CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Daphne
The first few days without him were torture. Only after that did Daphne begin to forget.
Do not follow me. Do not come looking for me.
At first she woke suddenly during the night, crying his name.
Sometimes she made it halfway out the door before she remembered she couldn’t go to the caves to see him.
She couldn’t go anywhere to see him. Every time she turned toward the castle, an oppressive sensation returned to her chest—one that prevented her from moving.
It was like wandering into dense fog. She did not know what she was looking for, only that she wished she could find it.
Eventually, she slept through the night. After that things were easier.
You will do whatever it takes to keep yourself alive and safe. You will take care of yourself because I will not be there to do it for you.
Daphne abandoned being a seamstress and moved to a chicken farm.
It did not matter that she had no husband; the crowing of the rooster gave her shelter in ways no man could.
She surrounded herself with the one thing that would isolate her, shielding herself from the memory of the life she’d once had.
Tell yourself whatever you have to in order to leave me, Daphne. You will forget who we are to each other; you will forget what we have.
She named their daughter Temperance. It meant moderation.
Restraint. Their child would never know her father.
The thought made Daphne sad but also resolved.
She told herself she left him, that his family would not let them be together, that he had chosen another.
He never visited, and eventually she stopped expecting him to.
The little bottle of salt spray stood on her dresser. She no longer used it.
When fate reunites us, you will remember.
The newly crowned king married Constance, who became pregnant shortly after.
Daphne watched as their bellies grew nearly in tandem.
Constance died during childbirth. Daphne tried not to think about the effect such a death surely had on Maximus.
A heart that was already hardening now calcified to stone.
Their child was a blond-haired boy named Thelonius.
He was the spitting image of his father—a son to continue his legacy.
You have a life to live, Daphne. I demand that you live it.
Daphne’s own legacy was still being formed.
She wished for her daughter a love that was real and true.
She also wished a life of balance for her.
Somehow it was the one thing she was unable to cultivate in her own—the tenet she was missing.
Perhaps her daughter would be different.
She hoped she would be. Daphne would raise her daughter to accept the love she deserved—a daughter who was brave enough to ask for more.
The cycle of shame would end with her. Every time Daphne looked at the freckles on Temperance’s hands, she felt the pull of what she had lost. It was faded now—a tarnished memory.
It did not do to dwell upon the past. Daphne had a life to live.
I will find my way back to you. That is a promise.
Temperance was almost twenty years old.
Perhaps history would repeat itself and her daughter would win the prince’s heart.
Perhaps Daphne would go to the castle for the wedding.