The death of a king or queen was mourned by the entire nation. In San Asari, their life was celebrated and their death was acknowledged for an entire month before the heir took their place.

Adelinde considered it fitting to play in the music district’s gazebo for her own father’s death. Most of the other musicians—and even a portion of the townsfolk—could recognize her, some greeting her by name as she came up to the piano. With her interests in mind, she imagined, the musicians around her tried to shift into something quicker and more cheerful; she stubbornly remained solemn instead.

Certain notes reminded her of the song she and Mark played for their father just before he died—a song Mother wrote for him, meant to be played by the couple in question. That melody was the last thing the king heard, and even decades later Adelinde had trouble listening to the entire thing without remembering the peaceful expression as he slipped away, almost smiling. She wondered if he saw Mother, brought there by their children’s music.

She only partially paid attention to the music, otherwise lost in her own thoughts and playing accordingly. She compared this city-wide mourning to Mother’s small funeral—realized that her death would be like Father’s, Mark’s would be like Mother’s—and eventually decided that she could only really escape the song that was starting to haunt her if she wrote it down.

Adelinde didn’t stray far—she promised Mark she wouldn’t, while Mark himself was preparing for her eventual coronation. She bought an empty score book largely on impulse, borrowed a sympathetic friend’s pen, and wrote down the notes as they played in her head. It filled the first few pages of the same book she would use to write down songs about Aurik during his trials, an entire book filled with music she never wanted to hear again in her entire life.

She didn’t know how long it was until someone came up next to her, trying to catch her attention by normal means before finally commenting directly on what kept her occupied.

“That’s a pretty tumultuous song you’re writing.”

Adelinde quickly closed the score book on instinct, glancing over at the stranger. She could easily recall her first thought: how he looked to be a noble, but he seemed more respectful—and humble—than any noble she ever spoke to. That did make her inclined to speak with him, forgetting her reason for being there for a moment—even if something was still off-putting.

“You played really well up there,” he said nicely. Apparently having very little tact—which she confirmed only a few weeks later—he added, “Even when you looked about ready to shed a few tears, you looked elegant.”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?” Adelinde asked, more confused than offended.

“Compliment,” he replied almost immediately, donning a sheepish look for a moment. “I don’t talk to people a lot, sorry. Just to explain—basically, emotion gives extra weight to a song. If you’re playing a sad song and aren’t a little moved, then you’re not really playing it.”

That caught her attention. “Are you a musician?”

“Not necessarily,” he said, “But I read a lot on music theory—what makes a song sound nice, different types of music, that kind of thing.”

Adelinde set the score book aside, giving him a curious look.

“What’s your name?”

“Aurik Qrian.” He paused for a moment, gaining a kind of awkward look. “You?”

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“Adelinde Dakari.”

“Oh!” Aurik offered a kind of bow, with the awkwardness remaining. She found it oddly endearing. “Should I call you ‘princess,’ or..?”

“Just Adelinde is fine.” She gestured for him to sit on the bench next to her, and he joined her after a second’s hesitation. “As you can imagine, I…need a distraction. Would you…mind entertaining some conversation with me?”

“I have spare time. Go ahead.”

They formed a connection of sorts in just a few minutes, sharing an admiration of music. That first conversation was a lot like their relationship as a whole—wary, shy of the people around them, before a certain moment where they stopped caring and didn’t notice anyone passing by until Mark came to get Adelinde.

They promised to meet the next day, then the day after that, then sometime in the following week.

…

Adelinde and Aurik kept up fairly often meetings, even when Adelinde became queen and couldn’t spend as much time with him. After a month they were dating; two years, engaged.

He proposed on her eighteenth birthday, promising a grand life and a family. Aurik told her that she was the only thing he ever needed, that he would give almost anything to create the future he saw for them. She only realized later that his ‘future’ would require almost complete stasis.

Adelinde had to work up some kind of courage to even ask him to the palace when she learned she was pregnant. Ultimately, she told Mark first—partly because he noticed something was bothering her, and partly because she needed someone to help convince her it would be fine. She had a strong fear—dulled by Mark’s assurances, although she knew he must regret it now—that Aurik wouldn’t take the news well. Such unfounded anxieties were rare back then.

Somehow she managed to think on the brighter side of things—ignore any feelings that made her question anything—when Aurik actually arrived, meeting him in the office. She was only a month along, by her own estimation, but doing something productive in the meantime helped; as a result, she started writing up the official announcement, which would be sent out in a few weeks.

Aurik simply walked in, giving her a somewhat teasing smile.

“You said you wouldn’t work today,” he noted.

“I’m just getting something written up while I have the time,” Adelinde replied.

He came a bit closer to see what it read so far, then looked back up at her.

“Need something from the council?”

Adelinde shook her head. “Eventually, I imagine the whole nation would hear it.”

“Did something happen?” Aurik asked, noticeably concerned.

“No; nothing’s wrong.” Suddenly it didn’t exactly seem real, so she walked around the desk. She leaned into him, and he gently held her in response. Adelinde looked up so she could see his expression, if only to allay any fears of what he might say. “But I do have news. I’m pregnant—given some time, we’ll be parents.”

Nineteen was considered young for a mother in Dakari; typically, one would get married in their early twenties and then have their first child three or four years later. Older exceptions—people who never married until they were in their thirties or forties—were more common than the few who were engaged when they were eighteen.

Adelinde assumed, at the time, that the difference between them and most other Dakari couples was why Aurik’s hold on her faltered, bringing her closer and almost pushing her away in the same second, not even looking at her with some kind of conflict in his expression.

“It’s not quite real for me, either,” Adelinde admitted, speaking to what she thought was the issue. “But it will be, in time. I fully believe we’re ready—we have more support than others our age do, at least.”

The conflict in his expression faded into a decision, and he let go of her and stepped away.

“That’s great news,” he said. She took it as a reassurance, although memory warped it to sound more forced than it was. “I’m…going to need a little bit of time, though. It’s good, but it…means a lot.”

“Take whatever time you need,” Adelinde said, stepping away from him as well. Somewhat teasingly, although she knew it didn’t entirely sound like it, she added, “Just don’t travel halfway across the country. I need you to be here with me through this.”

“Don’t worry.” He offered a kiss, then started walking towards the door. “I won’t leave you on your own.”