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I'll wonder what I'll remember most.

Her eyes, I think. The way they lit up when she saw me. The way the fireworks exploded above her and reflected bright lights throughout them. The way they slowly died as I cast her away in front of everyone I'd ever known.

The way she cried.

I've tried to think of other things. The way she smiled when she touched the books, the way she blushed when I kissed her, the way she threw herself to her knees that first day in front of me, babbling words I never heard because I was too busy staring at her.

I didn't know it was her at the time--but I remember thinking--remember thinking she was something special. Even as a servant, bowing down in apology--she was somehow greater than me.

But I can't think of it anymore. All I can think of is her eyes.

The way she cried.

Sitting vigil is a stupid custom from a stupid time. I don't need to be sitting here, wasting the last few moments of my free life. The vigil is for those who are in love.

I'm marrying because I don't think I have any.

I try to remember something different. I remember the way she climbed from the lake, dripping wet. I remember the way she said goodbye--how she winced when I held her. I can feel the anger still, after finding out why.

She'd been whipped. For being with me.

I remember her trying to tell me goodbye--but I can't recall what dress she was wearing, or how she'd done her hair. All I can see is her eyes.

The way she cried.

I try to remember if I really loved her. I thought I did. I loved who I thought she was--but really all that was different was a name. I called her Nicole. I stared into her eyes and swore promises that I never meant to break--but I did, because I swore them to Nicole and couldn't keep them to Danielle.

And who is to blame for that? If Leonardo is right, it certainly is not her. My pride is still too large to claim it was me. How can I still have pride, though? I was humiliated in front of the entire court. I was shown to be the fool, I was played as a fool by an ignorant peasant girl.

I played her too. I remember swearing love, I remember telling her I wanted her to be my wife. My memories can't be false--but somewhere along the line I broke my word, because I'm not sitting vigil now to be her husband.

I'm to marry a stranger. I've never seen her eyes. Will I stare into them and see another pair, the pair that haunt me now? Will I ever be free of the memories--the memories of her lips and her face, the way she smiled and laughed . . . the look in her eyes as I broke her heart . . .

The way she cried.

The way I died.

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