---

Her father had always told her she was fire in a wolf's body. Her fur held traces of fire, red and orange and blazing, and one of her eyes held the very fire she carried in her veins. A lady, most certainly, for when one was born from her mother, you could not help but be — yet she carried the blood of her father too, and from him her fire festered.

Kairos was not afraid of fire. She was not afraid of much, always told that she was far too bold for one so young and yet... she continued on, unbothered and ready for the world that lay at her paws. When one was brought up to believe that they could do anything they set their mind to, what room did she have for doubt? For second guessing? For the thought of failure.

Kairos was fire.

Beautiful. Unpredictable. Unbound. Warm. Able to be both a comfort and a danger.

She encompassed it all and yet today, she was seeing the very thing she was made of, blazing from a tree as it engulfed the branch and leaves. She had strayed from the castle, the summer day bringing her only restless bones as she sought for flowers she could plant to rejuvenate the gardens that surrounded the castle, and perhaps she strayed too far for she had seen no fire in Eastbourne.

The smoke had come first, bellowing and black and with it, it carried ash and embers. Thick and heavy, causing her to cough and splutter, but it had been with determined paws Kairos had carried herself across the terrain in search of the Castle. Her actions were borne of worry for those she was to know as Pack, and not out of fear, yet her path remained blocked by a grove of trees that no longer remained green, but ablaze with orange and red flames.

It licked along the branch and down the trunk, passing from one canopy to the next, and Kairos was jostled backwards as the branch broke in half, bark weakened and eaten away, the thud! loud as it met the ground. Kairos' lips thinned against her teeth as she glanced over her shoulder, smoke thick even there, and she supposed that this might be a situation in which her parents would rather ground her for, had they been there. They weren't, it was only her, and she was very much her own woman, thank you, and so... she could... get out of this, most certainly.

The Parthenon turned around on quick toes, it was to face the heavy smoke or the burning trees and she favoured the smoke. Rain would soon come, she thought, and the blaze would be nothing but charcoal once it was through. For the moment, there was no rain, it was her, the fire, and the smoke, and Kairos' lungs hated it all. Edges of her fur singed when the branch roared with a flame growing bigger, the thicker branches now its prey, and embers floated off to touch any and all who dare be near.

Unwilling to suffer the same fate as the branch, the Parthenon risked the smoke, and launched her lithe frame through the darkness to see what may wait for her on the other side. Her cheeks puffed out with a cough, her mismatched gaze squinting against the smoke.

---

TW: flashbacks/high levels of stress due to past trauma

His city. His home. His people.

His city was burning.

The fires weren't so bad - at first. The castle was most stone, any wood elements long since rotted out due to the water infiltrating the palace. It wasn't fireproof, but it was fire-resistant, and the fire wouldn't get far within before it found very little to devour. The most concerning part was the smoke, but they could go to the levels of the castle beneath it all.

They could weather the storm. It wasn't that Francis was worried their home would go down.

Logically, he was not concerned.

Emotionally, he was trapped in a hell of his own making, and the flames licked at the edges of his mind, dripping red like molten wax, like -

The man couldnt catch his breath, and the smoke didn't help, burning his throat as he cycled shallow, fast breaths through his heaving chest.

There were but a few Concord members left to gather into the rest of the flock, to stash away where the flames could not reach them. Francis wasn't leaving anyone behind. He couldn't fail his people, again.

His memories would have, had there been a merciful god to grant him a wish, waited to descend upon him until after the wildfires. All Francis could see was not the ash on the breeze that was all too real, now, all too present, here.

He only saw his home, collapsing, the last thing he had, Delythena's memory, shattered like over-heated glass. Francis took a step, flinching from the sounds of battle waged, his side the losing one, echoes of a time different than this one. Echoes of a body, exhausted, wholly human, a body not his own anymore.

The limbs feel strange, and the world feels as though through water around him - yet there is no reprieve from the encroaching heat, everywhere.

He knows they are out here.

He won't leave them.

But Francis stands, smoke obscuring the terrain ahead, embers floating on the air around him, frozen.

He can't move. He can't tell whether there are cobblestones under his boots, or grass underfoot.

It's all so hot, and he is so afraid to step forward, and find another body, another failure. How many chances does Francis get, and how long before the universe finally realizes he can't ever live up to the tests it throws him?

He blinks, squeezes his eyes shut, the tears pricking at the amber lenses unclear whether they stem from smoke or horror. He cannot give himself even that respite for long, though, and takes a stumbled step toward the flames. Francis' flanks heave, his head spinning, not sure if he can find his way home, but knowing he can't go there until he fulfills his duty.

He can hardly bear the weight of this guilt that sleeps, curled and content, upon his chest at all hours. He will suffocate if he allows any other lives lost to add themselves to the pile stealing his every inhale.



Kairos flings herself through the smoke, airy and light as all the other embers that swirl around Francis' crown.

He stares at her, slack-jawed. She doesn't know what he sees.

Clarity, amongst the collision of two realities. Stability, amongst the distortion between one life and the next.

Her tousled russet fur gleams in the light of the flame, smoke wreathing her form from the singed edges of her pelt. She looks less like a wolf, and more like a flame taken lupine form, born from the writhing smoke's amorphous features to entrance his attention and lure him into the heat.

Francis remembers the scent of smoke from a city burning, but Kairos reminds him there are other uses for the warmth of the flame.

A hearth, to come home to. A warmth, to heal by. A comfort, to remember in hours of need.

Flame flickers from one side of her familiar features, cooled to a gentler temperature by the ice within the other eye - and she stands, whole and more or less healthy, on the other side of a screen of smoke upon which Francis had been forced to watch the worst moments of his life dance across.

He chokes on a cough, blinks the smoke out of his eyes. He is too....he is unable to focus on everything in the present all at once, right now. But his vision tunnels onto the Parthenon, and Francis finds the ground beneath his feet a little clearer to feel, shaken out of his reverie to some small degree by sheer shock. And then, further still, by his concern for the woman.

The - He bent beneath a rasping cough, straightening and shuddering through an inhale to retrieve his voice with. The castle. We can shelter there. Can you walk?

He was so disembodied at the moment, he may very well have believed her if she'd told him no and merely started floating.

---

What lay on the other side had been mostly more smoke, but it was a thinner wall of dark cloud that she could mostly see through, and as her paws landed on the ashen ground, Kairos' pools of fire and ice caught sight of autumn fur. Francis! She coughed as she startled in surprise in seeing him there, ash and smoke clinging to her fur as she notes the expression on his face. He looks — well, she isn't entirely sure, but he doesn't look dismayed to see her.

Francis! The Parthenon greets jovially, as if they weren't standing within fire and smoke. Embers swirl before her and Kairos takes a glance over her shoulder as the branch she had been so close to was now entirely consumed by flickering flame, and it was steadily spreading to the canopies above them, weakening the bark and eating the foliage whole.

She didn't desire to be eaten like the leaves and she rather thought that Francis didn't desire it either. His cough drew her attention back to him, concern lingering upon her sooty face and she lurched through the rest of the smoke wall to be on the same side as he, just as cracking wood sounded over head. Walk, run, jump, leap — whatever you so wish, she told him with some cheek, but she's smiling up at him trying to ease whatever tension he may be feeling. They were going to be fine.

To the castle then, my favourite Groundskeeper, Kairos briefly touched her soot covered nose against his chin, so much taller than her, and turned her attention to around them. They could not go back the way she had come, fire spreading steadily. Glancing to the side, she noted the way the trees grew thinner, and she started to nudge him towards it. Off we go, the maiden encouraged him, heart pumping in her chest — it was moments like these that she was not her mothers daughter, but more so her fathers. This did not fear her, it did not quake her, if anything, it drew Kairos' adrenaline to the surface and ate away her lady-like mannerisms and replaced them with that of a reckless adventurer.

Yet she could not be so reckless, not when it was not only her life. Francis' life was far more important than giving into the rush that gathered in her blood, and she was moving forward as soon as that thought entered her brain. She flurried her tail against his chest, beckoning him after her, and she was quick against the terrain as the fire threatened behind them. Edges of her fur were a touch charred, and she puffed out her cheeks as she coughed, her eyes stinging from the smoke and ash that whipped against her face as they tried their escape.

---

Francis! The words filter to Francis' ears slowly, through water though only smoke and ash stand separating the two as the Prince stares at the flame.

Behind her form, standing tall and invigorated, the tree crumbles and the burnt branch collapses on itself with a groan and a crash. A spray of sparks rise on the breeze, and Francis blinks to shed the dizzying array of worst-case-scenarios that spin before his eyes.

Kairos is fine, shockingly, beyond a cough.

Even so, even the mild cough and the slight singe to her pelt's edges make Francis feel as though a porcupine made its way inside his chest. He is torn apart, yet so relieved it hurts that the Parthenon is fine.

He is not there. He is here.

Run, jump, leap, whatever you so wish. His expression softened considerably, his shoulders loosening some of their tension. Enough for him to move again, at least, as the world comes into sharper, clearer focus around him again.

She's fine.

She's fine, he repeats to himself, knowing he doesn't believe it. A sensation like a bison sitting on his ribcage makes him almost dizzy, frantic yet he does his best to mask it. Just walking is fine by me, my lady, but we can go for a trot if you wish to stretch your legs. Francis chuckled tiredly.

Kairos was close, now, close enough to touch her nose to his chin before Francis could realize what was happening. His paw flexed into the earth, the urge to set his paws on her body to make absolutely certain she wasn't harmed overwhelming. To make absolutely certain she was here, and well and real - and so was he.

The moment passed, and regret stung within his heart before he disregarded the feeling, following the soft beckon of her feathery tail. He trailed close by her, forgoing a need for polite distance in favor of a worried hover and his head on a swivel, trying to ensure they didn't walk into a new danger. If they were running from the flames, surely prey and predators of other species would be too.

He did not miss her slight cough, a muscle in Francis' jaw flexing. He should have gotten here faster, he determined.

If no one at the Concord knows how to treat your lungs, I will go to the Odyssey, our neighbors. I believe they also have healers, or will know of them. That pack was more established, and may have other connections. Francis expression was, perhaps thankfully, no longer the blank, shell-shocked husk it had been - but his demeanor had been replaced with a stormy expression, a furrowed brow and a stiff posture.

---

A walk is just fine, she told him, not desiring to over exert him. She could see no visible injury to him on the outside, but what of his lungs? She would not force him to a trot or to a run, not wanting to stress his lungs from the smoke and stifling air. He did not cough the same as her, but he squinted against the smoke and ash and that was enough for Kairos' adrenaline to take a back seat and instead focus on making it as easy for him as possible.

Little did she know, he too had the same want.

Just... the other way around.

Together they walked through the smoke and Kairos stayed near him, wanting to ensure that they were close enough that if they went through thick smoke, she would not lose him. The Castle must be close; she hadn't gone awfully far, after all.

You will not, she said suddenly, hearing his words, and his declaration. You cannot take leave from me until this smoke has gone, and the fires died. Otherwise I will just worry about your safety, Kairos told him, voice crisp, but her mismatched eyes were laden with emotion she could not let fall. I will be fine, Francis. The smoke just clogged in my throat, she's softer now, voice warm like the fire that they both had all but walked through, as she sought to reassure him of her wellbeing. You do not want me following after you, after all, do you? Because I shall, Francis. Kairos settled for, as she brushed her shoulder against his own.

Out of the thick smoke, Kairos breathed a heavy breath as to try and clear her lungs, and she glanced over her shoulder to the fire as it burned atop another branch. This time, though, it had no tree close enough for the fire to turn to ruin. What luck we have, to have found each other in the middle of it all, she murmured, nostrils flaring as she blinked rapidly to clear her stinging eyes.

Where was Eastbourne from here?

---

Neither wolf strayed from the side of the other, Francis keeping his squinted, blurred peripheral gaze on Kairos.

He was certain they were on the right trail for home, even in all the ways the fires had changed the landscape. He went on exploratory hikes quite often, in fact. The exercise was good for him, it kept him abreast of the state of the land surrounding their borders, and most importantly, it satisfied that never-quite-banished desire to explore, to discover novelty that remained within him. The faintest remnants of the child he'd once been, and the few pieces of that bright-eyed explorer he'd permitted to grow alongside him.

This way. He murmured, to redirect them to the right path, only for Kairos' admonishments to come moments later. They were not harsh by any means, softened further still by her acknowledgement of his worries. Francis glanced at her with surprise all the same, brief but the moment was definitely there - however quickly it passed, along with his knee-jerk instinct to dig his heels in as Prince and demand she bend to his better judgement.

He could go where he pleased, but so could she. I... He began, but he wasn't sure yet what he wanted to say.

Francis' ears loosened where they had sat, stiff and domineering, atop his crown. I would not make you worry needlessly, my lady. The Prince finally offered. He had softened, yes, but the change only allowed more of his emotions to surface in his tone, glinting in his amber gaze. Amusement, relief, and still a bit of worry mingled together, like the faint reflection of the distant flames and smoke tangled together.

She threatened to follow him, and Francis couldn't help but laugh, a faint smile gracing his features despite his efforts to remain, well, some degree of professional, dutiful and somber. The situation was serious, Kairos.

Miss Parthenon, your presence not the threat you seem to think it is, He bumped his shoulder, very gently, back into hers with a swish of his tail. I agree, though, that we should stay close to home if we can help it. If your condition worsens, though, I can promise you will be accompanying me - even if I have to carry you. He was dead serious, and she was small enough he was fairly confident he could pull it off, too.

He glanced away sheepishly, as the redhead remarked on their luck. Oh, I, well... Francis flicked an ear. I was looking for you. He admitted. Most of the rest of the Concord is sheltered in the castle, last I checked. But...I...I couldn't stand the thought of leaving anyone out here, just in case.

Up ahead, the shape of the towers of the castle began to emerge from the smokescreen.

---

He was a guiding presence, one that would pick up the reins when she found them slipping from her hands. Readily, she sat atop the saddle behind him and let him lead, content in her trust that he would not lead her astray. With him she moved, his redirect quiet and soft, and Kairos hummed gently in response of acknowledgement. Like a river she bent to the direction she was given, guided by his autumn touched frame, and Kairos felt herself, for a moment, feeling a particular sense of...

Relief.

Relief that it were him that had found her in the smoke.

Relief that he was okay.

Relief in him.

They know each other but not terribly so that already she would be able to predict his reaction to her more stubborn nature, ill-fitting of a lady, and more so like the Vigilante father whose blood flowed through her veins. She watched him at her side as he drank in what she had said, and her smile was soft as she hummed, I know you would not. She could not picture him causing anyone needless harm, no matter how badly he might be steered towards a path.

In his gaze she found the fire, amber and crackling, but it was warmth and unthreatening and she watched, transfixed, as his emotions were reflected through pools of amber. It was his laugh that drew her attention, her own ears swivelling forward in surprise, but she found a grin starting to blossom upon her lips without much notice from her as she listened to him. It is not? she asked teasingly, but jut her chin out in evidence of her stubborn nature rearing its head.

Though he gently bumped her back, and Kairos' own laugh, a gentle giggle, bubbled from her throat. There, for a moment, she had nearly forgotten where they were.

He laid down the law to her then, serious and stern, and Kairos felt the way she wanted to argue back at him, tell him she was just fine taking care of herself, but the words remained unfound in her throat. He was concerned, and he was clearly a man who wanted to take care of those around him. She was not as good as letting others take the reins as she ought to be, and looking at him now, when he so obviously meant business, Kairos relented. If it worsens, she agreed, though the imagery of her atop his back was certainly a little funny. I would ensure my belly was full, just to add a little bit of weight. Cannot make it too easy for you to cast me upon your back like a babe! Kairos tried not to think how much taller than her he was.

Francis turned sheepish and it ignited Kairos' intrigue as they walked, his admission coming thereafter and she found a swoop in her belly moments later. Well she — well. It had only truly been her parents and Hyperion who would have ever thought to venture to smoke and fire for her, and thus far, apart from Francis, most of the wolves she had met within this world would have likely been just fine to leave her to possibilities.

He had searched for her, when he had noted that most others were safe within Eastbourne. He would have done it for any of them but he did not know how much it meant to her that she fell beneath that umbrella. I... as Eastbourne started to become apparent, the smoke and fires remained behind them, the only evidence that they been amidst it all was red rims of their eyes, the smoke that would cling to their fur for days — she would need to find a way to have a soak — and the light singes to some of her fur.

You continue to surprise me, Kairos murmured. In this world, I had all but accepted that I should only expect teeth and claws. Yet you stand once again, presenting me with neither. He was in her corner, it seemed, already putting her safety with the others of the Concord. Thank you, Francis, the Parthenon stilled, throat tickling, but she swallowed against it so that she could speak unhindered. But please... do not risk your life for me again, she asks it of him quietly, tilting her chin up so that she can look at him, pools of ice and fire red rimmed but vibrant, and she has a feeling that he will disregard her ask without hesitance.

---

He smirked. It is not. Francis assured her, putting up with her needling with a fond sway of his tail.

Francis was relieved when Kairos agreed to his terms. Predictably, perhaps, she still had a retort for him. Francis snorted despite himself, the fires not forgotten but much of the worry over them set aside amidst the pair's banter. Oh, please do - I would be worried you might blow right off in a strong breeze otherwise. He gave her a toothy grin to punctuate the reply.

They both looked a sight, her fur singed at the edges, his own cream tones smeared with soot and ash. But Francis' eyes glittered with joy, the grimy banner of his tail swaying pleasantly behind him.

Even when they grew more serious, Francis expression remained open and expressive. At her heartfelt thanks, his ears wilted slightly, nose tilting toward her as if tempted to sweep away invisible and unformed tears from her cheeks. As always - he refrained, but Francis did not miss the chance to try to offer support in his own way. Miss Parthenon - The day you finally demand of this world its delivery of what you truly deserve, not what you have been taught to expect, will be a day I finally grasp contentment again for a time. I will present you with all you ask for and more, if it is within my limitations. He was just a man, after all, prone to pitfalls the same as any other - the only thing that made him different were the expectations tied to his blood and title.

He exhaled a long sigh at her request, though.

My, but the Parthenon was an expert at finding his limitations with unmatched speed.

I think you already know that is not a promise I would provide, even if I could make such a promise with any intention of keeping it. I can't swear to....succeed in my efforts to protect you. He glanced away from her: It was a different world, and different failures that came to mind with such an admission, wounds more open and raw to him than any roughness in his throat and lungs from the smoke. But you have the promise of my best efforts for your sake.

If pressed, he'd say it was the same promise he'd offer any under his care. But that would be a lie. A Prince knew what it was to lose soldiers to a war - Francis understood the realities of a few lost to save many. He'd been raised to make those hard choices - the ones he'd be damned for, and the ones that would keep him up at night for the rest of his years.

He was the Golden Prince, but he wasn't perfect. There were a few, so very few, he knew himself to be compelled to sacrifice the many for.

Frightening, it was, a weakness so glaringly obvious he wished it didn't exist. But he knew, too, those he considered in that closest circle to be the reason he weighed his choices so carefully, the reason he cared enough to strive to be....a good man.

I am sorry. His voice, a husky whisper, intended only to reach the cupped ears of the woman beside him - and even then, only barely.

He was sorry, that he could not take that particular worry from her mind. He was sorry, that even with his refusal to fail to protect her outright, he still might do so. What was he doing, saying what he said, acting the gentleman prince, encouraging her to stand on her own boldly, when he couldn't even catch her if she fell?

Guilt swelled, a stinging, festering thing, within his chest. Francis' brows furrowed deeply, casting stormy shadows over his down-cast gaze.

---

His smirking confirmation had the Parthenon rolling her eyes, so terribly un-ladylike but then she wasn't always such a lady, was she? Her laugh bubbled on her tongue as she hummed, to others, she settled for a compromise. If she had genuinely caused him threat, she would... well, Kairos wouldn't quite like it. She was like fire, it was true, and she could often burn others but she only desired to warm him, not burn him.

At his jibe, Kairos fakes a gasp of offense as she glances up at him. Not all of us can be as tall as a tree, she pouts back at him but her laugh soon follows, the sound warm and quiet amongst all of the chaos that happens around them. What will you do, hm? Should a strong breeze in fact sweep me away? Kairos would tut, but it was plain as day just how much she was enjoying herself amongst their quick-witted banter.

She was a lady and a wayward spirit all in one, and within his company, even amongst fire and ash, Kairos felt comfortable enough to be both without feeling like she needed to hide one more than the other.

Despite the way she hated that she had been made to feel like she had no identity outside of the traits of her parents, she was... proud, to have both of their spirits within her veins, to hold them so dear amongst what made her, her. According to Alaric, there was no her, though, only the ghost of a woman she would never be.

As he angled towards her, elegant features in her line of sight, Kairos fell silent and waited to hear his accented tongue. With him, there are no shackles of expectations or ghosts. When he speaks, Kairos is seen, and before her, he lays out her freedom in the face of acceptance, and all but begs her to see it too. He has raised her above the heavens upon a skilled hand, and pleads with her to reach for the stars he has laid out for her. Kairos swallowed thickly as his words settle upon her like a comforting shroud, and once more, she feels more like she is Kairos, and not the daughter of Keres, the ghost of an almost, and the evidence of a mans heartbreak, created by two wolves who had only acted out of love.

Here, she is Kairos.

His words burn into her skin, and within her chest, her heart aches, because she knows if Keres and Sindre had been here, gods, they would have adored the man before her. Something selfish in her feeds at the way she's glad that for now, they weren't. Here, she could have him to herself, and not need to share — but then she hates the way she thinks it, because goodness, she misses her family and feeling like she belongs. But she does, doesn't she? She belongs here, feasting on the way he doesn't hesitate to be so open with her. More open now than he was on their very first meeting, but still room for the door to open more, she thought. You... I do not understand, she murmured, how you can think so highly of me when I am but a new chapter in a book that has so many more before me.

His comfort feels like she has known it years.

He cannot promise. She had been... hopeful, to think he could, because truly, it wasn't within his blood to not hurtle in the face of danger in order to try and save someone. For all that she calls him a Groundskeeper, he is a Knight. His sword and shield always at the ready, should he need to raise them for justice. Francis... the very thought that he might perish one day for opting to come to her rescue, because for all that she was, she was also a terrible danger magnet. A lady with a reckless streak indeed, and he... he might come into the line of fire because of her.

My choice is always you, the Parthenon told him. For you to remain safe and alive, but it was not one she would be granted. He would promise to always try and succeed in coming to her aid. Kairos' heart was in her throat, her blood in her ears and she thought she might stop breathing when he whispered his apology into the cusp of her hair, the soft downy fur bending against his breath.

Unshed tears glistened, making fire and ice sheen. Then I will do the same, she said, voice a raspy whisper as she tilted her head up to him. I will come to your aid, Francis. You aim to protect me, and I in turn desire your safety. She won't let him convince her otherwise. For all that she was, she was independent too, and if he ever needed saving, then Kairos would throw caution to the wind and jump into whatever fray so that she might have a chance to help him.

Her mother had been quiet in her protection of her siblings. She had played the part of dutiful trophy wife. She had taken the hits and rotten duties so that her siblings wouldn't have to, but Kairos would be loud with hers. She would be loud and fierce and blazing with fury. I will hear no argument of it, she told him in afterthought, lifting her chin stubbornly as she waited to see if he would try and convince her otherwise.

---

Francis pondered her question for a moment, however joking it was. Let you fly free, and catch you when the wind died. He swayed his tail, finding the answer satisfactory.

It probably wasn't true. He'd stumble after her, half mad and half dead from worry if her feet were no longer touching the ground - if she floated higher, the sun threatening to melt her wings. He'd chase her like a moth after a flame. But he'd be captivated by her all the while, he supposed, for there was no way the woman beside him would fail to make even the most bizarre and frightening things look more ethereal than a painting. She'd just proven it, a ways back, leaping through the flames like some kind of fearless nymph.

I do not understand, Kairos went on, and Francis tilted his head down toward her, ears pricked attentively. ....Miss Parthenon. The urge to use her name, to appeal to her intimately and fondly, was there. He was neither that stupid or brave, though. A book isn't made more valuable by how many different words it has in it - a pleasant read comes from how each chapter is its own, building on what came before but unique in its own manner.

He paused for her to consider the metaphor. Besides, you are a novel all your own, my lady - not just a fleeting chapter in my life, but a saga for me to discover in due time, if you permit it. I....do not open my own book very easily, as it were. He paused. With you, it is made easier. And you have not taken any advantage of that, and I...know how rare such a gift is.

Her choice, she went on to say, was him.

He could smell sweet lemon and smoky flora, his muzzle hovering inches from her auburn and ivory fur, as she spoke. Firm as always, determined to stand her ground upon those details she was certain she was right in.

She would choose him, again and again, Kairos threatened, and it was a true threat now. One that left Francis feeling weak and dizzy, frightened. He shouldn't be....He wasn't sure what to call it. They had no relationship that was improper. Maybe a little more informal and close than they may have been permitted to have in his previous life - but that was then. This was now, and this was not....It wasn't anything, so he shouldn't feel guilty for leading her on.

But he knows, he can't forget how severely he failed everyone he cared about before. He tilted his head slightly to meet her gaze, the faintly ripping sensation behind his sternum worsening as he realized there were unshed tears glittering in her gaze.

Oh, but he was a cad, an ass, a reprehensible beast for such things he's done to her, and he wishes the earth would swallow him whole for it.

Don't cry, The Prince murmured. He feared he'd fold if she did, and promise to stay far from danger - he'd rather her be upset now than be betrayed later when he undoubtedly failed to keep such a promise.

She lifted her chin, firmly closing off the conversation with her final statement.

Gods, he thought, Helene would have loved her.

He wouldn't compare the two, really. He couldn't compare them - He was incapable of fitting Kairos into the space in his heart and mind his late wife still occupied. Helene was dead, the memory of her body in his arms still fresh despite the different body he occupied, and Kairos was her own woman.

I will not argue it. I will not turn away your aid, if you'll accept my own. He was tempted to apologize again, for almost making her cry. He settled for, if Kairos would accept it, gently brushing his nose against the shell of her ear. His heart flipped - his stomach following in kind as he told himself he should regret it.

He couldn't find the familiar sensation anywhere within him, though.