That was all the encouragement I needed to hear. In the span of a single blink, we had teleported from where we had been standing to a location beneath the massive willow tree I had noticed earlier during our walk through the gardens. The transition was instantaneous and disorienting for anyone unprepared for such magical transportation.
Arvid flinched visibly in surprise, his body tensing as his mind tried to catch up with the sudden change in our surroundings. The teleportation had clearly caught him completely off guard.
"You—what—how did you—" he began, his voice carrying confusion and a hint of alarm as he tried to process what had just happened and formulate a coherent question.
I didn't give him the opportunity to finish that thought. I interrupted him decisively by covering his mouth with mine, capturing his lips in a kiss that was abrupt and demanding. He was utterly unprepared for the assault, his body going rigid with surprise for just a moment before his instincts took over and he began responding with equal fervor. Whatever questions he had been about to ask evaporated completely, replaced by more immediate physical concerns.
I pressed him backward against the thick trunk of the willow tree, using my body weight to pin him there, and deepened our kiss with a thirst I felt resonating deeply within my very soul. There was something almost desperate about it, a need to claim and be claimed that went beyond simple physical desire. Our tongues met and swirled together in an intimate dance. Our lips pressed and moved against each other with increasing urgency. Saliva was exchanged without any self-consciousness or hesitation, the wet intimacy of it somehow feeling profoundly right.
When we finally broke apart, we were both left panting heavily, our chests heaving as we struggled to catch our breath. Our faces remained close together, foreheads almost touching, sharing the same air. But even that intense kiss wasn't enough. The hunger inside me remained barely touched, like trying to quench deep thirst with a single drop of water.
*Not enough,* my mind insisted. *This is hardly enough.*
So I gently but firmly pushed Arvid downward to the ground, which was fortunately covered with a thick carpet of dry willow leaves that had accumulated over time. The natural cushioning made the hard earth beneath more comfortable. I positioned myself on top of him, straddling his hips, my thighs parting to accommodate his body between them.
His hands immediately landed on those parted thighs, his palms warm against my skin even through the fabric of my dress. His fingers began caressing the exposed flesh with gentle, exploratory touches that sent pleasant shivers up my spine. I bent down, bringing my face close to his once more, and we initiated another extended kissing session that was somehow even more intense than the first.
This passionate interlude lasted for quite some time—minutes that stretched and blurred together until I lost all sense of how long we had actually been there beneath the willow tree. We both remained acutely aware of the boundary we couldn't cross, that line of no return that would be inappropriate to breach here in a semi-public garden, even one as secluded as this spot. So we maintained just enough control to keep our activities within acceptable bounds, even as desire pushed us to test those boundaries.
Eventually, our passion mellowed into something softer and more comfortable. I shifted position so I was lying fully on his chest, using his body as my pillow, letting his warmth seep into me and provide comfort beyond the merely physical. He wrapped one arm securely around me, his hand moving in gentle, soothing patterns across my back—long strokes that traveled from my shoulders down to my lower back and then returned upward in a continuous, meditative rhythm.
It was peaceful in a way that felt profound. Safe. Perfect.
"How do you know the Saintess of Kima?" I asked him softly, breaking the comfortable silence. The question had been nagging at me since Fiona had thrown herself at him with such familiar enthusiasm. There was obviously history there, and I wanted to understand its nature and extent.
"Well," Arvid began, his voice carrying a thoughtful quality as he organized his memories, "when I first came to Kima at age eleven, I wasn't just sent to the kingdom in general. I was specifically sent to stay at her parents' house here in Auga. Her mother, you see, was an old friend of my father's—they had known each other for years, though I'm not entirely clear on how that friendship originally formed. Because of that connection, arrangements were made for me to lodge with their family during my two-year stay in the kingdom."
He paused, his hand continuing its soothing motion across my back.
"So for those entire two years I lived in Kima, I actually resided in their household as something between a guest and a semi-adopted family member. Fiona was two years younger than me at the time, which made her only nine years old when I arrived. She was just a child, really—all enthusiasm and energy and innocent affection. She used to follow me around constantly, trailing after me like a devoted puppy, calling out 'Brother Arvid' whenever she wanted my attention or wanted to show me something she thought was important."
I felt my face contorting into a frown of annoyance at the mental image his words conjured—a young Fiona monopolizing Arvid's time and attention, establishing a relationship and familiarity that predated my own connection to him by years. The irrational jealousy was impossible to completely suppress, even though I knew the situation he was describing had been entirely innocent.
Arvid apparently caught my expression shift, because he suddenly laughed—a genuine, delighted sound that rumbled through his chest beneath my ear.
"Don't laugh!" I protested, pulling back slightly to look at him with exaggerated affront. "It's genuinely annoying! Stop finding my jealousy entertaining!"
I was sulking now, and I knew it, but I couldn't seem to help myself.
"Were you actually jealous?" he asked, still grinning as he sat up and effortlessly repositioned me so I was sitting in his lap rather than lying across his chest. The shift in position brought us face to face, our eyes level with each other. "Over something that happened when we were children?"
I snuggled deeper into his embrace, pressing my face against his shoulder, but I stubbornly refused to answer the question directly. He didn't need verbal confirmation of what was already obvious.
"Well, if you were jealous, you do have some legitimate reason to have been concerned—at least historically speaking," Arvid admitted, his tone becoming more serious. "There were actually discussions about formally engaging us when we were still children. Fiona's mother initiated those talks with my father, proposing a match between their families. She was quite enthusiastic about the idea, actually. It would have been politically advantageous for both families, and she seemed to genuinely believe we would make a good pairing."
My body tensed involuntarily at this revelation, and Arvid immediately tightened his hold on me, offering reassurance through touch.
"But my father firmly opposed the idea," he continued quickly. "He told Fiona's mother in no uncertain terms that I should be free to find my own love when I was ready, just as he had been fortunate enough to do. He said he wouldn't burden me with arranged obligations and political marriages, that those kinds of alliances built on convenience rather than genuine affection rarely produced happiness. So the talks were ended before they ever really began, and I was left free to make my own choices."
He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead, the gesture tender and reassuring.
"And I want you to understand something clearly: I never saw Fiona in any romantic capacity whatsoever. Never, not even for a moment. To me, she was always just a little sister—an occasionally annoying younger sibling who demanded attention but who I was nonetheless fond of in a purely familial way. Whatever feelings she may have developed over the years were entirely one-sided."
"She clearly didn't think of you as a brother," I muttered, my voice still carrying a trace of sulky annoyance. "That embrace earlier was definitely not sisterly affection."
"No," Arvid agreed with a sigh. "I suppose somewhere along the way, her feelings transformed into something else. Perhaps she conflated childhood familiarity with romantic love, or perhaps she built up an idealized version of me in her imagination over the years we were apart. Either way, those feelings aren't reciprocated and never will be."
I shifted topics slightly, my curiosity overcoming my lingering jealousy. "How in the world did they choose her as the Saintess of Kima? From what I witnessed, she's utterly mannerless and shockingly ignorant. She has absolutely no regard for the people serving her, treating her attendants like they're barely human. Those qualities don't seem particularly compatible with being a spiritual leader who's supposed to embody divine grace and compassion."
Arvid's expression turned somewhat cynical. "As I mentioned before, the Saintess position in Kima is largely symbolic rather than substantive. The role carries prestige and public visibility, but very little actual political or religious power. She was elected to the position from among the noble families of Kima—it's essentially a political appointment dressed up in religious garments."
He adjusted his position slightly, getting more comfortable as he explained the situation.
"Fiona's family represents high nobility within Kima's social hierarchy. They're one of the most influential families in the kingdom, with extensive land holdings and considerable wealth. Her mother in particular wields significant political influence through various networks and alliances she's cultivated over the years. When the position of Saintess became available, her mother essentially orchestrated Fiona's selection. With that level of backing and influence, no one dared to oppose the choice, even if they might have privately questioned whether Fiona possessed the appropriate temperament or qualifications."
"So it was basically nepotism and political maneuvering," I summarized flatly.
"Essentially, yes," Arvid confirmed. "But before you become too concerned about the welfare of Kima's citizens, remember that the Saintess doesn't actually hold any real power to oppress or harm people. All genuine religious and political authority belongs to the High Priest. Fiona is essentially a figurehead—she performs ceremonial functions, appears at public events, and serves as a symbol of the faith. But she can't make policy, can't issue binding religious decrees, and can't actually affect people's lives in any meaningful way beyond the symbolic."
That explanation did make me feel marginally better, though I still found the entire system distasteful. Yet I had to admit that the people of Kima seemed generally happy and prosperous. Throughout our journey through the city, I hadn't observed a single beggar on the streets—a remarkable contrast to many other cities I had visited, where poverty was often visible and widespread. So whatever flaws existed in their governmental and religious systems, they were at least managing to provide for their population's basic needs effectively.
"You saw me actively trying to push her away, didn't you?" Arvid asked suddenly, his tone carrying a hint of concern. "When she first grabbed me, I was trying to create distance and extricate myself. I wasn't encouraging her behavior or welcoming the embrace."
I looked up at him and offered a sweet smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. "Yes, I noticed your attempts to escape."
"Good," he said, looking relieved.
"That's precisely why you're still alive," I added in that same sweet tone.
His eyes widened slightly as he processed the implications of that statement, realizing I was entirely serious. If he had welcomed Fiona's embrace or reciprocated her affection in any way, there would have been consequences. Severe consequences.
---
After our secret rendezvous beneath the willow tree—which had apparently lasted long enough to worry both Katherine and General Rohan nearly to death with concern about our whereabouts and safety—we finally returned to the mansion where we had been residing during our stay in Kima. Arvid had explained that he had built this particular property years ago specifically because he absolutely loved the panoramic view of the city it offered from its elevated position.
As we approached the mansion grounds, I noticed soldiers moving with purposeful efficiency, clearly busy preparing carriages and loading wagons with our belongings and supplies. The level of activity suggested imminent departure rather than casual maintenance.
"Are we leaving Kima?" I asked Arvid, watching the preparations with growing curiosity.
"Hmm, yes," he confirmed, following my gaze to observe the soldiers' work. "You've woken up and made a full recovery, which was our primary reason for remaining here. There's no need to dwell in this location any longer. Our destination has always been Arpa—this was just a necessary detour to ensure you received the best possible care during your healing. Now we just need to cross the Great Sand Desert, and we should reach Arpa in approximately two weeks, assuming weather conditions remain favorable and we don't encounter any significant obstacles."
His expression darkened slightly, his jaw tightening in a way that suggested anger or frustration simmering beneath his composed surface. A vein became visible along his jawline—a physical manifestation of tension that I had learned to recognize as a sign that something was genuinely bothering him.
"And truthfully, I've left my post and responsibilities for far too long," he added, his voice taking on an unusual chilling quality that I rarely heard from him. "People are starting to get... ideas. To develop thoughts in their heads about what my absence might mean, about what opportunities it might present for ambitious individuals to expand their own power or influence. That needs to be addressed promptly and decisively before small problems become large ones."
Whatever had disturbed him was clearly significant. I reached out and touched his arm soothingly, trying to offer comfort and support without words.
"Let's do this, then," I said with determination. "I can't wait to reach Arpa and see your home properly. And I'm very interested to meet whoever has made you this angry."
Because clearly, someone in Arpa had been causing problems during Arvid's absence, and I was extremely curious to discover who would be foolish enough to test the patience of an emperor who had just spent months in anguish over his dying wife.
---
But before we could depart for Arpa, there was another situation that required immediate attention—one I had been procrastinating on addressing because I knew it would be painful for everyone involved.
Katherine's confession.
When I had first woken up in Kima, on that very first day of consciousness, Katherine had told me in a quiet, vulnerable moment that she was in love with me. A confession I absolutely could not accept. A love that I had never sought and could never return. I had no choice but to break her heart, and I was absolutely certain this entire situation had been agonizing for her as well—watching Arvid and me together, witnessing our affection and intimacy, knowing with complete certainty that I would never return her romantic feelings.
So I had made a difficult decision: I would let her go. Send her back to Ferne, back to Draga, back to a place where she wouldn't have to watch me loving someone else every single day.
"You called for me, my queen?" Katherine said quietly, almost meekly, as she entered my private chambers in response to my summons.
"Please close the door completely," I instructed her, not looking up from where I was organizing and packing away some of my personal belongings. "And ensure it's properly latched. This conversation needs to remain private."
She did as she was told, pulling the heavy door shut and checking to make sure it was securely closed.
"You are to leave for Ferne at the same time I depart for Arpa," I told her without preamble, my voice deliberately kept solemn and emotionless. There was no kind way to deliver this news, no gentle phrasing that would soften the blow. Better to be direct.
Silence filled the room for a long minute as Katherine processed what I had just said. When she finally spoke, her voice was small and hurt.
"Is this because of my confession?" she asked. "Because I told you how I feel?"
I didn't answer her question directly. My continued silence, my refusal to look at her, was probably answer enough.
"It's fine," Katherine said, and I could hear her struggling to keep her voice steady even as it began to crack with emotion. "I know you can't love me back. I've always known that. I'm perfectly fine with my first love being an unrequited one—I accepted that outcome from the very beginning. But please, please don't send me away. Don't exile me from your presence entirely."
Her voice was becoming increasingly tearful now, the emotional dam beginning to break.
"I shouldn't have said anything out loud," she continued, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I wasn't supposed to confess. I had promised myself I would keep it hidden, would never burden you with knowledge of feelings you couldn't reciprocate. I don't know what came over me that day, why I let my guard down and spoke when I should have remained silent. Even though I knew from the very beginning that my love was doomed to go nowhere, even though I understood there was no possible future for us, I still fell in love anyway. I just couldn't help it—the heart doesn't listen to reason."
She was openly weeping now, tears streaming down her face as her carefully maintained composure finally shattered completely.
"I don't ask for anything," she said through her sobs. "I'm not asking you to love me back, or to give me hope, or to treat me differently than you have been. I'll continue serving you exactly as I always have. I'll watch you be happy with Arvid and I'll smile and support that happiness, even if it breaks my heart every single day. Just please, please don't send me away. Don't take away even the small comfort of being near you, of serving you, of being part of your life in whatever limited capacity you'll allow."
The silence that followed was filled with her crying—heart-breaking sobs that made my chest physically ache with sympathetic pain. This was agony for both of us, but it had to be done. There was no other way forward that wouldn't cause even greater suffering eventually.
"I won't be fine," I finally said after several minutes had passed, my voice emerging quiet but firm. "That's what you need to understand, Katherine. I won't be fine after knowing you harbor romantic feelings for me. Every interaction we have will be colored by that knowledge. I'll be constantly second-guessing my words and actions, overcautious about anything that might be misinterpreted as encouragement. I'll be paranoid about maintaining appropriate distance, about ensuring I never inadvertently give you false hope. Is that really how you want me to spend the rest of my life? In a state of constant anxiety and self-monitoring whenever you're present?"
I finally looked at her directly, letting her see the genuine regret and sadness in my expression.
" You can't be that cruel, Katherine," I told her, my voice still somber but carrying an edge of pleading. "You care about me—you've said as much. So you can't want me to live in that kind of mental prison. The kindest thing for both of us is a clean break. Distance. Time apart to allow these feelings to fade and for both of us to move forward with our lives."
I took a breath, steeling myself to say the words that needed to be said with finality.
"You have to go," I stated, putting unmistakable finality into my tone. "This isn't negotiable or subject to further discussion. The decision has been made. I'm sorry, Katherine. I truly am. But this is how it has to be."
The sound of her renewed crying was the only response, and it absolutely broke my heart. But sometimes love—even platonic love, caring deeply about someone's wellbeing—requires making painful choices for their ultimate good.
This was one of those times.