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Elias breaks the silence first. “Your Majesty. F-Father.”

I also curtsey. “Father.”

They both just nod. There’s an awkward silence, which is understandable considering what I just yelled out.

I gulp. “I’m late for my lessons so I shall return. Good day,” I say, ready to beat a hasty retreat and go freak out in peace. But life, as usual, has other plans for me.

“Winter. Stay,” The emperor says curtly. It’s so strange, hearing my name from his mouth. Such a rarity.

I turn around and look at my father with complicated eyes. I also look down at Elias, who’s doing his best impression of a statue. I can’t blame him. The Lord Protector of the Northern Territories looks as unfriendly as his name would suggest.

.....

His mouth cuts across his face like a knife, heavily hooded eyes giving him a rugged look that has clearly seen many ugly things. His mean mug is reminiscent of my father’s, birds of a feather really do flock together. They are a clear blue, a sharp difference from Elias’ vivid purple gaze, but they both have the same sandy-colored locks. Heavy furs adorn the cloak the towering lord wears, reminding me very much of a bear.

“I think I’d rather not,” I say after observing the Lord Protector’s appearance.

Without wasting a second I rush to the hedge I crawled through initially and disappear through it. This time unlike a little over two years ago, no fearsome hand moves to drag me back, so I make haste in returning back to my lessons.

I make a good show of appearing behind underneath a rose bush and giggling as if I were playing a childish game of hide and seek.

“Haha, none of you could find me! I win!” I yell as I burst out. All the attendants and maids who were looking for me collectively let out a breath, save for one perplexed one.

“I could’ve sworn I’d already looked there...” I see Nina scratching at her head.

“You just didn’t look hard enough I suppose. Now quickly, let’s all go inside.” I usher every in as speedily as possible, occasionally throwing glances over my shoulder. But my father doesn’t seem like the type to send guards after me just because I ran off so rudely. I think.

All the while, I’m scolding myself. Rushing off like that was stupid. Reckless. Dumb.

But a teeny, tiny part of myself is feeling incredibly satisfied. She also takes a seat however when I walk back to my drawing room to a scowling Ms. Laroche. I smile sheepishly, but she does not look pleased with the fact I snuck off while she was speaking.

“Hand.” She holds a familiar ruler. But unlike Empress Katya, her blows to my palm barely sting. This leaves time for me to think of how I basically just told my dad to his face that I hate him.

And it kind of feels good.

“Is something funny, your highness?” Ms. Laroche asks stiffly as she puts away the ruler and pulls out the little book she’d been dictating from.

“No. Not at all,” I say obediently, dying inside as the lecture on Erudian history that I’ve already read about continues.

No one comes for me after lessons. Nor after lunch. Even as I take an evening bath and put on my nightgown, Emma just shakes her head at the silent question in my eyes. No one.

“What are you looking for, your highness?” Marie asks as she undoes my hair for the evening, the brush running through my hair in slow, comforting motions. She can see my skittish eyes through the vanity mirror.

“My father.” I chuckle at the ridiculousness of my words after I’ve said them aloud.

A look of sympathy crosses Marie’s face before she hides it. “I’m sure he’s thinking of you too, your highness.”

I snort, too tired to tell the truth both she and I already know. But the following morning, when I dress up in a scholarly outfit once again, I am greeted with the surprise of a lifetime in the drawing room.

The drawing room, a fancy term for a living room, has a few lion claw sofas at the center where I sit while Ms. Laroche lectures from her books, shows me proper etiquette, and on occasion brings out a table for me to practice eating properly as I apparently hold my cutlery “like a savage”. Ma’am, I can’t help it, my right hand is almost disabled. I’ve already had to master writing with my left hand.

But today, an extra chair sits in the corner. Seated upon it is my father, leaning casually upon the seat and staring. I nearly jump out of my skin, stumbling in my path to the sofa. Emma steadies my arm and then looks warily at where my father is sat as she curtseys deeply towards him.

“Your Majesty.” Mrs. Laroche also bows deeply towards my father, the typical teacher’s malice briefly going into hiding as she gives a model curtsey.

She carries on with the lesson as if we are the only ones in the room after, but my father is the literal elephant in the room. An elephant who keeps appearing again. And again. And again.

The initial surrealness of finding the emperor, who also happens to be my dad, sitting in the corner of the room like a school administrator observing a class has faded. As I diligently learn about Erudian philosophers and which gloves suit which occasion, I’m learning things about him that I never wanted to learn, like the fact he drinks straight black tea without any milk or sugar in the mornings like a psychopath. Or that, whenever I get an answer correct, he’ll dip his head in a small nod.

“You don’t understand. It’s just so weird to have him in there!” I complain. It’s a few weeks after I let out that bold statement and Elias has become a palace mainstay since then. The leaves have fallen from the trees and I cannot go outside without a heavy outer coat. “I can hardly focus. Emma, you saw it too! Wasn’t it weird?”

Emma nods helpfully, her short bob bouncing.

“See?” I insist. “I thought he was going to kill me discreetly, but this is worse.”

Elias has a strange smile on his face. “Everyday?” he repeats.

“Yes,” I say in exasperation. “Did you not hear me?”

“No, no. I heard you. Your father takes time out of his morning to personally watch your lessons,” Elias said, twisting my tale around so it sounded like the emperor was some doting father.

“Do you even learn anything? You’re always free when I call you to the palace,” I ask accusingly in the face of his weird cheerfulness.

“I have a private tutor,” Elias explains frankly.

I cross my arms. “Well, how would you feel if your dad sat in the room and breathed down your neck while your private tutor taught you?” I ask.

“I would be pleased beyond words.” A starry look fills Elias’ eyes. The Lord Protector returned north shortly after he met my father and left Elias in the capital true to his word.

I roll my eyes. This neglected son was the wrong person to seek sympathy from. But it gets me thinking about two very important questions:

What are my father’s intentions in showing up every day?

And more critically, why hasn’t the empress done anything about it yet?

It’s been a long while since I’ve seen Empress Katya, a dry spell you could say. It’s awfully uncharacteristic of her, as before I ran away from the palace, I’d be forced to see her intermittently throughout the week. But assuming that she’s simply backing down in the face of my father’s false interest in me would be foolish. I can tell she is biding her time, but for what? Trying to guess why has kept me up late thinking and eating a little less than usual.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking about tickling you until you cry!” I yell, pouncing onto Elias with a laugh.

The little bit of peace I get when I spend time with Elias and pretend to be a typical 8-year-old child turns out to be a short-lived requiem. Two things happen within a few weeks of our meeting, the latter far more concerning. The first is an official summons from the Holy Church, the first of many concerning the agreement I made with Bishop Duvernay in exchange for my life.

The second is a new classmate.

Julia.