Sasha is worried. 

I would be too if I were her. She stares at me through her eyelashes as she collects all the brushes she just finished using to apply the heavy makeup now covering my face. 

Even after a week, my eyes are still puffy and it takes over an hour to even make me look presentable. Maybe it would take less time if I had bothered to leave my chambers before today. But the death of my grandmother shook the entire castle. Allowing me the slack to never leave and turn away every visitor. 

I'm putting off getting dressed. I sit in my favorite armchair, it's grey and the arms are soft and squishy. My knees are drawn to my chest. I'm still in my green and black flannel pajama pants, Sasha made me change my shirt from the large black one I have been wearing all week to a white tank top. 

My hands are cupped around a warm cup of coffee I don't remember being handed. The cream swirls around each time I breathe and air from the nose hits the surface. 

I don't even like hot coffee. 

Sasha finishes putting away all my makeup, chewing her lip she turns to look at me. "The meeting with the Court is in thirty minutes."

"I know," I reply softly.

Sasha takes tentative steps towards me. "You need to get dressed."

"I know," I repeat.  

Sahsa walks until she stands right next to me. "Stand up then. You know I can't plan outfits the way you can. You go get what you're wearing." 

I do know. She can't create outfits for shit. Standing I hand the untouched coffee to her. She waits until she thinks I can't see and takes a swig from it.  

Technically I'm not supposed to be at this meeting. I'm not even supposed to know about it. But there are few methods that I can use to get what I want. This is the only one know will work. 

I have a plan. In my mourning, it was the one thing I seemed able to do. Planning my intrusion of this meeting. 

That starts with my appearance. I need to look powerful, command respect with my clothing, but I still need to look like me, I can under no circumstance conform to the typical female attire that is appropriate for a business meeting. 

A white pantsuit does the trick. The pants are high-waisted, and the jacket falls so my entire chest can be seen, making the perfect view for my black, lace corset. 

This is about expression. Wearing one of my least favorite fashion garments is a sacrifice I'm just going to have to make. The shoes are black pumps that click extra loud when I walk on hard surfaces, such as the floor in the conference room. 

With a silver clip, I pull my hair back into a tight twist with a few strands to frame my face. it matches the chunky silver chain that hangs around my neck. 

In the mirror, I look like someone who is trying to insult the Court with their looks. I am, but the reality of it still shocks me. But I do what I must. 

Turning to Sahsa I take a deep breath. "You ready."

She nods and steps close to me. Pulling me in by my waist she firmly presses her lips to mine. I accept the kiss gratefully. She's careful not to smudge any of the rest of my makeup. Thankfully only the gloss of my lips transfers to hers.

"Let's go."

Sasha and I walk through the halls of the palace towards the office where the Court along with my father's cabinet is assembled. In her arms, she carries twenty black leather folders. Each holding the meticulously made plans for my grandmother's funeral. 

Nick broke into the event committee for me and stole my plans back. This is the funeral she wanted, I intend to make that happen.  

Stopping at the doors I draw a deep breath.

"You can do this," Sahsa says encouragingly. 

Lying to myself and her I reply, "I know I can."

"Okay." Sasha slips open the door quietly, letting me enter before she follows and closes it again. 

The room is dim, the only light coming from the large presentation board. The horseshoe arrangement of tables is facing the other side of the room, where one of my father's cabinet members is reading off about production trends in the tropics. My father sits at the right end of the table, no one notices me or Sasha looming in the shadows. 

The least important people sit at the back table, the table closest to me, I scan until I see what can only be someone's assistant. He got lucky enough to gain a seat at the table, let alone be allowed in this meeting at all. 

He's fidgety and nervous, his hair is sleek with gel, it's glowing. His glasses are too large and keep slipping down his nose. Along with the profuse amounts of sweat he's secreting I'm surprised they're still on his face at all. 

l walking up behind him I tap his shoulder. His head turns and he looks up at me his jaw unhinging. I can see the panic in his eyes, he doesn't know whether to stand up and bow or not, he fumbles around in his seat as he attempts to face me. 

"P-princess, I uh, um, I..."

"Up," I say gesturing with my fingers. 

He almost trips over himself trying to stand. I wait until he;'s at the back of the room before pulling the chair out and seating myself in a delicate manner. 

By now I've drawn the attention of the rest of the room. I find my parents first. My mother is staring daggers at me, practically screaming with her eyes. My father clears his throat and fixes me with an agitated look.

"Emmalyne, do you need something?" He questions. 

"Yes," I answer in a painfully cheery voice. Gesturing to the man at the front of the room I smile. "But I can wait until Mr. Faux here is done presenting."

"Fox," he corrects me quietly. But when my eyes shift to his, he quickly looks down at the ground. 

My mother speaks through her teeth. "This is a closed meeting."

"The door was unlocked," I say nonchalantly. 

That earns a few chuckles around the room. But they are silenced quickly when my father's gaze snaps to see who laughed.

"Fine," My father sighs. "Emmalyne do what you came here to and then leave."

"It's alright," I say waving my hand. "He can finish his report."

Fox looks as if he's going to faint being stuck in between me and my father. "I was about finished. The princess can go ahead." 

"If you insist." I smile. 

Walking to the front of the room I look over my shoulder at the scribe. "What has the King's Court already discussed in today's meeting? I would like to know if I'm revisiting an old topic or touching on a new one."

"Don't answer her," My father says quickly as I go to stand in the front of the room. "Emmalyne, make your case, don't bother my court."

"Fine," I say sharply. "Then you tell me, father, have you discussed the plans for grandmother's funeral yet?"

He doesn't answer right away. His features harden and his grey eyes glint, staring me in a threatening manner. 

"Well?" I ask, his eyes daring me not to.

"Emmalyne, we have already discussed this," I turn my head away from him to look at the newest member of his cabinet. 

He will give me my answer, he is young and looking to play his cards right, if he is smart he won't lay in allegiance with a king whose reign will only go on for another six months.  

I watch him, patiently waiting for the answer to my question. He looks terrified, but slowly he shakes his head. 

"Very well then," I say. "As of now, servants are to be handing you a portfolio, inside the plans for the late Queen Kelly's funeral. These are the last demands she made that we have on record."

People begin flicking through my meticulous plans, eyebrows raised. Whether they're impressed or shocked, reactions vary. 

"Now to disregard these wishes," I cast my father a hurtful glace, "would only disrespect what Queen Kelly and King Daniel have worked so hard to build. So if it's all right with all of you, we can hand these plans over to the event committee and the funeral will take place in three weeks' time."

Some spare a few glances at my father, waiting to see if he will add anything. 

"Any questions?" I prod clasping my hands together. 

More people turn to gaze at my father. 

"Objections?" I murmur.

No one says anything. Not even my father. He only murmurs something his servant before shooting me a distasteful glare. 

"Excellent," I smile. "It settled, I will have these turn over to the event committee upon my departure."  

A few members of the cabinet nod. Curtseying I grab my copy of the plans and begin walking out. 

"It was lovely speaking to you." 

One man says, "Good day, princess." 

Then I am out the doors and it's over. 

Leaning against I wall I close my eyes a blow out a strong puff of air. I can feel my knees wobbling, they were rigid in there. My entire body tensed to keep me from shaking. 

My eyes still closed I speak to Sasha knowing that she was on my tail the second I left the room. "Was I terrible in there?" 

"You were fantastic," Her automized servant voice assures. "Stong, confident, you knew what you were doing. All the work paid off." 

"I'm just glad it's over," I smile, finally opening my eyes. 

Sasha stands up straight and goes quiet. 

"What?" I ask, knowing there's some sort of message inside of her mask. 

She holds up her finger. "It's not over quite yet." 

"Let me guess."

"One of your father's servants just informed me that he wants to see you once his cabinet is dismissed."

"A private audience?"

"No, your mother should be there too."

I laugh scornfully. "That's no better."  

"I'm sorry, Emma." 

Laughing once more I rub my eye. "Don't be, I expected this. I just didn't prepare for it." 

"Are you going to be okay?" Sasha's tone changes. It's the same way she's been speaking to me all week. 

Like I'm fragile, she's tiptoeing and around me. I'm not fragile.

"Oh, I'll be just fine," I say. "It'll be over in ten minutes. Shouting at me will just kick start the healing for his bruised ego. Nothing to fret over."

I hold out the funeral plans. "Take these to the event committee and then return to my chambers. I'll meet you there so I can prepare for that stupid dinner."

"Okay," Sasha whispers taking it out of my hands. 

"Okay," I reply watching her walk away.

I lurk in the shadows for an additional ten minutes. Then the cabinet files out of the room, I wait until I no longer hear voices from inside before slipping back in. 

The lights are on and my parents stand in the middle of the horseshoe, tracking me with their eyes as I enter the room. I walk around the tables until I'm leaning against the wall facing them. 

They say nothing and just stare. 

"Well?" I prod.

Then my father explodes. "What the hell was that?"

My mother flinches and takes a step away from him. I feel my arms tense and I close my eyes. 

Gathering myself I speak. "She wanted the funeral in those plans. I got her that funeral." 

"You made me look weak!" He shouts. "In front of my own cabinet." 

"I showed a display of ambition of prowess." I snap back. "You made yourself look weak when you let a teenager take your meeting out from beneath you." 

"You are hot-headed and temperamental. I don't know how we ever thought you were a suitable heir." He sneers. 

I can't help but laugh. "Oh, so you're going to replace me then? Mere months away from my arranged marriage and my coronation? You're going to take all of your retirement plans and postpone them for eight more years?" 

"I will do what I have to for the betterment of my kingdom." 

"You only do things for the betterment of yourself and you know it." I spit at him. "We both know the next suitable ascendant is David. Just as we both know you upsetting the line of succession and lengthening your reign for another eight years would cause just as many headaches as me interrupting your meetings."

"You know nothing." He scoffs. "Stupid girl."

"You are the hot-headed and temperamental one, father. The sooner your rule ends the better."

Then without waiting for him to respond I leave. 

My mother shouts after me, "Emmalyne!"

"I am not done speaking to you!" My father adds on.

"Well, I'm done listening!"I shout back. 

The door shuts behind me and I don't exhale until I'm walking up the stairs to the children's tower.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I don't like silence. I never have. I'm okay when I'm alone and it's quiet, but when I'm with other people they might as well just stab me instead of putting me through the agony of muteness. 

I sit here with John, the only thing to punctuate the quiet is our spoons scraping the bottom of our bowls. 

Since it was decided that I was marrying John we started eating weekly dinners. In addition to the lunches, we usually end up taking together on the days I don't have meetings. 

Lunch is better because it's short and we are both still working while we eat. That silence is comfortable, we are not expected to speak. We just eat, ignoring the other's presence.  Lunch is nothing more than a companionship of convenience. 

But dinner is always painful. It's a time for us to get to know one another. To talk about our plans for the future. But neither of us is able to strike up a conversation that lasts more than a few sentences. 

I've been able to avoid dinner for the past month with my grandmother's passing. But no more. We would have to speak again eventually. That just happened to be tonight.

There are so many rooms in this place. We're eating in a private dining room, if it were summer I would have had us sitting on the balcony overlooking the orchards. But a thick blanket of snow covers the ground, keeping us inside. 

It's dark outside and the many candles lit reflect off the black windows. It would be a beautiful date, many couples would dream of a romantic dinner as divine as this one. But I do not love John as those other couples love each other. So it is just dinner. A chore even.

John finishes the broth at the bottom of his bowl. "Good soup," He extends after swallowing. 

"Yeah," I nod, stirring the noodles around. "Pretty cold outside. It's nice." 

"Yeah," he replies.  

It goes silent again. 

Grabbing the bottle from the center of the two-person table we're sitting John tops off his glass. 

"More wine?" He offers, holding the bottle out. 

"No," I say shaking my head. "I have an early stats meeting. I can't risk being hungover. Thank you though." 

John quirks his eyebrows, "Red wine would give you a hangover?"

"Another glass would," I say draining the rest of mine. "And math is not my strong suit." 

"You have weaknesses?"  John scoffs. "I wasn't aware." 

I do my best attempt at a laugh. "That's because I leave very little room for them." 

"Why?" John askes his head quirking. "Our flaws are what make us who we are."

"Princesses don't have flaws," I mutter. "There is no way I can ascend knowing I have imperfections." 

"That doesn't make any sense." 

Snapping I say. "I'm the future queen. There's no room for error."

"I'm the future King," John snaps back. "and I don't see why not?" 

Biting my tongue my head turns and I stare at him. 

"Stop that," John says. 

"Stop what?" 

"Doing that thing," He says gesturing around his face. "With your eyebrows, stop it." 

"I'm not doing anything with my eyebrows," I say, baffled.

"Yes you are," John says. "That's the face you make while you're calculating whether what you want to say is too rude or not."

"That's not true," I scoff. 

"Really?" John says looking down his nose at me. "Tell me what you were going to say then." 

Sucking on my teeth, I consider for a moment more. Clicking my tongue I fix him with a downward gaze. "Before the burning period when a man was marrying into the throne he was given the title Prince Consort. One of the first laws I helped pass was the change of the title of future male suitors."

He looked perplexed. "And this is relevant how?"

"Even when I was only sixteen, I thought the man I'd marry would at least be able to have the respectable title of King Consort instead. I'm hoping I didn't misjudge. But you are not a King, and unless I die you never will be." 

He looks hurt. 

I don't care. He asked, he knew the next words out of my mouth weren't going to be kind ones. The least he could do is act like a big boy and pretend he's fine. 

"And if you did die?" He questions.

"On the off chance I passed away before our heir was of age, then you would briefly inherit the title of King. Your reign would be short and meaningless, coming to an end the second our child turned twenty." I mince no words. 

This is going to be his life until the day his ashes are being thrown into the wind. He might as well know the truth. I can tell from his face that it's less glamourous than he would have hoped. 

He crosses his arms across his chest. "And if you died before we had an heir?"

That feels like a threat. "David would succeed me. You would get a small inheritance and then lead the rest of your life as a widowed noble."

His face falls a tad. He almost looks disappointed. 

"I'm hoping that was no more than a question idle curiosity," I say plastering on my fakest smile. "Because nothing will get you exiled faster than a threat on the future Queen's life."

"Of course not," John sputters. "Idle curiosity. That was all." 

"Good," I smile. Taking my napkin off my lap and stand and place it on the table. "Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to retire for the night."

I don't wait for him to wish me sweet dreams. 

Entering my room I look around for Sasha who is lounging on my fainting couch looking out the window. Despite the freezing temperature, she has it open. Her hair is down, the cascade of orange curls flowing like water from the breeze. 

She is exquisite. 

Creeping to the bathroom as not to disturb her, I remove my makeup.

Walking over to my vanity I take off my gold necklace with the single diamond at the end and then proceed to remove all the rings from my fingers before throwing my hair up into what will be a pathetic sagging bun within the next five minutes. 

Sasha's head turns when I take off my shoes and throw them to the floor whilst I acquire some loungewear. 

"You're back!" She exclaims. Throwing my knitted wool blanket off her lap and closed the window. 

"Do I do a thing with my eyebrows?" I question as she walks closer.

"Excuse me?" Sasha's lips scrunch. 

"My eyebrows," I say grabbing the pair of black sweatpants and bubble-gum pink hoodie I selected. "Do I do a thing with them when I'm talking to people?"

Sasha taps her chin. "I- I don't think so."

"People I don't like." I clarify. 

"Oh!" She gasps. "Yes! I always thought it was more of an eye thing than your eyebrows, but I guess it's both."

"I have a face that I make?" I cry as Sasha unzips the back of my dress. 

"You didn't know?" She asks.

"Is this the reaction of a person who knew?" I say pulling the sweats on. "I have to have that fixed, I can't be queen, and that easy to read."

Under her breath, Sasha mutters, "You're a closed fucking book, I wouldn't worry about people being able to read you-"

"What's the face?" I demand, grabbing her hand. "What does it look like?"

"Oh uh- well, you raise your eyebrows but they're all pulled together in the middle, and you adjust your posture so you can look down at whoever you're talking to, along with giving them the side-eye. You also kind of sneer but your lips stay together and they stick about a bit. It's rather disheartening to keep talking when you make it."

Pulling the hoodie over my head I groan. "Why did no one tell me about this?"

"I honestly thought you knew," Sasha says. "I thought it was a thing you did on purpose. Like I said it's very intimidating."

Flopping down on my bed I whimper. 

Sasha rolls her eyes and shakes her head as she crawls in next to me. "Oh, woe is you."

"I know," I whine. 

"You're such a drama queen." She laughs as I adjust myself so I'm laying on her chest. 

"Good luck finding a princess who isn't." 

Sasha snickers. "Touche."

Smiling I lay there, listening to her heartbeat. Sasha reaches over to my nightstand and turns off the lights with a remote I didn't know I had. 

She then begins grabbing at the covers so we can get under them. I sit up and prepare the bed and Sasha takes off the many layers of her uniform until she is just in a tight white t-shirt and loose black boxers. 

Watching her undress is always a source of wonder. First a white shirt with long sleeves and neckline that looks suffocating, and a tiny zipper running along the back, she has mastered the art of undoing it herself. Then a more cream-colored vest, which binds her chest. This makes all the female servants the boxy and door-like build of their male counterparts. Followed by another long-sleeved white shirt with her name written just above her right breast. Leaving on the shirt that she has on now and a bra. The bra is quickly removed. 

Settling ourselves under the sheets once more I turn to my side, Sasha's arm wraps around my middle and she pulls me against her chest. 

"I didn't like today," I whisper. 

"Then it's a good thing it's night now, and you're with me," Sasha whispers back, her breath tickling my neck. 

"Yeah," I reply. "I like being with you."

"Me too," Sahsa says, her voice even softer. "Now shut up and go to sleep. You're exhausted."

"Only if you promise to hold me for the rest of the night."

Pulling me closer Sasha nuzzles her face into the crook of my neck. "Deal."