“Thank you.” Arn says as he locks the door to his father’s estate behind him and Faerthryne. “It means more than you could know that you find the time to spend some with me when you come to the Crown.”

  Faerthryne pauses at the gate and looks back, waiting for Arn to catch up. “We go through this every year, Arn—it’s the least I can do; it’s only right.”

  “We do, don’t we?” He says under his breath as the two begin walking back to the college.

  “Will you be joining me at H?rfende this year?” She asks as she sets a brisk pace along the sidewalk.

  “We go through this every year as well, don’t we?” He’s not much shorter than Faerthryne, but he has always struggled to keep up.

  “We do; I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t intend on returning to your post.” She pulls a pair of well-worn black leather gloves from her pocket, running her fingers slowly over the snowflakes and pines carefully embroidered on the surface. Despite their age, they still fit snugly.

  “Father wouldn’t like it if all the Iania’s snow was in our yard—so I’ll attend under duress.” He says with a chuckle.

  “Good. Are you excited to wait in the hall when Gaesche invites everyone inside the abbey for food and drinks—but you?” She has tried to talk to Gaesche about it, but she has yet to listen and probably never will.

  “Of course, will you join me out in the cold for a bit—sneak me some food and beer?” Arn asks.

  Faerthryne taps her chin. “After the hassle this morning, I don’t think I will. Maybe you can beg Gaesche to let you in; maybe she will give you the coldest corner.”

  Arn scrunches his face, unable to tell if she is joking or not. “Do you have any idea why she doesn’t like me?” High Priestess Seliani has always been cold towards him, even when Klerwye was in her position. She would never even speak to him—just glare.

  “If I didn’t know the real reason, I would tell you she is like that to all men—which wouldn’t be a lie, now, would it? But I know the real reason: she finds your love for Y?lnor to be superficial—”

  “Well, she was—” Arn starts, though he does not intend to defend himself.

  “Do not interrupt me.” Faerthryne stops and takes Arn by the shoulder, turning him to face her. “You should know this by now.”

  He looks back into her eyes, their icy blue, nearly white, staring through him. “Sorry, Faerthryne.”

  “Good boy. Now let me speak.” She pats him on the head and turns him back in the direction they were going. Her black-heeled boots click against the cobbles as her stride picks up again. “She finds your love of Y?lnor to be superficial—which I wouldn’t argue with, as I’ve found most men in your situation tend to miss the body more than the person who was. It’s interesting; whenever the vessel Mother gives me has a lover, I always give them the same choice I gave you; I always ask if they would like me to visit. I feel worse for the ones who say ‘no’ more than those who say yes, and this is where Gaesche’s problem with you comes from—she doesn’t believe you loved Y?lnor as a person, only her body.” She looks over her shoulder to Arn. “You can speak now.”

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

  “She was right.” He says meekly, looking down; he cannot bear to look her in the eyes.

  Faerthryne stops, and the left side of her mouth curls into a half-grin. “Hmmm? was? What do you mean was?” Her voice drips with amusement, but under the surface there is nothing but intrigue.

  “I stopped caring about Y?lnor years ago. I accepted that she was gone, that she would never come back. I still see her when I look at you, but I’ve started looking forward to seeing you.” He feels her take his wrist and drag him off the street of the noble’s district into an alley.

  Faerthryne takes Arn by the chin and pins him to the alley wall. “Spit it out.”

  He looks out back to the street, hoping no one notices the situation he is in or, worse, recognizes him—he knows she does not care about this at all and will keep him here as long as she wants.

  “Answer me.” She hisses.

  Arn looks back, feeling her frigid breath on his face. “Stay—stay in the Crown with me; it’s lonely without you.” He knows she already knows exactly what he was going to say; there is no sense in him trying to obfuscate what he really meant.

  A large grin forms on her face. “You have gall, Arn. Why should I? hmmm? Why should I spend the rest of this vessel’s life with you?” She pokes him in the chest with a gloved finger. “I know of one who has fallen for a mortal—centuries later, long after they have forgotten their face, forgotten their voice, forgotten their touch, they yearn for something that they can never have again, something that they can never replace. How can you possibly make less than five decades worth my eternity?”

  “I—I can’t...” His voice trails off. She is right; he cannot possibly make a human life worth more than forever. She’s done this before, hasn’t she? She’s her own example, isn’t she?

  She leans in close to his ear. “Try. Again.”

  Swallowing, he takes a deep breath—and tries again, letting his heart talk. “Leave the Alps [1]; you’re lonely there. You wouldn’t ask for me every year just because you promised me you would—hundreds freeze in your reign, and you do nothing; why would I be of your concern? you look forward to seeing me. Give me a year; I will show you the memories will be worth your eternity.”

  “One year?” She raises her eyebrows, amused—he must think extremely highly of himself. Letting go of him, she steps back.

  “One year.” He rubs his chin.

  “I shall stay in the Crown with you for one year. If you disappoint me, I will leave when my reign starts in 1064, and you will never see me again after.”

  “I accept this.”

  “Excellent. Now, there is a jewelry store in the Artisan district that I have heard excellent things about. We can stop there on the way to the college, and you can start your trial by spoiling me—show me you’re committed.” She starts out of the alley without him.

  Footnotes

  [1] The Iania Alps are a large mountain range that separates the Ianian Peninsula from the rest of the continent, spanning from the inland sea to the ocean. The Iania Alps are known for being nearly impossible to cross, even in the modern era; because of this, tunnels have been dug throughout, most notably the Temple of the First Moon, which now spans the entirety of the Alps' height and about a quarter of its length, and the Nyrhylik passage, which is a large circular hole 10 m in diameter connecting Nyrhylik to the Grand Northern Forest.