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When Arnold saw the letter with his brother’s seal on it, he could already feel the headache forming. Rishe had done something reckless again, and he couldn’t say that he was surprised in the slightest. The biggest question was simply how long it would take.

Arnold took the letter, opening it without much care and read the contents of it in his younger brother’s careful script.

To His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince Arnold Hein, the Sword of the Crown, the first to bear his name:

I have acquired something of great importance to you from within your very walls. If you truly care for your future bride you will come unaccompanied to the northern quadrant of the slums at dusk.

Do not underestimate my willingness to retaliate or the strength of my forces.

Signed,
Second Prince Theodore Auguste Hein, first son of Elisabeth Ailus Hein.

Arnold stared at the note for a moment before letting it fall with a tired sigh. It seems Rishe was meddling in things she had no business in once more. He thought he had finally convinced her to drop it after he kissed her in the chapel, but he truly should have known better. 

His mind drifted back to her face when he had pulled away, the way her eyes had reflected the moonlight, only highlighting the shock and confusion that lined them. It had been the last time he had seen her in three days. An emotion he refused to name tightened in his chest. It was important for her to lose her naive conceptions of life if she wanted to survive here, he reminded himself.

Despite his brother’s words, there was little need to worry. Theodore’s men were loyal, but his brother was woefully kind at heart. Possibly he would try to bring her harm, but he would hesitate, and Rishe would take full advantage of that hesitation. And as for what his fiancee would do to his brother…

She would not try to hurt Theodore, he thought. Then he recalled her demeanour in the chapel. The ruthless determination she’d shown had surprised him. No doubt it would shock his brother, and possibly scare him. 

Arnold folded up the note and glanced out the window: several hours left till dusk. Rishe was no doubt plotting wherever she was being held. What was her plan this time?

____________
Arnold had rode out on Hildebrand an hour before dusk wanting to scout out the area. Perhaps Rishe had already escaped and he could catch her without having to deal with Theodore and his dramatics. 

Even before Arnold stepped foot into the slums, he could feel the gazes of Theordore’s men tracking his every move. His younger brother certainly had an impressive network, second only to his own. The slums hadn’t changed much since his last visit. Though he could make out a few subtle structural improvements that had taken place over these last few months. Theodore’s secret funding he was sure. 

How long had it been since they’d faced one another? The night in the chapel was almost nothing. His brother would have changed drastically since the previous war, to make this attempt at cruelty. A boy who ran back towards brigands trying to hurt him, who only saw the faces of those he loved and who loved him back, who looked at Arnold with hope and affection. Now he was a prince who took the princess hostage. 

It couldn’t be helped, Arnold reminded himself. If Theodore had been unable to acclimate to the imperial court and carve out a place, he would have sent his brother far from the capital, as he had done with his sisters. This kind of cunning was what he’d wanted.

Was it?

Theodore was waiting for him. His hair had grown longer. The fur-lined collar of his coat was ostentatious, but Arnold recognized it as the coat Theodore’s mother had gifted to him, re-sized time and time again to fit a growing child. The dirt on his fingers was from clasping the hands of his people, and even the subtle way his eyes widened as Arnold stepped through the doorway: every inch of him was drenched in sentiment. Arnold knew immediately that any cruelty would be a front for much worse.

“Well?” Arnold said. He took the closest, and only remaining, chair. It was unexpectedly clean. His brother must have prepared it. 

“I’m so happy you came all the way here to see me,” Theodore gushed. He paused, and when Arnold did not speak, simply observing what would happen next, he went on. 

“And without any guards too,” Theodore continued unabashedly. “Such a delight, considering how you always ignore all of my invitations. How long has it been since we last sat down and talked like this?” He paused, tapping his finger against his chin as if in deep contemplation. “This might be the first time ever!”

His brother paused, and then said with a furious look, one that seemed malformed on his face, “I guess that means you’re doing this for her sake.”

“You’re wasting my time,” Arnold said. He could detect Rishe’s presence above them. She didn’t seem to be moving at the moment. “Get on with it already.” 

“Rude,” Theodore huffed. “Shouldn’t you be showing me some brotherly love?”

He hid it well, but Arnold caught the strain of longing in Theodore’s words. As though supposed brotherly love could mean something from him. What a ridiculous notion. 

“Why would I do that?” Arnold scoffed, “I have no reason to speak with you.” He saw the way Theordore flinched at that despite his attempt to hide it.

“Don’t you understand you’re in no position to argue?” Theodore retorted, clicking his tongue. “I’ve abducted your favourite woman. One would think you’d show at least a smidgen of panic: or do you not care for her at all?”

Did he? Arnold exhaled. In any case, there was little to panic about. Rishe was beginning to stir. Had she truly been asleep then? That woman. 

“What you’re doing is pointless.”

“Pointless!” Theodore laughed, a harsh bark of noise that was more calculated than sincere. “I know you view me as a stranger with no strategic value, but you must acknowledge this at least: I can hurt you.”

His brother propped up his head on his hand, one knee settling against the armrest of his chair. It practically dwarfed him. The armrest cushion was worn and stained. Even now, Arnold noted passively, Theodore still felt the need to mimic him. “As you well know,” Theodore continued, “what I want is your throne — the seat of the crown prince.”

Ridiculous, Arnold thought. If Theodore put in an effort, he could be a true contender for the throne: those who knew him adored him, and despite the lack of cruelty his brother still held a cunning streak. Concealing his movements, wearing a constant facade, gathering intelligence from all over the city and indeed the province: all were valuable qualities in an imperial noble.

But his brother hadn’t. He’d sequestered his presence to the slums of Schiengisse, where few with power ever bothered to look, and all but vanished from the court.

“Are you listening?” Theodore hissed, his mask of composure cracking in Arnold’s continued indifference. “If you want your bride returned to you unharmed, you’ll abdicate in my favor. Otherwise, I can’t promise her continued well-being.”

Rishe was a means to an end for his brother, of course. Likely multiple ends, if Arnold evaluated things correctly. Theodore wanted to speak to him, as he always did when playing tricks. Theodore did not desire the throne and had always spoken highly of Arnold in private, however undeserved that was. And it was this point where things muddied themselves, where whatever affection his brother held began to interfere with Arnold’s vision. 

“You care about her! You’re just playing it cool, but I know you’re terrified.” It always fascinated Arnold how quickly silence could break someone. He simply let Theodore speak, and it seemed everything he had planned fell apart beneath the quiet. Even the strongest generals had broken under his silence. The only person to stand their ground had been Rishe.

“She means a lot to you, doesn’t she?” Theodore leapt to his feet. He didn’t even seem aware he’d done it. “Far more than the brother you loathe the sight of and the sisters you sent away. You actually cherish her and want her by your side. I fully understand that. I know you — I’ve been watching you for a long time.”

His brother stepped closer. Arnold spotted the edges of makeup on Theodore’s skin. All he’d done to secure this plot had taken its toll. 

“And right now,” Theodore continued, voice rising, “the life of the woman you care so much about is in my hands. You’re very worried, aren’t you? You’re on pins and needles! The fact that you came here so late without an escort is proof of that!”

His brother swayed, and Arnold wondered if he would need to prevent any surprise concussions, but then Theodore steadied himself. A flush rose as he shouted: “C’mon! Say something already! Admit I won this round! Say ‘well played, Theodore,’ and give me your title!” His brother smacked his fist against his chest with surprising strength. “That’s all I need! Give me this and I’ll be happy for the rest of my life!”

What a pathetic thing to ask for, Arnold thought with a burst of strange emotion. Meaningless words from a brother who barely even looked Theodore’s way, and a title Theodore did not truly desire. Asking for money would have been wiser. Asking for anything else would have been wiser.

“Theodore,” Arnold said, and his brother halted in his tracks, eyes going wide. There was that hope again. The dirt on his brother’s nails spread over the gold thread of his cuffs.

“Fine, I’ll play along for the moment,” Arnold conceded, a smile spreading leisurely across his lips as he felt Rishe’s presence shift and begin to move with a deadly precision. “You claim that you locked her up somewhere. Tell me, is it a prison?”

“What?” Theodore scoffed. “I put her in a cramped, dirty room. She won’t escape. It’s basically an isolated cell, locked from the outside.”

If his brother had any experience in this, he would have lied about Rishe’s surroundings, Arnold thought: all the more evidence that Rishe was not in danger. “My, so you locked it,” Arnold scoffed. No doubt Rishe was well past that lock. “And what else?”

“I posted some ruffians to guard it,” Theodore huffed. He seemed to be searching Arnold for more of a reaction. “They’re armed. Her room is high up so she can’t jump out the window. If she tries to scream for help, her guards will silence her immediately.”

“You’ve even given her a window,” Arnold said, just managing to hide a smile at the thought of how she would use that to her advantage. Rather polite accommodations for his fiancee.

“Didn’t you hear a word I said? There’s no way she can jump out of a window that high!” If only Theordore had watched Rishe the same way he watched Arnold, perhaps he might have known the foolishness of his words.

“Is that what you think?”

“It is! Even if she does get out, my guards will capture her!” His brother started to pace. The irritation faded into nerves. 

“Normally, I would agree with you,” Arnold shrugged, no longer hiding the amusement in his tone. Rishe was moving faster and faster. He couldn’t hear a scuffle, even through the thin floors — whoever had trained her had trained her to be quiet in a fight, he noted. Theodore paused in his pacing and stared for a moment, before affecting a cruel smile.

“Maybe… maybe I’ll cut off a finger,” his brother threatened. “Show you I mean business. It’s not too late for that, you know.” 

It truly was too late, Arnold thought. Now he could pick up the faintest vibrations of her footsteps. She moved like she was dancing. 

“The guards will hurt her on my command. I promise you that.” 

That was true, but his brother had no guts to give that command, Arnold knew. He couldn’t help but smile then, a cold, pitying thing. “My foolish brother. You’ve already lost, Theodore.”

Theodore stared, visibly stunned. Rishe seemed to clear a great amount of distance all in one go. 

“The second you thought you’d captured her, you lost,” Arnold explained. He glanced towards the door as she blitzed towards them. “See? She’s decided to join us.”

“What the hell is wrong with you? You’re being ludicr— ”

The door, its hinges already weakened by time, slammed open. Rishe set down her foot and shook out the torn skirts of her dress with her free hand. The other flipped a dagger with expert ease: another type of weapon she could wield, Arnold noted. 

“Good evening, Prince Theodore,” Rishe called out with a beaming smile. “I’m here to settle this.”

“No,” Theodore breathed, his eyes widening in sheer disbelief. “This can’t be happening.”

Their eyes met. Rishe pressed her lips together and, a bit stiltedly, said, “Prince Arnold.”

A strange sense of pride swelled within his chest as he stared at Rishe who appeared more like a deity of war than a crown princess. The smile that he wore was something almost fond, his amusement on full display as he spoke: “I’m sorry for my idiot brother ruining your night.”

“Oh, it’s alright,” Rishe said, and she seemed to truly mean it.

“Theodore was just telling me about the room where he imprisoned you,” Arnold noted with a subtle tilt of his head. “Do tell me: did you jump out the window? Or just bore a hole in the wall?” 

“What? I have no idea what you mean!” Rishe exclaimed, outraged. “I left through the door like a normal person would!”

He couldn’t help the laugh, and he found he didn’t mind it much either. “You left through the door like any ‘normal person’ might exit a locked cell watched by armed guards.” 

His fiancee seemed rather affronted at this, but at that moment Theodore spoke. “Who the hell are you?!” he demanded. “How did you get here? How did you escape?!”

“Prince Theodo—” Rishe started, but his brother steamrolled right over her.

“Someone must have betrayed me. That’s the only explanation. What was the point of doing all that if—”

“Your Highness,” Rishe said, and her tone had gone bracingly cold. “With all due respect, I would like to offer a few words of advice.”

Visibly, his brother flinched. “Advice?”

“First of all,” Rishe said, raising her index, “never let a prisoner of war out of your sight. They cannot be left alone, even in a locked room. If you can’t be there yourself, post guards in the room with them. At least two.” 

“Wh– prisoners of war?” His brother had begun to pull back. 

“Second,” she said, lifting her middle finger, “always search your captive for weapons more than once. If you have someone else do the search, you should do the final check yourself.”

He shouldn’t be surprised anymore, but truly Arnold had not expected Rishe to be so well versed with such strategies. She had never been in a war before, so how would she know such a tactic? 

She’d begun to advance on Theodore, flipping the dagger almost idly from hand to hand. Her expression stayed coldly serene. Her eyes battle hardened, filled with a cold killing intent. 

“Honestly,” she said, “you shouldn’t leave them clothed at all: strip them completely—” Arnold did not like where this was going—“That way it’s much more difficult to hide weapons or tools to make an escape. This is even more effective if your prisoner is a woman: if she’s indecent, she might feel unable to run away or even to try.” Before Theodore could respond, she lifted a third finger.

“Third: you neglected to bind my hands and feet. When you do bind a prisoner, make sure they’re in handcuffs and that their thumbs are bound with durable rope. And for their ankles: it should go without saying, but it’s best to fasten them to a pillar.” Arnold couldn’t help but observe how clinical Rishe’s descriptions were. The confidence at which she spoke them as if she had first hand experience doing such a task was striking.

“In your case a bed, perhaps. Anything solid will do.” She tilted her head as Theodore backed into the wall, quivering back in terror. “But even with all that, it’s still half-hearted. Do you want to know how to best ensure someone can’t run away?”

“H-how…?” His brother sounded quite small. Arnold got up. This had gone far enough.

“Break their arms and legs,” Rishe said. His brother swallowed, but like a rabbit to a bear, didn’t seem capable of looking away.

“Those three are the surest you’ll get,” Rishe informed, her voice devoid of emotion. “Broken bones, secure bonds, everything confiscated, guards posted… Oh! Guards should always be posted in groups. That’s the only way you can guarantee your prisoner won’t escape. Or, probably won’t: you need to prepare for any eventuality.” 

She spun the dagger around again. “Escaped enemies will understand the makeup of your army. They’ll know your position. They have the potential to endanger you and your allies. Civilians as well. You must do whatever is necessary to ensure a captive cannot slip your grasp. This is what is required when you take an enemy hostage.”

A pause, and then she said in a lighter tone that contradicted her whole demeanor not three seconds ago—It was the most terrifying transition Arnold had witnessed from her yet. “Well, that’s what I read, anyway. You really went too easy on me, considering you wanted to threaten Prince Arnold with my well-being. You even told them not to rough me up!” 

Why did she sound like she was complaining about that?

“How–”

“I fear I’m talking too much. I apologize. I’ll be keeping the details on my escape a secret, but I must tell you also— oh!”

Arnold hauled her away from Theodore before she could frighten his brother more than she already had. She went tense and then lax, blinking his way. “Your Highness?”

The sleeves of her dress were thin. He could feel the cool temperature of her skin bleeding through to his palm. Arnold shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “Why are you giving the person who captured you a flawless way of keeping someone restrained?” 

“Your Highness!” Rishe exclaimed. She tried to wriggle out of the jacket, but he kept hold of her. “You mustn’t! I’m fine. Please keep your jacket on.”

“I’m not cold,” Arnold said. He had more layers than she did, in any case. “You wear it.”

“But your scars…”

He could feel Theodore’s gaze locked onto his neck where his mother’s handiwork was now on display. He hadn’t bothered wearing any of his spare collared shirts, not thinking anything would come of this meeting. But once again, he was mistaken. It didn’t matter now, perhaps this would finally be the means of keeping his younger brother far away from him.

The look in Theodore’s eyes almost seemed violent. Rishe glanced over, and blinked thoughtfully. “Trying to kill me would be an exercise in futility,” she said, giving Theodore an undeserved smile.

His brother flinched. Arnold let her go when she shifted, now that she didn’t seem intent on giving Theodore details on the bloody reality of prisoners of war. 

“I know I said I was here to settle this, but I don’t wish to fight you,” she continued on, softening her tone considerably. “I entreat you to tell me your goal.”

An alliance between his fiancee and his brother… Arnold mused on it for a moment as Theodore replied weakly. “Isn’t it obvious? I want to be the next emperor. Why else do princes fight?”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Rishe countered, though quite gently. “I beg you to take the chance to explain this to us both.”

She gave them both a pause. Then she went on, when it was clear Theodore wouldn’t speak: “Your true objective is to wear the stigma of a heinous criminal. You want people to believe you a usurper. You don’t actually want the throne.”

A usurper. Arnold had not fully considered the theory. It seemed so blatantly ridiculous, and his brother was far too intelligent for that. Surely affection would not cloud him to that extent. 

Theodore paled before them, however, and something in his heart sank low.

“What are you talking about?” He snapped, his breathing coming out in short bursts. “Nobody commits crimes simply to become a criminal.”

“Well,” Rishe pushed on with full confidence, “I suppose calling it your ‘true’ objective is misleading. But let's assume your goal is what happens after you’re named an enemy of the state. I couldn’t figure it out for the longest time,” she lamented. As though she hadn’t known them for mere days. “Why would you go after me of all people? But this theory explains that, and everything else.”

“How? I told you already—I did it to hurt my brother.” At this point it sounded like Theordore was trying to convince himself more than either of them as he forced a smile to his lips. It was almost sad. “You’re just dismissed as a hostage inside the palace, but the nation will celebrate you as the crown prince’s bride. And my brother’s reputation would be ruined if he failed to protect you.” 

For the first time tonight, Arnold noted, Theodore refused to look him in the eye. 

“You were far more useful than I ever could have predicted.” Theodore pressed, a crazed edge to his tone. “That’s why I chose you to make my move. I was going to threaten Arnold with your safety and force him to give up his line of his succession!”

Rishe eyes softned, far more caring than circumstances should have allowed for. “To outsiders, my only value is that I’m the crown prince’s fiance. His position matters, and nothing more.”

“I suppose.” Theodore hesitated.

“You didn’t possibly think it would work, did you?” Rishe asked, her words seeming to hit a cord with Theodore as he took a step back. 

“Using me as a means to force His Highness to hand over his title. I can say definitively that there was very little value in having me abducted.” There was a certainty about her own lack of value that made Arnold uneasy. “You’re not stupid. Why did you bother? Was it just to annoy everyone?”

“No.”

“You’ve had next to no official duties as the second prince for the past few years, is that right?” Rishe’s tone was kind, but there was something oddly brutal to her words. “I’ve had a look at the records. You’ve stopped doing charity work in the slums two years ago. You’ve been going there to help out since you were very young. Why stop?”

“I lost interest in it,” his brother lied. “Charity work is boring. I’d rather nap or do anything else.”

“Another lie. You haven’t ever stopped.” It wasn’t an accusation, but carried the weight of one nonetheless. “I saw no traces of public funds being moved—I assume you’ve used your own.”

Theodore’s eyes went wide. Rishe had done her due diligence, Arnold thought. It must have been frightful to have her attention trained on him, dissecting Theodore’s every movement.

“You’ve made every effort to support the people of the slums; you are on every amicable terms.” Rishe brightened up considerably as she recounted: “Why, I even heard you took care of an orphan while they were sick—never leaving their side for a moment, holding their hand. Once, you arranged a doctor for a woman who had no one to support her during childbirth, staying with her to offer her words of encouragement.” 

Rishe paused, tilting her head as she concluded, “You nap all day because you are out all night.”

Theodore let out a sarcastic chuckle, rolling his eyes as he spoke. “You make me out to be quite the saint. But service works both ways—I help them so they would help me.”

“Those thugs did seem to be under your control,” Rishe beamed.

“They’re willing to do anything—anything—for money. I courted them to use them, that’s it!”

“They’re under your protection then.” Rishe nodded. “You take the criminally desperate under your wing so they’ll have food to eat tomorrow. Am I right?”

Theodore made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. 

“You have affection for the people in the slums. You wish to save them, but you know you lack the power.” Rishe seemed rather sympathetic despite everything his brother had put her through. Why? 

“What I don’t understand,” she pressed, “is why you feel like you have to do it under the table. Why shirk your duties?”

“Because.” Theodore’s voice was weak, shoulders drawn in on himself and head bowed so that his gaze was intently on the floor below. He looked frail. 

Every conclusion Rishe had come to was correct, he thought, and where would that lead them? His brother associated himself solely with those in the slums, criminals included. His reputation had been trampled, few even remembering a time when his brother did charity work and willingly went into a raging war as a medic. 

Abducting Rishe, however little the court cared about the woman in question, would be considered a serious slight against Arnold… If Arnold were to play the game of politics wisely—or even somewhat mediocrely—he would abandon his brother and let the boy fall from grace and from the succession. Which his brother would let happen and possibly rejoice at, however foolish it was. 

Arnold grit his teeth at the terribly late realization. Clouded by affection indeed. 

Rishe had come to the same conclusions out loud before them. The distress made his brother stumble back again. “No. That’s not true!” Theodore cried out. “No, no, no you’re wrong! Why do you keep talking?!”

How frightful, Arnold thought, wondering now if he too should be much more cautious around his fiancee. Mere days, while she was simultaneously occupied with another task, to pull his brother wide open. 

He watched Theodore speak, but found he couldn’t quite register the words. His brother screamed and Rishe stepped forwards, every part of her bearing open and kind.

“Your Highness,” she intoned softly.

“Shut up!”

“What are you afraid of?” she went on. “Perhaps you and I fear the same future.”

“What?”

“Rishe.” Arnold spoke at last, a warning in his tone. “That’s enough. Don’t say anything else.”

“But Your Highness—” Rishe pushed, just like at the church.

“I told you not to speak to him,” Arnold reprimanded.

“Your Highness wait,” Rishe pleaded, “I need to understand.”

“It doesn’t matter. He’ll just lie to you.” 

Theodore did not want Rishe’s aid, however powerful that would be, and… and if Theodore came to any idea that Rishe’s support was justified, he might go through with much worse. If Rishe was able to come to those conclusions, she might do the same. 

“I don’t care what he wants—it doesn’t concern me.” Arnold shrugged, turning his gaze away from his trembling brother dismissively.

Theodore choked down a sob and, abruptly, he bolted up the stairs. Arnold listened to him with a detached ear as Rishe cried out, moving as if to chase after his brother—which he supposed he wouldn’t interfere with, knowing that Rishe did not bear ill-will towards Theodore—and then she rounded on him instead. 

“Why are you doing this?” She demanded, her eyes dagger sharp. “Why do you keep pushing him away?”

Arnold studied her with newfound coldness. She’d already drawn enough information from this night. “Didn’t I tell you? I don’t care about him.”

Rishe let out a frustrated breath. “Your Highness."

“Don’t worry, I’ll send him away if he tries anything else. He can live elsewhere, like my sisters.”

“That’s not what I am worried about!” This he’d known. Rishe let out another long breath and visibly forced herself back into calm.

“Your brother is trying to erase himself from Galkhein’s future,” she said, echoing her earlier words. “He considers that a greater priority than the people of the slums. And I’m pretty sure it’s because of you, Your Highness.”

Maybe he would succeed, maybe not. Maybe being far from the line of succession would be good for his brother. Hadn’t tonight’s events shown just that? 

“So what?”

“Remember what you said the other day that I do not need to be resolute in becoming your wife? I have been mulling over what you meant ever since.” A long time to have been mulling on throwaway words he’d given her without thought. “One of my guesses is directly tied to Prince Theodore’s behavior.”

She studied him intently, and suddenly Arnold sympathized with Theodore. It did tempt one to back away. “You’re planning to completely destroy everything, aren’t you? You’re going to discard your future.”

…and how, he wondered, had she concluded this? Had she studied his movements? His thoughts whirled. Best to assume she had. Best to assume she’d dug deep for records surrounding him as well: however, Arnold had tailored every one of those quite carefully. What records did and did not enter the imperial library was quite well monitored. 

He recalled everything he had said to her since he proposed, trying to follow the paths her mind must have taken. He worked thoroughly through everything, and then chose to discard those conclusions because had the past week not taught him well enough? Rishe was in every way abnormal.

Even if he accepted that she’d had all sorts of mentor figures from all parts of the world, as the mere daughter of a ducal family in a country with no influence: she would have had to train from the day she was born to master everything she had. All kinds of fighting forms, stealth and espionage. Poisons, antidotes, and medicine. An understanding of economics and politics that put several of Galkhein’s ministers to shame. Perfect manners and bearing for the court. It was a level of mastery almost impossible to reach at fifteen, just as what she’d just spoken was almost impossible for her to have uncovered like she had. 

There was something else she’d known about him from the start: which was a ridiculous conclusion, but not more ridiculous than anything about Rishe herself. She’d referred to him as an emperor with so much terror it was as though he’d already went through with his plans of killing his father. He realized that somehow she already knew of those plans. Somehow she’d known this the day they met. 

Every term of their engagement came rushing back: a detached palace, connections and ties of her own, and a claim of sloth to tie it all off. A detached palace to separate him from his family physically and allow her better ease of studying him. Connections and ties of her own to build a base she could trust, one that could rival Arnold’s own. The lie that it was all just her indulging her own whims when it seemed she’d been thinking of ways to stop him from the start.

She hadn’t been completely correct in that he aimed to discard his own future, but a year or half a year ago she would have been. How very terrifying his wife was. He ought to have backed away as Theodore did, and it made him smile. 

“I understand now,” Arnold concluded out loud, and the more he thought of this the more certain he became. “I’m sure of it.”

Rishe blinked. Surprise at his tone, perhaps.

“You know, you’re adorable,” Arnold told her. He meant it. Though she aimed to stop him, she clearly did not wish him harm. It was very… well, it was rather ‘sweet’, wasn’t it? 

“What?!”

“I know being unsure of my intentions is distressing you,” he said, injecting enough condescension into his tone that she was taken thoroughly aback. “But you don’t need to know. Feel free to continue theorizing, though.” It would be safer for him and his plans to mislead her here. Confuse what she had guessed right and make her think she was terribly wrong.

“But—”

“As for what you were saying,” Arnold said, steamrolling over her, “you’re right that I’m laying plans for the event of my death. That’s only what’s expected of me. I can’t make policies that can be undone just because I pass away.” He thought of his brother again and felt whatever amusement he’d had towards Rishe’s boldness drain away. 

“Perhaps Theodore had read my actions wrong, but he’s a fool. This was a truly ridiculous gambit for a prince.” And who had influenced him towards such things? Arnold didn’t doubt that Theodore had in some way tried to mimic him. His chest ached. “My brother shouldn’t associate with someone like me.”

Rishe was still for a moment, and then she said with complete confidence, “You really do love him.”

“What?” 

How had she jumped to that conclusion after all she’d witnessed?

“Your Highness, have you ever heard the saying ‘If you love somebody, set them free’? Constant guidance and assistance can be detrimental rather than helpful.” She peered up at him, dissecting. “Perhaps that’s why you keep him at a distance.”

“Interesting,” Arnold said, deliberately not allowing any emotion to slip through. “Do you honestly believe that?”

“I do.” She nodded once, to affirm this. “I don’t know where you draw your lines, nor do I understand your tactics. But I know for certain that you are not made of stone.”

He ought to have spoken something in return, but he found he could not. Rishe regarded him steadily, as she’d done in the chapel, and said: “Your Highness, may I ask…You appear to be preparing for a future where you yourself are out of the picture, but have you ever considered the reverse?”

“The… reverse?”

There would be no reverse, but Rishe just went on. “A future without Prince Theodore,” she told him. “You can’t predict when someone will die.” Her voice sounded almost haunted then. It struck something inside him, even as he wondered at her certainty.

“I urge you to live your life without regrets, that’s all,” Rishe invited with solemn boldness, and turned away from him towards the stairs. Over her shoulder, she added: “I am going to strive to live this life as your wife without any regrets.”

The room became quite empty without her or Theodore there. Two chairs and a broken door. Arnold stared at the one Theodore had occupied. The seat of it was open and spilling out stuffing. It bore all the signs of something well loved.

He’d failed to dissuade her, failed to realize Theodore’s conclusions in time. His responding to his brother’s invitation had ended quite poorly, hadn’t it? Arnold closed his eyes. “Damn it all."

He wasn’t sure how long he stood in that room, thinking on the events of the night. This had been her plan from the beginning, he was sure of it. But why? What did she possibly gain from trying to “fix” a relationship that didn’t exist in the first place?

Trying to get in the mind of Rishe Irmgard Weitzner was like that of scaling the tower where his mother was imprisoned, seemingly impossible. If one were to do it, certainly the sight would leave you scarred and haunted.

His thoughts turned back to Theodore, and his brother’s devotion. What had Rishe said? Perhaps we fear the same future. The future she’d envisioned where he destroyed himself was surely not the future his brother did: but Theodore watched him closely, didn’t he? Arnold didn’t doubt his brother could come to that conclusion.

If he assumed his brother’s devotion to him superseded Theodore’s reason and basic instinct, then everything was quite obvious: His brother wanted to sacrifice himself. Arnold drew breath and found that it was rather difficult. 

Have you ever considered the reverse?

Politics and war were about sacrifice. Soldiers sacrificed on the battlefield, sent with the expectation that some would be made to die. Civilians sacrificed in favour of his own armies. Royals sacrificed so their cities would not be plundered. 

Servants killed to preserve Arnold’s own secrets, nobles deposed in favour of their lands. The sacrifice of his mother’s life in favour of his own. The sacrifice of his brother’s life in favour of his own. Over and over and over, just like his father, who willingly ruined his wives and children as the bloody cost for greater power. What a monstrous thing to do. Nothing could be more easily despicable, and yet his brother seemed determined to barrel headlong into ruin. 

Arnold looked up. Dread washed over him, so violent and overwhelming he was running before he knew it, sprinting up the flights of stairs Theodore and then Rishe had taken. He didn’t know what he was running for, just that perhaps his brother would do something foolish. What that was he had yet to conclude, but he knew why it would be and what kind of action it would be. 

War was one thing and politics another: his siblings had died at his hand, but this time there was no one to force Arnold’s hand but himself. Could he bear Theodore dying?

It was unthinkable, Arnold concluded. As he burst out on the roof and spotted Theodore beginning to fall, into the sunset, every part of him drenched in a deep, sanguine crimson. His brother wore a horrid, peaceful grin. Rishe’s desperate cry echoed off the roof.

He barely had time to think: he seized Theodore’s wrist and wrenched his brother far from his death. Theodore gaped up at him, surprised. Fury overtook him. 

As soon as he set Theodore on solid ground, Arnold slapped his brother, the sharp sound of it ringing in his ears. “What the hell were you thinking?”

His brother barely seemed to register the pain he must have felt, staring at Arnold with tears in his eyes. “I— this, this is it. This is the only way I can help you!” He was so quiet Arnold had to strain to hear him. “I’ll never matter to you.”

That, Arnold realized grimly, was unquestionably his own fault. “Don’t be a fool. What kind of idiot would throw his life away for someone who has never done a single thing to earn his esteem?”

Theodore’s lip wobbled. They were quite close, Arnold realized, and he was still gripping Theodore’s collar. He couldn’t convince himself to let go of it.

“Don’t do something like this for my sake,” he told Theodore, who opened his mouth and then closed it, struggling to hold back tears.

“You’re right, Your Highness,” Rishe said from behind them. She’d gotten herself upright, though there was a dangerous tilt to her posture. “That was stupid.”

Arnold glanced her way. Rishe blinked slowly at them, and then righted herself. “But the feeling behind it is real. It’s not foolish for him to want to help his older brother.” And she looked to Theodore with a slight smile, adding: “Isn’t that right, Prince Theodore?”

“She’s right,” Theodore admitted. His brother stumbled, but made no move for the railing, and sat down instead. Now that he was less liable to fall off, Arnold made himself let go, though he didn’t back away. 

To them both, he said, “What are you—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted,” Theodore insisted. “I want to stand by you. I want you to need me! Anything I can do to help you, I’ll do it, no matter what.” He stared Arnold in the eye, shoulders squared. “You’re my brother, my only brother. I care about you.”

It was difficult, suddenly, to withstand the look in Theodore’s eyes. Arnold stood up. “Don’t ever do something stupid like this again,” he berated. The low dusk burned him. He couldn’t blink away the image of Theodore sinking into the red light. “I’m certain I told you this once before: don’t put your life in danger needlessly.”

A well of tears sprung up in Theodore’s eyes cascading down his cheek. A bruise was starting to swell on his left cheek. “You remember that day?”

“Of course I do.” It was the first time he had ever feared losing the life of his brother. It was not something easily forgotten.

“I’m sorry!” Theodore wailed, using the cuffs of his sleeves to wipe away the storm of tears that rained down. “I’m sorry Brother, I’m sorry Sister, I’m so—” a sob cut him off. 

Arnold felt uncomfortable, unsure with what to do with this kind of emotion. The only time he’d dealt with it was on the battlefield when noble families would uselessly beg and plead to be spared. But this wasn’t a battle field, and he had no weapon to fight or kill with. 

“Okay, we get it already. Stop crying.” Arnold attempted, hoping that would be enough to end whatever this was.

“But…!” Theodore sobbed, looking more like a child than ever before. He was the same age as Rishe after all. Then again, it seemed none of them had ever been permitted the luxury of being considered as such.

Rishe let out a relieved breath as she watched the two, the fading rays dancing in the pale green of her eyes. 

Arnold turned to study her. She had gone down her knees, one hand clasped tightly around the collar of his jacket to keep it in place. The bags under her eyes seemed more pronounced than ever now that she had finally let her guard down. She looked rather small, and that in itself was cause for concern.

It took two steps to reach her side, and the next thing he knew he was kneeling beside her. “Are you hurt?” 

He wanted to touch her then, he wasn’t entirely sure why. Perhaps to check her pulse, or see if she had given herself a fever, or maybe to see if she was even real. But her rule still stood, he was not to touch her without permission. 

“I knew you would come, Your Highness,” Rishe beamed through her exhaustion, evading the question entirely—which, he supposed, was answer enough.

“I came because of something you said.”

Rishe tilted her head, curiosity in her gaze as she no doubt replayed their conversation to find what it was. “I’m just glad you two made up.”

Yes, he supposed she would be. That had been her grand plan in this after all, and she had achieved it without his notice. What would she try next? 

He’d find out, he supposed. There was little he wouldn’t do to find out. After all, she had the potential to be one of the most dangerous people in his life. That didn’t explain why he stood, or why he reached a hand to help her up; but, for the moment, he could live with the uncertainty.

Rishe smiled his way as she took it. Her spine went loose and her head began to tilt. “I’m really… ha…”

“Rishe?” he asked, a bit alarmed, and then she swayed and Arnold caught her as she fell limp. He was still holding her hand and he felt quickly for her pulse: steady. 

“Sister!” Came Theodore’s panicked cry. “I’m sorry this is- oh, no. Don’t tell me it’s because I locked her up. She stumbled earlier but—”

“No,” Arnold said. Theodore had caused her very little distress in the grand scheme of things. “It’s not.”

With all that scheming and investigating she’d done, no wonder she’d fainted. Her breathing was deep and calm. Arnold lifted her into his arms, adjusting so that her head could rest against his bicep. Theodore hesitated next to him, hands wringing at his cuffs. 

“She’s just sleeping,” Arnold told his brother. It wasn’t the first time he had seen her sleep, but it was the first time he had seen her do so without any fear or tension. In the carriage she had stolen his sword, and even then her body had been taut as if waiting for something to jump her.

“Really?! Now of all times?” Theodore asked, shock and disbelief radiating from him as he stared at her.

Rishe let out a soft snore, barely audible except for the fact her head was pressed against him. The sound, so unbefitting for her and yet was so perfect, pulled a laugh from Arnold. It seemed she was the only one that could pull the noise from him, as it still sounded foreign even to his own ears. An infuriating anomaly: his wife.

“Theodore. You have a carriage at the ready somewhere, right?”

“Of course I do,” Theodore responded curtly with an uptilt of his head. “It’s waiting for me not too far away. I’ll go fetch it if you carry her.”

“Thanks,” Arnold breathed. “I’ll bring her to rest downstairs before it arrives.”

Getting her back to the palace was a top priority. It would be best to keep all that had transpired a tightly sealed secret. However, that would not be possible if Rishe was not in her own bed in the next hour.

She was light, much lighter than he thought was possible with how boldly she held herself. He pulled the jacket a little tighter around her then. It would be best for the chill not to get to her while she was already compromised, that was all. But he couldn’t seem to draw his eyes away from her. In the light of day she was larger than life, wielding an impenetrable facade. In the dark of night, now cradled in his arms, she seemed not fragile…but human. Something that could break if he held her too tightly. He tried to keep his arms gentle.

She was a puzzle, an outlier, something impossible to unravel. Even so, he was excited to try.