On the first day after Veyren’s demand, Ardenthal lay beneath a calm that belonged to no one. The courtyard worked, the writing room opened, the horses were cared for, and in the North Wing bandages were changed, soups carried, and sleep ordered where bodies refused it. From the outside, one might have thought the proposal from Kronwacht was only another parchment among many. Yet Alina noticed that something had shifted. People no longer looked at her only as the princess who had brought back the king. In some glances there now lay a question no one spoke aloud. Would she go? Would she stay? Would she give herself for Ardenthal as others had given themselves with lance, wagon, or bandage? The word sacrifice was never said. Precisely because of that, she heard it everywhere. The council began early. Alina did not sit at the edge, but on her father’s left side. Seraphina sat on his right. By now this order was no longer a small impropriety, but a statement, and the Master of Stores had stopped pretending not to notice it. Several sheets lay before him, covered in numbers. Provisions, debts, trade routes, possible customs relief, expected harvests, remaining obligations toward Kronwacht. Cerdan had prepared his own assessment of military risks. The priest had no list, but several sentences that sounded like responsibility even before he spoke them. Arvid seemed more alert than the day before, yet his alertness had been worked for. Alina saw it in his jaw, in the pauses between breaths, in the way his hand touched the cane without using it. “We begin with the consequences of acceptance,” Seraphina said. The Master of Stores lifted his eyebrows, but said nothing against her direction. “Economically,” he began, “Kronwacht’s assurances would be considerable. The partial cancellation of open obligations would give us at least two good harvest years of room. Preferred trade could make salt, iron, and seed cheaper. The promised builders for roads and storehouses would also be useful, provided their presence is limited in time.” “And provided they truly build and do not count,” Alina said. The Master of Stores looked at her. “That could be fixed contractually.” “Contracts brought us here.” “Contracts also carried us through the hunger years.” It was not an attack. It was worse. It was true. Alina could not simply reject the sentence without betraying the dead of those years. Seraphina did not intervene. Neither did Arvid. The Master of Stores continued. “Militarily, Kronwacht would bind itself more strongly to our security. An attack from the east would become less likely if Kronwacht considers Ardenthal kin.” Cerdan cleared his throat. “That is true only as long as Kronwacht regards the alliance as an advantage. Kinship can mean protection. It can also mean claim.” Alina looked at him. Until now she had thought Cerdan cautious to the point of uselessness. Perhaps he still was. But this sentence was useful. “Exactly,” Seraphina said. “Protection and claim often arrive beneath the same seal.” The priest folded his hands. “A marriage is not only a contract. It would also be a life. Perhaps we should not speak only of Kronwacht and Ardenthal, but also of whether Prince Elric is a man capable of honoring such a union.” Alina looked at him. “And if he is kind?” The priest was silent. “What then?” she asked. “If he is patient, educated, and courteous, does that make it less of a bargain?” “It would make the life that follows less cruel.” “That is a low measure.” “Yes,” the priest said. “But low measures are not always unimportant when one has to decide inside narrow rooms.” Alina hated that even this was true. A cruel Elric would have been easier. A kind Elric would change nothing about the chain, only the skin beneath it. Seraphina looked at the papers. “And the consequences of refusal?” The Master of Stores drew in an audible breath. “Harder to quantify. Kronwacht could react with offense. Raise tariffs. Withdraw cancellation of obligations. Refuse further support. In the worst case, it could insist that Ardenthal fulfill old duties faster than we can manage.” “Men?” Alina asked. “Money. Grain. Labor. Perhaps men, if a new conflict arises.” “A new conflict always arises more quickly when someone needs one,” Arvid said softly. Everyone looked at him. He had said little, but when he did speak, the room changed. “Donald may not need war against us. It is enough if he reminds us that we cannot afford one.” The Master of Stores nodded reluctantly. “That is possible.” “Then do not write possible in small letters,” Arvid said. “I want no lists that pretend to courage by pushing danger into subordinate clauses.” The Master of Stores lowered his gaze. “As you command.” The deliberations dragged on until midday. Alina listened, asked, contradicted, and remained silent when she felt a sentence had come only from anger. That was harder than speaking. Again and again they returned to things that could be measured. Provisions, debts, levies, roads, military strength, Donald’s possible reaction. And again and again beneath all of it lay something that could not be measured. Her. Her life. Her body. Her name. The possibility that children she might never want would one day be treated as bridges between Kronwacht and Ardenthal before they had even drawn breath. When the session was finally interrupted, Alina remained seated although the others left. Arvid did the same. Seraphina looked between them and chose not to stay. “I will leave you the room,” she said. “Not too long. Irma counts your steps, Arvid.” “Irma counts everything that displeases her.” “Then she is busy.” Seraphina left and closed the door behind her. For a moment the small hall was too still. Arvid slowly released his hand from the cane. “You left much unsaid.” Alina looked at the papers. “I thought much.” “That is more dangerous.” “For whom?” “For everyone, if you do it alone for too long.” She leaned back. “Then tell me what to think.” Arvid’s gaze grew sad. “I tried that for too long.” The sentence took away her sharpest answer. She looked at him and knew that she could love this man and still have to be angry with him, without one thing cancelling the other. “Explain the situation to me again,” she said. “Not as council and not as king in the hall, but as a father who is still king. King.” Arvid briefly closed his eyes, opened them again, and nodded. “We have debts we cannot repay quickly enough. We have a harvest that looks better than the last years, but is not yet certain enough to free us. We have men returned to us who need time before they can work or fight again. Our stores are sufficient, but they do not give us boldness. Kronwacht controls trade routes we need. Donald knows we are weakened. He also knows that after the rescue you are no longer only my daughter. You are a name people might follow.” “So he wants to remove me.” “Or bind you.” “That is the same thing if the bond lies far enough from here.” Arvid did not contradict her. “Perhaps.” “And you? Do you want to remove me?” “No.” The answer came at once. It felt good. It was not enough. “Would you do it?” This time no quick answer came. Alina felt the pain before he spoke. “I do not know.” She looked away. Not because she was surprised, but because honesty was sometimes more brutal than betrayal. “Thank you,” she said after a while. Arvid breathed heavily. “For what?” “For not lying.” “That does not feel like something one should be thanked for.” “It is not.” She looked at him again. “But it is better than comfort.” Arvid nodded slowly. “During the hunger years, I made decisions I believed necessary. Some were. Some were only the smaller failure. Afterward one becomes used to using necessity as a clean word. One says it often enough, and eventually it no longer sounds like people.” “And now I am to be one of those people.” “Now you are to be the person who keeps me from forgetting it.” That struck her unexpectedly. Arvid leaned forward slightly, and she saw the movement hurt him. “If I begin to speak only of Ardenthal and no longer of you, remind me. Not politely.” Alina swallowed. “I can do that.” “I know.” For a moment there was something between them that did not heal, but connected. Then someone knocked at the door, and Irma entered without waiting for an answer. “Majesty, if you sit upright any longer, I will personally take you back to the North Wing and show very little concern for royal dignity while doing it.” Arvid looked at Alina. “You see how my household speaks to me?” “I mainly see that it is right.” Irma nodded with satisfaction. “The princess has sense.” “Sometimes,” Alina said. Irma helped Arvid up, though he behaved as if he needed no help. When she led him out, Alina remained alone in the hall. The lists lay on the table. She ran her finger over the numbers without reading them. Acceptance. Refusal. Costs. Consequences. Roads. Everything looked as though it could be reasoned through. Nothing looked like her hand in Matthis’s hand. In the afternoon Alina did not go to him at once. Nor did she go immediately to the writing room, although Sanna was waiting there and although work was sometimes the only thing that kept thinking from devouring itself in circles. First she forced herself to walk through the courtyard. She walked neither quickly nor with lowered eyes, because if the courtyard was looking at her anyway, she wanted at least to know which glances had changed. At the well, two women from Dorfhain were speaking of grain distribution, but when Alina passed, grain suddenly became weather. By the storerooms, a boy carried a sack of flour too heavy for him and tried not to accept help because he had seen her. An old woman whose nephew had returned from the camp bowed to her and said, “Your Highness, you will know what you are doing.” It was meant kindly. Precisely because of that, it struck. The woman wanted to give her trust, and by doing so placed another weight into her hands. Alina wondered whether trust always began as a gift and eventually became a demand. Near the stables she heard Orven’s voice, quieter than usual this time. He was speaking with one of the returned men, who leaned on a cane. “If Kronwacht cancels the debts, it would be a blessing,” the man said. Orven did not answer at once. “For whom?” The other man snorted. “For everyone. Why ask that?” “Because blessings are usually handed out where someone else cannot see the bill.” Alina did not stop, but she took the sentence with her. Orven was rough, envious, sometimes cowardly in his way, but not stupid. Even below, where people supposedly spoke only of work, animals, and fodder, the calculation had begun. Some saw rescue in the marriage. Some saw a trap. Most saw both and did not know which part was larger. Only after that did she go to the writing room. Sanna sat there waiting as though she had not noticed time passing. “You were in the courtyard,” she said. “Yes.” “Good.” “It did not feel good.” “That was not the measure.” Alina sat opposite her. “They are already calculating.” Sanna nodded. “Of course. Calculation is easier than feeling. Numbers do not scream back.” “People sometimes do not either.” “Precisely why one has to be careful.” Three people came to the writing room that afternoon. A woman who wanted to send word to her brother. An old man who wanted to hear his son’s letter again, although the son himself was now lying in the North Wing asleep. A girl who only wanted to know whether one was allowed to write to the dead. Three people came. A woman who wanted to send word to her brother. An old man who wanted to hear his son’s letter again, although the son himself was now lying in the North Wing asleep. A girl who only wanted to know whether one was allowed to write to the dead. Sanna looked at Alina, but Alina received the question herself. “One may,” she said. The girl held a piece of cloth in her hands. “And who brings the letter?” “No one,” Alina answered. “But sometimes one writes not so someone can answer. Sometimes one writes so something does not remain alone in the body.” The girl nodded solemnly, as if she understood more than her age promised. Alina wrote for her. Not long. Only a few sentences. When the girl had gone, Sanna remained silent. “What?” Alina asked. “Nothing.” “You rarely say nothing.” “I only did not want to disturb.” Alina set down the quill. “That is new.” Sanna smiled tiredly. “The day is full of wonders.” Alina looked toward the door. “I have to see him.” “Yes.” “That does not sound like a warning.” “It is not. Not yet.” “And later?” “Later depends on whether you go to hide from yourself or to be honest.” Alina stood. “That is exhaustingly helpful.” “That is my best condition.” Before Alina went to the river, her path took her past the stables once more. She had not meant to stop there, and precisely because of that she did not. Matthis was not visible in the open courtyard. Instead she heard the stable boy cursing behind a stall because a horse had knocked the brush from his hand. A deeper voice, not Matthis, said, “Leave it. You are too rough today.” Only then did she hear Matthis. “He is not rough. He is afraid someone will look and notice he is still learning.” The stable boy muttered something Alina did not understand. Matthis answered more calmly. “Learning is no disgrace. Pretending one has nothing to learn gets people killed.” The sentence hung in the air for a moment. Alina stood in the shadow beside the entrance and knew he was not speaking only of horses. She heard steps in the straw. “Are you afraid?” the boy asked quietly. Alina should have gone. She stayed. Matthis did not answer at once. “Yes.” “Of what?” “Today? Of too many things.” “Also of Kronwacht?” “Of Kronwacht. Of Ardenthal. Of people who believe they can save others by giving them away.” The boy was silent. Then he asked, almost inaudibly, “And of the princess?” The stable went still. Alina felt her own heartbeat in her throat. At last Matthis answered, “Not of her.” The boy said nothing. Matthis added more softly, “Of what they want to make of her.” Alina went on before she heard more. She did not want to steal his words, even though they already belonged to her because she could no longer forget them. The river was emptier than usual in the early evening. Most of the work had been done, the boats tied, the baskets carried away. Alina had no official reason to be there, so she brought one with her. A small list of provisions for the North Wing lay in her hand, and if anyone asked, she could say she wanted to check whether the next delivery would be ready in the morning. It was not a lie. It was simply not the whole reason. Matthis did not come at once. Alina stood at the bank and looked at the water, whose surface took in the light of the sinking sun. She heard steps on gravel before he spoke. “Sanna?” “Yes.” “One day she will give us written orders just to make sure we obey them.” Alina turned toward him. “She has probably already started.” Matthis stopped beside her. Not too close. Not far enough. “The council?” “Numbers. Debts. Grain. Trade routes. Men not yet able to fight again. Donald knowing when a land is weak.” “And you?” “I appeared in every calculation, even when they did not always say my name.” Matthis looked toward the water. “That is worse, isn’t it?” “What?” “When they do not even need to name you to decide about you.” Alina held the list more tightly. “Yes.” For a while they stood still. Then Matthis said, “Today I thought for a long time about whether I should tell you that I would go with you.” Alina looked at him. “And?” “It would be true. If you call me, I will go.” The sentence was calm. No oath. No outburst. Precisely because of that, it reached her. “Matthis.” “I am not finished.” He turned toward her. “If you send me away, I will stay. Not because I like it. Not because I am braver when I wait. But because I do not want to make another burden out of my wanting.” Alina felt her face grow hot, not from embarrassment alone. From everything. “That sounds as if you worked on it for a long time.” “No. It sounds better than it felt.” “What do you want?” He looked at her, and this time he did not evade. “You.” The word was quiet. It was not adorned, not sung, not placed into any courtly form. It simply stood between them, bare enough that Alina would have had to lower her gaze if she had possessed less courage. She did not lower it. “And precisely because of that,” Matthis said, “I do not want to be the reason you do something you can no longer bear later.” Alina drew breath, but the air did not quite reach far enough. “I wanted it to be easier.” Matthis’s mouth almost moved toward a smile, but his eyes remained serious. “I did not.” “No?” “Easy would not have suited us.” The sentence could have been too beautiful. It was not, because afterward Matthis lowered his gaze and added softly, “But I would not have minded if it hurt less.” There it was again, the ground beneath the feeling. Alina laughed softly, and this time the laughter was narrow, but real. “I would have liked that too.” The river moved beside them. From the town came a distant call, then the strike of a door. Alina knew they could not stay long. Precisely because of that, she felt every moment more sharply. “I do not want to marry him,” she said. Matthis looked at her again. “Elric.” “Yes.” “Not only because of me.” “No.” “But also.” “Yes.” That yes was not loud, but it changed everything. Matthis stepped half a pace closer. “Do not say it if you say it only because everything is too narrow today.” “I say it because everything is too narrow today and it remains true anyway.” His hand moved, then stopped. Alina saw it and made the decision herself. She laid her hand against his. Not hastily. Not hidden from him, only from the world. His fingers closed around hers, and for one moment the river was the only sound they both allowed to count. “I do not know what love is permitted to mean in my position,” she said. “I do not even know whether I should use the word.” “You do not have to.” “Yes,” she said. Her heart beat hard. Not from fear alone. “I love you.” Matthis closed his eyes. Only briefly. When he opened them again, there was no joy in them that forgot pain. Something deeper lay there, and that nearly made her weak. “I love you too,” he said. No haste. No possession. No demand. Only answer. Alina felt how much her body wanted to be nearer. Not from confusion. Not because words were not enough, but because they were true and the body knew it before the mind could set rules against it. Matthis stood so near that she felt the warmth of his hand into her arm. His gaze fell to her mouth, this time not only briefly. She could have stepped back. She did not. When he leaned toward her, it was slowly enough for her to say no. She did not say it. The kiss was careful in the first moment, almost questioning, and grew firmer only when she held his hand more tightly. Alina had believed a kiss might perhaps quiet the unrest. Instead it made it clearer. She felt Matthis’s breath, the warmth of his skin, the restraint that cost him more strength than any boldness. His free hand rose, but did not touch her waist at once. Only when she stepped closer did he place it there, carefully, as if he knew exactly that this touch said more than was allowed. Alina held on to his shirt. Not tightly enough to tear the fabric. Tightly enough to betray that she did not want only to be comforted. For a brief moment there was no Kronwacht, no Elric, no council, no debts. There was only the taste of breath, the warmth of his hand, and the frightening knowledge that desire did not wait until the world was safe. Then they parted, not far, only enough to breathe again. Matthis stayed with his forehead near hers. “We should stop.” “Yes.” Neither moved. His hand was still at her waist. Her fingers still held his shirt. “Alina.” “I know.” She released him first. He took his hand from her waist, slowly, not because he hesitated, but because any quick movement would have betrayed the moment. Both stepped back. The distance returned, but it was no longer the same. “Now it is worse,” she said. Matthis nodded. “Yes.” “You should lie and say it is better.” “I am not good enough at that.” “Yes, you are. Just not with me.” He looked at her. “No. Not with you.” Voices approached in the distance. Two women came along the river path, baskets on their arms, tired from the day. Alina took the provision list in both hands. Matthis lifted the empty sack he had again brought as a reason. When the women passed, they bowed briefly to Alina and greeted Matthis. Nothing about them showed whether they had noticed something. Perhaps not. Perhaps yes. After they had gone by, Alina spoke softly. “We cannot go on like this.” “No.” “But I cannot stop either.” Matthis kept his gaze on the river. “Then we do not continue as if it were harmless. And we do not stop as if it were wrong.” She looked at him. “That sounds impossible.” “Yes.” “And still?” “And still.” He left first. That was wise. Alina remained at the bank until his steps had faded. Her lips still felt warm. She did not hate herself for it. That was new. Before Seraphina found her, Alina remained at the river longer than necessary. Not with Matthis, because he had gone and she had let him go, but at the place where his steps had faded into the gravel. The water continued doing what water always did. It received light, movement, and shadow and carried all of it onward without deciding which part mattered. Alina almost envied it for that. When she finally returned to the castle, the courtyard was full of evening sounds. A maid poured out water. A child was called. In the North Wing someone coughed so violently that two people hurried to the door at once. There was light in the stables, but she did not look there. She was afraid she would do it after all and betray something that had only moments earlier found words. On the stairs to the West Tower, she met Rena. The girl carried a basket of washed cloths and stopped because passing on the narrow step was difficult. “Your Highness.” “Rena.” The girl looked at her, no longer as defiant as before the rescue, but not small either. “Is it true?” Alina could have asked what she meant. She did not. “That Kronwacht wants a marriage?” “Yes.” Rena held the basket more tightly. “People are talking.” “I know.” “Some say it would be good. Then we would have peace.” “And you?” Rena looked at the cloths. “I thought peace would come when the men returned.” “And?” “It did not.” Alina had no quick answer for that. Rena lifted her eyes again. “If you go, it will not become peaceful either. It will only hurt differently.” Then she stepped aside as far as the stair allowed. “Forgive me. I should not have said that.” “Yes,” Alina said. “You should have.” Rena nodded curtly and went on. Alina remained on the stairs for another moment. Of all the sentences of this day, that might have been the simplest and one of the truest. Peace did not come automatically from return, from marriage, from contracts, or from obedience. Sometimes peace was only a word others used for one’s silence. Later Seraphina found her in the small room below the West Tower. Alina had tried to read the contractual conditions again, but the words blurred again and again at the same place. Residence in Kronwacht. Children. Succession. Counsel. Protection. Seraphina sat opposite her. “You saw him.” It was not a question. Alina set the parchment down. “Yes.” “And?” Alina could have evaded. She did not. “I told him I love him.” Seraphina did not close her eyes. She did not sigh. She only looked at Alina, long and serious. “Then it has been spoken.” “Yes.” “And with that, harder to hide.” “Was it hidden before?” “From some. From the two of you, no longer.” Alina leaned back. “Tell me I am stupid.” “No.” “Why not?” “Because it is not stupid to love. It is only dangerous when others find use in it.” “That is worse.” “Yes.” Seraphina took the copy and ran a finger over one of the conditions. “Every decision will cost someone. Accepting this marriage would cost you, Matthis, perhaps also what Ardenthal still possesses of its own future. Refusing it could cost provisions, protection, time, perhaps people who have no voice in this room. Nothing about it is clean.” Alina looked at her hands. “Then there is no right decision.” “There is. But no innocent one.” That sentence remained. Alina felt it settle inside her without becoming comfort. “What would you do?” she asked. Seraphina did not answer at once. “I am not you.” “That is not an answer.” “It is the only one that does not rob you.” Alina looked at her. Seraphina continued. “I can show you what is at stake. I can tell you where the traps lie. I can warn you when you are deceiving yourself. But I will not take the decision from you and call it protection.” “My father could.” “Yes.” “Will he?” Seraphina looked toward the door, behind which somewhere Arvid was wrestling with the same document. “He will try not to. Whether he is strong enough, I do not know.” Alina closed her hand around the parchment. “I do not want to marry Elric.” “You said that.” “No.” Alina lifted her gaze. “I do not only mean that I do not want it. I will not do it.” Seraphina was silent. This time not because she had no answer, but because she knew the sentence was a threshold. “I will not say it publicly yet,” Alina continued. “Not yet before Veyren. Not yet before the council. I want to know what consequences will come. I want to see what roads exist. But I will not go to Kronwacht and pretend my life is a beautiful bridge across Donald’s debts.” Seraphina looked at her for a long time. “Then the dangerous part begins now.” “I thought it had long since begun.” “No,” Seraphina said. “Until now others have reached for you. It becomes dangerous when you reach back.” Alina picked up the copy again. The words were still the same. Protection. Trade. Debt relief. Succession. Counsel. Accompaniment. But she now read them differently. No longer as the question of whether she would obey. But as a map of what she had to prevent. Outside, evening moved across Ardenthal. In the courtyard torches were lit. In the stables, Matthis was perhaps just now calming a horse, correcting the stable boy, or hanging the empty sack on a hook that had long since ceased to serve any purpose. Alina thought of his kiss, of his hand at her waist, of the sentence that he would go if she called him and stay if she sent him away. Love without possession was no easier gift. It left her fewer excuses. She looked at Seraphina. “Then we must find out how to say no without blindly driving Ardenthal into Donald’s hand.” Seraphina nodded. “Yes.” “And if there is no road?” “Then we make one.” Seraphina stood, went to the small shelf on the wall, and took out an older folder whose leather had darkened at the edges. She laid it on the table, but did not open it yet. “These are copies of the first aid contracts with Kronwacht. Arvid signed them then. I read them then and believed the most dangerous passages were those in which numbers stood.” “Were they not?” “No. The most dangerous passages were the friendly ones. Mutual counsel. Common security. Lasting bond. One reads such words differently when the stores are empty.” Alina looked at the folder. “Why are you showing me this only now?” “Because before, you would have read it as your father’s story. Now you read it as the beginning of your own danger.” That was hard. It was also useful. Seraphina slowly leafed through the copies until she found a place and pointed to it. “Here. Kronwacht undertook to deliver seed. In return, it received the right to be heard in an advisory capacity on future questions of trade routes.” Alina read the line. “Advisory.” “Yes.” “And from that came tariffs, passage rights, and later duties of men. Not immediately, never immediately, and that is precisely the important part. A chain that is tightened at once is recognized by everyone.” The words were old, but not gone. In them she saw Arvid younger, more tired, more desperate. She saw empty stores. She saw people before the gates who needed food before political cleanliness could still save them. She understood why he had signed. That did not make it harmless. It made it tragic. “If I refuse,” she said, “I must also fight against what once saved us.” “Yes.” “That is cruel.” “Politics is often cruelest when it has good reasons.” Alina ran her fingers along the edge of the folder. “And love?” Seraphina looked at her. “Love has good reasons too.” “And is still dangerous.” “Yes.” “You do not make it easier.” “I never promised to be useful and pleasant at the same time.” Alina laughed softly. It was an exhausted laugh, but it was real. “No. You truly did not.” Seraphina pushed the old contracts toward her. “Read them tomorrow. Not today. Today you would only see how many roads have already been closed behind you. Tomorrow you must see which ones are still open.” Alina lowered her gaze to the conditions. For the first time that day, her fear was not smaller, but it had a direction. She would not marry Prince Elric. For now it was an inner decision, hidden from council, envoy, and court. But it stood. And inside her something became still, not peaceful, not light, but firm.