The ballroom was finally quiet, finally empty again. Isabella and her friends had been good company, and they'd arranged for them all to come back to visit later on in Autumn.
But now, she stood alone among the servants and the few guests who had asked to stay overnight before they'd depart in the early morning.
Bishop appeared, silent as ever, and wrapped her up in his arms.
"You did so well," he said softly. "I know it was hard for you."
Elodie leaned her head onto his shoulder and shut her eyes.
"I'm very cross with you," she muttered.
"I know," he replied. "Now isn't the time. Let's get you ready for bed, it's very late."
Beyond the castle, deep in the heart of the city, the temple's bell began to ring. She nodded, and wrapped her arms around his neck. With a small grunt, he leaned down and lifted her up off the ground.
"You're lucky the magi helped me find some potions to help with my back," he teased gently. "Otherwise I'd never be able to lift you like this."
"I'm glad," she murmured. "It doesn't hurt so much anymore?"
"Not at all," he assured. "Only when I forget to take the medicine."
"Don't forget."
"I try not to."
He walked slowly, his arms tight around her. The castle was remarkably quiet. The walls themselves seemed to finally be allowing themselves a deep, restful breath, and the candles seemed softer than they were most other nights. As he walked, she could hear from some of the rooms, the guests talking softly, getting ready for bed, having nighttime snacks.
She wondered exactly how many of them there were. The castle was fuller than it had been in years. Perhaps that's why everything felt more peaceful.
Bishop climbed the stairs and the sounds of life faded away. The second floor was mostly off-limits, reserved only for the royals, or relatives of the family. And Bishop, of course. He'd lived upstairs, in a large bedroom with an attached study for many years, almost as long as she could remember. She had one memory, one of the earliest she could recall, of visiting him in the servants' quarters, but after that he'd always slept in a room just beyond her parents'.
She wondered who had given him that room. Likely Father.
Finally they arrived at her bedroom, and Bishop pushed open the door with his hip. She slid down out of his arms and put her feet back on the floor, groaning at the pain in her heels.
She kicked the shoes off without concern for where they'd land, and wobbled over to her bed, collapsing onto the covers and laying her head back. Bishop followed after a few moments, and sat down on the bed beside her. He carefully began removing pins from her hair, unraveling the braids one at a time. She sighed as she felt the tension start to release in her scalp. He pushed his fingers into her hair and shook the curls, letting them fully spread out over the comforter.
"There," he said, his voice low and warm. "I'm sure that's much better."
She nodded, and sat up slowly. He reached out and began to undo the lacing on the back of the dress. She took a deep breath when she felt the tight hold on her ribs release. It hadn't been all that noticeable during the party, but now that it was gone, she was aware of the discomfort.
She laid back down and he leaned over her face, placing a warm kiss on her forehead again.
"Thank you," she sighed.
He nodded, resting his hand on her hair and rubbing his thumb over her forehead.
"You know," he began, "Before your father passed, he forced me to make him a promise."
She looked up at him, curious.
"He said, 'Bishop, if anything were ever to happen to me and my wife, take care of Elodie for me.'"
She smiled, amused. "He didn't say that," she grumbled. "He'd have asked you to look after Amayella, too."
Bishop shook his head. "He said Amayella would be fine. He worried about you."
Elodie gave him a skeptical look. "I don't think I believe that."
"Have I ever lied to you, my darling?"
She rolled her eyes. "No, I guess not."
"I haven't," he affirmed. "And I'd not start now."
She reaches up, and he scoops her into a tight hug.
"Your father loved you very much," he said.
He loved Amayella a lot more, she thought. She shut her eyes, and turned her head into his chest. Bishop stared down at her, frowning, thinking. He moved his hand, cupping over her cheek and drawing her face upwards to look down into her face.
"I love you, as well," he offered. "You know that, don't you?"
She nodded. "I love you, too."
"I'm sorry I was harsh on you tonight," he said. "I only wanted to help."
"I know," she said, pulling away from his hand and burying her face back into his chest. "I'm sorry I was such a brat."
"It's alright," he soothed, smoothing out her long twisting curls. "Like I said, I know it was hard for you."
She shrugged. "It's alright, now, I suppose. At least it's over."
"Right," he reminded her, rubbing her back. "The hard part is over."
She fell silent, her breathing steady and slow. There was little else in the world that brought her the peace that Bishop's presence did. She knew that sometimes she could be a problem, a loud and brash nuisance, but he never seemed to lose his love for her. He never seemed to let her terrible behavior affect him for very long at all. She wondered what things would be like if her mother and father were still around. Would Bishop still love her as he did, or would he have kept the distance that had always been there between them? Would he have maintained an arm's length, out of respect? She hated the thought.
He was the version of her Father that she'd always wanted. She found herself almost… thankful that he'd gone away. If Father were still around, Bishop could never have replaced him in such a way.
Bishop scooted back on the edge of the bed and allowed her to lay down, resting her head on the pillows. She pulled the comforter up over her.
He stood, but she reached out and grabbed his hand. He smiled, understanding without a word. He rounded the bed and laid down beside her on top of the covers. She looked across the covers at him.
"Don't tell anyone I told you this," she whispered. "But I'm glad Father died."
Bishop shushed her. "You don't mean that."
She shook her head. "Maybe I don't. But that's how I feel."
He adjusted the comforter around her neck. "...It's okay to feel that way."
She shut her eyes, drifting off.
"Thank you."
She awoke again, suddenly, and the room was awash in the cold light of a full moon. Bishop sat up against the headboard, propped up against a pillow, his hands folded in his lap. He snored softly, his head hanging down and resting on his chest.
She swallowed. The room felt cold, musty. Old and heavy, like a damp blanket. She pushed off her covers and stood up, looking around the room. Perhaps something was different. Was this a dream?
Slowly, she turned, staring across the empty room at the vanity, the mirror staring back at her coldly, sharply.
She took a step toward it.
"Mama?" She whispered, her voice barely above the creak of the floorboards as she approached her vanity.
Beside her, the sheer curtains surrounding the window lifted, obscuring her view, before falling back away. There, in the mirror, where she had once stood, now stood the wispy, unstable form of a woman, made of mist and smoke.
She began to move faster towards the mirror. The woman remained where she was, as still as a statue, save for the threads of smoke lifting off of her, carried away in the wind.
"Mama," Elodie breathed. She knew, in her heart, it was her. There was no one else it could be.
Her mother stood motionless as she sat down at the stool and stared back at her through the mirror. Slowly, her blank expression deepened, and a smile began to form on her smooth, cold cheeks.
"Talk to me," Elodie begged. "Please?"
The ghost took a step towards the mirror.
"Isn't the crown comfortable?" She said, her voice like echoing birdsong. "It suits you. I know you think so."
Elodie laughed, relieved. "It's… It's not as bad as I thought it'd be. But… Mama, tell me, what do I do? Our people don't trust me."
"Clench your fists," the ghost replied, cold and harsh.
"And grit your teeth," Elodie completed the statement. "I know, Mama, but what does that mean?"
"Your blood is gold," the woman replied sharply. "Your word is law. Make it so."
Elodie pursed her lips. Put my foot down?
"Yes," the ghost answered. "Your word is law."
"Yes, Mama." Elodie nodded obediently. "I will make it so."