If she were to be honest with herself, she was exhausted — more than exhausted, really. There was no doubt in her mind that she should be dead right now, and the waning adrenaline had left her feeling weak and dizzy. But this was the final straw, and there was no outcome here that ended with her mercy.

“M’lady.”

Callida looked up from where she was kneeling, facing the western wall and trying to center herself while the throne room was prepared and the councilmen were being equipped with swords for their duel. “Rogue?”

He knelt down next to her, and Callida immediately picked up on the way his hands were trembling and his eyes were watery. “Callida, please don’t do this. There has to be another way. I’ll… I’ll fight the duel for you!”

“Rogue–”

“You were dead! You were gone, and I can’t lose you twice in one day. You should be resting right now, not fighting battles!”

She rotated to kiss him — the only gentle way to silence his protests. “I have to do this–”

“But–”

“–I don’t want you to watch, Qiangde.”

“–Callida, you don’t…. You what?”

“I don’t want you to see this. I want you to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” he snarled so viciously, Callida actually startled. “If you’re going to insist on fighting after…! I’m not going anywhere. Do you hear me? I’m going to be right here by your side in case you get hurt.”

“Qiangde, you’ll never look at me the same way again.”

“M’lady–”

“No, listen to me! It’s one thing for you to know that I’m a trained, cold-blooded killer. It’s another thing to watch me kill, and I don’t intend to hold back. I don’t want you to see me like that, and I don’t–” It was his turn to kiss her into silence.

“If you’re going to insist on doing this, I’m not going anywhere.”

She felt her tears well-up, but she surrendered. “Then, please don’t hate me after what you’re about to see.”

“Never.”

“General,” Captain Gravis’s shadow fell over the couple, and Callida looked up to greet him.

“Yes, Captain?”

“It’s time.”

She dragged herself up to her feet, the effort to do so much greater than it should have been, but the adrenaline was back — a jittery energy that made her heart pound and tired muscles find new strength. She took Rogue’s hand and led him to where Verum was still sitting on his throne. “Stay here for me? Gravis, stay close to Rogue.”

“Yes, General.”

She smiled and turned to face the rest of the room and roll her shoulders out, making eye contact with a distressed Spahen across the way amongst the crowd of spectators. She gave him a small, crooked smile.

“Psst, Gravis,” Verum whispered behind her, and Callida welcomed the distraction and tuned in.

“You’re Majesty?”

“How long do you think this is going to take?”

“Oh… three minutes?”

“I was thinking two minutes tops.”

“It’ll be more than two minutes,” Gravis scoffed. “She was just poisoned and nearly died!”

“I’d take that bet!”

“Guys, stop betting on my wife,” Rogue snapped nervously, and Callida suppressed a laugh as Verum rose to address the room.

“This is a duel to the death. Good luck, Councilmen. You’ll need it.”

Callida took a deep breath and drew her sword. One look at the men she was supposed to be fighting, and she already knew that “fight” was too generous of a descriptor. She stepped forward, and the group charged haphazardly, swords raised, exposing most of the vital areas of their bodies. She spun into the middle of them, entering an efficient, dance-like rhythm. Slash, dodge, slash, stab. Dodge, slash, slash, stab. And just like that, six became one.

Callida could see the resignation in Trebax’s eyes as she raised her gore-dripping sword in his direction. He stumbled backwards, tripping over bodies in a futile effort to flee. Callida pursued him relentlessly. Trebax shakily raised his sword, and in a single, definitive move, she sliced it out of his hand. He screamed and fell, clutching a hand now missing a couple fingers to his chest. Callida pounced, landing on her knees, straddling his thighs to fist his shirt and force his nose to hers. He was gasping from fear and pain, braced for the final blow that would end his life.

“Trebax,” she sing-songed softly, drawing his attention with the cold, bloodied steel of her sword teasing the tender flesh of his cheek, “you realize that this doesn’t end with your death, right?”

“What?” he spat.

“You and your fellow councilmen are accused of high treason against His Majesty. The trial will not go well for your families.”

“What do you want?”

“We both know that without a backer, you and your cronies would never have the guts to try something like this. You placed your bets and you lost. Now your families will pay the price. I might be inclined to encourage mercy on their behalf in exchange for her.”

His eyes widened with surprise and instant terror. “Her?”

Callida smirked coldly and leaned further forward to hiss directly into his ear. “I guess you’ll have to decide which of us you fear more: me or her. Keep in mind, she’s already lost, and I’m just getting started. Hm….” She pulled back just enough to allow Trebax to meet her eyes. “I wonder how Gemma’s pretty little daughter will fare, rotting in prison for the rest of her miserable life. Her name’s Flava, isn’t it?”

Trebax broke. “I’ll tell you,” he gasped hoarsely, “if you swear to protect them from… from her.”

“You have my word. Who’s your backer, Trebax? Who did you bet on?”

She watched his fight to bring the name forward, noting the warring fears behind his eyes. “Her Majesty, Ustrina Rex.” She couldn’t say that she was surprised, but a roiling hatred for the dowager queen blossomed in Callida’s chest all at once as she studied the reluctant earnestness in Trebax’s eyes. “I swear,” he added when Callida failed to verbally acknowledge his testimony. He was telling the truth.

“Thank you, Trebax,” she whispered, and released him to brace his fall with his elbows. Trebax watched her every move as she slowly rose to her feet, and then he closed his eyes, accepting her blade across his throat.

Callida numbly stepped over their bodies, her sword clattering to the ground as her exhaustion caught up with her. She stumbled over her own feet and fell hard on her hands and knees. And suddenly she was sobbing bitter, angry, miserable tears.

Rogue was kneeling next to her a moment later, his hand brushing her half sticky, half scabby hair over one shoulder so he could access her back. “It’s ok,” he soothed, and Callida felt suddenly sleepy — impossibly sleepy. She lifted her head into his lap and curled up on her side, allowing his healer’s hands to calm her troubled mind, body, and spirit. “Let’s get you home.”

“There’s one more thing I need to do,” she mumbled and peeled herself off the ground to stand up shakily. She found Spahen in the crowd and gave him a loaded look before turning to the king. “Verum, the show’s over.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Taking the hint, Verum stood up and dismissed the council. Callida similarly dismissed Gravis and the rest of the palace guards, including Verum’s bodyguard to stand just outside the throne room doors. The room cleared quickly except for Verum, Rogue, Callida, and...

“Come here, Spahen,” Callida called. “Quick introductions, Spahen, you’ve met His Majesty, but this is my husband, Rogue. Rogue this is one of my squad mates from when I served in the Bear Tribe military forever ago.”

“That’s how I recognized you!” Verum crowed and then put his hand over his mouth. “Sorry. It’s been bothering me for nearly eight months now.”

“I’m sorry to cut straight to the chase," Callida returned to the matter at hand, "but I’d like to take a bath. Spahen, she is who we thought she was.”

“You’re certain?” the blue-eyed bear asked, searching her face.

“It was Trebax’s dying confession. I’m certain.”

“Callida, what are you talking about?” Verum interjected, and Callida sighed.

“This isn’t over yet, Verum, but you have a right to know.”

“What do you mean this isn’t over? Know what?!”

She gestured tiredly to the slaughter around them. “They had a backer, someone they were reporting to: the mastermind of this conspiracy and the person pulling all the strings as far as we can tell at this point.”

“Who, Callida?”

“Verum, listen to me. Before I tell you, you have to swear to me that you won’t do anything rash.”

“Just tell me who did this!”

Callida deflated. “Ustrina.”

Verum dropped into his seat, an overwhelming hurt and exquisite hatred sapping his soul dry. “Ustrina?”

“Verum.” Callida set a hand on his arm and dropped to one knee in an attempt to refocus his attention. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

“Ustrina…”

***

Rogue was playing with Callida’s clean, silky hair, winding and unwinding it around his hands and running his fingers through it to release the comforting smell of citrus oil. But mostly he was watching her sleep with a new appreciation that could only come from nearly losing her. She’d lost a lot of blood, her pale face and cold hands an indication of her anemia, and her stomach was still a source of incredible pain. He’d compelled her to eat something before she went to bed, but she couldn’t keep it down for the pain. He’d settled for a few swallows of broth after that, as many as she thought she could manage without losing that too.

Councilman Unguis screaming and writhing on the floor.

He tried to shove the invasive thought from his mind. Such memories had been preventing him from falling asleep. And that was a particularly horrific scene. He’d always known that Callida was an unusually tough person, and he knew that she had a high tolerance for pain, but it maybe hadn’t settled in his mind just how tough she was. Relative to Unguis, Callida’s response to the poison was…

… her body straining silently against the pain, her bloodied, trembling hand reaching out to him, gore pouring from her mouth, “I love you.” Somehow still in control despite…

He couldn’t get it out of his head. She’d known that she was dying; it had been in her eyes — acceptance. And she had died, sort of. Her body had given up, but her indomitable spirit had kept fighting, Goldie had kept fighting, so he’d kept fighting, and somehow…

… somehow she wasn’t dead.

More than that, she’d found the strength to take on her murderers. Attempted murderers? They were both. They’d successfully killed her; it just hadn’t stuck. So she’d killed them. Her body anemic, broken, and barely back from the dead, she’d killed them easily and with a brutal, merciless precision. He’d known she was a skilled fighter, he’d seen her spar and outmatch dozens of soldiers. But he’d never seen her kill before, and the unflinching ease with which she cut those men down was… unnerving.

“I don’t want you to watch. You’ll never look at me the same way again.”

Now he understood what she’d meant, and it was true to a point. In the short term, he’d have to reconcile the Callida he knew and loved with the woman that could poison a man and narrate his suffering without showing a trace of sympathy — a woman that could intimidate a man into confessing his darkest sins and then slaughter him. The Callida he knew was warm, playful, honorable, tender, and passionate, but now he understood that she could be cold, ruthless, detached, terrible, and terrifying. And he understood why she’d wanted to keep those two halves of herself separate.

“Gravis, how long do you think this is going to take? I was thinking two minutes tops.”

He’d known. His Majesty, Captain Gravis, they’d already known this side of her. The king had won the bet; Gravis had chuckled while he paid up with some comment about how “not even death slows her down”. It made Rogue feel insecure that somehow everyone seemed to know who and what Callida was better than he did. To be fair, it’s not that he didn’t know, it was more that he hadn’t truly understood — which didn’t make him feel any better.

The fight visibly washing out of her, Callida stumbling to the ground, sobbing, publicly processing even more trauma, then getting straight back to business as though nothing had happened.

How often did she set trauma aside like that? How many days had she come home from work wearing a brave, unaffected face while utterly broken inside? How regularly must someone be broken in order to be able to do that?!

His fingers moved on from twisting her hair to lightly tracing some of the many scars covering her body by the faint glow of moonlight. She’d told him how she’d gotten most of her scars, but there were too many for her to remember how she’d gotten them all. And these were just the superficial, visible scars.

She stirred beneath his fingertips and attempted to roll over, becoming fitful. Rogue watched silently as her legs rolled off the bed and Callida sat up, collected her hair over one shoulder, and then slumped forward with one hand on her stomach, the other on her forehead. She took a deep, tired breath and held it, releasing it slowly before finding her feet. Rogue watched her roll her neck and shoulders out and listened to her soft groans of discomfort. Then she went to the window, cracking it open slightly and moving close to breathe in the cool night air. He waited for her to return for what felt like a long time, but she didn’t.

“Callida?”

“Rogue? I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” she whispered back.

“No.” Reluctantly rolling off the bed himself, Rogue joined her by the window. “I’m having trouble sleeping tonight.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” She looked down at her toes, her narrow frame shrinking even more somehow. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m…. My stomach still hurts, but the rest of me feels… ok?” Her eye contact was as hesitant as her speech.

“M’lady, look at me.” She tried, but her eyes dropped again. Rogue lifted her chin. The next time she met his eyes, hers were threatening tears. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry, Qiangde. I’m sorry you had to see that.” She pulled away and turned her back to him, her shoulders shuddering with silent sobs she was struggling to hide. That was becoming a thing, and he didn’t like it: the hiding. She was already measuring her breath, wiping her tears away, shutting them down — putting her brave face back on — for him.

She stiffened slightly with his hands slowly tugging her back towards him so he could hold her better. With her hair still to one side, Rogue kissed the floral branding behind her exposed ear and then grinned when she gasped in response. “Primordials, I love you, Callida.”

She wheeled around, searching his face. “You what?!”

He smirked at her reaction and caught her chin again, lifting it to very intentionally hold her gaze. “I love you,” he repeated. She blinked dumbly, so he kissed her, chuckling when afterwards she still looked gobsmacked.

“You almost never say it.”

“What? That I love you?”

She nodded. “You find other ways to communicate the sentiment, but you almost never say it directly like that.”

“Hm. Shame on me. I should fix that.” He pulled her close and then advanced, pushing her back into the wall next to the window and holding her securely in place. “Callida?”

“Yeah?”

His hand snaked around her neck, embedding in her hair and tilting her head back with his thumb. She watched him debate how to proceed from there — so steady and calm. And he knew that he could simply continue to look at her and she’d remain still and peaceful, or he could nuzzle and nip and she’d become playful and affectionate. He could choose to talk, and she’d be respectful, loving and supportive, or he could kiss her deeply and bring out her passionate side. That was the Callida he knew — the version of herself that she held in reserve for him and him alone.

He smiled with fresh understanding. It wasn’t that she wanted to hide her inner demons from him; she simply wanted to always give him her best self, as ridiculous and misguided as that was. “M’lady, I love you: the good, the wonderful, but also the bad and the ugly. You don’t have to hide it from me, and you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

She started to cry again, but with his hand holding her face, this time she couldn’t hide it. He watched her tears fall and lovingly wiped them away, waiting until they’d finished. She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand and a small laugh. “I’m a mess.”

“You’re my mess, Callida. And I love you.” He went for the kissing her deeply option, sealing the renewal of his confession and inviting her to take whatever she needed from him, at least, it certainly didn’t hurt his feelings when she returned his kisses with interest. “Callida?”

“Yeah?” She was panting, clearly worked up.

“How are you feeling?”

“Mmm. Suddenly a lot better.” Her fingers tugged the neck of his shirt, and Rogue shivered deliciously with the heat of her mouth against his collarbone.

“You… should be resting.”

“You started it,” she countered.

“Keep going, and I’ll finish it too.”

“Mmm, that’s not much of an incentive for me to stop.”

He chuckled and grabbed her face, forcing her to stop in a last-ditch effort to be responsible. “You are a terrible patient.”

“Yes. Yes, I am. We’ve established that many times over. Now the question remains, are you a terrible doctor?” She smirked and pulled her face free, immediately burrowing into his neck again to test the limit of his self-control. She found it… and surpassed it.

“I guess I am.” He scooped her up. “You should be in bed,” he teased.

“I couldn’t agree more.”