By Any Other Name

One

"When he does, I will come and retrieve you myself. Once you are coronated, the rebels will lose much of their support. Until then, you must survive."

"He will expect a marriage."

"Such a thing cannot happen without your uncle's permission. And he is in no condition to be making marriage alliances."

Briar lamented. The very idea of fleeing to Baliene turned her stomach. Prince Lucien and his ambitious father had been persistent guests in the Isalovian palace ever since Briar had struck puberty. No matter how hard she had tried to get away, he was always nearby, professing her beauty or boasting about the royal children they were going to have together. When she had gone to her uncle on the eve of her thirteenth birthday in tears over a lewd comment that the prince had made to some of his friends about her budding breasts, her uncle had been angry at first. But then he had only sighed and told her of the way it was for royals, how they had to marry whoever was best for the country, how it was her responsibility to find a proper and fitting king for Isalovia. So, from that day on, it had been widely believed by everyone inside the castle and out, that eventually the two of them would marry, uniting the kingdoms of Isalovia and Baliene in official alliance. According to the capital's citizenry, they were as good as engaged.

"You will leave within the hour," Alfred was saying now. "I will go collect your things. You won't be able to take much of them with you. You should... say your goodbyes."

He glanced back at the massive doors behind him. Briar nodded bitterly. He left her standing in front of those great oak doors, trying to gather the courage to enter them one last time. She steadied her hands and took a step forward. Her feet felt heavy, as if they somehow knew the weight of where they were taking her. Her throat clenched. Her vision blurred but perhaps that was only the moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes.

When she reached the doors, she froze, hands pressed against the glossed engravings, fingers tracing the lines of the antlers of the great buck. After a moment, she knocked. After another moment, he answered, feebly, bidding her enter. She did. The room inside was familiar but somehow distant. Its furnishings had been pushed to the corners and covered in order to give the various doctors room to work. The books that had always littered the room were stacked neatly upon the bookshelf in the immaculate rows of someone far more organized than her uncle had ever been. The King's myriad of parchments were gone along with his quills, ink, and reading spectacles. It was an eerie sight, a strange sensation, as if this room already no longer belonged to her uncle, as if it never had.

Finally, she looked at the man himself and felt a pang of true anguish. Once, he had been tall and strong with caramel hair the color of her own and a deep, booming voice. Now, he laid upon his bed frail and thin, his hair turning grey, his voice barely a wheezy whisper. The hairs in his beard were falling out, leaving only patches of fog on his stubbled chin. She smiled at him as best she could but knew it was a poor imitation.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"You're the only one who knocks."

She chortled softly and sat next to him on the bed as gently as she could so as not to disturb his stillness. She took his hand in her own and clutched it tightly.

"My dear Briar, you're as beautiful as ever."

She gave him a smile and a squeeze of his hand but she did not speak, afraid that she would break apart if she did, afraid her mask would crack and the tears would slip out, afraid that she might shatter into a million hopeless pieces. He watched her for a moment, the way he had many times before, the way that had always made her feel as though he knew everything she was thinking in that very moment.