There was nothing to pack. No possessions to take with me, no physical evidence I had ever existed in this place. My ring was gone. The one symbol of my father's name now lay in a dark corner of the slaughterhouse, lost to me forever.

Charles brought Mercy to see me on the day I left. She was all clean and polished, wearing a light blue dress with her hair in plaits. The scab on her temple was nearly healed.

Charles stood back, a slight frown on his lips, while Mercy told me about the kind ladies who had helped her with her hair. I listened with a smile, but my mind drifted. Eventually, after she wandered off to explore, Charles spoke.

"Come, Murray, do not take the coward's way out." He looked ahead instead of facing me, his own show of cowardice. Or was that solely for my benefit? "Go and say goodbye."

"I have always been a coward," I said. "I don't see why that should change now."

He met my gaze. Not doing so before must have been out of gentleness then, or perhaps my words were so frustrating that now he gained the courage. "I have only known you some months, and nothing I have seen you do has been cowardly. Foolish, astoundingly brazen, but never cowardly. You are young, and you may not have seen much of the world, but know there are very few who could ever do the things you have done."

I knew what things he was referring to. And no one, not him or Martin or anyone else, would be able to understand why I was tossing it all away. I was a lowly farmer who could have lived on the upper floor of a castle, his every want and need taken care of, more power at his fingertips than any man of his class.

"I don't expect you to believe me," I murmured. "But I never wanted this. Any of this."

Charles tilted his head. "I am not privy to your motivations enough to believe or disbelieve it."

"What if I am not privy to my motivations myself?"

He chuckled, the way older people often do at the folly of younger people. "Not many of us are. For years, my sole purpose was as a butler, my most challenging feat was to carry tea trays to the royal chamber. But now..." He let his gaze wander to Mercy, who was leaning over the railing of the staircase to look at the floor below. "I cannot repay you for what you have given me, so I offer only my counsel if you so wish it. Go home, Murray, that is what you want and that is what you shall do, but urge you: do not leave with regrets."

Regrets. Did I regret befriending Geoff? If I had not, would I have met Philip? Did I regret meeting Philip? And how could I say goodbye to someone who would never leave my heart, who would be with me in my mind and soul until the day I died, and then whatever came after that?

"Do me one favor," I whispered, which was to say, do what I cannot. Charles' gray eyes waited kindly. "Please tell him that I love him."

I had never said this to anyone, besides Philip himself, but it seemed my words surprised me more than Charles. I wanted suddenly to retract them, rephrase them in some other way, but there was no other word besides love to describe what I felt.

He smiled and squeezed my hand before letting me go. "Of course I will."

🦢•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ 🦢. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ 🦢

My reflection wavered in Brownie-Paulo's dark eyes. Two wide nostrils snuffled my hand, then the carrot I offered him.

My plan was simply to steal him. Technically, while not part of the royal carriage team, Paulo was a King's horse, but it was I alone who rode him. He was the one thing I refused to leave the castle without. They could keep my ring, my sanity, but I was taking my damn horse.

After he had finished the carrot, I unlocked the stall and gently looped the bridle over his head. The stable boys went about their business, ignoring me.

A figure stood in the doorway of the tack room. Amadi, arms crossed over his broad chest. I had not seen him since the morning before the revolt, but I assumed events had not gone as he wished either. With the Duc de Montpensier dead, Henriette had been rushed back to France to stay with her brother. The royal wedding would now be remembered only as a day of horror.

Amadi narrowed his eyes when he saw me. My grasp on Brownie-Paulo's reins tightened. I waited until I was close to him, my voice too low to be overheard by the busy stable grooms. "I am leaving," I told Amadi. "I won't be back." Please, I begged him with my eyes. Please, just let me have this. I had no more fight in me.

He inhaled slowly. "I must say, Murray, you are the most..." I braced myself. "Curious man I've ever met." His arms unfolded. "Go on. Take the stallion. He's yours."

Thank you, I mouthed, and he looked away, pretending not to see.

I rode out that afternoon. In time, the cobblestone streets gave way to browning autumn grass - the distinctly London smell of smoke and fish and horseshit faded. The countryside opened its arms to me.

In some ways, I felt as though I had never left. I marked the same boulders and trees I had as a child, during my long walks to sell the eggs.

And like a child now, I hastened my pace at the thought of home.

🦢•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ 🦢. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ 🦢

My mother wouldn't let go of me for some time. We sat beside the fireplace, a bed of embers glowing softly within. The sky was a deep blue, nearly black now. The last tendrils of sunlight clung reluctantly to the horizon. On the table lay an abandoned meal, one they must have been in the middle of when I rode in. Turnip stew and bread.

She clung to me as if she never expected to see me again. When her sobs faded to quick little breaths, my collar damp with her tears, Westley told me what I had missed. Riders had come for Martin, with word the King had called on him to save his brother's life. Westley assumed I'd fallen ill, as I often did as a child. I had always been weak and sickly. This was the message he relayed to our mother. Me. Ill for the final time. No hope.

"You told my mother I was dead?" I shouted at him.

"Soon to be dead," he corrected.

I balled my fist. Before I could knock his face in, he grabbed my hand excitedly and held it close to the fire.

"God's prick! What happened to you?"

My anger died and I shrugged. "Nothing but a scrap."

Westley's eyes brightened at the mention of violence. "You win?"

"Ask the other man," I said. "He's with God now."

To my surprise, my brother patted my back for likely the first time in my life. "Well, look at you, runt. You're a man now."

Silently, my mother brushed her fingertips over the side of my hand, where the stump of my index finger abruptly ended. Shame welled up and I pulled out of her grasp. "I'm sorry. It must be a gruesome sight."

Tears still shone on her cheeks in the amber light, which she quickly scrubbed away. When she spoke, her voice crackled like the fire. Her hair smelled of burning wood. "None of you would ever be a gruesome sight."

The light I carried within me was hers.

Neither of us wanted to leave the floor. Westley brought down the plates from the table and handed one to me. I nearly cried; it reminded me of the picnic of tarts in Philip's bedchamber. It was eating on the floor by the fire, in silence, right beside the table, that finally I felt part of a family.

Westley looked over at me. Nodded. I glanced at my hand as I lifted a bite of bread. A smile tugged the side of my lips. He was right. No longer was I the scrawny boy from the streets. I was a man.

Together, the three of us braved the cold months. We lost one cow. Martin wrote, the letters coming frequently at first, then slowing. Each time, my mother asked if I wanted to read his tales of working with the castle physician. I declined with a loose shrug. "You go on."

In the night, I still awoke in a sweat and grasped my blankets, trying to make sense of where I was. My mother came, pressed a cool cloth to my temple. Sat beside me in silence until I slipped back into sleep. She did not ask what horrors I had lived through, but she must have had some idea. Why I was back, why I would not return. Why I was no longer the same.

I still saw visions of blood and death but I began to learn how to push them away. Darkness lingered in the back of my mind, hissing, bubbling, calling to me, but I learned to light a candle in the shadows.

The winter months were difficult. My birthday came, but it was not joyous. My mother always struggled this time of year. She grew tired and irritable frequently. Each year, she pushed through, but this winter she was weaker. Older. She slept for days.

Gale came to visit with his wife and newborn daughter. My mother was so overcome with excitement that she took the baby away and sat with her for ages, rocking her, cooing to her, staring into her little brown eyes. She waved away anyone who came near. It had been so long since she'd held a baby, she said. Gale's wife was distraught. Uncomfortably, we all stood round as my brother approached her and gently pried his daughter out of her thin arms.

"Oh, no," my mother murmured. "Oh, you haven't given me enough time with her." Her voice sounded strange. The winter wind shook the walls outside.

Gale looked first at Westley, then me. His wife stifled a cry of relief when he returned the baby to her. They did not visit again until the spring.

When the snow melted and the fresh grass sprouted in the meadow, Westley met a girl. In his twenty years, Westley had met many girls, but never one quite like Nell. He scrubbed himself in the lake before seeing her, combed back his hair, asked our mother if he looked alright. Nell ran a little schoolhouse far out in the country and taught letters to farmers' children. Westley began spending more and more of his days over there, doing odd chores, cutting firewood, fixing a hole in the roof.

"Be careful," I told him. "Don't follow in Gale's footsteps." Gale already had three children at home, and only God knew how many others running around.

"I am nothing like Gale," he said, offended. "Nell's a proper lass and I aim to be a proper man and court her. Perhaps she'll even marry me."

I shook my head, but I could not deny that he too was growing up.

I spent many days with my mother. She was happier now than in the winter, more alert. But more and more did she remind me of a little bird, thin no matter how much she ate, always cold. The lines on her face deepened when she smiled. I brushed her hair for her and learned to braid it.

The ice covering the lake had nearly all melted now, and though the air was still cool, buds of green dotted the tree branches. Like a snake shedding its skin, spring was emerging.

In time Westley brought Nell to the farm. My mother was glad to have another woman around. Nell was kind, with light eyes and thick hair that could not stay contained, even in plaits. She said our mother reminded her of her own, who had died three summers ago and she could not be more happy to meet her.

She was good for Westley, too. He cleaned up for supper at her father's house and cut down on his crude jokes, even around us. He was serious about her.

"What about you, runt?" he said one night, peeling an apple with his knife. I avoided looking at his hand. "Any girls?"

"No." I pushed a piece of carrot round my bowl. "No girls."

"Well, you ought to get out more," he said. "You're not entirely hideous."

From Westley, this was a considerable compliment.

"Oh, leave him be," my mother said. "He'll find his way."

I was not finding my way. I hadn't set foot in London all winter. My mother no longer asked me to sell the eggs. Westley must have started doing it. He was gone so often I'd never noticed. When I wasn't doing chores, I took Brownie-Paulo on long rides. I slept. I worked on a wooden rocking chair Ronan had begun carving years ago before he abandoned all his projects.

Late spring. Flowers bloomed in the meadow. I spent long hours studying them, drawing them. I drew until I was reminded of Geoff's sketches and my flowers turned to ash on the parchment. I could still hear his voice. Are you a flower, Auden? I plucked one from the grass and spun it between my fingers.

I left my drawing out in the grass, a peace offering to a ghost.

My mother was standing by the window when I returned. I slipped in through the back door, sat on my bed, and began to unlace my boots.

She turned from the window. Pursed her lips. "You have a visitor," she told me.

I frowned. "I don't get visitors."

She sighed. "Go outside, Auden."

I was reluctant. I suspected she'd enlisted Westley to bring someone over to meet me, or worse: I was in trouble. She threw me a little smile as I walked to the front door, to which I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. Instead of an army awaiting me, I found only one rider.

The stallion was pure white, tail swishing in the grass and golden stirrups glinting in the sunlight.

Archibald.

🦢•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ 🦢. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ 🦢

The sun was setting over the lake.

The day we went swimming last summer felt like yesterday and a lifetime ago. Years later, when I had children of my own, I might tell them the story of how, as a young man, my dearest friend was the King, and he saved my life. A story. That was all it would be. As absurd and unlikely as the story my mother told me about fairies switching her baby with the Prince.

Now my dear friend was here, and I stared at my boots, more nervous than the first time I'd ever been alone with him.

The greeting had been awkward. My mother invited Philip in and called Westley and Nell from the back pasture to meet him. The King kissed my mother's cheek and presented her with a basket of gifts and a fruit cake, which delighted her. Nell was similarly enthralled, while Westley rifled through the basket and asked him why he couldn't have brought more things, being King and all. That earned a glare from my mother.

I'd stood back the entire time they spoke, wishing I could disappear. The sight of him after so many months - his red hair grown longer, his face slimmer, jawline stronger - rendered me speechless. My mother noticed. With an insistent, almost threatening wave of her hand, she gestured for me to come forward.

"Auden, do not be shy," she said, thinking she was helping me. Philip turned to face me as the conversation slowly drained from the room, his eyes flitting up and down as if unsure where to look.

"Hello," he said softly, with that same touch of uncertainty, almost apprehension, as the first time we had ever spoken.

"Hello," I echoed.

Silence followed. My mother asked Philip what had brought him all this way. No one responded, only exchanged hesitant glances. The answer was obvious.

"Let's go for a walk." From where I'd summoned the courage, I did not know. Philip had nodded, his expression both relieved and nervous. My mother stood back with a curious expression as we left, uncharacteristically silent, as if realizing the truth of the situation.

Now we stood by the lake, my heart pounding in my chest. The scar across my palm burned.

Philip spoke first. "How did you fare this winter? It was a cold one."

"Yes, cold," I responded dully. More silence. Realizing I could not leave it at that, I added, "All was well. And you?"

"I am happy for you." His tone was mild, reserved. A small, strained smile wavered on his lips before disappearing completely. He looked older than I remembered. His first year as King had aged him. But his round eyes still held a youthful glow I expected would be there for a decade still. He was so beautiful, it was breathtaking.

"Thought you'd be better at lying than that," I murmured to the ground, half-smiling, trying to lessen the tension.

"I would be happy for you," he said. "If I believed you."

Emotion built inside me, clawing to escape. I couldn't tell if I wanted to throw my arms around him or run as fast as I could in the opposite direction.

"It is better..." I began, then paused. "For me. Here." I gestured to the farm. I did not have the words to explain better. I cannot be around other people. I am afraid I will hurt them.

"I understand," he said gently.

"How are things in London?" I asked. "Will Her Majesty be returning?"

A crease formed on his forehead. "Lady Montpensier? She is not to be my Queen. The marriage..." He let out a short breath, attempting to explain. "She could not bear to stay in London and the King of France will not send her back. It is... as if we were never wed."

"Right. Because you never-"

He cleared his throat and nodded uncomfortably.

"Well, you didn't want to do it anyway." He looked at me strangely, as if baffled I would discuss such a subject. And then I realized: We were no longer that close. The way I spoke had never been appropriate, but perhaps where it was once endearing it was now awkward and offensive. "So you have to find another wife?"

"In time," he said lightly. "My father arranged the match with Henry of France for his gain. Marriage to Lady Montpensier was his path for me, not mine. I am not ready to marry. There is much I want to do yet, places to travel. The way he ruled is not what I want for our country. I have begun appointing a new Council, a table at which intellect and novel ideas are valued above title."

I could tell he was saying these things to please me, but I felt nothing.

"Besides," Philip said. "I must visit the sea, before I contract some plague and never get the chance. I was hoping I might this summer. With the Council established, I trust they will not plunge us into war in my absence."

"I'm sure you'll get there." I hadn't meant for it to sound bitter but somehow it did. Everything I said came out wrong.

"You might accompany me," he ventured.

"No," I said quickly, before I had time to consider. "No, no, that would not be wise."

"Auden-" His hand grazed my arm.

I wrenched it away, so hard I could feel his pulse where my thumb pressed against the thin blue veins in his wrist. The throb of his heartbeat was all it took. Suddenly I could hear the blood pumping through his body, rushing and swirling, and that primal thirst that had lain dormant awoke with a roar.

Stop.

I dropped his hand and scrubbed my palms on my trousers. They were already sweating.

"I left. I cannot go back. I cannot-"

"I am not asking you to come back. You wish to remain here, I see that. And perhaps I was foolish to come at all, but I couldn't go the rest of my life and never see you again. And tell you that you changed everything. You gave me courage. You opened my eyes to the world. You gave me love like I've never known and-" He broke off. "And I suppose that's why I am here. To tell you I love you. I never stopped."

"You love a monster."

The mask of indifference I had carefully constructed was slipping. Soon the darkness would rear its head in full glory. The candle that had taken me months to light would be extinguished and there - there was the demon that had never left my side.

"Listen to me." I stared into his eyes, making certain they were on mine. "Do you remember what Geoff said about me in the slaughterhouse? That I killed the guard, the butcher?"

Philip frowned. "It was madness. He meant to kill us, he would say anything-"

"It wasn't madness," I interrupted. "It's true. I killed them. I killed them both."

I waited for his reaction. The truth was out; I had confessed my crimes. It gave me no relief, only a deep sense of loss, like I had gutted myself before him.

Philip stared at me, looking utterly lost. "Why?"

"I... am ill, I think." I tested the words out, letting them roll around on my tongue. "There's something wrong. Inside. In my soul. It began with the guard. I tasted his blood... and then I wanted more. I couldn't stop. That's why I left. So I would never hurt you..."

He continued to look at me, the confusion morphing into an odd sort of pity. I flinched as he took my hand. The identical scar on his palm showed plainly. "I never feared you would hurt me. You are the only one who has not hurt me-"

My hands began to tremble.

"I have taken a life," he continued. "It shall weigh on me until my last day, but I would do it again in a heartbeat. Whatever you did, I know you had a reason. I love you no less."

I looked away, turning towards the lake. The air was growing cold. My hand stayed warm in his. Flesh to flesh, blood to blood.

"You really aren't afraid of me?" I murmured. "Even a little?"

Philip grew very still. He was looking at the lake too.

"Did you tell anyone where you were going?"

He didn't answer.

"I assume not," I said. "You wouldn't. You're riding out to a shack in the country to visit your old lover. That's not quite something I would divulge."

"Auden..." He started to laugh, a nervous, bubbling chuckle.

"Did you?"

"No," he said softly.

I looked at him. I channeled all the hatred I felt for myself and removed every ounce of warmth from my voice. I tried to look at him like prey, like the lamb I ripped apart in my dream. "Then you're stupid. You're stupid to come here."

He flinched when I stepped closer but did not back away.

Run, I thought. I'm dangerous. Run away from me. Please run away.

He was going to leave anyway. It was better he went hating me, closed the door between us once and for all. It was too painful to be kept ajar, waiting for the day he might return and take me on our adventure to the sea.

Instead, he stood tall. Solemn and regal and beautiful. "You're not going to hurt me."

It was my turn to flinch as his soft palm cupped my face. He stroked my cheek and stared up at me, as if looking into the eyes of some dark beast.

"You're not," he repeated.

I wanted to shake him and scream in his face. I wanted to ask, how are you so certain? How could you trust me? I wanted to shove him, hit him, do something to make him see me for what I truly was. But I could not. I would not.

He stretched up on his toes and at first, I thought he would kiss me. He pressed his forehead to mine and closed his eyes. "If you want me to go, I'll go. But not like this."

"Then how?" I whispered. How can you?

He drew back and reached into his coat. I waited, too overwhelmed to even wonder what he was doing. Then he reached for my hand. Tentatively, I allowed him to take it. He held my hand gently and with a gleam of bronze, pulled my father's signet ring from his coat and slid it onto my finger.

"Where did you find this?"

"I saw it on the ground, that day in the slaughterhouse. You had lost consciousness... I thought it might be yours. I wanted to save it for you when you woke up. Then you left, and I never got the chance to give it back to you. So I kept it. I asked your brother... it is worth a great deal to your family. I wanted to come myself and return it to you."

In a way, he was giving me back a part of myself I had lost. My old self, my innocence, my family. I had lost this ring twice, first when I removed it to wash the kitchen tubs and Geoff swiped it. And then for a second time when he nearly killed me. Somehow, it had found its way back to me.

"Thank you," I whispered. "Thank you, Philip. This means so much to me."

"I will leave you to be with your family," he said, still holding my hand. "But I want you to know, I will never forget you. You will always be my first and forever love. And when I see the water, I will always think of you."

That broke me. I embraced him suddenly, too forcefully. He let out a little cry as we lost balance on the uneven hill and plummeted to the ground.

"Oh god!" I leaned up, cushioned by his body, as he groaned and pushed the hair out of his eyes. I cradled his head, checking for any hurt. "Forgive me, forgive me, are you alright?"

"No less clumsy than I remember," he mumbled. Then he started laughing and I kissed him before I could stop myself.

"That wasn't my fault," I said. "It was your shoes."

"My shoes!" He lifted his feet. They were once again smeared with mud and broken stalks of grass.

"Oh well," I grinned. "You've got more pairs." He went on, complaining about the shoes, while I looked at him. His red curls covered his forehead and the back of his neck. He was not what brought the darkness out - it was part of me and always would be, but it was him and my mother and the fresh air and open earth that brought me the light.

And I would never go back to the castle, I was sure of it. That was not the life for me. But that did not mean I couldn't go other places.

"I'll accompany you," I said, interrupting him.

He stopped. "What?"

"To the sea. I'll go with you. I want to see it too. And you can come visit sometimes and tell me how things are going. My mother would love to have you. In fact, she's likely cooking you up some supper now. Unless I scared you off. Which is understandable. And I'm sorry." He opened his mouth but I cut him off again. "And I love you. I forgot to say that."

"You didn't scare me off," he said. "But I shall tell Charles before I come next time."

"I'm so sorry," I repeated, laughing. I put my head in my hands. "I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I never said goodbye. I knew I would never be able to leave if I saw you. But I promise, I'm better off here. I'm getting better."

"I'm glad you didn't say goodbye." The warmth of his smile and his body pressed to mine soothed me. "That means this isn't over."

I smiled. Slowly, we stood up, a bit sore. The side of my shirt was slick with spring mud. Not a moment later he stumbled over his own feet again and knocked against me.

"That wasn't me this time," I said.

"Alright. It was the shoes."

"Come on." I slung my arm around his shoulders as we tramped up the hill, leaving the lake behind. "You staying for supper?"

"Depends if it's that porridge again."

I laughed and pulled him against my side, though this made us nearly fall over again. At the top of the hill, I stopped and looked back at the lake. The water was calm, rippling in the fading sunlight. I did not know what my future held, but this life out here, my little piece of the world, was what I wanted. Not money, not power, only this. A lifetime of sunsets and blooming flowers and suppers around our table.

Perhaps we would find our way together. He had the means; he could go where he pleased now. I might follow. I might not. But we would always have this, and perhaps when we were old we would find ourselves back before this lake, remembering the days long gone.

Philip closed his fingers through mine. The familiar weight of the ring on my finger grounded me.

To my back, the setting sun was red.

THE END