The morning was a quiet one.

Since the Ghoul attack on Sier, I’d said goodbye to Brienne. I helped her up into one of the Royal Carriages, adorned with the Crest and Seal of our family, and equipped with all the luxuries one might desire for a comfortable journey. The rider struck the reigns, and soon, she was waving to me as she disappeared through the gilded gates of the Palace and became a treasured memory of a friend I might never see again.

Three nights had passed since, blissfully uneventful.

No Ghoul attacks. No mysterious letters at the Palace steps. Not even my mother’s overbearing attitude. Indeed the Queen has been suspiciously pleasant at meals, as if she had forgotten Brienne’s existence. Even the King had joined us for a meal or two, breaking away from his duties so he could share time with his family.

It was as if the Ghouls had retreated back into whatever nightmare had conjured them up, and took their place among children’s books, where they belonged.

And so I basked in the morning sun, my hood covering my face so the sun did not burn me. It was the Fifth Day today, and each Fifth Day was a day for rest. I had no lessons. The Priestess’ held no sermons today, and little work was to be done. Even the King often took some time off on these days, and could be found wandering the gardens.

I took a while longer to bathe in the sun, before the heat got unbearable and I switched the bright grasses and trees of the Gardens for the cool walls of the Palace.

Fewer servants lined the halls, and even fewer court officials lingered, having left perhaps last night to spend the Holy Day with their friends and family in the Capital below.

Which was all well and good. It always felt easier to walk around my own home with fewer half-strangers stopping to greet me, or strike up a conversation. I usually tried to keep to the Royal Quarters to avoid this, but at least a couple of knock-ins with the Lords and Ladies of Ellister a day were inevitable. I believe father and mother must be even more relieved by this, considering someone would be vying for every moment of their attention on the working days.

And since the Palace was emptier than usual, it was the best time to do some snooping around.

It wasn’t long before I’d reached the Royal Depository. The Keeper at the entrance bowed his head to me, and then promptly carried on with his work, not saying a word, which was all too fine by me.

It wasn’t exactly dusty inside but well… The musty smell of old things could not be helped. Shelves upon shelves of books, various artifacts, even old weapons. The Royal Depository was the most extensive of Ellister, and few could rival it.

Part the blame for that hung on the Mother Faith. With the religious revolution from the worship of multiple gods, to just one, many scriptures had to be edited or redacted. Some texts were even banned, and could only be found in private collections. Any book older than 200 years was often heavily scrutinised by the Priestesses and fervent members of the Faith.

Only the Royal Depository remained untouched by the inspections. The Scholar King, as Herald the Second became known, refused to let the Priestesses touch the scrolls and books of his own private collection, and only the King himself could get away with such an act of heresy. So, the Royal Depository remained intact, and whole. On top of that, other books that held some of the more questionable and controversial opinions were more easily obtainable here. ‘Knowledge shall be unhindered’ was what the Scholar King preached, and the message was taken to heart by the librarians and scholars of the Palace ever since.

And so what better place was there to find some information about Freyn?

With the war between the two Kingdoms over less than 30 years ago, it wasn’t hard to come by. Whole sections were dedicated just to it. Summaries of different battles, their tactics, weapons, armour, maps, structures.

I leafed through these, paragraph after paragraph, but… well, these held little use. At least to me. Freyn obviously wanted to secure a marriage alliance with Ellister desperately enough to stoop to using Ghouls to terrorise innocents but… why? The war was over, and it was clear that while the King Ruford, my grandfather, was somewhat of a warmonger, the current King was not. They were under no threat of attack, and obviously weren’t looking to attack Ellister, otherwise why seek to marry their son to the enemy? I had many brothers, so the chance of them securing Ellister as their own Kingdom as slim, and they had much more promising neighbours for such an alliance. Why exactly were they so desperate for me to marry their son?

Sethram, that was his name.

Ugh. I felt a shiver run down my spine. Even if he would make a good husband, I would have to live in Freyn in order for us to be married. In horribly hot, arid, barbaric Freyn full of infidels who follow the false gods…

It was only thanks to my father that I was not there right this instance. Marrying me off to a heathen would cause an uproar among the Priestesses no doubt, as well as the many Lords and King’s advisors, and no less, it would put the King’s own faith in question. I had little say in the matter, of course, but I would not be the only one by far to object to such a matrimony.

It was interesting that the monarchs of Freyn were willing to overlook this issue. They wanted the marriage to go ahead regardless. Just what had they to gain from this?

I decided to pick out some of the more useful texts and head back to the refuge of my own quarters, getting a narrowed look from the librarian at my choice of reading on my way out.

Time to find out why exactly Freyn was searching for my hand in marriage.

***

Ugh, this is utterly impossible.

The more I delved into Freyn, the less sense the marriage proposal made.

They had more than a handful of neighbours who would have made a more desirable match for both their son and their Kingdom. Wealthy Arin to their north was bound to offer wonderful dowries. A peace alliance with Dale made a lot of sense. Heck, they could even seek the hand of the fabled beauty Serana, Princess of Trium, and secure not only the hand of one of the most beautiful women these lands had to offer, but a large trading agreement.

And yet they decided to go for Freyn, a Kingdom sadly not as wealthy as some of their other neighbours, and neither threatening nor friendly. What the King and Queen of Freyn were thinking, only the Mother knew.

I sighed and fell back on my bed. While their actions seemed mind-boggling to me, it was still nice to lose myself in tales of another Kingdom. Rough maps of their cities and capitals, descriptions of the royal line- their appearances, summarised history, children, any people in their lives worth noting.

King Hurn came first to my attention. He was older than my father, and has been sitting on the throne longer than most, having risen to it as a child ruler. He was the one who inherited the war between Ellister and Freyn from his own father, and signed the truce with my grandfather. There was nothing out of the ordinary written about him, apart from a crude comment about him being somewhat infertile, alluding to Freyn’s own hardships with infertile lands. As a King, however, he was just, if seen as a little old fashioned by some.

Then came Queen Neila. Here, the opinions of the sources seemed to split. Some scorned her for being too outspoken, perhaps even a little thoughtless and almost… common. Others seemed to praise her, saying that she was as much a King of Freyn as her husband was. She had been married once before as a very young girl, but her husband died of unexpected illness, and she was later married to Prince Hurn, who shortly after became King Hurn.

And then, of course, came their only child, Prince Sethram.

I stared uneasily at the portrayal of his likeness… A simple sketch, but it made me shift in my seat. Straight, dark hair, a splash of blue for the eyes. High cheekbones. His expression was what caught my eye more than anything. Unlike the lifeless and schooled faces typical of portraits, his seemed to almost... laugh at me? There was a strange, almost imperceivable smirk on his face that something in me itched to wipe off.

He’s wasn’t exactly bad on the eyes but…

I sighed and flipped the pages on. This isn’t what I took this book out for. I need information- anything to suggest why Freyn was trying to marry their only Prince to the enemy. There was little more in it of use, but it was rather engaging none-the-less.

Freyn did not follow the Goddess Mother. Instead, they worshipped a plethora of different gods, each of which served a different purpose. God of War, Izran. Goddess of Harvest, Beauty and apparently Motherhood too, Frala. God of Hunt, Miron. And so on and so forth. I chuckled when I found they even had a God of Thieves, Niko. Somehow, that didn’t surprise me.

The rest were military accounts, of which I grabbed a couple. The only thing that really stood out was the use of new weaponry, called muskets. Something like exploding sticks that shot metal balls at their enemies, with varying success. Some sources laughed at the inventions, others-

The creak of the door pulled me from the text. I glanced towards the entrance to see a maid uniform slowly come into the view.

Irsa walked in, her head bowed and hair covering her face.

“Oh, May the Mother have mercy on you, Irsa. Is breakfast being served soon?”

My eyes drifted back to the passage, but something felt off.

Irsa stood in the entrance, motionless and mute. She slowly closed the door shut behind herself in an ominous manner. I tensed up slightly, alarmed by her unusual behaviour. While her actions did not seem threatening, something about her instantly caught my attention.

“Irsa.. Is everything okay?” I tried, standing up to check up on the girl. I clasped her hand in mine, trying to kneel to get a closer look at her face.

My hand was abruptly yanked. Calloused arms threw me at the wall.

I tried to prop myself up, glancing up anxiously. My shoulder blade ached from the impact, but I did not cry out. If the guards outside even suspected her of hurting me, I did not want to think of what would happen to her.

“Irsa?”

Now looking up, I could see her expression. I did not think I’d ever seen more hatred in someone’s eyes.

“It’s your fault!” She yelled, angry tears spilling down her cheeks. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d still have him!”

“Who? What are you on about?”

I watched her, unsure of whether to try to comfort the servant or leave her be. I decided the latter was probably a safer option. It seems she did not want any such niceties from me.

“Why… why couldn’t you just marry that Prince of Freyn?” her eyes suddenly softened from rage to grief. “If you had, my brother wouldn’t have been taken last night. Why is it that your life is worth more than his?”

Irsa then fell to the ground and burst into tears, weeping loudly. It took me a few seconds to realise what was happening, but by that point, the door once again was drawn open, and Hans accompanied by another guard stepped in and took the maid by the arms, guiding her out. She sobbed loudly as she left. I sat frozen and watched helplessly while she was being dragged away to some other corner of the Palace, probably to be punished. A few seconds later, Hans returned, wearing a worried expression.

“We’re sorry for her behaviour, Princess. Are you alright?”

His grey eyes searched mine, and I realised a bit belatedly that I was supposed to answer. I scrambled up, flattening out my skirts hurriedly.

“Oh. Oh, yes! Yes, of course, I am alright. Why wouldn’t I be?” my voice cracked, but I managed to give him a smile. Hans did not seem convinced.

“She didn’t do anything to hurt you?” His eyes creased and narrowed. I smiled brightly.

“No. All good here, Hans.”

After a few seconds, he reluctantly sighed and nodded. “If that is what you say, Princess. Your safety is my priority. What will you have us do with her?”

I paused. Hans looked at me expectantly, but I wasn’t quite sure what to tell him. On one hand, I wanted to tell him that everything was fine. That it was a silly dispute and I was at fault, and that Irsa was to just be let go off. But on the other hand I knew that would never fly. He would just deal with her in his own way.

She might even lose her job at the Palace.

“You’re right. We have to do something.” I nodded, looking away in feigned contemplation. “Why don’t you suspend her? For now?” Or give her a couple days to cool off, in my words. Perhaps even put her as someone else’s maid, since I doubt she would ever want to see me again.

Hans nodded solemnly, giving me one last look, before turning back to his post.

The door creaked shut behind him, and I sank on my bed with a sigh. An unnatural chill took hold of me, sinking deep to my very bones. Suddenly, the implications of her words crashed on me.

Irsa’s brother died last night. His blood stained my hands. She blamed me for his death. I shuddered, and as much as I tried to tell myself that I had no part in this; that the Ghouls were sent by Freyn, that it was father’s decision not to surrender myself to them as bride, that I couldn’t do anything to stop it, the guilt still came.

It came like a flood. Out of nowhere, I felt it overwhelm me and drown me whole within itself. I gasped for breath, tears flushing. The vision of Irsa weeping in grief and falling to the ground held me hostage. Over and over, her words cut deep.

‘Why is it that your life worth more than his?’

I wanted to run to her. To apologise. To beg for forgiveness. To will her brother back to life. To tell that somehow I was going to fix things for her, and for the poor family of the man who was stolen in Sier.

But all I could ever do was bury my face further into the down pillows and let them soak up my sins. The canopy of stars above me felt suffocating somehow as I looked up at it, and watched the little etched stars glare at me with scorn.

I drifted into sleep eventually, sending out silent prayers to them of forgiveness, and begging the Mother to somehow make me less of a useless mess, and give me a way of helping those damned souls.