Water cascaded over the heads of the two women desperately clasping forearms. Their clothes were flattened to their bodies in an instant, turning transparent. The cold water would be numbing their fingers and stealing their breath, but they refused to twist away and refused to let go. The torrent began pressing down the larger of the two, but her companion would not let her fall. She tightened her grip, weak in one hand, and pulled the other upright.

There was a loud creak and slam; the deluge ceased. The grove keeper atop the wooden construct spoke, his hand resting on the lever which had closed the floodgate.

“Stone, some say, lasts forever. Stone is strong, immobile; permanent. Water proves the lie. Water splits stone apart, driving a wedge which can never be healed. As water can tear apart stone, so can it destroy all powerful things. All powerful things but one.

“Love.

“Love is the promise which bonds these women together. Water could not tear them apart. Camil and Talah stood beneath the cascade, beneath the full might of the divider, and they stood firm. These women supported each other, and their devotion to one another is stronger than stone. Let all know these two are married.”

Talah and Camil released arms, revealing red marks which quickly faded to white.

King Derk stepped forward, and beamed at Talah. “You caught my daughter when she fell! This is a blessed marriage! Come you two, come. This way. There are dry clothes waiting for you.”

Camil smiled at her father, “I always imagined my wedding, but never thought it would be so cold.”

Derk laughed, “Aye, I remember well my own. Your mother and I were not so mad as to be married in spring, however. I would wager the both of you are happy I made you wait.”

They approached a small wooden hut, constructed especially for the wedding. Upon the light oak door was carved a many headed snake. Derk placed his hand on the snake and pushed it open with a bow.

“Warm vestments inside fair ladies. And a salve for your hand, Talah.”

Camil bowed in return and hastened into the room. Talah stood back.

“Derk, meet me in an hour. I have some new ideas to aid us in the conquest of Vesperdom.”

Derk admired drive, but there was a time for all things. He put a hand on Talah’s sodden shoulder, “No. This day is your wedding day.”

Talah frowned, “Then early on the morrow.”

Derk smiled in a manner he suspected was maddening, “Not then either, nor during the whole day, nor the day after. When a couple is wed all expect them to take the next few days to themselves.”

“We don’t have a few days—”

“We cannot do otherwise. Images must be maintained. People are inspired by ideals, not obligations. Now hurry after Camil. You are meant to emerge at the same time,” he winced, “Also Camil has been cultivating a taste for impractical clothing. Beautiful, yes, but she can’t even dress herself.”

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

It was Talah’s turn to smile. As she strode through the door she threw one last glance at King Derk, “It’s about maintaining her image.”

Derk closed the door, chuckling. He would not have suggested the marriage if she wasn’t her father’s daughter.

Straightening his sleeves, he noted his right cuff had become soaked through. He’d need to change his shirt. Derk switched course from joining with the crowd on his estate’s lawn and ducked through a small side door in his manor with a nod to the guard.

He crossed the hall to his personal chamber and had the guard there close the door behind him. He immediately felt that something was out of place. There, on his desk. Someone had stacked a large bundle of papers. Derk moved to the papers and took the first one in hand, momentarily forgetting about his wet sleeve. Scrawled across the top page, in ink, in charcoal, in bright red stains Derk surmised to be juices of some sort, were names, x’s, and pictograms. The back of the page was covered much the same, as was the front of the next page, and its back. Derk rifled through the papers. They were filled with signatures. Hundreds of them.

“Supporters of your campaign.”

Derk turned with a start, ready to summon his guard, then paused as he saw the woman behind him, for her hands were raised and empty. She was unarmed. Derk decided the best course forward would be to show no weakness or fear. He gestured to his chair, suggesting she sit. The woman did so with such familiarity that Derk wondered how many times she had been in his chamber, or indeed how many chambers she had stolen her way into in the past.

Instead of explaining herself she grabbed a decanter of amber liquid from his desk and used it to fill a matching crystal chalice. She sipped slowly from her stolen glass.

“What is this?” she said, raising it appreciatively.

“I have long suffered from nightmares, and so, over the years, I’ve perfected a medication to help me sleep,” Derk felt a small surge of vindictive pleasure, “though the typical dosage is half of what you consumed.”

She yawned, “Well… that shows me.”

“What are you doing here, and what is this stack of signatures supposed to represent?”

The woman slumped, then pushed herself upright, “They’re,” she frowned and comically widened her eyes, “they’re the will of the people. They,” she staggered towards his mattress, “want freedom. They want to join you.”

The will of the people? These were signatures from the people of Vesperdom! They had to be. How they knew of his clandestine plans of conquest—liberation if he could spin it right—was beyond him. Only himself, Talah, Camil, and their respective Conor knew of the plans, and Derk had known all for many years.

“How did you—”

The woman had collapsed onto his bed and was already asleep. Derk frowned. He’d have to get it washed.

“First thing is first, Derk.” He muttered. It wasn’t the proper expression, but he felt things should be done one at a time.

Derk’s walls were made of wood which he had ordered stuffed with wool. This provided more than enough insulation in winter and as such he only had a single tapestry in his room. It depicted a foolish ancestor proclaiming love to his lady. He was down on one knee, sword outstretched to her, in a vow to fight impossible odds. He had died, if Derk recalled correctly, though he had never cared to find out one way or another. Derk thought the whole thing stupid. He didn’t believe in making promises you couldn’t keep and he didn’t believe in fighting battles you couldn’t win, even if it got you a wink from a beautiful maiden. Still, he had kept the tapestry. Not out of sentiment, pride, or even duty to his ancestors, but for the simple fact that it was the only tapestry large enough to conceal the cord hidden behind it. Derk reached around and gave the cord three tugs, all at a different speed. Several minutes later a man dressed as a footman was standing unobtrusively beside him.

“A Conor either in Talah’s service or my own has been relaying classified information. Find them for me.”

“And then?” the man dressed as a footman asked.

“Nothing as of yet; they’ve proved useful. Set a watch and let me know should they try further betrayals of trust.”

The man dressed as a footman bowed and was gone.