Elodie laid under the covers with a pillow pressed over her head. She watched the morning light creep in through the sliver between the pillow and her bedsheet. It grew brighter quickly, finally it was too bright to deny that it was morning.
She waited. Surely, someone would come shortly to summon her for more ridiculous, useless decisions for a party that she didn't even want to host.
But no one came. She opened her eyes again to find that she had fallen back asleep, and the sun was high and warm in the cloudless blue sky. She sat up in bed and stared at the door. Slowly, she got up and got dressed.
A nice gown, one of her favorites, specially tailored to be easier to ride in than her other dresses. A pair of matching flats. She sat down on the vanity stool, facing the room instead of the mirror, and went about brushing out her hair and pinning the curls up into a simple but pretty style.
When she was done, she looked back at the bedroom door again.
Still, no one had come.
Finally, she stood and went to the door, pushing it open and peering out into the hallway. Sitting in a chair a few feet to her left was a single guard, dozing with his head propped up on the hilt of his sword, still in its scabbard.
She stepped out into the hall. Downstairs, she could hear the sound of people talking, and perhaps laughing, but definitely arguing. She hurried towards the stairs, and scanned the floor below.
Most of the hall was dark. The curtains upstairs were usually drawn back, but on lower floors they were often left closed, which meant that she could clearly see that only one of the rooms on the floor had light emanating from a crack in the doorway.
She could begin to make out voices.
"I just don't think Evermore could benefit from making this change you're suggesting," Bishop explained. "The law has been in place for quite a long time, it was established to ensure our independence."
"I guarantee our business would bolster your economy," came a voice she did not recognize. "We were trying to make this arrangement with Valerian, but you know how he can be."
Elodie tightened.
She listened a bit closer. Surely this man must have a very good reason to mention her father by his first name.
"Yes," Bishop relented. "I know. I'm sure he barely heard you out. But I have. And I'm not going to change it."
"I assure you–"
"I have no doubt in your professional reputation, nor your promise of consistency. I have simply made up my mind. Now, what else did you want to discuss?"
Elodie pushed open the door and was surprised to see that there were actually quite a few people inside. Bishop sat on a couch on the opposite side of the room, smoking out of his pipe. As soon as she stepped inside and was visible, he put the ember out and stood up.
"Gentlemen. This is her Highness, Elodie Ashking, daughter of the late and great King Valerian and Queen Victoria. Good afternoon, my dear princess."
She scanned the room. Most of these men were strangers, but there were two that she knew. Lane, one of the younger men who had been in her father's employ, stood behind one of the sofas with his hands clasped behind his back. He had shaved his head since she'd last seen him.
Sitting on the sofa opposite Lane sat Omar, who wore his signature smirk. He watched her with those eyes that made her want to wring his neck, and she glared back at him before looking again at Bishop, who by now was shaking hands and patting shoulders, motioning people up out of their seats and towards the door.
She watched him shoo everyone out and then turn back to her, smiling.
"Did you sleep well?"
She tilted her head. "What was going on in here?"
He gave her a confused look. "A meeting? Lane, Omar, and I were meeting with some delegates from a Norgard-based trade group. They wanted us to lift some of our embargos, and I told them no."
"Why were you having a meeting without me?"
"Because you were sleeping. Sweets?" He offered, extending his arm towards a plate of desserts sitting on the table. "This one is your favorite, apricot."
She frowned at him. He picked up the apricot dessert and offered it to her. She took it without another complaint. She took a bite and grumbled that it was good and she'd slept fine, thank you.
"I thought, perhaps, you could use a break. I know this past week or two has been very overwhelming for you. There's no reason to be upset."
"I know, I just – I don't know."
"It's alright, darling. Eat. Coffee? It's still warm."
She nodded, her mouth full of sweet cream, delicate cake and apricot jam. Coffee sounded lovely.
He sat back down where he'd been sitting when she came in, and patted the seat beside him. She plunked down on the sofa, watching as he poured her a cup of coffee from a pot sitting on the coffee table in the middle of the room. It wasn't steaming hot, but when he handed her the cup it was pleasantly warm in her hands.
"You had a lot of people wanting to see you today," Bishop admitted. "But I told them all that you weren't feeling well, and to come back tomorrow or the next day. So they should be more spread out over the next few days. Lane mentioned that it might also be a security concern to have so many people coming and going to see you."
She looked up from her coffee. The bitterness enhanced the intensity of the sugar in the desert, and the tart flavor of the apricots. But her mouth suddenly became very dry.
"Security concern?"
Bishop pursed his lips. She narrowed her eyes at him. After several moments, he admitted, "I was not supposed to tell you that."
"Not supposed to tell me? Why not?" She pressed, setting down her cup of coffee. It was terribly difficult to be angry with Bishop, but she knew immediately that Lane would be getting a very stern warning for suggesting keeping secrets from her. "Am I not supposed to know when I'm in danger?"
"He didn't want to frighten you. I told him you'd been having a lot of trouble adjusting, and he didn't want you to have more to worry and fret about."
"Am I not supposed to fret?" She snapped. "I hadn't realized my life wasn't a concern."
"Don't be that way, darling," he reasoned. "Everyone wants what's best for you."
She got up. The party planning was so much, so overwhelming. And now…
"So what does that mean? I'm in danger?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then what did Lane say?"
"He's making arrangements to ensure your safety. Before, during, and after the event."
She grit her teeth. She wanted to hit him again. Bishop was always doing things for her, always taking control of the situation when she felt she was losing it, always making sure everything and everyone found their proper place. It was infuriating. Absolutely unacceptable.
"I didn't realize you would be angry about me taking a meeting without you. I'm sorry, Elodie, dear."
She got up from the couch and turned away from him, pacing around the center coffee table.
"Calm down," he told her. His voice had quickly become much more stern, and she turned to look at him in shock. "There is too much to worry about for you to argue with me this way. Have I not always been on your side? Surely you trust me to conduct business on my own. Your father always did."
She bit her lip.
"Don't talk about my father."
"I know. I'm sorry. But you see my point." He explained.
"I do."
She crossed her arms and walked over to the large round window at the back of the room. Outside, she could see a group of 8 white horses and the castle tailor with his measuring tape, taking measurements, for adjustments to the decorations sewn specially for the animals.
In a flash, she grabbed the curtain in a tight, angry fist and ripped it to the side, covering the window without a thought. She couldn't bear to look.
She turned and looked back at Bishop, who was sitting quietly on the sofa, looking back over his shoulder at her.
"Come," he beckoned, patting the seat beside him again. "I know."
She let out a frustrated sigh and eagerly closed the distance, throwing herself into his arms and beginning to cry again.
"It's all too much, Bishop. I don't want to do this anymore. We can cancel the party, can't we? I'll pretend to be ill! I'll do anything! I can't bear this any longer. Just tell me it's over."
He slowly stroked her hair, smoothing it over, tucking runaway tendrils behind her ears, and gently wiping her tears. He said nothing, allowing her begging to devolve into pained wails and garbled speech, until he couldn't understand a word she was saying.
He rested a hand on her back and rubbed it in slow circles.
"Let it out," he encouraged. As much as he had tried to keep her together, she was still falling apart. She felt as though she had been split into pieces and thrown around, her personhood forgotten, as though her soul had become inhuman.
He offered her a handkerchief, and she took it gratefully, wiping her nose.
"I hate this."
"I know," he soothed.
"I hate you."
"Now, now," he said gently. "Don't say such things."
He leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead.
"I love you, too," he told her. "Everything will be alright. Just let me take care of it for you. Take the next few days to prepare yourself. The party is on Saturday, and you've been avoiding every thought of it. It's happening, Elodie, even if you don't like it."
She buried her face into his shoulder.
"How will I survive?" She whimpered.
He placed a hand on the back of her head.
"As you always have," he replied.