I spent a lot of time staring at Talia's door before knocking.

Upon first arriving, I'd been shocked to learn that there were still traces of sobbing coming from her room, though it had been over an hour since our unfortunate encounter. I'd felt a painful constricting in my chest, deciding it would be prudent to give her additional time before announcing myself. I walked down to the other end of the hallway and paced there for a good fifteen minutes or so, stewing in anxious nervousness.

When I'd come back there were no sobs to be heard, though I could still make out the occasional sniff. It was then that I'd spent most of the time actually inspecting the door, tracing the grain of the wood with my finger, my stomach acting in a manner that made me appreciate the fact that I'd skipped breakfast that morning.

Eventually I did knock. The tentative rap of my knuckles against wood sounded much louder to my ears than it should have.

“Who is it?” I heard a miserably tearful voice ask.

“Talia? It's Lord Tucat.”

“Oh!” she said, suddenly sniffing louder than perhaps she'd meant to. I could make out the sound of sandaled feet hitting the floor. “I'm not . . . I-”

“May I please come in?” I quietly asked through the door.

“Uh,” she began, the panicked rustling of fabric just about as loud as her words, “just one . . . second, please. Milord.”

The second she required turned into about thirty before I heard her voice again.

“It . . . y-you can come in, Milord.”

I opened the door, slowly, surprised by the rather extraordinary creaking noise the hinges produced as I did so. On any other day it might have had a humorous effect.

Talia stood between her perfectly made bed and a clothes dresser (which I was quite surprised to see had several books piled atop it), hands behind her back with her chin up, a pose I'd seen often when she was presiding over the front room and the doors that led into the keep, greeting visitors or welcoming guests to a banquet. At those times, she hadn't been looking quite so serious, or unhappy. Her eyebrows were slightly upturned, and the redness around her nose and eyes were the unmistakable signs of someone who had been crying a great deal.

“Talia,” I said, nodding to her, chest feeling like my vest was some sort of tree snake trying to squeeze the breath out of me.

“Milord,” she nodded back, giving a small sniff as she tilted her head back, closing her eyes. “I wish to apologize for my-”

“No, absolutely not. Talia . . . there is nothing to forgive. It is I who must apologize to you,” I said, gently closing the door behind me and fully entering the room.

“Milord, you need not-” she sniffed.

“I do, Talia. I was both careless and thoughtless. I'd only meant to get your help in ridding myself of Freyla, and it wasn't until afterwards that . . .” I paused, words fluttering around uncertainly in my head as I tried to find the ones that seemed most tactful. “Well, someone explained to me a few things I hadn't been aware of before. I'm very sorry, Talia. I didn't know.”

“I did not wish to put you in an awkward position, Milord,” she said unhappily. “Still, my behavior earlier was inexcusable, and unprofessional, and what's more it might have caused-”

“Talia, please. Your Lord is attempting to apologize to you. I can't very well do that if you're the one apologizing to me, can I?”

“No, Milord,” she managed a weak smile through her sniffles.

Even at their weakest, surrounded by remnants of hastily wiped tears, her smiles were potent.

“No, and as I said, you've got nothing to apologize for. You do a finer job than any keepmistress I could even imagine, perfect in every way, and I'm quite certain I don't tell you this often enough. Talia, you've been here with me since before I was even given the title of Lord for goodness sake, longer than anyone in my service, and in all that time I have not once had reason for complaint.”

“Until now,” she said, nodding.

“Until n-no! Young lady, you will stop that this very instant,” I said, voice taking on a tone of mock severity, producing another ghost of a smile from her in addition to a half-chuckle, prompting me to grin as well. “Why, Prince Tenarreau aught to pass a law against putting words in your Lord's mouth, making him say things he doesn't mean.”

My weak attempt at humor caused her whole manner to change.

The forced smile upon her face collapsed as a new rush of tears exploded out of nowhere, hand flying to her eyes in order to cover them. Her shoulders began to shake, and although I could hear no noise I knew that she was once again sobbing.

Words in your Lord's mouth . . . say things he doesn't mean. My proposal.

Could I even be any more of an idiot?

“Talia . . . no! I'm sorry! I'm . . . here, let's sit down,” I said, gently putting my hand on her shoulder and guiding her to the bed. She sat down very gently, both hands pressed over her cheeks and eyes.

“I'm s-sorry, Milord,” she wept, voice a mere squeak. “I don't mean-”

“Forgive me. Please. Talia, none of what I say is-” I stopped, hurriedly scratching several suddenly very bad sentences from the list of things my stammering, flustered brain was attempting to provide me with. “What I mean to say is that your Lord is very sorry, that he's a callous and insensitive imbecile who is incredibly stupid, someone who deserves a quick and savage clubbing upon his head, and someone who should have known enough not to do something like what he did earlier, or even what he did just now. I'm a dense, thick-headed, dimwitted moron. If you wish we can even go find Cyrus, and he can help come up with some much better words to describe how stupid I am . . . much like those he used to describe me earlier, when he was explaining exactly what I'd done.”

“Cyrus talks too much,” she sniffed unhappily, finally removing her hands from her face and folding them gently in her lap, turning her tear-streaked face away. “This isn't your fault at all, it's mine. I'm the one being ridiculous. And you're not stupid, or insensitive Milord. Not at all. It's just, I'm . . . I don't know how-”

Her words trailed off suddenly, like someone who'd just been overwhelmed with their own thoughts.

After a long moment she turned her head back to me and looked unhappily into my eyes, biting her bottom lip attractively. I quickly found myself trapped, held by the gaze of her tearful, pale green eyes.

Moments fluttered by, neither of us speaking. Talia's teeth gently released their hold, and her lips parted ever so slightly.

There was an earnestness in her heartfelt look that filled me with an almost painful longing. It was as though my soul ached just being this near to her, and in that moment I suddenly wanted nothing more than to accept what was being offered, kiss away her tears, do anything and everything I could to once again see the smile I knew lay hidden behind those perfect rose-colored lips. I wanted to take her in my arms and crush her against me, to-

I very reluctantly broke eye contact, my eyes escaping hers while attempting to find something interesting about her cheek, and I sighed inwardly. This was so much harder than I had imagined it would be, but it had to be done. This sweet, guileless girl was very likely infatuated with the idea of her Lord, after all. Though I very strongly wished to take her up on her offer, as I knew many other men in my position might, I would hardly be able to still consider myself a man afterwards were I to do so.

My eyes wandered over her cheek in an effort to avoid her eyes, determined to keep my gaze somewhere safe as I did this. I couldn't afford to let myself become distracted or influenced by things like her eyes, or her magnificent cheekbones, the graceful line of her jaw where it met her neck, the shower of golden ringlets that trickled down to her bared shoulders . . . the daring neckline of her blouse which-

I closed my eyes entirely, taking a deep breath.

This had to be done, dammit. She'd probably grown up reading storybooks and plays, after all. Likely those books I'd seen littering her dresser were crammed with tales of a knight meeting a peasant girl, or some magical arrangement between a dashing country Lord and his true love.

There was nothing romantic about a Lord who was peppered with scars, who couldn't have a family, and who had better than half of the city's Lords cursing his name publicly, or spitting on the ground after reciting it. I'd been working myself to distraction these past several months, and if I wasn't locking myself in my library like a hermit, poring over paperwork from merchants or tenants, I was skulking in the shadows trying to prove I was better than everyone else. What was romantic about that? Nothing at all. There was no such thing as poetic, heartwarming romances in situations like mine.

She deserved better, someone with at least the possibility of that kind of storybook relationship.

“Talia, as much as I might dream of such a thing happening, it's an impossible situation, you and I . . . one that can't possibly work.” I heard myself say glumly.

A moment later I risked opening one eye at her. She was quietly regarding me, cheeks still moist. Her eyes were looking a question instead of welling up, though, which was a promising sign.

“I mean, for starters,” I continued, even more glumly, “you're absolutely gorgeous. You are probably the most lovely woman in all of Harael. If you wanted-”

“You . . . you think I'm pretty?” she asked between sniffs, wide-eyed and hopeful.

“Pretty? Gods, woman . . . you improve any room simply by walking into it! But that's my point, you can do so much better than someone like me. So much better. You deserve someone just as beautiful as you. Someone who-”

“You're beautiful,” she said, her quiet voice softly insistent.

I sighed.

“Please,” I said, pointing at the scar on my face while shaking my head slightly, “Your eyesight isn't that terrible. Maybe you just stopped noticing it after a while, but . . .”

“That thing? It's not so bad,” Talia sniffled, surprising me by gracefully lifting her upturned palm to envelope my cheek, running her thumb over the length of the scar tenderly. Her eyes searched mine intently. “And I'm very good at looking . . . noticing things. Beauty isn't about scars, Milord, or even really what you look like. Not at all.”

Gods, could this even get any harder?

“Talia, I really appreciate your words - you can't even know how much. It's just . . . in truth, that is but one of the ways that I'm not at all beautiful,” I stammered as I gently removed her outstretched hand from my cheek, trying to find the words that would adequately explain my shortcomings. “I don't make people smile, or make them happy that they're seeing me. I don't shine. I don't light up a room the way you do. I make fun of people, do horrible things . . . like what I did today to Freyla, and what I ended up doing to you! I play games with people, manipulate them, twist them around to improve my own situation. It's who I am. It's cold, it's ugly . . . it's never ever going to change, and I make no apologies for it. We are who we are.”

She sniffed, sitting there patiently listening to me. I continued.

“Who you are is someone who does light up a room, who does shine, and you need someone standing next to you who shines just as brightly as you do. Someone who can give you beautiful children. I'm never going to be able to have children of my own, Talia. I can't even offer you that. At the very least, you deserve someone able to bring you that kind of joy . . . the kind I'll never know.”

She turned away a bit at that, daintily wiping one eye with a sniff. I nodded sadly.

“And that's not all, either,” I continued, grimly moving forward despite the selfish longing I felt sitting next to her, there on the bed. “To put it succinctly; Lords are paranoid, conniving, insufferable, miserable creatures . . . and sadly, I find that I'm no exception. The details of my daily life would either bore you to tears, or cause your opinion of me to diminish in ways that would be unbearable to me. Romantic stories of Lords and Ladies are just that – fanciful tales that folk might tell their children. Those books you've got there on your dresser are probably the worst kind of wishful thinking there is, spinning yarns that idealize romantic notions that the real world simply is not capable of living up to.” I gave a backhanded wave to indicate the books on her dresser. “Real Lords aren't like what you've read in stories, Talia . . . not at all.”

Her head turned back to me with a slight tilt, and her brows drew themselves together slightly.

“What?” she quietly sniffed, sounding confused.

“It's true.” I continued with my nodding. I could sense that I was making headway, much to my dismay. “I have a feeling that you wouldn't be happy in a situation like that, and honestly I wouldn't wish this sort of life on anyone. Nobody wants to be a Lord or Lady, Talia. Even our social affairs are awkward parodies of celebrations, requiring so much concentration to participate in that they're devoid of any sort of joy. Do you know how much I would give to live the uncomplicated, simple life that you and other normal people get to? My world is so much different than yours – a complex, stressful world that requires a cunning intellect and a profound understanding of people and how they react. I fear that it would be too much for you - having to spend all of your time thinking about what others might be doing, how it might affect your interests, constantly on guard against people, analyzing what they're saying, pondering how . . . uh . . . how they-”

She still looked a little confused, but her eyes had narrowed the slightest bit. She was no longer sniffing, and was sitting quite still.

“What?” she asked.

I thought I detected a bit of an edge in that last “what” . . .

“It's, uh-” I said uncertainly, hastily reviewing the last fragments of speech for evidence that I'd just said something idiotic. “It's hard for me to explain, Talia. Sometimes, I feel that I don't even know the proper words for it. But I do know that my life – a Lord's life - is not at all what you think it is, not in the slightest. The complexities involved in even the most basic sort of Lordly intrigue would likely be enough to make you want to run screaming from the very idea of having anything to do with me. It's not the slightest bit dashing, or romantic, and it's most certainly not the sort of life someone like yourself would want to be part of. I would do anything to keep you from this.”

We sat there for what seemed to be a very long time, the silence between us becoming very awkward.

“So,” Talia said finally, her voice suggesting the tiniest hint of revelation, “you're saying is that a Lord's life is . . . complicated. And hard. It requires cunning . . . and-”

“Exactly,” I beamed, relieved. “Scheming, or thwarting schemes, and constantly feeling like you're at your wits end. If a Lord takes a woman for his Lady, she's invariably drawn into this world of ours whether she likes it or not. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I exposed you to dangers you were unable to see or defend yourself from. I grew up being taught about thieving and political intrigue, and-”

“And I'm just a keepmistress, who would be completely out of her depth.” Her eyes had narrowed further still, and she was pursing her lips together, nodding thoughtfully.

“Tha- no, Talia. You're not simply a keepmistress to me, or to anyone who knows you. You're a warm and stunningly beautiful woman who makes everyone around her smile, whose services I value highly, and who perhaps held some unfortunate illusions about her Lord and lordly life. I wish for you to be happy, and if that means showing you the truth so that you're not tricked into settling for someone like me, or a life completely at odds with your expectations, then I must do it. Even if I'm sorely tempted not to.”

There was a significant pause.

“Well,” she said, smoothing her dress against her perfectly formed legs and taking a deep breath, “I certainly understand better after hearing you tell it that way, Milord. There were a few things that I quite obviously hadn't even considered.” She turned her head and smiled charmingly at me.

It was a smile I'd never seen from her before, one that was all in the mouth . . . not a trace of it touching her eyes.

“That's, err . . . good,” I said, not feeling at all relieved. “I just wanted to make sure you knew that, uh . . . it's not that I don't find you attractive, because I do. It's just that-”

“You wished to save me from making a terrible mistake, Milord. Yes, I see that's exactly what you were doing. I do feel rather silly I didn't see what you were getting at.” She smiled sweetly at me. “Gosh, I can be dreadfully clueless at times.”

Errr . . .

“And I do value your services, Talia . . . very much so. I wished to explain things to you in a manner that left no doubt as to that fact, and-”

“I have no doubts whatsoever, Milord – I think you've told me exactly what I needed to hear.” She smiled even larger. “In fact, I've already taken up more of your valuable time than I have a right to, not to mention the numerous duties I've been shirking just sitting here talking to you. I'd best be about them.” She stood up, wiped the last traces of tears from her face, took a deep breath and dimpled at me.

“You don't need to, Talia, not right away. Take a few-”

“No, I'm fine. Really,” she beamed, “I want to.”

Uhmm . . .

“Well, alright then. I just . . . uh, I hope that this talk doesn't change how we are around each other, or make you feel awkward when you're around me. You'll tell me if you start to feel that way, won't you?”

“Mmm-hmm . . . absolutely!” she agreed cheerfully, showing me a good number of her front teeth as she did so.

“I . . . well, okay then,” I said, standing and making my way uncertainly to the door, feeling terribly anxious. There was something extremely off about the way she was acting - an undertone of anger in her cheerful behavior that was as unexpected as it was startling. “And again, I do apologize for what happened earlier, for upsetting you when-”

“I'm feeling much better now, thank you,” she said, still smiling sweetly.

Opening the door once more, I made an apologetic grimace at the loud creaking noise being made by the hinges, stepping into the hallway and leaving her room. I gave her a respectful nod, and she returned it with the same winning expression she'd been displaying this past while, standing there in much the same manner as when I'd arrived, her hands behind her back and her chin held up, smiling brightly.

Her pale green eyes were not smiling at all, and were focusing on me with an intensity I couldn't rightly explain.

Once the door closed, I found myself taking a deep breath, though not precisely one of relief.

That was much, much harder than I'd thought it would be. What was more, I knew it was unfinished. She was angry, quite obviously, and despite her assurances that everything was fine I suspected I'd be feeling awkward and full of anxiety the next time we met. Her new-found smiles and cheerful expressions had struck me as very un-Talia-like.

I'd done it, at least, even if accomplishing my goal didn't make me feel any better. Theo and Cyrus would take turns calling me an idiot later, of course. Perhaps I would be able to convince them to save their name-calling for another time, like once we'd secured Theo's sword and figured a few things out. Still, though I knew the evening's rigors would be quite demanding, I retained the sense that the hardest task I'd assigned myself was now over with.

I really did hope Talia had understood why I'd told her those things, or did eventually, and that everything might return to the way it had been before. I'd just have to wait and see.

Halfway down the hallway I could have sworn I heard a muted noise, almost too faint to hear. It sounded like something small and fragile breaking very suddenly, as if thrown against a wall.