Shadows danced on the walls at the rhythm that the wind imposed in the only candle in the room. The only furniture besides a small wooden table on which the candle burned were a couple of uneven chairs and a sad excuse for a bed without sheets. It was a cavernous place at the top of a long forgotten tower at the edge of the woods, where patrols no longer went to. No one did, not since the last battle of a war that hadn't ended but wasn't continuing either.

The whole territory was considered no man's land. She was no man.

Clarissa sat at the edge of the rectangular window, her nails softly scrapping the stone it was made of. The whole tower was, and it made the night much colder than it actually was. With her other hand, she tightened the cloak around her shoulders to keep warm. She was temped to throw one leg out and swing it, feel nothing but the air beneath her boot, maybe the vertigo too. From her vantage point, the forest turned into a sea of green, darkened by the lack of sunlight yet still illuminated enough by the crescent Moon.

A cloud passed by, bringing a dark patch of shadow with it. Clarissa sighed and pushed herself away from the window, making her way to the solitary candle. She'd been a fool to come here.

The crack of an arrow nailing itself to the outer wall of the tower surprised Clarissa. She knelt down instinctively and then cursed, she'd forgotten to blow the fire. She waited, counting the seconds, and when nothing happened, the young woman dared to crawl to the wall once more, her fingers starting to cradle the edge of the window. From it, she saw the silhouette of a rope hanging from the arrow followed by the unmistakable sounds of footsteps and grunts. Someone was climbing.

She peeked out and found herself looking back at a hooded figure. The winds pushed their cloak open, revealing a sword hanging from the person's hips. Clarissa had come unarmed. She'd certainly been a fool.

Still, the young woman squared her shoulders and went to the bed, sitting on it and crossing her legs. Her hands were firmly placed upon a knee, and that's how the other found her. Angry and expecting.

"Sorry for being late," the other person said. Their tone was sarcastic. Clarissa considered that they weren't sorry at all. The hood went down to reveal a man, as young as she was if not younger by a year at most. His face was terribly familiar to her, as were those soft lips surrounded by a stubble. Clarissa shook her head slightly to push those thoughts aside.

"Wouldn't have expected more of you, Roland." Suddenly, the nails at the end of her left hand became interesting, enough for her to not look at the other. Roland whistled, his steps approaching her.

His gloved hand went to the sword's hilt and Clarissa froze. "It'd be so easy," he said as he pulled the blade out. Its edge went to meet the base of Clarissa's neck. "So easy to leave Dusk without a princess, to leave its king desperate and vulnerable for an attack."

"Very bold of you to consider me defenseless," she bluffed, her chin held high. The metal against her skin felt so cold it burnt.

With a swift gesture, the sword cut through the brooch holding Clarissa's cloak in place. The fabric pooled around her but she remained still, letting it fall. For a moment, she stopped breathing, waiting for Roland to do something else.

He put the sword away.

"No, no, princess." The word came like venom from his mouth. Rolan tucked a strand of hair behind Clarissa's ear. "You possess the most dangerous of weapons I have ever faced. I've found defeat at your feet." He knelt. Clarissa had to look down to keep eye contact. "And I accept it gladly."

Clarissa felt the muscles of her forehead relax, releasing a frown she hadn't realized had formed. Once Roland stopped talking, the silence that fell between them was maddening. An owl hooted, the wind blew, and branches scrapped at the outer wall of the tower. Somehow, the candle remained lit, its light allowing her to admire the softening features of the man before her.

He was so close, close enough to be touched, and yet so far away.

"What would your ruler say if he found you here, at my feet, Roland?" Unable to hold herself, Clarissa let one of her hands travel forward and cradle the young man's chin.

He shrugged. "I'm expendable, as all soldiers are."

Not to her, never. She'd die before letting him know of that.

"No other mind has bested my generals like yours. Selling yourself short is a disservice to my people and me. Would I sneak away from my home like a rebellious peasant for someone expendable?"

Roland shook his head. There was a playful smile on his face. Clarissa wished she could wipe it of as much as she wished she could stomp all over the feelings the mere sight of it caused. Her heart started beating fasted, the hairs at the back of her neck rose.

It all started a year and a half ago, during one of the scarce peace meetings their kingdoms held in order to talk their way into times of peaces. The results had been mixed at best, the bloodshed eventually stopped, but the hate both kingdoms held for one another was still alive and growing by the day. The people of Dusk craved to see heads roll. Their princess craved for the touch of the enemy general's hand.

While she lost herself in her thoughts, Roland's fingers caught something in Clarissa's hand. There was a ring on it. A simple band of gold, damming in its meaning.

Clarissa averted her eyes. "You should see the dress. One would think that there's a limit to how many petticoats a skirt can have. And the skirt! Long enough to dress and the children and then some." She babbled, speaking faster by the word. "The cake is supposedly going to be as tall as me, if not taller. If we ever find ourselves in a shortage of bread, I could have everyone eating cake."

"What's his name?"

"Matthias."

Roland scoffed. "Pompous brat."

"You know him?" Clarissa flexed her fingers. "Of course you do, he was at the meetings too. You remember his plans? Childish nonsense. To think that's the man my father wants leading Dusk once he's gone. He said that if I didn't like it, then I better…" Clarissa cringed. "Pop an heir out sooner rather than later."

Roland rose and came to sit besides her. His arms sneaked around her middle and pulled Clarissa into his chest. The hard material of his leather armor, inconspicuous and without any signs or emblems belonging to anything, pressed into the skin of her face. Clarissa buried herself deeper, wanting to disappear into it, into him.

She was such a fool.

"If I leave," she said, her voice muffled for speaking right into his armor, "I'd leave Dusk without a future. No leader, no heir. And yet…"

Roland pulled her chin up. His gaze, as intense as the first day they looked at each other, tore into her soul. They kissed. Clarissa pulled his hair down, making him press deeper against her lips. Their teeth clashed but neither let go. The metal tips of Roland's gloves clawed at Clarissa's black, and his tongue whispered secrets in a language she was thirsty to swallow.

A wet sensation shook her and Clarissa pushed herself away from the young man. From the warrior.

From the enemy.

She was crying.

She wiped the tears aggressively, whimpering, shaking like a recently fallen leaf.

"Clarissa," Roland called.

"Don't."

"Clarissa," Roland insisted.

She huffed. Her eyes burned with the salt from her tears. With her hands turned into fists, Clarissa hit the soft surface of the old bed in which they sat. "How dare you refer to me as if I weren't the daughter of a king? As if you were nothing more than…"

Roland brought his face close. "Than what, Clarissa?"

Her voice broke. "Than the man I love."

She keeled over, the small whimpers becoming long, heartbreaking wails of desperation. Her heart ached for the one man she couldn't have, for the one life she would never be able to enjoy. It was impossible, and there they were.

Somehow, during those times that the meetings couldn't have place, the princess and the soldier kept finding each other. Sharing nothing but pointed glares, then words at each other. The odious comments, which turned into humorous regards, which in turn became sincere exchanges were they forgot their place. With Roland, Clarissa felt like a person first, and a princess second.

Months ago, Clarissa had toyed with the idea of a marriage of convenience, both for the kingdom and her own feelings. She offered to marry the enemy general in order to achieve true peace, trying to sell the idea as a masterfully crafted ploy. The fact that Roland was loved by the kingdom he defended was well known, he held the favor of his king.

Her father laughed. The man even ridiculed Clarissa in front of the whole court, and they all laughed. Three days later, he'd betrothed her to Matthias.

She never doubted why the possibility of ruling as a solitary queen came out of her father. He didn't consider her capable, never would. Clarissa, bawling like a child for impossibilities, was starting to agree with him.

"Clarissa, listen to me," Roland called once more. She peeked from under the cascade of hair in front of her face. "My dear, my dearest of dears, bane of my existence. Don't you know I love you so? Haven't I made it clearer than the water of the rivers that cross our lands?" Clarissa snickered, an inelegant gargle unbecoming of a lady of her standing, and pointed to his sword. Roland grunted, took hold of it and threw it to the window.

Clarissa gasped as she saw the metal reflect the moonlight for one short second before it banished, falling into the dark forest beneath. Flabbergasted, she turned to him. "What have you done?"

Roland answered with anything but a reply. "Come with me, let's run away. Let them all consume each other in this senseless war."

"But, Roland…"

"Do you even know why it started?" Clarissa shook her head. "Neither do I. No one does. To die for something you can't even understand, does it sound fair to you."

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and stopped herself from replying with the 'no' already rolling on her tongue. The young woman considered her words, the history before them, and straightened her back. "Life is anything but fair, Roland. You know that."

It hurt her to see the soldier taken aback by her words. To keep her gaze firmly on him was the least she could do for him. It would be the ideal moment for a final goodbye, now that she'd engraved his features into her mind.

Roland seemed to have other plans.

"Very well," he said dryly. He marched away from her, and Clarissa mourned his presence already. "I'll leave you be, Your Majesty." The term hammered against the young woman's chest with great pain. Roland made his way to the window and reached for the rope.

He was going away, once and for all.

Clarissa thought she could die right then and there.

Before he climbed down, Roland turned to her. "But allow me to make one thing clear. I'll win this war, princess, I'll claim your kingdom as mine. Not if, when that happens, I'll claim you to myself."

The words came out in a small, hopeful whisper. "Is that a threat, general?"

"It's a promise."

The Sun rose minutes after he parted. Its warmth dried Clarissa's tears. She blew the candle before she left through the secret passage that Roland certainly knew about, but the man had a knack for theatrics.

She loved that about him. She did. And she believed him.