Alone with Gwendoline by the riverbank, there was nothing else to say.

I didn’t know what the character in the game had thought (what motivations the writer had in mind). In reality, she wouldn’t believe me if I told her I would stop the bullying. That was the painful truth. Once it reached a point, and it had probably reached that point long ago, she simply wouldn’t be able to trust anyone. She wouldn’t believe anyone who said they wanted to help her. She wouldn’t listen to any advice given to her.

Even though she’d asked me, she had probably dismissed my help as wrong before I’d finished speaking. Her first instinct had been to try and disprove it, attack it, change the subject.

After a few minutes of silence, she said her goodbye, returning my coat and thanking me for listening to her complain.

I wasn’t going to even watch her walk away, looking out at the water instead. But all I could see was her lifeless body floating there—her “bad ending”. I didn’t want to be someone who saw something like that and did nothing. I didn’t want to be someone who just watched as something cruel happened.

All those years ago, oh how I’d wished someone would reach out to me and refuse to let go.

I turned around. She wasn’t far away, not yet. I took one step, then another. And there was a voice in the back of my head, telling me that I already knew there was no point, that fate would run its course, that I couldn’t change anything.

And I told that voice that I wasn’t so weak, not any more.

“Gwen!”

She stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“I know I can’t do anything, but I can try, and I’m really good at trying and failing.”

She started walking again, disappearing into the darkness of the night. Checking my watch, I waited as long as I could without missing curfew before I walked back, deep in thought. Sleep didn’t come easily.

The next day, I spent the morning thinking too, Miles leaving me to it. When the afternoon came and it was time to get ready for the ball, I got changed quickly, leaving my room and knocking on his door.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“Me.”

It sounded like he fell over, and then he raced over, taking a couple of tries to unlock the door. Door finally open, he asked. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.”

He let out a long sigh, hand resting on his heart. “You gave me such a fright.” I said nothing to that, and his expression grew worried. “Al?”

“You’ll always be my friend, even if I do something incredibly stupid, right?”

“Well, as long as it’s not criminal, or, I mean, there are certainly some limits,” he said, rubbing his chin. “I’m sure stupid is fine.”

“You promise?” I asked.

He saw the seriousness in my eyes, and returned it. “I do.” After a second, he asked, “Is this about the princess?”

I smiled, wry. “Am I that easy to read?”

His gaze slipped to the side. “I… felt I should have warned you away from her—at first. The more I thought of it, though, the more I knew I’d fallen for the gossip, and the more I sympathised with her.”

“You should get changed,” I said, patting his shoulder.

“Right.”

I went back to my room, and he joined me there when he was ready, the two of us spending the time until the ball talking. Unusual for us, there weren’t any jokes.

The New Year ball. Boys lined up opposite the girls.

“Would all those who have a partner take to the floor.”

I hadn’t caught her eye. She avoided looking at me. I didn’t walk over to her.

“You and… you.”

A twist of fate, the teacher paired me up with Isabel Reading. She looked cute, crimson a good colour on her, and I led her to the dance floor. Once there, we introduced ourselves (even though we knew each other).

Then I said, “May I ask you for a favour?”

“Have you no shame? We barely know each other,” she said, her tone light.

I smiled. “Would you check on Princess Gwendoline after the ball?”

Her expression froze. “I wouldn’t say I am particularly close to her, and it is quite rude to speak of another woman when we are dancing, do you not think?”

“I don’t think badly of you for watching and doing nothing, I really don’t. I know how scary it is to risk being ostracised. However, speaking a few words with her would be fine.”

She bowed her head, hiding her eyes from me. “You’re cruel,” she said, a whisper.

“I know.”

We danced in an awkward silence. I kept my gaze high, hoping to spare her that little bit of discomfort. When the first song finished, I bowed to her, she didn’t curtsy.

Before she left, I said, “I think you’d get on with Miles—he’s a much better man than I am.”

I didn’t even know if she heard, walking away from me at a brisk pace. That helped to settle me. All I knew about her came from The Key To Her Heart, but she’d seemed like a good person, and I had meant what I said—I didn’t think badly of her. I wouldn’t have entrusted Gwen to her if I did.

Next, I looked for the only other person I (indirectly) knew. It wasn’t hard, since she sat by herself in a table off to the side much like I usually would. Beatrice Westmorland. Coming to her, she seemed to not want to look at me, but I stayed there until she did.

When she saw my face, she had no problem meeting my gaze. I offered her my hand and she took it, letting me lead her to the dance floor, and we danced.

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“May I ask you for a favour?” I asked.

“That would… depend on what it is.”

“Would you check on Princess Gwendoline after the ball?”

Though she showed little of her emotions, there was a touch of sourness, and she didn’t quite look me in the eye. “That is… difficult for me to agree to.”

“If she were a character in a book, you would wish with all your heart for some kind soul to help her, would you not?”

She gave no reply. At the end of the song, like Isabel she didn’t curtsy, leaving in a rush.

I hated myself for saying the words, and yet I hated myself more because I had meant them. Even if I didn’t think badly of them for doing nothing, I was still disappointed. They were only fifteen or sixteen. The more I remembered that, the more I let that disappointment fade away.

Besides, there was something more important for me to do than think right now.

Scanning the tables, I didn’t see Gwen there. On the dance floor, I stepped between the dancing couples, skirted the groups huddled up to chat, searching.

Finally, I found her. She stood by herself, an empty glass of wine in one hand, her gaze set to the night sky through the window. Moonlight shone upon her face, giving her a pale glow better than any makeup. Pained. Lonely.

I walked over to her slowly, and cleared my throat when I came close. She didn’t turn around.

“You look beautiful, Gwen.”

She slowly turned around.

“Are you ready to turn me down?” I asked.

The blank expression on her face spoke to how well she hid her emotions, no doubt confused by my question, and yet I could feel the irritation, the frustration. Not just from me, but from the other girls, from her “family”, from the world. More than I had ever been, she truly was alone.

Getting down on one knee, I held out my hand and loudly asked, “Would you marry me?”

She couldn’t hide the surprise and, honestly, it was adorable, a cute disconnect between her usual composure and this unguarded expression. But it passed quickly. Already, the people nearby looked over, excited whispers spreading like wildfire. If she took much longer, we would be the centre of attention.

The mask she wore slipping, the rising anger bled through. I couldn’t blame her. In this moment, she must have hated me more than anyone else. I was making fun of her in just the most brutal way. Any second now, everyone would start laughing, goading her, telling her to accept because no one else would ever ask her. There was no way for her to escape without being entirely humiliated.

That was what she believed, and it boiled over, the slap echoing through the hushed hall. Her footsteps trailed away, fast and light taps, whispers left in her wake.

I stayed as I was for a long moment, and then slowly stood back up.

Moths to a flame, a gaggle of girls drew near, barely suppressed smiles on their lips. “Oh you poor thing,” one said—Lady Stamford.

“How could she, not even giving you an answer,” another said—Lady Wisbech.

“What did you even see in her?” a third asked—Miss Huntingdon.

There were a few more in their group, all of them standing nice and close so I could clearly look at them all at the same time. Smiling sadly, I loudly said, “I’ve yet to know her well, but I feel she is a kind person. After all, despite what you ladies have put her through, she has never so much as uttered a bad word about you, has she?”

If looks could kill, well, I would’ve died that first night at the boarding school. They did their best anyway.

Miss Huntingdon stepped forward, raising her hand and saying, “How dare you.”

I looked her in the eye. “Am I wrong?”

She hesitated, glancing at the crowd. Before she could say or do anything, a chaperone pushed through, grabbing me by the arm and yanking me forward, dragging me away.

It was a fun few hours later that I was returned to my room, door locked. Falling into the chair by my desk, I looked out the window. All those years ago, everything had been so much simpler, boys being boys. These kids were all important sons and daughters, with parents who may well act on their children’s whines, and there was the reputation of the school, and a whole lot more blah that didn’t matter to me. At least, not any more.

I wasn’t surprised when there was a knock. Pushing myself up, I shuffled over and sat down on the floor, back to the door. “Sorry, I’m not allowed to come out and play.”

“That bad, huh?” Miles quietly asked.

“Yes. They’ve sent a letter to my father, which I imagine simply says: Come and pick up your son before we throw him out.”

He chuckled lightly. “You knew that would happen.”

“Yes.”

“What do you think your father will do?”

I sighed, rubbing some of the drowsiness from my face. “Don’t know. He has businesses that do business with the royals, so probably send me off to a distant uncle.”

“But you knew that would happen.”

I chuckled this time. “While I know I ignore you a lot, weren’t you listening earlier?”

“Just making sure you remember how stupid you are.” I gave him that. After a few seconds, he asked, “You know, one thing you didn’t say, what would you have done if she’d said yes?”

That sent me for a loop, something I hadn’t considered at all. Obviously, there was no way she would have, so I hadn’t even thought to think about it. Now that he’d asked, I entertained him.

“Well, I do know I barely know her, but I do think she’s a good person. Kind, patient, earnest. I feel she’s someone special. While I may not be in love with her now, of course I would try my best to treat her well, and I think I would come to love her in time.”

“Do you truly mean that?”

My heart skipped a beat—Miles hadn’t said that.

“Gwen?”

“Do you truly mean that?” she asked again.

“I do,” I said.

It was a long moment of silence. Then she spoke, soft, a roughness to her voice. “Why, why would you… throw everything away? For me?”

Smiling, I wished I could have given her something romantic, but the truth would have to do. “I’ve spent my life trying not to be cruel. However, it turns out being cruel is the only thing I’m good at, so I thought I’d try to be kind for a change.”

“I… don’t understand.”

“Right now, do you feel like you’re alone?” I asked. The seconds trickled by, and she didn’t reply. “I’ll pick myself up somehow, and I still have Miles so I haven’t lost anything I value. This memory is more than enough for me to think it was worth it.”

“Okay.”

Feeling a little childish, I asked, “What are you saying that to?”

“I’ll marry you.”

“What?” exclaimed, well, seemingly everyone—I did, Miles did, and I was sure I heard Isabel as well, which made me think Beatrice was probably also there and probably just as shocked, albeit quiet about it.

Once they’d suitably shushed each other, not wanting to draw attention to the numerous rules being broken, Gwen said it again. “If you would still have me, then I accept your proposal.”

To cut a long story short, we eloped, heading down to London and living a modest life under aliases. It took a while for the newspapers to start printing that the princess was missing, and even then they didn’t include a photograph, not really a thing newspapers did yet. Miles had also played a part, though, confessing that I’d mentioned wanting to live in Edinburgh and had often spoke highly of Scotland. A rumour also started that she was pregnant, which was helpful since she wasn’t.

A few years down the line, Miles moved to London, bringing along a certain Isabel as his wife, Beatrice also coming as a close friend of theirs. While they lived off family money at first, we started to make a living off of writing and some small business ventures. Not the most extravagant life, but we lived alongside the new money—nouveau riche—and contributed to charities and social work, especially Beatrice.

I soon after managed to reconnect with Daisy. She visited London to attend an event hosted by her new favourite author, surprised to find me sitting beside Beatrice (the author in question). Though a worrying moment at first, she kept the secret. I was glad to know Alice and Chestnut were well.

True to my word, I did my best to make Gwen happy. I really did. At first, we were just kids playing house, especially with how conscious I was of the mental age gap between us. It wasn’t a perfect marriage by any stretch. We had our fair share and a half of arguments, stressed by money and culture shock. But it was a marriage built on apologies, trying to understand each other, and believing we both wanted each other to be happy. As long as we remembered that, our tempers and pride couldn’t break us apart.

Over the years, we slowly grew closer, and I came to love her as a person, and as a woman. It might have never been the sort of passionate lust that books were written about, but I loved her entirely, and I felt so incredibly loved by her. I couldn’t have asked for anything more. We had two children together, a boy and a girl. By the time they were teenagers, we were often scolded for being too affectionate in front of them.

In Gwen, I found my own happiness. There was a comfort in coming home and having someone else there, a comfort I’d never known as Alice, and it meant the world to me. My tongue had always been cruel, but she helped me learn to show kindness through my actions. There was finally someone who understood me.

Regardless of when I was born or who I was born as, this was who I was meant to be, where I was meant to be, these people—Gwen, Miles, Isabel, Beatrice, and Daisy—were who I was meant to be with. My precious family.

This was my “good ending”.

True End