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The first entry was dated from ten years ago.

They have matched me with an idiot of a squire. Could I not at least have been given a companion to converse with intelligently? Instead, they give me a ten-year-old who speaks barely adequate English. Voice like a nightingale, capable magic, and annoyingly eager to please, but there is much wanting. Why did Gabriel have to die? I am almost certain the king killed him on purpose. I am drowning.

I paused. Gabriel. That was who Kat had mentioned my first day. I knew he had died, but … why Vi thought the king had killed him was beyond me. Squires were just as important to the keeping of the crown as knights. Why on earth would the king have killed him? It didn’t make sense.

I shook my head and continued on:

The boy gifted me this journal—how could he have known it would likely rot in a drawer somewhere? Still, it was a sweet gesture, even though it comes twenty years too late to earn my good graces. For I was promised this marriage would be loveless, and yet the king is now infatuated with me and I’ve no idea what I’ve done to deserve such a punishment. He is also a little more than slightly insane. He, like the boy, understands nothing. I am disturbed by all of it, but only death will end it now. At this point, part of me wishes for it.

Well, she seemed a bit more unpleasant than Kat had described. But then, she was mourning the death of the love of her life. I couldn’t even imagine going through such anguish. What a horrible day to begin documenting in a journal, but truthfully, it reminded me of my childhood journal. On the days when my aunt was being unreasonable, my uncle cold, my cousin spiteful. Of how on those days all I could do was scream at the pages with my quill, because I had no one I trusted enough to scream with in person. I felt for her.

I turned the page. The next entry was dated an entire week later:

I cannot take much more of this awkwardness, so I am teaching the boy better English. Despite his slow wits, he learns quickly when he wants to, which is a relief. And yet his mind is broken in so many ways. He often stares, does not speak unless necessary. There is no sense in making light with him, for things others would smile or laugh at he simply questions. There is nothing to be done, unfortunately, as I have determined that he must have been this way since birth. Born entirely wrong.

I paused. She was … no. She couldn’t have been talking of Beric? He did stare and was rather quiet, and … suddenly I recalled Beric saying he’d been the Royal Squire since he was ten years old. She did mean him, after all.

I flipped back to the first entry, the urge to slap a woman who no longer existed growing by the second. How could she have said such awful things about Beric? He was infuriating, but nowhere close to an idiot. And he spoke with a perfect English accent, as if he was born here—there was no way his English could have been so awful.

Born entirely wrong? I wanted to strangle her.

It was hard to make him smile, but that was more of a fun challenge than a flaw. One had to earn Beric’s laughter. Which, in a way, made it more valuable. Sweeter.

So far, I wasn’t liking Vi very much at all, but perhaps her later entries were a bit more optimistic.

I turned the page, and Beric was right—Vi most definitely wasn’t one for writing. The next entry was dated about five years after the last:

The king has given his daughter to me as a maid.

“Eliza,” I said aloud, fondly, before slapping my hand over my mouth. I didn’t know how thick those doors were, but I most certainly had no desire to wake the king.

A princess performing as a knight’s maid? What will they think of next? She is no doubt a spy for the king, which will make ordering her around all the more rewarding. It will also give me a break from my only conversation companions being a mad king and a fifteen-year-old boy.

Eliza, a spy? Nonsense. The king seemed to hate her, and Eliza didn’t seem to have much interest in improving their relationship. And I couldn’t say I blamed her.

No, it was clear Vi didn’t trust anyone. Because how could anyone hate Eliza or Beric, two of the best people on this earth?

The next entry was separated from the ones before it by a few pages, as if Vi had simply opened at random and begun writing. But it wasn’t dated, and rather short:

I have tried and failed to escape this prison. Next time I will try it while sober, if I can manage without. I too often cannot manage without.

The king has forced a guard to follow me everywhere, now. Another spy, I’m sure. He’s friendly and nice to look at, at least, but spending constant time with a man only makes me miss Gabriel.

I frowned at the words. I was beginning to think that Vi would never have anything good to say about this life. Entry after entry of her hating and insulting the people I found to be so dear. It was utterly baffling.

This time I was sober, but there are now three times as many guards posted around the grounds. They were prepared for me. I don’t think I will ever leave this fortress alive.

If not for Beric, what would I do? I’m certain he hates me, and yet he’s the only one I trust to keep my business to himself. Today, he said something rather wise for his years—or perhaps it was just foolish naivete talking—that if I were to pretend to the king that everything was all right, he may lessen the security around me. That I might be happier that way. Sweet, stupid boy. He still doesn’t realize that the only way out of this miserable life is death.

I shut the journal, finally unable to go on. I didn’t know how to feel, except I couldn’t understand why Kat had spoken so highly of Vi. She was clearly paranoid. But she was also excessively cruel and disparaging to Beric, which made no sense to me. He was so smart and sweet. He was wonderful. To call him slow-witted, stupid, broken … wrong. It didn’t matter how good of a knight she was. Such wicked things to say about a child.

But she was right about one thing—I had no idea what I would do without Beric. He would have performed his duties, regardless, as he had been doing since the beginning. But it felt only right to let him know that I was relinquishing my cousin, officially. And perhaps apologize for having put him through so much.

And I needed to do it before morning. Before he told Kat.

It was the least I could do, for the boy who believed in me from the beginning.

I put on my slippers, lit a candle, and quietly stepped into the hall.