Alfread didn't look forward to telling Emmalyn that he signed up for a writing seminar with Charlotte Dalardor. He spent several degrees justifying it. Writing would help him communicate more clearly and one needed to be clear in their communication to advise kings. Then he signed up for Nonfiction Literary Epics too. That would cover history without involving Master Charlotte's husband more than he needed to be. Too bad he still had to face Talen Dalardor in two of his seminars.

That done, he had time before the birthday ball. So why shouldn't he use that time to explore the Athenaeum and gather all the texts for his classes? Alfread had the time of his life, going up and down stairs and sliding ladders, sighting many famous texts he'd only heard of or works by authors he'd read that he'd never been able to acquire. This type of wonder reminded him of waking up on Rebirth each year to find gifts. Except he could go to Athenaeum whenever he wanted now. That access didn't slow him down from savoring each turn spent among the shelves.

Alfread couldn't take most of the books out of the library without adept or master clearance, but there were a few his classes required. He'd need to get them all, so he'd better spend his last few coins paying security deposits on as many as he could instead of buying dress attire for a ball that he'd never be able to look dressed enough for.

Despite having several new works to look forward to, he found himself making eyes at The Warrior's Pride. The Athenaeum edition didn't have illustrations, but he could look those up in his memory. Even without his perfect recall, he'd never be able to get Zyryxa of Loxzua out of his head. It was widely known that the illustrator couldn't possibly do justice to Qoryxa's craftmanship, but they did enough to justify sixty-one pages of illustrations of some of the key scenes in Zyryxa's story. Naturally, Alfread had to daydream about those blessed images of the most beautiful and powerful woman in the world. It was crazy to think that he was now the same age as her at the start of the story. Yes, he'd better make sure to focus on the past dragon warrior rather than on a night surrounded by dragons in the form of lordlings, even if Serapheena Ruby could be Zyryxa's successor.

Since he started remembering the pictures, it only made sense to track down the passages too. It was better to focus on the tremendous courage of Zyryxa, Lexyn, and Pelzyq rather than his own cowardice that kept him away from the Firemaiden's birthday ball. It was easier to imagine Zyryxa battling Fire Tribe raiders in a blizzard than it was to imagine standing among the Irvaines that would bully him, the Saloras that would hypersexualize him, the Valices that would be forced to ignore him, while he stood out like a country bumpkin among the kingdom's wealthiest. His mother's birth family would be there. Would they force a conversation with him? At best, he'd be like a strange beast put on display for the amusement of overgrown children. At worse, they'd throw him over the cliffs and into the sea. While that seemed unlikely, he couldn't feel that it wasn't a very real possibility.

Even Serapheena scared him. His conversation with the Firemaiden had been one of the most alive moments of his life. He replayed it every few degrees just to feel the fire in his soul and to see her again. But what if he couldn't sustain that now that he knew who she was? He couldn't be as clever or as strong as she was. What if he let her down? Even if he didn't, what would King Adameon think of his friendship with her? He was impossibly far below her social class. The king would give her the Talen Dalardor talk and she'd have to avoid him too. Unless he took his mother's family name. But he'd rather walk through fire than do that.

Alfread stayed in Athenaeum until the attendant forced him out of it. The sun was nearly set when he emerged onto the campus grounds. Heart thumping, the thirteen towers of Ruby Castle dominated the skyline atop Rubinia's highest hill. He tried not to replay the scene in his mind, the vulnerability in how Sera decreed he come and his promise.

He'd read enough stories about love to be aware that breaking an important promise early would hurt. But it was those same stories that often taught him it could be forgiven. He knew that he was supposed to try to live his life like it was the most important story, but tonight he wanted to hide in someone else's story. He faced those towers for half a degree, battling the urge to carry his stack of books to his new room and read the night away.

We at least have to find the room and put the books there, the Coward within him said. The justification was enough to enable cowardice, letting him turn his back on his promise. The braver part of him knew he was running from life, from destiny.

He fetched his travel rucksack from the stables. Workhorse heehawed like the ass that he was, and didn't stop until Alfread spent the last of his carrots and an apple. He could get on the mule and ride up the hill. He could seize the quill of destiny and author his story. If Zander were here, Alfread wouldn't get away with this cowardice.

Finish strong, Zander would say, not letting him leave the stables unmounted.

But Alfread was a coward.

Each step toward Cradle was met with alternating shame and rationalization. He was a spineless piece of shite to leave his greatest ally stranded when she asked for him. But this proved she was better off without him. Better to let her down now than later. The wound would be smaller, the stakes lower. He could write that story.

Encumbered with his rucksack, a book stack, and most of all, sackless thoughts, he entered Cradle. The residence of those below the rank of master was one of the largest buildings on campus. In terms of area, it had to surpass any fifty Bear's Crossing farmhouses. Seven stories tall on the ends with a curved roof that arced down to four stories in the center to create the shape of a cradle, the building was expansive and wide. Home to the most pampered youth in the world, Alfread found the symbolism apt. Yet, stepping inside he felt nothing but dissonance to enter into this palace of privilege where he clearly didn't belong.

Intricate stonework, beautiful murals, and trained servants greeted him. One rushed forward to take his books, a young lady who reminded him of Marigold in age and deference. He hoped she was doing well back home, that his mother was guiding her sharp mind to carve her place in this world. He was immediately endeared to this girl.

"I can carry my things if you'll lead me to my room," he said, softly.

She cringed, looking as if she'd just been slapped. Of course, if a lordling refused help offered by a servant, it would be an insult.

"I'm on a meritorious grant," Alfread explained. "I'm not used to having people carry things for me."

Her eyes went wide. "You're him! The one that," she glanced around, seeing that none were near, lowered her voice, "beat the highborn on the test."

Alfread nodded. He leaned toward her, making his whisper conspiratorial. "It won't be the last time I beat them either," he said. "I'm gonna beat some sense into their pampered arses."

Her smile was precious. "I bet."

"I'm Alfread," he said. He'd offer his hand but didn't want to draw attention to his load.

"I'm Pheline," she said. "They put you in the middle of the first floor with the rest of us instead of in the novice hall upstairs."

"I don't care if they shove me in the closet under the stairs," Alfread said, even more grateful he wasn't at the bloody birthday ball with people who didn't think he belonged. "I came here to learn not to live in luxury with a grand view of the city."

"I'll look out for you," she said with a wink. "Follow me."

Pheline led him down a hallway, deeper into the building. "How does one get your position?" Alfread asked.

"Master Blazelord gets us all from orphanages," Pheline said, turning down another hall. "We get a room, baths, and meals here, without what happens in the orphanages."

"Do you like it here?"

Pheline puffed out her cheeks, her eyes going up, contemplating how best to glaze going from one shitty situation into another. "Its better than the orphanages."

Alfread could imagine why a cute girl around thirteen wouldn't have a good time at the orphanages. Too old to be adopted, too young to be able to do anything to protect herself. He could also imagine what lordlings like Irvaine Celvine would do to her. The monsters were still there, but they dressed nicer at Leverian University.

"I'll look out for you too," Alfread said, meaning the words while the coward warned him that he shouldn't keep making promises he wouldn't be able to keep.

She glanced back at him, giving him that same big brother feeling Marigold did in their too-brief time together. "Thank you, Alfread."

Don't thank me yet, he thought. "Folks like us have to stick together," he said. "Just let me know how I can help."

She opened a door. "Beat some sense into their pampered arses," she said. Pheline went on to explain about how he could use the baths—even the servants had pipes in Cradle that worked with warm water through some wizard magic—when and where to get meals and where to find her if he had questions. He'd only be permitted to eat, drink, and bathe with the servants. Instead of taking it as the intended condescension, he saw it as a blessing. He already had to encounter the entitleds in his classes. No need to deal with them while eating, bathing, and shitting.

"You've been incredibly helpful," Alfread said. "It is good to know I'll find at least one friendly face here."

She blushed. "With a face like yours, I reckon you'll find lots o' friendly faces here."

Alfread shook his head. "It has already been made clear to me that I'm not wanted here."

"Then why did the heads over at Boudoir let you in?"

Alfread opened his mouth, then found she made a good point. He was giving too much credence to the ones that didn't want him. For every Talen Dalardor there was a Valice Dalardor. Sixteen of eighteen approved of his application, several offered to sponsor him. In Foundry, Valice, Salora, and Damina had all welcomed him whereas only Irvaine had tried to get rid of him. Why was he so focused on those he didn't have the approval of? Was that just human nature or did he need everyone to like him?

He'd grown up well-liked everywhere he went. In Bear's Crossing, he was son of the local medican who offered her services for free, and later, her assistant. At the Temple they loved him for his Meladon's day reading lessons. The way he looked, the way he talked, left him endeared to nearly every girl and woman in the small river city. He'd cultivated his personality around being kind and compassionate, like his mother, and quick with a jest or an anecdote, like his father in order to make conversation with anyone. Yet even then the most salient memories were often from situations where he felt disliked.

"You know what, Pheline? You're right. I've been too focused on those that don't want me and blinding myself from seeing those that do." He felt the light of hope beaming down on him. "Thanks for lifting the wool from my eyes. You're appreciated."

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Her little blush was so endearing Alfread couldn't help but smile. "Thank you," she said. "Do you need help with anything else?"

The thought of what came next brought a wave of nausea to Alfread. He was late for the birthday ball, but not hopelessly so. He'd been using this conversation to forget. He motioned to his arm full of books and his rucksack. "I need to get settled and start on these books. Do you read?"

"A little," she said.

Alfread thought of inviting her in to enjoy The Warrior's Pride with him, but knowing how he tended to react, he thought better of it. "What sort of dreams do you have?"

"Dreams? I'd be happy with a comfortable place where I don't have too many worries."

Such a place likely didn't exist in Leveria's immediate future. Alfread wasn't about to tell her about the Celegans, however. "Let me get caught up on my reading and we can start talking about how to make those dreams come true over breakfast," he said.

She beamed at him. "That'd be amazing." She pointed down the hall. "I better make sure the hallways are cleaned before they get back from their ball." She waved. "Until next time, Alfread."

"Until next time, Pheline."

Feeling a bit better about himself, Alfread stepped into his room. He wondered if this had been a storage closet at one point because he couldn't take steps within the confines of his room. He'd been placed in a thin rectangle where the bed took up most of the space, a bed that undoubtedly would be a few inches too short for his frame. At least it came with a pillow and a blanket rather than being covered in hay for the lowborn animal that he was to these folk. Some of them, at least.

His old clothing was on the bed as was an unadorned green robe, marking him as a novice. For furnishings, he'd been generously provided a nightstand for a dresser that wouldn't even contain the contents of his rucksack. Trying not to channel the part of him that wanted to look at those that didn't like him, he set his books on the stand. At least they didn't have to go on his extremely limited floor space.

He was entombed in the center of the building. No windows would let in natural light. The only light source was a candle on the nightstand but he had no fire source. This was one of the most luxurious buildings in the world and the servants were stored like this without enough personal space to get comfortable. It was a divinedamned travesty especially when he'd lived in better quarters as a soldier in a contested warzone.

This was why he was here. To change perceptions and to change things. To get Leveria to see people like him and Pheline. This was just another story with a hero coming from humble beginnings. They could put him in the storage closet beneath where the lordlings had their suites. It wouldn't hinder him, but spark his desire to prove that people didn't need a last name to be worthy. He saw this as a blessing. He didn't have to be surrounded by the lordlings above him, nor did he want to be softened in their cozy quarters. This cramped space would force him to leave. He'd spend his waking angles at Athenaeum or Mixer. He'd come here for sleep and privacy. Nothing more.

He changed into the novice robes, happily discarding the white cassock. Alone in the dark with no light to read and nobody to talk to, he finally had to face the facts. He was a coward, hiding in this closet instead of going to the ball honoring promises. He laid in his bed, legs scrunched so they'd fit, curled up in his shame. The thought of going up the hill and surrounding himself was terrifying. So many wouldn't want him there and he couldn't convince himself otherwise. The princess would understand why he didn't go. He conjured an infinity of excuses but he couldn't stop feeling like he'd pissed in his life's mate's soup. Then he thought of Asa and felt even worse. He was abandoning them both right now.

He was a coward.

When Alfread couldn't tolerate the thoughts any longer, he grabbed the candle and went down the hall toward the hearth where he lit it. Returning to his room, he tried to do something productive. His first class tomorrow was Introduction to Modern Law. He opened the text and started on it, trying to smother his shame with legal jargon.

It worked. He lost track of time as he committed himself to learning the laws that governed the Ruby Kingdom and its many holds. The reading wasn't quite as exhilarating as Zyryxa's biography. His mind drifted from the principles that governed the ownership of land in Leveria toward Zyryxa's journey across Ice Tribe lands in wild Volqor. Eventually, after forcing himself through fifty pages of law, he gave in and read what his heart yearned for. The harsh story of that harsh land comforted Alfread as he wallowed in his own trials in Rubinia.

Alfread had adventured through over a hundred pages when a ruckus in the hallways announced the return of lordlings from the birthday ball. Their noise was catalyst to the silenced shame's reawakening. He'd hid in this tiny room re-reading a story he already knew from front to back when he could've been at the ball with Serapheena or in Mirrevar with Asa. He was unworthy of both women. He deserved to die alone, unloved, never contributing anything meaningful to the world.

The thoughts took over, grinding his self-esteem to dust. He couldn't read through the shame this time as the loud voices, the drunken laughter, echoed through Cradle. He hid from them, but he couldn't hide from his own cowardice.

He couldn't hide from them either it seemed. Footsteps pattered down the hallway and his doorknob turned. Among many things the room lacked, a lock was one of them. Salora Rainwater welcomed herself into his room, wearing a golden gown that matched her curled golden hair with a plunging neckline that left little to the imagination. She brought the scent of wine with her.

Giggling, she shut the door and dropped her dress to the floor. Salora vaulted onto the bed, pushed aside his books, pressed her body into his, and kissed his neck as she ran her hands over him.

Alfread froze. Too stunned to react, he sat there as she kissed and groped him to her drunken heart's content. He couldn't think, much less speak, still feeling the same shame from moments before.

Salora mounted him, his novice robes the only barrier between them. She pressed her lips onto his, wrapped her arms behind his neck, and gyrated, giggling as she went up and down. "She'll be coming down the mountain when she comes," she sang softly, a seductive lilt as she bounced on him.

Alfread's eyes took her in, his body reacting long before his mind. Without his consent, his manhood swelled to full capacity.

"The mountain rises," she whispered, "growing several sizes. Lady Salora prizes, such delightful surprises."

Even disoriented, Alfread heard the rhyme for what it was: rehearsed.

Her mouth parted his, tongue sliding in and giving him the most expensive wine tasting he'd probably ever have at the discounted price of his own morality. His mind started to catch up, mortified by what he was doing: sharing his first kiss with a drunken lordling who thought of him as nothing but a well-endowed tribute to Leverith. He didn't love this girl.

But his body seemed to have a mind of its own, pulling her tighter, his eyes scouring her like she was a gorgeous vista, his manhood throbbing beneath the pressure she put on it. His heart pounded, excited by the feel of her on him, by the prospect of him in her. He imagined what it would be like to go all the way. But she wasn't his life's mate.

The mind was repulsed, the heart confused, the body impassioned. He kissed her, sloppy as inexperience collided with inebriation. The more she touched him, the more he wanted it and the more he was repulsed with himself. His mind tried to justify his body to reduce the dissonance. He'd never paid tribute before. Was that why his attempts failed in Mirrevar? Why he couldn't see Serapheena tonight? Salora was blessed by Leverith. Isn't this what he was supposed to do? This felt good. Plain and simple. What was life without approaching that which felt good, that which was holy, that which would help him find love in the end. Hadn't he denied himself long enough? He wasn't bonded, let alone promised, to Asa or Serapheena. He'd been rejected by one and the other was so far above his class that any attempt to court her now could only end in tragedy.

Salora wasn't looking for love. She just wanted to fuck. And so did Alfread.

Mind and body unified, Alfread put his heart into it. His robes hit the wall, flung in a fit of giggles. Closing his eyes, he kissed her wildly, hands roaming her body as she pulled on him. His fingers went in her, remembering King Hemeon Horseweeper's autobiography where the Leverian king spent three hundred pages describing how big his cock was and how he pleasured hundreds of women with near manualized attention to detail.

Salora arched her back, letting out a series of moans that confirmed that you could indeed learn much from literature. Kissing, groping, rubbing on the pleasure switch as named by Hemeon Leveria, Alfread lost himself in the moment.

She dug her nails into his back. "You're passing the test, better than the rest. Time to climb. How's my rhyme?"

"A-A-B-B, Salora can see." He lowered her onto her back. "Now it's time, to finish the rhyme."

Alfread stared into her eager eyes, preparing to take the final plunge. Manhood pressed against her, his body yearning to finally do what damn near everyone had told him to do for the last four years, Alfread froze again.

He wanted to see Asa there, looking up at him with her big green eyes, an aura of light brightening the room. He wanted to see Serapheena there, that sly grin on her face with a thousand freckles set like fireflies against the perfect blue sky of her eyes. Salora Rainwater was a beautiful sight, but it wasn't the same. She lacked their light, their fire, instead offering an aura of drunkenness that would never set his soul aflame.

His heart rebelled against mind and body. He could want her physically, there was ample evidence for that. He could rationalize this a thousand ways. But he could never feel like this was right when it was wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. This wasn't the story he wanted to tell and he was divinedamned ashamed that he'd let it get this close.

He rolled over, sitting on the side of the bed, his knees brushing the wall in this cramped closet of a room that only had space for a bed. "I'm sorry," he said. "I can't do this."

Salora slid behind him, an arm on his back, tracing it with a seductive scratch. She nibbled his ear, whispering, "Nobody will ever know. Nobody but Leverith."

Alfread shook his head. I'll know, he thought.

Salora kissed him. Lips on his face, nibbles on his neck, her soft hands running down his chest to his abdomen, tracing down until she cupped his softened manhood. She tried to reignite his body, but his body had fallen in line with the heart. She pulled hard and fast on him, trying to rev him up.

Alfread peeled her hands off him and stood. "I cannot, Salora. You are beautiful and sexy and any man would be lucky to be in love with you."

She grinned at him. "Then be that man," she said. She patted the rough sheets. "I am all yours tonight." She winked at his manhood. "And many, many more."

Alfread put his head in his hands, exhaled, and repeated himself, trying to soften her fall. "Any man would be lucky to be in love with you, Lady Salora Rainwater." Alfread kept his eyes fixed on her pretty, still smiling, face. "And my heart knows this isn't love. This isn't how it is supposed to be."

Salora did a double and then a triple take. She blinked her eyes several times as if she had just witnessed the impossible. Perhaps she had. Alfread doubted she had ever been refused anything before. The surprise passed and the playfulness died away. Salora's face went serpentine and savage, eyes narrowing into slits, brow furrowed. "You are making a mistake, boy."

"Perhaps," Alfread answered, wincing at her condescension "but my heart knows this is wrong no matter what my body and mind tell me."

Salora Rainwater pushed him into the wall. Alfread didn't fight her. Stomping precisely one step to the door, she retrieved her dress. Alfread didn't permit himself to look at her until she was covered. He pulled on his loincloth, sat on the edge of his bed, eyes down, waiting for her to go.

It was a painfully slow process. Her inebriation and the adornments on the gown didn't get along. She mouthed vile remarks about him throughout. He was a lowly farmboy, an animal, a peasant, a pervert, a piece of shit, a nobody who should've been honored to touch a future archlady.

Alfread winced at each, knowing that this was only the beginning of her volatility. What was the cliché: Zamael's Hells hath no fury like a scorned woman? This wasn't just any woman, but one with a tremendous amount of social power and influence. He'd made a lifelong enemy out of a person who could've made his time here easier if only he'd been willing to violate his heart and have frequent, but loveless, sex with a gorgeous girl. He wished he could feel proud of his choice. It took courage to stand up for one's values when body and mind both wanted to violate them, when the consequences were so severe. But he'd done this to himself. He'd orchestrated this cacophony earlier, writing rhymes that he couldn't deliver on. This was his fault.

"You've made an enemy," she told him, finally managing most of the clasps on her dress. "I could've helped you find your place here," she said, "and given you the highest tribute you'd ever have. You'll regret this, farmboy."

"My only regret is that I went this far." He looked her in the eyes, stomach churning, he managed, "I'd rather you be my enemy than be an enemy of my own heart."

Salora scoffed. "You're pathetic. A coward." She slammed the door as she left.

"You're not wrong," he muttered. "I am a coward."

He hadn't even finished his first rotation of the sun in Rubinia and he had already made powerful enemies and lost allies. Irvaine and Salora, and their cronies, would attempt to break his spirit, Valice wouldn't be able to help, and he probably destroyed his chances with Serapheena by breaking his promise to go to her birthday ball. She might even prove to be his most capable enemy.

Alfread sat in his bed, his legs too long to fit, his last name too nonexistent to fit in, and his cowardice too large for the challenges ahead.

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