After the ball Nem ordered him to bed, but Regis knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. She finally left with a sigh and a please—she had to be really worried to do that.

Charlotte had distracted him, but she had to spend most of her time elsewhere, and he’d reassured Nem he was fine so she should go chat with the richer young lords who happened to be there. The lord Chestern, a borderlord’s son, was there—quite unusually since he took the title of heir seriously and trained constantly—and Nem had been keeping an eye on him and his inheritance for years.

With nothing to distract him he’d gone back to thinking about what Trint had said. Charlotte saying he was obviously in love with her comforted him as well as making him blush—but she was perceptive, probably more than anyone else in attendance. Besides, she already knew him far, far better than any of them—sans Nem. He’d never been unfriendly to anyone, but he’d also never been exactly open.

Even if everyone here—except, of course, Trint—could see the truth, what about everyone else who heard the story?

He ended up in the library, not wanting to go outside since it was cold, and looking at the orchard was the next best thing.

His entire life he’d been known as a good person, as far as he could tell. He tried to do what was right, tried to be kind and helpful. He’d never even considered that someone could think him dishonorable. He knew Geo did, but Geo was protecting her from apparently more danger than anyone suspected.

Regis was thinking about that when the door opened behind him. He spun around, but the silhouette was familiar and he relaxed.

“Regis?” Charlotte whispered. She waited a moment, and he realized that even backlit she couldn’t see him, coming from the brightly lit hall.

“I’m here,” he said. After a moment she slipped inside and closed the door.

“I passed Nem on the way to my room,” she said as she joined him at the windows. “She looked worried enough I guessed you might not be going to bed.”

“You came looking for me?” he asked.

There was a pause. “Yes,” she said. “My ladies don’t know I’m here. I’m sure Geo knows, though. He has guards everywhere.”

“Who could possibly want to hurt you?” he asked.

“We have no idea,” she said.

“Not the Addavians, then?” he asked, “wanting to get back the gift?”

“There are too many offshoots of Irene’s descendants now,” she said. “Though that was our first thought, too.”

“So you have no way to find out who they are,” he said.

“Are you up worrying about my safety?” she asked.

“I’m trying to keep perspective,” he said. “Being thought dishonest isn’t that bad in comparison to what you’re dealing with.”

“If it’s any comfort, my ladies tell me you could only have had a better reaction if you regally stared him down and icily told him he was a moron for thinking that.”

“Staring at him and walking away was good?” he asked.

“Utter surprise and then disgust,” Charlotte said. “The simple walking away worked very well.”

“It wasn’t purposefully that way,” he said.

“I know. I’m comforting you, remember?”

Her tone was light, and he had to smile back.

“Nem’s driven,” she said. “I didn’t think you were serious until I saw her talking to the lord Chestern all night.”

Regis looked at her. “All night?”

“You didn’t notice?” she asked.

“I didn’t realize it was all night,” he said. “I’ll have to ask her about that. She usually goes around and flirts with every rich boy in attendance.”

“All for her beloved irrigation system overhaul?”

Regis smiled. “She has other plans, too.”

Charlotte laughed, but quietly. It suited the comfortable darkness around them. Moonlight made white squares on the floor around their feet, and outside the trees already looked frosted.

“Regis,” she said, “what would break the illusion?”

“Acting like something you aren’t would be cheating,” he said.

“I’m talking about reasonable,” she said.

“I don’t know,” he said. “If you somehow proved that you didn’t care about your duties, or were purposefully mean-spirited, but from what I’ve seen of you the last week and a half it wouldn’t fit anyway.”

“No,” she said, “I can’t argue about that, even if sometimes I don’t want to care. What else?”

He tried to think of something. “Purposefully letting someone bully you?”

“I can’t do that,” she said.

“I didn’t think so,” he said.

“Isn’t there anything else?” she asked. “I have a thousand and one faults.”

“I’ve always seen someone who hides that she likes to have fun, and has a streak of mischief. Someone who can smile like she’s her age rather than a crown princess. Someone who would drop everything and run to victims of severe flooding instead of sending vassals. Someone who knows what she has to sacrifice to be what she has to be, and then does it, no matter how much of what she needs is in that sacrifice.”

“And complains about it?” she asked.

Regis smiled. “Complaining is natural, and more of a detail. It never mattered much if you did or not, though if you didn’t—you wouldn’t even be human. You know, you don’t complain nearly as much as you think you do.”

“I’m told it’s a fault,” she said.

“Who said that?” he asked.

“Oh, cousins, a few of my ladies occasionally, and once my mother, though it’s been a while since she said that, so I can hope it isn’t as true anymore.”

“Do they all call you troublesome, too?” he asked.

“That’s mostly Geo,” she said. “I do make a lot of trouble for him. It almost got me killed once that I know of, but somehow I still do it. I guess I can’t be cooped up in a cage all the time. And I’m not always kind.”

“Is that when you’re tired?” he asked. “Someone’s been nagging at you for too long, or it’s been a longer day than usual and you have to stay up even later?”

“Tired isn’t a good excuse,” she said. “And I don’t have to be that tired.”

“And is it commission or omission?” he asked.

“I can snap at people. I made one of my ladies cry once.”

“Once?”

“They’re tough.”

“Really?”

A cloud went over the moon, and she answered only after it had gone. “I would be a sad excuse for a person indeed if I purposefully hurt them. No, I suppose sins of commission are rare, as far as I know, but that doesn’t excuse the sins of omission.”

Another cloud shadowed the orchard, and it started to rain gently on the grey and white leaves. Some of the leaves fell, exposing more silvery bark.

“The only thing I’ve found that surprised me,” he said, “is how much you micromanage things.”

“I don’t,” she said.

“If you don’t I don’t know what micromanaging would look like,” he said, “and I’m Nem’s brother. What meetings don’t you attend?”

Charlotte opened her mouth looking assured, but then hesitated. Regis waited. Her cheeks darkened.

“I suppose the ones I skip are all frivolous and truly unimportant, but I like to keep an eye on things.”

“You can’t send anyone to take notes for you? Or don’t you trust them?”

“I trust them,” she said. “Serono could do it, I suppose, but . . . Mother wants notes.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Regis raised his eyebrows.

“Alright, so that was a lie,” she said. “I just . . . don’t have anything else to do.”

“You could do something you enjoy,” he said. “Read, study fun uses for magic instead of practical, art—I don’t know what it would be.”

“I end up thinking,” she said. “If I think too much I realize how unhappy—that is—oh, never mind. You heard it. If I think I realize I’m unhappy.”

“Why?” he asked.

“That doesn’t shatter it?” she asked.

“Why would it?”

“You see someone who willingly gives it up no matter the personal cost. Those don’t mix.”

“I never said I thought you were happy,” he said, and Charlotte went silent.

The light rain left and the moonlight returned, making the orchard glitter gently. Regis didn’t look at her until a glint caught his eye. Then he barely caught her carefully wiping the tear into her cheek.

“What if you do see me clearly?” she asked. “After this week, and we likely don’t see each other ever again, more than in passing. How do you break the illusion if, in the end, it wasn’t one?”

He couldn’t give an answer, but she seemed to be waiting for one.

“Nothing works as a distraction from thinking?” he asked.

“Regis,” she said with a hint of exasperation.

“But I don’t know,” he said.

“You have to have thought about it,” she said. “Everyone has dreams for what they want to be when they grow up.”

“But I don’t,” he said. “My parents had one ridiculous dream for me, but I can’t share it and everything else is . . . I’ve been content enough supporting Nem and between that, watching interesting people—that generally means everyone—and training to fight, I never thought about it longer than I had to.”

“That makes it sound unpleasant,” she said.

Regis was caught between not wanting to tell her because it was personal and wanting to tell her because he loved her and wanted to tell her everything. But she’d answered personal questions honestly. It wouldn’t be fair if he didn’t. “I’m scared of it.”

She was watching him, he knew, even though he was keeping his eyes on the orchard. “Why?” she asked.

“Like you said, everyone wants something, they dream about something, but somehow supporting Nem feels like enough. I like knowing that I’m a good enough swordsman to win the fighting competition, but I didn’t spend hours daydreaming about it. Does that make me boring?”

“Nothing at all?” she asked.

Regis didn’t answer, because there was one thing he’d daydreamed about. Winning, and the moment when he’d ask her for a day. He’d never thought beyond that, even to the day itself. He assumed it would be successful and he could move on with his life—never mind what that meant. He’d think about it later.

“What did you parents want for you?” she asked.

Regis could feel his face flame, and he wanted to run. He’d been hoping she would never ask that, but he was the one who’d mentioned it, so it was his fault. “It isn’t important.”

“I have never seen you blush that badly,” she said. “Now I have to know.”

“Why?” he asked.

“I’ll come up with theories if you don’t,” she said. “I won’t be able not to. I’m bound to come up with something worse.”

“I don’t think you can,” he said.

“What, they named you Regis because they wanted you to be king?” She was joking, coming up with the worst thing she could. He wished she weren’t right.

There was a moment of silence.

“No,” she said in disbelief.

“Why do you think I was at court so much?” he asked. “Alone, and that young?”

Charlotte was staring at him. “Really?”

“They loved us both, and dearly,” he said, “but they were delusional. Of course, on one side it worked. I don’t know how they thought you were supposed to notice me.” He felt a pang as he realized something else she could be wondering—something he’d have thought of before that night, but Trint’s question made it worse. “That’s not the reason I’m here.”

“I didn’t think so,” she said. “Geo considered it, of course, but if that was the goal I think you’d have asked for a week to get me to fall in love with you instead of a week to break an illusion. If you’d known it wasn’t an illusion would you have asked for that instead?”

Regis thought about it, but then shook his head. “I know what I am, where I stand. Neither Nem or I are delusional.”

“You still fought in a competition for years to get my attention,” she said. “Why are the questions so different?”

“One is a plea for help, the other would be a plea for a person, and you no less.”

Neither spoke for a long moment, and Regis wondered how much time she was wasting standing in the dark next to him, watching the still, silvery orchard. Then he remembered something else.

“Why is it worse to know your flaws?” he asked.

“It just means it’s more likely that you’re in love with exactly who I am, no illusion at all.”

“Didn’t you already know that?”

“It cements it,” she said. “And isn’t being in love with the actual me the worst danger of all for you?”

“Does it matter?”

“Doesn’t it?”

Regis didn’t know how to answer.

“Realistically,” she said, “what will you do when you leave?”

“I’ll go home with Nem and do exactly the same thing as before. I’ll figure out what to do, but it will take time, and a lot of evenings talking to Nem over chess.”

Charlotte sighed. “Does it have to be chess?”

“Our father played,” he said. “We’d all sit together for a while in the evenings and he’d play each of us in turn, all the while telling us his grand plans for the world. Nem would be a political power and probably marry into the duke’s family so she’d be duchess, I’d somehow catch your eye and end up Regis Regis—” Charlotte stifled a giggle at that, like Nem usually did, “—and together we’d renovate every piece of corruption out of every system. The world would be perfect with his children in charge.”

“Why Nem a duchess but you king?” she asked. “If they wanted the best for both of you.”

“He was of the opinion that Adife was still the main threat to Pearlessagate, and she’d be able to make the defenses incredibly air-tight—and if we were lucky they’d be impressed by that and start paying more attention to how our culture is indefinitely superior—”

“He wasn’t serious about all of this,” she said.

“He knew he was dreaming about a lot of it,” Regis said, “but some of it . . .” He was a little sad, thinking about it, but he suddenly smiled.

“What is it?” she asked.

“We’ve always been poor,” he said, “for nobility, but they sent me to court with a new suit every year—they had to, since I was growing. I’m just remembering a few months ago when Nem cut them all up to make herself a new dress. She made me a suit, too, with the idea that it will fit me forever. She told me sternly not to gain or lose too much weight before events.”

“It isn’t the one you’re wearing, is it?” she asked.

“Oh yes,” he said, “and that’s the dress she was wearing tonight.”

Charlotte’s mouth dropped open and she laughed in delight. “I was admiring her dress earlier,” she said. “She really is thrifty.”

“She’d be delighted to hear you say that,” he said. She laughed again, and Regis just watched her, glad that for the moment she seemed happy. Then the laugh died on her lips, and he realized he hadn’t only been smiling at her—he’d been looking at her like he always tried not to. He couldn’t read her eyes, so he looked away.

“Regis,” she said, and didn’t go on until he’d looked at her again, “I like having you around, but I don’t want to play with your heart.”

He didn’t know how to answer that.

“I keep thinking about asking you to stay for the snows,” she said, and he felt his eyes widen, “but that isn’t fair to you, is it?”

“I’ll take the time you’ll give me,” he said.

“But is it kind?” she asked.

“If you want an answer Nem will be more likely to have it,” he said.

She looked away. “I shouldn’t have told you. At the least I should have kept thinking about it until the end of the week before I said anything. I’m sorry, I’m not good at politics—at least, not as good as I want to be—and the politics of hearts . . .” She trailed off, sadness on her face. “I don’t think anyone’s ever been in love with me before.” She sighed. “I need to sleep, but . . . will you be alright?”

“I’ll be alright,” he said.

“I’ll think about what you said, about micromanaging.” She looked like she was about to add something else, but then didn’t. “Goodnight, Regis.”

Charlotte leaned in and kissed his cheek, and then left, closing the library door softly behind her.