My jaw slackened. “I beg your pardon?”
“I was hoping to use the pond to practice some water-based spells, and…” His words fell away as my mouth became a tight line.
“Of course, Your Highness,” I mumbled as I rose to my feet, unable to summon the subservient expression expected of me.
He shook his head, adjusting his spectacles with one hand. “No. Never mind. I’ll find somewhere else.”
“If that is your wish, sire.”
I curtsied, as I should have done at the start of our conversation, and he nodded before turning away. I was, thankfully, left alone in my thoughts once more. Irritation simmered in the back of my mind over the way I’d been addressed, how I was made to feel small simply because of my social status. The many tomes Papa had made me read aloud—filled with ideas of equality, dignity, and the value of every soul—rose unexpectedly in my mind.
You’re made for more, Lyranore.
I ground my teeth until my jaw ached. Papa might have believed all sorts of ridiculous notions about my future, but that didn’t mean any of it was true, orshouldcome true. I’d had an abundance of hopes for his future, and yet those were all now dashed against the rocks beneath my feet. We were supposed to travel together once he felt better. I’d bought him an atlas when he first fell ill so we could start planning our family trip. He was going to take me to the Wild Lands, to our ancestors’ home. We were going to see shows of wonder in Kerimiya, feast on savoury creations in Cobleran, hike through Junira’s forest of giants…
He was supposed to be there when I found success, cheering me on from the sidelines. When I got married to the love of my life. When I finally made something of myself.
A frog hopped off a dark green lily pad, and its splash stole my attention. The pad floated toward me, away from its fuchsia-colored lily. It settled at the edge of the pond, replacing my reflection.
I let out a sob.
It was the only time I allowed myself to cry for my father, the only time I truly let myself feel the pain of his loss.
He’d never get to see me become the person he believed I could be—someone who now felt forever out of reach.
My head hung low as I walked out of the palace. My eyes were red and sore from watching dragonflies dance between raindrops. The water mingled with my own tears. As I passed the gate, a guard jogged over to me.
“Hello.”
My expression hardened. “Yes?”
“I…” His voice faltered. “I simply wanted to see if you were okay.”
“Why?”
“I saw you earlier by the pond. You didn’t seem okay.”
I looked at him, at the shaggy brown hair that fell into his eyes and the earnestness that shaped his features. “My papa died today.”
He drew in a sharp breath. “I’m terribly sorry.”
I offered a tight smile and turned to go. The guard hurried to keep pace with me. “May I walk you home? I’m headed into the Capitol myself.”
I nodded without stopping, and we walked through the city in silence broken only by peals of thunder and rain clanging against rooftops. We were a soaked pair by the time he bid me goodbye, his hair sopping but his expression still strangely warm.
I failed to hear his parting words as I trudged inside alone.
The odd guard vanished from my thoughts as a curtain of grief drew itself around my home. For weeks, I refused to leave. Every movement, every word, ached like a weapon’s strike, and so I did nothing but lie and stare at the still world Papa left behind. The whole house smelled of him—fire and ash, parchment and dust. Every room I glanced into held memories I did not want to relive. And the world felt heavy, as though even the air weighed me down during those all-consuming weeks of mourning.
When I finally returned to the palace out of necessity, a familiar figure lingered at the edge of a palace hallway. That same palace guard who’d walked me home waved my way and jogged over to me. Suddenly, the grief felt a little lighter. He eagerly inquired about my father, about my health, about myself.
It was… nice. In a way wholly unfamiliar. One that helped distract me from the sorrow that ached like a bad bruise with each day of service.
On a sunny morning a few weeks later, flies buzzing around us, he and I observed the royal family play croquet in the fields. We sat in the shadows of a large oak, my head resting on his shoulders as Prince Stephen missed his shot entirely.
“Oh dear,” I murmured.
David snorted.
