Filleon trudged through the castle with heavy, burdened steps. Each portrait of his forefathers bore down on him with every passing glance. Judging him and his waning authority under the crown they left behind. Their eyes pierced and weighed his soul. It was all too much to bear, but he had to. The royal line of Jura could not end with the memory of a king who sacrificed everything for nothing. The kingdom could not survive with corrupt nobles at the helm.
Upon reaching the pearl-white sheen of the princess’s chamber doors, he stopped. Filleon had not spoken to her in weeks, much less passed by her room. Not since he sold some clerics the last open land the kingdom owned in exchange for healing prayer. His faith crumbled afterwards – shame crippled his heart. He couldn’t gaze upon her weakened state with nothing to show for it.
Filleon’s hands trembled as he approached the handles. He wanted to be sharp – precise, however the very shakiness bumped the door. It creaked open, but no sound was made inside. Only echoes caused by the door.
A single large window on the opposite side of the room cast a brilliant prismatic purple glow through the rare silk curtains adorning it. The glow could always just catch the edge of her large bed.
“Papa?” A soft voice said from the darkness.
“My dear Sarai…” Filleon responded after taking a hesitant step inside the room. “My lovely daughter, how are you feeling?” Something he said every time he entered her room. “I am so sorry that I came to you so late at night.” He orchestrated his position to only reveal one side of himself.
Sarai would smile, and as always, “I am fighting, Papa, just as you should be. I know you are busy, or else so many people from distant lands wouldn’t come to see me.” Always the same response, down to the small dimples revealing themselves across her fair cheeks, which would always become visible through the shadows in her dark room.
“I am, and I need you to sit tight just a little while longer,” he grabbed hold of her white and blue embroidered blanket and pulled it higher across her chest. “You will be better soon, I promise.”
The same promise.
“I know, Papa, which is why I will always fight. I want to see the same world you have seen.”
The same response.
Filleon’s eyes began to glisten. The sudden reflection caught Sarai’s attention, removing her smile.
He hadn't cried in years.
He wrapped a single arm around her and held her tightly, careful not to share his bloody secret with her. Sarai’s eyes were wide but full of happiness. Although she tapped her father’s back in the hopes he would release her from the seemingly sudden death grip. Filleon released his hug but kissed her on the forehead before removing himself from the bedside.
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
Something he had not done since she was a child.
“Be good,” he said as he left the room, wiping his eyes slightly. The door closed gently, but Sarai was left dumbfounded.
Papa?
Her head tilted ever so slightly to the side.
Is he going somewhere? He wasn’t wearing his crown either.
She closed her eyes and shook her head in denial before glaring back at the door. Unlikely.
Sarai allowed some time to pass before reaching for a bronzed handbell on her small wooden nightstand.
“Margaret,” Sarai said as she rang the bell twice. She closed her eyes and wondered what to do next. It was only the evening's end, but she wasn't going to sleep after that interaction only minutes prior. Something about it seemed unsettling.
“Margaret!” Sarai cried out, before coughing. "I need to make sure he is okay."
A few moments later, a large woman in a long grey and silver nightgown burst into the room, holding a lit candle. "Young lady, do you have any idea what time it is? A young woman should always get her beauty sleep." The informality and sass in her voice was one of the reasons Sarai loved her. Margaret was always one to push the notion of being proper and bold with the perfect womanly etiquette, regardless of who it was towards. A few high ranking nobles and even the king himself had received lashes from her free tongue's wrath on occasion.
"Margaret, I apologize for calling you at such a time-," Sarai began.
"As you should," Margaret interrupted, bobbing her short, curly hair up with her hand. Her nose pointed up to the ceiling for added effect.
Sarai chuckled. "I need you to do me a favor. It would bring me peace of mind."
Margaret raised one eyebrow and looked at her inquisitively. "And what is the nature of such a favor in eve's end, child?"
"I need you to look in on my father and see where he might be going." Margaret quickly became unnaturally quiet.
"Did I say something wrong?" Sarai asked, noticing the sudden change in Margaret's demeanor.
There was a pause in the air, and Margaret noticeably looked away. "Margaret, is that okay? Is something the matter?" Sarai asked.
"Uh, no, dear," Margaret hesitated. "I will see to it what he might be doing. Is that all you need from me?" Her eyes shifted towards the door.
"At the moment, yes, thank you. Again, I am sorry for making you do such a thing so late in the day."
"No worries, dear. I am always happy…to assist you," Margaret said, slowly backing to the door.
"Please report back to me as soon as you can, Margaret. It is important to me thar you find him." Margaret took a bow and left the room, making sure to close the door.
"That was so strange," Sarai thought as she sank further into her bed in deep thought. Her personal tutor, Dimir, might be able to help, but she didn't want to bother him. Aside from her father, he was the one working hardest to help her condition. The most famous alchemist of the kingdom is a busy man, after all. And Margaret, though loyal, had been acting strange lately.
Sarai's thin bones told her something was very wrong. Yet she could do nothing but lay in bed with her metal bedside spit bucket. This had been her reality for as long as she could remember. A revolting seventeen years of sameness. Books were her only windows to the outside.
Sarai slowly turned her head and glanced towards her window, hoping to clear her mind from her uneasiness. "I hope Margaret comes back soon."