Pacing brought me no consolation.

My hands went to my boots but stopped short of pulling myself into the loop.

Instead I set to noting five things I could feel. Then five things I could see. Then five things I could hear. By the time I got to the third thing I could smell, I stopped.

The answer, however painful, was clear.

Thank God for the papers and pens and ink in one of Saffron's packs, else I might not've been able to say goodbye. The letter was awfully written, shaky and uneven. The papers were crumpled from leaning on my knee, I broke one pen.

Evie,

I love you. I love you so much. It was from that first moment when I knocked Jemima over and saw you that I fell for you. I've loved you ever since.

I don't understand your principles, and why you don't want to marry me, but I respect them.

You are such an incredible person, a beautiful soul, and it has been my greatest pleasure to experience life, albeit an all too short snippet, with you.

Which is why I have to leave you.

You do not deserve to be with someone who holds a sword to your neck, or one who threatens you at all. For duty or not, I am not mentally well enough to cherish you as I should. I mean well, but well is not enough. I don't think I can take care of you and I hate myself for it, but that's just the way it is. Whilst I wish it was different, I know I can't play on with this fairytale and hurt you in the process.

I'm so sorry.

You should know that you are the only woman I'd ever hope to call my wife. I know I must take a bride at some point as king, but they will not compare in the slightest to you.

Whilst I try and make myself into a better man, I'll make sure that women like you (if they exist) are involved in my council of advisors. I'll make sure that everyone who has been bereaved as a result of the war is compensated both mentally and financially, as much as I am able. All the while I will dream of days on your balcony, mulled wine in my hands in the too warm heat, stars above us, sea below us, your fingers around mine as we share meaningless hypothetical opinions. I will eat cheese and think of you. I'll see you in my scars. I'll love you with every breath, at every ball and strategy meeting and late night dinner and every evening in our favourite chair.

I'll make sure your family are safe. I'll send you all a gift, every Christmas, to try and begin to pay back the debt I owe.

The only thing I won't do is see you again, so please don't try to see me.

I don't deserve it, you certainly don't deserve to be put at risk.

I'm sorry we parted like this. The ring is yours to keep, if only because I can't bear to look at it. Keep it, if you want. Or sell it, or melt it. Leave it in a convenient place for your future sweetheart to find, and give to you, when you're ready. Or live on as an old maid with it on a chain around your neck.

Do not write back to me, I do not deserve that much.

Though perhaps one day, when I am married and you are content, be that married or not, I may see you again. Across the palace gardens, the battlefield, or a crowded ballroom. I'll still love you then, but hopefully I will have learned to live without you.

I'm sorry I'm dragging this farewell out for too long now, but I'm afraid to say goodbye.

So I'll end it here.

I'm truly sorry for every instance I have treated you wrong and hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.

Your loving servant,

Ganechka xx

My hand ached to write more, or to run to the Place Émeraude and find her and see her one last time, kiss her one last time, memorise her face. But I had to take the cowardly option. I had threatened her life and such a thing was unforgivable.

Slowly I pulled the Schiavona in its scabbard out of my belt. I could not carry this knowing what I had nearly done with it. My heart ached when I placed it down over the papers, maybe that was a good thing. This sword had seen me through my adolescence, a young prince learning his craft and now that chapter of my life was over.

Saffron seemed reluctant to leave the barn when I urged her forward, maybe she missed the weight of the darling Schiavona too. She would only walk at a snail pace all the way through the woods, around the back of the palace walls, to a tiny door. The night was dark, but there didn't seem to be any lock on it. I left Saffron outside, knowing well enough that she would wait for me, provided I spread carrots on the ground for her first.

Then with force enough to hurt my foot, I broke the door open. I snuck across a ghostly silent garden, towards the grey walls of the palace, reflected in the moonlight. Every part of me wanted to turn back, to give up, my cause was lost.

But no, I moved on.

I promised to keep her family safe, so I moved on.

I swore I'd think of her in our favorite chair, so I moved on.

I told her I'd use her plan to change our world, so I moved on.

And then there I was, at another door, this one leading into the palace, the servants quarters by the looks of it. It was quiet, it was late. That was good.