Frederich looked up from an archive about the types of Celestials only to find Radhildur fast asleep, their chin tilted back and their feet kicked up on the table. He laughed, considering the notion to crumple up a piece of paper and chuck it at their face. But he noticed the dark circles beneath their eyes for the umpteenth time that day. They’d wandered into the library in half a daze, noting they had a terrible time sleeping, incapable of remembering if they’d dreamed or done anything in the Atrium—only knowing it had been horrible business. They’d blamed the alcohol despite he’d woken up just fine. 

“Oh the perks of being a child,” Radhildur sighed with feigned depression.

He’d crossed his arms indignantly, nudging his foot against their shin. “You’re not that much older than me, stupid.”

He caught notice of the veil falling over Radhildur’s nose despite the silver weights at the end of the fabric, all thanks to how their head nodded so far back.

This was the first time he’d seen their mouth, and was surprised at the small, bowed lips and glimpses of white teeth. The jagged scar that stretched across their mouth, though, caught him off guard. Radhildur had warned him upon their first meeting that Ku blessed his champions with a star shaped mark, but it was different to see it in person. It was defined and sharp, as if still fresh. He wondered if that was part of being one of Ku’s chosen. Such a blemish must have been an embarrassment for the Royal family, he couldn’t otherwise see Radhildur covering it up. Although when he thought about it, even when dressed as Rognvaldur, they preferred a modest look.

Leaning over the table, Frederich gently grasped the hem of the veil and lowered it back down.

Radhildur jolted, and instantly he was pinned to the table with the sheath of their sword pressed against his neck.

“You’re making this a terrible habit, highness,” he joked before the joyfulness petered off and he felt a hot sting of guilt.

Their eyes were blown wide with fear and their lips curled back in a fierce snarl. As they glanced over him, their gaze was far, far away. Perhaps they saw someone else in him.

He stilled and waited patiently for them to come back. “Rathi, it’s just me. I was lowering your face covering, it had flipped up while you were sleeping.”

Radhildur stared at him for a good, long while before they staggered back, a look of horror spreading across their face. “Shit, shit, shit. Frederich—”

Standing up patiently, he ran a calming hand through his hair and then smiled over at them. “No harm, no foul. I shouldn’t have touched you while you were sleeping.”

Again that awkward silence filled between them before Radhildur finally managed a small and amused snort. “When you put it like that, it sounds like you did something wrong.”

“See?”

“Still, I was at fault for attacking you. I apologize.”

“Careful, highness. If people knew you were so fearful of fighting, you may lose your reputation as the fiercest swordsman out there.” Frederich teased lightly, gently poking their shoulder.

Radhildur managed a tired smile. “What happens here, stays here.”

“On that note, I think I’ve studied enough.” Frederich added with a wave of his hands. “Your incredibly talented Scholar has a lead for you to follow with Ku. Folklore and written accounts of worshippers recollect an old Celestial known as Ru who controls nightmares—a folk derivative of “rumor”. Records of it fall short by about two hundred years, but I think it’s a start.”

“Wait…Do all Celestials have derivative names?”

“Shouldn’t you know this better than me, highness?” Frederich smiled, amused.

Radhildur flailed their arms. “You’re the smart one!”

“Which ones would you like to know? I found quite a few in the book.”

“Av, Ia, and…”Radhildur seemed beside themself for a moment before nodding. “And Ku, too, please.”

Fredrich leaned back. “Av is pretty straight forward, and is derived from “navigate”. Considering her champions become seers, that’s not surprising. Ia is derived from “gratia”, which given that her prophecies are known to be a blessing, again not surprising.”

“And my patron?” They seemed worried. 

“It’s nothing so terrifying.” Frederich tapped their forehead. ““Ruckus.” Ku is nothing more than an annoyance rather than a curse.”

 Relief washed over their face before the excitement returned. “Did you get all that while I was passed out?”

“You may show your gratitude in any capacity, Rathi. I know, I know. I’m extremely skilled—”

Frederich was not prepared for Radhildur to pick him up and spin him around. He was embarrassed by the yelp he released and the fact that he immediately wrapped his arms around their neck for support.

“You, my little Scholar, are brilliant!” Radhildur praised. “That’s more than just a lead, you’ve provided me with a name and territory!”

“Please put me down, highness,” he said with a slight shake in his throat.

The heir looked at him, and he hadn’t realized there were flecks of ruby in that gold gaze of theirs. It was a lovely glance. But the moment ended suddenly as Radhildur dropped him to his feet and hopped back. “Ah yes, apologies. I got excited.”

“Well,” he laughed a bit anxiously, warmth blooming in his chest. “You weren’t kidding when you said your studies were poor. I opened one or two volumes before finding an entry about the Celestial of nightmares in the index.”

The sheepish look on Radhildur’s face deepened. 

“If that’s all for today, I’ll be returning to my duties. I would like to be named a Master soon, y’know.”

“I’m well aware, little Scholar.”

Frederich rolled a question around in his head before swallowing. “I’m off tomorrow. If you’d like, I can join you at the Commons for sparring.”

Radhildur blinked once, then twice, before finally staring at him like a startled stag. “Yes.”

“Great!” He retreated, not waiting for their response. “Early morning?”

“Daybreak.” They hummed.

“Daybreak!” He immediately sprinted to the library from the Royal’s private study.

The following morning could not have arrived sooner. Whether it was anxiousness or pure excitement, Frederich had not been able to sleep that night. He laid awake hours prior to the sunrise, waiting for an excusable time to dress and leave for his sparring with Radhildur. 

Like their dinner the previous night, it was spontaneous and unlike him to indulge in this. But his days whiling away to the heir’s mission of finding the culprit of Ku’s and their mal-intended rumors had truly brought him enjoyment. Radhildur amused him to no end amidst their tight-lidded chaos. He figured that perhaps he was one of the few that they could truly allow themselves to roam free around.

He thought of them picking him up and spinning him around—not a care in the world for who saw or who either of them were. His heart stumbled a moment and he firmly told himself it was just because they were excited. “Your own feelings shouldn’t get involved here,” he said sternly as he slipped into a light cotton shirt and trousers. Something nice but with plenty of functionality for a sword fight. “As it is, you messed up a nightly rendezvous.”  

Tottering back on his heels for a second, he realized that he could’ve been with Radhildur all night too. The Radhildur that was taller than him, with broader shoulders and brighter eyes, with a sureness and swagger that outshined what seemed a little more reserved during the day.

His old sword was in his hands and he told himself to stop. He was fond of Radhildur and that’s where things ended. Fondness.

Slipping down from the attic in the sleepy time of dusk, he snuck into the kitchen to grab a roll of bread and maybe a wedge of cheese. Instead, a light prod to his shoulder surprised him and he spun to find his mother’s worried gaze.

Her hands twisted the thin paper notebook he’d crafted for her. He believed this was volume eight? It was her way of communicating with the rest of them since she’d gone mute.

She held out the paper for him.

“Where are you going so early?”

“I’m headed to the Commons,” he assured her gently—she must’ve just returned from a shift. She wasn’t normally awake and about this early in the morning. His father sure, since he had dawn shift at the Commons, but not his mother. “I’ve a friend who wants to spar.”

She shook her head immediately, her silver and sable curls bouncing in such a way that made him think that Bea was a carbon copy of their mother. She took the notebook back and quickly fished her charcoal stick from a string attached to the book’s binding. 

“You shouldn’t go today. Your father and the other knights are performing an arrest.”

“What?” Something cold dropped in his stomach.

She scribbled down another answer. “He dropped by the seamstress’ shop to tell me last night. Apparently a wanted criminal has been frequenting the Commons and no one knew. Sir Dullahan found out about it. They’re confronting the fiend as soon as they arrive. Which is normally around daybreak.”

Frederich paled. In his head, amidst the heady alcohol, he couldn’t recall the shenanigans that he and Radhildur fell into during their drunken stupor from their night out. He thought they had done a fairly good job leaving the tavern immediately and returning to their prospective homes. And Dullahan had left the tavern well before they had.

It must’ve been a coincidence. 

And yet the voice inside of him, the one that landed him a Scholar’s job, the little part of his mind that always knew a truth from a falsity—told him it was not just chance.

Since when had any of this been chance?

“I have to go,” he whispered, gripping his sword tighter and running from the kitchen. 

The door slammed behind him and he raced faster than he had in a long time. His breath burned in his chest and he regretted how sorely out of shape he’d become. Surely it was some kind of mistake. Destiny could not once again be so cruel to the cursed heir that it would take away their last haven. 

In his head, he rewound and unraveled that night over and over again. Dullahan had left before them. He hadn’t been there. Did someone turn them in? Would his father refer to Rognvaldur-Radhildur as a criminal? The worst they’d done was lie about their identity for their own comfort and for those around them. And last he checked, there was no felony in that. 

But the people of Reyk had never been kind to the champions of Ku.

The torches surrounding the Commons were unusually bright.

Frederich peeked behind the wall at the front gate to assess the situation. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. 

There were easily fifteen to twenty knights, all in uniform position, while his father and Dullahan stood before Radhildur with their weapons drawn. Radhildur’s back was to him, but their hat had been knocked to the ground and their sword placed before their feet, a red velvet cloth covering the peony guard.

“We asked you a question,” his father demanded. “Are you still not willing to answer?”

Dullahan hefted his claymore. “Your identity has been blatantly revealed, highness. I suggest you start talking.”