As he made his way toward the library, one of the last things his father said got stuck in his head.

“Benja Wynter, he knows the truth, he is the only one. The curse must be broken…”

Benja Wynter was the lord commander of the Blackguard at Mount Wynter. Benja had become the leader of the blackguard at age ten-and-four, fighting many years later with his father and the late King Lancaster to restore peace after the Blackstar annihilated Gardenia and sent Unitare spiraling into disorder. He decided to write Benja that evening, informing him of his father’s death and asking if he might shed light on his mysterious final message.

When he arrived at the library, Bradshaw was shocked to discover that Arienne was nowhere to be found. He approached Ilsa Harper, the ancient overseer of the library, and asked after his sister.

“Last I saw of Arienne,” Ilsa replied, “she left here with her beau. Such a sweet, young couple. A shame about your father though.”

Breaking the news of her departure to Cormick had not been easy for Arienne. After it was over with, however, the two had become inseparable, savoring their final week together before Arienne left for her seven-year education. Now, it seemed Arienne had snuck off and intended to spend her final night in Unitare with Cormick.

All was well, Bradshaw was not devastated. There would be enough sadness for a lifetime come tomorrow morning. In the past few days, Bradshaw had come to view Arienne’s departure as a medical procedure. He had heard war stories from his father and his uncle about soldiers taking arrows to the arm or to the leg. The wound would fester before the arrow could be removed and the injury treated. Days after the battle, the infected limb would blacken, requiring a hacksaw to amputate. Some soldiers would weep for their loss, even as the infection spread to other parts of their body. Bradshaw imagined that there was a part of him black and infected. Seeing Arienne off, having her gone from his life, would be a tremendous loss, but perhaps the spread he felt consuming his every thought one-by-one would slow, or even cease. Maybe, in time, Bradshaw would heal.

That night he found solace in the quiet of the library. For hours, Bradshaw read from various tomes and histories throughout the modest collection of hand-written texts. Nothing held his attention for long. The Mysteries of the Cobalt Inquisitor somehow seemed less compelling now when compared to the numerous unfolding questions competing for his attention.

Bradshaw laid back on one of the library’s recliners, watching through a skylight as Gemini soared across the heavens.

“May I be honest about something?”

“By all means,” she told him.

Bradshaw felt his heart racing, the surface of his skin uncomfortably warm. For years, he had wondered what he would say to Arienne. Now, she was standing right there in front of him, herself in every way, but not.

“I love you.” Hearing himself say those words to Arienne violated years of self-restraint. The sensation could only compare to a demon being exorcised from his dying body. The process was excruciating, but the relief unquestionably worthwhile. “I have always loved you.”

“Oh, Shaw. I love you, too.”

“No! Listen to me. I love you. I love you in a way that a brother should not love his sister. There is something wrong with me, with the way I am!”

Arienne was stunned silent, backing away slowly.

“You are not my brother,” Arienne said quietly, the strength sapped from her voice.

“Arienne-”

Bradshaw woke with a start, the dream lingering. 

“Where is he?!” The aggression took him by surprise. The next thing he knew, Bradshaw was surrounded by royal guards.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“You’re under arrest, sprout!” Bradshaw had never felt such ire for another being in his life.

“For what? I demand to know what I am being charged for!”

“Regicide,” a statement which appeared to serve as pretext to two golden guards sneaking in behind Bradshaw and holding him down while the others struck him with armor-plated knuckles across the face.

The first blow did not knock Bradshaw unconscious. It was the third one, across the temple, which did the trick.