The young girl nestled her face softly into the hollow of his shoulder, which she had always found strangely comfortable. It had been over three years since they had first stood this way, her arms around his neck and his arms around her waist. She felt it may be their last, however, when she raised inquisitive eyes to him. “What is that scent on your skin?” She inhaled deeply. “It smells of...cinnamon. And vanilla. What is it?”
His eyes grew wider by only the slightest degree, but even in the night's chilling darkness the girl saw it. “I promise that there is a good explanation.”
She shook her head violently, throwing her long raven locks about her face. “No, you do not have to do so. That scent belongs to you nor I. You have been holding – yet worse, been held in the arms of – another woman.” She pulled from his desperate grasp. “I would not have expected this of you. I love you.” Her voice trembled, then faltered. “And I thought that you loved me, as well.” It was apparent that the girl was on the verge of tears. She fought to retain them, along with her dignity.
Her hair appeared even darker in the night, contrasting with her alabaster skin. It was sleek and shimmering in the moonlight as Damian caressed it. “Rosie, Rosie–”
“Don't call me that!” she shouted, batting his hand away. “Only a man who loves me can call me that.”
“Rose, listen. Please...be reasonable. I do love you. With all of my heart, I love you.” Damian sounded as if he himself would begin to cry.
“Do you not mean half of your heart? The other half belongs to a harlot that smells of a coffeehouse!”
“Please leave sarcasm out of this, Rose. You know in your soul that you are the only woman I love. I ask you to remember the trip I made to town this afternoon. I saw that the sun was beginning to sink below the trees, so I began to make my way back. I was ambushed by a perfume salesman that forced me to sample his product by spraying it on me as I walked past.”
He gestured slightly with his hands as he spoke, occasionally pushing back his hair; his black, medium-length hair that always appeared tousled even if he had just combed it. It continuously fell into his eyes, and Rose hated it. She loved his cool, stoic eyes; how they remained so calm, yet she could see his love for her if she looked deep enough.
His eyes were the only things keeping Rose from walking away at that moment. She crossed her arms and interjected, “Why, if I may ask, were you in the market to begin with?” She was still very skeptical and held little faith in his story.
He turned slowly, displaying his clothing. “Well, it is obvious that I bought nothing for myself.” It was true. He still wore the same black, hard leather boots, black pants, and deep red shirt he had always worn. The shirt was thin and open at the throat, woven with a black suede cord to close it. Damian always wore it open, and had cut off the sleeves well above the elbow. These were the same clothes he had worn for quite a while, for clothes are difficult to come by when you have no money. “I was in the market to get this for you.” He withdrew from his pocket a long, slender wooden box with a silver ribbon tied around it. He smiled as much as he dared to. “You do not think I would allow our anniversary to come and go with no acknowledgment, do you?”
The cover of ice holding Rose melted instantly. She took the box from him and began to untie the ribbon. She glanced up at him, half delighted and half suspicious. “How...how did you get this?”
He leaned close to her, his forehead touching hers, and kissed her lightly. “You should know be by now. I did what I always do: whatever needs to be done.”
She chuckled and nodded knowingly, finally pulling the lid from the box. She simply gazed at what lay on the black velvet within. It was a silver chain that came to a Y shape in the front. At the apex lay a small black rose, and a teardrop onyx pendant dangled from the end. He had remembered everything: the anniversary, her favourite flower, her favourite stone, and even the fact that she didn't like gold jewellery.
“Oh, Damian. I love you so much,” she sighed as she hugged him tightly around the neck. “I simply knew you'd never be unfaithful to me.”
He rolled his eyes and stroked her hair, trying to stifle a laugh at her sudden change in attitude. “You know that I could have been imprisoned for quite a long time had I been caught getting that for you, don't you?”
She looked up at him coyly. “Yes, of course I do. That is why I like it so much!”
“You are a very strange woman, Rosie,” he joked.
“But that is why you love me.”
He pulled slowly from her embrace. “Indeed it is. But the reason I got this for you, aside from the simple feeling I get when I see that look on your face, is selfish. I want you to remember this moment when you think of me...in case it is a long time before we see one another again.” His voice had taken a distant tone, as if his body and heart were here with Rose but his mind was far away.
Her eyebrows narrowed as she searched his eyes from some clarification. Her mouth opened slightly, as if she were about to speak but changed her mind before her vocal cords could work. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she found words. “But...where are you going? Why will I not see you? Damian, talk to me!” Rose was frantic with worry and confusion.
Audible cracks rose through that far-off voice. “That night...it was my fault.” The waxing moon cast an eerie but pleasant light upon the couple as they stood on that cool November evening. The light breeze rustled the few remaining leaves of the trees in the forest where they stood. A small waterfall hissed and bubbled so closely that the mist it produced dampened their skin. As Damian looked at Rose, all of the guilt he felt seemed to pour from his eyes.
She reached out and lightly touched his arm. “No, it was not your fault.”
He pulled away, picking up a stone and skipping it across the surface of the pond. He sat down on the edge, pulling up his knees, resting his elbows on them, and clasping his hands together. “Yes, Rosie, it was. You do not understand the hardship I face daily. Even after being out here with me for nearly three years, you cannot comprehend it.” He saw the offended expression on her fair features and explained further. “The fault for that lies with me, not you. I want to be everything you need. I want to protect and provide for you. I did not want you to see all of the work I have to do to accomplish that, because I know you could not bare to sit by and do nothing while I slaved.
“Yet, I have lived this way my entire life. I am accustomed to the work that needs to be done in order to survive. But you...you are of royal blood, the only rightful heir to the throne. A princess. I am but a rogue, surviving out here on my own like some kind of rodent. I brought you here, exposed you to a lifestyle so unfit to you, then made the mistake of leaving you alone and defenseless.”
He pointed around the clearing, which was indeed dark and intimidating to an inexperienced fighter. Rose was no longer an amateur, however, having become adequately skilled with her daggers and hand-to-hand combat. “They found you. I knew good and well that they would be searching, but I left you here just the same.”
She sat down next to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “No, you did not do anything wrong. I thought I was stronger than I truly was: I was naive. I wanted you to leave me because I thought I could defend myself while you were out fighting.” Her voice seemed to adopt a bit of an edge. “And I may not know the tribulations of the forest, but my life as princess was not a perfect one; the cruel treatment of the palace that no one ever sees; the slavery disguised as royalty. I was never a ruler of anything. Even as Queen, I would not be. I would be a mere puppet, a plaything. We have no power. We are only icons, representations of power. It is the people behind the scenes that truly run the show.
You did not force me into anything. I left because I love you, because I was willing to do anything to be with you. You rescued me from what I thought was a life and brought me to a place where I could abandon all facades and pretenses and be what I really am. I did not want us to love in secret. I wanted to spend my life with you, and I still do. I do not care if my father's guards search for me until the hair atop their heads fades grey. I will not give myself back to them...to that prison.” A single tear, sparkling and picturesque, rolled down her cheek.
Damian rose and stood straight, brave. “All the more reason for me to go. We should not have to live in constant fear of the King. That night years ago, when my negligence nearly led to your capture, has never completely left my mind. Last night as you slept, I heard the familiar echo of voices not far off. They are getting closer, Rose. I cannot wait another night. I will kill each of them personally to make an example of what happens when you interfere with the lives of those that I love.” A malicious spark set his eyes ablaze. “Even if I have to kill your father.”
The thought of her father's murder at the hand of her fiancé seemed to ignite a new passion for blood in Rose. She drew two daggers, one from each holster at her hip. Each was sterling silver and set with rubies around the guard. Originally ceremonial daggers passed down through her family for generations, Rose felt as though she was deserving possession of them. She sharpened the blades against a nearby rock.
When she had made her escape from the palace, she had been wearing a red gown that was the standard female apparel of her social class. Now it was hardly the same garment. It had once had long silk sleeves attached to a corset bodice that gave way to a flowing, multi-layered skirt. She had removed the sleeves at the shoulder and jaggedly cut the skirt away at the knee. Damian had gone to town to get her a pair of soft leather boots and a long red ribbon to tie back her knee-length hair, which was not convenient to wear loose while hunting for food or fending off intruders.
Damian heard the coarse grating sound of Rose's daggers against the rock and turned to her. “Rose, what are you doing?” He was afraid he already knew the answer.
She smiled wickedly. “Well, you do not honestly think I am going to let you go alone, do you? Why should you be allowed to have all of the fun?” She laced up the front of her bodice tightly and put her hair up in a ponytail.
He struck thin air with his hand, emphasising his disagreement. “No, no, no. You cannot go. I...command you to stay here.”
Rose raised her eyebrows and laughed, amused because Damian had never given her a direct order before. Even after all of this time, a small part of her royal pride stuck with her. “You 'command' me, do you? Well, now I am definitely going with you.”
Damian shook his head, walking toward her slowly. He drew his sword but held it carefully by the blade. He could see Rose's fright, for he was fully aware of the disposition he took when he was deadly serious. His voice, however, was contrastingly soft. “Rosie, honey, I'm sorry for this...”

Rose spun her head about quickly, attempting to clear the fog from her mind. This was a mistake. It caused her head to pound and her vision to double dizzyingly. She felt a sharp pain on the back of her head and blood running through her hair and wondered what had happened. Rose could tell that her hair was down, for she felt it brushing against her shoulders. When she tried to physically examine her wound, she found that her hands were bound. They had been tied to the tree she was now leaning against with her own hair ribbon. She looked around, saw no sign of Damian, and become even more confused. That was, until she she saw the writing in the dirt at her feet. The writing was small and delicately detailed, and Rose knew that it had to have been done with a small, sharp implement; probably her own dagger. The note read:

Rosie,
I could not allow you to be subjected to further danger. I am certain now that you are a strong enough warrior to defend yourself against any of the forest's creatures. Notice that I left you both of your daggers; I trust you can free yourself. I promise I will bring you a new ribbon. Do not try to follow me.
I love you,
Damian

Rose clenched her teeth tightly in frustration and closed her eyes. She wondered why he felt the need to bind her when rendering her unconscious surely would have sufficed. Then she remembered how stubborn she was. Had she awoken unbound, she would have jumped to her feet and completely destroyed Damian's message.
The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, staining everything the crimson shade of the new dawn. She hoisted herself up high enough to move her feet beneath her body. She elevated her hips within reach and grasped one of her blades, twirling it around her hand and beginning to saw.
In just under ten seconds, the ribbon gave way. She allowed it to fall as she stood up, replacing the weapon to its rightful position at her hip. She walked shakily, feebly attempting to regain the feeling in her legs. Rose looked around, not quite sure what to do next. She sat upon the large, flat rock that she and Damian sometimes slept on, and she waited.

For a year and a half (562 days, to be exact) she waited. Every morning she awoke to the sun rising and to new hopes that her love had returned to her, and every day she was disappointed. She ate only enough to avoid starvation, and practised with her weapons to keep her mind off of him. She practised sunrise to sunset nearly every day, and became an expert with them. Every night, when the stars shone in the sky, she longed for him. She wished he would her her in his arms again and tell her that he would protect her. She wished she could only kiss him once more. Every night she held the necklace he had given her, the one she hadn't removed since that cold November evening, and wept until she fell asleep.
Usually the sun was just rising when Rose awoke, and she would use the daylight hours to her full advantage. She wove tall pieces of dead grasses into rope, which she used to bind tree limbs. She constructed a model that looked vaguely humanoid in this manner. Rose would practise her fighting skills against this dummy and throw her daggers at it out of sheer boredom. Occasionally an unfortunate small animal would wander into Rose's clearing, and she would substitute it for her wooden mannequin. Once, a wolf stalked onto the site and caught Ross off guard. She obtained a deep gash down her right thigh, but otherwise made quick work of what became a rather delicious meal.
One morning, Rose awoke slightly later than usual. The sun had already half-risen, and the surrounding trees were bathed in viscous golden light. Only one object broke the solid mural of golden-brown tree bark. She stood and straightened her clothing, stepping over the large rock to the trees at the perimeter of the clearing. Around one of them was tied a single red ribbon.
Before she could even piece together the ribbon's significance, she felt hands on her hips. Her mind went instantly into fighting mode, believing that whomever stood behind her was attempting to take her weapons. She spun around to face her attacker, a snarl contorting her face. She saw a large figure, one she assumed to be a man, dressed in a hooded black robe; clothing she instantly recognised as the Royal Guard's nighttime stealth attire. She drew a dagger with incredible speed, but the man seized her wrist. With the other hand, he lowered his hood.
His hair had grown drastically, falling to his shoulder blades, and his eyes had very dark circles underneath them. Rose still recognised Damian, and realised that he had dressed to fit in with the enemy. He was badly in need of a shave and had a half-healed cut above his left eyebrow, but he was still the same man who had left Rose eighteen months ago.
She threw her arms around him and kissed him deeply, pressing her lips forcefully against his. She had missed standing like this with him for so long, and she wanted him to run his hands through her hair reassuringly like he used to. “I cannot put into words how much I have missed you, but I must ask...Why did you leave me here in the dark, silently pending your return with no way of knowing if you were dead?”
Damian saw the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, Rosie, please do not cry.” He used his little remaining strength to hold her tightly against him, comforting her. “I had to leave you uninformed. If I had somehow found a way to relay to you what had happened, you would have only worried more. I am sorry that I could not tell you, but I promise that I will in due time. I am here now. We do not have to be afraid anymore. I will have plenty of time in the future to tell you the story in its entirety.”
She looked up at him hopefully, her jade eyes glimmering with hope and tears. “I do not need to know everything right now, but...is it over?”
He nodded. “Yes, Rosie. It is over...and I will never leave you again.”

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