then they were never truly loyal; your father was just convenient.”
Cherri winced at the mention, and, immediately, a hot flood of guilt flooded them, but, before thye could apologise, she was nodding sharply. “You’re right. You’re right, thank you, my knight. I’m not sure what I was thinking. Even if I’m not… him, and never can be, I’m sure my people will understand that I’m trying my best.”
Of course they will, Apo thought but didn’t voice, you’re you.
And, from that day forward, the crown was as heavy on Cherri’s head as it had been on her father’s.
–
The king had been warm, and Apo missed that, just a bit. The easy way he cared, the way he spoke to them, gentle and unforboding, the sense that, every once in a while, they were able to be the one being protected, rather than protecting.
They hadn’t cried about his death- it wasn’t their place to grieve. All of their grief was but a fraction of what Cherri was feeling, and so, if she couldn’t handle it, Apo would be there for her, and, if she could, then there was no reason for Apo to be unable to.
But they awoke from a nightmare, gasping awake on the cot in the princess’ room, choking back a sob.
It hardly mimicked anything that had happened; an endless labyrinth of running away from where he stood, burning- but not safe from fire as he usually would be; here, he was dying- stumbling towards them and pleading for help, reaching out a hand as their hair smouldered and the world burnt because they’d run away yet again-
Or something to that effect. Something that unreal shouldn’t have affected them so much, they knew rationally, as they pulled their knees to their chest and tried to hold back another sob. It was a foolish dream, and one about someone who was hardly theirs to care for; they were just another knight in the line-up, hardly someone he cared about past their prowess and loyalty, about their own mistakes.
Wood creaked nearby, and, for a moment, they held their breath, dark eyes widening to glance at the shape on Cherri’s bed in the faint moonlight- had she moved, noticed them awake, showing weakness, would she- there was no way for her to realise Apo’s weakness, that she’d run away from things time and again and now was left without anywhere to run to, she was just spiralling.
And then, in what felt like the space between one blink and the next, a heavy warmth was pulled over her shoulders- a blanket, furred and far more luxurious than what had been afforded to her, even as Cherri’s personal guard, and she turned to see the princess herself standing behind her, a sad sort of half-smile playing at her lips.
“Rough night for you too?” She guessed, and Apo froze, eyes and mouth widening.
“I- I’m sorry, my lady, did I wake you? It’s nothing for you to worry about, and it’s horribly un-knightlike of me to have done this, I’m aware-” She hastily swept the tears from her eyes with a hand, moving to pull the fur off her and place it back on Cherri, or her bed, where it belonged.
Cherri reached out, grabbed her wrist delicately, and then, for a moment, Apo couldn’t think about anything at all past the warm hand gripping her, the intensity of Cherri’s gaze even when it was surely in the earliest morning hours, even when she’d so gently placed a blanket onto Apo’s shoulders.
“I was already awake,” Cherri spoke with softness, words not unkind, “I heard you awaken as well, and I thought… perhaps we could help one another. My father- he used to help me with my nightmares, and I thought perhaps I could do the same for you.”
“If anyone needs help with nightmares, you’ve sustained far more loss than me, and you’re far more important, regardless.”
Cherri tilted her head, slowly, gently, letting go of Apo’s wrist, and, before she could so much as mourn the loss of the touch, Cherri was sitting beside her, pulling the blanket so it covered both of them in one swift motion. “Perhaps. But you’ve faced battle, and you were the one to so bravely take me away when I’m sure you wanted to stay as much as I did.” A hint of bitterness slipped into Cherri’s voice. “I’m sure it’s the only reason we’re both alive.”
Apo was quiet. They didn’t know what to say to that, so they simply twisted their hands in the fabric of their clothing in some semblance of calm.
“Besides, mine hardly caused enough grief to cry. I may have gotten back to sleep by now, if I weren’t thinking of other things.”
“Other things, my lady?”
Cherri waved a hand. “Nevermind that. You’re more important at the moment.”
Apo was suddenly very glad for the nearly empty moon, as their cheeks heated and their eyes widened, the gap between them and Cherri suddenly far too small for comfort, now that the queen was saying such things to them.
“Surely that’s not true,” They gasped, “You’re the queen, I’m- I’m just your knight-”
“You are. You’re my knight. And, if my knight is in pain, I’d like to help her, if that’s alright with you.”
“I… my lady…” Their voice was weak.
“My knight,” Cherri countered softly.
There was no arguing with the princess when she had it in her mind she wanted something, one of the older recruits had told Apo, once. They’d never really minded; giving Cherri everything she wanted was their goal, exactly what they wanted in life, but, right now, they could see what that recruit had meant.
And, in the end, as always, Cherri got what she wanted, and they folded. “Truly, it was nothing. I just… saw your father dying, because I chose to ran away. The tears were about nothing important; it’s not as if I lost a parent.”
Cherri glanced at them thoughtfully. “You were close, though, weren’t you?” When Apo hesitated a beat too long, unsure of what to say, how to be sensitive in a situation like this, Cherri continued, unheeding of their worries, “He wasn’t your father, but I doubt he would have chosen anyone he didn’t have the utmost trust in for this role, and the only way to earn trust is to demonstrate that you’re worthy of it. He would have had to get to know you, and you him in return. It’s not horrible of you to grieve him, if that’s what’s happening.”
And Apo’s tongue came unstuck, words spooling out of them in a rush, “I- I simply don’t see any reason to grieve when you’re right here, able to function without tears; I’m sure he hardly cared for me at all, and, whatever I thought of him, I was just another citizen. There’s no space for me to grieve him as if he were a cherished friend, when we were hardly anything more than strangers. I was a stranger he trusted, but nothing more.”
“You understand that’s ridiculous, right?” Cherri asked, not unkindly, “You weren’t strangers at all. He spoke of you often, and fondly. He…” She hesitated a moment. “He worried for you, at times, I believe. And…” A breath. “This is a time of grief. My tears may have run dry, but, make no mistake, I am grieving as much as anyone else, and your fellow citizens are grieving as well. There is space for you to weep, if you need, space for you to grieve.”
They’d never dared to hope some of the things Cherri had spoken into existence, that the king had any fraction of true care for them, that the warmth was anything more than the way he interacted with the entire world, and, for a moment, it was like their life was rewritten.
But then it all came crashing back with the reminder that, regardless of his thoughts on them, it was still before dawn, and hardly appropriate for them to keep the princess from her sleep any longer.
“Be that as it may, I’d hate to burden you further-”
“You’re not a burden.” Blue eyes flashed in the dim light, and Apo caught, just for a moment, the curve of a frown.
“I’m your knight,” Apo tried weakly, “It’s- it would be improper for me to treat you as if you were… just anyone else.”
“Can’t we be? Just for the moment, can we not just be two people grieving someone we cared about, together? Can I not help you?” Two hands found Apo’s own. “For the moment, can you just be Apo for me, and I Cherri to you?”
And, well, Cherri always got what she wanted, the touch and gentle affections breaking loose the tears in Apo’s eyes, but, despite the shame and feelings of being a burden burning within her, Apo didn’t pull away, even half-leaning into the hand Cherri brought to her face to wipe away her tears.
“There you are,” Cherri’s voice was soft, “My Apo.”
“My- my lady-”
“Cherri.”
“Cherri,” Apo corrected herself, “I- are you sure this is alright?”
The look Cherri gave her was inscrutable in the dark. “I’m the queen,” She spoke finally, “There is nobody to tell us this isn’t, and, as ruler of this realm, I declare that this is alright. You need a chance to rest; attempting to be strong forever will make you brittle. You have to break eventually, and better here, where I can hold you, than out there, under all their scrutiny.”
If Apo didn’t know better, didn’t know who they were as compared to who Cherri was, they might have said that she looked like she was in love, that she was speaking to them as if a lover.
But they knew better, so they swallowed back the feeling, locking it somewhere deep within. “Thank you, my- Cherri.”
If her father was warmth, then Cherri was a slowly building blaze, ready to eventually combust, but here, for Apo, she was nothing more than light warmth and gentility, everything good about fire wrapped into a person and that person deciding in some way, for some reason, that Apo meant something to her.