They say grief comes in five stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally, acceptance. When I mourned my mother, I went through each and every stage. It was around the anniversary of her death that acceptance finally kicked in. I might've been scarred, but at least the wound had healed.
With my father's death, however, I was forced into acceptance from the beginning. I had to accept that he was gone, that the kingdom was likely on the verge of collapse, and that the revolutionaries had once again taken control of our castle.
There was no denying it, no refuting it, and certainly no bargaining. That left depression.
I lay on the bed all day, staring up at the ceiling as silent tears rolled down to my ears. I gave myself this one day—one day to be depressed, one day to mourn my father and the loss of my freedom. But I couldn't wallow forever. I needed a plan. I needed to escape. That, however, was for tomorrow's me. Today's me... just wanted to remember her father.
I remember he used to smile—before Grandpa died, before the war stripped the laughter from him. As soon as he became King Baylor, he was never quite the same. Yet he still cared for us, and he dearly loved my mother. After she passed, he grew distant, rarely returning home from the battlefield. Still, he would write to me from time to time, calling me "Sunshine." Dear Sunshine, he'd begin, telling me to be strong and promising that one day we'd regain what we had lost.
A long sigh escaped me as I turned onto my side. My eyes drifted to the window—the curtains still open—where the pinks and oranges of twilight danced in a hypnotic glow. Or maybe I was just light-headed. Last night's dinner, along with breakfast and lunch, had all gone untouched. It wasn't out of defiance. I knew I needed my strength if I wanted to escape this place. But my sadness wouldn't allow it.
I sat up, pulling my knees to my chest and resting my head on them. My fingertips traced the soft fabric of the dress I wore.
After Kaelen left, a maid had brought me some food and this dress. Back in our kingdom, rumors flew that the revolutionaries lived in squalor—that their economy had collapsed because they had no clue how to manage it. We were told they had no nice things like we once did, that their homes were in ruins, and they dressed like beggars. Yet this dress was surprisingly fine—made of a soft material women in our kingdom would have paid a hefty price for. The manor looked well kept too. Maybe this was only true here inside Aureliath—I thought. Outside the castle, things must be different.
Lost in thought, I barely registered when the bedroom door crashed open. My feet hit the floor automatically as I faced my sudden intruder.
"You haven't eaten," Kaelen said curtly as he stepped inside.
"It's rude to enter a lady's room without knocking," I replied.
"I asked you a question," he said, glaring at me.
"You never asked a question to begin with," I shot back. Kaelen took a few more steps inside before looking away and letting out a frustrated huff.
"Food was sent to your room last night, again this morning, and once more at lunch. You left it untouched every time. I don't know what you're trying to achieve by starving yourself, Princess, but let me assure you—it won't help."
"Stop calling me 'Princess,'" I retorted angrily. "I am not your princess, and you only say it to mock and vex me!"
"I couldn't care less what vexes you, Princess," he said flatly.
I looked away and crossed my arms but remained seated, refusing to rise for him. Besides, I was too light-headed to stand.
"Dinner will be ready soon in the dining hall. You will join me. I have things to discuss with you."
"I don't want to have dinner with you. Say what you need to say here," I said, still refusing to meet his gaze.
"It wasn't a request," Kaelen replied, annoyance clear in his voice. "More dresses will be provided for you soon, and—"
He was interrupted by a maid pushing a tea cart through the open door. Kaelen stepped aside to let her in.
"Dinner might take a while, so I suggest you have some tea," he said before turning to the maid. "Make sure she eats something."
And just like that, Kaelen left as abruptly as he came.
"Please, Madam, eat something. Otherwise, you'll fall ill," the young maid pleaded cheerfully. "The chef makes great sandwiches—may I serve you one?"
My stomach growled at the mention of sandwiches; who was I to refuse? I managed to eat a little, but it felt like something was gnawing at me. Tears threatened to spill again when I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"Have some tea, Madam. It'll calm you—it's my own special blend." She rubbed small, soothing circles into my shoulders. I gave a faint nod and accepted the cup.
"What's your name?" I asked, wiping away a tear as I handed back the empty cup.
"Friya. I've been assigned to you. Lord Commander himself arranged it, you know. He rarely concerns himself with the household help, so it surprised me somewhat," Friya chatted happily while fixing the bedsheets and pillows.
"Oh, look! Your new dresses are here," Friya exclaimed as another maid dragged a chest into the room. Friya helped place it by the bed and eagerly opened it.
The chest contained several dresses, all my size—a detail I hadn't considered before. How did they know my exact measurements?
"Oh, this blue one is gorgeous! There's a red one, a green one," Friya said excitedly. "Oh, and a black dress too."
"Black?" I barely paid attention to the other dresses but was curious about the black one. "Can I see it?" I asked. Friya gladly handed it over.
One glance was enough—I knew it was a mourning dress.
After a quick bath, Friya suggested I wear the green dress, as it matched my eyes. I agreed, though my reasons were different. Green was the color of House Starwyn's banner—the green flag with a silver star.
The star shall rise again, I whispered, our family motto offering reassurance. I must be strong, I repeated as Friya led me toward the dining hall.
The dining hall was quiet when I entered. A long table stretched down the center, and at its head sat Kaelen Thorne, still in full armor. I wondered if he ever took it off. One hand was pressed to the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, lost in thought.
Only when the footman pulled out my chair did he look up.
"Princess. Glad you could join me."
"It's not like I had a choice," I said, settling into the seat without meeting his eyes.
"The chefs prepared a variety for you to try." He gestured toward the spread between us—bowls of warm soup, roasted meats, fresh bread.
"I'd rather you get to the point. What did you need to discuss with me?"
"You seem to have an aversion to food," he said, his brow twitching slightly.
"I don't have an aversion to the food," I replied, voice flat. "I have an aversion to the company."
There was a pause before he gave a brief nod. With a flick of his hand, the servants began clearing the dishes. The sound of plates and silver being lifted was the only noise for a few moments. Then we were alone again, save for the quiet echo of footsteps fading away.
"I sent you dresses," Kaelen said.
I folded my arms and looked away in defiance. I had no need to answer a question he already knew the answer to.
"Then I imagine you know what I want to discuss."
Silence lingered between us.
"My father's funeral," he said calmly, rubbing a hand over the stubble on his jaw. "It's being held tomorrow. I want you to attend."
"Is that a request or a demand?" I asked through gritted teeth.
"I won't force you," he said. "But I will offer you a bargain."
"Unless that bargain includes sending me back to my brother, I'm not interested."
"It concerns your father." His gaze didn't falter.
That made me pause.
"We have his remains," he continued.
"You… what?" My throat constricted.
"If you attend, I'll allow you to give Prince Baylor a proper burial. On Starwyn grounds."
"Don't refer to him as a prince. He was a king. My father was King Baylor." I clenched my fists.
"He may have been your king, Princess. But he wasn't mine." Kaelen's expression remained unchanged.
"Stop calling me 'Princess.'" My fists clenched tighter, knuckles white.
"Would you prefer 'Nyriane'?" he asked, his tone unreadable.
I stood too fast, the chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. "I prefer to hear my father spoken of with respect."
Kaelen barely reacted. "Samuel," he said, glancing at a nearby footman, "fix the chair. And bring the princess some water."
I stared at him, heart pounding. The only sound was my heavy breathing.
"Sit down, Princess," he said, more firmly now.
I hesitated, then slowly sat, tension still pulsing through me.
He waited a beat. "Would you not want your father laid to rest where he belongs?"
"Of course I do." I glared at him. My eyes burned, but I refused to let a single tear fall in front of this man.
"The Starwyn graveyard still stands," he said. "I'll let your father be buried there. But you need to attend the late Lord Commander's funeral first."
Silence fell between us again. This time, it was heavy—almost tangible.
"I have one more request before I agree," I said, my voice still shaking, though calmer than before.
Kaelen remained quiet, studying my face, but he let me continue.
"I want to know how my father died."
"He was killed by Craven Fenwyn. I didn't see it myself—I was stationed elsewhere. But I've heard from those who did. They fought. Your father struck a deep blow, but Fenwyn landed the final one. Your father died on the field. Fenwyn followed shortly after."
I looked away. The image—however imagined—was too heavy.
"Do you need someone else to confirm it?" he asked quietly.
"No," I said. "That will be all."
Kaelen gave a slow nod.
"I'll attend," I added, standing once more. "For my father."
Then I left the hall without waiting for him to speak again.