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PAIGE

She remembered as she walked up to the Prince, a thousand doubts and even more regretful pleas hindering her. She had no idea what she would say. She didn't know how she'd start a conversation. This was a man from a completely different kingdom, with completely different values and absolutely nothing in common with Paige. They resided in different dimensions, yet the war had brought them into one. Was that how she'd begin small-talk?

Nevertheless, much to her surprise, talking came easier. Minutes, or perhaps hours, later, they sat upon that bank, overlooking the still, quiet ocean, after all the fire and laughter from behind had died down and dimmed. They had reached that quiet stage, where you could simply sit and enjoy the silence, with no commitment to continuing small-talk to avoid awkward silence.

"My dad used to tell me that those stars up there," Callan spoke, out of the blue, nodding at the dark night sky, freckled with what resembled fairy dust, "They're our ancestors, looking down on us. Guiding us." Paige's parents had never spoken to her as such, unless they had felt the need to urgently criticise her.

"I hope my ancestors are not up there, trying to guide me," Paige admitted. "I'm afraid they'd give rather terrible advice."

"They can't be that bad," Callan said. "At least one of them must have been sane."

"My great-great aunt once sent an entire army to war over the matter of a pigeon," she told him. "Something about a wrong message. Poor pigeon was killed too." Callan returned with an expression that was difficult to label- either that of disgust or amusement, that people could actually be so ridiculous. Nevertheless, it was evident Callan knew very little about Askemia. In Askemia, honour was all that mattered. If someone so much as insulted your hair, war was the only option. "I'd bet an entire kingdom that your ancestors are much more...tolerable." Paige chose her words carefully. Sure, her family was insufferable. However, they were still part of who she was, and perhaps a fragment of her still believed she was Askemian, and that her family still loved her.

"I wouldn't know from experience," Callan replied. "I never knew any of them. They all passed away before I was born. But..." He faltered. It seemed strange that such a fierce and ruthless (as she had been told through the narration of her parents and relatives) ruler seemed to be broadcasting a more vulnerable interior, one which Paige had failed to witness in her parents. "I would have liked to have met my parents. My aunt tells me they were kind, caring people."

And so Paige listened as he spoke of his parents and of many other things. She listened as he spoke and he did so too, as she opened up in return, the two heirs of two very different kingdoms sitting and merely talking. Even the wind had paused to listen.

For the first in her life, Paige had found someone to listen. She had spent a lifetime of twenty one years, hearing her parents speak, letting the words wash right over her, as she responded passively, secretly still grasping onto her personal principles and beliefs, hoping that one day, it would not be seen as a sin to believe in them. As she sat by that lake on that cool night, she wondered if her hopes had finally come true.

CALLAN

They were closer now. Callan could feel it. The air had somehow become lighter, and the roads were now broader, with the distant faint humming of civilisation, growing in volume with each step they took.

He had spent most of the night talking. It had felt good to finally talk. Callan had had the one luxury in life, to have people who truly cared about him close about him throughout his life. And yet...

He still had never felt that he could truly share everything with any of them. His aunt had huge expectations for him. After all, her entire family had been wiped away and all that was left of that glorious monarchy was Callan. She wanted him to be the most glorious of them all, a symbol of hope and redemption from the loss and suffering Acraeneia had gone through in the past. Faramond too, was a man Callan would gladly and willingly trust his life with. However, it must be said that Faramond thought too highly of Callan. Faramond still had that loyalty in him, the belief that Faramond was the servant and Callan was the master, and no relationship between them could ever overstep those boundaries. In reality, Callan thought of him more as a father-figure.

Nevertheless, Callan sought comfort in his conversation with the Askemian princess, who proved to be a princess after all, even without her tiara and her kingdom. Although a prince, soon to be crowned King of an entire kingdom, Callan still felt like the boy he was inside. An orphaned boy with shoulders too small to bear the weight of the expectations and responsibilities that would arrive on the day of his coronation. When he spoke with Paige, he felt that he was somehow permitted to be that small vulnerable boy. And that was okay. It was okay to be small. It was okay to feel vulnerable. It was okay for him to just stop being a Prince, and finally, be a boy. It had been so long since he'd been a boy that Callan had forgotten what that felt like.

And now he couldn't get that boyish smell off of him. The one that smelt of cool windless nights and sweet, irresponsible liberty.

Then, as suddenly as the feeling had come to him, it vanished. They had surely reached Acraeneia now, for people began emerging from houses and tears of joy were emerging from decades of hiding. So this is what victory felt like.

Callan managed a smile at those who waved at him, and yelled their inaudible messages of gratitude in his direction, although his smile was inevitably tainted with the grief towards the loss of those whose families stood outside their homes, waiting eagerly, hoping that maybe, just maybe, their loved ones would be arriving too. He felt like a coward, hiding behind his smile, unable to face those families. That was when it hit him. It wasn't just the families of Acraeneia that would be split down the middle and devastated. Sure, the Askemian monarchy was a complete disgrace to all things just and pure, yet it was highly unlikely that Paige was the only Askemian with a good heart. How many of those good-hearted people had been affected by this war? The casualties taken by his soldiers were an ankle sprain compared to the severity of the devastation faced by the Askemian army. All this...and for what?

With those thoughts hindering his relief to be home, Callan finally reached the castle, just few steps behind the large coach that had been meant to host the Princess. The Princess was just a little distance behind him, travelling with Faramond and a few other men she'd befriended. Surprisingly, his men seemed to appreciate her presence, a reaction completely different to the hostile one Callan had initially predicted- hence the arrangement of a coach.

Callan dismounted his horse just as the double doors of the castle were thrust open and just as he'd expected, his aunt rushed out, and Callan was forced to forget his thoughts and grin with affection. Despite everything he had left to face, he was glad to be home.

"I'm so glad your home," she gushed, enveloping him in a large, warm, much-appreciated hug. "And you've come home victorious." Of course she knew. Faramond had promised to keep her updated with her nephew's whereabouts and the battle's progress. However, there was one thing that she had not yet come to know.

"Aunty, I have to tell you something," he whispered. The others would be arriving rather soon.

"And why this large coach, Callan?" his aunt continued, completely ignoring his question. "There's no one even inside it."

"That's what I wanted to tell you," he began. "It's supposed to be for the Princess." His aunt did a double take, and only a moment later, did Callan realise how his ambiguity may have led to misunderstanding. And his aunt's long term desire to see him marry was one that would no doubt fuel this misunderstanding.

"Not my princess, aunty, goddamn it," he gushed. "I meant..." He trailed off and took a deep breath. Great. Now he was flustered. "She's not mine. As in... Well I don't own anybody for that matter, but..."

"She's beautiful."

Callan froze. They had arrived. And of course, they had to look magnificent. Or at least she did. Callan wished he could have warned his aunt earlier. She was watching Paige with awe, with that look she gave women whom she wanted to adopt into the family. With that look that she had only reserved for Callan's future bride.

"Aunty..." he began wearily. "That's the Princess of Askemia."