Chapter 23
The Kingdom of Dunverra had fallen into a great hush of mourning. At every household threshold, an illustration of our Divine Mother Ombrithar had been placed, framed by three long bands of white silk. One in memory of the King, one for the Queen, and the third for the child they lost before it ever drew breath.
Within the temple, each private chamber bore the same tribute fastened upon its door. For six days now, the halls had been alive with movement and solemn purpose. All bustled about in preparation for the royal funeral.
Every stone was scrubbed. The altar was polished. Servants of Ombrithar had arrived from distant temples to lend their hands, and many noble households sent their slaves to assist. A few nobles even came themselves.
The secluded garden that had long been marked for restoration was now full of life. Once abandoned, it had become the center of attention. Craftsmen, architects, and gardeners toiled there from dawn until dusk, transforming it swiftly under command. Even in death, Their Majesties brought beauty to what had been forgotten.
I had been assigned to sweep the temple grounds, alongside a dozen others. We were given four days to complete the task, as the funeral was to be held on the tenth day of mourning.
I swept, or at least I tried. My hands moved with the broom, but my thoughts were adrift elsewhere. I could see nothing but Princess Yseldra. I still remembered the way she held two toy horses in her hands, debating which one to gift her younger sibling. She had looked at the chosen one so fondly as she confided in me that her mother was expecting. The way she smiled then. So full of hope.
My heart ached most terribly for her.
She must be drowning in sorrow. I wished to go to her, but I knew she did not need me. Not now. She would be surrounded by royal ministers. She was surely far busier than we.
"I wonder if the coronation has already been arranged…" Sister Mirelle said a few paces away, her broom stirring the dust.
"It is customarily held the day following the funeral," answered Sister Juliara, sweeping beside her.
"I have never known a queen to rule Dunverra," a Brother remarked from the soil, pulling weeds with gloved hands.
"Why should a queen not govern?" Sister Juliara said plainly, sweeping dirt toward him.
"She is a woman," he replied flatly, casting her a glance. "What powerful man would heed a woman's command?"
"Mind your tone," Sister Juliara snapped.
I quietly turned and made my way to another corner of the path, not wishing to hear more.
Princess Yseldra was to ascend the throne. She would be Queen. And I… I was no one. Even as a princess, her days were consumed by duty. As Queen, she would belong to the kingdom entirely. There would be no leaving for Baymoon now. When I first gave her my heart, I was forced to end it. When at last I had chosen to flee with her, that dream too was taken. For our sin, Ombrithar was chastening us. If I were fortunate, I might catch a glimpse of her at the funeral. And that, I feared, would be the end of us.
The thought stung. My vision blurred for a moment, but I blinked quickly, willing the tears away. There were too many eyes about.
---
The day of the funeral had arrived.
I stood quietly at the side of the nave as guests entered one by one with their attending slaves and servants. Upon passing the threshold and checking in with one of the royal ministers, each guest removed their cloak and handed it to their slave, who would then retreat into the side chamber we had set aside for them. All who entered were clad in deepest black, a sea of shadowed figures in reverent silence.
The nave was soon murmuring with whispers as the crowd waited for the ceremony to commence. But I scarcely paid the guests any heed. My gaze had found my beloved.
She sat alone upon a pew on the left, nearest to the main aisle. Her eyes remained fixed upon the two white caskets that lay before the altar - ornately carved and so terribly still.
Among all the splendid gowns I have seen her wear, many of which were not quite suited to modest company, the one she wore today was plain. Modest to the collar. Long-sleeved. Heavy with silence. Her skin was fully covered.
"Why have your parents not yet arrived?" Sister Alethea whispered beside me.
"I am not certain," I replied quietly. "What if they were never sent an invitation?"
The nave was filling quickly now. I searched for a man with hair of steel blue, my father's, or a woman crowned with golden strands, my mother. But there were too many.
"They are not listed among the invited guests," Sister Juliara remarked, having joined us unnoticed. "The names were given to us directly by the royal ministers."
I lowered my eyes and rubbed my arm gently, a small ache blooming in my chest. I had wished dearly to see them.
Sister Alethea narrowed her eyes. "This is all very suspicious."
"Why should you think so?" I asked. "Surely not every noble household was summoned. There must be reason for their absence."
But even as I spoke, my attention drifted toward Her Highness.
A soldier bearing the Valebrinth crest on the back of his armor strode swiftly down the nave and knelt beside her, whispering something into her ear. For the first time since the ceremony began, she stirred.
She laughed.
I could not hear it amidst the low murmurs that filled the nave, but I saw the shape of it upon her lips. I knew her laughter.
She lifted one hand and gave a small, decisive snap.
Nerissea appeared from somewhere and leaned down at Princess Yseldra's side. A whisper passed between them then Nerissea straightened and turned. She moved gracefully, her eyes scanning the nave. And then her teal eyes found me.
"Elegant lady approaching," Sister Alethea whispered as Nerissea glided toward us. "They are scheming something. Quick, slip away before she reaches us," she hissed, poking at my back with impatience.
But I could not move. I stood rooted in place, heart pounding, unable to will my feet away. Though a faint unease stirred within me at the sight of Nerissea, I could not flee. What if my beloved had sent for me? What if she needed me in her hour of grief?
"Ah, wait," Sister Alethea uttered again, sighing with relief. "The King is dead. You can no longer marry into the family. My panic was quite unnecessary."
"That is hardly a matter for comfort," I replied under my breath, gently reproving.
She opened her mouth to speak, but fell silent as Nerissea stepped before me.
She inclined her head with courtly grace. "Greetings, Sister Naevia," she said. Her voice was soft and even, though her face bore no expression. "Princess Yseldra requests a word. Might you accompany me for a moment?"
"I would be most honored," I replied far too quickly. Before Nerissea could even turn, I was already moving.
When I reached Princess Yseldra, I did not know whether to weep for her sorrow or strive to be as I have ever been, lest my pity weigh upon her heart.
"Would you mind sitting with me?" she asked, offering a small, tired smile. "The pew is quite empty, and I find myself rather lonely."
I lowered myself beside her. I longed to sit so closely our shoulders might touch, but the nave was filled with watching eyes, and so I left a modest arm's length between us.
"When the ceremony concludes," she said, "might you join me for tea outdoors?"
"Of course, Your Highness," I answered. "You need never ask."
The ceremony commenced with Father Edgar speaking solemnly from behind the altar, though I must confess, I scarcely heard a single word he uttered.
My gaze remained fixed upon the dais, where noble figures stepped forward to deliver their tributes and priests rose to offer sacred rites. Their voices rose and fell like distant waves, but none of it reached me with clarity. My thoughts were entirely consumed by my beloved.
I rehearsed gentle words of condolence in my mind. I turned over phrases carefully, testing their weight and softness. I longed to offer her comfort, but feared saying something that might deepen her sorrow. Should I say I was sorry? Or perhaps that I was simply near, should she need someone? Words can be so fragile, so easily broken under the heaviness of grief.
Before I realized it, the moment had passed. The caskets were lifted and carried out of the nave. We were to follow them now to their final resting place.
I found myself sharing a carriage with Nerissea. She sat across from me, her posture graceful, hands folded neatly in her lap, her gaze resting silently upon the window.
I looked at her with quiet curiosity. The longer I observed her, the more I began to understand why Princess Yseldra might find pleasure in her company. Her every movement was steeped in elegance, and her features were striking in a way that could not easily be dismissed. Her pastel pink hair flowed like silk to her lower back. And her teal eyes… they rather ensnared the gaze. Even her voice sounded nice. Were it not for the mark upon her neck, I would never have guessed she was a slave.
Our carriage soon parted from the procession and veered down a path all its own, attended by near three dozen royal soldiers who rode in close guard about us.
My eyes moved in confusion from them to the road we had now forsaken.
"We are going to the palace," Nerissea said softy.