Dry mouth, blurry eyes, stiff legs. Roman woke up in the middle of the night, shaking off what was once again a dream. Regret is the only thing he feels when he thinks of her. The cold hard blade of the sword mocked the softness of her skin. He lit the candles and took a sip of water, then drank the whole waterskin, hoping it could wash down the dream.

But the sips are hard to swallow when they’re filled with guilt. He stared in the dark, taking in the silence. Every moment of calm must be cherished. He threw the waterskin and snuffed out the candles with his fingers. When the first light lit the sky, he was already awake. That’s how they split the day - he got the sunrise, and she got the sunset. It’s strange how he always thought about love when he was fighting.

Only then.

Roman didn’t trust himself in the early hours of the day. His demons still ran amock from the night before, so he waited to see the sun before he made any decisions. He leaned over his table, feeling the coarse touch of the wood with his palms. It was covered in hopefully accurate maps and wooden figures resembling his army.

The czar picked up an apple left on the table from the day before. The fruit and thousands of men were in his palm. Only she wasn’t. For the last few weeks, he had been listening to soldiers, generals, and refugees. What gives me the right to be the ruler of their minds, he thought. What gives her the right to be mine?

His country touched three seas and rivaled the empire in the west. But it was a cruel deal he made - either the world or her. Roman made his choice, not knowing that she was his world. He thought that sea and land could fill the hole in his heart, but only a pair of eyes could do that. Eyes beyond reach. But the voice of ambition was more seductive than any other.

It was Monday when he traded love for power. It was Monday when she left. It’s been Monday ever since.

There are no wrong decisions, he tells himself. Perhaps every decision is a wrong one. Would he have yearned about dirt and water if he had her instead? Would he have lost sleep over ships and soldiers? He thought he saw her running away with the refugees from one of the towns they evacuated on the way here. But he saw her in every village they rode past. He imagined her in one of his cities, surrounded by love, not murdered and raped by the imperial army on its way here. He longed to meet her, just one more time, but maybe it was better for her to keep living in his dreams.

When his generals entered the tent to go over the battle plans, the sun was up, and he was already listening to the voice of ambition again.