Outside the palace, a cold wind blew fiercely through the ramparts suggesting at a coming rainstorm. Inside the royal suite, a summer tempest had already ended.

A handsome dark-haired man sat on the edge of his bed in full festival attire, rumpled yet dignified. The bedsheets behind him smoked lazily, and a charred heap on top of the feather mattress was all that remained of the finely crafted gold-trimmed bedding. The matching curtains draped beautifully around half the intact mahogany bed frame, the other half hanging limply, blackened and flaking off. Ash drifted like falling snow around the young king.

Completely at ease, he leaned against the bedframe and smirked at the man in the doorway. “What brings the royal general to my bedchamber at such an hour?”

Standing at the corner nearest him, a young woman with a mess of brown hair and dark green eyes tugged on the curtain, examining the embroidery. She wore a ball gown that almost remembered being pretty and a simple string of cracked wooden beads. Her face was calm, like the peace that follows death.

The general crossed the room in a heartbeat, grasping her arm and pulling her away from the king. With an expression of quiet fury, he said, “I hope you know what you have done this night.”

The woman regained her balance and kept her eyes on the curtains.

“There is no need for your presence at this time, General,” the king stood. “We were only just having a celebratory drink. Ah, I forgot to pour wine. Where is my head?” He attempted to pass through and thereby separate the pair, but the general was faster and pulled the girl behind him.

“Forgive my intrusion on your late-night celebration.” The general spoke dryly, but the amusement in his tone reached neither his face nor his heart. “If you will excuse us, I must have a word with your guest.” He emphasized the final word with sarcastic doubt.

“Only look at her, general.” The king crossed his arms.

Although disheveled, she quietly exuded nobility in her graceful posture and delicate features. The air around her whispered of sweet innocence.

“Is she not clearly a royal guest? I cannot see that the king’s general can have any reason to speak with her, and at such an hour.”

The general directed his gaze to the tattered sheets. “I am to believe this was an accident.”

“But just look at her.” The king walked around and found himself still facing the general. He let out a breath. “Allow her to return to the festivities, and I will pour you a glass. I have a bottle from Vior here, your favorite grapes.”

The general watched the king turn and go to his liquor cabinet. With the patience of a father, he said, “It would be foolish to trust in appearances, which is why I am allowing you to explain.”

“Ask her. Will you drink, my dear? Three glasses it is.”

“I would, if I thought she would answer truly.” The general closed his eyes a moment before recovering. “The damage done this night—I can believe that you have no idea, given your distaste for politics. You could lose your throne over this.”

The king looked over his shoulder. “She started it.”

“So now it is her fault. She lit the fire and stirred your passions.”

“What was I supposed to do? It was the first…” The king blinked as his eyes met hers. He straightened. “No, she did nothing wrong. Release her, General.”

“If you would stop looking at her, she would be unable to charm you.”

“I cannot breathe,” the girl blinked heavily, swaying against the bed frame.

The general looked at his own shoulder. “Use your lungs. I will not tolerate—”

“General,” the king interrupted, “we will hear her story. Was it not you who said that the most important thing I could do, to not be my Grandfather, was to seek to understand my people?” Silence confirmed his memory. “Come! Let us find chairs. It is too warm, here,” he winked at the girl. A spark of a smile appeared in her eyes and was quickly quenched by a glare the general directed at the air near her.

The king led the way through his bedchamber and sitting room to his private study. His general pulled the girl behind him, muttering, “Now he follows my advice. Of all the times…”

“Care to light a lamp?” the king asked the girl, eyes twinkling.

Unamused, his general took care of finding a fire-starter himself, girl in tow. He lit the lamp on the table and seated himself, forcing her to sit in the chair nearest his.

Pouring three glasses of wine, the king invited her to speak with a small gesture.

The girl stared at the wine. "What do I really know?" she asked it. "What can I say, now?" she looked at the lamp.

"You must know who you are." the general forgot himself and looked at her directly.

"I know who I was. I was Aevlin, raised by Callily, wife of Alaric, son of the mad king," she said the words as if they belonged to someone else. Not her name, not her story. "I was a woodcrafter's apprentice, a strict woman's daughter, a selfish girl's sister. But you know that already. And she's dead." the girl's eyes glistened with tears that would not fall. She would not let them. "Does it matter?"

The king smiled kindly. "Tell us how you remember it, then. As it happened to you."

Closing her eyes, the young woman inhaled deeply. She put a hand to her heart, though it beat but quietly, steadily. Hesitantly, focusing on the flickering lamp, she began.