“You could stay longer, at least until the rain stops.”

Vixra stared down at the dirt caked onto the side of her boots. She didn’t bother responding, the answer was obvious. What a foolish request to bother her with. The laces nearly snapped in her hand as she tightened them.

“Vixra.”

The voice was all wrong. It sounded nothing like yours. She shouldn’t have come back. Vixra had told herself to find another vice. Crawling back to a warm body because they shared a similar face to yours, Gods, she was useless. Not a single soul could ever replace you. Amotio himself could descend from the heavens to bless them, and they would still be unworthy in your presence. Vixra couldn’t feel anything.

Instead of responding, she simply stood up and left without a backwards glance. It was a wonder she could still call herself your knight.

The streets were quiet this late. Vixra found no comfort in it. She pressed a hand to her eyes until they ached and wondered if you had realized she was gone. Did you know what she did in the dead of night? Of the guilt that ate her alive for it? Every time was meant to be the last until she saw you with him: Viaro. The very thought of him made her chest tighten painfully. He was but a commoner, barely literate, granted the title of baron for his efforts in the Elf-Human war. Viaro had, at one point, fought alongside her father and brother.

He had lived, though, and they had not.

Vixra, a full moon into your engagement to Viaro, had attempted to drunkly write a letter to King Aiwin and demand to know his reasoning for it. Surely there was some sort of political scheme involved. Aiwin was a rat in that manner. She’d never understand why so many threw themselves at him. He had an eerily dead look to his eyes when they gazed at anyone, as though they were merely a problem he needed to solve. Vixra pitied the human forced to wed him, even more so now that they had a daughter.

Despite all of King Aiwin’s misgivings, his love for you, his cousin, had remained steadfast and absolute. She thought—naively—he would not force your hand. Perhaps you’d be granted the ability to choose.

Vixra did not need to send the letter, for Viaro had the answer.

“The King told me I was kind,” he said in that vexingly soft voice of his. “I did not ask to wed his cousin for power.”

He swore all he wanted was to live a quiet life now that the war was over. He told her she looked so much like her father and brother. He apologized for their loss, attempted to share her grief.

Viaro was kind.

Vixra wanted to bring her blade to his throat. It’d taken a few hours to understand why King Aiwin had promised you to him: he wanted to keep you safe. Viaro would be that loving, doting husband. The realization of her worth—that the King did not think her capable of keeping you safe—had brought her reality crumbling. It wasn’t as though she didn’t love you. Vixra could not love you more. You lived in her veins, punctured her lungs, seared into her closed eyelids. She was not enough. King Aiwin had glanced at the problem before him and found a solution; Vixra was simply not the answer.

The secret meetings had to stop. She would no longer be the lover you kept on the side. Her pride wasn’t the issue—Vixra would’ve fallen to her knees to beg for your attention—but you needed to settle into this life. She’d stay your ever loyal knight. She’d give up everything for you. She’d love you from afar, as she should’ve from the start. Vixra wouldn’t regret kissing you. Couldn’t. The memory of your lips would be carried to her grave. She regretted not informing you of what she decided, though.

After your engagement to Viaro was announced, Vixra began to distance herself. She did not see you in the alcove or the secluded area of the library; she was your knight and began to act as such. No longer did she smile at you or reach for your hand.

And yet.

Vixra stood outside the door to your chambers, muscle memory guiding her there, and wondered if you missed her at all.