I wait until we are sitting at our respective places to start my questioning. They love me, but despise my love for West. Would they punish me for trying to keep them from harm? Would they let their revulsion for the Fae overpower their love for me?

The golden circlet sits on Father’s temples, heavier than ever. I wonder what he’s feeling. Is his fear a paralyzing chain or does he have a secret plan involving the Fae Queen? I wonder if Mother and Rigel know.

They’re silent. No more laughs or jokes between Father and my brother. No more fussing over Spica’s brand new outfit. They’re terrified. So am I, but I can’t be. I can’t let it consume me, not when I’m so close to uncovering the truth. I can’t let grief make me bedridden. Unless I see West’s body for myself, I will not believe he is dead. Not like this. He wouldn’t die like this. He is so much stronger.

I check the lasagna. It smells good and looks appetizing, but seems to have been prepared in a haste. So I take a part, which falls apart, and fill my glass with red wine. Auretta told me they checked the ingredients and let only the eldest of servants cook, thinking the enemy might try to scare someone else. And maybe succeed this time. Still, I sense no hunger in my family.

I put a small slice into my mouth, looking at my siblings. They look at me with disgusted expressions. “How can you eat?”

“I’ve survived worse,” I laugh it off.

“Oh? Your home has been burned previously?” Rigel taps his fist on the table, silverware clattering. Mother’s palms envelop her face and she groans.

“So what is your plan, Father?” I ask, my breath steady, my posture perfectly straight. There is nothing they can say to make me falter. If I believe it strongly, then it will be true.

“I will be contacting the Academy to send people to root out the impostor. I think there might be more than one, though.” He takes a bite too, lifting his glass up. “Let’s not worry. Everything will be fine. We will persevere.”

I try not to sneer as I lift my glass up. “To the bond that links us all to this place.” I say. Mother lifts her glass too.

“To peaceful resolutions.”

“I will drink to that.” I pity her. Her house has already burned once. Maybe she passed the feeling to me genetically somehow. Maybe that’s why the library burning has no lingering effect on me. There is only the Fae Queen’s letter, its contents engraved in my memory.

There it is, the perfect moment to ask about the letter. About the revolution. But I hesitate. It is that hesitation that breaks my heart the most. I look at Father eating his salad mouth full, I see Mother drink her wine trying to forget the heat of the flames and the stench of burnt paper. I see Rigel and Spica share glances as they force themselves to eat. I cannot break the temporary peace.

So, once I finish eating, I get up and curtsy. I leave, desiring nothing but to let tears fall. I hate that I love them.

I walk to the gardens, hugging myself. There are no guards here. I kneel and break into sobs. I feel so lonely. East has left, and I didn’t even get to say goodbye. Just like West. I look up to the starry sky and wail.

“Why me? What did I ever do to you!” I cry at the gods, those who have no place in our culture anymore. If the spirits of nature do not hear me, then the ancient gods might. I close my eyes and let the cold air caress my wet cheeks. I feel the salt on my lips.

I lie on the ground, unable to find strength to go back. I could fall asleep here, amid the leaves and the squirrels. Maybe that way Nature will hear my cries. If not, I’ll fall asleep under the night veil, so the ancient gods will see me. If neither hear - then I’ve lost all hope.

I cannot do it alone. I need someone I can trust to guide me. Just a little. West could have done it - but he is…

I start sobbing again. It’s uncontrollable. It’s empty and it’s horrific. The ache of the heart lies so deep within I cannot fight it. If I could, I would carve out my heart and lay it bare for the mythical forces to see. See that I’m hurting and need their help.

In a dozen minutes I stand up. I look around and put my hands around myself. Hugging myself tightly, I go back to my room. My eyebrows raised, body in full alert. I’m listening to the noises of the late evening palace. I try to be brave, but these walls do not promise salvation anymore. They talk in hushed whispers, promising death and agony. Whatever its shape might be; A cut off leg due to a freak accident, or mental anguish after losing a family member.

Once on the third floor, I look out of the window. I can see the vast forests spreading to the north. I wish it was as peaceful here as the woodland. I wish our palace’s cloak was more than just better weather conditions. I wish it protected us like the large tree tops protect the grass from burning in hot summers.

The rising sun announces the arrival of the next day. I wipe the sleep from my eyes, unable to find the motivation to move from the bed. I look around - and everything is still the same. A pale pink armchair in the corner of the room faces a small-scale library of my own. These are books my tutors considered unimportant for my development. Romance, adventure, encyclopedias on medicinal herbs. If I was not to become a doctor, why should I bother? A good question indeed. Why should it matter to know all the herbs and their abilities if I couldn’t save him.

It’s been a while since I ran my fingers through pages, since I’ve been in a quiet, peaceful space. Maybe I could fight the grief and read again. Maybe I could forget it all and use books as escapism. Mention of books reminds me of the library - and my memories come back as a wave. Impossible to escape no matter how well sewed the veil is.

The desk hasn’t been touched for a while either. It’s empty. My essays have long been given out, my tests have long been passed. My chair has scratches from all the times I’ve spent moving my feet around, sitting cross legged. I remember crouching down in inhuman positions to grab a pen which fell and rolled under me.

Now my room resembles a relic of a distant past. I can’t see the colors the way I used to - the pastels are paler than before, the turquoise cushions are bleak and dusty. The floor is the same but is missing something that used to dare me to slide on it. I did that for fun. I have no recollection as to why I used to like sliding in my slippers so much. I could have easily broken my ankle.

I get up and go through the wardrobe. I’m searching for something comfortable, something to make the day a little easier. I’m tired, so I move slowly, my stomach hurts. I have not drank enough water either.

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

I let my body decompose slowly, as if punishing myself for a crime. The love I’ve felt was pure. If this love could transport me to the Otherworld, I’d gladly let it consume me wholly. Maybe it could. Maybe I should just leave, embark on an adventure. But there is too much to lose. I can’t leave now. Not when I’m about to discover something big.

I tap the gem by the door. It lightens under my touch and flickers several times. It’s a way to communicate with servants and guards. The guards are in the hallway and the servants in our rooms. This one is made of quartz.

Not even a minute later Auretta appears at my door, ready to dress me. It’s just after dawn - not too early to start the day. She helps me put on the undergarments, skin toned stockings, so finely sewed I cannot see the seams, and a corset, that doesn’t press my organs together. To top it all, a burgundy dress, with puffy shoulder pads and thin fabric descending to my wrists.

“You were gone when I arrived with your plate, Your Highness.” Her tone is inquisitive. In heels, I’m higher than her, and with such a skirt, I’m wider too.

“Yes, I was summoned to the throne room,” I answered, trying to act indifferent. West’s words run through my mind again. Do not trust everyone in the palace. Could it mean her? The girl I’ve been very protective of when I was a kid? The girl who knew firsthand working at the palace meant being seen as the lowliest creature by the nobles? Insignificant and unappealing. This girl knew the hardships and yet, she stayed. I want to trust her.

The servant let our eyes meet, her chestnut ones becoming a soft honey under the sun rays. “Would you like the plate now? With a cup of tea?” My eyes light up. I nod furiously, and follow her to the kitchens. The time we take to arrive underground feels like eternity - the palace truly is grand.

Auretta’s short white dress moves delicately with each step she takes. She seems to be energetic. In the past she reminded me of an angel. Her face used to be angelic - before she was mistreated by the foreigners. Apparently we were the only country to respect the bodies of servants. Thankfully, they left no physical scars. But they still showed on her face. A permanent furrowing of brows when she wasn’t helping me in some way. I noticed it before - but was never brave enough to ask her about it. The pain has been inflicted years ago; if it’s not gone by now, it’ll never disappear.

The kitchen is a large rectangular room with a wine cellar just down the stairs. Servants are already busy around the ovens and working stations. There are large crates of vegetables and freshly cut meat from the butcher. All types of breads, salted and unsalted butter, jams. The servants bow to me and continue working on the breakfast, probably preparing the lunch too.

The smell of herbs and freshly baked goods awakens my appetite. Auretta grabs some sausage and ham, puts it on sliced bread and adds a sprinkle of spices. She even manages to fry an egg quickly. I watch her work, standing awkwardly. It’s pretty dark in here, lit only by artificial lights and candles. The walls are gray stones, with moss between the cracks. But it doesn’t smell of moisture or mold in here. Father usually keeps all compartments of the palace in good shape. I think it’s more the perfection image he’s trying to push, but Mother always said he simply liked living in clean and dry spaces. Then what’s the moss doing here?

“What tea would you like?”

“What do we have?” I ask, looking around the hanging dried leaves.

“Motherwort, maybe? It calms the anxiety and helps you sleep.”

I nod. If I wish to learn the truth and then go to the Isles, I’ll need strength and a good night’s sleep.

We return to my quarters and Auretta waits for further orders. I invite her to sit by my side, in silence. She obeys, and we share some of the tea she’s prepared.

***

I pace around until lunch. I try to think of ways to start Father’s interrogation. I cannot be too straightforward, otherwise he will be mad again.

I get a piece of paper and start scribbling down everything I can think of that will help me. Notes, ideas, memories, people. There’s the matter of the Fae Queen, Astral, is her name. She had an agreement with Father, not only to protect me by using shadowguards, but also to hide a secret together. Timeline is quite clear. I swallow my cries while writing down his name. West was sent to the Isles, but died during the voyage. Queen is angry - she lost her best agent, someone she trusted to keep me, the heir, safe. But why would she be so awfully interested in my well-being? Question for later. I circle the question and move it with an arrow to the corner of the paper.

The letter also mentioned the word ‘revolution’. Is there an uprising I haven’t heard about? Are people being mistreated by the king? Can’t be. I would have heard about it. I would have known, someway.

What bizarre things have happened recently? The tournament. Sir Faxon’s unfortunate demise. He was replaced by a knight. I forgot his name. I hesitate, the pencil levitating on top of the paper, shaking lightly. The nut in the wine. West’s Fae hunter. Library burning down with no casualties. It’s all linked somehow, but I cannot see it, I’m missing something. Something crucial for the investigation. I need more information, I cannot do it alone.

Auretta must hear the talk - she might be able to help out. But can I trust her? She’s been working for us for years now, she was just a young girl when she was taken to the castle to be a maid. I was fifteen when she arrived. I still remember the day. It was snowing, mid-Imbolc. She was wearing puffy clothes and a huge scarf, covering her form from the wind. She was of working age, but looked like a child back then. Her cheeks were puffy and red from the winter cold, and her boots wet.

Her loyalty was never questioned - not even when the whole Kaira mess happened. She stuck by my side when my friend was being taken away. No, her loyalty is non negotiable, she can be trusted. I’m sure of it.

The replacement knight’s arrival coincides with the beginning of incidents. But I don’t have enough information to blame him. Plus, he could not do it alone - he would have been caught a long time ago as the imposter. So, I’m left with nothing but theories, nothing tangible to support my cause.

I sigh, letting go of the pencil. It rolls off the desk and falls on the wooden floor with multiple soft thuds. I groan, hitting my head on the table. I curl my fingers into my scalp and scratch it violently. Damn it. There’s just too many unknowns.

***

I ended up eating lunch by myself in the gardens. The courtyard has been going through repairs, filled to the brim with huffing and puffing workers, moving things around, planting new trees, flower beds and building a new fountain. I was bored after a few minutes and decided to go to the greenhouse.

I was looking at my shoes, tugging on the sleeves of my tunic. It’s been cold recently. 18th Mabon and it feels like we’re mid-Yule. There’s no sun in sight, it’s hiding its warm rays behind gray clouds. It might rain later today.

I stop in my tracks. I can’t believe it’s only been six days since I’ve been to the markets with my bodyguards. It feels like a lifetime ago. I’m trying to focus on tangible things, the ones keeping me grounded, like the grass, clothes and meals. It helps ignore the constant reminders that I’m alone. It’s getting cold, but I don’t feel the chill like I used to. Winter will come, time doesn’t stop for grieving souls. And deep down, I still harbor the hope that West is alive, somewhere far away from here, in Honeyed Combs court. Safe and sound - recovering from shock, maybe in a coma.

I’ve heard of people waking up from such things in other countries. Medical expertise there keeps people alive, even when they’re sleeping for months. Malachite does not possess such things, and the kingdom of Vulpe, does not like sharing with the Grand Gem circle. That’s our fault too, wanting to be part of elites, a group of countries to facilitate trade. The previous rulers have not thought of consequences of creating such a group - other countries evolve too, and once we need their help, they’ll spit right into our faces for not letting them join the club.

In any case, West would have died if he wasn’t immediately taken to the Isles. I should be grateful to the Queen for caring for her subjects. But instead, I only feel jealous that she possesses the man I love. No matter what East thinks of me, I cared for him too. Not as strongly, not as passionately, but I cared.

Feeling the need to have a good cry again, I found a quiet place, where gardeners won’t be touching yet, and sat on the ground. I put my legs to my chest and started moving forward and backward, lullabying myself to calm down, as tears streamed from my eyes.