The day I spent with Bell was surprisingly light hearted and fun. For the first time since I had met her she seemed like someone her age. The feel of her head on my shoulder and her hand in mine is different. It was so unlike what I had felt when I was with Olivia. I felt calmer, more stable, rooted.

It was also one of the rare moments that we were truly alone. I had given much thought to whether I would show Bell my sanctuary. Prior to making my decision I was wracked with guilt, as if I was betraying my relationship with Olivia.

It was the place where we had held hands, kissed and even made love. I felt that by bringing Bell there I was attempting to overwrite our memories but I wasn’t forced to marry Bell and I ought to stop thinking of her as ‘the other woman’ because I had resolved to make her the only woman in my life.

I don’t really know how Bell resolved her relationship with Sir Anthony but along with my resolve, I’ve also decided to stay out of their relationship and trust Bell. If there was one thing I learned by being with Olivia, it was that relationships should be founded on trust.

When I saw Bell the next day it was like our rendezvous never happened. She wore a simple black satin gown peppered with tiny clear gemstones that shimmered when she moved and while half of her face was covered in a black veil, her blood red lips which demanded attention rests in a thin line. By her side, was Sir Anthony who looked as if he hadn’t knocked on death’s door.

As if the beheading alone wasn’t enough to feed gossip, her solitary entrance without any escort fanned the flames. Even before the beheading had been decided, there had been a number of rumors floating around the palace which eventually found their way to noble houses.

One of the most prominent rumors was how the empress went berserk for her personal knight and lover. Many palace staff and nobles believe that the reason why Bell wouldn’t consider any other punishment than death was because Sir Anthony was injured and she was seeking vengeance.

What they didn’t know was how Bell ensured the safety, wealth, and honor of the marquess’ and count’s family when their fellow nobles pushed for demotion ‘to protect the prestige of nobles’ during one of the meetings to finalizing the marquess’ and the count’s punishment.

They didn’t know that one of the conditions Bell demanded was that both assailants were to be allowed to spend time with their families the night before the beheading, even going through the trouble of preparing rooms in the palace so the children wouldn’t have to see their father in the dungeons.

I clench my jaw, stopping myself from ordering the guards to throw out anyone who dares to sully the name of the royal family because even if they wanted to or not, Bell is now a part of our family.

After my father and mother arrive, we all take our seat and signal the beheading to start. Before their heads were placed on the guillotine, the charges along with evidences were stated and a blessing was placed upon them.

Their deaths were swift and while their families cried, nobles who never saw eye to eye with them were trying their hardest to hide their joy. It was the first time I had clearly seen the battlefield Bell described to me many times before, a place where people who called themselves our friends smiled while brandishing a knife behind their backs, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

A few seconds after the beheading Bell stands to leave, I grab her arm stopping her.

“Aren’t you going to comfort the bereaved families with us before you leave?” I ask and she wordlessly shakes her head.

I look to Sir Anthony who releases a sigh and shrugs, telling me that there was nothing he could do. I nod, releasing her.

After we went to comfort the families I make my way to Bell’s room. I was surprised to see Sir Anthony at her door.

“Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” I ask.

“I’m just making sure that my legs still work your highness,” he says then he opens the door.

I see Bell sitting by the window, staring at the garden of roses sprawled below. She was so still, I question whether she was still breathing. I sit across from her and she doesn’t acknowledge me, she just continues to stare below her. I clasp her hands in mine, she flinches at the contact but other than that there was no more reaction.

I place her hands back on her lap and place a soft kiss on her forehead then I silently slip out.

“Sir Anthony, would you mind having some tea with me?” I ask and he nods, giving the other guards instructions to not let anyone pass.

In Sir Anthony’s room next door I sit on the couch while he prepares some tea. He then places the tea in front of me and I take a sip.

“This tea tastes just like Bell’s tea,” I remark and he smiles.

“I was the one who taught her how to make this tea your highness,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Is she going to be okay?” I ask, placing my tea on the table.

“Yes your highness, the empress will be okay,” he answers.

“What happened to her?” I ask, looking at him.

He rubs the back of his neck, no doubt contemplating how much he should tell me. He doesn’t look at me, instead he trains his eyes on the floor while he answered me.

“Contrary to popular belief, the empress does not relish taking lives. She only does it when she deems it necessary. The first time she had ever killed someone on the battlefield, she spoke to no one for a week and I heard her sob into her pillow every night. After that week, she had ordered all of us to save as many bodies as we can so we could give them a proper burial and we did,” he tells me.

“The corpses seemed endless and we were all exhausted from fighting. At the time we didn’t even know nor care if the person we were burying were from the enemy camp or someone we had slain ourselves, we just saw our leader, a mere 16 year old, continuously laying people to rest as if she were possessed and we knew to follow suit. When the war ended, not one of us regretted it,” he continues.

“She gave the families of the fallen a place where they could visit and memorialize their dead. She gave people peace that she, someone who had snuffed countless lives, was never able to achieve. Seeing and causing that much death leaves an unsavory effect on the people left alive,” he says, finally looking at me.

“I do not mean to offend but may I ask why it seems as if Bell is the only one gravely affected by the beheading? From my knowledge, her personal guards were her comrades during the war,” I ask, genuinely curious.

“I cannot speak for everyone else your highness but personally I see it differently,” he says, clenching and unclenching his fist.

“I am not proud of what I am about to say but I would be lying if I didn’t say that there are times when I put the blame on the empress so that I could have respite from the overwhelming guilt and remorse that plagues me,” he tells me softly, his voice a breadth of a whisper.

“I don’t know how many times I irked responsibility for the lives I’ve taken simply because of the thought that ‘I am a knight, this is my job and I am only following orders.’ This is the how I’ve washed my hands of the responsibility for the countless bodies my sword has pierced,” he admits.

“During the war, before we went into battle the empress would always tell us the same thing ‘Fight for me, brandish your swords at the enemy and lay their lives at my feet. Leave your conscience clear and your souls pure. I am the one who orders you to take life and I alone will take responsibility.’ It was what most men did, including me,” he whispers.

“I knew the burden was unbearable. I could see that she was struggling and in pain but I ignored it because facing it would mean confronting the demons that I myself am not ready to face. The worst part is she knows it yet she continues to care for me anyway, she continues to let me love her and stay by her side,” he says, his voice breaking.

I could never understand what the both of them went through and to be completely honest, I never wish to. I know of war but I’ve never experienced fighting in a war and I could never imagine it but I do know one thing, Bell would never want Sir Anthony or any of her comrades be guilty for taking the respite she had offered.

Sir Anthony was right, he is a knight and he along with millions of others was ordered to fight for their empress and their country. It is their job to follow orders and that’s what they did. The problem lies not with the system but by the simple fact that the one who gave the order and took responsibility is the woman he loves. He cannot forgive himself for shirking the responsibility to the woman he loves while he sees her suffering.

I lean toward him and place a hand on his hunched shoulder. He slowly meets my eyes and I give a small smile.

“Sir Anthony, I know it is difficult but Bell taking responsibility for the lives lost in battle has nothing to do with your relationship with her. You must remember that the woman you are in love with is the empress of the Pavenia Empire and her decision to take responsibility for all those deaths was made as an empress and not your Aife,” I tell him.

For a few seconds he just looks into my eyes and I wonder what is he sees what he wanted to see before nodding and apologizing for being emotional. By the time we finished talking, the sun had already set and we were informed that Bell refused dinner.

I go back to her room and find it devoid of light, the moon lightly illuminating the bed where she lay on her side, her eyes wide open. I make my way to bed and remove my shoes, I lay facing her, our faces inches away from each other.

Her golden hair was subdued in the dark, her bright gray eyes seems empty and dull. We sat in silence for a few minutes, our breaths the only sound in the dark room. In the darkness and silence she seems like a different person. Gone was the fierce and resolute empress of the Pavenia Empire nor was the carefree and joyful girl I met yesterday. The person in front of me was drained and lifeless.        

I was surprised when she suddenly inched toward me and buried her face in my chest.

“Hold me,” she says, placing my arms around her.

I hold her close, praying and hoping that my sincerity and warmth would reach her. Then she slips a tattered leather bound book between us. I hadn’t noticed that she was holding anything and just as I was about to ask her what it was she offers it to me, her eyes scared and vulnerable. I accept it and look to her for permission to open it and she nods.

I open the notebook and struggle to read the contents with only the moonlight as my source of light. I could make out Bell’s handwriting and what seems like numbers. I look at her confused.

“That is the number of lives I ordered extinguished as well as those I took myself. Some of them have names but many of them remain nameless. The faces I remember, I draw; my own horrid attempt to memorialize them or a way to get their anguished faces out of my dreams,” she says.

I flip to the most recent entry, the names of the marquess and the count freshly inked. What get my attention were the drawings of their wives and children, masks of pain and sorrow.  I place the book on the bedside table and wrap my arms around her, she lets me and I place a kiss on the top of her head.

“You aren’t alone. You can share your burden with me. From now on, whatever responsibility you took, I also take. The lives of the people you killed as well as the lives of the people you ordered to be killed, I take responsibility for them and the families they left behind,” I tell her the she starts to cry.

It was as if I had given her permission to cry. She cries as if she wanted to erase all of her mistakes with her tears. She cries without abandon, her strong and lean body wracked with sobs, her arms holding onto me as if I were the only thing keeping her from drowning. Her wails echoed in the room, enveloping the both of us with the impossible weight that she had been carrying alone.

She cried until no more tears came, until her throat became dry, and I let her. When she calmed, she lies on top of my chest and I absentmindedly play with her hair.

“You asked me earlier if I wouldn’t comfort the bereaved families and I said no. It wasn’t because I was heartless, it was simply because I didn’t see the point in any of it,” she explains.

“I was only 10 years old when my father died and I was 15 years old when my mother died leaving me an orphan. Both times I was never really comforted by the people who offered me condolences because all I could see were people waiting for the opportunity to take what they want,” she says.

“But that’s different – “ I start to say but she shakes her head.

“It’s exactly the same. If I went with you earlier all they would see was the woman who sent their husbands and fathers to their death. Instead of being able to grieve, they would be filled with rage and I didn’t want that to be the last feeling associated with their father’s death. They should at least be able to grieve properly,” she tells me and I nod.

“Taking life is not something I do just because I can. I thought it would a long time before I had to kill again – “ she starts to explain further but I stop her.

“Shhh. I understand. You don’t have to explain anything,” I tell her while I stroke her hair.

I could see her eyes starting to get heavy and a few seconds after she starts to breathe evenly. I try to slip out of her embrace, afraid that she might not remember what had happened or that she would be embarrassed but she would hold me tighter and after a few attempts, I stop for fear that she might wake. I quietly hope that she does not avoid me after.