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Mara sat languidly on an ivy-infested stone bench that overlooked the cliffside and down onto the sea’s fatal waters. She hoped to see a nereid again and perked up from her book every so often. She leaned on the bench completely so her back was flat and held the book up in front of her, mumbling some of the words unintelligibly as she read. She was so exhausted from everything that had been happening that she prayed Acastus didn’t find her relaxing on this bench, forcing her back to the library to study more on glassfairing.

“What’cha doing?” a tiny voice came from behind her.

A salty breeze blew Mara’s hair to the side, fluttering the pages against her fingers that held her place. She turned to see a sideways Prince Aevum. He rocked back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back.

“I am reading, little prince.”

“Anything interesting?”

Mara smirked, sitting up and swinging her feet back around. She folded one of the pages down and closed the book. “Nothing of note.”

Aevum walked around the bench and gazed out of the opposite arched bay window, beyond the castle’s deteriorating roof, and over the pastures of the city. Mara strolled up behind him, resting against the stone pillar like Azor might have done, crossing her arms. “Craving the bustle of the city?”

Aevum sighed, leaning his chubby cheek on his palm, looking wistfully into the distance. “I’m not allowed.”

“What do you mean you’re not allowed?” Mara stood straighter. “I would think out of anyone here, the prince would be able to explore the streets of Kairth as he so pleased.”

Aevum shook his head, his eyes tilting down.

Mara bit her lip, feigning a startled gasp. “Are you a wanted man?”

The sides of Aevum’s lips ticked up playfully. “Possibly.”

Mara’s hand moved to her chest like a damsel. “What did you do? Am I unsafe in your company, Prince?”

Aevum giggled, the sorrow in his eyes flickering, then he finally turned to face the princess. His eyes sank, his smile slipping. “I’m… unwell.”

Mara’s eyebrows knitted in concern. “You’re sick?”

“Cas and Father say I’m not well enough to travel anymore. And that includes the short ride into the city.”

Mara bit her lip, wanting to ask what sort of ailment he had, but she managed to maintain her gentility and didn’t prod.

“It’s the plays I miss the most,” he sang. He fell back dramatically onto the bench, his fist against his chest, imitating a melodramatic suicide scene.

“Oh, I can see you have kin for the arts, little prince.”

He smiled. “And do you?” he asked her.

“I like to think myself a well-versed actress—my brother and father always said so. I have been told I can be quite theatric,” she joked and gave him a cheeky smile, thinking back to the time Evrardin told her how histrionic her character tended to be. Aevum giggled. “But either way, I do love to read them. To get lost in their stories and fairy tales.”

“Would you recite one for me?” His eyes pleaded, his face suddenly lit from within.

Mara’s cheeks rose with heat, she had never acted in front of anyone before—unless her lies truly counted as theater. “You’d want that? I can’t promise you I’ll be any good.”

Aevum clapped his hands before grabbing one of hers, nodding his head. He began to drag her away and Mara made a mental note to come back and grab the book she left on the stone bench later.

Aevum pulled her through the castle and into a beautiful sitting room. The fireplace crackled with a low fire, the summer warmth not quite heating a room so deep within the cool cobblestoned walls. There were upholstered settees the color of pale daylilies. The carpet was soft and intricate with weaving patterns and golden tassels. Large bookshelves lined the walls, stacked high with books, packed even more than the ones in the library. She strolled along the edge of the dark oak shelves, her fingers trailing the vinyl of the books’ spines. She realized they were all adventure stories, fairy tales, or extravagant playwrights. She smiled at Aevum who followed close behind her.

“And whose room are we in?” she asked him. She picked up a tome filled with dark tales of ancient lands and mystical beings, flipping through it before replacing it.

“Cas used to like to study in here.”

Mara glanced at him, and he averted his eyes. She tried to imagine Acastus pouring over tomes with great interest late into the night, a dying candle his only light source as his finger traced the pages.

“Though, not so much anymore. I tend to it now.”

“A whole study to yourself?”

Aevum grinned, pulling on the collar of his tunic, then nodded.

Mara continued to waltz past the bookshelves, taking in all the patterns.

“Do you have a favorite?” Aevum asked her.

“Hm,” she thought. “I’ve always enjoyed the masques performed at feasts in Venmore. Though, my favorite academic drama might have to be The Tragedy of the Sun and Wolf .” She half-expected Aevum to look put off at her choice: a tragic love story. But he grinned at her. Mara wondered if he was truly that starved of entertainment and friendship that he would have been glad for any play she mentioned.

“Would you do that one for me?”

A mirthless chuckle escaped her. “Are you trying to make a fool of me?”

Aevum straddled his legs as he took large steps, focusing on the rug’s pattern beneath his boots. “Why would I do that?”

Mara’s eyes crinkled, Aevum’s innocence a fresh breeze on her clammy skin.

“Or you can just recite it, if you’d prefer,” he said more demurely, his eyes flickering around the room like he was nervous she was going to abandon him if he didn’t settle his excitement.

Mara had never properly acted, but she didn’t see how doing this for Aevum would hurt. In truth, she thought it might be fun to be extraordinarily dramatic. To live out the drama she had read countless times. To play a character that was not her, hopelessly in love, even if it did end tragically. As a princess, she would never be allowed to perform in a show. While nobles used theater as entertainment, the actors were always lowborns.

She made her way to the bookshelf and began looking for a copy even though she knew it by heart. It was a rather prevalent tragedy, so she’d be surprised if it wasn’t here— Oh , she found it and tugged the leather into her palm.

She spun to Aevum who had made himself comfortable on the rug, leaning back against one of the sofas. She moved with a tiny jump in her step. “Shall we?”

She began by reading the exposition, using a silly voice for the narrator, gaining an amused chuckle from Aevum, then switched to her own lilt when it was time to recite as Trana, the sun goddess.

She imitated how she imagined a beautiful crane would walk and talk, taking a moment to look at the gorgeous illustrations that mirrored the words on the pages. “But, Sister, time is rising on us. There is no realm where we can stay together forever. While I wish to be by your side, always, we cannot become our own within the confines of sisterhood.”

Mara moved sideways to depict her shift in character, ready to become Trana’s sister and give her retort. “Alone? Do you know how the world treats lonely girls, Trana?”

She shifted again, taking on Trana’s more lengthened stance, using her free arm to flail before her in plea. “Máni, please, you must consider—” Mara’s words were lost in her throat when her eyes flashed at the door. There, leaning against the frame, stood Evrardin.

Aevum rose to his knees to peek behind the backrest at what Mara had been lost to and waved him over. “Ev! Come watch. Mara is performing a tragedy!”

Evrardin’s countenance didn’t change, but his lip wavered with great subtlety. “That so?”

Mara’s face turned red, her hand falling to her side, the book resting against her skirts. “How long have you been watching?”

Ev made his way to Aevum and sat on the cushions behind him, shifting his sword as he found an agreeable position. “Might have missed the beginning, but I’ve seen quite enough to know you’re just as good an actress as I imagined.”

Mara pursed her lips. She knew his outward compliment sounded polite, but it was a quip in disguise. She sucked in a breath, letting the playfulness of today wash over her. She decided she did not care if Evrardin was to watch—even if he would tease her later for it. She was doing this for Aevum. And to be completely honest with herself, she felt like she was reveling in the merrymaking more than she had at the masquerade.

Evrardin ruffled Aevum’s hair before leaning back against the sofa, his arm extending over the back, looking mischievously relaxed.

“Quite comfortable?” she implored, a bit of snark in her tone.

Aevum grinned and gestured for her to keep going. Mara continued the sequence, switching between the two divine sisters, arguing with herself about separating. In the end, Máni would be right. Separating to follow their path would only weaken them, leaving the sisters open and exposed.

Then Skoll, the mythical wolf that chased the sun, and Hati, the brother who chased the moon, arrived, taking stage left. They had been sent by Fenrir, their monstrous father, to retrieve his debt from Trana and Máni’s sire. With their father dead, the two wolves assumed the debt the sisters owed for their sire’s wrongdoings.

Trana and Máni attempted to outrun the wolves, symbolizing the passage of time as the sun and moon moved throughout the day cycle. When the moon or sun fell to an eclipse, it’s said that Skoll and Hati were catching up to the two girls.

But then, Skoll did something not in the divination: he fell in love with the sun. Trana had transformed over time into something he couldn’t live without. Her warmth seemed to fuel him. But his wolfish side isn’t something the gods would let him repress.

Mara paused in her reading. “This might get tricky playing both lovers,” she mused, wondering if Aevum would settle for her to just dramatically read the script aloud instead of acting.

But instead, Aevum turned to Evrardin lounging behind him and nudged his leg. “Ev, go play Skoll!”

“And why can’t I play Skoll?” she asked with feigned hurt. “You sure he wouldn’t be better off playing Trana?”

“Hm,” Aevum pretended to contemplate her words. “You’re right. Trana’s elegance does line up far more accurately with Evrardin.”

“Are you saying I'm not elegant?” she asked aghast, her hand rising to her chest, her feet stumbling over a rung in the rug.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Aevum giggled.

Mara’s jaw hung open briefly at his dry words then burst out laughing. It felt so good to laugh. And not just at someone's stupidity, or a pretend, courteous laugh. But to really feel the joy ebb through her.

She swore she saw Ev smirking in the periphery of her vision, though the tears in her eyes made it hard to tell.

When the two finally stopped giggling, Aevum looked over expectantly at Evrardin.

Evrardin scoffed at the small prince. “Aevum, I do not act. I am Captain of the?—”

“Yes, yes. I know. You’re far too important for such frivolities.” Aevum sighed and sank back.

Mara scowled at Evrardin, irritated he had upset Aevum who was starving for company. “Captain!” Mara scolded. “You really want Aevum to die of boredom?!” Mara flashed her eyes at Aevum and he smiled in covert communication, understanding her crazed expressions. The prince collapsed sideways, sliding against the sofa, his head thumping as it hit the rug, pretending to be dead, an odd gurgling sound rumbling in his throat.

Evrardin shook his head at their dramatics. “Maybe theater is the path for both of you. Not prince and princesshood.”

She crossed her arms and gestured to the spot on the carpet beside her. Evrardin huffed an annoyed breath and stood. He used Aevum’s head to help him stand which resulted in a titter from the prince.

When he got to Mara’s side, he seemed somewhat discomfited. Gratification swelled through her seeing him out of his element. And to think, all it took was playing pretend for the prince. She tried to hold back her amusement to not deter Evrardin and handed him the leather-bound play.

“Don’t you need to read from it?”

“I have the dialogue memorized already.”

Evrardin shook his head as he held the book in his large hands and skimmed the following few pages. “Course you do.”

Mara rolled her eyes then began to recite her lines. “The stars are not easily moved. They will not allow us to be together,” she cried dramatically.

Evrardin cleared his throat, reading in a monotone voice. “My summer sun, my darling Trana, for I could forsake my father in hopes of following in your shadow. The stars no longer pertain to my will. I fear I cannot carry on without you. And that holds a much deeper terror than the gods could ever instill.”

Mara looked away from Evrardin and spoke to the bookshelves. “Look at yourself, my sweet wolf. For the monster you might become, you were always meant to mold to. A fate we cannot escape. You are to hunt me down, and Hati, my moonlit sister. The stars have spoken, I cannot be with you.”

Evrardin closed his eyes, but not before glaring in disapproval at the stage directions. He fell to his knees, shaking his head like this was all so fatuous. And yet, he read his lines. “The only monster I’ll enrapture is in a world without you.”

Mara spun to face the captain. “You have lived many centuries without me, my wolf. And you will live many more. Fate brings us together, ‘tis true. But only for destruction.” Mara tried to summon tears, one stray droplet sliding down her cheek. Evrardin almost looked impressed as he peered up at her, his head coming to her waist.

“You do not mean that.”

Mara shook her head and fell to her knees to match Evrardin, who made tentative movements in recoil. The script instructed him to embrace Trana and he looked as though he was debating following through—maybe he’d skip to the next line.

“Come on, Ev,” Aevum encouraged over the lull.

Ev glared at Mara as she waited patiently for her counterpart. He shook his head and huffed. And he wanted to call her dramatic?

“You wound me,” Evrardin began, reaching for Mara.

He seemed to hesitate, so Mara made the move for him. She waddled on her knees and into his arms, her hand fanning her forehead in faux distress. “I feel my heart shattering, my love. I cannot bear this if you continue to torture me so.”

Evrardin held the book out and used his other hand to execute his mandated actions. His hand slid to her cheek, forcing her to face him. She moved into his grip, allowing his control, peering at him, reminding her of the sacred paintings she often studied in the halls.

“Can you trust me?” he whispered.

Her heart quickened even though she knew this was acting, suddenly thrown off. Mara’s hand clutched Evrardin’s wrist and Aevum made a little noise of distress, whispering, “Don’t do it,” on the sideline.

“Forever.”

Evrardin pried his eyes from Mara’s face in his hand and skimmed for a follow-up line. He scrunched his brows. “What? This is moronic,” he said in a mock aside.

“Just do as it says,” Mara chided.

Evrardin shook his head in distaste but continued, back in his Skoll persona—which sounded eerily similar to his own lilt. “Then forgive me for what I have to do.” His hand slid to her neck, gently resting his fingers along the expanse of her skin.

Mara pretended to be suffocated by his embrace. Evrardin remained stoic and she flashed her eyes at him. He looked back at the text and read with a huff. “For as you break, my sweet sun, my heart goes with you.”

Mara went limp and Evrardin seemed startled, catching her in his arms and lowering her to the floor. “Is this part of it?” he asked her in a hushed tone.

She held back a grin and nodded her head. Then her hand moved to hold his cheek in a loving embrace and his back straightened. “It’s okay,” she cooed. Trana had known all along Skoll would be the death of her. Time was not on her side. She could only outrun the wolf for so long. And his blooming and vigorous love had only played her—both of them—for a fool.

Even after all the heartbreak and blood, Trana still loved him. How foolish was that?

“Forgive me,” he said with a strangled noise. He was trying to appear sullen. When his eyes drifted back to the text, they rounded.

“You don’t have to actually do that,” she whispered, her cheeks heating, knowing what he read.

The next stage direction called for a lover's final kiss, both Trana and Skoll embracing, the life slowly depleting from her as Skoll kissed her delicate lips one last time. And shortly after she faded into nothing but a shadow, he would go with her. For she truly had become his heart even if he couldn’t escape their fatal fate.

They were already so close that Evrardin only had to lower his head slightly toward Mara’s. She swallowed and Evrardin’s eyes darkened, her throat bobbing beneath his palm. She thought he might kiss her then, amazed he’d follow through so thoroughly with a play they were amateurly performing for the young prince.

She could feel his breath against her nose, her eyes fluttering as she looked at him. With a fleeting, graceless movement, Evrardin placed an almost undetectable kiss on her forehead.

Mara was thankful this was her character’s death scene as she got to close her eyes, afraid of how she might have looked if she had to keep eye contact with him any longer. Ev gingerly let her slide to the rug so she laid prone.

She cracked an eye open as he stood. “Go on, give us your closing monologue.”

He cursed under his breath, but Mara could see he wasn’t as irritated as he put on. He might have even been enjoying himself.

“For as the sun lets the shadow approach and get too close, the darkness swallows it whole. Even the dark pulse of my heart cannot bear the actions that led to my sweet sun’s death, my heart tied with hers, collapsing in on itself as I mourn her corpse beneath my feet. I pray thee who hear the tragedy of how the sun lost its shine, learn that what is written in the stars cannot be evaded. It cannot be fought. For with this dagger, I plunge into the depths of my despair, my heart no longer beating now that my light has left my life.”

“ Exeunt omnes !” Mara called.

Aevum clapped joyously. Mara was convinced he would have been happy no matter the narrative of the tale, he just wanted company and some rudimentary entertainment. She understood that loneliness all too well.

Evrardin outstretched a hand and Mara hesitantly took it, letting him haul her to her feet. She stumbled from the sheer strength of him, tumbling into his chest.

“That was wonderful, Mara! Would you put on another?”

Mara laughed, reaching out to take the book from Evrardin’s hand. Her fingers grazed his and their eyes met momentarily. “Oh. Maybe another time, tiny prince. I think I’m all acted out.”

Aevum nodded, plopping himself down on the sofa’s cushions. “Yes, very well. But I shall hold you to that promise.” His fingers played with the hilt of Ev’s sword that he left sheathed and leaning against the sofa.

“I made no such promise! I said maybe ,” she playfully argued.

“Says who? Evrardin, didn’t she just promise she would act out another play for me tomorrow?”

Mara scoffed, widening her eyes at Aevum in a mock reproach.

Evrardin watched the engagement unfold between the two, his lips pulled into a taut line. “Enough, Aevum.”

Mara scowled over at the captain. But the playfulness seemed to die in the room as Evrardin’s eyes narrowed in on Aveum.

“The Crown Prince wanted me to inform you he expects you to join his company this evening.”

Mara’s heart constricted at the swift tonal change in Evrardin’s words. He had seemed almost insouciant just moments ago—well, to those familiar with the brooding man—and now he spoke his words with grave malignancy.

Mara’s hands found her hips in irritation. “Do you do everything the prince demands of you?”

Evrardin turned to her in a swift gesture, making Mara jump back in alarm. “Do not mistake this”—he gestured between the two of them—“for friendship, Princess.” She went to open her mouth and his eyes narrowed. “Do. Not. Argue. With. Me,” he growled through gritted teeth.

Mara blinked several times, trying to digest his vicious remarks. She looked down at Aevum, who she expected to be jovial, convincing her that this was just Evrardin being a bore and not something more. But instead, the prince looked between them in dread.

“I… wasn’t trying to…” Her words got lost as Ev leered at her.

His fingers twitched, begging to reach out and strangle her no doubt. She imagined what they might feel like around her neck, suffocating her just as Skoll did to Trana. He stood straight, entering her space, looming over her like a deadly curse. She swallowed hard, willing her legs to move back. The back of her knees collided with the sofa and she fell to a seat. “Go to Acastus and your father at nightfall,” he growled at Aveum before grabbing his sword and storming out of the room without a second glance.

Aevum walked over to Mara, putting his hand on top of hers. “I hate when he gets like that.”

“Like what?” Mara asked, hoping her voice didn’t sound as broken as she felt.

“He’ll be fine one moment, then the next, he’s angry beyond belief. It’s not his fault, though.”

“Then whose fault is it?”

The little prince sighed wistfully, sinking into the feathered cushion beside her and leaning on her shoulder.