i. (perfection)

"Do you love me?" Rue asks, and he looks at her with his large, blank eyes.

"Do I?" he asks her, his expression never changing. He just watches her as she leans closer, and she thinks the colour of his eyes are gold enough for all the riches in the world. He doesn't move when she sighs softly and lies down with her head in his lap, her dark hair splayed all over him. It is spring and the glen is dotted with yellow flowers, their fragrance heady in the air. The grass tickles her arms and the sky is blue, the sun bright in her eyes. She imagines they make a perfect picture: a young couple in love, enjoying the last rays of the afternoon sunshine.

She smiles up at him, not at all disquieted at his seemingly callous response to her question.

"Just say you do," she tells him, closing her eyes as he runs his fingers through her hair. His touch is gentle, absent, barely there.

"I love you, Rue," he says. The wind rustles in the leaves and she opens her eyes to see the sunlight dancing in his hair. She's satisfied with that. She has to be.

ii. (dusk)

"Do you love me?" Kraehe asks, and her prince glances at her. The moonlight turns his hair to silver and gives his skin an almost transparent glow. He turns to face her and catches hold of her wrists, dragging her closer to him.

She can feel the stutter of her heartbeat against the claw of his fingers into her skin. His body is warm and his eyes are dark, a touch of madness in the white of his face. His smile is no longer vague; it twists his mouth the same way it twists at her heart. The shadows in the room are inky and deep, consecrating them to darkness. She is used to the darkness, where the night speaks to her and the twilight dances, and she will never know anything else. She wonders if now he is used to it, too.

"Love only me," he says, voice velvet and low as he whispers into her ear, his words for her and her alone. His hands leave her wrists and rest on her shoulders, holding her in place. "Love only me, and hate everyone else."

She nods, her raven-black hair blending into the night the same way the raven's blood is ravishing his heart. She places her palm on his heart, her fingers splayed upon his chest. He does not move. "Yes, my prince," she says. "I love only you." The cadence of his heartbeat matches hers now, dark and steady.

"Dance with me," he tells her, and she complies. He is all grace and beauty, and he is hers; and yet if this is victory, it tastes bitter and hollow.

He never answers her question. She hopes that one day, it will be enough.

iii. (ever after)

"Do you love me?" she asks, inexplicably afraid. They are walking through the school grounds once again, and the leaves are turning shades of brown and red and gold. The magic is no longer here, yet she still feels that she's living a fairytale, a dream come true. Everything is so familiar and yet so foreign at the same time. She feels out of place, like a feather caught in the wrong currents, slowly spiralling away.

Mytho laughs and looks almost hurt. "Of course I do," he says, taking her hand and clasping it close to his heart. "You're my princess." He is as earnest as ever; sweet and solemn and completely him. "You're Rue." His eyes are gentle and his smile is brighter than the sun.

She finds that that's enough.