Years passed. Things changed.

  Nigel was busier these days, for one. The Church was abuzz because the Chosen One was nearing her coming of age, which meant the time was nigh for her to heal the sick, help the poor, and beat up the Devil. It only complicated matters further that the situation with the Queen was getting out of hand.

  “This is getting out of hand,” Fulvio said. “How many more grooms do we have to go through until it's clear that she just isn't going to produce an heir?"

  "It will be fine," said Nigel. He was seated on his desk chair in the center of the room with the others on the bed or splayed on the floor. The council had to squeeze into his bedroom for the moment since their usual hall was under renovation. "When the time comes, the throne will simply pass down to the late King Lionheart’s closest living relative, whoever that may be."

  "Please,” said Claudette, “like her Majesty would ever abdicate.”

  "This is what we get for letting him marry an immigrant," said Francis from the rocking chair in the corner.

  “I think we’re losing the point here,” said one priestess.

  "Thank you, Lois," said Nigel. "Just because the Queen beheads anyone who doesn't satisfy her in bed or whatever nonsense, doesn't mean we should stoop to butting in state affairs."

  "Yet the problem of succession remains," Francis said.

  Nigel raised an eyebrow. "Do you have something in mind?"

  The old man cleared his raspy throat. "I say, we already have the true successor. We've had her all along, and it's about time she took her rightful place."

  Murmurs rumbled through the room.

  “You can’t be serious,” said Claudette.

  “It is not her place nor her destiny,” said one cardinal.

  “Yeah. She can't lord it over Brannia and sucker-punch the Devil simultaneously," said a bishop.

  "If anyone has a better suggestion," said Francis, “By all means, let us hear it.”

  “Actually, about that whole Chosen One thing…” Nigel began to say.

  The bedroom door swung open. A dozen cloaked heads turned to stare at the elf standing in the doorway.

  "Alice, darling, not now," Nigel said.

  "That’s what you always say," Alice said.

  "We are in the middle of something."

  "You've been at it for hours!"

  Nigel strode to the door and lowered his voice. “You’re making a scene.”

  "Whatever, it's all over anyway. You missed it like the last one". She slammed the door behind her, and heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs to her room.

  "And watch your tone, young lady," Nigel called out after her. He turned back to the clergy and shrugged. "Teenagers, am I right?"

  The room stirred, but no one answered him.

  Nigel returned to his seat and clasped his hands. “Now, where were we?”

  “Are you sure you want to proceed? That sounded important,” Fulvio said with a smirk.

  “He has been rather distracted of late,” said Claudette.

  "I can assure you, brothers and sisters," Nigel said, "that my fatherly duties do not at all detract focus from my Fatherly duties. I remain ever-dedicated to our mission and vision."

  "Are you, Nigel? Are you?" Francis said.

  "I am. And that's Father Nigel to you. I already have one disrespectful child, I don't need more."

  Normally, Nigel was a very cool and calm person, but he knew when he needed to put his foot down. He stared them down one after another.

  Fulvio squeaked an apology, and Claudette looked away.

  Only Francis held eye contact. For a few moments, the whole room seemed to hold its breath as they squared off. Finally, Francis bowed his head in diffidence. “Forgive me, your grace, for speaking out of turn.”

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  "It’s all right." Nigel leaned back and glanced at the clear night sky. A cold, gentle breeze flitted in through the curtains. "It is getting rather late. I say we adjourn for now and continue in the morning."

  The rest of the council agreed, and when they had all vacated his room, he let out a soul-deep sigh. He was getting too old for this.

  ~~

  He rushed down to the mess hall but found it devoid of life. The chairs were stowed, the tables cleared. Only some leftover cake on a platter remained.

  "There you are, your grace," said Sister Marion, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “Would you like a drink? Shall I get you the usual?"

  "Thanks, but just the cake is fine."

  Marion dipped back into the kitchen as Nigel pulled up a chair and collapsed in it. She came back with plates and utensils in hand and sat across from him. They ate the cake together, and a calm, relaxing silence settled over the room. Nigel tried to soak in it as much as he could.

  "Do you remember that night, your grace?" Marion asked.

  “How could I forget?"

  "Can't believe it's been eighteen years."

  "I certainly can."

  "You know, I wasn't sure that you could handle the whole parenthood thing back when this all started.”

  Nigel raised his fork. "You don't say."

  Marion flushed. "I wasn't good at hiding it, was I?"

  "Not a bit. But I was thankful for your skepticism. You were a great help in raising her. I don’t thank you enough."

  A second silence hung over them, a somber one this time. Nigel gulped down the last of his cake and stared at the empty plate.

  "You should go to her," Marion said.

  "Really? You don't think she needs space or something?"

  "If anything, you've been giving her too much space of late."

  "That’s what I feared." Nigel stood and patted the crumbs off his lap. “I best get to it then.”

  ~~

  Nigel found Alice locked in her room. He rapped on the door several times.

  Still no answer.

  “I know you’re in there,” he said. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

  “Go away,” said Alice.

  “Alright. Guess I’ll just drink this wine by myself then.”

  Silence. Then, soft footsteps padded to the door, and the door creaked open.

  Nigel raised the bottle. "Peace offering? I was thinking we could open it together since you're eighteen now."

  "Okay, but don't think this doesn't mean I'm not still mad at you."

  "I know. Just wanted to have a little chat. But first, I want to show you something back in my room, a little birthday present, if you will."

  "You didn't have to. I'm not a kid anymore."

  "I'm sure you'll like this one."

  "The last time you said that about a present, you excommunicated it."

  "Yeah, but this one won't try to kick you in when you lambaste it for throwing off your daughter."

  Alice rolled her eyes. Still, she followed him down the staircase. Her chamber was the topmost room on the tallest tower, while his was the room below. When they got there, he rummaged around in his closet.

  "Ugh, I swear to Greg, if you got me another one of those creepy dolls again, I'm chucking it out the window," Alice said.

  "Don’t worry, you won't find this creepy at all." Nigel dragged out the golden cradle from the inner depths of the closet.

  "Dad, what... what is this? I mean, most people just buy their daughters a necklace or earrings. What the hell am I supposed to do with this?"

  "I didn't buy this. You came with it."

  "What, did you enter a raffle? Top prize — gold crib, comes with its own baby."

  "You might want to sit down for this." Nigel pulled out a chair from the desk.

  Alice sat and folded her arms.

  "I haven't been completely honest about your origins,” he said. “Don't misunderstand, I never lied to you, it's just that I sort of, might have... omitted a few little details."

  "You call this”— she pointed at the cradle —“a little detail?"

  "Shh, not so loud," Nigel said.

  He drew the curtains shut and double-checked that the door was locked. His hands shaking, he took another chair and sat in front of Alice, their knees touching.

  He popped open the bottle and poured himself a glass of wine. “Might need a bit of this myself." Then he poured Alice a glass, too. "Drink up. It tastes weird at first, but you'll get used to it."

  She took a sip, then a few more. "Mm, I kinda like it. It’s bitter, but also sweet, and it’s got a— Why is there a piece of baby furniture in your closet?"

  Nigel took a big gulp of the wine and slammed his glass. "I led you to believe we found you on the doorsteps of the cathedral wrapped in rags."

  "That's what I assumed, yes. Though I always wondered why a pair of elves would go out of their way to abandon me in the middle of a human city."

  "Exactly. Except instead of the doorsteps, you were on the altar, and instead of rags, we found you in that. I was going to sell it and take the gold, but I decided to just leave it as is. It's yours now. Thought we could use it for your college fund."

  "So, you're telling me that my birth parents were affluent deadbeats who knew how to pick a lock."

  "Marion was there too if you want to hear it from her," said Nigel. "But it's not the only thing I've been keeping from you—”

  A cough stopped him short. It was getting a little harder to breathe.

  "Go on," Alice.

  "Remember whenever you got a boo-boo when you were little, I would kiss it goodnight, then it would get better the next day, and I told you it was because of Greg's good work?"

  "And when I got older, you said it was because of elf natural healing."

  "That's right, except it wasn't! And how about that time you took in an injured bird, and it could fly the next day? Believe me, I know for a fact they don't heal that fast."

  "What’re you getting at?"

  "What I'm trying to say is... *cough* *cough*, what I'm saying..."

  "Are you alright, Dad?"

  Nigel doubled over in a fit of cough, knocking over the bottle, which smashed on the floor.

  Alice rushed over to her father's side.

  The words came out of his mouth in chokes: "The cellar *cough*, remember the wine ce..."

  “Dad? I can't understand you. Is it the wine?" She looked at the glass shards.

  "Don't tell anyone.” He forced the words out through coughs and gags. “Trust... no one."

  She held his head in her lap. "I can't understand you, Daddy." Her voice was beginning to break. He could see the tears welling behind her eyes.

  His vision blurred, and he could feel blood flowing from the corners of his eyes.

  Nigel knew he only had a few words left. What he said next could alter not only Alice's fate but the fate of Brannia, so he knew he ought to choose them wisely.

  He opened his mouth and choked out the words. “You are Ch-chosen. You are… Daughter of…”— the tears were streaming freely down her face. He held a thumb out and wiped one off her cheek. —“…my daughter.”

  The world flickered.

  Alice clutched him to her chest. "Yes, yes I am. And I always will be, so don’t leave me, Daddy, please…"

  He didn't answer.

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