If I expect you to understand what happened, I will have to admit that I was wrong.

Ultimately, we all have a moment when we realize everything has changed. Always in hindsight, of course, we can watch the tides of our lives shift, pinpoint the moment we chose the untraveled road over the status quo. And if we spend too much time thinking about it, too deeply, we will find ourselves questioning the very foundations upon which we have built our lives.

This moment will never be the one at which the fateful decision was made. No. For many, realization is instantaneous, but too late. For others, it takes years of walking down the new path, the wrong path, the difficult path, a descent to rock bottom, before the necessary introspection reveals that there is no "should have been" or "could have been": only what is.

The beginning was, for me, a seemingly benign moment, which I would come to learn transpired in the midst of the changing of the tide of my life.

A pounding emptiness riddling my mind, I couldn't have moved even if I tried. Struggling to recognize where I was and how I got there, I listened to the voices of Ava and my brother ebbing and flowing through my conscience. They were discussing me, that much was definite; though why, I could not discern. Swirling through me were both a strange sense of awareness, and an utter darkness.

My brother spewed what was beginning to sound more like a series of justifications than an actual recitation of events.

"No." Ava's soft voice cut clearly through the confines of my mind. "I don't understand."

"Have you not been listening?" Seemingly always annoyed in Ava's presence, Milo couldn't help but raise his voice to her. A chair scraping across the floor, I could imagine him standing abruptly, glaring down at her, always using his size to intimidate. "The succession of events is neither difficult to follow, nor relevant to the present. Wake him."

I struggled to suppress a groan, maybe a sigh, and contemplated whether I should attempt to move or lie so still they would think I was still asleep.

Footsteps and a rush of warm air flowed over me as the creak of hinges told me someone had opened a door; a cool hand brushed over my forehead and into my hair.

"Does he really believe I haven't tried?" Ava whispered.

She was talking to me.

Had she tried? In this unmovable prison of my own body, I couldn't recall.

"Brought to me draped over the shoulders of your companions," she continued, patting a swatch of something cool and fragrant along my neck, pausing on my chest, hand over my heart, she sighed. "What happened last night, Kane?"

She must have been seated next to me on the cot, a warm weight lifting as she rose, I opened my heavy eyes just enough to see her slip through a doorway.

"I cannot wake him," her voice rang clearly and confidently.

"Fool," Milo sneered quietly, his thunking footfalls approached the cot where I lay, seemingly dead to them.

He leaned over my face so nearly that I could smell the soap mulled by our mother on his skin, the musky odor of a horse's mane on his hand as he patted my cheek. "Kane," he was stern, as though I was simply ignoring him.

I was.

I could feel his glare looming above me and while I struggled to open my eyes, my will to see him or speak to him was sufficiently weak that I relented to my failure.

"Hmph." The arcing scratch of a shoe upon the rough floor told me he had turned to leave. "He must be present tonight," voice booming with unnecessary authority, I could only assume he was addressing Ava again. "I suggest you find a way to wake him."

Perhaps her voice in answer was too low for me to hear, but knowing her, it is more likely she didn't bother with a response. Milo always believes himself to be more than he is, and, in reality, held no real power to punish her for any perceived defiance.

Finally, I was able to keep my eyes open long enough to watch as he swept out of the house, my heavy lids sinking closed again.

Silence absent, the clop of hooves as my brother rode away faded into the sound of waves and gulls. Lying very still, I slowly filled my chest with the deepest breath I could muster.

Fish. This must be Ava's house, near to the Fort and fishing piers.

"He's gone," Ava called a few moments later.

Was she speaking to me?

Light footsteps earned a loll of my head to one side, opening my eyes more easily this time, her form was silhouetted in what could only have been the bright light of morning. A lazy smirk lifted the corner of my mouth.

Approaching slowly, her calm was disarming.

Back then, she wasn't capable of hating; sweet, innocent Ava. Milo among her least favorite people, she must have been fuming.

Setting a bowl on the table, I watched as she narrowed her eyes on me and crossed her arms.

"How long have you been awake?"

I could only shake my head, grateful in my state that I could do even that, and closed my eyes again. The sight of her lingering in my mind.

"What did you do?" she whispered. There was no malice in her voice, only inquiry. Perhaps concern.

"I don't know," I sighed, my voice was hoarse and quiet. She would never accept that, and I tried to prepare myself for the onslaught of questions she would typically deliver.

But there was only silence.

In that silence, I tried to wipe all thoughts from my mind, focusing on her image.

What did I do? I could only remember arriving at Milo's house, greeted by a butler with a celebratory drink. I scowled internally. Milo, celebrating the official announcement of my betrothal. An arrangement he had managed to further his own social position, riding on the coattails of the business endeavors of his employer. Lord Jerimoth.

She wasn't angry, she wasn't scared. She also wasn't surprised.

But then, we had been here before.

For you see, Ava had been the daughter of a shopkeeper on the Island, her mother a baker; I was the son of a merchant. When her father passed, as his only child, she and her mother kept the shop as best they could. Well respected throughout the Island and surrounding communities as her father had been, merchants tended to bestow favor upon the widow and her enigmatic daughter with the striking green eyes.

Like many of the men who knew them, with voracious appetites for both food and the adventures offered by the sea, it was often a night or early morning that I found myself at Ava's door, hopefully seeking the satisfaction of her mother's fresh bread and her own coy smile.

The shop perched on the river bank with a long pier extending from the storefront, if Ava wasn't in the shop, she was somewhere nearby, frequently found awaiting the ships. Located on the northern shores of the Island, the mouth of the river was so close, this pier was the last stop a seaman could make before reaching the Fort and then the open sea.

When I again opened my eyes, this time fully and clearly, my assumptions were confirmed; I was indeed lying on a cot in the downstairs parlor; the door leading to the shop conspicuously ajar. The sunlight had shifted, waning brilliant hues as it descended toward the tree line. The bustle of gulls' cries and gruff men yelling on the pier indicated the fisherman were cleaning their catches outside.

The tiredness having left me, I stretched my hands over my head, then extending them to my sides as I swung my legs over the cot and onto the floor.

It was cold and rough.

Peering down, I wore no shoes. Why didn't I have my shoes?

Bringing my hands to my chest, I had intended to confirm the presence of my belongings, cold hands and a quick scan of my own body gave way to my bare chest, wearing no breeches.

Indeed – what had I done?

"Ava!"

Securing the blanket that covered me at my hips, I heaved myself from the cot, tottering as I regained my sense of balance.

Within moments, she appeared before me, my clothing slung over her arm.

Exhaustion painted her delicate features; the ever present tempest within her eyes, languid. Tendrils of hair peeked from beneath her cap, framing her transcendental face.

She looked to the floor, extending the arm holding my clothes towards me.

"I cleaned them," she whispered.

She never blushed, but if she did, she would have in this moment. Not because of the grossly inappropriate nature of the situation, my severe state of undress alone with her in her home, but because I knew she didn't care. Her chest rose sharply as she forced a frown upon her face, biting her lip in an effort not to smile, eyes still cast toward the ground.

"Ava," I knew my voice was silky, "you stole my clothes?" I drawled, feigning shock and offense.

Her eyes immediately shot to mine, her composure regained, her tempest revived. Making to discard my clothes, I stepped forward, grabbing them before they hit the floor, I stood tall before her.

She poked a finger to my bare chest and I chuckled.

Her frown deepened.

"Whatever you did, Kane," she sneered, "Your clothes were covered in blood."

Blood? I was taken aback.

That couldn't be good?

And, yet, she never allowed me this near to her, especially at an hour when patrons still frequented her till. Blood soiling my clothes or not, there was no sense in wasting such a precious moment.

I set my finger under her chin, tracing her clenched jaw to her ear and down her neck. She remained poised, but the shudder within her did not go unnoticed, and I smiled.

"I have no idea," I shrugged. "Help me?"

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, draping my jacket and breeches over her own shoulder as she held open my shirt. Slipping first one arm and then the other into the sleeves, careful not to expose myself to her any more than I already had, I relished in the feeling of her delicate fingers upon my skin as she did my buttons.

Making a show of closing her eyes and turning her head to the side, I pulled on my breeches. Steadying myself on her shoulder, I shifted my feet into my shoes and righted my socks in one fluid motion. Our proximity exaggerated my height.

I squared my shoulders and stiffened my back, her lithe fingers tucking in the hem of my shirt.

Never looking to my face, "Whatever you did," she scolded, "this behavior must end." Her voice was thick, and even looking down on her, I could feel the sadness in her eyes. She shook her head, "You cannot come here like this anymore." Reaching around me to finish tucking my shirt, one could easily mistake her position for embrace. "You will be gentry, Kane."

I remained static. "You know what I truly want, Ava." Bringing my hands to her face, her arms still around me, "Look at me," I whispered, but she only shook her head, tightening her jaw once more, swallowing down her tears.

Bang.

The front door of the shop slammed open and she jumped away from me, pressing her hand to my chest and pushing away as she turned.

"Milo," she scoffed.

"Kane." His voice emphatic, my brother stepped through the doorway, leering first at Ava and then at me, failing entirely to acknowledge either Ava or his disagreeable entrance into her shop and home.

Crossing my arms over my chest and widening my stance, I asserted my superiority with silence.

Taking in my appearance, Milo assessed me with reprise, confusion riddling his features.

"The Governor's daughter," he said, without any other explanation.

Ava busied herself behind the till, but I could hear her labored breathing. Too proud to leave the room, she suffered the weight of her sadness in plain sight.

"She's dead."

* * *

Hours had passed as I sat in silent solitude; I hadn't bothered to stoke the fire on the hearth. It was nearly out cold.

Having returned to my own home upon hearing the news of the Governor's daughter, I knew that in the coming days, the burden upon my shoulders would become immense.

From where I sat, I stared out the window towards the river. While many houses were built as near to the banks of that mighty torrent as the brave builders dared, mine was set back; a long lawn extending from my porch to an embankment, and then the river's edge. Staring out the window, I watched Ava as she lit her lamps, working her way around her shop, rearranging goods and preparing doughs for the morning baking.

Click. Shuffle-shuffle. Click. Shuffle-shuffle.

Shrouded in darkness, the velvet chair upon which I sat, I set my elbows upon the armrests, fingers steepled against my forehead, and listened to the clicking cane and scraping feet of Constance Pitcher.

What was she doing here?

So consumed by the emptiness of the moment, I neither moved nor called out to her. If she was putting forth the effort to shuffle her way across the village, she already knew I was here.

I listened as she gingerly climbed the steps, crossed the porch, and eased through the door. There would be no tricking Constance, but I would do my best.

Though I knew she had entered the room, I remained with my head in my hands.

I expected her to speak, but instead, I felt a gentle hand upon my head, frail and light. She stood like that for a minute, a silent acknowledgement that she already knew how I felt.

But then, maybe in that touch she was reading my mind? With Constance, you can never be sure.

Removing her hand from my hair, she eased into the chair opposite me. Had this been a normal day, the fire in the hearth beside us would have been glowing.

Even as I raised my eyes to meet her attentive gaze, she did not speak.

For a moment, I stared at her. Soft blue-grey eyes framed by a wild mess of blanching hair, she was, and always has been, the picture of a story book enigma.

Sighing, "It's my fault."

There was no question to be asked. This was a simple fact.

"Yes," Constance spoke softly, "by some arguments, it probably is."

I laughed, "But not yours? Did Milo tell you they found me covered in blood?"

She smiled. "You know me well, Kane, you should know how I feel about your brother."

I tipped my head against the chair, running my hands down my face. "I never wanted this."

"I know."

"I did it for him."

"I know that, too,"

"But what we want and what we are required to do are not the same." I snapped my head up to look at her, "Is that what you were going to say?"

"No," fiddling with the cane she had laid across her lap, she ran her fingers up and down across the polished wooden surface.

"We can't always get what we want?"

"Maybe," she smirked. "But, maybe, we just don't know what it takes to get what we want?"

I huffed, laying my head back again. "I don't want this," my voice was casual, but my tone was serious.

"I should think it's going on a year or so too late for thoughts such as that."

"I'll give it all up." Resigned, I couldn't bring myself to look at her.

"All of what, Kane?"

"Everything!" My jaw clenched involuntarily and I brought her back into my line of sight. "Everything. I don't want the status. The titles. The money." I jumped to my feet, pacing on the small run before the unlit hearth. "None of it!" I slashed my hands through the air to emphasize my rejection of everything this sordid life had brought upon me. "Take it all away! And give me back my freedom."

Reprovingly, she denied this wish. "I cannot give you that."

"Why not?" I demanded. "You did the rest of this. Fix it!"

"I'm not a magician, Kane. I cannot undo what has already been done."

"Set me free, Constance." Grasping my hands together, I was reduced to pleading. "Release me from this doomed fate."

"Doomed fate?" Her tone was high and mocking. "Why, Kane. Why on earth would you think your fate is doomed?"

"Look at me," I brought my hands to my chest, "clad in clothes beyond my own measure, living in a house purchased in the blood and sweat of other men. Betrothed to a dead woman. What will come of her father's obligation to yield to the will of Jerimoth?"

Constance sat unperturbed, stoic and steady.

"I don't want this," I whispered harshly. Crossing the room, I stopped by the window. Gazing longingly past the woman with syrupy brown hair and piercing green eyes, out to the open sea. "This life, Constance, it is unrelenting torture. I am living a life that is not mine. This cannot be my fate," I gestured around the room and at myself before turning back to the window, tormented by my own thoughts.

"What is your fate, then?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your fate?" she repeated. "If this," she mimicked my gesture, "is not your fate, then what is?"

Freedom. The ability to choose the course of my life? Release from the dictations of my brother and Jerimoth.

"I don't have to know that, Constance, in order to feel within my heart that none of this is who I am meant to be."

She merely nodded and while I sat in brooding contemplation, she assessed my every move.

I paced before the windows, a caged bird plotting his escape. A fish trying to outmaneuver the hook within his lip.

"You believe you love her?" Her voice was taunting, she knew I was caught in the web of my own confusion.

"Her?"

She provided no response, simply cocked her head and raised her brows.

Running my fingers through my hair, I had no answer to this question. So overwhelmed by the need to flaunt flamboyant grief for a woman who cared for me as little as I cared for her, and was now dead, while simultaneously suppressing the ecstasy I had felt in Ava's simple touches, as readily as I always had.

I remembered the tender moment earlier in the day, Ava's lithe arms around me; compared to the lewd provocations experienced with the now-dead Emma, I shuddered.

"There is no such thing as love, Kane. Only those to whom you pledge your unyielding loyalty." She nodded once, solidifying the gravity of such a statement.

We fell, again, into silence, as I paced before the windows.

"As is the truth with yourself," she finally spoke, "I cannot tell you what your fate will be, and, equally as I cannot change it, I cannot stop you from trying to elude it."

I paused, studying her.

"Time is all we are given, Kane. Time to learn that we are all part of something much larger than ourselves, for time is the most precious thing we have." She rose slowly, pressing her cane into the rug and leaning heavily upon it. Placing a gaunt hand upon my elbow she gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Your fate is not a curse, but I assure you: if you try to fight it, a cursed existence, indeed, you will endure."

With a wink, she clicked and shuffled out of the house.

* * *

"Sirs," a maid waved us through the door with a small bow. "The Governor and the Lady are in the parlor," she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. "Please, excuse me," she bustled away towards the back of the house.

With a wary look at my brother, we proceeded towards the indicated parlor. Indeed, there sat the Lady of the house, head in her hands, weeping quietly; her husband, the Governor, stood with a hand on her shoulder as he spoke to a man beside him.

Milo cleared his throat, indicating our presence, but at a loss for how to address this room.

"Kane!" the Lady of the house sobbed, rushing towards us and taking me in an embrace.

Glancing wildly from the Governor to my brother, I neither moved nor spoke.

Wiping her eyes, she stepped back, taking my hand in hers, "Kane. I am so sorry." She shook her head, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. "Emma... has died." Choked with sobs, she rushed from the room; swept up by the maids in the hall, who ushered her up the stairs.

Milo stood, silent as ever.

"Sir?" I addressed the Governor himself. "What is the meaning of this?"

The Governor straightened his shoulders, nodding to the man beside him, whom I then recognized as the doctor. It was he who addressed me.

"The young Emma was found in a well. While we cannot discern how she came to be in this state," he glanced at the Governor beside him, "she, unfortunately, perished before she was found." Malice showed through his professional demeanor, and I narrowed my eyes.

A well? Perhaps my fears that I was directly involved were unfounded.

"Governor?"

He shook his head. "I know nothing more than this." His voice was weak. "She has been missing..." he paused, swallowing slowly, he composed himself. "She has been missing since yesterday afternoon. As you well know, she can be a bit... mischievous. We assumed this was another of her escapades, but when she didn't return, either last night or this morning, her mother became worried."

"She was found a few hours ago," the doctor interrupted. "There are a few abrasions on her hands and forearms. Her clothing... was not what one would expect of a young woman."

"Doctor!" The Governor scolded.

"I am sorry, Sir." He pointed to me. "He deserves the truth, so help me God, I will not lie to her betrothed."

Clenching his teeth, the Governor inclined his head towards my brother and I. "Indeed, Doctor. I had no intention of lying to you, but I do believe that the circumstances of her death should be withheld from gossip. I hope that you will honor her memory, her life, and not discuss this particular information with anyone outside of this room."

"We give you our word, Governor," Milo spoke for the first time since entering the house, his voice calm and assuring.

This was not a moment for calm; every man in the room knew this.

The good Doctor's implication was clear. Emma had not simply died, she had been killed, either by her own sense of rebellion or by the hand of another. But the Governor? He would have this painted as an accident?

As we all stood, the four of us silent as we pondered the situation at hand, we were interrupted by the maid, busying down the stairs.

"Doctor?" she called. "Doctor? Will you please come quickly, my Lady has fainted."

With a quick nod to me and to the Governor, conspicuously passing over my brother, the Doctor rushed out of the room to follow the maid as an awkward silence descended upon us.

The Governor coughed lightly into his hand. "Gentlemen?" he moved towards a cabinet on the far side of the room, extracting from it a dark colored bottle. "I'll ask you to forgive me. This moment calls for a stiff drink." He poured himself a glass, to which my brother and I both declined his offer, and he took a hearty slug. "My wife is devastated." He stated emphatically. Boring into my brother with a bout of confidence born from the drink in his hand, "Emma was killed. I am sure of it."

Milo breathed deeply, holding his chest high. While the Governor may have been the highest politically ranked man in the region, even he paled in the face of Jerimoth's right hand man.

My brother's reputation preceded him, and while the Governor waited for him to speak, Milo said nothing. Where I was slick with my words, my brother chose intimidating silence; reaction over action. He would await whatever the Governor had to say, dealing with the consequences if it wasn't what Jerimoth wanted to hear.

While I may have played an intrinsic part in this situation, none of the decision making was mine and as I waited for the Governor to continue, the gravity of what had happened began to settle within me.

Indeed, I was betrothed to Emma, his daughter. He knew as well as I did that I despised the arrangement. She was lovely enough, but the idea that my fate would be dictated in the margins of a business arrangement, between my brother, his employer, and a politician, was unfathomable.

I had been trying to escape this cruel fate since its inception, nearly one year ago, for, surely, I had not been doomed to live in a prison of refinement and lavish gaud.

"Governor?" I urged him to speak for a second time tonight.

His eyes snapped to mine, within them a distinct element of distrust. He stared at me for a moment before addressing my brother.

"A deal is a deal."

A faint smile, cruel and knowing, grew upon my brother's face.

"In the face of my daughter's untimely death, Mr. Jerimoth will continue to receive the benefit of exclusivity in this port." He turned toward me, "Kane. While I will uphold my end of the deal, you are undoubtedly absolved of yours." He forcibly swallowed a sneer, "If I find..."

"Ah, ah," my brother tutted, gaining our full attention. "Whether he works for Mr. Jerimoth or not, Governor, my brother is under my protection and I suggest you do not say or do anything that could be interpreted as threatening."

Leveling an angry glare at me, the doctor returned.

"Gentlemen," he greeted. "I have spoken with the Lady and cannot convince her this was an accident."

"Indeed," the Governor whispered.

"Further, she has indicated to me that she believes a Miss Ava Kingsbury may have been involved, and demands that we question this woman."

"No!" My reaction superseded my ability to suppress it.

Milo gave a stiff shake of his head as the Governor lifted his chin, as though his wife's troubled ramblings in the midst of grief were indictments cast in stone.

Adjusting his glasses on his nose, "You doubt this claim, sir?" the doctor inquired.

How could I answer that question? Having no semblance of the previous night's events or even my own whereabouts, how could I blindly defend Ava without bringing doubt upon myself? My feelings for her had hardly been a secret before this deal was brokered; surely each of us had as much motivation as the other in such a crime. If Emma was indeed killed at another's hand.

"Clearing these insinuations is a simple matter, Governor," Milo turned towards him, "we will question this girl... Ava."

"Question her?" I scoffed.

"Indeed," the Governor nodded towards the doctor and my brother. "We shall bring this into the light or put this to bed, immediately."

Sweeping from the house and down the cobbled path towards the street, one after the other, the Doctor and the Governor leading the way to Ava's shop. Milo rushed to catch up to me.

"Kane!" he grabbed the back of my jacket, spinning me in place as the other two men continued walking. "Kane, I swear," I was taller than him, but he encroached upon me, looking me directly in the eye, "if the Governor comes to believe that you had anything to do with this," he looked from side to said, ensuring we were alone and lowered his voice, "I will kill you myself."

"I have no doubt you would," I was devoid of emotion.

What I wouldn't have given to remember what I had done last night.

Was the guilt mine?

The blood on my clothes, Emma's?

"If you will excuse me," I stepped away from Milo, adjusting my jacket.

"Kane!" he called. When I didn't answer, the click of his boots told me he had stomped off in the opposite direction; where to, I couldn't have cared less. There was only one place I needed to go.

Rounding a corner, I turned down the quiet streets, making my way back to the Island.

Slowing, the shop lights were dark; the Doctor and the Governor stood outside and there was no obvious movement within.

"Kane," the Doctor nodded towards the door.

Squinting my eyes, through the shadows I could see that it was ajar. Upon approaching, I kicked it lightly with my foot.

As it creaked open, the light of the moon illuminated a plethora of broken goods.

Jars and powders, broken and dispensed across the floor. Pushing the door open fully with my hand, I stepped inside.

"Ava!" The sound of the two other men ascending the steps echoed around me as I hurried to the back room.

Empty.

The cot where I had been laying earlier that day was upended, tossed to the side with the blankets upon the floor. A dark smear where it had been standing.

The room reeked of pillaged dreams and rancid betrayal.

"Ava!" I emphasized, shouting as loudly as I could, cocking my head as I listened for her response.

Sprinting to the stairs, I ascended them two at a time, leaving the Governor and Doctor in the shop to survey the devastation.

Slamming my way through each of the upstairs rooms, my breaths heaving, I finally came to rest at the shop counter downstairs.

"She is gone," the Governor whispered, suspiciously surveying the room.

The carnage of the scene brought suspicion to even the most ardent of conspiracies. The likelihood of Ava's involvement dwindled with the possibility of her own demise.

Raising my eyes to meet his, I nodded, and he looked around the room again.

"Governor!" the doctor, quietly traipsing through the ransacked shelves, pointed to the doorjamb through which we had just come.

There, wiped upon the carefully painted woodwork was one hand print.

Distorted, pulled across the paint, one bloody handprint was seemingly all that remained of Ava.

* * *

In which of these moments were the roads of my life irreversibly changed? Maybe I cannot pinpoint it exactly among the multifarious events of that night, but even as these events were unfolding, I could tell the change had occurred.

Constance's words are an everlasting tinnation in my mind and it is only with time that my myopia has cleared.

That I see the world for what it really is.

And, indeed, there is no love.

Only those to whom I pledged my unyielding loyalty.

And sometimes, the first time around, we get it wrong.