DISCLAIMER: None of this is my intellectual property.

A/N: Bet you all thought I was dead didn't you? Ha-ha. But here's the epilogue lovelies, just as I promised. Before you read ahead, I just want to take a moment to thank all of you for sticking by me throughout all this. I was an itty-bitty teenager when I originally began this fic, and now looking back at some of the earlier chapters adult me cringes. I do hope you find that my writing has changed for the better since then, and that you loved the journey of this story as much I did. And now, for possibly the last time, enjoy the chapter dear readers, and cheers to the hope of finding love (of any kind) in real life as great as what we write about in fantasy.

Chapter 15

Epilogue

-5 years later-

The meeting had dragged much too long. Between matters of the state, the crown, and the sudden correspondence from Pu, we had sat in the council chambers long past the strike of twelve; the only beings awake in the castle.

I itched to leave.

If it were not for the fact that I still remained the only councillor fluent in Puvian, I would have excused myself hours ago.

"What does it say?" Sir Albert slid forward in his hard seat, bracing his hands upon the armrests as leaned across the wide table.

I in turn settled further back into my equally uncomfortable chair, holding up one finger for patience as my eyes scanned the letter.

-in accordance to Puvian tradition I am following-

"I wonder how long it will take to prove this one as psychotic as the last?" Lord Peter, a councillor who fell short only to Sir Albert in rigour asked of no one in particular.

-against the wishes of my father and his most trusted advisors I have deemed it appropriate to unravel the workings of my predecessors, choosing instead to forge my own path-

"Two years, I say," Sir Benedict wagered.

-I will find it to be completely understandable if Kyrria wishes to begin with small steps, or with no steps at all for the time being, but I do sincerely hope that in the wake of recent events a powerful kingdom such as yours will not-

"My lords," King Jerrold said exasperatedly, "this is most certainly not a place nor a situation in which to place bets!" he stood from his chair as the head of the table, breathing heavily as he began to pace the length of the council room.

-please do not think me too forward for asking this of you-

"Five years of peace," an especially elderly councillor muttered to himself, "five years of peace is apparently all we were worthy of."

"Must you be so pessimistic?" Lord Damien asked of him.

-I only request that-

"Perhaps I prefer to not stuff my head in sand in the wake of incoming doom," he shot back.

-beginning on the third week of the next moon, we are able to-

"Is that not what you did the last time you-" Lord Damien's voice rose.

"Gentlemen!" A softer, deeper voice interrupted but a few seats down from me, "Calm yourselves. There is no need for such petty quarrels." I looked up momentarily to see Char tip his chair back just far enough to catch my eye across the backs of two councillors. He winked at me. My heart skipped a single beat as he flicked one unruly curl out of his eyes.

I smiled, shaking my head as my eyes traced across the almost unnecessarily large flourishes of the newly crowned Puvian king's signature across the bottom of the state letter. Five years and it was almost as if nothing had changed.

I realised with an internal groan that the contents of the letter called for another long day of meetings the next day. The councillors fidgeted impatiently in their seats as I slowly, very slowly, rolled up the letter and placed it on the table before me.

"Well?" King Jerrold asked after a long moment of silence, drumming his fingers impatiently on his leg.

I waited until the page sent to take the letter to the storing rooms had closed the door behind him. I sighed, folding my hands across my lap. The tension in the room was as thick as Mandy's meringue when I finally broke it by speaking.

"To be perfectly honest, the new king seems quite as arrogant as his father," I shrugged, holding up a hand immediately with the hope of stopping an uproar before its wake, "arrogant, but harmless."

And then the shouting began.

"Harmless? Harmless!" Sir Albert all but screamed over three other bickering men, "the fool is capable of throwing his king from the throne!"

"Have you even heard the rumours of the business he gets up to in court?" Lord Damien exclaimed.

"All those women!" another nobleman agreed, "those-"

"Silence!" Jerrold pounded one heavy fist on the table, and for once his councillors did as they were told. "Ella, explain the matter of the letter please so that we can all break for the night." He gestured toward me, throwing a harsh look at one man who seemed to want to complain. Ah, how I loved it so when the King was on the same page as me. I could almost see the light at the end of the tunnel.

"We have no business prying into the personal affairs of foreign monarchs," I began pointedly towards my protestors, "I suggest we all keep that in mind, Lord Damien. As for you, Sir Albert, we are all aware that he forcefully abdicated his father. But wouldn't you have done the same if you were in his position? Would we not all have? He must receive some credit for simply that. And thirdly, my lords, he is harmless because his arrogance seems only self-contained." I stood from my chair, smoothing out my gown as I did so. Freedom! Rest!

"I propose we continue this meeting in the morning gentlemen," I quietly tucked in my chair, "as Pu wishes to resume trade with Kyrria six weeks hence."

I let the collective gasp settle before I spoke again. "I dare say it is a good idea, for tensions with other neighbouring kingdoms will certainly ease when Kyrria makes her only foe a friend. Good night to you all." I began to make my way to the door as other chairs began to scrape back, chatter once again filling the silent room.

As I passed King Jerrold's chair I briefly bent down to kiss his cheek. "Sleep well Papa," I whispered.

"Good night my dear," he smiled contently.

Char followed my suit as he followed me out of the council chambers. I took three steps out into the hall before turning back to see him stick his head back into the room through the nearly closed door.

"Might I also point out," he pointed out loud enough to carry over the chattering, "that Kyrria's kitchens have suffered greatly without Puvian spices these past five years." An array of chuckling broke out as he finally swung the door shut, leaving the two us alone in the dimly lit hall.

He turned to me, a large grin on his face.

I raised an eyebrow. "That's what you're most concerned about?"

He rubbed his belly mockingly. "I'm hungry Ella," he pushed his lower lip out in an adorable fake pout.

"The kitchens are closed!" I protested, but I laughed as he pulled me away from the main staircase that we both loved and towards the basement kitchen.

"Good," he said simply, snaking one arm around me to rest his hand lightly above my hip, "no one will bother us when we make cake."

"Cake! At this hour?"

"Indeed." He smirked, letting go of me briefly to jump the last three steps into the vast kitchen.

"And how exactly do you plan to eat your beloved breakfast when you're still full of cake in the morning?" I sat myself at a table near the last hearth.

"Oh, I'll most definitely have room for breakfast love," he let out a small whoop of joy when he found two leftover eggs in the basket, "a growing boy needs his nourishment."

I rolled my eyes happily as I set out a bowl and measuring spoons. "You're not a growing boy Char."

"Ella!" he exclaimed in mock horror, dumping flour into the bowl, "if the cooks hear you they'll never give me third helpings again!"

"Oh my," I played along, catching his wrist to stop him from pouring too much milk, "I apologise. I didn't realise my voice of average volume would wake up cooks sleeping four floors away."

"That's right," he nodded in pretend seriousness for only a second before his face broke out into a cheeky smile.

I should my head, chuckling under my breath. When we married Char had barely been eighteen; now at twenty-three there was hardly a trace of the young prince I had fallen madly for all those years ago. But when smiled his face still lit up like he'd swallowed the sun, and when he laughed I still grew giddy with excitement, and it was in those brief but frequent moments that I felt as if I were still fourteen and we had never left the menagerie where he first offered me an apple.

He was marginally taller, and although never lanky by any means, he had grown slightly broader over the years. The sun had darkened his skin a tad and lightened his hair a smidge, the still unruly curls of which he kept at chin length so he could slick it back away from his face if he so needed to.

But his eyes were still as bright as sapphires and his jaw was still strong enough to make heads turn, and from the inside out he was still the boy I'd loved dearly enough to chase all the way to Pu.

"Is it done yet? I wish it were done." Char broke me from my reverie, pacing back and forth excitedly in front of the oven as he rubbed his hands together.

"Patience, grasshopper," I teased as I flicked icing onto his nose with my finger, "one would think you'd never had cake before."

"Ah, but every time one eats cake it's as if you are enjoying it for the first time!" he cupped my face with floury hands, coating my skin in the white dust.

"Says who?" I wrapped my arms around his middle.

"Me," he said simply as he moved his hands down to my waist.

I hummed contently as I laid my head on his shoulder. "Then tell me, oh Master of Cakes, is it ready to be consumed by your Cakeship?"

"Nearly, just waiting for that golden scent."

"There's no such thing as a golden scent Char." Exhaustion suddenly began to overwhelm me. My eyes grew heavy and I felt as if I could fall asleep right there in his arms.

"Is too! You simply haven't been knighted into the Supremacy of Cakes yet," he lifted my chin with a finger, "come now, Ella. You can't fall asleep just yet; I can't carry both you and the cake upstairs."

I looked up at him, smiling lazily. "I'm sure it'll be a tremendously difficult choice to make."

He leaned in closer, smirking. "Not at all. If I left the cake it would get cold and useless, but I am sure you would be just as beautiful if you woke up right here in the morning."

"Charming," I snorted, bumping noses with him.

"I know," he chuckled quietly before he kissed me.

And then at once the sparks were back and all thoughts of sleep were gone as quickly as they had come. One arm immediately snaked around his shoulders as my other hand found the hollow behind his ear, and he pulled me closer, backing me up until I felt the edge of the table across my lower back. I rose on my tiptoes just as he made to lift me up onto the slab before I stopped him.

"Let's not get icing on my gown again, shall we?" I winked.

He raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you care so much about your gown?"

"I don't. But Mistress Freya threatened to send me out naked if I ruined another one of her masterpieces."

"I don't see a problem with that," he said after a pause.

"Char!" I smacked his arm as he ran away from me, still giggling madly.

An hour later found us laughing hysterically about some court nonsense in our bed, our bellies quite full of cake and lemon icing.

"And then she said," I gasped, tears of mirth streaming down my face, "'Oh but sir! I don't know what you mean by you wanting my flower! I sold all of mine this morning at the market!' loudly enough for all the court to hear!"

"In front of his wife too!" It took Char a long while to cease snickering for long enough to manage a sentence.

"Oh, the poor girl," I sighed, clapping a hand to my forehead as my giggles finally died down.

"Serves him right, being so notoriously unfaithful," he let out a small yawn, wrapping an arm around me.

I hummed in agreement, snuggling closer to his warm body as I shivered slightly against the chilly fall air. The fire in our room had died out long ago, and the dark, bare branches of the apple tree at our window scratched at the glass panes like gnarly fingernails. I buried my nose into the crook of his neck, and we grew silent as he traced soothing circles on my stomach and back underneath my nightgown, lulling me to sleep.

"Ella?" he said suddenly, lifting me from the brink of slumber.

I blinked once before fully opening my eyes. "Hmmm?" I murmured drowsily.

"Do-do you remember what you told me right after we came back from Pu?"

I lifted my head to look at him; he was staring at the dark ceiling with glazed eyes. "No, but remind me."

"You said that sometimes it still felt too dangerous to think about the future."

"Vaguely." What was he getting at?

"Well," he whispered nervously, "do you think that maybe with trade resuming-which I'm sure it will, I have no doubts in my father about the situation at hand-it could be safe to think about the future?"

I sat bolt upright. Oh, of course.

"Ella?" he gasped, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"No, no, it's alright," I soothed, reaching for his hand under the covers, "just give me a minute."

"Of course," he squeezed my hand tightly.

My mind raced with a thousand thoughts.

A child.

That's what he meant by the future, I was sure of it. He had brought up the subject briefly nearly a year into our marriage, and I truthfully, albeit a tad jokingly, told him that matters still seemed unsafe still to unleash another small elephant into the wild. The official peace treaty had not yet been drafted, and as far as we knew, King Fredrick still ruled the land of Pu.

He'd agreed with me then, laughing at my description of wobbly, curly-haired miniature elephants, and he brought up the matter no more.

But of course, the lack of spoken word did not mean that he hadn't thought of it. And I'd be lying if I said I had not either. Of course Char wanted children. Not just for the sole purpose of an heir to carry on his crown after we were long gone, but rather because we had reached a point in our lives in which it just seemed the simple, natural thing to do. For years I'd seen the look of longing in his eyes when he looked into the faces of newborn nobles placed into his arms at court; and I too had felt the flutter and leap of my heart every time an infant squeezed my smallest finger with a tiny fist.

It wasn't as if I felt I wasn't ready to be a mother. In fact, I'd had more than five years to ready myself; one did not simply marry into the royal family thinking they could get away with not producing a substantial amount of heirs. Over time I'd realised that I could never quite get enough of Cecilia's toddler boys, and somehow the idea of teaching a small child to slide down the bannister made me feel that much closer to my own mother. There was just one thing holding me back, and it was something I had avoided telling Char for a long time.

I twisted around to face him, my thumb still rubbing back and forth across his wrist. I leaned over him, using my hand to brush his hair away from his face.

"Char," I whispered, my eyelashes fluttering against his cheek, "oh Char, there's something I've never told you."

"Really, Ella, it's alright, we don't have to-" he tried to sit up, but I pushed him back down.

"No, it's not that," I interrupted, "it's just-" I bit my lip.

"What is it?" he whispered, sounding frightened, "tell me."

I couldn't do it anymore. I let out a breath I hadn't realised I was holding. "Char, it's just that-well, I haven't done anything to prevent a child for three years."

"Oh," he said after a long pause, his eyebrows furrowing momentarily as he gathered my hint.

"I'm sorry," I hung my head.

"No," he hugged me tightly, rocking me back and forth as a tear escaped the corner of my eye, "don't be sorry, it's alright. Forget I said anything." He hushed as he brushed my hair back from my forehead, planting a kiss at the spot on my temple I liked best.

I sniffled quietly, closing my eyes. But I couldn't forget.

"Sleep now, we've a long day ahead tomorrow," he whispered in my ear, and in his arms I slowly fell into an uncomfortable sleep.

The next day we sat blearily through meeting after meeting, followed by hearings and another flew of council sessions. The King had come down with a sudden head cold, and without him to quiet the rowdy councillors I found I had developed a searing headache by noon.

By two in the afternoon I was fighting to keep my eyes open. I'd barely gotten a wink of sleep the night before, waking frequently from nightmares of chasing quick-footed tots that I could never quite reach no matter how fast I ran. The worrisome feeling that had come and gone over the years, tickling the back of my mind now burned full force in the deep pits of my stomach. I'd only ever felt this way twice before in my life: once in the days immediately following Mother's death, and the other when I thought Char had been in mortal danger.

The good news of the day was that King Jerrold had ordered Char to formally accept Pu's trade offer. The bad news was unfortunately that he'd given no hints to the terms of agreement he desired, and the twenty-one councillors all with vastly different opinions were on the brink of war over the subject.

Lord Peter insisted for over an hour that we must charge greater taxes on imported goods, while Lord Albert argued, with marginally more reason that the Puvians would retaliate by not buying our goods at all. Every time we seemed to come to an agreement, another councillor would pipe in a suggestion for free access or make a point about limited gold mines and a battle would ensue once more.

I drafted proposal after proposal until my wrist began to ache and my face was marked with nearly half a bottle of ink splatters.

"Really, gentlemen," Char protested when the pile of reject papers at my elbow reached nearly a foot high, "we are writing a trade agreement, not a love letter." He ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly.

Only my exhaustion prevented me from flashing him a comforting smile. Despite the events of last night, he was at his usual level of cheerfulness throughout most of the day. Perhaps he had truly forgotten it, or perhaps he truly was not as worried as I.

It was nearly dusk by the time Char managed to send the councillors home and I managed to corner a squire alone to letter out a final correspondence to be signed and sealed.

When Char finally managed to shut the doors of the council chambers in the face of Lord Albert, cutting off his "But your Highness I really think-" I collapsed onto a nearby chair, burying my head in my arms on the table.

"Let's never do that again," I said to Char as he came to sit beside me, my voice muffled by the sleeves of my dress.

"All for a good cause my dear," he singsonged, rubbing my back like only he knew how.

"Ugh," I complained, squeezing his hand when he reached for mine, "I think I need about three of Mandy's tonics and a cold compress for my head."

"Ah, the trying life of the Court Linguist," he joked, "don't worry, things are looking up." He kissed my ear before he stood up, raising his arms over his head to stretch.

"Are they though?" I looked up at him pointedly.

"Yes," he met my eyes and I could see that he knew what I meant, "you worry too much, Ella, things will happen when they happen. Live a little."

I smirked. "I used to tell you that."

"Ah, how the tables have turned!" he laughed.

I got up and put my arms around his middle, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Hey, what's that for?" he asked, surprised but responsive as I buried my head in his shoulder, inhaling his scent.

"Nothing, I love you."

He chuckled. "No, I love you." He kissed the top of my head.

"No, I-"

He kissed me properly this time, stopping the end of my sentence.

After a long moment he pulled away almost regretfully, tracing my cheeks with his thumbs. "I really should go and check on the knights' training," he whispered.

"How can you speak of such things!" I pretended to be horrified, fanning myself dramatically, "when one must slumber for the next ten years?"

"I'll be just a half hour, I promise," he grinned, "we can find some dinner and go right to sleep."

I pouted.

"I'm going to leave before you make me change my mind with that face of yours now," he backed away nervously.

I pouted harder.

"I must go, I'm sorry!" he yelled as he ran from the room.

Shame. Another second and he would have pranced back into my arms, growling about something adorable under his breath.

I decided to use my supposed half hour to visit Mandy in the kitchens. Char often had a knack of making me forget my worries when I was with him, but now they were back, fluttering annoyingly at the back of my mind. I tried to convince myself it was probably nothing. But what if? What if there was a slight chance that my worst fears would be confirmed; what would I do then?

I found Mandy alone in the normally busy kitchens, stirring a rather large pot of soup.

"There you are, Ella," she turned with a smile when she heard me, "I was wondering if you'd forgotten about your old cook."

"No, just kept confined in a prison of politics and court," with a sigh I heaved myself onto a stool near her chopping table, "where is everyone?"

"Gave them the night off. Can't have anyone snooping over my shoulder while I'm making my soup," she tossed a bowl of diced carrots into the pot, "tea?"

"Thanks, Mandy," I reached out my hands to accept the steaming mug she offered me.

I watched her for a while as she chopped vegetables with the familiar flick of the wrists I'd grown up watching her do, stirred with the same battered wooden spoon she'd had as long as I remembered. Would anything ever be the same after this?

"Is the soup for the King?" I asked as she extracted long white unicorn hairs from the pocket of her apron. The last time she'd done that, Mother had been alive.

Mother. That's what I knew her as. Not Eleanor, or Lady, but mother.

She nodded. "And you can bet your life that I'll stand over him and watch him drink it with the hairs in; I've learned my lesson when- what's wrong, sweet?" She had turned to see the look on my face.

I shook my head. "Nothing," I lied.

She cocked her head to one side. "He will be alright Ella. This isn't the first time the King has come down with a cold."

"No, I know, it isn't that."

"Then what is it?"

It took a while before I found my voice. "What if I never become a mother?"

She raised her eyebrows, but turned back to her soup. "Why would you ever think that?"

"Do you remember when you gave me that tonic?"

"The one to prevent pregnancy? Yes, why?" she fiddled with the heat under the pot.

"I haven't had it in three years,"

"I don't understand. Do you need more?"

"No, I don't need more because nothing's happened, Mandy!"

"Are you talking about your husband?"

"No! I'm talking about me!" I shouted, and suddenly the word that had been circling my mind for three years burst from me, "Mandy, what if I'm barren?"

She dropped her spoon with a clatter, her attention now caught. "Why would you say something like that?" she hissed, "lower your voice!"

"So it's true!" tears sprang to my eyes.

"No, sweet, it's the farthest thing from true," she set her spoon aside, pulling me into a hug, "I just don't need the three hundred people that probably heard you to start rumours."

"You don't know that," I sniffled.

"Yes, I do," she stroked my hair.

"But then-"

She sighed, forgetting about her soup for once and for all as she pulled up another stool to sit across from me.

"Do you remember your whole ordeal with the looms of the High Priestesses?"

I nodded silently.

"So then why would you ever think that fate would ever allow two people whose looms were so intertwined to not be able to have children?"

I shrugged. "I-I thought that since I had to die in a sense to separate myself, it might've damaged something."

"Not permanently. If that ever did anything your body would have healed itself by now."

"So why-"

"Because, you silly goose, you were underfed and overworked for most of your adolescence!" she threw her hands up exasperatedly, "you didn't even bleed properly until a year ago because of the slip of a thing you were! How did you expect your body to allow you to carry a child?"

I blinked for a minute before the realisation hit me. How silly I'd been. A huge weight lifted off my shoulders. "So…it just needs time?"

"Yes, love." She kissed my forehead. "You are Eleanor of Frell. You needn't worry of such things."

"What does that mean?"

She grinned wickedly. "Ella, if I have a tonic to prevent seed from catching, do you not think I have one to do the opposite?"

I blushed.

Ten minutes later, I pranced into our rooms with a new spring in my step.

"Hello," I grinned wildly when I caught Char in the middle of the act of removing his shirtsleeves.

"What's got you so excited?" he smiled cheekily, "I thought you wanted to go into hibernation."

"I do," I laughed as I ran into his arms, "but only with you."

Char was right. Things were taking a turn for the better.

But, of course, as my own infamous luck would have it, things also took turn for the worse. We could never have complete peace and stability while I was around, could we?

Three days later Mandy cornered me in the kitchens in the morning to tell me the king hadn't gotten any better.

Rather, he had gotten worse.

"I thought you gave him the soup!" I said, shocked, feeling as though my stomach had dropped from beneath me.

What was she saying? Did she mean what I think she meant?

"I did, Lady," her bottom lip trembled as she wiped her eyes with her apron, "I watched him drink until the very last drop."

"Then why didn't it work?" I fumbled with my hands, reaching out for something to hold onto in case I collapsed.

"Because I don't think it was a cold. It was something hidden, something that only showed itself at the last stage."

"Oh gods," I finally found the edge of a table to grip onto, leaving heavily on it. I closed my eyes, willing myself to take deep breaths. This was all a bad dream. I would wake up any second in my warm bed to find king Jerrold was really safe and healthy. Suddenly I felt very nauseous.

"I've already spoken to the queen. She took it marvellously well, as if she knew of it already." Mandy continued, "she has already written to the Princess Cecilia. She should be here in a few days to say goodbye."

"And the twins?" I gasped, finding it suddenly quite challenging to breathe.

"They've been informed. Leon came last night and Montel should be on the road from Bast as we speak."

Deep breaths, I commanded myself, take deep breaths. This was one of those rare occasions where I wished I were still cursed in the back of my mind.

The room began to spin, and I felt the ground give way under my feet. It was too soon; it wasn't time yet. King Jerrold was supposed to live to a ripe old age, not the measly forty-five that he had, leaving Char and I too clueless and scared to rule.

I vaguely felt hands catch me as I fell; voices echoed; some screamed, some were of soothing tones, but the only one I was aware of was Mandy saying "Ella, you have to be the one to tell Char."

The weeks following passed by in the same way: in flashes of faces and sounds, not coherent events following each other chronologically. I did not know if I ate or slept; I did not even know how I ever left the kitchens when Mandy delivered the news to me. It was as if I was looking at a fast-flipping children's picture book through a long black tunnel, only certain images stayed in my memory, and the others flew away to leave spots of empty darkness in my mind.

I remembered Daria's normally immaculate hair in disarray, her fair face paler than normal, Char's heartbroken eyes, the tight grip of the King's hand in mine the last time I ever spoke to him.

"Please," I had begged him, tears streaming down my face, "you can't leave us like this."

He had only shaken his head and smiled as he spoke, coughing between every word. "The time is-cough-ripe, Ella, I'm-cough-leaving-cough-the council to you, I know you'll take excellent care of it."

"No," I had knelt desperately beside his bed, "please, Papa, I'm not ready, I-"

"Yes, you-cough-are."

I had shaken my head furiously, unable to speak.

"You are ready, Ella. You and Char-cough-both are. Take care of him as he takes care of you and-cough-I know you'll be the greatest pair of monarchs Kyrria has ever seen."

I had peppered his face with kisses, refusing to let go of him for a long time.

I remembered the grim image of the twins walking through the king's bedchamber doors, their now devilishly handsome faces exhausted from their return trips from military excursions, lacking any trace of mirth. I remembered Cecilia collapsing from her carriage into my arms in hysterics, having arrived a mere forty minutes too late, her normally joyful baby boys running around in confusion.

Almost overnight every flag in Kyrria was lowered and black masts were raised, and I wound myself tighter and tighter into my cocoon of despair. What I did not remember was how Daria, Char and I managed to arrange the most elaborate state funeral the kingdom had ever seen, ensuing the same frenzy that my wedding had caused, save for joy was replaced with grief.

Day by day I hardened the protective shell I had wrapped around myself, closing myself off to all but a close few. Look strong, I told myself; all eyes are on you now. The stress of it all made me violently ill for an entire week.

By some miracle, my face remained entirely dry during the funeral service, whether it was from the shock or from the constant self-reminders to not repeat the events at mother's funeral I never found out. For almost the entirety of High Chancellor Thomas's three-hour speech, one hand clinging to Cecilia's and the other to Char's, while my eyes floated around to see the great hall filled with a mass of black.

It wasn't until late that very night when I felt my resolve begin to crack. Having said our final farewells, I walked into our rooms to see Char leaning over the writing desk, shaking uncontrollably as he poured over a piece of parchment.

He turned around when he heard me approach. "Last Will and Testament of Jerrold Markus the Third, fifty-sixth sovereign of Kyrria," he said hoarsely, "the archives master just sent it up."

I nodded, and when I looked into his eyes I felt the shell I'd tried so desperately to build up around myself shatter into a million pieces. And before I knew it he was in my arms, sobbing into my shoulder as he held onto me like a lifeline. I held him to me just as tight.

"I don't know what to do, Ella," he whispered between hiccoughs, "I've never felt so alone."

"You're not alone. You'll never be alone if I can help it." His curls were soon soaked through with my own tears.

"Ella," he asked finally when we had both managed to quiet down, "is it easier the second time around?"

If I gripped him any tighter he would suffocate. "No," I answered softly, kissing his forehead, "it never gets any easier."

The customary forty days between funeral and coronation was soon extended to double the original amount, much to my relief. It took nearly six weeks for those closest to the late king to feel as if we were living beings again, an additional two for court to resume and one week for me to recover from the mysterious case of stomach illness that kept me in bed rest.

It wasn't as if Kyrria went without a ruler for three months while we recollected ourselves. The only official monarch present during those eighty days may have been the dowager Queen, but in reality Char and I took over most of Jerrold and Daria's previous duties as soon as court was back in session. I had vague memories of the Queen's responsibilities from when I shadowed Daria in the early days of my marriage, but the earlier training was of no help as the accumulated workload of both Queen and Court Linguist often made me want to tear my hair out.

A week before the scheduled coronation I saw Char smile for the first time since the death of his father, and three days before the event I made him laugh over something I causally said.

"Such is life," Mandy told me later on, "people come and go, and it does no good to grieve forever over someone who wasn't sad to go. And often one end marks a new beginning, Ella."

The morning of my last day as old, simple Eleanor of Frell I woke up to find my husband staring into my looking glass, a shocked expression on his face.

"Char?"

He started at first, and then relaxed when I placed a comforting hand on his arm. "I feel as if my entire life has been leading up to this," he spoke in a nervous whisper, "so one would think I'd be prepared. But I'm not Ella, I'm terrified."

"Me too. At least you've been prepared for this, I was supposed to be a merchant's wife." I wrapped an arm around him from the back, planting a peck on the back of his neck.

I felt him relax under my touch. "If it helps, you've always been a queen in my heart."

"It doesn't, but thank you anyways," I chuckled before being whisked away by Cecilia to don a gown the exact shade of the blue cloaks Char always wore.

When I saw him next it was outside the doors to the hall, flooding back memories of a much younger Char waiting happily outside those same doors to wed me. This Char was perhaps not as giddy, but he was still entirely, utterly mine, and I still sometimes had trouble coming to terms with it.

This time, he was draped in a heavy ceremonial cloak, and carrying an identical one under his arm, presumably for me.

"We meet again," he smiled as I fell in line with him, shaking out the gold and sapphire cloak before draping it across my shoulders.

"Where's your crown?" I asked, confused. I had never seen him bareheaded at a state ceremony before.

"Locked away in a pretty glass box in the treasury," he winked, "waiting for as long as it takes for the next crown prince to claim it." He gathered the ends of the cloak in front of me so that he could close the clasp at the neck without trouble.

I smirked. "Perhaps it won't take too long for a claiming."

His hands froze inches from my stomach. He raised his head slowly, looking at me in amazement. "Are-are you-?"

I shook my head, biting my lip, but I let a smile escape. "No, not yet. But soon. Mandy says the time is ripe."

His grin was blinding. "Oh, Ella," he kissed me fiercely, "that is possibly the greatest thing I've heard all year." He peppered my face and neck with kisses.

"Relax, Char," I laughed, managing to pull away when I heard the trumpets blaring, "it hasn't happened yet."

"But it will!"

Perhaps I had been wrong about Char not being as giddy as he was before.

I love you, he mouthed to me as the doors began to inch open.

No, I love you, I mouthed back.

"Ready?" he whispered as a page gave us the signal to begin walking.

I almost answered no, but then in a second he had taken my hand in his, and all at once I was filled with such a warmth that in that moment I knew that as long as he was by my side, I could do anything, whether it was to be a simple court linguist, a mother, or even the bloody Queen.

"Ready," I said, and with that we stepped forward hand in hand to meet our fate.