The next few days followed numbly, my sense of time barely even being there. The funeral was rushed, Mother and Father doing the majority of the planning. 

Everything was going too fast. Celia's room had already been emptied, her things either being thrown out or put into storage. I tried to suggest it be donated, but Father went against that immediately. Some of the things I managed to keep for myself, having snuck in the room night before everything was taken out.

I still had Celia's scarf as well. It still smelled like her, though it was already fading. I kept it on my dresser, sometimes hugging it to my chest if I was feeling the need to. I still didn't believe she was dead. I didn't see her die, maybe she was still alive. Maybe Mother and Father were just hiding her from me. The childish thoughts constantly filled my head, giving me a false sense of hope. I knew she was gone. The problem was that I couldn't accept that yet.

The funeral came too quickly. The ceremony itself went by too quickly, leading into the reception, the longest part. Food and drinks were set up in a buffet style against the walls, tables lining the rest of the reception hall. I avoided the food, not feeling like eating.

I was attempting to avoid Mother and Father. They didn't seem very pleased with me. Less pleased than usual, I supposed. They didn't need to act all nice around me in public settings either; the whole kingdom knew I was the bastard son. I was hoping they'd be nicer at the funeral, but that didn't seem to be the case. 

"Patrick." Father's stern voice echoed behind me. I resisted the urge to flinch, slowly turning to him. He was always intimidating, even more so with his crown resting atop his head.

"Yes?"

"Come join your Mother and I. You shouldn't be seen wandering all by yourself," Father said, grabbing my wrist and leading me towards where Mother was standing, at the front of the room. It seemed like they had been accepting condolences from the guests during the whole reception. 

Part of the reason I thought I was treated so poorly was because I wasn't an adult yet. Maybe that was a reason. I basically was one at this point, turning eighteen in a few months, but by the societal standards, I was still a child. It seemed many people still viewed me as one. 

Mother looked at me, her brown eyes sharp as she scanned me over. "There you are. I was wondering where you wandered off to."

"I was just-"

"Be quiet. You will stay by us for the remainder of the reception," she replied, grabbing my shoulders and positioning me between her and Father. I shut my mouth, shoving my hands into the pockets of my dress pants to hide their shaking.

No one approached for a while. I had a feeling it may be because of my presence. Not wanting to people watch, I settled for staring at the walls, or up at the ceilings. Father would correct me if he ever saw me looking down, no matter how much I wanted to. 

I could feel the silent tension between the three of us, and it was killing me inside. Mother and Father hated each other, and they hated me. I was the reason they hated each other. Now that Celia was dead, they had lost their common ground. They had probably already fought numerous times since her death.

Someone approached us, making me snap out of my little daydream. I turned to look at who it was, not recognizing them. They seemed like a reporter or journalist; they had a notebook and pen in hand, and a camera hanging from around their neck. 

"Hello, your highnesses, may I ask you three a few questions?" they asked, a smile on their face. I didn't respond, but watched Mother and Father give a simple nod. The reporter nodded back, readying their pen. 

"I really only have one question: since Princess Celia is dead, who will now take the crown? If I remember right, she was set to become queen over the summer," the reporter said. I saw Father tense, and Mother's mouth twitch. I continued to stay silent, feeling a little nervous for their answers. 

"We're not quite sure yet," Father began to respond. "We will assess all of our options, though, there aren't many. Sylvia and I are too old to have another child."

The reporter nodded, then glanced at me. "What about Prince Patrick? He is technically next in line for the throne."

That thought hadn't crossed my mind. I thought for sure that Mother and Father would find any way to avoid handing me the throne. In all honesty, I didn't want it very much either. 

"We will work something out, it still needs to be discussed," Mother said sharply, not even sparing me a glance. Her tone told the reporter that that was enough, so they nodded and left. 

I noticed Father glance at his watch, looking over at Mother. "It's time for the burial," he stated dryly.

Mother nodded, the two of them beginning to head for the doors, guests forming a group to file out. I followed Mother and Father, though upon reaching the doors, Mother put a hand on my shoulder to stop me.

"You're not coming. Stay and make sure everyone leaves," she told me bluntly, not even sparing me a glance before walking out the door with Father. 

I stood in shock, feeling an overwhelming sense of hurt. They weren't going to let me see my sister being buried? It didn't even surprise me that much, but it hurt. I turned back to the reception hall, seeing the majority of people had left already. Palace servants were already starting to clean everything up, no one sparing me a glance. There was nothing else to do but head up to my room.

My head was down as I walked through the halls, my feet having memorized the way to my bedroom. It was where I spent most of my time. 

I had almost reached the room when a hurried maid rushed past me, then stopped, looking at me with frenzied eyes. 

"Your Highness! Where are your parents? I have an important letter for them," she spoke, her words coming out a mile a minute. I had to take a few moments to process what she said.

"Oh, um, they left for the burial. Why? I can give the letter to them," I offered. I would be seeing them later for dinner anyways, and the poor maid seemed busy.

"Oh, okay! Here you go, make sure it gets to them today," she said, basically shoving the letter in my hands before running off. I looked after her in surprise, then went into my room, letter in hand. 

I glanced down at the writing on the envelope, curious as to who it was from. I read the return address, seeing Zolva on it. Zolva? That was one of the few kingdoms we were enemies with. I wasn't quite sure if we were offical enemies, or just didn't get along. Either way, it was weird to get a letter from them. 

Curiosity pricked at me, but I resisted the urge to open the letter. It would be better off to leave it for Mother and Father's eyes only. They wouldn't be pleased with me if I opened a letter that wasn't in any way addressed to me. 

After changing out of my suit and putting on something a lot more comfortable, I face planted onto my bed, trying to decide how to feel currently. I had felt numb the majority of the day. Or really, since Celia had died. It had been so sudden, I hadn't even processed it yet. 

I didn't realize I had fallen asleep until I was being shaken awake. A groan escaped my lips, forcing my eyes open as I turned my head. A maid stood there, looking down at me. She wasn't my assigned one; I wondered where she was.

"Your Highness, it's almost time for dinner," she stated, almost boredly. I sighed, sitting up and nodding, giving her a signal to leave. She left, allowing me to get out of bed and find something more decent to wear than a pair of sweatpants and a tshirt.

Eventually deciding on a button up and another pair of dress pants, I grabbed the letter on the way out of my room, then headed down to the dining hall. Mother and Father sat at the obnoxiously large dining table, almost stretching throughout the whole length of the room. Our family must have been that big at some point. Now, it was just Mother, Father, and I. We had no extended family alive either.

I sat down across from them, setting the letter down before cautiously sliding it over to them. "Um, this was given to me by a maid for you two. She said it was urgent."

Father grabbed the letter before Mother could, inspecting the handwriting on the envelope carefully. While Father opened it, Mother looked at me with a harsh gaze.

"Why didn't you let the maid do her job?" she asked sharply, her hands brushing over the silverware that was to the side of our plates. I tensed, watching her hand warily, my hands clenched together nervously under the table.

"She seemed busy and asked where you two were, I thought I could make it easier and-"

"Let the staff do their job, Patrick. You are separate from them. I'm sure she would've delivered the letter just fine." Mother's voice held disappointment, making me hang my head. The sounds of Father opening the letter ceased. I peeked out from under my lashes to look at him, watching him read the letter.

Silence hung heavy in the air for a minute, Father eventually breaking it. "Zolva has proposed an alliance."

"Hmm?" Mother responded, uninterested, before she realized what those words meant. Her head snapped over to look at Father, her brown hair swishing at the movement. I looked up as well, finding myself interested.

"Zolva has proposed an alliance, but named a price," Father started. "King Oliver and Queen Aliana have a daughter around Patrick's age; they've proposed that they get married to unite our two kingdoms."

I froze in my seat, eyes going wide as I stared at Father, lips parting in shock. Mother's interest was piqued, while a nauseating feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. 

"That's Princess Marie, right?" Mother asked, and Father nodded to confirm. 

"Yes. That would probably mean we would have to name Patrick as heir, but we really have no other choice in that matter."

They were talking as if they had forgotten I was there. My hands trembled under the table, hoping that some little thing would stop them from doing this. They would never put Celia in an arranged marriage; but I wasn't Celia. I was the opposite of Celia in their minds. 

Mother nodded, her eyes never sparing me a single glance. I saw a servant coming out of the kitchen, walking up to us with platters of food in his hands. The food was set on the table, then the servant left. Steak for dinner, along with numerous sides. My appetite had disappeared even more than it already had.

"It's a fine idea. I think we should go ahead with it. Get Patrick a tutor and aim for the coronation to be around his eighteenth birthday. He can marry Marie the following week," Mother stated, distaste filling her voice at the talk of me. Father nodded in agreement.

"I will write them back after dinner and send for Marie to come visit." After Father's words, they went silent, busying themselves with filling their plates with food. Still having spared me no acknowledgement.

I didn't want to be king. How was I supposed to learn something Celia had been learning her whole life in the span of three months? Not to mention; Marie. I had never met the Zolvan princess. I didn't even know what she looked like. Yet, I was going to be marrying her. My nails dug into my palms; I was almost sure I was going to make them bleed. Some part of me wanted to cry, beg for Mother and Father change their minds, find someone else to rule. I knew it wouldn't work.

I stayed silent, staring down at my empty plate, trembling slightly at the thoughts of the future. I missed Celia. It had only been a few days, and yet, everything was already changing. How was I supposed to replace her? How was I supposed to replace my sister?