Chapter Text
The storm raged fiercely across the land, as if it were angry. The young woman ran until she reached her destination, a sanctuary that had belonged to her family since the kingdom's founding. The atmosphere, on a Sunday night, was dark, and the place was closed to the public, but not before she slipped inside and deactivated the alarm. She moved silently, her childhood memories flooding her mind as if it were the only time she had ever felt joy. And in truth, it was.
When she reached her favorite spot, the young woman reached out to silently caress the photograph before her, enclosed behind protective glass.
The photograph showed the members of the Order of Heroes in the early years of the Golden Age of Heroes. In the frame were a sister of one of her ancestors, the last king—a prince at the time—of the ancient dynasty, his sister, and the commander of that era. It was one of the photos she had always loved. Probably because it was one of the few photos that had been preserved of that king.
The last dragon king. Well, the five oldest noble families of that time had something in common: they were all descended from dragons. You could see it in the scales on their skin. Then that was lost to time.
Her ancestor was a young woman with a serene and elegant expression. The woman had long, dark, curly hair with unruly silver streaks; it fell in waves over her shoulders. Her skin showed her origins, the blend of the two most prominent branches of the family. She had an expression that reminded her a lot of herself: serious, but her eyes held pain. She wore a blue dress with gold details. Furthermore, she wore jewelry that matched the dress: blue earrings and a necklace with a central blue pearl. In her lap, she had a Pomeranian, exotic for its now-extinct coat color. The prince stood beside her, reflecting those characteristics that had been lost with the reigning dynasty: black hair with light streaks, deep blue eyes, and elegance. His expression was serious, and he wore the uniform of the order, like the smiling princess and the commander.
The caption explained that the photograph had been taken before the celebration of the kingdom's founding, one of the few times the kingdoms, later reduced to provinces, were together for the festivities. The woman moved toward a painting, one that depicted only her.
She wore a garment in shades of red and gold, with intricate embroidery and ornamental details that evoked the grandeur of her ancestors. On her head, she wore a circular crown of the same color, adorned with small gold details and pearls that also extended as an ornament across her forehead. She stood with her hands slightly clasped. Her expression was calm, somewhat serious, her head tilted to one side, giving her a confident and contemplative air. Beneath the painting was a familiar name.
Alfonse Lífsson.
The Last Dragon King.
The young woman remembered, after so many tours, that she had come here as a child to hear the story that was supposed to be a love story. Both were betrothed, future life partners whose lives were cut short by a fateful night. The last king didn't want to marry; no one knew why, so they attributed it to love and a broken heart. But the young woman thought the nature of the relationship was respect. After all, it was an arranged betrothal between King Gustav and the Archduke of Vaskrheim, her ancestor.
And yet, there were many mysteries that would never be solved.
Daughter of Isolde.
That voice returned to her head.
She sighed, passing by the painting to open the door that led to the top of the temple. Thunder was rumbling loudly, and it seemed the weather wasn't going to change. When she reached the top, she opened the door with difficulty. The wind whipped against her face, as did the unruly raindrops, which increased with each step she took. Reaching the curb, the young woman grabbed hold and climbed. The view of the city was breathtaking, with its lights that spoke of life. She closed her eyes, feeling the sensation of the water on her skin one last time.
It is time, daughter of Isolde.
Her life had lost all meaning. Her family despised her; everything revolved around her precious sister. She was just an accessory for a few photos to pretend everything was alright. Even the one she thought truly loved her had left her for someone else. She was tired of it all. Now she wanted to fly and be free. Free from that cruel world where she wasn't valued. Where her cries for help went unheard. Where being a woman meant nothing. The security guard's voice could be heard in the distance.
Come back to me.
She closed her eyes, letting herself fall to stop feeling.
When she opened her eyes again, the young woman frowned. It wasn't a place she recognized. She turned, finding herself in a mystical place, beneath a tree. The young woman knew she had taken the step, that she had jumped. And that she couldn't survive that fall.
“The young woman decided to end her life, and yet, she arrived at an uncertain place,” a middle-aged woman's voice spoke. “In her mind, she wondered how she could be in that place, because she was sure she had jumped.” The woman appeared behind the curtains, moving silently to hide again. Then she asked, her voice trembling. The young woman opened her mouth, but a young girl appeared.
“Where am I?” the young girl said, as if anticipating what was to come. She laughed and moved behind the curtain.
“You're dead, of that there is no doubt. You chose to take your life to end your suffering,” replied an old woman, who had emerged from behind the curtains with a wise expression. “Understandable, considering the state of what was once the kingdom of openness.”
“Who are you?” the two young women asked simultaneously; the one who had been hiding reappeared.
The young woman silently approached the old woman sitting, filled with fear and uncertainty. The woman stepped out from behind the curtains and stood beside her. She couldn't understand what was happening; her mind could only think that her suffering and pain should be over by now, but it seemed that Mecrenis—she uttered the word with contempt—had not heard her prayers.
“I think you should know that this Mecrenis doesn't exist, young woman,” the old woman replied, tapping her cane with a small stick. “The sacred kingdom of Askr was founded by the god Askr, forgotten because of usurping blood. You, who supposedly know history, should know that.”
The young woman paused thoughtfully for a few seconds before speaking. It was clear she knew. It was the only thing that kept her from feeling alone. The young woman frowned. Yet, not a word escaped her lips. She remained the same, or perhaps even more confused, than before.
“We are the Norns, the goddesses of fate,” the old woman said, her cold gaze still fixed on her. “What has happened, what is happening, and what must happen.” The young woman swallowed. The old woman cleared her throat. “I still wonder what he saw in you.”
“… Who?” she asked reluctantly. Her head was spinning.
“The god of opening, of course. You are the blood of one of his daughters.” The goddess looked at the woman, who moved silently through the curtains, which, upon closer inspection, were threads. “After seeing what could happen, she sacrificed herself so that this day would come. So you must listen to me carefully.”
The young woman swallowed but nodded silently. The old woman was imposing, looking her up and down, almost as if she were judging her soul. The woman who had left a few moments ago returned with something in her hands, which the old woman touched and examined in silence. It was a tapestry, made with delicacy and care. The young woman helped the woman place it behind them. It seemed like something strange to decipher.
“What you see here is the life of Cecilia Bravellir, daughter of Gerald Bravellir and his first wife, Gertrude Solheim.” The old woman continued to look at her with cold eyes.
“The young woman thought she knew about her, having dedicated herself to studying her ancestors. But Urdr tapped her staff lightly.” Then the old woman did the same. Verdandi continued her tale, “making the young woman tremble with fear.”
“You're mistaken. What they said about her was silenced after the death of the last dragon”.
“A chivalrous king with a sad life,” the younger woman said, with a sigh that seemed like longing. “Why?” both young women asked at once, making her laugh.
“Because she didn’t commit suicide. She was murdered, betrayed by her blood,” the old woman revealed. “Alice Bravellir always hated her older half-sister. Cecilia was a pure dragon; she was only half. She was going to have the life she wanted for herself. Her father, a softie who never wanted to put a stop to his second wife’s filial infidelities, and the side that won. She, a young woman too good, thought that no one had anything against her. In that you are alike. She is your ancestor, after all.” The young woman and the old woman looked at each other.
“The young woman remained thoughtful, unsure how to respond to the reality that had been revealed to her. She shifted slightly, hoping that would give her the strength to continue understanding what the Norns meant,” Verdandi recounted again, her voice calm. “Even so, she didn’t understand why she was in that place.” The old woman laughed, her laughter echoing throughout the room.
“The god of the opening has made us do him this favor. That idiot, believing in humanity to the very end,” she retorted, lowering her head slightly before raising it again and looking at her with a commanding air. “Cecilia Bravellir’s soul no longer exists. That daughter of Isolde and Adelbert was crushed both physically and mentally. When she died, she chose to belong nowhere. She decided to disappear. The god Feyr granted her wish. However, you’ve seen what happens in history. Dragons are defiled. Askr is forgotten. Gods are forgotten.”
“… And what does their being forgotten have to do with anything?” she asked. The old woman stood up, her tall figure commanding attention.
“Ragnarok will never happen.”
“No one will leave. There will be no curtain call.” Verdandi spoke.
“The universe will run its course and be destroyed, without rebirth,” the young woman finished. “And what do I have to do with that?” he asked, speaking at the same time as her. “Oh, come on, you have a lot to do with it.”
“Silence, Skuld,” Urd scolded. The young Norn lowered her head. “You always longed to cease being who you are. This is your chance. The god of the opening offers you a new body, a new identity. With your wisdom of the future that must not be, you will guide the chosen prince to the fall of the gods.”
The young woman tried to say something, but the words wouldn't come. Verdandi continued narrating. “I didn't understand anything that was happening.”
“It's simple: you will return to the moment Cecilia Bravellir dies, agonizing in bed. The moment she passes away, you enter the scene. From then on, you're on the board alone. The Breidablik will be your ally, though.”
“The Breidablik?”
“The divine weapon that summons heroes,” Urd replied. “Broken after the second usurpation. She has been calling to you.” The woman shook her head, observing the young woman's movements.
“And I can't refuse?” she asked then, swallowing hard.
“We haven't told you that you can decide,” the old woman retorted, and that was true. “You will go. It is your duty. The sacrifice of the god of the opening cannot be allowed to be in vain.”
“The young woman grimaced, despairing at what she had just been told,” Verdandi continued. “Could she perfectly imitate her ancestor? Would she manage to change fate? That she couldn't know for sure. Udr stood up and said the following words: ”The old woman stood up.
“Let the memory of darkness pass into light. The rewritten past will bring a new future.”
“And then, the young woman transformed into a dragon, giving way to rebirth,” she finished recounting, as her vision turned black.
The emptiness of the darkness seemed to welcome her.
She could hear sounds that were barely understandable at that moment. She felt an inexplicable pain in her head, in her body in general. It was as if she had been torn in two. Fragments of memories, not her own, began to surface in her mind. A little girl crying for her dead mother. A little girl alone, with only her books. Being isolated by both her new mother and her stepsister. Her brother protecting her. A teenager meeting her future husband. Her stepsister escalated the abuse. Her stepmother intensified it. Not only that, but her father was consumed by a marriage he didn't want.
Despite the sad memories, there were some happy ones. Fun dances. Endless conversations. The pomp of the golden age. Visiting his fiancé in Vidblain, the small gifts and gestures. Her slowly falling in love with him.
But another sad memory emerged. The secret that caused Cecilia Bravellir to fall into the deepest abyss.
The crown prince did not reciprocate her feelings.
Years without seeing each other. Only on her last day, out of obligation. Her heart was shattered.
However, the one who gave her the push toward death was none other than her flesh and blood, as the Norns foretold.
Daughter of Isolde and Adelbert.
The young woman opened her eyes, seeing that the real Cecilia Bravellir stood before her. Her eyes were filled with tears of blood, her face serious and joyless. She swallowed hard.
“Will you release me from this torment?” she asked, seemingly afraid that her question would go unanswered.
The young woman stared at the dark ground for a moment. She couldn't say no. She would face the wrath of the Norns, and that was the last thing she wanted. Yet she longed to live in the golden age, the reign of the last dragons. A life in which perhaps she could feel like one of them. An opportunity was opening before her, thanks to the god of openings. She could hear a sob from the princess as the young woman looked at her.
“Yes. I release you,” she replied, unsure if that answer was appropriate. The princess raised her hand, and the young woman, still with some doubt in her mind, shook it.
“… Take care of him” were her last words as she faded away, merging with her.
The silence was broken again, with thousands more memories floating through her mind. She was no longer who she had been. Now she was Cécilia Brávellir. And she was going to carry out her mission, no matter the cost.
The scent of iron and oranges welcomed her.
It's time to wake up.
“Your Highness, we are doing everything possible to save the princess,” a voice whispered in her ear. The dark-haired woman felt someone enfold her. The scent of oranges that had greeted her was still there, her heart pounding. She tasted iron in her mouth.
“I don't see you're willing to do anything. If you don't…” the man replied, his voice cold and sharp as knives. “I assure you, you'll have no job if anything happens to her.”
“Alfonse,” an authoritative voice chimed in. “Furthermore, my son is right. Save the princess, or there will be consequences.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Where is the archduke?” the prince asked, his tone unchanged.
“He's coming. It seems he was elsewhere at the party.”
“Leave with that impure woman?” Alfonse spat, still in a cold tone but showing no emotion.
“Alfonse,” the king scolded again. “She’s his wife. It’s normal for married couples to do things.”
She noticed how the prince clung to her tighter, as if expressing frustration with what was happening.
Love me.
That voice was new. It was nothing like the previous one. It was deeper, like a beast roaring inside her.
At that moment, she thrashed, feeling as if she were transforming into something. She felt her skin mutating; a tail, small wings, and fangs were growing. So this must be what it felt like when they transformed, she thought as she screamed with all her might.
Love me.
“Has she awakened?” a female voice asked, as she felt herself being torn in two again.
“It seems her dragon side is awakening early to save her, Your Majesty. We need blood from a close relative or one similar to hers quickly; we don't believe she can do it entirely on her own.”
“Summon the Earl of Oskir quickly!” the monarch commanded, and he could hear people moving around the room.
“Immobilize her; the head wound could worsen,” one of the maesters urged.
Love me
Love me
Love me
The young woman let out another heart-rending scream, but this time she felt a scent of orange and musk holding her hands and legs. The pain was unbearable, tears streamed down her face, and she wanted it to leave. She could hear the door open and close, but she could barely make out what was being said. Someone whispering something.
Please love me.
“This way, Princess!” Mia's voice seemed close. Or so she wanted to believe. She couldn't see a thing with that blindfold.
After walking a little further, she bumped into someone. She began to touch carefully, frowning when she realized it was a man and not a woman. Her brother, perhaps? Had he returned from his duties? She could hear her cousin Brunhilde's laughter. The young woman then stepped back slightly, prompting her to remove the blindfold.
She knew who it was at once, bowing slightly.
His dark hair, with blond streaks, was illuminated by the sunlight. His expression was serious, his blue eyes fixed on her, and he bowed slightly. The crown prince wasn't alone; the king and his father were with him.
“Undoubtedly, your daughter will grow into a beautiful dragon, Your Royal Highness,” the king said, while his father seemed lost in his world. “A fine choice to be my heir's consort, indeed.”
Cecilia blinked. Her? Marry the crown prince? She was only twelve. She still played with dolls. Not only that, but she glanced at Brunhilde, who simply nodded. It seemed she couldn't escape the fate that awaited her.
The blow was so hard it knocked her to the ground. As always, she had angered her stepmother. “Teaching you is awful,” she'd say. “You never excel at anything.”
The young woman clutched her cheek, feeling her hair being pulled.
“Mommy, can I cut her mop-like hair?” she heard Alice say.
“I don't want any trouble. Steal one of her dresses.” She noticed her stepsister seemed pleased.
The young woman sobbed on the floor, powerless. Her father did nothing. Her brother was far away. She wanted to get far away from there.
To be free from that torment.
The crown prince was a man of few words. However, he enjoyed conversations about reading, music, strategy, and logic. They corresponded, sharing their daily lives with each other. Well, she simply kept quite a few things from him. He often spent too much time at his military training in Vidblain. With her father's permission, she would visit him.
The barracks at Vidblain were cold, but she always enjoyed arriving to see him. She had also noticed that her fiancé was always accompanied by his childhood friend, Zacharias. They seemed inseparable.
That made her jealous. She didn't know why, but there was the proof. Zacharias wasn't a bad person, but they didn't seem like friends. Many times she wanted to believe it was nothing more than her perception.
But the smiles. He didn't smile at her the same way he smiled at her.
That day was her last day in Vidblain until her next visit, so she wanted to spend as much time with him as possible. But it was then that she saw the truth.
Alfonse was kissing Zacharias.
She stood there for a moment, silent, before turning and walking to the room, feeling her heart shatter into a thousand pieces. She sat down in the chair, trying not to show anything.
“Oh, there you are.” Cecilia raised her head slightly but didn't look at him. She couldn't meet his gaze. “I thought you were coming to the barracks.”
“I got cold, so I stood by the fireplace to warm up,” she replied. Alfonse frowned but nodded.
When she left, she cried all the way home. From that day on, she never wanted to see him again.
The capital was an enormous place, as was its palace.
Joining the order was almost like having a target on your back. Her sister was a member, but that wasn't why she felt so nervous.
Alfonse was one of the high-ranking officers. She hadn't seen him in years. She'd heard in Vaskrheim that he'd become freezing, just as he'd grown tall and handsome.
When she arrived, it seemed that only the crown prince, Commander Anna, and Princess Sharena were there. The latter seemed nervous. The last time they'd seen each other was five years ago, at the last celebration. The princess was a year younger than her.
“Your Highness,” the commander greeted, bowing. Both siblings returned a half-bow. “Welcome. I hope the journey wasn't too long.”
“The road to the capital is always long, but it didn't feel long to me,” she replied, looking away. Looking him in the eyes was painful for her.
“Vaskrheim is a path through a forest. That’s normal,” he replied. “If you would do us the honor, we would like to have our picture taken together. It’s not common to see the heir’s fiancée and the heir together.”
Cecilia said nothing; she simply nodded. The four of them posed for the photo, but she felt so disconnected that she didn’t even know how to pose. Those years had been very lonely, even though she had her guard partner and her maids. Vaskrheim was a solitary place where her stepmother did nothing to help her relationship with her father. She was practically nonexistent. It seemed she had fallen under that woman’s spell, and there was nothing she could do.
“Well, I’ll go about my business,” he said, looking at both brothers. “Show her the order. She’ll be staying here, after all.”
“Yes, Commander,” Alfonse replied, in that calm voice that was always so characteristic of him. The redhead curtsied again as she left.
Both brothers gave her a tour of the entire order. It was huge, actually: a grand common room, a canteen, gardens that seemed like a dream, spacious offices, and, undoubtedly, high places. Upon reaching a secluded section, she thought it must be the area where the princes and the commander lived.
“Here are my quarters,” the Princess of Askr pointed out. “These are Erwin's, and those are the commander's. Those over there are my brother's,” she announced, with a chuckle. “Well, I'll leave you two to talk in peace.” At that moment, the princess left contentedly, leaving them alone.
Cecilia remained silent as the prince went to his door to unlock it and invite her in. Even so, the Princess of Vaskrheim stood there, motionless, not wanting to fall into his clutches again.
He doesn't love me. He loves Zacharias, not me.
She could hear a soft sigh from Alfonse, reaching her. He had stayed very close. She could hear his heartbeat, strong, steady, and calm. She turned her head away, her cheeks flushed. It was difficult for her to be near him.
“And… my sister's and Prince Albert's quarters?” she asked then, knowing that they too were members of the order.
“Tradition dictates that this wing is for the commander and those pure-blooded children of Askr. They are not,” he replied, his gaze fixed on her. “Cecilia… What did I do?” he said then, as always, wanting answers. “You've been avoiding me for five years. Your letters are short. I'm starting to think I'm the problem.” The woman with obsidian hair moved, but he stopped her by touching her arm.
He wasn't like her stepmother, with her strong, tight touch meant to hurt. He was soft and gentle.
“Where's Zacharias?” she asked then, staring into space. She noticed Alfonse's jaw tense. He seemed to be putting two and two together.
“He died two years ago.” The princess blinked at that information. “Why do you ask?”
“You two were inseparable.” Cecilia broke the contact. “It's normal that I'm asking about him, don't you think?” Alfonse shook his head. It was true that he didn't usually behave like this, but she was tired. “If you'll excuse me, I'll be going. I have to pay my respects to your parents.”
“…Alright,” he finally replied, as she turned and walked away down the corridor.
Love me.
The days seemed unbearable. Almost all the time she was half-transformed, writhing in pain. She could smell oranges near her again, and someone was stroking her hair. Something large surrounded her all the time.
Love me.
She noticed the place was cold. She didn't know exactly where she was, but the sheets were soft. Occasionally, she transformed completely, and the truth was, she looked like a small dragon. Well, it was said that the females were smaller than the males. Dragon blood flowed in her veins, and it seemed like it wasn't going to stop.
A soft voice was singing something familiar to her, as if it were something distant. The truth was, at that moment she couldn't react. Everything hurt.
Please, look at me. Touch me. Love me.
That voice didn't exactly help her with whatever was happening.
She sighed at the gentle caresses. Thousands of memories continued to surface in her mind: empty promises, painful memories.
Other pleasant memories, intoxicated with happiness and affection.
She closed her eyes again, trying to rest.
When her senses returned, the pain seemed to have subsided. She opened her eyes slightly, noticing that she was in a room. It was certainly a different setting than what she was used to. She felt a presence beside her and saw that it was Flóki, the Pomeranian who had been the Crown Prince's first gift. He was resting peacefully.
The room was warm, with dark wood furniture in shades of blue and gold, with a touch of beige. The sheets were soft, with elaborate designs from the dynasty. Even so, it didn't seem to be a guest room. Natural light streamed through the window, indicating that it was daytime. She looked around, noticing a few things that suggested she wasn't in the room she'd been in before. There was a desk with stacks of books, a quill, ink, and paper. More books in the small library hidden in the archway, along with an air of order and calm. The woman with obsidian hair ventured that she was in the Crown Prince's room.
She made a slight movement to get up, but a sharp pain shot through her head. She blinked softly, letting out a sigh. She didn't know what she'd gotten herself into.
All she knew was that she had to change the fate of an entire nation and bring about the twilight of the gods. Simple, yes, she told herself, rolling her eyes. She sighed, feeling a slight pain as if her ribs were aching. Although, if she thought about it, Cecilia had fallen from a considerable height. She squinted.
She had to start thinking that Cecilia and she were now the same person. She sighed, a hint of pain in her voice. Now she was alone at the board. She had information, memories that weren't hers but that were stored in her mind. And she began to repeat herself, using affirmations to blend with her new body. She was no longer that girl who decided to throw herself from the temple of Vaskrheim.
My name is Cecilia Brávellir. I am nineteen years old. I am the Princess of Vaskrheim.
My parents are Gerald Brávellir and Gertrudis Solheim. They were partners.
My older brother is Gilbert Brávellir. He is married to our cousin, Brunhilde Solheim. They live here because she is my father's representative.
My mother died when I was eight, giving birth to my brother, who also died. Shortly after, my father married Jocelyn Ókólnir, a woman without dragon blood.
You have a half-sister, Alice Brávellir. She hates me because I am a princess by birth and she isn't, among other things.
My stepmother hates my brother and me for being my mother's children.
I have been betrothed to the Crown Prince since I was twelve. We are three years apart in age.
He doesn't reciprocate my love for him. She grunted at this statement.
The opening door made her open her eyes again, seeing a tall man with dark hair, streaked with blond. He held things in his hands and seemed lost in thought. He wore the Order's uniform.
Great. She didn't know how she was going to interact with her fiancé. If she could at all. Everything hurt, even gesturing.
She didn't find it strange that he had moved her to his quarters. In those times, dragons, if they wished, could live as a couple even before marriage. They both had needs that could only be met if they were close to each other. As far as she remembered, they didn't live together because he lived between the castle and Vidblain. But he never pressured her.
Probably because he loved his friend more than her.
The prince sighed as he put his things down, brushing his hair back for a moment before turning to look at her. Her eyes were half-closed, but the prince noticed and silently moved toward her. He sat on the edge of the bed, taking one of her hands and kissing it. Her mind recalled that he had always been this polite and attentive to her. The young woman with obsidian hair looked away, trying to catch her breath. She could see a blush rising to her cheeks.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice calm. He hadn't broken contact with her hand. And that was strange. The crown prince didn't much like physical contact.
“…” The princess looked at him, and the truth was, she was even having trouble breathing. The prince seemed to understand, giving a slight nod, staring into space before looking back at her. His blue eyes fixed on her with concern.
“Blink once if it's a no, twice if it's a yes,” he told her, since she surely wanted answers. Understandably so, she thought. Falling down from the castle was madness. That she had survived was another matter. Divine intervention, if you could call it that. “…Did you do it?” Her voice was low, restrained. She blinked once. The prince took a breath, adjusting his position. “Did someone push you?” he asked then, his voice cold, one that betrayed anger.
She knew perfectly well that the now-prince was a person who controlled his emotions well. Or at least, that's how it seemed on the outside. Always benevolent to the common people, ruthless with the nobility. Now he would have to be holding back even more. The princess blinked twice. Alfonse moved his mouth slightly, tightening his grip on her hand.
“Do you know who?” he finally asked, waiting for the answer.
The question had also crossed her mind. Should she tell? In those days, evidence was important. If she said it now, it would all fall on deaf ears, and her reputation as a madwoman would be cemented. If she was already being watched by a certain number of people, if she said it aloud, even more so. She blinked once.
The man nodded. He seemed to be plotting something, and the truth was, he was good at playing the game. It wasn't for nothing that he had survived twenty-two years of life in that court. And she had to learn, or rather, keep playing the game. She cleared her throat, as it felt dry. Alfonse lowered his head, surely processing the information he had just received.
“I've spoken with your father. Given the situation, it's best that you stay with me, living in the castle. That you become an active member of the order,” he began, making her look at him. Did he want her by his side while he didn't reciprocate her feelings? She lowered her gaze. It seemed her feelings were also becoming intertwined. And that pain was too unbearable. “It's for the best. My father agrees. The wedding… has been postponed until you recover. There's no rush.”
The young woman stared into space. Then she remembered that Alice would soon have Prince Albert, the Crown Prince's half-brother, in the palm of her hand. If they hadn't died, they would have been the ancestors of the kings of the land where she had previously lived. They were members of the order, too. A much lower rank, admittedly, but they were. Cecilia had lived more or less peacefully the last year, since she wasn't in Vaskrheim. The prince seemed to notice her discomfort, squeezing her hand tighter. He didn't know what was happening in her house, and she didn't know what was happening in his. So it was understandable that he might have fallen under Alice's spell.
Although, if she remembered correctly, there was also her cousin Erwin. He was the brother of her late aunt Carena and the Duke of Lyngvi. His tutor was the Duke of Sövabekkr, her uncle. Many mistook him for the king because of their resemblance. From what she could recall, they got along quite well.
“I’ll call the maester to observe you, okay?” She blinked twice as the prince stood up, seemingly hurrying to have a maester examine her.
She sighed. She had survived, but now she needed to figure out how to move the pieces on the board. She also didn’t know who her greatest enemy was.
When the door opened again, she blinked. Memories reminded her that this was Karissa, her sworn guard. Her eyes seemed to sparkle at the sight of her.
“My lady,” she greeted, curtsying, “it is an honor to see you alive. I don't even want to think about what would have happened had you died.” I knew it, she thought, taking a breath. “I suppose the prince has informed you. Your belongings are being moved. The rest of your servants will be coming as well. And don't worry, the prince himself has arranged for Lady Alice and you to never meet. If you'll excuse me, I'll summon Maeve and Violet.” With that, the knight curtsied again and left.
If you only knew I'm not the Cecilia you know.
She stared into space again, almost letting her feelings return. Emptiness. Loneliness. Pain. Perhaps speaking with the crown prince was the best solution. She might abandon the engagement. But those pleasant memories held her back. Because it seemed the opposite of what she had witnessed.
She decided to close her eyes, trying to stop feeling. Something she was excellent at.