"I'll agree," said the first one. "She was not meant to die."

"But she did it for you," reminded the second.

The king looked away.

"For you," added the third, "and for herself."

The throne room was bright and gold. Everything was gilded, everything shone. The king was in the throne, the three in front of him. Around them all, the night was silent – servants stood at each candle-tree, waiting, watching.

"I don't want her dead," said the king, and the three giggled.

"That's too bad," said the youngest.

"She's not coming back," said the second.

"Unless," said the oldest, "you go and find her."

The king scowled. "I know where to find her. She's at the bottom of the cliff – part of her is on the rocks, and part of her is on the cliff, and part of her is in the sea."

"We're not talking about the body." The first waved her hand.

"We're talking about her."

"She can be found."

"Where." It was not a question. The king was statue-still, waiting.

The three smiled.

The lights in the throne room began to go out. The king looked round, but the servants were motionless; the candles were still burning, though a black haze covered their flames. That was the dark, and it was getting darker.

Til it was black, then, and the king could only see himself and the throne and the three. He was no longer a king: he wore the clothes he had been crowned in: traveling, scuffed and dirty and sturdy. He drew his sword and it shone, he stepped from the throne and the throne was gone.

"Where."

The three drew back. From their feet began a trail: misted blue, light as the edge of the sea. It wove, half-straight, to the left, and turned a corner.

The king turned to thank the three, but they had already gone.

He followed the trail. It led him forward and forward, and finally as he turned the corner – it would have been a pillar, had he remained in the throne room – he saw beyond a darker black, a door into which the trail led. But there was someone before him, in his way.

It was the prince who had owned the castle, before the king had come along. He had never been a friend, though certainly he held faith with the king. He was armored over in gold; the color was misted over as the path. Gold in his blonde hair, too - he had kept his crown, and his goldeyes were leaned on the pillar, and the king raised his sword, then saw the man's face.

The prince did not move.

"Take me with you," he said.

He had not known the lady.

The king stopped, and nodded, and the prince fell in beside him. The two entered the door, and the dark grew around them.