One Engagement, Two Birthdays, and Three Broken Hearts

Natalia

A delighted shriek escaped my lips the moment Morgan revealed the ring. I threw my arms around her in a hug so tight it threatened to squeeze the air from her lungs. My best friend was getting married! I didn't care if the ceremony was to be small and simple; it was a wedding!

"We're hoping to have a small wedding in a few days," Markus explained, his eyes soft as they rested on his fiancée. "I have no family left, and nearly all my friends either work or live here at the palace. Morgan's circumstances are much the same."

My mind instantly erupted with a flurry of plans, each one more exciting than the last. Oh, Morgan could wear my wedding gown—we were the same size! I could do her hair and her makeup! I envisioned her dark hair twisted into a cascade of tiny, perfect ringlets! And I would have to make sure Markus looked absolutely dashing! Viktor, too! There was no doubt about it; I would be at the very center of it all! Surely Morgan wouldn't object too much if I took over the preparations. This would be an entirely new adventure for me, as I’d been denied any chance to plan my own ceremony. Of course, I didn't want to usurp all of the planning from Morgan. Just the majority of it.

Morgan

I felt as if I were floating on air. Markus had asked me to be his wife! He had proposed after only a month of courtship! I could almost hear joyful wedding bells ringing in my head. But as the initial, dizzying rush of excitement subsided, a bittersweet ache settled in its place, and my smile faltered. Natalia, ever observant, noticed at once and placed a reassuring hand on mine.

"What is it?" she inquired gently. I looked at her, letting the hurt show in my eyes.

"I just wish my friends and family were here, you know?" I confessed, my voice barely a whisper. "You are practically my family now, but I miss my mother and father, and my brother. I miss the wonderful chaos that our old friends, Victoria and Davian, brought with them everywhere they went."

Her gaze dropped to her hands, and I knew she was feeling the same profound sense of loss. "I know how you feel. I miss my family, too." She raised her head again, a new resolve in her eyes. "But I think if we were ever to leave, I would miss our family here just as much. So, that helps with the loneliness."

Our family here? The phrase struck me with the force of a physical blow. Natalia couldn't possibly know about my… predicament. That was my own terrible secret to bear. I had to be sure. "Our family here?" I echoed, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Viktor and Markus," she said without hesitation, "and even young Jace. I don't think I could ever bring myself to leave, knowing it would mean I couldn't even visit his grave." This was one of those moments when Natalia astounded me. Her capacity for love seemed boundless.

My voice, when it returned, was stronger. I gestured for Natalia to pick up her glass of water as I raised my own. "To our family," I toasted. "Here, and there. To the family we have, and the family we will have."

We clinked our glasses together, the sound a clear, hopeful note in the morning air, and each took a long sip. The moment our glasses were down again, Natalia promptly steered the conversation back to more pressing matters.

"So, Morgan, you wouldn't mind too terribly if I sort of, mostly—but not entirely—took over your wedding planning, would you?"

I fixed her with a stern look. "No. It's my wedding, not yours. You already had your wedding."

"Yes! But I didn't get to plan any of it! Not a single thing! It was all Viktor!" she protested.

"No," I repeated firmly. "That doesn't make a difference. You are not hijacking my wedding. You can help, but you will not take over." I made sure to emphasize the pronoun in "my wedding." Natalia was my best friend, but for a girl, a wedding is sacred ground.

"Yes! I'm your bestest friend ever, so you have to let me plan it!"

"No. And Natalia, 'bestest' is not a word."

"Yes, it is! It is now because I say it is, and I don't care!"

From the other side of the table, I could hear the low murmur of the men's voices.

"Viktor, why do I get the feeling that Natalia and Morgan are going to argue about this wedding for the rest of the day?"

"Probably because they are, Markus."

"It's a very 'love-hate' relationship between those two, isn't it?"

"Aren't we the same?"

"Perhaps."

Somewhere Beyond the Palace Walls

In the oppressive luxury of his purple-walled living room, General Julian Gathersword was sprawled across a plush black sofa. His eyes, bloodshot and unfocused, were fixed on the large oil painting of his sister's family that hung over the mantelpiece. A half-empty bottle of amber liquor was clutched in his right hand. With a sudden, guttural cry of rage, he took a long, ragged swallow and hurled the bottle into the fireplace. The fire roared with delight, its flames leaping up to consume the alcohol like a starving beast devouring its prey.

"Where did I go wrong, sister?" he rasped at the painted face, his voice raw and broken. "Where did I fail? I was this close." He held his thumb and forefinger a mere sliver apart. "This close! And then it all fell apart. King Stefan is dead, your son is still alive, and your daughter—your daughter is back in the clutches of her cursed half-brother!"

He let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob, throwing his head back. "But I have been given another chance!" he whispered, his eyes now gleaming with a frantic light. "A second chance, do you hear me? Your precious girl doesn't remember! She didn't hear that fool of a dying king accuse me of betrayal! She remembers nothing!"

The General slid ungracefully from the sofa and crawled across the thick rug toward the portrait. His fingers fumbled for purchase as he hauled himself up onto the stone hearth. He rubbed his cheek against the cool canvas, stroking his sister's painted face and smearing it with sweat and tears. The cloying, heavy scent of spilled liquor clung to him like a shroud.

"It's alright, little sis," he crooned, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I will get your girl. I will take her away from that little monster. And then, when he is not looking, I will sneak up and slit his throat." He paused, his lips twisting into a grotesque smile. "Then maybe I will slit my own. And your daughter's, too! Then we can all be together again! Then I will see your face smiling up at me, for real, just like it used to."

He staggered back, pulling away from the portrait. He gave it one last look before stumbling from the room. "I love you, my sweet baby sister!" he yelled as he disappeared down the dim hallway, his voice sharpened by a decidedly insane edge. "I will see you soon!"

To any who might have been listening, it was frighteningly clear that the General was no longer merely grieving; he was fracturing, plummeting from the precipice of his own sanity.

The room descended into a terrible silence, broken only by the crackle and hiss of the fire. Its flickering light danced in the hearth to some unheard melody, casting long, hideous shadows upon the walls. His nephew, the king, may have believed the threat was over, but the conflict had only just begun.