Chapter 45 - A Day She Forgot to Keep
By the sixth morning without him, I had learned how to wake up without reaching for something that was no longer there.
It wasn't that I didn't notice.
It wasn't that I didn't feel it.
It was simply that I had stopped allowing myself the moment of disappointment that came with it.
I opened my eyes slowly, staring up at the canopy above me, where pale morning light filtered through the thin layers of fabric and softened the edges of the world.
The room was quiet in a way that felt almost deliberate, as if the palace itself understood that something was missing and had decided to move more carefully because of it.
For a moment, I didn't move. I just lay there, breathing slowly, letting the warmth of the blankets hold me in place.
Then my gaze shifted.
To the empty space beside me.
The sheets were smooth.
Undisturbed.
Cold.
I pushed myself upright, letting the blankets fall away. The air was cool against my skin as my feet touched the marble floor, grounding me instantly. The chill ran up my spine, pulling me fully into the morning, into the responsibilities that waited for me beyond this room.
The door opened softly, and the maids entered.
They always knew when I was awake.
"Good morning, Your Majesty," one of them said gently, her voice careful and warm.
"Good morning," I replied, smoothing my expression into something composed, something expected.
They moved around me with practiced grace, setting out garments, preparing oils, brushing through my hair with gentle, deliberate strokes. Their hands were light, respectful, efficient never lingering too long, never pressing too hard.
There was comfort in it.
In the routine.
In the predictability of something I could not control.
I sat at the vanity, watching my reflection slowly take shape as they worked. My hair was gathered, braided, pinned into something elegant. My gown was adjusted, smoothed, perfected.
A queen stared back at me.
Not the girl who had once lived in a small village, laughing too loudly and running too freely.
Not the girl who had learned to lower her voice, to shrink her presence, to accept the quiet spaces left behind for her.
No.
This version of me was polished.
Controlled.
Beautiful in a way that felt... distant.
As though I were looking at someone else entirely.
A knock sounded at the door.
Soft.
Measured.
One of the maids moved immediately to answer it.
"Come in."
The door opened.
And Elias walked in.
Carrying a large box in his arms And a stuffed bear clenched firmly between his teeth.
For a moment, my mind simply... stopped.
He shuffled forward, his steps uneven as he struggled to balance everything at once. The box looked heavier than he had anticipated, his arms tightening slightly beneath its weight, while the bear bobbed with each step as though determined to escape his grip.
The maids froze.
Completely.
One of them blinked.
Another pressed her lips together, clearly fighting the urge to laugh.
I just stared.
He made it halfway across the room before dropping the box onto the floor with a heavy thud, immediately pulling the bear from his mouth and lifting both arms dramatically.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
The word hit me like something sharp.
Unexpected.
Unfamiliar.
For a moment, I didn't understand it.
Didn't recognize it as something that belonged to me.
"...what?" I asked softly.
Elias grinned, entirely too pleased with himself.
"Happy birthday," he repeated, slower this time, as if that would somehow make it more believable.
My brows drew together.
"How do you know that?" He scoffed, placing a hand against his chest.
"I know everything."
"That's not reassuring."
"It's not supposed to be."
He gestured toward the box with a flourish.
"Open it."
I didn't move.
My eyes dropped slowly to the box at my feet, something tightening in my chest in a way I couldn't quite name.
Birthdays.
The word felt distant.
Like something I had once held onto and then quietly let go of without realizing it.
There had been a time when I loved this day.
When I woke up with a small, excited ache in my chest, knowing that even if the world was small, even if life was simple this day was mine. My mother had made sure of that.
She never had much.
But she always made it feel like everything.
A warm meal.
A handmade gift.
A quiet moment where I was allowed to feel... seen.
After she was gone
That feeling disappeared.
The castle had never cared for such things. My father would offer something small, something obligatory. My stepmother would acknowledge it with a polite smile.
And my sister
We shared the same birthday.
But hers had always been brighter.
Louder.
More important.
People gathered for her.
Celebrated her.
And I...
I stood somewhere just outside of that light, learning how to smile as if it didn't matter.
As if I didn't notice.
Isaac's gifts had come with expectation.
Always.
A trade.
Never something given freely.
Never something meant for me.
So I stopped expecting.
Stopped hoping.
Until eventually
I stopped caring.
"...Ophelia."
Elias' voice softened.
"Open it."
I swallowed.
Then slowly stood.
The fabric of my gown brushed softly against the floor as I moved, kneeling beside the box. My fingers hovered over the ribbons for a moment before finally pulling at them, loosening the careful knots.
The paper fell away.
The lid lifted.
And inside—
More boxes.
Smaller.
Neatly arranged.
Carefully placed.
My breath caught slightly.
I reached for one.
The moment my fingers touched it, I knew.
This wasn't something bought.
The cover was detailed in a way that felt intentional, each line carved with care, each edge smoothed by hand. It wasn't perfect in the way palace items were perfect—but it was something else entirely.
It was... personal.
I opened it slowly.
A book.
But not like the ones in the royal library.
The pages were thicker.
The ink richer.
And tucked neatly inside
A bookmark.
I lifted it gently.
It matched the binding perfectly.
"It's not just a bookmark," Elias said.
I looked up at him.
He smiled.
"It's also a pen."
One of the maids stepped forward, practically glowing with excitement.
"He made them himself, Your Majesty," she said quickly. "He wouldn't let anyone else touch them...he's been working on them for days."
My eyes snapped back to him.
"...you made these?"
Elias shifted slightly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"They're not perfect."
My fingers traced the cover again.
Slowly.
Carefully.
"They're beautiful," I whispered.
And they were.
Not because they were flawless. But because they weren't. Because I could see the effort in them.
The time.
The care.
Something in my chest tightened painfully.
In the best way.
Elias cleared his throat, suddenly brightening.
"You should see the court."
I blinked.
"...what?"
"It's filled with gifts," he said proudly.
I stared at him.
"For... me?"
He nodded.
"The queen's birthday is a big deal."
The words felt strange.
Heavy.
Because I had never been that.
Never felt like something worth celebrating.
Elias crouched, picking up the stuffed bear and holding it out to me.
"For you."
I stared at it.
Then at him.
And something inside me broke.
Not loudly.
Not violently.
Just—
Softly.
Because this wasn't obligation.
This wasn't pity.
This wasn't something given because someone felt they had to.
He had remembered.
He had made these.
For me.
"For me," I repeated quietly.
"Yeah," he said simply.
My throat tightened.
"...thank you."
The words barely made it out.
Elias smiled.
Not teasing.
Not mocking.
Just
Gentle.
"Don't cry," he muttered. "You'll ruin my reputation."
I let out a soft, shaky laugh, even as tears blurred my vision.
"I'm not crying."
"You are."
"...maybe a little."
Elias groaned like I had personally offended him, dragging a hand down his face before exhaling dramaticly
he stood there for a moment longer than expected, watching me with something quieter in his expression something I didn't quite know how to name before he cleared his throat and turned away as if nothing had happened.
"Lest go," he muttered, waving a hand toward the door. "You've got an entire kingdom waiting to celebrate you."
I let out a soft, disbelieving huff, still holding the bear close to my chest. "You're exaggerating."
"I'm really not."
"You always exaggerate."
"Not this time."
I didn't believe him.
Not completely.
Because nothing in my life had ever looked like what he was describing. Nothing had ever been that large, that loud, that... intentional. Not for me.
So when I finally stepped out of my chambers, I wasn't prepared.
Not even a little.
The corridor beyond my door had transformed.
The same long stretch of stone I had walked countless times now felt entirely different as though the palace itself had shed its usual restraint and decided, just for today, to breathe.
Banners hung from the walls in rich folds of gold and ivory, embroidered with the royal crest in threads that caught the light and shimmered with every movement.
Fresh flowers lined the edges of the corridor, arranged in overflowing displays that softened the stone with color and life.
Their scent lingered in the air light, sweet, and entirely unfamiliar in a place that usually smelled of polished marble and candle wax.
Servants moved quickly, but they were not silent.
There was laughter.
Conversation.
A kind of brightness that didn't belong to the palace I had come to know.
I stopped just outside my chamber doors, taking it in slowly.
"...Elias."
He appeared beside me like he had been waiting for that exact moment, arms crossed, expression smug.
"Yes?"
"This is... excessive."
He snorted. "This is toned down."
I turned to look at him. "You're lying."
"I'm not."
I looked back at the corridor.
Then toward the tall windows that lined the outer wall.
And my breath caught slightly.
Even beyond the palace beyond the courtyards and the inner gates banners had been raised along the outer walls. Guards stood in polished armor, their posture sharp, their presence almost ceremonial. The entire kingdom seemed to have shifted, just slightly, into something more... alive.
"For... me?" I asked quietly.
Elias didn't even hesitate. "Yes."
The words settled in my chest, heavier than I expected.
Because I knew that.
I had accepted that.
But I had never truly felt like something worth celebrating.
Not like this.
We moved further through the palace, and with every step, the transformation became more undeniable.
The court usually rigid, heavy with unspoken rules and carefully measured words felt different today.
Nobles stood in clusters, speaking more openly, their expressions softened by the warmth of the day.
Servants carried trays of food and drink, their movements quicker, lighter, as though even they had been caught up in the shift.
And then we reached the ballroom.
I stopped again.
The massive doors doors I had never once seen open stood wide.
Welcoming.
And beyond them
The room had been transformed into something almost unreal.
Light poured from chandeliers that glittered like constellations brought down from the sky, their crystals scattering reflections across polished floors that shone like glass.
Soft fabrics draped from the high ceilings in waves of gold and cream, catching the light and giving the entire space a warmth that felt almost.. . gentle.
Flowers filled every corner.
Music played somewhere, soft and distant.
And at the center of it all—
A long table, covered in gifts.
Boxes stacked high, wrapped in fine papers and tied with ribbons of every color imaginable. Some were small and delicate, others large and imposing, each one carefully arranged as though part of a display rather than something meant to be opened.
I stared.
"...Elias."
"Yes?"
"...this is too much."
He shrugged, completely unbothered. "Get used to it."
I didn't move toward the table right away.
Instead, my gaze drifted further, drawn to the far end of the room where a group of chefs moved carefully around something enormous.
It rose in delicate tiers, each layer decorated with intricate designs, sugar flowers so detailed they looked real, gold accents that shimmered under the light. It was beautiful in a way that felt almost excessive, almost overwhelming.
And for a moment
It reminded me of something else.
Of a different version of this day.
Of the kind of celebration my sister used to have.
Bright.
Lavish.
Important.
I swallowed softly, pushing the thought away.
This wasn't the same.
This wasn't hers.
This was
Mine.
The realization felt strange.
Unfamiliar.
But not unwelcome.
The day unfolded in a blur after that.
Time seemed to slip through my fingers as I moved through the hall, opening gifts one after another, each more thoughtful than the last. Some were extravagant jewelry that caught the light with every movement, fabrics softer than anything I had ever worn but others were quieter.
More personal.
Letters.
Handwritten notes.
Small tokens that spoke not of obligation, but of intention.
Elias stayed close the entire time, offering commentary that ranged from helpful to entirely unnecessary.
somewhere between the overwhelming scale of it all and the quiet sincerity hidden beneath it
I was enjoying it.
Not the grandeur.
Not the attention.
But the feeling.
Of being remembered.
Of being seen.
Of being...
Worth something.
By the time evening arrived, I hadn't even noticed how tired I had become.
The sky outside had shifted into deep shades of blue, the last traces of sunlight fading into night, and the palace had transformed once again. Candles burned in every corner, casting a warm, flickering glow that softened the edges of everything around me.
The celebration had only grown.
"Your Majesty," a maid said gently, approaching me. "It's time to prepare."
I nodded, allowing myself to be led away.
When I returned
The ballroom was full.
Music filled the space more completely now, weaving through the low hum of conversation. Nobles moved across the floor in elegant patterns, their laughter lighter, their movements less restrained.
I stepped inside slowly, my gaze instinctively scanning the room.
Searching.
Without meaning to.
Looking for him.
For a brief, fragile moment, I allowed myself to hope that he had returned that he would be standing somewhere in the crowd, watching me with that same quiet intensity that always made me feel like I was the only person in the room.
But he wasn't there.
Of course he wasn't.
The realization settled gently this time.
Not sharp.
Not painful.
Just... there.
I took a breath and stepped forward.
Because even without him—
This day was still mine.
"Ophelia."
The voice came from behind me.
Familiar.
Sharp.
I turned.
My stepmother approached, her posture perfect, her smile polished into something that almost looked kind.
"Such a joyous occasion," she said smoothly.
I inclined my head. "Thank you."
Her eyes moved over me slowly, assessing, measuring.
"I see you've taken it upon yourself to be... celebrated."
The words were light.
But they carried weight.
"I didn't plan this," I replied calmly.
"Of course you didn't," she said softly, her smile tightening just slightly. "That would be ... selfless of you."
I held her gaze, steady and quiet.
She stepped closer, lowering her voice just enough that no one else could hear.
"To plan this " she continued, "whileyour homeland burns."
The words landed carefully.
Deliberately.
"You've made quite the spectacle of yourself today," she added, her tone almost thoughtful. "A whole day dedicated to you."
I didn't respond.
Because I knew this game.
I had lived in it long enough to recognize every move.
Her gaze flickered briefly around the room before returning to me.
"And the king," she said softly, almost as if it were an afterthought, "didn't even bother to be here."
Something in my chest tightened.
Not because I believed her.
But because for a brief moment
The thought slipped in anyway.
Unwanted.
Uninvited.
She leaned closer.
"How pitiful."
The word settled between us like something poisonous.
"Then it's a good thing," I said quietly, "that I'm not waiting for pity."
For a moment, the world seemed to still around us.
My stepmother's smile faltered just barely, just enough for me to see the truth beneath it before she smoothed it back into place with practiced elegance.
Her eyes lingered on me a fraction longer than necessary, sharp and calculating, as though trying to decide if I had truly changed or if this was simply a fleeting moment of defiance.
She said nothing.
And that silence felt louder than anything she could have said.
I inclined my head politely, offering her nothing more, before turning away. The music swelled gently around me, the soft notes weaving through the air like something meant to soothe, but my heart was still beating a little too fast, still settling after the quiet confrontation.
I barely had time to steady myself before another presence approached.
"My dear."
The voice was warm.
Measured.
Carefully constructed.
I turned.
My father stood before me.
He looked exactly as I remembered him composed, dignified, every inch the noble he had always been but something about him felt... smaller now. Or perhaps I simply saw him differently, no longer through the hopeful eyes of a child who had once waited for scraps of affection.
In his hands, he held a small gift box.
Neatly wrapped.
Perfectly tied.
He extended it toward me with a faint smile.
"For you."
I hesitated for only a second before taking it.
"Thank you," I said softly.
Because kindness was not something I would allow them to take from me.
Not even now.
I did not open it.
Instead, I turned slightly and handed it to Elias, who stepped forward as though he had been waiting for that exact moment.
"Add it to the others, please."
Elias took the box, his eyes flickering briefly between me and my father before he nodded.
"Would you honor an old man with a dance?"
The words were gentle.
Almost sincere.
And once
Once, I would have held onto them.
I would have cherished this moment, stored it away like something precious, because I had spent years wishing for this for him to acknowledge me, to stand beside me in front of others and treat me as something worth claiming.
Now
I understood.
This was not for me.
This was for them.
For the court.
For appearances.
Still
I placed my hand in his.
"Of course."
His grip tightened slightly as he led me onto the dance floor, the movement smooth, practiced, as though we had done this a hundred times before. The music shifted subtly to accommodate us, the rhythm slowing into something more deliberate, more refined.
His hand settled at my waist.
Mine rested lightly on his shoulder.
And we began to move.
"You look..." he paused, studying me, "...so much like your mother."
The words were soft.
Careful.
For a moment, something in my chest tightened.
Because that
That had always mattered to me.
It still did.
"Thank you," I replied gently.
He nodded once, as though satisfied, and we continued in silence, the dance unfolding in slow, measured steps.
Around us, the court watched.
Every glance.
Every movement.
Every carefully crafted moment.
I could feel their attention like a quiet pressure, their whispers already beginning to form beneath the surface.
The forgotten daughter.
The queen.
The king's wife.
All of it blending into something they were trying to understand.
A movement at the edge of my vision pulled my attention away.
Someone stepping forward.
A hand extending.
I turned my head.
And saw him.
Isaac.
his posture rigid, his expression carefully controlled. His hand was outstretched toward me but it wasn't steady.
It was wrapped.
Injured.
My gaze lingered on it for a moment before lifting to his face.
He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
The request was clear.
The expectation
Even clearer.
A quiet ripple moved through the room, subtle but undeniable, as those watching realized what was happening.
What I would do.
What I was expected to do.
I stepped back.
Just slightly.
Enough to answer.
"No."
The word was soft.
But it carried.
The whispers began immediately, spreading through the room like a living thing.
Isaac's expression tightened, disappointment flashing across his face before he could hide it.
He opened his mouth
To speak.
To recover.
But before he could
A hand closed around mine.
Firm.
Unyielding.
I was pulled backward.
Spun.
The world blurred.
And then stilled.
I collided gently with something solid.
Warm.
Dangerous.
Familiar.
My breath caught as I looked up.
Achilles.
He stood there like a storm contained in human form, his presence cutting through the room with a force that silenced the whispers almost instantly. The cold, controlled mask he wore before the world was firmly in place, his expression carved into something sharp and unreadable.
But his hand
His hand tightened slightly around mine.
"...Achilles," I whispered, the name leaving my lips before I could stop it.
A faint, almost cruel curve touched his mouth.
"You look surprised," he said, his voice low and calm, carrying only to me despite the silence that had settled over the room.
His gaze flickered briefly over my face, as though confirming something only he could see.
"You didn't think I would miss my wife's birthday."
It wasn't a question.
It was a statement.
Final.
Absolute.
Before I could respond, his hand slid from mine to my waist, pulling me closer with a controlled, effortless strength that made my breath catch again.
The room seemed to hold its breath.
Watching.
Waiting.
Achilles didn't look at them.
His attention remained entirely on me.
And then
He leaned down.
And kissed me.
It wasn't gentle.
It wasn't hesitant.
It was deliberate.
His lips pressed against mine with a certainty that stole the air from my lungs, pulling me into him as though the rest of the world no longer existed. There was nothing soft about it, nothing cautious it was the kind of kiss that declared something without needing words.
My fingers curled slightly into the fabric of his coat, my heart racing as I lost myself in the moment, in him, in the overwhelming reality that he had come back.
For me.
Around us, the court erupted into murmurs, shock rippling through the room as the man they called a monster the tyrant king, cold and merciless stood in the center of the ballroom and kissed his wife like she was something worth claiming in front of everyone.
when he finally pulled back, his forehead resting briefly against mine, his voice dropped just enough that only I could hear it.
"Happy birthday, my love."
The words were simple.
But they settled into me like something permanent.
Something real.
His hand remained at my waist, steady and unyielding, his presence surrounding me completely as he straightened, his gaze lifting not to me, but to the room.
The softness disappeared.
Replaced instantly by something colder.
Something dangerous.
The king.
The tyrant.
The man they feared.
His eyes swept over the court slowly, deliberately, silencing what little whispering remained without a single word.
And still
His hand never left me.
Not even for a second.
Because even in all that cold, controlled power
He did not let go.