Cassandra noticed colors.

It wasn’t the normal kind that she had seen throughout the palace, or outside behind the gates, where the thin green vines crept up above the walls. Nor the clear, distinct blue in the sky when there wasn’t a single cloud above, and the yellow glow of sunlight fell upon her hair.

These ones were muddled together, similar to what the royal artist’s palette looked like when he had painted her portrait, in which she had to sit still for a grueling six hours. They gradually became a murky, dark brown color, blurry, quite hard to see. The saliva in her mouth was sour, and a dull headache had settled at the back of her skull. No matter how many times she blinked, the colors worsened until they fell apart and crumbled into dust.

For several hours, Cassandra remained huddled in a thick blanket, shivering uncontrollably and curled up into Charlotte’s arms. Her throat was raw and sore, and despite her lady-in-waiting attempting to get her to drink some hot liquid in a mug, she could not move, let alone barely raise it to her lips. She heard her sisters’ sobs in the distance, her father’s bellowing tone, guards swarming in the hallway like ants—so many men, Grandmother in tears, begging them to cut her mother down, for a servant to get a knife in the kitchen and saw the rope.

In her nightgown, the drawing was folded deep into her pocket, the edge of the page poking against her knee. She remembered being carried to her bed, and, despite all of the noises she heard outside, she soon drifted into a dreamless sleep, one that she she wasn’t sure she was prepared to wake up from. She tightly held onto Charlotte’s hand.

When she awoke, she found out that Delilah had been sentenced to the gallows.

* * * * * * * *

The burial ceremony occurred on a cold, rainy day, when the sky was weeping and the trees had become lopsided, like melted candlesticks.

Thousands of people swarmed outside the palace gates to pay their respects to the Queen, and the valued members of the king’s court solemnly stood by the coffin, one by one, all clad in black.

In the background, several musicians played on the violin, their music filled the cold air, which only partially covered the sound of the rain pattering against the stone walls. Dressed in bright blue justaucorps, their shoe buckles brightly shone, like glittering gems—a shocking contrast against the snow white wigs they wore.

Cassandra, dressed in a long black lace gown, focused her gaze on the lit candles in the room, the spots of saliva that flew from the priest’s mouth as he spoke. Her curly hair had been forced into tight braids and ribbons that only make the pulsing behind her skull worse beneath her crown—Grandmother had ordered Charlotte to make her presentable. She had not approached the coffin, but she could just make out the tip of her mother’s velvet shoes from where she sat, the jewels that glittered around her ears and neck. Anne was silent, her face even more pale against the black dress she wore, but Audrey’s eyes were red rimmed as she sobbed into Grandmother’s arms.

For the first time in over half a year, Cassandra saw her father. She barely recognized him, but when Grandmother motioned for them to stand up in his presence, as with all of the other guests, a knot grew in her stomach.

He was frail, extremely thin, much taller than Cassandra had remembered, and he looked to be unwashed. Stains were visible on the plain white shirt and breaches he wore, and his hair was chopped short. Uneven whiskers marked his face, and his crown was nowhere in sight. Grandmother expressed disgust at his appearance, and she glanced at Cassandra, was solemnly staring at her shoes. Her sisters had stopped crying.

“Come and greet your King,” she demanded.

Cassandra gave her a quick gaze, before running out of the church, her shoes echoing against the stone floor. She didn’t want to look into her mother’s coffin, or see them lower her into the ground. Despite her grandmother’s shouts, she continued to run until she reached the east garden, where the rain had begun to fall much heavier and quicker. Her shoes caused her to slip and fall in the mud, dirtying up her gown, but she kept going until she hid in one of the stables, the fresh smell of hay burning her nose. The pregnant mare that had just been brought in the week before nudged her palm with a wet nose, and Cassandra bent down and scooped up a handful of oats to give to the animal. When she silently stroked the mare’s coat, her face soaking wet, she found that the hay had no color.

* * * * * * * * *

As the shapes around her began to change within the following months, Cassandra found that the blurriness seemed to follow her everywhere. No matter how hard she rubbed her eyes until they stung, how her tutor yelled at her for failing to keep up in her French lessons, or how Grandmother scolded her again for accidentally knocking over food at the table, items kept disappearing in front of her. Time to time, she wondered how no one could see how they vanished into thin air.

She was not aware of their presence until they suddenly brushed up against her hand. Most days, she would wake up and wonder why her bedroom was so dark, and be startled by the sound of Charlotte’s concerned footsteps as she tripped and fell due to walking straight into a chair, resulting in a bruised knee. She kept calling out for Charlotte, wondering why she had left as well, although she could only hear the woman’s voice, feel her arms pick her up to comfort her as the princess began to break down and cry.

People had started to disappear, too.

One morning, after Cassandra had breakfast in her room —Grandmother had ordered her to stop taking meals in the dining hall with her sisters because she always made such a mess— she heard the front door squeak and turned her head to the side. Food stains lined the sleeve of her favorite pink nightgown as she set slowly down her fork. Her fingers dug into the lace tablecloth as she was apparent of the man’s presence in the room. Immediately, the child stood up, but Charlotte’s voice calmed her down. She felt her rough hand squeeze her palm, and she exhaled with relief.

“Cassandra, do not be frightened, my dear. This is Dr. Hilvesberg. He has come to examine your eyes. Your father has sent for him. And please stop rubbing them.”

My eyes? Cassandra wondered, but she had hardly sat down when the man pulled out a strange tool. After raising her eyelids with both fingers, he asked her many questions, and she tried her best to answer them. There was a heavy silence in the room as both adults stepped outside, talking in low, quiet voices. When the door opened again, Cassandra heard soft sobs.

“Charlotte?” the child asked. With her hands, she felt around the edge of the table, causing a teacup to loudly rattle. “Charlotte?”

She felt two strong arms wrap around her, pulling her in an embrace.

”Why are you crying?” Cassandra whispered. “Was it something I did?”

”No. Not at all, darling,” Charlotte replied, attempting to hide the shakiness in her voice. “Just a bit overwhelmed, that is all.”

“You’re….you’re not going home, are you?” A sensation of dread filled Cassandra. The past few weeks had indeed been terribly lonely for her, and she longed to go and play with her sisters, whom she had not been around with since Mama’s funeral. If her only friend left, she wasn’t sure if she would ever survive. The thought made a lump rose in her throat. “Please, don’t leave!”

”No, no, no,” the maid softly replied. “No. I am here. I am going to be here with you.” She gave Cassandra’s hand a soft squeeze. “You do not have to worry about that.”

Don’t go to the basement, the princess wanted to say. I don’t want you to disappear.

“The doctor can’t help us,” Charlotte continued, “so we’re going to have to help ourselves, Your Highness.” She quietly exhaled, quickly wiping her cheeks with her hand. “And that is all there is to it.”

Water spilled down the princess’s face, collecting around the bottom of her chin. “Grandmother knows I can’t see anymore. She doesn’t want me around her. I’m a cripple. That’s what she tells me. Anne and Audrey call me that too.” Her voice shook. “I’m a cripple, aren’t I? And it is my fault that Mama is gone. If I was watching Charlie before, I—”

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“Stop it!” Charlotte fiercely said, grabbing both of her hands. “You stop it, right now.” Using the edge of her apron, she cleaned Cassandra’s face. “Do not blame yourself for your mother’s death. You must not believe the words that fall out of your grandmother’s mouth. You mustn’t listen to her. I don’t want to ever hear you say something like that about yourself again. Do you understand me?”

Cassandra sniffed.

Charlotte scooped her up and carried her to the windowsill, before sitting down sideways against the large painted ledge. Cassandra could feel the warm heat coming in through the glass, the sunlight on her face. “You are no different than anyone else, and do not let others treat you as such.” The maid gently pushed a curl out of the girl’s face, before gently waving her hand in front of her cloudy eyes. “Now, tell me. Can you make out an object in the room? Anything will do.”

“Shadows,” the princess whispered.

“How far are they? Can you see mine?”

”I can make out yours. But ‘tis only a shape.”

Charlotte pursed her lips for a moment, before glancing around the bedchamber. She suddenly got to her feet, and began to push tables and chairs to the side, the bottom of their legs squeaking against the floor. Cassandra frowned and scooted towards the edge of the windowsill. Her face was wet. The heat was on her back now, making her dark hair appear golden around the edges.

“What are you doing?” Cassandra asked.

Charlotte exhaled and tucked a few strands of hair underneath her cap. Beads of sweat gathered on her forehead, and she placed her palms on her hips, glancing at the exposed carpet.

”Your Highness,” she said, “I want you to come over to me. Come here.”

Cassandra froze. Her small hands tightened around the window ledge. “I can’t. You’re too far. Can’t you come over here?”

“No, my dear.” There was a slight pause. “You’re not always going to have someone to help you move from one place to another. You need to be familiar with your surroundings. We can start with your room first.”

”But…I…I can’t!”

”Why?”

The little girl frowned and folded her arms. “Grandmother said a Tillamore can’t be a cripple—”

“What have I told you about listening to that woman? You shan’t know until you try.”

”I don’t want to.”

”Sometimes, we have to do things we don’t want to. It’s a part of growing up.”

A deep red haze fell upon Cassandra’s cheeks. “I’ll fall off the windowsill. It’s high.”

“And how do you know that?”

The young princess sighed. After feeling around with the curtains, she gripped the ledge of the window with her sweaty palms. Shivers ran down her spine, but the moment her toes touched the ground, she slowly held her arms out, startled by nothing to grab.

“Charlotte,” she loudly whispered. Her heart was thudding heavily in her chest. “Charlotte.”

“I’m here, Your Highness. You need to listen to where my voice is coming from.”

“But I don’t know where I am. Please, can you hold my hand?”

She could almost imagine Charlotte’s smile. “Surely, you remember what your room looks like. Your dresser, your bed, your desk. You are not too far from either of those things. Now, walk towards me. Slowly. That’s it.”

“I’ll bump into something,” Cassandra replied.

“You won’t. Trust me. Come forward.”

Trust me.

It was those words that Cassandra could never really understand. Words that she had heard so many times by others, but had never really seen executed. She recalled Papa telling Mama that very same thing, when he was attempting to convince her that he needed to be alone for a while to sort things out. Her eyes burned again, and she attempted to shift her thoughts from her mother. The wooden floor was smooth against her bare feet, but as she took another step forward, she was surprised by the soft material of the carpet beneath her.

Slowly, she knelt down and felt the texture with her palms. The soft crackling sound of the fireplace caught her attention, and for a moment, she remained still. A bird landed on the windowsill outside, breaking out into a warbled tune. The sound of the servants’ footsteps echoing in the hallway outside of her bedchambers filled her ears, and she could hear their voices bouncing off the wall.

Cassandra stood up and took a few more steps. The lack of something to hold onto nearby still made her nervous, but a warm smile broke across her face as she found herself in Charlotte’s arms, pulling her into a strong embrace.

“My sweet child. You’ve only got to learn how use your memory,” the maid told her. “We shall practice a little bit every day, yes?”

The floor became cold again. Cassandra clung to Charlotte’s skirts as a fresh gust of air fell upon her face, blowing her curls back. She shivered, but continued to walk forward. Charlotte stopped, although she never let go of Cassandra’s hand.

“Where are we, Your Highness?”

Cassandra pondered for a moment. Then, she perked up. “The hallway!”

“Why do you think so?”

A grin broke across Cassandra’s face. “Because your voice is echoey. Much more than before. And it is a lot more colder.” She ran her hand across the wall, each individual stone rough against her fingertips.

”Aye,” Charlotte quietly said, placing a kiss on top of the girl’s head. “Good. Very good.”

* * * * * * * *

A few weeks before the triplets’ ninth birthday, Thera Tillamore took over the throne. Due to John’s absence, the Cumbrians had grown increasingly agitated over the rise of taxes, a new law that she had passed over time. With her son’s whereabouts unknown most of the time, Thera began to spend lavishly, hosting grand balls nearly every week. She wore gowns adorned with diamond and jewels, and painted her face with makeup every day.

When she did go out on public, she always made sure to do so in style—her large, colorful skirts and ostrich feathers a distinct contrast against the streets of Ormond.

She often ignored her advisors, and continued to raise tax prices. Anyone who was unable to pay or fell behind in debt was immediately thrown in prison, and his property was seized by the new Queen. She signed this law into effect the following spring of 1724, three years after Gloria’s death.

Although being forty-five years old, Thera’s natural beauty was one that still attracted many gentlemen of the court. She spent many nights with several men that she had met, sometimes days at a time in her chambers, tangled up in her sheets with them. During this stage, she felt as if she was almost eighteen again, she, a young French princess preparing to marry an English king. Marriage, she had hoped, was an escape from her overbearing mother, one that constantly critiqued her, no matter what she said.

In her dreams, she saw Elsie and Gloria.

She didn’t want to sleep at night. One particular evening, as she was in bed with a lover, there was a faint knock at the door. At first, she didn’t hear it—the mattress was creaking loudly. Her delicate fingers gripped the wooden bed frame, her hips aligned with the man she was with. She didn’t know his name, but he had some slight gray in his hair, with a thin, slender figure. When he had first kissed her, the sensation made her gasp, but it had blossomed into something sweet, like the dark red wine she would enjoy most nights at the galas.

She sighed and pressed herself closer to him, secretly hoping that he would stay around a little bit longer than the last one. Her long hair was down to her waist, and she could feel his hands on her breasts.

Thera arched her back. Please, she thought. Don’t run off like the others. Stay with me. I can give you whatever you want if you stay.

But of course, these thoughts were fleeting, similar to his stamina. When the man rolled over to the side of the bed to fall asleep, Thera laid on her back, breathless against the pillow, unable to shake off her great disappointment. She exhaled and briefly closed her eyes. There would always be tomorrow night.

The knock on the door continued.

Agitated, she threw her silk nightgown on and flung it open, ready to give a guard or a servant who dared to disturb her so late in the evening, a piece of her mind. Instead, to her surprise, she noticed John’s figure slumped against the wall. She hadn’t seen her son since the funeral, and he had lost a great deal of weight, resembling a skeleton. He wore civilian clothing, and his stockings were torn, his shoes scuffed.

Thera wrinkled her nose. He stank of liquor.

His face slightly lit up.

“Mother?”

Thera’s cheeks burned. How dare you show your face to me now, after leaving your responsibilities to me, she thought. It’s been three years, where on earth have you been?

He struggled to his feet at the sight of her presence. His large blue eyes were bloodshot, and he was covered in bruises and cuts, like he had been in a scuffle. He weakly took a step forward to her, slightly surprised at her rejuvenated appearance, the scattered grays in her hair, the lingering passion in her eyes.

“Mother,” he hoarsely said. “The voices. They’ve come back.”

A smirk gathered across Thera’s face.

”Please,” John whispered. “Help me.”

The Cumbrian queen folded her arms over her chest, ignoring the lingering pain between her legs. Without a word, she slammed the door in his face and locked it, before climbing into the bed with her lover and blowing out the candle in the room.

Thera hooked her legs around his hips. She smiled, her hair covering half her face. When she settled up on top of him, bunching her nightgown around her thighs, her searching hands felt for his face in the dark.