As if gripped by a profound sorrow, the palace gates opened with a mournful creak, allowing Teresa and her retinue to pass through. She reined in her horse, casting a glance back at the lone brown carriage trailing closely behind her, its guise of humble origin. A knight hastened to her side, extending a hand in assistance as she dismounted, but Teresa paid him no mind, breaking protocol entirely.

    Silently, she approached the carriage carrying Bishop. The coachmen and surrounding knights bowed, not only out of respect for their princess but also out of a palpable fear, lest she catch their gaze straying too near where her beloved lay.

    "Did he lay complaint?"

    "Y-your Imperial Highness?"

    Teresa turned to the nearest knight and frowned, her tone cutting through the tense atmosphere like a blade. “Did the Imperial Crown Consort have any form of discomfort on our journey home?”

    When the knights, paralyzed by confusion and terror, turned to look at each other as if hoping one would be brave enough to respond, the air shifted. As if the fabric of reality was unraveling around them, the knights were thrown to the ground by a powerful force. A tremor coursed to the depths of their being as a dull pain made them dumb to their senses. Delirium set in.

    "No, Your Imperial Highness," Sir Irro's voice rang out with authority. "He remained weak but rested throughout the journey."

    Relief washed over them as the force withdrew from their bodies and they were released from the Crown Princess' divine. None knew up from down, left from right, and if her personal knight had not spoken on their behalf, the knights were sure they would’ve become empty vessels, their minds stripped away, and their souls disintegrated.

    "Very well. Take him inside, directly to the Meistre, not the physicians," Teresa instructed, her gaze softening as it settled upon Bishop's pallid face. "Handle him with utmost care."

    The knights got to work, a well-drilled team swiftly executing her commands. Teresa observed them with a cold detachment. She was seeing nothing but dark blurs, flurrying about, carrying the only light in the void that seemingly consumed her.

    Bishop was all she saw; all she could see.

    His eyes, once a beautiful silvery color, were empty beneath heavy lids. His fair complexion, once radiant as the sun, now ashen and wan. His heartbeat, a faint rhythm beneath his skin, barely pulsed against his neck. Every detail etched itself into Teresa's consciousness, a sight she refused to forget.

    "They must hasten," Teresa murmured to herself, her thoughts racing as she watched the faceless shadows scurry about. "Bishop needs immediate care."

    Before she could issue another command, the knights stilled in unison. All knelt with their right fists over their chests, and their chins tucked to their necks, a sign of deep reverence for a higher authority. Yet in that moment, there existed no authority higher than Teresa's own... save for—

    "Serai, you have returned."

    Entering the courtyard with regal poise, adorned in her full royal regalia, was the matriarchal monarch herself, Empress Raquelle. Teresa’s blood mother. And following close behind her, almost as if shadowing the Empress, was the Imperial Prince Tomas, her younger brother of three years, and the empress’ entourage of maidservants and knights.

    "We were gravely concerned upon hearing of the Imperial Consort's condition," the Empress began, her words dripping with grace and elegance. "We offer prayers of gratitude to the gods for his safe return."

    Teresa paused and regarded her mother with a measured gaze, then made a... decision.

    Marching towards her, she knelt on one knee and took the empress' hand, a gesture of fealty as done by knights. After pressing her lips against the skin, Teresa rose without a word and strode right past them. The stunned silence that followed was filled the sounds of her receding footsteps.

    It was not as though she did not acknowledge her mother with proper decorum. She paid filial respects, as she should, with her knight’s greeting. However, to not respond to the Empress’s kind words with modest countenance left onlookers feeling strange and uncomfortable.

    It would have been seen as grievous affront, tantamount to disrespect, had she not kissed her mother’s hand.

    Empress Raquelle and Prince Tomas watched Teresa's retreating back as she vanished into the palace. And while the empress’s heart ached after her daughter, a sour scowl permeated Tomas's face before he hid it behind an emotionless expression. Teresa never once turned to look at them.

    Not far away, hidden in the shadows of the palace's pillars, golden eyes darkened at the sight of the princess. Not from anger but from regret. Yet, as those emotions churned within the observer, they did not encourage them to make a single step in her direction.

    How could I? She will not meet my gaze nor utter a word.

    "Your Imperial Majesty, the nobles have convened. The council awaits your presence."

    A weary sigh slipped from his lips as he turned to face his aide. “Is that so?”

    The aide, Laurent by name, nodded solemnly, presenting the final attendance record for his inspection.

    "Very well. We shall not delay further," he said, sharply turning on his heel before walking in the direction of the office hall.

    As he departed, Laurent's gaze lingered, burdened by the weight of his master's suffering. If only the Imperial Crown Princess would grant his master forgiveness; perhaps the atmosphere within the palace might lighten.

    If only... but the complexities of a withering bond between father and daughter remained unknown to all but the two who shared it.

☽  ◐  ⬤  ◑  ☾ 

    The cottage stood on the outskirts of the territory, a solitary building in a forgotten corner of the land. Not even the unused annex was left to rot to such conditions.

    Neglected and forsaken, it served as an apt abode for Ariea Solus, hidden away from prying eyes. Not because of the location, but because it was once used to house an old woman who begun to lose her mind to age. That was why the lock was not on the inside of the door, but the outside.

    And it was the familiar creak of that very lock being undone, that roused Ariea. Several days had passed since her grounding, for Cyrus had decreed her banned from leaving the cottage for the period Eloisa was ill. Her food was limited to stale bread and old water, and her wounds were left to heal on their own.

    Yet, amidst her confinement, Ariea harbored no resentment. How could she? They sheltered her, clothed her, fed her. She was more than grateful— she felt indebted to them. So, she accepted what they gave and offered what little she had.

    But there had not been a single butler, priest, or servant sent to inform her that her probation was completed, and none would dare release her without the Saintum's presence... so who was this intruder, appearing at this hour?

    The door rattled and it gave way, whining as the rusted metal hinges swung open. Yet, instead of the tall thick man that was Cyrus, Elisabeth's elegant frame stood in the doorway, her pale hair shimmering like a silvery halo cascading an angel.

    “I was sure you would be asleep.” she said, her voice like a soothing melody. “Have you eaten?”

    Ariea slowly sat up, wincing slightly at the pain of moving, though she made a feeble attempt to hide it. The strain must have shown on her face because Elisabeth immediately approached her, concerned as she touched her chin and raised her head to get a better look at her face.

    Cloaked in a robe of pristine white, its golden embroidery gleaming in the half-light, it was clear that Elisabeth came straight from her chambers, for she was in her nightwear. But that was not what captivated Ariea’s attention. It was how Elisabeth’s eyes were glistening like two silver moons, reflecting the soft light of the room, a hidden warmth behind the glow.

    Like a mother in pain for her child.

    It only occurred to her that she had not blinked until Elisabeth spoke again.

    "Eloisa has fully recovered," she said softly, her touch gentle as she cupped Ariea's cheek. "You should not bear the weight of guilt for faults you had no part in."

    Ariea felt a lump form in her throat, tears threatening to spill over. Letting out a shaky breath, she quickly blinked them back, swallowing hard as she struggled to compose herself.

    Elisabeth longed to say—do more. To envelop her in a comforting embrace and let her wail in her arms like a child should but she knew the limits all too well. Were her husband to discover her presence here, the consequences for the child would be dire indeed.

    So, this is as much as I can offer. Elisabeth consoled herself.

    “I brought medicine. It will help with the inflammation,” She continued. “Here are some fruits and fresh bread from the kitchen. Eat till you are full, child, and then rest.”

    When Ariea stared at the basket that hung from her elbow with eyes wide and apprehensive, Elisabeth's heart tore into a thousand pieces. The girl was so frail and bony, upon a single look, one would assume she were twelve and not the age of seventeen. She hoped the smell of food would entice her to eat, but the girl looked at it as if it were a punishment.

    Perhaps she feels uncomfortable because I am still here. Elisabeth thought. 

    So, she placed the basket at the edge of the bed and rose to depart. But just as she stepped away, a weak hand clutched desperately at sleeve of her robe, halting her retreat. She turned back to find Ariea trembling, her eyes tightly shut, and head bowed.

    "Ariea?"

    "Please... stay a while longer." Ariea pleaded, her voice barely more than a whisper.

    Conflicted, Elisabeth hesitated as she cast a wary glance towards the door before concluding that she could stay a little longer. At least to comfort the child. With eyes filled in pity, she settled into a chair beside the bed.

    Ariea, still feeling insecure, squeezed her hand as she lay onto her side. Her gaze fell on the wooden table near her. Atop it was a book that remained unused, as if brand new. They were brought by Elisabeth after she was caught in the main temple’s library as a small child. 

    At the time, Elisabeth did not know the reason she sought the library, but after she was thrown out, the very same books she was looking at were the very same ones Elisabeth retrieved for her. A book with many pictures and colors she had never seen before.

    That’s why she cherished it so much. They were both a gift and a memory of the first kindness she had ever received in her life.

    “M-may I ask... if you...” Ariea stammered nervously. “I-if you w-would you please sing me a... l-lullaby?”

    Like the ones you would sing to the young lords and ladies? But she was much too afraid to say that out loud, lest the request offend.

    Elisabeth felt an unfamiliar feeling fog her mind. Such a small request and yet the child shook as if she asked for murder. Has this child always been so fearful?

    She did not reply. Instead, she sat beside her, and begun to stroke her dark hair as she sung a slow and soft lullaby she once hummed for the child in her womb, that barely took a single breath before it’s death. It felt right to sing to Ariea.

    And not soon after, Ariea succumbed to slumber, herself completely swayed away by a familiar melody.