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Out on the balcony, Lucy thought he'd find peace. A quieting of the thoughts that had assaulted him since returning from the crypts.

But as he stared out on the still slumbering city, the night air, heavy with humidity and late-night rain fall, only served to amplify the disquiet raging in his mind.

The balcony, it turned out, had been the worst place for him to wander to. Memories of Sebbi rushed to his mind, the conjured images threatened to drown him.

They were cats, Sebbi padding back and forth on Abby's balcony as he struggled to deconstruct the barrier he'd erected between them, the apology he'd always wanted to speak held back by pursed lips and a cat's pride.

Then, the scene shifted and Lucy snuck a peek at Sebbi, under the stars, pawing at goldenflies in front of an amber moon. His brother always smiled the brightest when he thought no one was looking.

Then, their Aelurian forms. A week after the aftermath with Lain and their mother had passed and Gravious's shadow puppet had been deposed.

Lucy had thought he'd be crowned king and the prospect had kept him up for days. But Sebbi had been ready to take on the burden, and the crown, for himself. It'd been a selfless act Lucy hadn't been deserving of, but Sebbi refused for it to be otherwise.

Lucy hadn't managed to thank him then.

And now, he never would.

He released a sigh, and leaned over the railing, hands clasped together, his mother's moon sprinkling his back with light, alleviating some of the chilly night air. He wondered if this, this fleeting warmth was what it would have felt like to have been embraced by her.

In a mother's arms he'd never known, his worry whisked away with each gentle stroke of her hand on his back, her constant heartbeat causing him to forget his anxiety. A serenade of soft purrs reminding him he was safe.

A self-deprecating smile wormed it's way onto his skin, his mother's light abruptly vanishing as a cloud obscured her moon. Being held by her, it was another silly fantasy. A dream. A lie he told himself because the truth was so much colder and crueler than he could handle.

Just like...

His gaze drifted to the garden.

To a lone statue, with gold-plated eyes and carved features. Sebbi's statue. Him reimagined as Aelurus's Savior King, immortalized for time immemorial beside a basin of stagnate, festering water and rotting weeds.

It made Lucy ill. Where it stood, how it looked. It couldn't have possibly been more insultingly inaccurate.

This version of his brother was unrecognizable, standing straight and proud, every fur perfectly in place. His body draped in armor, his tail wrapped in bangles. No scowl. No angered brow, or lopsided ears. Another lie perpetrated on Aelurian soil. And come dawn, Lucy would be committing one more.

Lucian Dinn'Aelurus, the next king of Aelurus.

Outfitted with a crown that didn't fit, sat in a throne that made his back ache. Burdened with a never-ending list of expectations. Doomed to fail. The thought of it all made bile creep up the back of his throat.

He'd be a replacement king, one the people approved because of the blood that ran through his veins, because his name was one they recognized. He wasn't the king they wanted. And they, they certainly weren't the people he wanted to dedicate his life to serving.

Abby. Her name echoed in his mind. Under the rage, the guilt. His grief. It was like a heartbeat that refused to stop. And beneath it, an echo of another name. Margo. But how could he be there for them when he'd be in another realm? Shackled by duty, bound by blood?

He wasn't ready. To let them go. To let that life of his die. He couldn't even fold his own laundry or cut his hair without Abby's assistance.

How could he be king? Be in charge of a realm and make decisions that impacted thousands of lives? How could he survive, let alone live, surrounded by power hungry enemies who plotted in secret for his demise? Who were seconds from lodging a dagger in his back or forcing poison down his throat?

He couldn't do it. Be a king they needed. Be cunning and clever and wise and merciful. He lacked almost any trait that might be coveted by a people for their king and yet—he was about to accept a crown he didn't deserve, tack a kingdom's name onto his own, and commit to living the biggest lie he'd ever told.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Lucy's gaze drifted across the balcony, half-expecting, no, hoping, his brother would step from the shadows, his face-fur furrowed as he stomped his way over and chewed off Lucy's head for all his stupid thinking.

And when that didn't happen, when Lucy realized it would never happen, his lip trembled and he stabbed the stone railing under his fingers with his claws.

He needed to quit dreaming, quit hoping for what would never be. His mother's warmth. His brother's rebukes. Some things he never had, and others he'd lost the second Sebbi breathed his last. There was no going back. Not now.

"The moon's a bit dull, huh?"

Lucy jumped. Her voice was unexpected, though, admittedly, he was happy to hear it. It was like a warm breeze, banishing the cold of his thoughts to the corners of his mind where he could pretend they didn't exist. His lips quirked into a smile as Margo bounded toward him, twirling a lock of hair around her finger, her whiskers blowing as the wind roared around them.

She settled next to him, her hand inches from his own. The distance between them, though miniscule, was torture. Even though he could have reached out and touched her, but he knew if he did, he'd never let go.

And he couldn't very well give her the attention she deserved while carrying around the weight of a kingdom. It was better to preserve the distance, to acknowledge it was for the best.

There was no going back.

"So--" Margo cocked her head at him, a cascade of curls rushing to cover her eyes. He glimpsed the deep blue of her irises beneath them. They sparkled like the rarest gems. "Should I call you 'Your Highness' now or wait for the ceremony before making it all official?"

She flashed him a smile and he tensed, the muscles in his hands twitching, because all it had taken was a smile to make his resolve evaporate.

It'd be so easy to caress her skin, to cup her cheek, to coil a whisker around his finger and watch her radiace put on a show, broadcasting her emotions to the world. But he needed the distance to keep things uncomplicated, to keep his priorities straight, though gods knew, it'd be wonderful sweeping her into his arms and feeling her squirm beneath his touch.

She nudged him when he didn't respond.

He flinched, mentally closing the door on his thoughts and burying his impulses. Shaking his head, he returned his attention forward, focusing on the city. The trees. The lights. The curls of smoke pluming from chimneys. The scent of spice and sea salt. But his gaze always returned to her; he couldn't help himself.

"You don't want this," she said after a breath, "of course you don't." Her eyes settled on Sebbi's statue in the garden, and she stiffened. "Why would you when—"

"To tell you the truth," Lucy leaned forward and when she dared look at him, he gave her a passing smile, "which, as you know, is a rarity for me," she returned the smile with a small one of her own, paper-thin and fleeting, "I'm terrified."

The words pressed through gritted teeth, and he gripped the railing as he struggled to stand. Gods, was he scared. "I'm giving up on everything to stay in a place that hates me."

Margo shifted her weight, and for the briefest moment, their shoulders brushed against each other. If Lucy had been of a clearer mind, he might have mistaken the gesture for silent encouragement, in which case, his desire for closeness would have sunk his logic.

"Tonight, when everything's said and done, I'm going to have a crown on my head that doesn't fit and the burden of a kingdom tacked on to my name. I'm going to be forever changed and—" His throat constricted as the words got harder to speak, his voice smaller, "What if I don't wear the crown well enough?" He glanced at Margo, certain he'd never looked more pitiable in all his life. "What if I crumble?"

Lucy hadn't realized he was shaking, until Margo slipped her hand over his. His fingers relaxed, and she pulled them free from the railing, his fur sticky with blood. "Some cheese is made to crumble."

He blinked. Had Miss Puffs evoked her love at cheese? Her timing so poor it might have rivaled Abby's.

"They make for great toppings on a summer salad," she continued, "or a nice bit of creaminess to a hearty stew." Her fingers tightened around his. "Other cheeses are made harder. So, they can't crumble. They're sliced. Used for sandwiches or casseroles."

Margo flashed a smile, before reaching up to cup his cheeks. He bristled, meaning to pull away, but his body betrayed him as he melted into her touch. "But you're not cheese, Lucy Tells."

He gaped, those words freezing him solid. He wasn't cheese? Of course he wasn't. He was blood and bone and muscle, and he knew it, but for some reason, those six words and the gentle tone in which they'd been spoken, made him want to cry and smile and laugh.

"You weren't made to crumble in this realm, or any other. And you don't have to portion parts of yourself to give to people or Aelurians you don't want to. In this life, you get to just be you."

He choked back a sob and they stood silent. He relished her touch, and how she stroked his cheek and held his gaze. He wished he could stay like this forever. But the moon was setting, and what awaited come dawn was...a crown. A throne. A new life, he wasn't ready to live.

Margo's hands dropped from his cheek. Suddenly denied her warmth, he found the desire for it stronger than ever. She took a step away from him, maintaining the distance, doing the right thing, and it infuriated him. He took a step toward her, his hand opening and closing as he debated reaching for her.

"Margo—" The decision to use her name and not Miss Puffs was a calculated risk. She might be put-off, or run from him like she was want to do, but Lucy felt compelled to say it. To feel it dance on his tongue and slip through his teeth. To watch as she blushed and her radiance exposed her embarrassment.

"Margo," he called again. She flinched, and her eyes darted around, uncomfortable. "I—" I—what? Want you? Need you?

He frowned, unable to settle on his next words. When had the great flirt of Ean ever been this tongue-tied? This ill-prepared and nervous and utterly charmless? The past ladies of his life, his temporary loves on any given day, would certainly laugh at his pathetic display right now.

But the person that mattered most to him, that he desperately wanted to impress, wasn't laughing. She was wide-eyed and questioning. Her curls frizzed, her whiskers spasming as her lips refused to chose between a smile or frown.

"Lu-lucy?" Lucy. A decision to call him by name. Not ugly or some insulting variation of it. It was intimate and private, and gave him the confidence to continue.

"You called me by name." His smile broadened, the curve of his lips matching his mother's moon.

"Yeah, we-we-well," she puffed out her cheeks. Indignant as always. He grinned, and for the first time since returning, felt himself lighten. "You started it."

He reached out, stroking her cheek before brushing aside a curl and tucking it neatly behind her ear. Crimson blossomed across her skin wherever his fingers grazed. "I did," he said, lowering his face so that their foreheads met. "Because I wanted to hear how it sounded."

She glanced away, arms over her chest. She stomped her foot in protest but didn't move away. "And?"

"And?" He caught her chin, and brought her face back to look at his. "Nothing's ever felt more natural." She jumped back with a squeak, her radiance blossoming into flowers of red, pinks and golds. Embarrassment and—what did the gold represent?

He stepped toward her again, determined to discover what emotion gold conveyed, when a voice came from behind them, putting to end their moment. Lucy hung his head, the fur creasing between his eyes. He'd had Margo cornered, his prey so close to being captured and--

"Your highness."

Lucy frowned and turned, knowing full well who'd be standing behind them. Advisor Reven hung in the doorway, a buzzkill cradling a dozen scrolls in his arms.

"And what brings you to my quarters so early in the morning?" Lucy scowled, his voice thick with annoyace.

If he had caught on to Lucy's fouled mood, the advisor gave no indication. Instead, he addressed him with the reverence Lucy's soon-to-be title demanded of him. "It's time, your highness."

He'd known. The first grey light of dawn had slipped over the horizon and started coloring the land in lazy subtle blushes. But he'd wanted minutes, seconds more of being himself. Being Lucy Tells. Of teasing the girl he liked and coaxing odd hues of emotion to her skin.

Reven's gaze darted between Lucy and Margo. "I do apologize," the advisor slapped his free palm against his chest, "if I've interrupted—"

Lucy cleared his throat, slipping his hand through the fur along his scalp. "We were just getting some air."

"Oh." Reven pushed his glasses up his muzzle. "Is that so?" A fraction of a smile ghosted his face before his lips smoothed back into that indiscipherable line that enraged Lucy when he desperately wanted to know what the old cat-man was thinking.

Shuffling forward, Reven's attention shifted to Margo. She snapped to attention like a soldier being given commands from a superior officer at the address even though Reven's position extended no clout over the Cloude.

"Madame Ambassador," he regarded her with the title she'd been given after returning from the crypts. "I believe," Reven straightened, "there are matters seeking your attention before tonight's festivities. House Hewn wishes to go over the specifics of the relocation effort."

Margo's gaze hardened. "Of course." She gave a respectful bow before making for the door, and Lucy felt himself ache to yank her back, pull her into his arms. To steal a few more seconds with her, swallowed by her warmth, before reality crept back in.

As though she could sense his reluctance, Margo gifted him one last smile. "You're not cheese, Lucy Tells. If anyone would know cheese, it's me, and cheese you are not."

She waved before bounding away, and Lucy felt that familiar tug upon his lips. "No, I'm not."

"My king—"

"Gods, Reven," he sighed, and shuffled away from the balcony, "you must have the worst timing of anyone I've ever met."

 Reven smiled slightly. "All a part of my job, I assure you, Highness."

Lucy dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "So? What do you think?"

"Think about..."

Lucy cast his advisor a sideways glance, his claws nervous running over his thighs. "I'm terrified of being king. How pitiable does that make me?"

"You," Reven stepped toward him, his grey-blue eyes steeled, "are about to tread down a path few will ever know. It's unimaginable to most, what you'll be asked to do, what you'll be forced to sacrifice," the advisor's eyes drifted to the doors Margo had walked through, "only an idiot would find himself unafraid."

Lucy's lip curled, his fingers tensing as the sunlight finally found its way to his balcony. It splashed his feet. "Do you still believe me to be the king Aelurus deserves?"

"I do." He nodded. "I only hope, my king, that Aelurus proves worthy of you."

At this, Lucy snorted. "Never thought I'd hear anyone say that to me."

"Then," Reven unloaded the scrolls and shoved them into Lucy's arms, "you have sorely underestimated yourself." Lucy fumbled with the scrolls, noting several of the wax seals of the Moonborn houses and sighed. "Come," Reven motioned to the door. "You've got work to do."

Lucy harrumphed, his tail thumping against the ground. "Kingly duties pre-dawn? Aren't you relentless."

"No, ben'nessren," Lucy flinched, the word causing his throat to go dry, "I'm just doing my job, being a good advisor, deserving of a good king."

Ben'nessren. King. 

Reven walked back into the rooms, the darkness swallowing him. With the sun on Lucy's back, he exhaled, his fingers flexing. Those first footsteps he took were sluggish.

Ben'nessren. King.

There was no way he was capable of being the king Aelurus needed. His brother had been better than him in nearly every way save for outward beauty, and the realm had rejected him. Aelurus would probably demand for Lucy's execution the second he took his place on the throne. 

Ben'nessren. King.

He paused, straightened.

But cheese you are not.

He wasn't cheese. He wasn't something that was made to crumble or lose itself to others.

He was Lucy Tells. The flirt of Ean. Abby's family. Sebbi's brother.

I only hope Aelurus proves worthy of you.

His next steps grew lighter. 

A good king.

Could he be that? He didn't know, there was still so much he didn't know, but for now, he'd do what he did best, lie and pretend. And someday, maybe that lie would become his truth. 

He'd become Lucian Dinn'Aelurus – a good king. A king who rose up to meet expectation, a king deserving of his kingdom.