The first night of their marriage, they established these boundaries.

  During the reception after the ceremony, they sat side-by-side, not touching, while forcing their smiles. They danced once, and afterwards, Alojzy joined his workers to discuss the remaining work on the Citadel while Dobroslawa joined her squadron. She spoke with them, her laughter warm in the room. Alojzy's throat tightened when she placed a hand on the shoulder of that large man with the thick blond beard.

  Alojzy considered mentioning it to Dobroslawa as they left the reception together. He bit his tongue, though, guiding her instead to the bedroom and silently wielding his new power as her husband.

  Despite the limited love between Alojzy and his wife, they found passion in bed. He looked forward to the nights when he could unwrap her clothes. She was vulnerable then, no longer masked by a layer of armor. In bed, he was the ruler; she was nothing more than his patron.

  During the day, Alojzy focused on his castle. He repainted walls, repositioned his crest, and planned the final details to fortify his home. Soldiers came and went while patrons of Moltod visited the Keep. The servants, gifted to him and Dobroslawa on their wedding day, bowed to him. He was no longer a cobbler and a soldier's son; he was a lord of a castle, a man of respect.

  His routine became redundant, though. It felt like Moltod slipped through his fingers, and the unpredictable vanished. Leycie must have been weaving her hands through the temple. Was he doing something wrong? Was there something amiss?

  He welcomed the change in routine one day when Dobroslawa found him in the hallway.

  “Herr Gorski,” she approached him. “May we talk?”

  “At this hour, Lady Goryl?” he inquired.

  “I believe it is important.”

  Alojzy motioned for his wife to follow him into his private library. He ran his fingers along the books before sitting down at the desk. Dobroslawa fidgeted slightly, picking at the edge of the desk as she took a seat. The mask of confidence she wore often had fallen away, leaving behind a woman at Alojzy's mercy.

  “What do you wish to speak about?” Alojzy asked.

  She licked her lips, then said, “I would like to request additional quarters for my squadron.”

  “I have already told you, we are not a castle to harbor soldiers, but for passing by and training. This is Moltod's Citadel.”

  “Yes, I know...but I would at least like to keep rooms here for my three commanders.”

  “Which three are those again?”

  “Commander Miran Bilyk, Commander Natalya Novak, and Commander Szyman Gutnik.”

  Alojzy knew those names, but one remained embedded in his mind. “Szyman Gutnik... Is that the big fellow?”

  After the incident at the wedding, where he saw Dobroslawa with the big hairy fellow, he had a servant to investigate. While the servant found no evidence of a relationship or companionship between the two, Alojzy remained wary. Even if he harbored no love for Dobroslawa, ultimately, she was his wife.

  “Yes, our mage,” Dobroslawa replied. “Very talented. He has helped us win many battles.”

  Alojzy sucked on his lips. Could he trust another mage? It had taken everything to trust the two who helped build the Citadel. While they ultimately did no wrong, a weight fell from Alojzy when they left.

  “What is his magic?” Alojzy asked.

  “He creates mirages of cities and campsites. We have distracted many Kainan soldiers with his fallacies.” Dobroslawa raised her hands. “I promise, he is not malicious in the slightest. But it could prove useful if the Kainan army ever attacks from the north. He could create mirages of another Citadel and mask this one. Think about the strategic benefits. Even if this is not a castle for war, they will target it, Alojzy. Kainan soldiers know no difference.”

  Alojzy rose and paced the room, hands laced behind his back. “Yes, I see your point. But counterpoint: if the Kainan army discovers we harbor a powerful army in this castle, then they will see Freiborn as a target.”

  “The squadron already trains here, so what difference does it make? If they are not here, they are elsewhere in Freiborn. Please, Alojzy. I am asking for three rooms for my friends and confidantes. They will not interfere with your part of the castle. It will only make my life easier if they are here.”

  “What does it matter if they are here or down the road? You have feet, Dame Goryl. You can walk.”

  “Yes, I can, but I fear it might compromise my health for the next few months.”

  “Explain.”

  She fidgeted with her hands again, then caught Alojzy's eyes. “As my husband, you are the first to know: I have missed two months of bleeding. Without a doubt, I am pregnant.”

  The tension released from Alojzy's shoulders. A smile twitched on his lips. Moltod, thank you.

  He took his wife's hand. “Now I understand your request, and if you ask for it, so it shall be. At least until the child is born. For your health and their health matters the most.”

  Dobroslawa smiled at him. “I appreciate your support.”

  “It is only my duty. So it must be.”

  Dobroslawa's pregnancy ended Leycie’s plague of redundancy. Moltod's presence returned with force, and Alojzy's pride once again thrived.

  Despite his initial reservations, he allowed for Dobroslawa's commanders to maintain residency in the west tower. He had no qualms with Miran or Natalya, but his attention constantly fell on the mage known as Szyman. About five years older than Alojzy, his presence dominated the Citadel. Large, with a heavy step, it was hard to miss him in the dining hall. Even though Szyman talked little, when he did, his voice boomed. Alojzy cringed whenever his deep voice rang through the halls.

  “Al!” he called one morning from down the hall, “I have an inquiry for you.”

  Alojzy froze, straining his facial muscles to form a smile as he turned. “Szyman, what is it this time?”

  “Have I really asked you for so much already?”

  “You asked for enough.” Already the man had requested a thicker mattress for his back and a room on the top floor with a view of the Schanifeld. It required Alojzy to reconfigure exactly where everything went, and while he believed in breaking and rearranging order, he yearned for control over the chaos. “Are your quarters not to your liking?”

  “Oh, yes, the quarters are perfect. It is nothing of major importance there.” Szyman chuckled that loud, annoying laugh.

  “Then what is your inquiry?” Alojzy hissed.

  “Only a request. I have a friend who travels quite a bit...and some days, she is weary and needs a place to stay.”

  “I gave quarters to Dame Goryl's commanders. There are no more rooms,” Alojzy stated.

  “Oh, I was not asking for that. She can sleep in my room.”

  “So, she is your lover?”

  “Oh, no. More like...an older sister.” He chuckled again. “I only wanted to make sure it was okay that she stayed. If you were to run into her, I would hate to have guards sent after her.”

  Alojzy cracked his neck and relaxed his shoulders. “Very well. What is her name?”

  “Her name is Malaika. Chances are, you won't even see her. She comes and goes in silence and as she pleases.”

  “Very well. I will inform the guards not to harm this...Malaika.” He tasted the name on his tongue. “Is that a foreign name?”

  “Yes. She has moved around quite a bit. I believe she hails from the western continent.”

  “I see.” Alojzy turned. “Well, that is all good, but I have other matters to attend to. I promised Dame Goryl I would bring her a midday meal.”

  Szyman fell into step with Alojzy. “Would you like me to bring her food? I know her pregnancy has been a difficult one, and I would love a chance to confide in a friend.”

  Alojzy considered Szyman's offer. He needed time to work on the new drafting request for the Nachtnebel Family's treasury. But the idea of Szyman kneeling down beside his wife, giving her whatever her heart demanded, gave him pause.

  “It is fine. I can bring her food. She is my wife, after all.”

  “May I come with you at least? She is my friend, and I miss her.”

  Alojzy narrowed his eyes at Szyman. He wanted nothing more than to break the man's neck, but he was bigger than Alojzy on all counts. Even after years of building the castle, Alojzy built little muscle mass. He was a tad shorter than average, with Szyman's hulking stature dwarfing him. Generally, Alojzy had no resentment of larger men. He made up for it all in his skill set and prayer. But now, he wished he had a way to best the man standing before him.

  “She is my wife, Herr Gutnik. She is not yours.”

  “I—”

  “You are welcome to stay here. You are welcome to bring your friends and ladies back to your room. But she is my wife. Remember that.” He prodded Szyman in the chest with a firm finger. “Remember, I rule this castle. Not you.”

  Alojzy and Dobroslawa welcomed twin girls in the heart of summer. They chose the names Celina and Elzbieta for the girls, and for the first year of their life, Alojzy devoted every passing moment to them. He built them a nursery fit for two princesses, filled with toys and dresses from the finest vendors across the city. He imagined a day when he could teach them how to build with blocks and show them the stories of Leycie and Moltod.

  Yet, by the end of their first year, Alojzy’s infatuation with his new daughters waned. Despite the break from routine, their incessant babbling and screaming no longer warmed his heart.

  Each day, he watched from a distance, taking a step back each time the full moon lit up the sky. From afar, he watched.

  He took his furthest step back one day as he watched them play. Celina, the larger of the two girls, reached forward and grabbed Elzbieta's blonde hair. The scream that exited her sister shook the room.

  “Celina!” Dobroslawa raced over from beside Alojzy. “Don't you see that pulling Elzbieta's hair harms her?”

  The infant stared at her mother with wide brown eyes.

  Alojzy grumbled. As his daughters grew, only their eye color showed any resemblance to him. With their mother's fair skin and a head of golden locks, no one would have thought him to be their father.

  They look like Szyman. The thought came like a whisper but remained echoing like thunder.

  “Alojzy, could you carry Elzbieta? The girls need some time apart,” Dobroslawa called over her shoulder.

  Sighing, Alojzy lifted the smaller infant off the ground. The child squirmed.

  “Stop it. Now!” he ordered.

  “Alojzy, that's not how to talk to her!” Dobroslawa spat.

  “Well, she needs to learn to listen.”

  “She is barely a year old.”

  “Now is as good a time as any.”

  “That's preposterous.” Dobroslawa positioned Celina on one hip. “Give her to me if you are going to be ridiculous about this.”

  Alojzy huffed and passed the child to his wife. She positioned both infants on her hips, and with a glare, she stormed from the room as if on her way to war.

  “Oh, what did I do this time?” Alojzy called after her, lacing his hands behind his back as he kept her in stride.

  “You were such a good father the first couple months. What happened?” she asked, not looking in his direction.

  Alojzy shrugged, once again eyeing his daughters' blonde curls. “I am tired.”

  “You do not think I am tired too? I sacrificed my command for these girls. The least you could do is put the same love into them as you do your Citadel.”

  “I give them plenty of love.”

  “Things are not love. Any follower of Moltod knows that love is a product of—”

  “I know what Moltod thinks of love,” Alojzy said under his breath.

  Dobroslawa turned to face him, readjusting the girls again in her arms. “Tell me. What does he say?”

  “Love is a product of abstract and adventure, not of routine and ordinary.”

  “And love is a product of connection. Both Leycie and Moltod say that.” Dobroslawa stepped forward. “Connect with your daughters, Alojzy. They are your blood.”

  The next words slipped out of Alojzy's mouth before he knew they were going to: “Are they, though?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Their hair does not resemble our hair. In fact...I'd say they have your commander's hair.”

  “You mean Szyman?” Dobroslawa's nostrils flared, eyes narrowed. “Are you accusing me of having an affair?”

  “I've seen you with him.”

  “I’ve known him since I was a child! He is like a brother to me! I would never share a bed with him.”

  “Why should I believe you?” Alojzy pressured.

  “Because I am your wife. I know my duty. I would never tarnish our legacy. These daughters are yours, Alojzy. No one else.”

  “Then explain the hair.”

  Dobroslawa laughed. “Alojzy, curls run in my family! When I was a little girl, I had curly blonde hair. It darkened after I cut it short and I covered my head with armor. Ask my mother and father. They will tell you it is true.”

  Alojzy straightened his back and clenched his hands together while his gaze turned to the window overlooking the Schanifeld. “Very well.”

  “I hope you can find other ways to occupy your mind now. Your daughters need a father.” With that, Dobroslawa left with Celina and Elzbieta, her boots clanking down the hall. She disappeared into the nursery, leaving Alojzy alone with his thoughts.

  He grumbled to himself and began his stride towards the Keep. How dare Dobroslawa try to fool him! There was no way those children were not Szyman's. The two were clearly lovers, hiding in the halls of the Citadel. But other than the curly hair of his daughters, he had no proof. Dobroslawa might claim she had curly hair as a child, but none of the other Goryl girls had hair like his daughters. Even his nieces and nephews all bore the straight, dusty locks of the Goryl family. Perhaps it had been a genetic twist, but he knew deep in his heart that Szyman and Dobroslawa had a connection.

  He placed his hand against a stone and sighed. What would the Citadel tell him if it could talk? Would it show him the truth? Why couldn't he see through its eyes? Then, he wouldn't stand in place, asking questions he couldn't answer. He'd be able to focus on his work, sketching out new architectural plans while reading books in devotion to Moltod. Instead, his daughters' existence nagged at him.

  He took a step forward, eyes still downcast on the stone floors.

  Thud!

  A figure slammed into his body. He stumbled backward, glowering down at it. A short, dark woman with frizzy hair stood before him. She wore an old scout uniform, long retired from years ago, with a sword on her hip. In her hand, she carried a yellow-filled jar.

  In Moltod’s name… What is this girl doing with a jar of honey?

  “Have you not learned to watch where you are going?” Alojzy snapped at the woman.

  She blinked, holding the jar close.

  “Speak when addressed, girl.” The woman might have been about Alojzy's age, if not older, but he would have none of these missteps in his castle. He was the master; everyone else might as well have been a child.

  “Apologies. I’m gonna see my friend,” she blurted.

  “With a jar of honey?”

  “Oh, no, this isn't honey. It's...lemon marmalade that I got in Rosada. I promised my friend he could try it.”

  “This is not a public forum for exchanges.”

  “But I’m allowed to be here!”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes! You allowed me!”

  “I have never met you.”

  “But I'm Malaika—Szyman's friend. You must be Herr Gorski! Sorry. I didn't mean to barge into you like this. Just so used to people ignoring me and all.” She chuckled to herself. “You're not how I pictured you!”

  “And how did Szyman describe me?” Alojzy asked.

  “Well, the way he talked about you, I kinda pictured some tall man with a full head of luscious hair.”

  Alojzy frowned, running his fingers through his already thinning hair.

  “But I'd like to say how sorry I am, y'know. Really. Shoulda looked where I was going. Really sorry, Herr Gorski...really!”

  “If you are actually sorry, you will leave my sight at once.”

  “Thank you, Herr Gorski. Sorry again!” Malaika darted off down the hall, nearly tripping over her feet as she stopped herself from turning right into the Galley. There, she spun around, heading left towards the barracks.

  Alojzy had completely forgotten about Szyman's friend. His entire time in the Citadel, he hadn't seen the girl once. What secrets was she spreading? Were she and Szyman planning something?

  His feet carried him after the strange woman and towards the barracks. Alojzy rarely visited the eastern tower, but he still had the inside of it memorized. A set of prison cells waited empty in the basement. They had no prisoners, with the Schanifeld remaining empty and untarnished for the past two years. But men and women continued to practice their sword fighting in the long empty halls while the occasional soldier stayed the night before heading out to war. Each of Dobroslawa’s three commanders had a room near the top of the eastern tower. He rarely saw Merin and Natalya, but Szyman remained a constant presence.

  At the top of the tower, Alojzy pressed himself against the wall, watching as that Malaika girl knocked on Szyman's door. The door cracked open, and once she slipped inside, Alojzy snuck over to the door and pressed his ear against the wall.

  “Here, here, take this,” Malaika said on the other side of the door.

  “A jar of...marmalade?” Szyman asked.

  “No, it's something worse.”

  “I never heard someone call marmalade bad.”

  “I hate marmalade, but that’s nothing. Listen, I need you to keep this safe. They won't know to find it.”

  “I told you I don't want any part in this.” Szyman hissed.

 

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