She had spent longer than she liked on picking a suitable attire for the night ahead. Of the many selections she laid out, none gave her the confidence that her usual assortment of tunics and leather pants offered. Admittedly she had always struggled with wearing a dress, the lingering stares and perceived thoughts of others filled her head with inadequacies. She was larger than most even by her own kin’s standards and felt dresses and gowns only further highlighted that. Where other women were slender and shapely, much more pleasing to the eye. She was toned all over, blessed with the body of a warrior, a gift given to her by her late father and of having giants blood coursing through her veins. However she did have her mothers beauty, but for her that was not quite enough.

  Guinevere found the conviction and chose a pleasant black dress in hopes of at least looking somewhat attractive to him. The dress exposed her defined shoulders while covering much of her arms in the process, it was fitted perfectly to match her frame and looped around her neck like a soft collar. The fabric brushed against her skin and was permissive to the touch, a length that moved just below her knees. Her bosom was extenuated slightly but nothing more than she was used to, black was always a pleasant color on her. She found comfort in darker colors perhaps because they did well to blend against her skin, or perhaps it was because she did not have the courage to attempt anything else. Whatever the case, with a little twirl and an honest smirk enough to woo his heart, she was ready. As The first princess of Iliad was prepared to leave, her ruby earrings caught her attention with the faintest flash in the light and she moved her blazing luminous hair out of the way to better see them. One of the many gifts he had given her through the years, he had a terrible habit of spoiling her, always looking to remind her he thought of her constantly. While others would have grown bored with so many gifts, Guinevere cherished each single token as a blessed trinket, for to her they were.

  Soon after she exited her chambers and made her way down the hallway to his room. The day had been long, with Crown Princess Reza’s naming ceremony complete celebrations commenced almost immediately and once again he was whisked away by many as they all wanted to converse with him. Since arriving in Longshore they had not had much time to talk, she had prepared herself for that being the case but the young Stygian had found it easier said than done. To her, she would never tire of being in his presence, she was his general yes and duty came before anything else. However before any of that, she was his little sister and she was allowed to feel jealous that his attention was divided among so many. So when he had asked her to attend the night celebrations with him, it was all she could think about in anticipation. She was eager to see him, but more importantly she was eager to return back home. She felt as though they had overstayed their time in the south and longed for the cool airs of Iliad and the familiarity that brought with it. Even if it meant she would no longer see Faye again as much as it hurt her to think about.

  Upon reaching his room, she keenly knocked on the door as she announced herself, excited to see how beautiful he would look in his nightly attire. He called for her to enter and she did as she was commanded. The first thing she noticed was how large his chambers were. She thought her own to be quite spacious but this felt as though it was bordering on absurdity, it was truly fit for a king. Even if her brother had transformed it into his own personal closet as different clothes were scattered about all over. Some draped over chairs while others lay across the bed. It seems she was not the only one struggling to find something suitable to wear, she found comfort in that even he could be unsure of his appearance. She looked on as his back was to her, undressed from the waist up. His birthmark was as regal as it always was. She was often mesmerized by it, the ancient serpent with an exposed skull. She knew not of anyone who had a similar birthmark, especially as the defining feature of his was that the great creature looked to want to consume the blazing sun that was just located below the nape of his neck. Even from where she stood she could feel the heat emanating from the celestial body. It was said only the Elders could read the birthmark, ascertain how the Stygian would die, she was gladdened she could not tell. In her quietest moments she prayed his end would not be for a millennia, in a time from now too long to worry about. Truthfully not even that was not enough, she hoped his end would never come, she would not allow it.

  “Forgive me little sister,” Antares sighed as he rubbed the back of his head. “It seems I am unsure what it is I want to wear.”

  Guinevere giggled as she folded her hands, she shifted her weight to her dominant foot. “Here I thought I was keeping you.”

  The king turned to face her, “would you mind assisting me?” his grinning smile swayed her.

  As she stole a glance at his exposed chest, she looked away embarrassed, only managing a nod as an adequate response. He motioned for her to take a seat and she chose to sit on the edge of his bed. It was not long after before he went back and forth across the room, bringing a selection of clothes he was interested in while others he had thought of but never committing to. Even after all this time she still could scarcely believe he was king. His mannerisms and the way he carried himself had not changed much since his ascension. In many ways it was further proof to her that he was destined for the title, for who else could lead their people but him? Yet a strange sensation permeated through Guinevere as she engaged in pleasant conversation with him as though both of them avoided a different discussion than the one they currently had. The princess sought to not sour the mood with her anxiousness and chose a topic that she was sure he would enjoy talking about.

  “I heard you spent the morning with Faye,” she smirked as she leaned back. “I trust you behaved yourself?”

  Antares paused for a moment, the lingering taste of her lips still on his. “I did, granted Freyja spent most of our time together scolding me for neglecting you.” He carried on trying a different outfit on.

  “As she should have,” Guinevere nodded triumphantly before she paused. “Wait.”

  Antares looked at her.

  “You just called her ‘Freyja’,” she leaned forward. “You never call her Freyja. Did something happen?”

  “Did I?” Antares thought, “well it is her name.” He chuckled as he ran a hand through his hair.

  For as long as Guinevere had known her brother, there were many who regularly commented how difficult it was to ascertain his moods. She would agree with those sentiments, like many of her kin, their near endless stoic expression left little in the way of discernment. Antares further exacerbated the issue with the ease in which he was able to carry a jovial expression, in many ways he was one of the hardest beings to read. Another trait he inherited from their father outside of his appearance. One never quite knew what it was he was thinking or more importantly what he was feeling. However through the years Guinevere had managed on her own to find two ways to tell when her brother was troubled. The first too subtle for most to know, only a select few would be privy to the clues, truthfully it would be ignored. However the young princess had never once heard her brother refer to Faye as nothing else but that. The flat tone in which he also said her name as though he wished to distance himself from all emotions that came with acknowledging her caught her attention.

  Yet above all else the biggest tell that her brother was troubled was he often would run his hand through his hair whenever he wished to suppress a feeling he did not want to address, or whenever he was afraid. Guinevere was sure it was the former because of her own time spent with Faye at the coliseum. Their conversations in the end had centered on him and his possible union with Princess Reza, one that Guinevere did nothing to hide her displeasure with. Antares had still not announced a decision and there was a growing restlessness that passed through the entire city in anticipation. However, for Guinevere she was sure he would reject the betrothal because of Emperor Nero’s foolish play that had dominated the minds of so many. While the south basked in the admiration of the spectacle, many in the north that were more aware of the darker stories of the rebellion looked on in subdued silence. Sure that the King of Iliad would take it as disrespect. Yet Antares had said nothing, instead electing to embrace the cheers and praises that came his way. Guinevere had meant to talk to him about that night, but could not find the temperament to do so without anger in her words. She was sure that Faye had spoken about the play with him this morning and something uncomfortable had come from it.

  “Did you talk about the playact last night?” she did not want to pry but could not help herself, she wanted to know his true feelings on the matter.

  “Among other things,” Antares did his best to move the conversation along. He emerged in front of her in royal red garments much too extravagant for his liking. “You should have seen Casspien today. Once he found out about the play, it took both myself and Typhon to stop him from confronting Nero.” He hoped his attempt to focus on a lighter topic would ease the growing look of worry on his sister's face.

  The Stygian King was truly in no mood to talk about Faye, certainly not after the morning they had and bearing witness to Reza’s naming ceremony. His mind was filled with many opinions, both his own and of others. The night celebrations they were meant to attend shortly was looking to be one that would have lasting consequences across the realm. A decision was to be made on whether he would make Reza the Queen of Iliad or not. Freyja’s words still lingered in his mind as she urged him to accept, along with Lady Tereza as well. Typhon had told him to look upon Reza again after she was made a Crown Princess to ascertain if there was any change within her. However throughout her crowning ceremony and the celebrations that came after, his Akashic Eyes had shown him nothing.

  The torrent of power and energy that had appeared during the ceremony was impressive, even he was moved by the ancient and powerful rituals of House Blackrose. In comparison to Stygian traditions it was a worthy attempt to harness archaic power that had lingered in this land for many millennia. However at the end of it, when he looked at Reza, at her soul and Will, there was nothing that reflected back that she was now a woman worthy of the responsibility of standing by his side. Through it all Antares was not convinced, or was it that he did not want to be convinced? Too many thoughts passed through the young monarch’s mind. The lingering taste of Faye’s lips, the play the night before, the grimoires, Enrieta Zxyphor, Reza Altieri and much more. He had hoped this time with his sister would offer him some clarity, but all he had managed to do was worry her with his inability to express himself properly. As he went through several more outfits her response growing more muted with each new garment he put on he slowly stopped realizing the growing sadness manifesting within his little sister. No more. He would do what he could to settle her. It was not the king she desired now, it was her big brother.

  “We spoke of the play,” Antares turned to her his chest exposed bearing his scars. “There were many things about the Storm Island Rebellion’s that I kept from her, from you too.” He could not bring himself to meet her gaze, ashamed of how he was portrayed. “She was unsettled by it, as I am sure you and the others in attendance were.”

  Guinevere also could not look at him, “...It is to be expected, she was at the heart of it.”

  “That is all you have to say?” he asked, “What of your feelings on the matter?”

  “They do not matter, as your general-”

  “I am not asking my general, I wish to hear from my little sister.”

  She could still remember what the day felt like when it was announced that he would be going to war. She was a mere thirteen years old, faced with the prospect of losing her older brother so soon after he had just returned from his trials to become a Lord of War. She could not understand why her father would send him and not go in his place. Yes he had lost to Magni and Modi over a decade prior but to ask that of a nineteen year old prince, to win an entire rebellion by himself was too much. No matter how great her brother was. The play had reminded Guinevere how helpless she was all those years ago as she watched his reassuring smile fade into the distance as he went off with his Typhon, Casspien and Nykolas behind him. The night he left, she cried herself to sleep, nearly inconsolable at the thought it would be the last time she would ever see him again. That she would never hear one of his tales again.

  She did not want to understand why he had to go, their father’s word was absolute. However even as young as she was Guinevere wished to challenge them but did not have the strength to do so. At the end of the rebellion and his return to Akkad, she had done the best she could to avoid any knowledge of what transpired on the Storm Islands. The simple fact that he had returned to her as he promised he would was more than enough to satiate all curiosity she had about the ordeal. She was more than resigned to allowing it to fade into a terrible memory and welcomed any discussion of it being called taboo and quickly silenced. So to see what had transpired even if it was done with greater extravagance to sell the storied tale, it shook her to her core. To see the horrors that he had sailed into to rescue Faye. As she looked on, Guinevere felt herself revert back to the thirteen year old princess who was too scared to sleep or eat as her thoughts filled with what monstrosities had befallen her big brother. To see and hear the horrid things that her uncles had said about him, to see how they had made him suffer, while she cried like a child.

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  “It is alright Gwen,” Antares embraced her. Her head lay softly against his midriff, “I am here.”

  She had been so lost in her thoughts that she had not sensed him approach until he held her. She was glad that he could not see the tears welling in her eyes.

  “I was scared,” she began. “Because I knew no matter how exaggerated the play was, the real thing must have been worse. I felt as if it was the day you left, and all I wanted to do was leave that theatre. To see how you and so many suffered, for no fault of your own. And for Emperor Nero to mock such a terrible conflict. It is childish I know, but I felt as though I would lose you again.” She struggled to stop the tears from falling, as she embraced him back.

  None throughout Aurum was more thankful than Guinevere when it was announced that Antares' exile would be lifted and he would be made King of Iliad. The five years in his absence she had lived in a dark haze unsure if she still existed within reality. The void created in her heart by his banishment had looked to swallow her completely. Even as she warred over Hightower with Enrieta, her mind could never fully divest itself from the thoughts of her big brother. Once again they had been separated and there was nothing she could do to bridge the gap. The announcement of his return had even spurred her to bring him back personally and even when she failed at the task she did not care for she knew when Casspien went in her stead he would do so.

  There was much about her feelings for him that Guinevere had not expressed for she did not know how to do so without it being accompanied by tears. Her disapproval of his exile, of Faye being forced to marry another and now his potential union with Reza had once again dredged up feelings of abandonment that she felt were too childish for someone as great as she. She was not only a knight of Iliad, but a general and its first princess. To carry such infantile feelings was unbecoming of someone of her standing but there was little she could do about it. To her it seemed at any moment, Fate and the ancestors would pull him away from her again, she wrapped her hands around his waist as though rejecting the idea of it ever happening again. She would not allow it.

  “My dearest sister, my knight, my Guinevere,” As he stroked her hair, his words in the old tongue of the Stygians soothed her worries. “Do you hear that?”

  All was silent except for the rhythmic thumping of his heartbeat.

  “That sound means that I am here, that as long as I live, my heart beats for you as it does for the rest of our family, and that nothing will keep us apart. I am sorry for all the pain my absence has caused.” Antares spoke from the depths of his soul, “No matter the distance between us and what may come, I will always love you, you who were first to love me.”

  Guinevere met his eyes, finding the courage to do so, “I do not know what would become of me if I were to lose you.”

  Antares smiled as he wiped the tears away from her beautiful face, her blazing sunset eyes filled with so much passion. “You will never lose me, I swear it. That is my promise to you.”

  All the princess could do was nod. She found it difficult to say anything else, wanting to bath in the warmth that radiated from her king.

  Antares sat beside her and held her hand as they both rested while Guinevere gathered herself. He had not realized how much his exile had hurt her, or better yet he did not want to acknowledge it. Years spent consumed by drink and exotic herbs had diluted so much of his desire to feel. The reality of what his true feelings meant was too strong for him to bear. The corner of his lip curled slightly at the thought of Faye’s words chastising him for not spending time with Guinevere. Once again she had proven to know what was best for him better than he knew himself. However, now that he was here with his little sister he was thankful for the Queen of Talterra’s wise words. His mind wondered to the rest of his siblings, he was sure Anastasia as well harbored such strong feelings about his banishment. He would need to prepare for when that day came and they would converse because the king was sure there was a greater likelihood that Ana would express herself in a more physical way. He missed her dearly. However there was still more he wished to discuss with his little sister next to him.

  “That was not all Faye and I discussed,” he sought how best to explain what he had to say next. “She urged me to accept Crown Princess Reza’s hand in marriage. Lady Tereza as well.”

  “I see…” Guinevere reflexively squeezed his hand. “So you have come to a decision then?”

  Antares took longer to answer than he would have liked.

  “Why her?”

  “Gwen…” The king began.

  “She is a witch, how can you accept her as your Queen? How will the Elders or the Nightsisters for that matter? Have you forgotten about the Witches of Zamir and what they did? What they did to you?” she looked at him unsure how he could honestly accept her hand.

  Antares could not fault his sister for her dislike and distrust of witches. It was a sentiment shared by many Stygians throughout Iliad. Although the Stygians no longer led the persecution of witches, their disdain for them had not quelled in the many millennia since their original crusade. The events that happened in Zamir over a decade ago did not help matters. Any muted issues that had disappeared along the way side towards them seemed to be reborn when witches had taken over the small town of Zamir and subjected so many innocent people to untold horrors, in retaliation for their persecution through the centuries. It was the first time since the Third Great War had witches chosen to expose themselves so brazenly in a bid to cease power. To this day it was still unsure why Zamir had been defiled so greatly by them, Antares still recalled being sent to the town alongside Nykolas, Casspien and Typhon by the Elders. They soon found themselves in a plot that unraveled the deeper they investigated at the end of it, they left with more questions than answers. And as expected the Elders did little to shed light on any of it and dismissed his doubts as beneath that of a Crown Prince. Even in his quiet moments, he could still hear the screams of the people of Zamir as they begged for him to save them from atrocities committed on them. His first and only encounter with a secretive group of spellcasters had left a sour mark on his soul. Finally understanding why they were so hunted and shunned for so long.

  However, Reza Altieri was not one of the witches of Zamir, nor was her mother or any of the lineage of House Altieri. To hold her responsible for such a nightmarish event was unjust, one he knew his knightly sister was all too aware of. Yet that is not how the other Stygians would see it, they viewed actions by one member to be a reflection of the entire group. For if a group of witches could cause terror like that, then it meant that any and all witches were capable of doing so. To ask such ancient and reclusive beings to now bend the knee to one was a dangerous and reckless endeavor. Reza would have to prove herself more than any queen that had come before her, much would be asked of her that was unfair but that was the role of the queen. The responsibility that came with being the Queen of the Stygians was the highest honor through the land. Antares was unsure if the young princess could truly grasp that, if she could live up to that. Even he felt the weight of the crown on Iliad and he had been prepared for it since he turned eight.

  “So I must hold every witch responsible for what happened in Zamir?” it was his turn to gaze at her, his eyes softened. “Does your honor as a knight allow for such a thing?”

  “Do not do that,” she shook her head. “Do not use my knighthood against me. Especially when you do not follow our ways.”

  Antares sighed as he kissed her hand in apology, “You are right, forgive me.” He looked on ahead, “If not her, then who is worthy Gwen?”

  Me, she thought, the answer all too obvious for her. Although she could not bring herself to speak those words as desperately as she wanted to. From very early on in her life Guinevere had accepted that her brother’s heart was never going to be hers completely. It was painful at first, to share one's first love with others, but over time such pain had evolved into understanding that those she would share it with truly loved him as much as she did. Be it Nykolas or Faye, it did not matter to her as long as they would guard it fiercely. In fact it was Freyja who she so hopelessly wanted to be by his side, to be his queen in her place, to bear his children in her place. She understood not only him but their ways and what it meant to stand alongside Antares. However Fate sought to intervene, the ancestors had deemed it not so. She could not understand why a witch would receive that honor, a girl who could not begin to understand the responsibilities of what was to come. Was this the penalty she was required to pay for having her elder brother return home? For his radiant light to warm her skin again? If so…

  There was a long silence before Guinevere spoke, as she searched for the strength to do so. “...You know Anastasia is going to hate her and make it a point to antagonize her at every opportunity.”

  Antares chuckled as he thought of his youngest sister, “It is why I hope to have you protect her as well.” With his thumb he rubbed her hand.

  “So is that why you summoned me? To ask for my blessing?” she turned to face him, a faint curl on her lips.

  He shook his head.

  “Not at all,” with his free hand he moved her hair out of her eyes to better see her face. He disliked her hiding her fierce eyes. “A blessing should be given freely, without restriction or coercion of any kind, so it may remain pure and true.” A loving smile birthed across his face, “I called you here because I wanted you to be the first to know of my decision.”

  Guinevere closed her eyes and she sighed, “Very well my king.” Much would come from this union, outcomes she would not foresee yet she found comfort in knowing that as long as she remained by his side they would overcome them. “But do not expect me to call her sister, nor attend Agincourt with her. Or serve her as I do you.”

  “Why of course,” Antares kissed her on the cheek. “You are my one and only knight after all.”

  From where his lips left her cheek a deep red washed over Guinevere’s face as she tried to hide the widening smile making its way across her face. She quickly stood not wanting her brother to see her so happy at his action. There were still many questions she had about Princess Reza, such as why the emperor would push for this union or even Lady Tereza for that matter. But she had chosen to push those thoughts to the side, for now she would enjoy this moment she shared with him. The night had only just begun and much was still to occur.

  “Get dressed, we are already late.” She folded her arms, her composure coming back to her.

  Antares puffed his cheeks in protest, “You still have not assisted me with choosing an outfit.”

  Guinevere scanned the different garments laid out, searching for the one she best wanted him to wear. Eventually her eyes had rested on a refined set of deep blue royal garbs, untouched and neatly placed. “That one,” she pointed.

  Antares rose and bowed humbly, “Excellent choice Princess Guinevere.”

  “You always knew what you were going to wear didn’t you?” she looked at him bemused.

  “Perhaps,” he returned the expression in kind.