To My Duke, Dearest| j. kirschtein

xviii. Misfortune's Arrival

Dawn met you awake, a soothing hand of warmth to guide you into the morning. Its lusty dew settling upon the curtain-less window like a cloak of new spring, and its glowing smile filtering the dark of night. The canvas of the steadfast horizon bled with the sense of burning  anger you had slept with. A seething, raw line of distinction from the girl you were previously and the woman you were ready to become. She awaited you in the morning mist, her guiding hands stretched out and you lazily blinked, not bothering to shield your eyes from her searing touch.

Within yourself, you felt completely stale. Your body felt as though you had taken a beating, and there was still a tangible weight of nothingness up on your chest . Though Dawn was gracious with her blessings, no gifts she offering could ail the bitterness that infested your heart, no promise too tempting. Nothing could thaw the stone-cold hatred within your body the more you reflected upon the wicked surprise that Dusk had given you, in the form of those heart-wrenching memories. But unfortunately, there was no more salt water that could leave your eyes, so when you decided that had officially staled and wasted away, you believed that there was credibility to your thoughts.

Raising yourself upon your elbows, you exhaled the non-existent sleep from your lungs as you ran a hand over the wrinkles of stress within your face. Despite the fragility you felt within your bones, you sat up straighter, forcing yourself face up to the horror of the realities around you. The vivid truth that you were not like them and they were not like you and no matter what ties you believed you were making, what bonds you thought you were forming with the likes of Prince Jean or Armin, there would always be that blatant divide.

That miniscule inkling that nestled itself right in the back of your mind and rested itself right when you were scratching the lows of rock bottom, its abrasive surface against your hollow and delicate skins. Because in those moments, you were not Rielle or y/n or anybody, you were simply a Marleyan. You could feel the word painted onto your forehead as a mark of shame when a disagreement with the other princesses went a little too far, when the scratching looks of the Eldian nobility became too obvious. And though it was completely delusional, but in those soft, tender moments between you and the prince...you felt as though he could see it, too.

See that ugly difference that announced that he could never understand you in the way you understood yourself. That perhaps there would always be another woman within his sights of fancy who was poised, pretty and Eldian, who reeked of something over than Marleyan blood that was so difficult to contain. Within this foreign territory, belonging to the nation of Marley felt like sin. The kind of sin that led you away from the chapels and prayer houses, fearing the rageful assault of the so called religion-seekers who wanted blood more than they wanted salvation.

Shaking yourself free from your harrowing thoughts, you rubbed your hands over your face. Sitting up, you blinked in slight disorientation, confused as to why you were in this foreign location. One horizontally wide window pane was mounted upon the bland wall, its shutters were wide, revealing the sun that had woken you with Dawn's dews. The sheets around you were rather rough, and you could feel the individual straws of the mattress which you were no longer accustomed to your luxurious night sleeps from your own down-filled mattress you had been sleeping on for the past month.

Then the realisation suddenly hit you and you gasped, flicking your head towards the contents of what you now knew as Porco's room. Hot blood circulated within your body, setting your face aflame and allowing panicked sweat of mortification to settle across your neckline. Crawling towards the edge of the bed, your worst fears was made a truth as you blinked at Porco's snoozing figure on the floor, biting your lower lip in dread as the memories from last night hit you at once like a bitter, winter wind.

What had happened between you and Prince Jean, the things you had seen last night, those words you had heard. With a shiver wracking through your body, you slunk towards the edge of the bed, taking another glance at the blonde who was upon the stone-cold floor, a gentle smile pushing at your lips. For with the horror, the never ending retrieval of memories, there was something positive about the events of last night. It was because within the darkness, there was smallest inkling of kindness from him. There was the smallest glimmer of hope within the waters you were drowning in.