Wicked Chase

♛ Epilogue

EPILOGUE

I watched them lower the coffin and I couldn't stop the tears from gathering in my eyes. The tears threatened to fall over and I didn't think anyone would notice if they spilt over because their sole focus was on the coffin and their own grief. Royals and Noblemen from various Kingdoms were invited to my father's funeral and a part of me wanted to send those invitations back but my father had specifically requested me to invite certain people.

He was the one that had technically planned his own funeral. My father knew he was a dying man. Ever since the war he'd been unstable, both mentally and physically. A part of me understood why he went a little off the rails because the gore and brutality of the war still scarred me and plagued my nights. Sometimes I wasn't sure if they were nightmares that held danger for the future or they were mere images of the war, and without Alastair by my side reality had become slightly blurred.

My mother's death had shattered my father. The first time my mother died my father was okay. He was healthy and he was affected by the news of her demise but watching her die - that ripped something out of his soul. It was like he had lost the will to live, and after Alastair and I had returned home I had spent countless hours with my father, getting to know him better and trying to coax him out of bed, to take a ride with me or merely have a picnic out in the Royal Garden.

The tears spilt over, my heart squeezing just like it had when we had buried my mother, as I stepped forward and bent down, gathering a handful of sand and standing before my father's grave. It had been more than two years since the war and in that two years I had gotten to know the father that I had deserved, the father who I didn't have for my past twenty-one years, while his health had deteriorated rapidly. Marcus, the Royal healer, had tried to help the King as best as he could but there were often times when my father refused the medication, where he thrashed against Marcus' hold when he was forced to take his potions because I knew that my father no longer wanted to live. Sometimes when I sat next to him, scribbling on pieces of paper that were sprawled on his bed because I got back to my studies, I'd see him looking at me and when I'd ask why he was looking at me like he was sad, he'd say something along the lines of, "you just remind me so much of your mother, with that hair and your powerful passion for your studies. I miss her very much, you know that, Gen?" And I'd drop my pen or pencil and reach out for his weak hand and give it a squeeze, and say, "yeah, I know, Dad. I miss her, too."

Swallowing a lump that had blocked my throat, I lifted my hand that clutched sand and opened my fist, letting the remnants of the sand fall from my palm and over his coffin. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and without looking back, I turned around and walked away because going through another parent's funeral was causing my heart so much pain, pain I thought I would never ever experience in my lifetime.

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The crown settled on my head, softly, as it was cushioned by my hair that was fashioned by Bronia, my maid, who had insisted that I look presentable even though today was my father's funeral.

A King had died and a Queen was born.

I should have felt honoured as the priest finished up and placed the crown on my head, and in some way I was, but the instant the finely designed crown, which had surprisingly soft edges with such intricate designs that I could not even make out up close, my confidence vanished and that great responsibility my father had talked greatly of in the two months I had gotten to know him better seemed to heave down on me.

I was a Queen and yet, strangely, I felt as if I was not ready. Just a few more days, I wished I could beg so that I could spend more time with my father and I could delay having this great responsibly on my shoulders. I had an entire Kingdom to take care of now and that lone thought was enough to frighten me. How was I going to rule this Kingdom without my father?

My hands felt heavy and I clutched the armrest of my father's throne - my throne - as the crowd that had gathered in the courtroom burst into an applause, cheers and praises filling the courtroom and making it all the more vibrant.

My eyes scanned the room as I tried to find something or someone that would ease my frantic nerves and my rapidly beating heart that seemed to want to butcher my ribcage. Oh my, I couldn't do this, I couldn't be Queen, I couldn't rule a Kingdom, I couldn't–

My train of panicked thoughts immediately shut off when my eyes caught that of my guard's, his stormy grey eyes making my heart skip a beat before it began to gradually slow down. The world around me seemed to slip away until the world only consisted of him and I, while everything else either vanished or was extremely hazy. He walked towards me, his rhythmic steps purposefully slow but yet they were filled with confidence, his stormy grey eyes ablaze with new found interest and curiosity. He was clad in traditional clothing, the tunic hugging his torso brilliantly that I couldn't help but admire the way in which he carried himself. But those enticing, alluring, forever whirling swirl of grey - those eyes were what my sole focus was on. His eyes entranced me and I didn't know he was standing right in front of me, right in front of my throne, until that familiar silvery voice of his travelled towards my ear, his voice suddenly deeper with a hint of huskiness, as his words wrapped around me and left me spinning with a newfound emotion that I could not decipher in that moment.

"Queen Genevieve," he exulted, "Alastair Ignacio, at your service."

I knew what those words had meant. He and I had discussed what had to be said in order for the other to know that our hearts were still the same as two years ago, and I didn't think anyone would understand the words we exchanged because he had never left but it didn't matter if they understood or not - it was our secret code to know where the other's heart lay. Two years was certainly going to change the both of us but if he was willing to start over, to begin again, then so was I because I had never stopped loving Alastair Ignacio no matter how much I tried to and so for the first time that day, I smiled at him and spoke up.

"Hello, Alastair Ignacio. It's good to have you back."