ANCILLARY

⁰¹ ✦ Place Called Home ✦

Gentle clink of Enica's knife and fork against her porcelain plate was the only sound in the grand, hollow dining hall.

She watched the silver utensils scrape across her half-eaten slice of beef, their movements mechanical.
Across the long, candlelit table sat her father, King Alistair, hunched over his plate, his head bowed.
The candlelight cast shadows across his weary face, illuminating the deep lines etched around his eyes and mouth.
She stole a glance at him, noticing how his tired, bloodshot eyes looked even redder tonight.

It was her nineteenth birthday, but the weight of the day was marked by another occasion-one that hung over both of them like a cloud.

It was the anniversary of her mother's death, the day her life had ended as Enica's began.

Her birth had claimed her mother's life, and though no one had ever spoken those words to her, she felt them in every cold glance, in every silent moment.

She looked down, feeling the familiar, gnawing sense of guilt rise within her.

Her birthday was a day of sorrow, not celebration-a day when the palace's halls seemed emptier and her father went quieter.

This wasn't how she wanted it to be. She longed for a family, for warmth. But all she had was her father's silence, the cold walls of the palace, and the burden of a death that haunted them both.

Across the table, she heard her father take a breath, his voice quiet, a murmur more than a statement.

"I'm... sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable."

he said, his tone awkward, as if the words themselves were strange and unfamiliar on his tongue.

His eyes remained downcast, and Enica sensed his guilt, the weight of the apology almost painful for him to bear.

"Father,"

she replied softly, forcing a smile, one that she hoped would reassure him.

"Please, don't worry. I'm just... grateful that we could share this meal tonight."
Her voice was gentle.
She'd long since stopped expecting warmth from him.
Instead, she'd come to accept this ghostly connection, the shared glances and polite exchanges that stood in for the love they couldn't quite manage.

He looked up, offering her a tired smile in return, though his eyes betrayed the sorrow he tried to hide.

"I'm glad that you're my daughter, Enica."

he said, his voice distant, almost futile. She wanted to believe he meant it, that beneath his sadness he loved her.
But she knew the words came from a sense of duty rather than warmth.
As they ate in silence, she felt the walls of the dining hall press in around her, heavy with memories of laughter and light she'd never known.
Her mother's portraits lined the walls, gazing down at her with kind, gentle eyes, a woman she could only know through others' memories.

Her father had become a ghost in this palace, moving from room to room in quiet, dignified grief, a man encased in ice. She looked at him, feeling as though he was a million miles away, unreachable.

After a long silence, he cleared his throat, his tone formal.
"I'll be leaving tonight,"
he announced quietly.

"A diplomatic mission to the neighboring kingdoms. It will take some time-a month, perhaps. I hope you understand."