Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
I continue shooting, focusing on nothing but the target and the pull of the bow until the clouds covering the sky darken and the evening chill sets in. The light from the torches surrounding the training area is no longer enough to keep practicing, so I know it is well past when I should be back inside.
I will be sore tomorrow, but I welcome it. Physical pain is easier to focus on than the pain and disappointment from my meeting with the king.
I place the bow and quiver on the rack and make my way inside. The castle is quiet, and my footsteps echo off the cold, grey stone hallways. My stomach growls, breaking the silence as I ascend the main staircase.
Hopefully Addy saved me some dinner and had it sent to my room. She knows on training days there is a high possibility that I will miss dinner, since it has happened enough in the past.
I take the last step at the top of the staircase and come to an abrupt halt. Goosebumps cover the exposed skin on my neck and my breaths quicken as I try to calm the panic rising inside of me .
The door is open.
Not fully open, but cracked, and the light from the room pours across the stone floor.
My heart beats wildly, and I clench my fists at my sides as my feet move of what seems like their own volition. I can’t stop it. Some unknown pull draws me closer to the door, filling me with the need to look inside.
It has been so long since the last time I felt this pull, and then I only snuck a passing glance on the way to my room. Feelings war inside me. My head tells me to stay away, but my body tells me to get closer. Try as I might, I can’t stop myself.
I creep toward it, knowing my training boots are not the stealthiest footwear. I try not to make a sound, taking each step on my toes as I inch closer, trying to stay out of sight. I peer around the edge of the doorway and feel my breath catch.
My father sits in a chair, his back to me, facing the large tidy bed in the center of the room. The ornate bedding is so well kept it looks as if the room is unoccupied. He sits silently, leaning forward, resting his hands on the edge of the bed.
I creep closer, leaning slightly to see past the edge of the door. That’s when I hear it.
I don’t recognize it at first, but the longer I stand watching, the more it becomes clear. Sniffling, followed by tiny movements of his shoulders. His hand reaches up to wipe his face.
Crying.
My father is crying.
I lean in, trying to get a better look, to see if there is some reason he is sitting alone crying in her room, when the sound of a voice mumbling catches me off guard.
I stifle a gasp and pull myself back from the doorway, pressing my body against the wall, making myself as small as possible. I suck in deep, measured breaths, trying to still the heaving of my chest at the thought of being caught .
Who is speaking? Who is my father openly crying in front of?
In nearly twenty-one years, I have never seen my father cry.
My shallow breaths and heartbeat pumping through my ears make it difficult to hear. I strain to hear who is speaking, and make out the words that are affecting my father so strongly.
I inch closer and start the breathing exercises Brynne taught me to keep me from getting winded.
Breathe in, hold, slowly breathe out.
On the hold, I listen harder, and can pick up the low voices.
“Are you sure there has been no change?” My father’s voice sounds strained, a small crack of emotion breaks through his words.
“Yes, your majesty. I’m afraid so.”
The healer. It makes sense that he is the one speaking to my father. He has monitored my mother for as long as I can remember, giving my father updates regularly over the years that her health remains unchanged.
“If I may, your majesty.” He pauses.
I push closer to the wall, as if removing that slight bit of space will help my hearing.
“It has been quite some time. Our healers have no explanation for her majesty’s lack of decline, considering her state. However, we feel it is time to contemplate letting her go.”
Silence fills the room and I hold my breath, waiting for my father’s response. As far as I know, no one has ever suggested this to the king, until now.
But why now?
“I’ll consider it,” he grumbles, his voice heavy with emotion. I’m not used to hearing him like this, so different from the cold, short way he speaks to me.
“Of course, your majesty. There is no rushing the matter. Please let us know what you decide.” I hear rustling as the healer gathers his things and I frantically look around the hall. If I walk past the room now, I’ll surely be noticed, and I don’t want to be caught eavesdropping on my father .
I eye the large tapestry next to me and slide behind it. Not the most creative space, but it will have to do. It just brushes the ground, so they won’t see my feet hiding under it. I flatten my body against the wall behind it and wait for the healer to exit the room. His footsteps shuffle past me and I wait a few moments longer to ensure my father doesn’t decide to follow. The quiet sniffling resumes so I’m safe to come out.
He hasn’t left.
I contemplate heading straight to my room, but something makes me stop again and listen. The soft sniffles grow into low sobs. I stand in the hallway, listening to my father cry over a woman I never knew, but so desperately wish I did. I brush a rogue tear off my cheek, the emotion coming from the room overwhelming.
To say my father and I aren’t close is an understatement. He barely tolerates me. It has been that way my entire childhood. I had more interaction with Edmond and Tila, and even Addy and Brynne, than I had with him. Every time he looks at me, I see pain in his eyes.
Pain I had caused.
This is why I avoid this door, and why every time I walk down the hallway, I am slapped with the reminder of what I had done. Tonight is an even harsher reminder of how I stole my father’s happiness, and how I have never been enough to fill that void for him over the past twenty years.
I’d taken my mother away from him, ripped her out of this world and into this state of in-between, where everyone is reminded she is there, but not truly. We have to walk by her chambers every day knowing she lies behind the closed door, unmoving, unable to wake, and unable to live the life she planned with my father.
Because of me.
Not only did I take her away from him, simply by being born, but I took her away from myself. I have never known this woman. All I’ve known is the dream of what a mother would be like, and how it could never be her as she lies in this room, unable to wake .
And now?
Listening to the healer tell my father it is time to let her go, all hope of ever meeting her, of having a parent who cared for me and wanted me there is gone. My fantasy that one day she would wake, and I would know the unconditional love of a parent, and live out the rest of our days making up for lost time is disintegrating.
Despite our relationship, seeing my father so upset about losing her for good brings me sadness, but there is more to it.
The realization that I am also losing her, the only her I have ever known, feels overwhelming. It is a loss of possibility, not a loss of someone I knew and loved, not like my father is losing.
I swipe at the tears welling inside my eyes, and clear the thickness building in my throat. I don’t care if my father hears me. I stride strongly down the hallway toward my rooms, holding my head high. I need to let this fantasy go. I will never know her.
You aren’t really losing her, you never had her.
I squash the hope I had down deep into myself, never wanting to feel it ever again.
If only that were possible.