Yavanna sat silently as the carriage rocked back to Harkburg. She had noticed that she didn't have a home; Viland wasn't a home to her, though she did long to see the stars and breathe Viland's night air. But the castle wasn't her home either, it was cold and harsh. And the Outborn pack had been terrifying.
She sighed sadly and felt her eyes begin to sting. She wanted a home. Somewhere warm and comfortable. Somewhere she could feel entirely safe, always.
It took a day for them to return, the king drove. Which she thought was rather inappropriate, but he didn't seem to care.
Her thoughts forced her to reflect on what had all happened. But she organized everything as best she could, in order to stay sane. Mirella and Rune had done something scandalous, her cheeks blushed red; she still had yet to educate herself on the intricacies of what an act would entail. But she could imagine it vaguely and her ears burned and her frown deepened.
She continued on with her narrative; her mother and father discovered them, and must have sent her away with Rune. But why? Why not simply let it pass and allow Mirella and the king to get married happily and for Yavanna to marry her own betrothed.
Her chest constricted. She had tried not to think about Dwelt. He was a good man and she had never had a problem with marrying him. He was simply waiting until he was more settled down, then they would be wed and have many children. The tears that had previously pricked her eyes, returned.
He didn't deserve this; to be abandoned by her. Dwelt deserved a good wife. She released a shaky breath and stared out at the landscape that slowly returned to Harkburg's misty forests.
Suddenly, the carriage stopped and she slid from her seat slightly. It was already night. Her eyes widened in fear and her pulse pounded in her ears. Had the king left her like the general had? She shrank away from the door when she heard footsteps.
The king opened it and observed her carefully before he reached his hand out. Her body went cold before her emotions went numb. Her veil.
He sighed and left it on the seat when she didn't take it. After he shut the door she could only stare at the veil with dead eyes. After everything, he was still forcing her to wear it.
When they finally arrived back at the palace, it was in the dead of night. Yavanna stepped out of the carriage and saw that the king was already gone; probably vanished and left her to find her way back into the castle. She sighed and began mounting the stairs. The two sentries opened the doors silently for her without even asking her where she'd been or how she was.
The interior was dark, lit only by a few candles, and she frowned as she fought to find her way. When she'd finally managed to reach the west wing she opened her door and removed her boots and heavy cloak. She wanted to sleep in something more comfortable, but didn't have the energy to change. So she simply loosened what she could reach of her corset and snuck beneath the covers.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Morning light reached Yavanna's eyes and she inhaled sharply, her veil catching on her face. She started and blinked rapidly. Her body slumped when all of the memories came rushing back to her.
'Whatever happened to adapting?' She asked herself. She used to be so strong. She sat abruptly and threw the covers off of herself—ignoring the soreness radiating throughout her tired body. 'I still can be.' She said firmly. She was the queen, and now she would start acting like it. Velio was gone, so what was stopping her?
"Your majesty, good morning."
Yavanna looked up and saw Edith, along with Lorraine, standing in the sitting area. Both looked surprised and perplexed. Yavanna swallowed, her throat was still sore. Her lips thinned, 'You can do this.' She breathed in her mind while breathing out a slow breath physically.
She nodded in reply and slid off the bed to walk into the bathing chamber. Her maids followed and she wondered where Christa was. Her throat clenched nauseatingly when she recalled that Vivian had been executed. No longer existing in this world. She frowned. Death was so terrible. So permanent.
"Would you like to have a bath readied, your majesty?" Lorraine asked and Yavanna focused her gaze away from the blank space of flooring and to the maid. Her head nodded and they both exited the room.
When the tub was filled they both left the room, knowing that Yavanna preferred to have privacy. She inhaled slowly through her nose as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Exhaling slowly, she reached back and began unlacing her dress.
She still felt exhausted tugging on the edges of her mind, but she needed to get through at least one day of being strong. If only to prove to herself—or the powers that be—that she could be.
The dress fell away, her shift soon following. She stepped from them and removed her undergarments. Her calculating brown eyes scanned over her bare flesh in the mirror. She wondered—not for the first time—what the king had seen on her skin that had prompted him to stare at her in such a way.
She found her brows furrowing the longer she thought about and the longer she stared at her unappealing body. It was hideous, she reminded herself. Unpleasurable.
She removed the veil and tossed it to the ground next to her clothes and stepped into the warm water. Ignoring the fading bruises on her thinning face, the hollowness of her eyes. She released a long sigh at the water's soothing touch and she allowed it to distract her.
But, before long she had to begin washing her soiled skin. How long had it been since she'd had a bath? Only a day? She shook her head and scrubbed away at her pink skin; flushed from the water.
After rinsing her hair thoroughly she stood from the cooling liquid and patted her hair as she could before placing her veil back on. She tied her robe on and stepped from the room.