My grandmother sits on her bed and watches me as I feverishly write out all of the plans we've made so far. "Emmy dear."

Finishing the sentence I'm writing, I raise my head. "Yes?"

"What flowers do you plan on having at your wedding?"

"Purple tulips, and black pansies, why?" I reply.

"I just wanted to make sure whatever flowers we use at my funeral wouldn't be the same as your wedding. I wouldn't want to taint such a special day with a reminder like that."

Any attempt to stop her from saying such negative things is fruitless. My grandmother has excepted her nearing death. I might as well help plan the funeral she wants while she's still alive. 

"So what flowers should we have?" I ask posing my pen over my paper once more. 

"Are you sure you want black pansies?" She askes wrinkling her nose, ignoring my question completely. "I mean white is traditional for weddings. 

Huffing I drop the pen and rub the back of my neck. "Yes. I have it all planned out. The colors for the wedding are black and purple. I will still be wearing white, as will John."

"I see," my grandmother nods. "Have you made one of those presentation boards that you make for things like this yet? You've always had a better imagination than me and I would love to have a visual." 

"I have," I say giving a strained smile. "I can have some servants bring down everything I've put together so far." 

"Lovely."

"Right," I say trapping my pen. "Let's finish up these plans, so I can make sure to have them submitted to the Court." 

"What is there left to plan?" She asks looking over at the slightly precarious stacks of folders I have accumulated in planning for her death party.

"Mostly decor stuff. Seating chart, theme, flowers, and how you would like your ashes dealt with. Along with some rules about the publicity of this event." 

I use the word event cautiously. I have a difficult time bringing myself to use the word funeral. 

After hearing me list off what we need to do my grandmother only nods and gazes out the window. 

Soon after we found out she wasn't going to get well, the grand dining room of the Gratitude Mansion has been transformed into one giant sickbed. 

The dining room is on the second floor with a window that takes up the entirety of one wall, looking over the estate, with a perfect view of the lake that I spent many summers splashing around it.

It was always her favorite room in the house.

As December begins all the trees have lost their leaves and the luscious green grass has been dulled to a bland yellow soon to be covered by snow for months.

She doesn't look away from the window when she speaks. "We aren't going to be able to stop people from wearing black. So it's best if we have flowers that will at least match. Sunflowers, I think. That'll be best."

I write down the request and make note to have a dress code. 

I don't blame my grandmother for staring out the window almost all hours of the day. It's better than the sight of her room. The bed she lays in, the one she will probably never move from, is huge. I would need a step-latter to simply climb up. 

The mattress is the size of the grand dining table that was once in this room. It's a monstrosity of a thing; its only use is to hide the machines. Below the bed skirts are plastic boxes pumping out fluid, nutrients, and oxygen. All of which are being used as a final attempt to keep her alive. 

The effort is futile. 

"As for my ashes," She continues. "Have me scattered over in Aedifex. That's where your grandfather and I met. He'll pick the right spot. Make sure there's wind when you do it."

"You're a Legiban queen." I remind, writing the request anyway. "Having your ashes spread in a different kingdom might cause problems."

"I founded every single one of these kingdoms," She scoffs. "I do what I want." 

Giggling I nod. "You're right. My father will have a fit though."

"Ah let him," She says clicking her tongue. "Joshua was always prone to temper tantrums. He'll tire himself out just give him a week or so."

Grinning she turns her head to look at the family portirat hanging next to the window. I was only ten when it was painted. Juliet having just been born. But it's there only one of the entire family. So naturally it's my grandmother's favorite. 

The rest of the room is in disarray. My grandmother has had all of her favorite things dragged in. Her favorite paintings out of hundreds are haphazardly hung on any available wall space, the people who put them up had no artistic vision whatsoever. 

A grand paino and various other instruments lay in a corner collecting dust, waiting to be played. There is also a table filled with letters, pictures, and any keepsake that's made of paper. 

What once was a beautiful room to eat in has become an ugly mess of nostalgia. I don't know if my grandmother is clinging to life or if life is clinging to her. Either way, seeing her final moments chips at my heart and damages my soul. 

I don't dare to imagine how her death will break me. 

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

After turning all of the final plans into the event committee I eat a small lunch alone. There are numerous wedding and coronation plans I need to attend to, but I have simply had enough for one day. Getting up I decide I'm going to go turn in. 

I make it to the second-floor landing before a servant comes hurrying down the steps of the children's tower.

"Princess!" They exclaim forgetting to bow before approaching me. "The King is asking for you."

"Tell him anything he needs can wait until tomorrow," I say waving the servant off.

"Princess, I don't think that's a good idea." The servant says urgency creeping in on their voice.

Losing my patience I snap. "It just so happens that I don't care what you think!"

"Emmalyne stop!" The servant grabs my arm stopping me from moving forward.

Yanking my arm out of their grip, I gasp. "Did you just lay a hand on me?"

The servant leans forward and whispers. "Emma it's me. You need to calm down"

Letting out a huff of air I straighten up. "You could have just said that," I whisper harshly. "There's no need for theatrics, Sasha."

Even though I can't see it, I can imagine the expression on her face as she tilts her head and crosses her arms.

Her lips are probably scrunched to the left corner of her mouth. One eyebrow is raised and the other is tilted downward. Her eyes are likely narrowed into slits and she probably blew air out through her nose when she jutted her hip out.

"We aren't in your chambers." She says softly. "Things aren't the same out here. You of all people should know that."

"Yeah," I whisper sighing. "I know."

We stand in silence waiting for whatever tension arose between us to pass.

"What does my father want?" I finally ask.

"He's asking to see you in the northern sitting room, " Sasha answers fixing her stance, transforming before my eyes. Back into any other servant.

"The blue room," I nod. "Let's go."

The walk is a short one. The northern sitting room is on the fourth floor in the northern tower it's relatively small but distinguishable. Starting with the giant lapis colored doors.

Two guards stand post outside of the door, along with my father's three personal servants. One of them steps forward and lays a hand on Sasha's chest, stopping her from following me into the room.

"The King stated that he and the Princess were to speak alone." The servant says.

My father has never requested a private audience with me before. But before I can process what's happening, the Guards have opened the doors for me and I am walking inside. Alone.

The plush cobalt carpets dull my footsteps as I walk towards the center of the room. Where my father is standing. Two of his advisors sit at a table behind him. Tracking me with their eyes.

"I thought we were to speak alone," I say stopping a few feet in front of him.

"Pay them no mind." My father says.

I cross my arms across my chest. "That's an excuse, not an answer."

"Young lady, stop with the attitude." He snaps with his lips twitching as he claps his hands behind his back. "It is not your place to speak with such a mouth." 

"You mean wit?" I demand. "It's not a princess' place to be witty, is it?"

Pleasantries haven't even been exchanged yet we're already at each other's throats. 

"It is a princess' place to hold her tongue." He says the last three words through his teeth.

"When has anyone ever gotten anything done by keeping quiet?" I mutter under my breath.

"This is not what I brought you here to talk about." He says trying to regain his calm demeanor. One minute in and I already have him flustered. 

Flustering my father is not an ability I should be proud of. But he makes it so easy and I find too much delight in it not to.

"Why did you bring me here then?" I say unfaltering in my sharp tone. "What is the purpose of this?"

My father holds out his hand, his advisor Conohan places a black folder in it. "I brought you here to discuss this."

"What?" I say with mocking in my voice. "You want my opinion on that shade of black?"

"Emmalyne, will you just listen!" He snaps at me.

"Say something worth listening to then!" I bite back just as quickly.

Opening the folder he pulls out a sheet of paper. Covered in my handwriting.

My notes from earlier.

"These plans that you made are unacceptable." He says slowly.

"What the funeral plans?" I question, failing to keep the laugh out of my voice.

"Yes, the funeral plans." He says throwing the papers and the folder down onto a nearby table. "You didn't consult anyone in the Court before making these and handing them over to the event committee."

"Didn't consult with anyone!" I repeat, disbelief staining my words. "I made those with grandmother this morning! Those her plans! Last I checked she's a member of the Court!"

"Her opinion on matters such as these are no longer valid." My father says his voice almost robotic.

"Are you insane? She the one who's dying! This is her funeral! No longer valid my ass!" I almost choke on my disbelief.

"Emmalyne Faust!" He shouts. "You best watch your mouth before it gets you in trouble. Your involvement in dealing with the matters concerning my mother is no longer needed. I don't want to see anything else from you regarding this situation."

"You act like her mind is going," I say glaring at him. "You're treating this like it's a business matter. You're treating it like politics. IT ISN'T POLITICS! These are her dying wishes, I am nothing but the messenger. Do not fault me for trying to make my grandmother's last days happy ones."

"Do not try and shift the blame from yourself! This is your doing!"

"This is me being a good granddaughter!" I snap at him. "You could learn a thing or two from me. You're a terrible son and an even worse king! Any love I learned in this world I learned from her. Because above all, you are the world's most pathetic, miserable excuse for a father that anyone has ever seen and I am ashamed to be related to you!"

He raises his hand and I wait for the hit. I turn my head expecting the sting from the back of his fingers to bruise my skin. Anticipating the blow I close my eyes.

But the slap doesn't come.

Opening one eye I tentatively gaze at him. His right arm is still raised across his chest, waiting to backhand my face. He stares down at me shaking with rage.

"Realize that hitting me would only prove my point?" I whisper.

"One day you're going to get what's coming to you, and I'm not going to do a thing to stop it." He whispers back. Then dropping his arm he begins to walk from the room. "This conversation is over."

My father's advisors follow closely after him. I don't watch their retreating backs. I wait for the sound of the door closing before I collapse onto a fainting couch the color of ink. My body trembles and my hand looks to be spasming when I raise it before me.

The door clicks and my head snaps up, a servant walks in and closes the door behind them.

"Kennedy?" I ask cautiously.

"What happened? She asks.

"He tried to treat me like a princess," I say, quickly shrugging off my emotions in hopes to make her smile. 

"And what are you if not a princess?"

"I am queen," I say doing my best to smirk. "It just seems that nobody else knows that yet."

"I see," she nods. "They'll know eventually."

"Exactly," I agree. "and once they do no one will dare call me young lady. Do you know how much I despise that? 'Young lady?' It disgusts me."

Caught up in my fury I stand and begin to pace the room.

"I mean how do they expect me to act?" Putting on a fake grin I begin to talk in a high-pitched sarcastic voice. "I have to be a lady. Smiling and waiting patiently for my turn to speak, constantly obeying. Just sit here waiting for a man to come and save me, though I don't need saving."

I throw Sahsa a pointed look.

"They want me to sit on a throne all alone. Looking pretty and never speaking. Because I have to be a lady."

Rolling my eyes I flop back down next to Sasha. "Sounds like bullshit," She says.

"It is."

"I don't understand how you do it," She whispers. "How do you do it and stay sane."

Laying my head on her shoulder I giggle. "Who said I was sane?"

Sasha barks out a laugh and throws her arm around me. "Fair enough."

Letting out a sigh I aimlessly begin to trace patterns onto her leg with my fingertips. I feel at peace with her, and I wish for the moment to freeze, I long to feel this way forever.

But wishes never come true.

There's a rapid knocking at the door, startling me out of my stupor. My hand that was traveling Sasha's knee clenches to a fist as she stands and walks towards the door to open it.

In the ten feet, she moves Shasha transforms from the girl I know back into the servant I shouldn't. It's unnerving.

Once the door is opened a man walks in. His hands are shaking as he scans the room. He falls into a hasty bow when his eyes find me.

"Princess Emmalyne?" He questions barely stepping inside.

"Yes?" I say raising to my feet. "And you are?"

"My- my name is Fredrick, I've been working at the Gratitude mansion for the past two months, you actually knocked me over in the hall the day you found out about Queen Kelly."

"My apologies."

"It's not a problem, your highness. But any-anyways, King Daniel sent me. I was informed you would be in here."

I take a step forward my hand finding the back of a frosty blue armchair. My fingers clench tightly holding me upright, my nails dig into the suede upholstery. "Oh."

"It's the Queen." He continues. "Queen Kelly that is."

Out of the corner of my eye, Kennedy begins to move towards me. But she remembers her place and remains stationary at the door.

"Go on," I force out, my chest already constricting. "Has her condition worsened?"

"I'm afraid- I uh, she passed on."

My left leg goes out first. I manage to keep myself upright long enough to stay composed in front of this man.

"Thank you for informing me of that," I say pushing my chin in the air to keep my tears from falling. "Now would you please leave?"

"But Princess I was supposed to-"

My throat feels like it's closing and my meager breakfast is threatening to reappear.

"Whatever it is that you needed to do can wait." I begin my voice muffled by my oncoming sobs. "Leave, now!"

He scampers from the room his tail between his legs. Just as Sasha slams the door behind him I release the chair.

"No," I whisper.

Then I begin to fall.

A pair of strong hands latch just above both of my elbows. They lower me to the floor and embrace me when I scream.

Sasha is quick to remove her mask and cradle my head in her hands. My breathing speeds up and I can't speak. Tears pour from my eyes and my mouth moves to what would be my cries of anguish.

My shoulders heave and I feel a nail break as I clutch her shirt. Then it builds. I gain an intake of air. I push Sasha away from me and scoot backward until my back hits a piece of furniture. I don't care if I rip my throat to shreds or snap my vocal cords. I scream, pouring every ounce of agony into the sound.

My head hangs as I collapse into sobs. My lungs are forced into overdrive as I switch from screaming to hyperventilating.

I choke on my own spit as I fail to calm myself down. A shadow looms over me and I look up to Sahsa. She takes my face into either one of her hands, running her thumbs under my eyes.

She sits down in front of me and lets my face fall into the crook of her neck.

"It's okay, I've got you." She whispers. "I got you."

The ragged breathing doesn't stop and neither do the tears, but the world is back on its kilter.

I don't know how much time passes before I'm able to form words. But once I can, all I'm able to say is, "What am I going to do?"

"Survive," Sasha replies, wrapping her arms around me. "After that, I don't know."

But before I start surviving I just want to stay here in the blue room. Sasha is with me; and even with everything crumbling around me, she is solid and here. 

So I want to stay here.