Bianca never had her tri-braids when she was a girl. She once had hair curlier than Stroke himself, and she never used to rival them in strength or confidence. Before she discovered her late gift of the Dragonhammer, she oft trained with Prince Godwin in the largest courtyard of Keep Blacksteel. They had to do this in secret, as King Godric Valan refused his son’s training of a woman, especially one that appeared to be giftless.

  So, there they were, children barely able to hold the weight of a real sword, hitting each other with sticks as servants watched and giggled, promising to keep the prince’s training a secret from his notoriously violent father. Harren watched on a bench, grinning at each strike from both sides.

  “You’re not hitting me hard enough!” Bianca said in squeaky voice. “Don’t go easy on me because I’m a girl!”

  “You couldn’t handle my strongest!” he said in voice squeakier than hers. “Tis a mercy.”

  She mocked his voice and repeated him, catching his shoulder with the end of her stick and sticking out her tongue. “I think you’re just a wuss,” she challenged. “Scared that a girl’ll be stronger than you!”

  Godwin took the challenge too personal. He hit away her stick and then struck her in the side of the head. She fell, hitting her head on the concrete path. The servants rushed to her, finding blood, but little was smiling. She used the momentum of her weight to leap to her feet from where she laid, grabbing her stick with a twirl.

  “That’s what I expected,” she said. “That’s what I want.”

  Godwin swallowed his terror, gripping his stick. “Are you sure you want everything I have?”

  She nodded with a mischievous smile.

  However, their fight wouldn’t continue. A dove smacked into the path nearby, wing broken, twitching. Bianca dropped her stick and knelt by it, cupping the frightened bird in her hands.

  “We have to help it,” she said. “It’s only a broken wing. We can make a tiny splint, nurse it to health.”

  Godwin knew that was impossible. He wasn’t supposed to be in any of the courtyards. His father would be too suspicious. When he told little Bianca this, she gave him a scowl.

  “You can tell him that I found him,” she said. “Don’t be cruel. Heroes help all creatures, big and small. It’s okay, little dove, I’ll be here for you.”

  Harren pushed Bianca down and kicked the bird out of her hand, then stomped on it as hard as he could. He only managed to get one in before she retaliated with a punch to his stomach.

  “What are you doing?” she yelled. “Why would you do that.”

  “She struck a prince!” Harren yelled at the servants. “Did you see that? She laid hands on me! Find my father, she must be—”

  Godwin struck his brother in the jaw, glaring at him. “We’ll be punished too if father finds us in the courtyards,” he whispered.

  One hit was enough for the bird to sustain an injury that couldn’t be fixed. It cooed in pain, flapping one wing, trying to return to the skies that it belonged to. She stroked its head, then pushed Harren over, kicking him repeatedly until he yielded from laughter.

  “Your kicks suck,” he mocked. “Seeing you angry is funny.”

  Godwin saw how Bianca was distraught from the dove’s pain and suffering. Whilst she beat his brother, Prince Godwin picked up a large rock from a nearby plot of soil. He stood over the bird and raised the rock, then crushed it with a single, firm strike.

  Bianca turned to the noise, horrified by Godwin’s actions.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” he said. “I ended the pain that it was in. You don’t have to be sad—”

  “It’s still alive,” she yelled. “Are you stupid?”

  Godwin crushed it beneath his heel, the blood rushing to the dove’s head and making the bird’s eyes pop.

  She shoved Godwin and ran from the courtyard, leaving the two princes alone. “You’re an idiot,” Harren said to Godwin. “Should’ve left it alive to suffer.”

  “We’ve got to leave,” Godwin said, scared. “If father finds us here, he’ll kill us.”

  Sometime later, when the sun was dipping into dusk, Bianca returned to the courtyard alone and with a rock, a spade, and a small sheet of white.

  She heard weeping, seeing a girl with black hair kneeling at the site of murder. After recognising it as her friend, Runaya Rall, she dropped her belongings and came to comfort her.

  “It’s so little,” Runaya cried. “It must’ve suffered so much. How did this happen?”

  Bianca refused to detail it. She made Runaya put the dove down and wiped her hands free of the bird’s feathers.

  “I like birds,” Runaya whimpered. “Why do people hurt birds and squirrels? I always find them dead around the castle.”

  “It’s in Heaven now,” Bianca whispered, turning Runaya’s head away from the mess. “Flying higher than it ever did before.”

  “The books say that Heaven is—”

  “Sh, the bird is in Heaven,” Bianca affirmed, shushing her. “I’ll give them a burial under that small tree… do you want to help me with it? I’d love your help with it.”

  “I would love to,” Runaya squeaked. “I love birds. The birds are my friends.”

  “I know, I know,” Bianca whispered. “Your dress is nice.”

  “White, like a dove,” Runaya said with a teary smile. “I like it when I wear white. White is pretty. You’re pretty.”

  “Thank you,” Bianca said. “But you’re prettier. Stop crying. I’ll dig a small hole; you can wrap them in the cloth I brought.”

  At the very top of the courtyard’s wall, high up at the top of one of Keep Blacksteel’s towers, young Stroke watched curiously as the two girls buried the dove. An owl landed by Stroke, hooting, turning a head to the bell behind. He’d been sent up there by his father to ring the bell to dismiss the servants for the night. In his spectating, he’d lost track of time.

  He thanked the Voiceless One with a gentle pat, then grabbed the rope of the bell’s clapper, covering one ear as he rang it.

  Runaya and Bianca fled in different ways, waving goodbye to each other as the tired servants flooded the paths to return to their homes.

  When Bianca got to her personal chambers, she was confused to find her door slightly ajar. She entered, hoping there was a bandit or a thief for her to fight, but found nobody. What she did find was a bouquet of orange roses set on her table, a pretty orange vase half-filled with water and a folded note nearby. The note was short and to the point.

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  ‘From your admirer, I hope you like roses,’ it said.

  Bianca had never gotten flowers before. She wasn’t sure how to react to them. Her heart swelled, beating fast, she’d only just began to think about boys in ways she’d never thought of them before. She sniffed the flowers, holding the note to her heart with a warm smile.

  Someone likes me, she thought. I hope it’s Stroke. Gods, I hope it’s Stroke… I would be such a lucky girl to hold his hand the way that Runaya does.

  “Bianca,” a muffled voice called. “Bianca. Here.” Stroke tapped on the glass of her window. “Come outside. I have something I want to show you.”

  She gave him a strange, loving look, which made Stroke raise an eyebrow. “Everything alright?” he asked. “Are you gonna unlock the window and come with me, or should I come back later?”

  As she opened the window, someone knocked at the door—she pretended she didn’t hear it, taking Stroke’s hand and climbing out onto the ledge. She looked down, holding onto Stroke for balance.

  “Keep your eyes on me, don’t look down,” he said. “Don’t let go of my hand. I want to show you something.”

  Should I ask him about the note? Bianca thought. I shouldn’t. I don’t want to make it awkward. It must be him, who else could it even be?

  He took her to a flat roof, laying down and invited her to do the same. They watched the moon together in silence for a while.

  “I come here when the moon is bright,” Stroke said. “Also when I need a break from climbing. See that roof over there?”

  “That one?” Bianca said, gesturing at a steep roof with no space for a foot to go. “What about it?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  Her heart began to beat faster. She smiled and nodded. Stroke stood and spread his arms. “Jump on my back, put your legs on the sides of my waist. I’ll grab onto them.”

  She did so, screaming in joy as she felt tall. Stroke stood at the edge, releasing a boastful howl. “I’ve never fell!” he declared. “And today won’t be the day either!”

  He sprinted up the slope faster than Bianca thought, never once losing his footing or balance. Once up, he kept her on his back, navigating the thin ledge and squeezing past gargoyles. He carefully lowered her after finding a safe space, pointing out towards the Sentinels off the city, all burning blue.

  He stood behind her, hand on her stomach, ensuring she was safe from falling and at no risk of slipping. “This is where I come to watch the city,” Stroke whispered in her ear. “I don’t bring many people here—my brothers couldn’t climb up that slope if they tried.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Bianca said softly. She felt funny with Stroke’s hand on her stomach. She knew it was to keep her safe, but she wanted it to be for something more. She put her palm over his knuckles and claimed it was to keep them warm. “I’ve never seen Vatanil from this high.”

  “Want to sit with me?” Stroke asked. “Put our legs over the edge and be at the mercy of wind? It’s a nice breeze.”

  She let Stroke guide her to a safe place to sit, then rested her head on his shoulder when they were both sat.

  “Oh?” he said. “Are you tired?”

  “Huh? What? No.” She took her head off, embarrassed. “Maybe a little,” she said, trying to salvage her intentions. “It is late.”

  He chuckled and tapped her nose. “Let me know when you want me to take you down, and I will.”

  Bianca took a courageous breath. “Do you trust me?” she asked him too. “Do you?”

  “Uhm—yeah? Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Close your eyes.”

  Stroke was confused but complied. He waited patiently. “Am I supposed to see something, or? What’s the—”

  She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to do it. She put her lips on his, not a kiss, but what she thought one was.

  His eyes shot open, a hand on her shoulder that firmly pushed her away. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Did you just… lick my lips? I—I’m confused.”

  “Is that not what a kiss is?”

  “I—a kiss? What are you on about?”

  “I guess I did it wrong,” she said bravely. “Why don’t you show me how to?”

  She closed her eyes and puckered her lips. Stroke put a finger on her mouth. “Bianca, open your eyes,” he sighed. “I don’t know what you think I brought you out here for, but it’s not that.”

  She was horrified and embarrassed. “But—the flowers, the note, you knocked on my window.”

  “I wanted to thank you for being kind to Runaya,” Stroke said. “I’m young, but I know one day I will marry her. My brothers don’t treat her with kindness… you were nice to her.”

  “I—well, she’s my friend. Of course I’d be kind.”

  “But you were kind to her,” Stroke whispered. “She views Godwin and Harren as her friends too, but they wouldn’t bother to come and comfort her under any circumstance. I almost jumped from the top of the tower to comfort her in that courtyard, would’ve broken my leg if I did—in a way, you saved me too.”

  Bianca felt selfish at her own heartbreak. “Then why did you get me flowers, orange roses?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Bianca gave him the note. Stroke read it and then gave a smile of understanding. “Ah. You thought this was from me. Hm, when I knocked on your window and took you to my favourite place, I see why you did what you did.”

  “So… who wrote it?”

  “This writing is Godwin’s.”

  She felt ashamed. Stroke assured her all was forgiven. “I didn’t realise you looked at me that way,” he said.

  “I get it—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Please—”

  “Bianca, it’s okay.” He put a comforting hand on her cheek, stopping her tears before they came. “It’s a misunderstanding.”

  “Are we still friends?”

  “Can you handle still being friends?”

  “I don’t know. Runaya is… lucky.”

  “I am the lucky one.” Stroke kissed Bianca gently on her cheek. “Runaya is everything I want. Come and spend time with us. She’ll laugh when I tell her what happened here.”

  “Oh gods… you’re going to tell her? Won’t she hate me?”

  “Of course not. Let’s spend some more time here. Stop blushing, stop being red—I’ll get Godwin up here, maybe you can show him your strange method of kissing.”

  She playfully hit his shoulder and retook her position of resting on him, watching the city.

  “Can we make a pact,” Bianca asked, raising her pinkie. “Let’s always be best friends. Always.”

  Stroke joined his pinkie to hers. “Of course. Always.”

  Unbeknownst to them, Godwin was already watching. He was searching the castle for Bianca, believing she was missing after she never answered his knocks to her door. He stared up at them whilst also fetching milk for his mother, but he dropped it after seeing them kiss, staining the stone in white.

  “Stroke?” Godwin mumbled. “Why him? Why not me?”

  He ran through the castle hallways as fast he could, intending to tattle on Stroke for climbing Keep Blacksteel past dusk. He barged through the door without knocking and yelled for his father.

  “STROKE IS CLIMBING WITHOUT PERMISSION!” he said. “FATHER, HE’S CLIMBING THE… the… oh.”

  “Stupid runt,” Godric growled. “Get here, now.”

  Godwin saw the full body of a grown woman. He didn’t expect there to be as much hair as there was. He stared at her scrambling for the sheets to cover herself with, but he saw everything—her nipples, the size of her breasts, between her legs, he felt sick to his stomach, like he’d seen something immoral and cursed.

  Then, he had a moment of realisation that both disgusted him but brought relief—the woman wasn’t his mother.

  King Godric threw on his linen pants and stomped towards his son, towering over him. Godwin couldn’t look his father in the eyes. He focused on the hairy, giant chest in front of him, then closed his eyes in acceptance of what was to come.

  The prince felt pain in his throat and cheeks, a harsh sting that got worse with each slap to his face. He cried, begging his father to stop hitting him.

  “Only girls cry,” Godric snarled. “Are you a girl? Are you? I am the king, answer your king!”

  “I’m not!”

  Godric punched his son in the stomach and then kicked him in the ribs. “Then act like one! Stop crying!”

  The prince endured as much as he could before calling out for his mother in a loud scream. He wailed, begging for his father to stop and let him go.

  “Secrets are meant to be kept,” Godric warned. “This is what happens to brats who speak secrets. Are you going to spill secrets to your mother?”

  “No,” Godwin cried. “I promise!”

  He grabbed his son by the scruff of the neck, throwing him out of the bedroom like an unwanted dog, then slammed the door shut.

  Why Stroke, not me? Godwin thought as he curled into a ball. Why not me? Why not me?