Not Your Princess

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Asch does not remember the last time she has left her bedroom. It could have been six months ago, when they had held the dual funeral for the king and the prince. It could potentially have been a night where she began to wander aimlessly through the hallways with no sense of direction nor purpose. That could also have been the day when the king had carved out his heart, she does not know anymore.

Since August's death, Asch's mind had been mixing up all of her memories as well as the time. She never knows when it is day or night nor does she know when a full day has passed. All Asch can remember is the aching hole that sits deeply in her chest.

No matter the time of day, that's all she can feel. It sits like a void, sucking away every other feeling or desire that she may have. Slowly, the hole is swallowing her. Soon, there will be nothing left for it to take from her.

The door to her bedroom opens with no knock of permission, but Asch keeps her face hidden under the covers. If it's an individual who poses a threat, Henrick will either take care of them or they will kill her. Either way, she does not care what occurs.

"Your Majesty," Henrick greets in the background. She can hear the leather of his sheath groan while he bends at the waist.

The princess remains still, hoping that the queen will believe that she's asleep and leave.

Queen Julianne sniffs before walking over to the curtained window. "It is far too dark and depressing in here," she states. Light illuminates the room before Asch hears the sound of a curtain being drawn back. Some of the light pokes through the blanket, burning through Asch's eyelids.

"Henrick, when is the last time that Aschleigh has left her room?" The queen inquires. Her voice is slightly less muffled now that she is standing closer to the bed.

"A few months ago, Your Majesty."

She can sense the glare that Julianne is giving the guard. Both guard and princess wait for the verbal lashing the queen is likely to give him. Asch is Henrick's responsibility, afterall. He should be doing everything that he can to drag her out of this room.

In the time since the funeral, Henrick has only tried to make her leave her solitude once. He practically had to drag her out of bed to get her to at least take a brief walk through the halls. When they had passed the room that had burnt down, Asch completely broke down. Henrick had to carry her all the way back to her bedroom.

"You may wait outside. I would like to speak to the princess alone."

His sheath groans one last time before the door opens and shuts. Then, Asch is left alone with the woman who seems to have moved on too fast.

The bed dips by Asch's feet while the queen sits down. "I know that you are going through a difficult time, Asch," Julianne begins. Her tone is gentle yet firm. It feels as though she is trying to scold and console Asch all at once. "But I need you to start getting out of bed."

Asch does not respond, unable to find her voice. Every morning, Asch wakes up alone in a bed built for two people. It feels as though everything around her is a constant reminder that she used to have a partner. That she used to wake up in the morning to forehead kisses and cuddles. 

Julianne strokes Asch's head through the blankets. It brings Asch the slightest amount of relaxation. "Though you are not a royal by blood, it is a rule that you are considered a princess for the rest of your life. As such, you have duties and obligations now that you are widowed at a young age with no heirs."

Though it was not meant to be, the last statement feels like a jab. As if being a young widow was not enough, Asch has to live with the fact that she did not have any children with August. The two of them never truly had the time to properly discuss the idea.

"That is why I have decided to send out invitations to eligible bachelors in several nations to come and court you," the queen states.

The princess throws the blanket back so that she can see the queen's face. It's more weathered than she remembers with several hard lines now creasing her forehead. Her dark hair is slightly more gray than it was the last time that they saw one another.

She does not appear as though her entire world has fallen apart, however. Queen Julianne looks happy, healthy and prepared to move on.

Asch is not ready to move on nor does she have the desire to do so. She does not want to have to marry someone else and pretend that they could ever measure up to August. She does not want to have to hate herself more than she already does. "I'm not doing that," Asch argues. Her voice is hoarse from not being used in months.

Julianne quirks a brow. "Oh, so you can speak." She studies Asch for a moment before looking out of the window. The queen sits there quietly for a moment before her shoulders start to sag. "I'm afraid we do not have too much of a choice. People think that after the loss of the king and his first born son that Weldain is weak. They are looking at our kingdom to try and find cracks in the foundation. They are looking for ways to justify their selfish desires to take us over." Sighing, Julianne glances in Asch's direction. "In the time when we are at our weakest, we have to look like we are at our strongest. Our enemies must not know that we are falling apart at the seams."

Shaking her head, Asch sits up. "I fail to see what that has to do with marrying me off to some foreign man that I will have no interest in."

The queen's eyes harden. "It's not about whether or not you are interested in them. We must look like we are moving on and looking forward." Julianne rises from the bed and turns her back toward the girl. "Now, I would much rather you willingly choose a place to spend what I hope to be for the rest of your life. If I have to, though, I will forge your signature on the marriage certificate and have the guards escort you into a carriage."

Anger spikes through Asch. This is exactly what Elinora had warned Asch about at the funeral. Somehow, the duchess foresaw this outcome. "So I'm no better than a prisoner?"

"Only if you force yourself into becoming one."  Her heels click on the floor while she walks toward the door. The hinges squeak when she opens it, but she waits just one moment to look back at Asch. "I do not care what drives you to get out of bed. Whether it be anger, spite, hope, or love. All I care about, Asch, is that you get out of it."

With that, she exits the room. Henrick walks in moments after she is gone, eyeing Asch like she is some sort of caged animal. He grabs the hilt of the sword in a forced attempt to be casual, but then drops his hand immediately after. Henrick kicks his foot, wanting to speak the words without pushing Asch too far.

"She means to marry me off," the princess claims. Her voice is quiet, yet small bits of anger push their way through. "She acts as though I am nothing more than a prized mare."

Shaking his head, the guard closes the bedroom door. "That's not true. Her Majesty is just concerned about your health and your future because she cares about you." He averts his gaze to the ground. "She would not do such a thing if she didn't think it would be in your best interest."

The argument builds up in Asch's mind, but the words die once they reach her tongue. She does not have the energy to argue against Henrick nor does she really have the energy to argue against the queen. Regardless of what Asch wants, her future has been dictated for her.

There is nothing she can do to change that.

Slowly, Asch lays back in bed. Tears form in the corners of her eyes while she blankly stares at the walls. "I'm just tired," she states. "I don't care about the future or political games. I don't care if I die alone or of a broken heart or of an illness." She closes her eyes, allowing her tears to fall down the side of her face. "I miss him."

There aren't words to properly describe the feeling that Asch has. It's like an itch she can never scratch. Like a pain that will never go away. It's a vision that she cannot see and a word that she cannot hear.

With every fiber of her being, Asch wishes that she were able to see August once again. At least one last time.

"I know," Henrick quietly murmurs. The room's chair groans while he sits in the spot he has been in for the past six months. "I miss him, too."