Chapter 28: memories

The night stretched long, thick with silence, broken only by the wind rattling against the shutters. I sat at the edge of my new bed, the fire casting flickering light across the stone walls. The room was bigger than the one I’d lived in as a maid, yet somehow it felt smaller—because every corner pressed in with expectations I didn’t want.

Aristea worked quietly at the vanity, folding the linens I hadn’t touched, her movements steady and patient. I had been quiet too, too quiet, the weight of the day pressing down on me.

Finally, I broke it.

“Do you ever remember what it was like before?” My voice sounded strange, like it came from far away.

Aristea paused, then turned toward me. “Before what?”

“Before all of this. Before the council, before Draco, before…” I trailed off, struggling with the words that clawed at my throat.

Her eyes softened. She didn’t push. Just waited.

I took a shaky breath. “When my grandfather was still alive.”

Saying it out loud twisted something sharp in my chest.

Aristea’s gaze didn’t waver, so I looked past her, past the walls, back into memory.

“I was only a child, but the castle felt different then. War was still in the air, yes, but inside these walls—it felt safe. My grandfather made sure of it. He wasn’t just the king to me. He was… everything. After my parents died in the war, he took me in like I was his last treasure.”

The fire snapped, sparks spitting upward. I could almost smell the old oak smoke from those days, almost hear the sound of his voice echoing through the halls.

“I used to follow him everywhere,” I said with a small laugh, though my throat was tight. “He would scold me for being underfoot, but then he’d ruffle my hair and tell me that a good ruler never walks alone. He taught me that—taught me everything I knew about what it meant to care for people. He said strength wasn’t in crushing others, but in making them believe they mattered.”

My hands twisted in my lap, knuckles white.

“I remember nights when I’d cry for my mother, and he’d sit beside me, telling stories of when she was a girl. How she used to sneak sweets from the kitchen and blame the guards for it. He made me feel like she was still alive, like I could still hold onto her somehow.”

The words trembled now. “I miss him. Gods, I miss him so much.”

Silence pressed heavy between us, broken only by the crackle of firewood. Aristea’s face remained calm, but her eyes glistened faintly in the dim light.

I swallowed hard. “And then Draco took him from me. Right here. In this same castle where I used to feel safe. I watched the light die in his eyes. I watched the only person who truly loved me fall to the ground because of that man. And they expect me to serve him? To live under his rule as if nothing happened?”

My voice rose, sharp and raw. “Every time I see Draco’s face, I feel like I am standing in that moment again. Like I am still that little girl, powerless, watching everything she had be ripped away.”

I couldn’t stop the tears now. They spilled hot and fast, blurring the room until all I could see was firelight and the memory of my grandfather’s strong, warm hands wiping tears from my cheeks.

“He promised me I’d never be alone,” I whispered brokenly. “But here I am.”

Aristea crossed the room slowly, as though approaching a wounded animal. She sat beside me, her hands cool as they covered mine.

“You are not alone,” she said firmly. “Not anymore. I am here. And as long as I live, you will not be abandoned.”

Her conviction cut through the haze of my grief. I turned toward her, searching her eyes for some hint of mockery, some shred of falsehood. But there was none.

I let out a shaky laugh through my tears. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t know what it means to be tied to me.”

“I do,” she said quietly. “I’ve known since the day I set eyes on you. You carry more than loss, Blair. You carry a birthright. One they tried to bury under ashes and lies.”

I shook my head, pulling my hands from hers. “I don’t want it. Don’t you understand? I don’t want crowns or thrones or power. I would trade it all just to hear my grandfather laugh again. To feel safe in his arms one last time.”

My chest ached with the weight of words I had never spoken aloud. I pressed my palms against my eyes, willing the tears to stop, but they came anyway.

Aristea’s voice was soft, almost reverent. “You loved him deeply.”

“I did,” I breathed. “He was the only one who saw me. Not as a pawn, not as a burden. Just… me.”

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The firelight danced, shadows shifting across the walls like ghosts of the past.

Finally, Aristea said, “That is why his blood runs in you. That is why Draco fears you. Because you are not broken, no matter how hard they tried to make you so. You are his heir, in every way that matters.”

Her words landed heavy, like stones piled atop the grief already crushing me. I wanted to scream at her, to deny it, to say she was wrong. But deep down, in the rawest part of me, I knew she wasn’t.

I wiped my face roughly, forcing the tears away. “I don’t want to be his heir. I don’t want to be anything to them. All I want is freedom.”

Aristea studied me quietly. “Then hold on to that. Because freedom, true freedom, is only possible when you stop running. When you face what hunts you and tear it down.”

Her voice was calm, but her eyes burned with something fierce. Something that scared me almost as much as it comforted me.

I drew in a shaky breath, staring into the fire. “My grandfather always said the wolves would never stop coming. That as long as there was blood to spill, someone would want the throne. I didn’t believe him then. I thought wars ended eventually.”

“Wars don’t end,” Aristea said gently. “They shift. They wait. And sometimes, they wear the faces of your own kin.”

Her words struck deep, bitter and true.

I pulled my knees up to my chest, curling in on myself. “I wish I could hear his voice right now. Just once more. I wish I could ask him what to do.”

Aristea reached over and brushed a stray strand of hair from my face. “Then listen inside yourself. His voice is there. Everything he taught you still lives within you. He didn’t die in vain, Blair. He lives through you.”

The tears came again, but this time they didn’t burn. They fell quiet, heavy, but with a strange kind of release.

For the first time in years, I let myself remember, not the blood, not the fear, but the warmth of my grandfather’s laughter, the strength in his embrace, the way he made me feel like I mattered.

And for the first time in years, I let myself mourn.