As Veriti lay in bed, her infant son cradled in her arms, she smiled down at him in silence. She had no regrets, save one, and even that was not truly a regret.

She did not regret meeting the masked, blue-haired stranger who had restored the Alchemy Well and returned prosperity to Ayuthay. She did not regret falling in love with him, either, even though it had happened so quickly. One look at him, one look into his deep eyes that were the exact color of the sea, one sleight little smirk from him as he tilted his head and whispered, "Princess," and she was his. She did not regret that.

She did not regret allowing her heart to escape her, no matter how unfit it was for a princess to give in to such flights of fancy. All her life, she'd been told the rules. She knew what was expected of her, what was proper. She did not regret crossing those boundaries because of this stranger.

She did not regret it when their hands touched, however briefly, when she was showing him around the old, broken well. She did not regret the awe that lit up in her eyes when the man used his strange powers to fix it, lighting up the room in a way Veriti had never seen before in her lifetime. She did not regret allowing him to wrap an arm around her waist as they stood there, bathed in the light of the Alchemy Well. She did not regret allowing him to tilt her head up so he could look into her eyes, and certainly she did not regret it when the gap between them closed and their lips met.

Nor did she regret pulling away from him to whisper in his ear that he could meet her later in her chambers if he so wished. Indeed, she did not even regret it later, when he followed through with her request. She did not regret anything that had happened between them then, in the darkness, no matter how improper it was for a princess—or any maiden, for that matter—to be bedded by a man out of wedlock. She did not regret giving up her innocence to him, not at all.

She loved him, she truly did. He made her feel alive. It was as though all her life before meeting him had been a dream, as though she had not truly lived until he had walked in through the palace doors.

If the contented smile he'd worn on his face that night was anything to go by, he felt the same. Veriti knew he did. She had seen it in his eyes as the dawn approached, lying beside him in this very bed. She had felt it in his touch as he ran his hands along her skin, turning her face towards his in the faint light of daybreak. His eyes had shone, then, bright amid the darkness as he watched her. She did not regret gazing into those deep eyes, nor did she regret the way he gently stroked her face as he pulled her close to him once more.

Veriti knew he'd loved her as much as she loved him. It had to be true. He'd even told her his true name, had whispered that and other secrets to her in the darkness that night, when he hadn't been muttering her name. Alex. Alex was his name, and it suited him.

She did not regret running her own hand along his face, tracing the scars that ran down past his right eye, did not regret it when he caught her hand and held it there, against his face, sadness creeping into his expression. That was one secret he'd never parted with. How he'd gotten them. He'd told her of his home, a snowy village in the north. Veriti had never seen snow in her lifetime, but Alex promised her it was nothing to miss. Indeed, she couldn't help but wonder what had driven him so far from home, but something in his eyes had stopped her from asking. There were some things he obviously did not wish to speak of.

She did not regret helping Alex to get ready again the morning after, did not regret having to act as though nothing had happened between them in the daylight, did not regret hiding the truth from her brother and her people. She did not regret meeting with Alex as often as she could, did not regret falling asleep in his arms each night and waking up beside him in the morning. She loved those nights and those days. They were the happiest times she had known, and she would never regret them.

Not even when Alex told her he had to leave again. She didn't even bother asking him to stay. She hadn't been able to. She knew he was too ambitious to end his quest here and now, and she did not want to trouble him. She loved him too much to force him to stay with her just because of what had happened between them. She would not keep him against his will.

She had been sad the next morning, when she'd woken to find him gone, but not regretful. He was gone, leaving not a trace behind him, and it was almost as though he'd never even been there at all. Only Veriti had truly known him, as he'd kept his presence in Ayuthay a secret from all save Veriti and her brother, King Paithos. Thus, it was Veriti alone who missed him to terribly. He'd left her alone again, alone save the gaping hole in her heart.

Yet, even then, she had no regrets. When she thought of him, thought of what little time they'd spent together, it eased the pain a little. She almost felt alive again. She had been so happy when she'd been with him, and thinking of him warmed her heart even in the cold, dark nights when she awakened to find herself alone.

Veriti still felt no regrets even as she began to realize that, in fact, Alex had not left her truly alone. That he had left behind a trace of his presence. It did not matter that she would never be able to hide what had happened between them, that she'd have to tell her brother the truth after all. It did not scare her. She was happy that she was pregnant, happy that Alex had left her with his child. Selfishly, in those days, Veriti had wished for it to look like him. She wanted a child with his blue hair, his sea-colored eyes.

She did not regret that Paithos had lied to the people of Ayuthay—indeed, if it would ease her child's life, she was grateful. She wanted her people to love her child as much as they'd always loved her—something that might not happen if they knew the truth. So Veriti allowed her brother, King Paithos, to spread word around Ayuthay of the miracles she'd done—miracles that were truthfully the work of Alex, including the so-called "divine conception" of her baby.

Veriti remembered how she would often hold her hands against her stomach and imagine how the people of Ayuthay would treat a child they thought was born through a miracle. Much better, she was sure, than they would treat a child they knew was illegitimate.

No, Veriti did not regret the lies her brother spread, not at all. Nor did she regret anything about this situation. She wanted the child, wanted to be a mother. Each little movement she felt inside of her only endeared her to the child even more. She loved it as much has she had loved Alex.

Holding her infant son now, three days after his birth, Veriti held him close to her heart against her weak body as she smiled down at him. He was so small, so perfect, so precious. And he did have his father's hair. That much was obvious. When her dear little Amiti stirred, crying softly, Veriti held him closer still, hushing him gently. She pressed her lips against his forehead, beneath his wispy blue locks, and smiled once more.

"Hush, Amiti. Mother's here. Mother loves you."

With her face in such close proximity, it was easy for him to reach out and clasp hold of her hair. His grip was tight—so tight, in fact, that Veriti could barely pull away. He was only three days old, but already so strong.

Three days. They'd been painful for Veriti. Something about the childbirth had hurt her, hurt her badly, somewhere deep inside. She could feel the pain radiating from within her growing stronger by the hour. The way the midwife and the healers spoke with her brother in hushed tones outside her door, the way her brother wouldn't meet her eyes... Veriti was not stupid. She knew she was dying, and from that was born her only sorrow.

Amiti continued crying in her arms, as though he knew as well that she would soon leave him, even as his father had left her. Alone. He'd be alone.

"Hush, little one. Mother's here," Veriti cooed, tears welling in her eyes. "Mother will always be here, Amiti. Even if... Even if..." Veriti left the words hanging in the air. There was no if. She knew her time was running out.

She smiled sadly at her son, brushing her trembling fingers over his hair. "Mother will always be with you," she said, and meant every word. She would watch over him, if she could, from beyond the grave.

Amiti quieted, as though he could understand her, and blinked. His eyes, though unfocused, were staring in her general direction. Veriti smiled as she gazed into them. They were, like his father's, the exact color of the sea. Veriti hoped they would remain that way. She could see it in her mind's eye, for a moment, how his eyes would someday capture the heart of a fair maiden even as his father's had captured hers. It saddened her, that she wouldn't be there to see that day. That she wouldn't get to watch her son grow, become a man, have children of his own. That alone did she regret. That Amiti would never truly know her.

Paithos walked into the room then, his brow furrowed with sorrow and worry and the weight of the crown he'd worn for years now. When Veriti met his eyes, though, and smiled, her brother tried to return the gesture.

"I heard Amiti crying, sister," he said. "Is everything alright?"

Veriti nodded, weakly, and Paithos sat down gently on the bed beside her. His eyes were full of sorrow and of love, not bearing even the slightest hint of resentment with her. Looking at Amiti, he smiled, and it did Veriti's heart good to see such a smile. Paithos hadn't been able to have children of his own, it had always rested on Veriti to give the kingdom an heir. But she saw in her brother's eyes, then, that he truly loved Amiti as much as he had always loved her—he would raise him as though he were his own son.

Weakly, she reached out to take hold of her brother's hand. "Take care of him for me, won't you?"

Paithos met her eyes and nodded, wanly.

Veriti smiled her thanks. "Brother... One other thing. Promise me..."

Paithos leaned in, looking deep into his sister's eyes as he nodded again. "Anything, Veriti. Anything."

She placed his hand on Amiti's head gently, watching as Amiti blinked, wrinkled his nose, and waved his hands around. "Promise me, brother, that you'll tell Amiti the truth. Someday. When he's... When he's ready to learn it. When he's old enough to understand."

Paithos nodded, unable to speak. There were tears welling up in his eyes, too. He didn't even try to hide them.

"Tell him... I'm always with him. Always watching over him. Tell him... That I love him. Please."

Paithos tried to smile, pulling his hand away from hers to reach up and cup her cheek with it instead, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. "Yes, sister. I promise."

Veriti smiled, sighing as she closed her eyes and leaned back into her pillows, still cradling Amiti in her arms. In her mind, she imagined that the hand she felt on her face belonged to Alex, not Paithos. That she was not dying after all, and Alex was with her, smiling down at his son with pride and joy.

When death finally claimed her, Veriti had no regrets.

...

Author: So, the inspiration for this one goes back to when I first read "Fleeting." I wanted to do something similar, but longer, and from Veriti's point of view. Truly, too many of these reflection pieces are from Alex's perspective.

Hopefully, this conveys what I wanted it to-that Veriti is, truly, deluding herself on some level. (Kind of like Alex was in "Fleeting.") How much she is deluding herself, however, I leave up to you. (And, since this truly is "Fleeting" turned on it's head... If Alex truly did love her, perhaps she isn't so delusional after all.)

Anyway, enjoy. I'll be working on my other stories some more now.