MAARIT STOOD ALONE on the very edge of the courtyard, where the cobblestones began, glancing around apprehensively. Unlike usual, her midnight hair fell down her back in one thick plait of polished obsidian. She was not wearing a dress, nor did any jewels glister around her throat and wrists. Instead, she wore a soldier's uniform, fitted to her small frame. She might've passed for one of them if not for her delicate hands, her narrow shoulders, her slim neck and the outward curve of her breast—she was very obviously a woman.

Alexander had greeted her with the outfit as soon as she'd awoken. Though it had been much too large for her, he'd used the appropriate enchantment to have it tailored to her figure.

       She had gone to breakfast expecting to see the king, but all she found was a note in his place: two sentences scribbled hastily in messy calligraphy. The note had said that Theodoracius would meet her at the courtyard and escort her to the training grounds to begin her fighting lessons. It had also informed her that none of the other soldiers and guardsmen, with the exception of the one instructing her, would be around while she trained—and she appreciated the mentioning of this particular detail. She was glad that he realized that since the incident with Sergius, Maarit was terribly uncomfortable around most of the men that worked inside the castle.

       The king had not yet arrived, so Maarit craned her neck to look for him, her nerves radiating from her with every discomfited shuffle. Her hands also had telltale signs of anxiety, for there were minuscule crescent-shaped marks on her palms from where her nails had pressed into the soft skin. In many ways, she was still reeling from the events of the previous night. It was the first time she'd truly understood how soothsaying could be considered a curse. Long after she had cleaned herself up, the taste of blood lingered, leading her to wonder what had happened. She had yet to decipher the meaning of the visions.

       She continued to wait, eyes wild with impatience due to the fact that members of the Royal Guard were beginning to stare and whisper. Growing tired of their suspicion, she began to pace around the courtyard, hoping to catch a glimpse of Theodoracius somewhere.

       The castle's exterior smelled just as it had the last time she'd been there: of a lush, honeyed oasis. Several trees weaved through the grassy expanse, some bearing cherry blossoms and some fruit. The gardens twined around both sides of the castle, rich with marigolds and bleeding hearts, with colours that were utterly striking to the eye. Larks hummed as they flew from treetop to treetop. The sound was oddly pleasant.

Turning her gaze skyward, Maarit saw that there were clouds obstructing the sun. It was not a hot day, but the air was thick with humidity. Beneath the uniform, a thin sheen of sweat was already beginning to coat her bronze skin like dew on a windowpane.

       Maarit gravitated towards a bush of roses and leaned down to inhale their scent. The aroma of the flowers was overpowering, causing tears to spring to her eyes. She pulled back at once, drawing her gaze to the stables.

       The dark silhouette of a man standing beside a white horse caught her attention. It took a moment for her to realize that it was Theodoracius. Letting out a sigh of relief, she padded through the grass and towards the stables.

He did not appear to hear her coming, but she didn't want to disturb him. It was one of those rare moments when she could see his cold exterior beginning to melt. Maarit recalled that Alexander had once told her the king loved his horse, but she hadn't expected it to be true.

       Indeed, Theodoracius was gazing at Cassius with something akin to affection. His palms stroked the animal's white coat with a tenderness that she had never seen before. The planes of his face, normally sharp and lined with worry, were softened; and his eyes were orbs of stained glass and seemed to shimmer a myriad of colours other than their usual brown.

When Maarit cleared her throat, Theodoracius whirled around at once, startled. The glassy look in his eyes was gone.

"How long have you been standing there?" he demanded, sounding mildly accusing. His eyes narrowed, causing the sharp lines on his youthful face to return.

Maarit raised her eyebrows and stepped forward so that she was standing beside him. "Why? Was there something you didn't want me to hear? Do you talk to your horse or something?"

The king rolled his eyes, a small smile curling his lips. "Indeed. I was just telling Cassius how beautiful he is. To stroke his ego."

She could've come up with multiple clever retorts, but she didn't want to. "Why do you pretend you don't care about people?" she blurted out—then regretted it immediately.

It was something she had been wondering for a long while, because he was always wearing a mask of apathy. Sometimes, she just wanted to pull it back and see him. But asking him the question she had meant admitting to him that she wanted to know him.

Maarit didn't know how she expected him to react, but he did not take it very seriously. He looked blankly at her for a few moments before muttering with certitude, "I don't care about people." Then, pointing his thumb in Cassius's direction, he added, "He's a horse."

       The young witch couldn't help the laugh that escaped her mouth. He smiled in return and it startled her slightly. This was a real smile; not the tight-lipped grins or sadistic smirks he frequently wore.

       She suddenly remembered the previous night, when he had knelt in front of her and dabbed her bloody mouth with a handkerchief. That was hardly something murderous kings did.

       Theodoracius Rangelov was an enigma.

       "How are you feeling?" he asked hesitantly, almost as though it was something he shouldn't have been asking. She knew instantly that he too was thinking about the events that had transpired. "After... what happened yesterday."

       "I'm fine," she told him, brushing it off. "I haven't figured out what the sentence of the prophecy means, though. My prophecies aren't normally so obscure."

"Speaking of," he articulated, as if what he would say next was a throwaway comment of little importance, "what was it that you saw in your vision? You never quite got around to telling me. You said you saw the past."

"Oh," she breathed, guilt sweeping across her features. She did not, in fact, know what she had seen, but she had her suspicions. Something told her not to say too much. "I haven't exactly had time to think about what it all meant. I am really uncertain if what I saw even happened in the past, it just felt like it did at the time. It was—it was a man, and a boy. They looked alike. Had the same eyes."

Her eyes flickered to his for a split second to gauge his reaction before the mask could be lifted.

Fear.

He turned suddenly, abruptly, away from her, and stalked away from the stables.

She was so shocked that she stood frozen in place, wondering why he had just stormed away.

He looked back. His voice was flat when he spoke. "I'll be heading to the training grounds now. Are you coming or not?"

She nodded and jogged to catch up with his strides. "The soldier who will be training me—do I know him? Have I seen him around the castle?"

"I should certainly hope so," Theodoracius muttered under his breath, casting her a furtive glance.

Maarit frowned. "Why? What is that supposed to mean?"

"Because it is me. I shall be training you," he divulged, causing her mouth to fall open. Upon seeing her expression of befuddlement, he continued. "You made it very clear to me that you wanted only the best soldier to train you. As it turns out, none of the regiment's soldiers quite compare to me. I have been training since the moment I began to walk."

"Don't kings have better things to do than to teach their prisoners fighting techniques?" Maarit could not help but ask.

He was not offended; he seemed rather amused. "Actually, I've found myself rather bored lately, what with this whole kingdom to rule."

"Is that so? In that case, can I be king instead?"

A booming laugh fell effortlessly from his lips. She tilted her head to survey him. The clouds had parted slightly so that a strip of sunlight illuminated his alabaster face. "I would gladly appoint you regent." He averted his eyes, effectively concealing whatever emotion flashed through them. His tone went from pleasant to solemn. "You would be much better at it than I am."

       From inside the cage of her ribs, her heart fluttered. "I..."

He had seldom said anything so vulnerable to her before. She wanted to tell him that he had brought it all upon himself. It had been his decision to kill his own father, his decision to have the weight of a country rest on his shoulders, his decision to have said country rebel against him. She could not bring herself to say anything else.

"Here," he said, thrusting a sword into her hands so forcefully that she nearly lost her footing.

It was only then that she realized they had stopped walking and were at the training grounds. She looked down at the sword she held. She had thought excitement would surge through her; but after her conversation with Theodoracius, there was something very anticlimactic about standing before him while wielding a weapon.

As his hands dropped to her waist to adjust her stance, she resisted the urge to recoil away. She had to remind herself that he was not Sergius and that he would not do anything to her. Despite everything else he had done, and how foolish it might've been, she somehow trusted him irrevocably with her life.

He gave her instructions on how to plant her feet into the ground, how to move the sword through the air in a sweeping arc. He told her where to stab a man's body to pierce his heart, his stomach and his liver. She listened and absorbed everything he said, always wondering.

Wondering about the broken boy in her visions.

Wondering about the man who had only ever loved his mother and his stallion.

Wondering about the puckered scar on his collarbone that disappeared beneath his shirt.