[March 4, 2043]

The Café de la mer sat underneath the gleaming skyscrapers of Extremis City's entertainment district, folded in the lower corner of a multi-story complex of stores, apartments, outdoor recreational areas, and gleaming billboards playing cycles of advertisements. The café was decorated with a maritime theme: fish swam through a deep-blue sea across the digital screens that made up the walls, while two attendants (one human and one robot) operated the counter dressed in vaguely nautical-themed clothing. Jazz music played softly over the speakers in the ceiling, facilitating a calm, laid-back atmosphere despite the healthy amount of customers packed into the space.

Bridget Abigail Dornlathe sat at a table in the corner, calmly observing all this with her focused brown eyes. She was dressed in her typical button-up uniform, her legs resting neatly under the table as she sipped from a small cup of blue ice-tea the server had called a "Deep-Sea Blast". Then she turned her head to look at the elderly gentleman sitting across from her. "I wouldn't have expected this sort of place to be your preference, sir."

The old man shrugged and took a sip of his own remarkably colored beverage. "Why not? It's as good a place as any other. Besides, I'm not likely to run into anyone I know here — that's why I prefer it."

Lord Cú Cormac, Aina's grandfather and the father of the current ruler of Luvinia: Pádhraic Cormac, was not dressed like royalty. In fact, his current outfit could be described as more attuned with some sort of wealthy financier: both practical and expensive. He was a very tall man, even taller than Bridget herself, which meant that the black suit he was wearing was tailor-made around his lanky body. Lord Cormac left his suit jacket open casually, revealing a silken dark grey dress shirt underneath. Despite the suit clearly being pricey, it had a ruffled, almost dusty characteristic to it, as if its owner had been in transit for many days without having an opportunity to change into fresh clothes.

Lord Cormac himself was pushing seventy years of age, yet he held his body with the confidence of a much younger man. While his short-cropped hair had long since faded in age from bright red to a muddy grey, his eyes, currently hidden behind a pair of black sunglasses, retained an intelligent emerald gleam. When he addressed Bridget, the authority in his voice automatically made her snap back to attention. "You seem distracted, Maiden of Dornlathe."

She blushed. "You know I don't like to be called that, my lord."

Lord Cormac shrugged again. "You earned it. Why run from the title? You bested one hundred other warriors to earn that immortal-severing blade." It was impossible to tell from behind the shades, but Bridget was certain his green eyes narrowed. "It may seem paradoxical, but too much humility can also be a sign of egotism, Bridget. To run from acknowledging your accomplishments is disrespectful to those who attempted and failed to attain them. You have had that habit for a long time."

"Yes, my lord."

"Alright," Lord Cormac leaned forward slightly in his chair, intertwining his fingers. He appeared to have ordered some sort of sweet dessert using the digital pad built into the table. "I have more to do today, so we'll keep this reporting session relatively slim. Keep to the most pertinent updates, and we can be out of here without much fuss."

"Yes, my lord," said Bridget." Are you traveling again?"

"Indeed," he nodded. "At my age, you just want to explore and experience as much of life as you can. I have discovered a world of tall white mountains and beaches with sand the color of basalt. I intend to see what I can find there."

"You won't be returning to Luvinia soon?"

"To my home realm?" Lord Cormac seemed to be unsatisfied with the question. "No, I expect not. Not for a little while. Cursed as its origins may be, the magic given to the Cormac clan ought not to be unappreciated. I have no interest in remaining in one world as a despot, sitting upon the decadent coffers attained over three thousand years."

He clicked his tongue. "Enough about my brutish son. What of Aina? What of my silly granddaughter? Has anything changed in her condition since we last talked?"

His words were rough, but Bridget could sense the hidden affection in his voice, and she responded warmly. "She's very well, my lord. I've spoken of this with you already, but to be frank, the degree to which she has grown in order to adjust to this world is nothing short of extraordinary. I…" Bridget paused, realizing her next words for the first time herself. "The change is so dramatic that, frankly, I don't recognize her often. She's… not a different person. I wouldn't go that far, but rather… like a person beyond what she was before, stripped of so much of that pretense that she carried in her heart."

Lord Cormac seemed to internalize this in silence for a moment. "I wonder if you can remember what Aina was like when she was very little. Perhaps not, as you were quite little yourself. Such a bright and curious child, at least, certainly compared to the rest of my grandchildren. I would sit her on my lap and she would always ask me questions about my travels. She always wanted to know about things and places beyond the ivory cage she was trapped in — a cage she was old enough to register if not articulate. She wanted to know everything that was beyond her capacity to understand." His voice was distant, recalling the memories. "That aspect of her personality quieted as she grew, as it inevitably would. She had to worry about being a princess, about dresses, about manners, about existing as a young woman in a society that doesn't treat young women very well — royalty or not. She tried to make herself fit within that world, but it never suited her. That's how I think of my granddaughter."

"Yes," responded Bridget. "I think of her in much the same way."

"So then, she has not changed, as you say. She has only rediscovered herself."

"Yes, perhaps that's more correct. But-" Bridget stopped herself, trying to find words that wouldn't be offensive. "I suppose it's different for me. I was blind for a long time to my lady's good points, in many ways. It was easier to stay resentful of my situation."

Lord Cormac sipped his own cup of iced tea. "You were suffering in that environment, as well."

"Even so."

"Even so," replied Lord Cormac, in a rather tired manner. "Even so, you try to remain humble."

"Couldn't…" Bridget began uncertainly. "Couldn't you visit? The manor, I mean. You could meet the people my lady has been surrounded by, and see the sort of home she now occupies. She… it would mean everything for her to see you."

"I know," Lord Cormac said dejectedly. "But it's still too soon. The wounds of the world she left behind are still too raw. I don't want to exacerbate them before she is forced to return."

Bridget grew a little pale. "The king's nameday?"

"My son's nameday," confirmed Lord Cormac. "An event rapidly approaching us, one that will require all the royal family to attend, including myself. There's no way to get out of it, so don't ask me. I expect Pádhraic will want to make a show of reconciliation regarding his rebellious daughter as well. He never misses an opportunity to display his magnanimity."

"I don't…" Bridget felt her hands shaking a little, and recomposed herself. "I don't want her to return there, my lord."

He watched her carefully behind his glasses. "Neither do I. But we must brace for it, for it will happen. I might have influence in the royal house, but after my abdication, I can't control anything directly. What Pádhraic wants for Aina — that is what will happen." He paused thoughtfully. "At least, for now. I'm working on something long-term."

Lord Cormac let out a long sigh. "It's still a problem for the future. Ah, the food has arrived. I've been told sweets are a pathetic hobby for an older gentleman, but I must admit, this realm makes the most delicious treats." He happily took the little green-tea flavored cake he had ordered from the waiter and took a bite. "I want to ask about you, now."

Bridget straightened in her seat, adjusting her shoulder-length brown hair nervously. "M-me, my lord?"

He smiled a little, though it was possibly because he was enjoying the cake. "Yes, you. You've changed a little bit, too, Ms. Dornlathe."

"Have I?" Bridget was bewildered by the implication. She felt no different than she had last year. "I… I don't know about that, my lord. I think I am the same as I always am, or at least I try to be. My lady relies on me for many things, so I think it's best I be a sturdy presence in her life-"

"I don't mean that in a bad way," Lord Cormac said patiently. He took another bite of his cake and nodded appreciatively. "How do you like life in his realm? Are you enjoying yourself? Are you having fun?"

"Am I having fun?" said Bridget. She had never even considered it.

The hidden eyes of Lord Cormac seemed to hold her in place. "I can only assume. But you've never been very happy, have you? In that castle? With our dysfunctional family?"

"I… suppose not. But I never tried to let it show to my lady or anyone else."

"And you've done an exceptional job of hiding it. That's understandable, considering everything." Lord Cormac put down his fork and addressed her directly. "Well, all I meant to say is that it seemed like you're pretending a little less. It makes me glad to witness."

Bridget looked down at the ground. "I s-see."

"Your father has been asking after you." Lord Cormac said, matter-of-factly.

Her lip curled. "My 'father?'"

"Careful, Bridget," Lord Cormac said, a hint of royal authority edging into his voice for the first time. "We talk very openly here, as it is far from the royal court. But we ought to remain tight-lipped about certain things. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord," responded Bridget, a little stonily.

"Well, he's been asking after you. That's all."

The conversation lapsed into silence for a time. Lord Cormac quietly finished his cake and his drink, then nodded again to himself. "Right, that was the pick-me-up I needed." He clapped his hands once. "Okay, I think that's everything I wanted to discuss with you. Was there anything you wanted to ask me while I'm here?"

"No, sir," Bridget finished her "Deep-Sea Blast" and leaned back in her chair, relaxing the posture of her legs. "I don't think so."

"Oh, wait. That was it," Lord Cormac stood, his face scrunching up in concentration. "Whatever happened with that boy? Did your investigation ever materialize into anything substantial? I never followed up on it."

"The boy?" Bridget shook her head uncomprehendingly.

"Yes, the boy." He snapped his fingers again, annoyed that his memory was failing him. "What was his name? That investigator… Delilah's boy? The current caretaker of the manor. You know who I mean."

"Oh," Bridget dug her fingernails into her palms. All at once, she felt very tense. "You mean Pascal Clermont."

"Yes, that was it." Lord Cormac shrugged into an overcoat he had left on the back of his chair. "I recall I gave you permission to 'handle' anyone in that manor whom you deemed to be a threat to Aina's safety or security — that boy had a very shadowed and uncertain past from what you described. Were those records I got for you regarding him useful?"

"Y-yes," Bridget stammered.

He gestured for her to continue. "And?"

"A-and what?"

Lord Cormac raised an eyebrow. He knew something was off. "And what were the results of your investigation regarding Pascal Clermont?"

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Bridget took a breath and raised her eyes to meet Lord Cormac's shades. "The results of my investigation are that Pascal Clermont is not a person we need to be worried about as individuals concerned about Lady Aina ud Cormac's wellbeing or prosperity. He will do nothing to hurt her intentionally."

"Nothing to hurt her intentionally? How about unintentionally?"

"He will do nothing to hurt her intentionally or unintentionally."

Lord Cormac didn't move, his left arm halfway in the sleeve of his overcoat. "And that's your professional opinion as an attendant duty-sworn to protect and serve my granddaughter?"

"Yes, my lord."

He finished putting on his overcoat over his suit and leaned forward over the table to speak, his aged voice low. "Bridget Abigail Dornlathe. I respect you very much for your strength of skill and character. You're a young woman who has done an incalculable amount to help Aina. You're not my own blood, but I regard you as such. I think you know that. I think you know that you and Aina are sisters as far as I'm concerned." He bit his lip slightly. "So I'll ask this just once more, and take your word for it. Is there anything you want to tell me about Pascal Clermont?"

Bridget met his gaze. "No, my lord. Only…"

"Only?"

She tried to speak with more confidence. "I think you should meet him. You should meet Pascal Clermont."

That seemed to throw off Lord Cormac, and his face scrunched again, in the same way Aina would when she was mildly miffed about something she didn't understand. "I should meet him?" He repeated this, a little incredulously. "Why would I need to meet some child of this realm to whom I hold no connection?"

"It's difficult to describe," said Bridget tentatively. "I think meeting him would display a lot of things. Perhaps simplify them. I think if you met Pascal, and saw how he talks, and how he acts, and then how he interacts with my lady… I think you would understand the situation a little more clearly."

His face scrunched even more. "You're not trying to tell me that this Pascal Clermont is having an affair with my granddaughter?"

Bridget almost laughed, but she managed to keep her voice relatively steady, though some involuntary air entered her words. "Oh, no, my lord. Not that. This is regarding something else entirely." Then, a little more seriously. "I don't exclude myself from this, either. If I really have changed, as you say, even the smallest, more imperceptible amount… then I think you should meet Pascal Clermont. You might discover something interesting. He's an interesting person. You two are not unalike."

Lord Comarc didn't react for a moment, taking in the words. Then he grinned, his grandfatherly gentleness returning. "Alright. Consider my intrigue piqued. Henri will be coming by the manor with invitations for the nameday party in the near future. Perhaps I'll come along. See you then, Bridget."

The abdicated ruler of Luvinia gestured a hand in farewell and vanished into thin air.

When Bridget arrived back at Otter Manor, she already felt exhausted in a way that seemed to exceed the activities of the day, yet this was instantly dispelled when she walked through the front door and saw an unusual sight greet her. While there was an amenable atmosphere between the residents of the house, this usually didn't result in large, spontaneous gatherings, partly because all the residents were on their own schedules, but also because many of them were more inclined towards introversion. Dinner was really the only regular occasion that Bridget saw everyone together.

This was not the case today. Everyone was in the entry hall, with the exception of Mel. The armchairs had been scooted along the floor to form a loose semi-circle, with Cal, Ellie, Aina, and Ram occupying the chairs and apparently speaking about something. However, most bizarrely, Ellie was lying horizontally in her chair, her legs propped against one armrest and her head against another, meaning that her long and dark braided hair was spilling into Cal's lap, as he was sitting next to her. No, Ellie's hair was not just falling into Cal's lap; he was actually holding it, running his fingers through it with a focused expression on his face.

"What-" Bridget managed to catch herself from uttering a spontaneous response, blushed at her own startled reaction, and began again. "Um, what is happening here? E-Ellie, why is Cal holding your hair?"

"Bridge!" Ellie waved from where she was draped across the armchair. She was wearing her rocket-ship pajamas, which snugly fit her body. "What's up, girl? Boss here is doing me a favor."

"Hi, Ms. Bridget," said Ram, softly. She was reclining in her own chair, watching Ellie and Cal curiously.

"Hi, Ms. Ram," Bridget said, shortly. She didn't want to be rude, but she also couldn't concentrate on Ram at the moment. "Again, what is-"

"Bridget!" Aina, dressed today in a lilac dress, was bouncing excitedly on her knees in the chair like a small child. "Cal is making some local Luvinian cuisine tonight for dinner, like he promised! We went to the market together today with Ram and got all the right ingredients! Isn't that amazing?!"

"That's… that's fabulous," replied Bridget, uncertainly.

"Hey, Ms. Bridget," said Cal, a little distractedly, reaching onto the floor for something. "And Aina, as I said, it really turned out to be pretty straightforward. What you're having me make isn't that different from a shepherd's pie-"

"Such ignorance as always, peasant, to compare your silly, pathetic food to royal Luvinian cuisine! It is not sheep's pie, rather it's a delicious invention known as Magford's Delight-"

"Please!" said Bridget a little bit louder than she intended, and gestured towards Cal and Ellie. "What is… I don't know what's happening here."

Ellie turned her head, a little confused by Bridget's reaction. "Chill, Bridge. Cal is just taking off my braids." When she saw on Bridget's face that this clarified nothing, Ellie took a strand of her braided hair in her dark hands and continued patiently. "They're extensions. See? It's not my real hair. I'm having Cal take them off for me tonight because it's a pain in the ass to do all the time myself."

"It's a remarkable idea," Aina said warmly, seemingly sincerely fascinated by the process unfolding in front of her. "I oft wondered how Ellie was always able to have such a variety of hair-styles with different textures."

"Please don't touch my hair again, Aina." Ellie's voice sounded a little annoyed for a moment, then she looked back at Bridget with a thoughtful look in her brown eyes. "Not many black women in the royal courts of Luvinia, huh?"

Bridget opened her mouth, then closed it again. She wiped her boots on the entrance mat and came further into the room. 'No," she said, at last. "No, there are not. In fact, I can't recall ever seeing a member of a royal house who looked remotely like you, Ms. Ellie."

"Mmm," murmured Ellie in an unsurprised tone, again leaning her head back on the chair's armrest. "Though to be fair, it's not like I wore extensions a lot back home, either. Some girls did, but I didn't so much. But they seem to be more popular in this day and age, so I went with the flow."

Then she giggled, placing her hands over her mouth, and kicking her toes outward in the air. "You should have seen Cal's face when I suggested it. He was freaking out. This guy cracks me up."

"I am still freaking out," said Cal in a voice that sounded like he wasn't joking. He held a pair of scissors in one hand and a spray-bottle of water in the other. "I'm scared I'm going to cut your actual hair off."

"You're such a baby, dude. I showed you where to cut. Stop overthinking it. Just make sure to add the conditioner when you're undoing the actual knots with your hands, like I said."

"A-and you watched all those tutorials on your phone, Cal," added Ram, trying to be helpful. She was playing subconsciously with her own large plume of blond curly hair. "I think you'll do great! Ellie thinks so, too."

"...Thanks, Ram." Cal shot her a look like he wanted to retort with something, but found he couldn't contradict her pure-hearted sincerity. "I'll try."

"Y-yeah, do your best!"

"My life and hair are in your hands, boss."

"I need to be the dissenting voice," Aina had her nose in the air and was grinning, eager not to be left out of the conversation for long. "Look at Cal's pale, delicate hands. He's clearly not apt to work with them with any adeptness."

"You know, you're super comfortable with mocking someone who makes your food every day, princess." Cal looked up to cast Aina a look, but he noticed Bridget first, still standing by herself and apart from the rest of the group. "Are you alright, Ms. Bridget?"

"Yes, Mr. Cal," she replied, not looking at him directly. "I was just wondering where Ms. Mel is."

"Oh," Cal said, making a precise cut of Ellie's hair with the scissors. He had a troubled expression. "She's in our room. She's a little down and wants to be left alone for a bit. I'll check in with her before dinner."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah. I wouldn't worry, but I think giving her some space for now is best."

Bridget nodded, still looking at nothing. "Alright. I'm going to go upstairs for a moment and do some chores. Do you need anything, my lady?"

"No, Bridget," Aina said, distractedly. She was leaning forward now, her red hair cascading past where her knees pressed against the edge of the chair's cushion, almost touching the floor. "Ellie, why can't I feel it? Why can Cal?"

"Because Cal has permission," came the cool response. "Princess or not, you need to learn some manners."

"I… guess that's not inaccurate."

Bridget wasn't paying attention to any of this. As she walked past the group and up the stairs, she felt a strange light-headedness come over her and a gentle throbbing in her chest. Upon reaching her and Aina's room in the loft of the manor, Bridget immediately sat down on the wide bed and stared blankly at the somewhat messy environment. Aina hadn't put away any of the dresses Bridget had ironed for her and left on the bureau, like she had promised this morning. In addition, there were several dirty clothes on the floor left over from when Aina had last showered — a shirt, panties, and a bra. There was also a funk in the air that couldn't seem to be dispelled by opening the window. This was the typical state of the room, despite Bridget's repeated efforts to keep it clean. Though Aina had forbidden Cal from entering, it filled Bridget with a vague anxiety to wonder if Cal would ever come into the room on some errand and think poorly of her own skills as an attendant.

Bridget let out a small sigh, unbuttoning the top buttons of her uniform, hoping it would alleviate the pressure that was building in her chest, but to no avail. For some reason, she couldn't get Lord Cormac's words from earlier out of her head, as well as the image of Ellie's slender, supine body stretched out on the armchair, her face smiling and radiant as Cal worked with her hair. Ellie had been quite beautiful at that moment, despite only wearing rocket-ship pajamas.

Bridget didn't move for a minute or so, before she moved her hand to caress her own arm, then her leg. She felt the muscles there. Then she reached up and stroked her brown hair that fell past her shoulders.

I'm upset, she realized. I feel as if I've been struck.

Why? It was silly to be upset. There was nothing to be upset about. Nothing was true now that wasn't true this morning, or the day before, or even months ago. So there was nothing to be upset about.

Bridget looked up at the ceiling of the room, glad for the quiet of the room. She was even glad for the odor, which was now comforting to her after so many months.

What's wrong? she asked herself. What's wrong? Are you jealous — are you that pathetic? What are you jealous of? Because Cal and Ellie get along? Because Cal and Mel get along? Because Cal and Aina get along? What difference does it make? The result is the same. The result is the same since the first day you met him, since the first time you spoke with him properly in that kitchen. Don't be stupid. Are you just realizing that right now? Right now? This very moment?

Bridget placed her hands on her lap, folded on top of one another. She took deep breaths: in through the nose, out through the mouth.

It's stupid to be upset. It's not just stupid, it's irrational, because any sort of union was impossible from the start. It's not just impossible because you're ill-suited, because Cal is a person in need of a partner who contains strength and kindness, and you're a bleeding wound; it's impossible because it's literally impossible. You are cursed. You were five years old and fresh from that hellish winter and they grabbed you from your room and they dragged you to the dungeon and you were so scared and they pulled off your clothes and they placed you in that horrid magic circle with its spinning runes and that man with a glint in his eyes came closer with a hot iron and he pressed it to your chest and there was pain and there was pain and there was pain-

Bridget took another breath, calming herself down.

Remember the curses, those ones that persist through the connection to Aina's left hand? No betrayal, no sleep, and the final one, the most important in this case, no division of loyalty. You are an attendant to Aina, and provide loyalty through the actions of your material body. This means no love for another. This means no copulation with another. Remember that? Cal doesn't have a high libido, but he's a man, regardless of anything else. He would expect that sort of thing from a relationship. This is not the same as kissing a stableboy or page when nobody is looking. You did that for a thrill, to experience what it would feel like to have a boy's tongue in your mouth and a boy's hand on your waist. To actually want another person, that's another matter altogether. It would kill you dead to consummate anything.

Bridget stood from the bed, before immediately sitting back down.

Don't be upset. Nothing is different. Be a friend, and treat him kindly, and smile when he smiles, and recognize when he tries to express his honest feelings. Stay with him as long as you can, and ask nothing in return for your friendship, because it would be odious to expect anything otherwise — because you're simply a background character in this story, and that's all you'll ever be. One day, Aina may take him as a concubine, if she so desires it. One day, he may start to date Mel, or Ellie, or some other girl you'll never meet. Accept that, as you accepted it long ago. This has nothing to do with love. You killed love in your heart, in the future, and in the past. You let tenderness build, but you never let it consume you. You watched his face sometimes, but only to study how his soul was reflected in it. You never believed anything would materialize, not even for a moment, not even when you felt the weakest and most yearnful. Because there's something stronger than simple romantic longing, or the desire for two bodies to meet. That's what you feel right now. And that's more important than whatever you might have wanted. Only…

"Only…" Bridget barely moved her lips as she spoke aloud to the empty room. "Only… it's nice to imagine, sometimes. If you were someone else, and I were someone else, our hearts connected beyond the obligations of circumstance. I would have liked to meet you in that place, too."

Someone laughed loudly downstairs, startling her slightly. The sound was short and breathy, and Bridget couldn't tell to whom it belonged. It seemed to break her from her stupor.

Bridget clapped her cheeks and stood up again, fixing the buttons of her uniform. "Alright." She said briskly, speaking aloud once more. "That's enough. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Never think about it again."

She bent down and began to gather the dirty clothes on the ground.

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