Page 3 of The Last Guardian

The king had been in a hurry to end the ceremony. He left without a word to his people—typical behavior from him, especially in this instance, when he was expected to commemorate his late queen. It might have been a waste of time for him to let her shine today, even through death.

The royal family stood outside the Sacred Domes, waiting for nobles and commoners alike to approach us, to offer their condolences, to express their love for our late mother, to shake our hands, and offer their sympathies.

Tomorrow, everyone would have forgotten about this miserable day. About her. How easily people moved on when it didn’t concern them; how quickly the memory of her disappeared for most. When I was left behind, carrying the weight of this. Alone.

Not that I hadn’t chosen solitude.

I chose it willingly. It was simpler that way, safer.

No expectation, no disappointment, no one tried to breach the walls of my heart. Just me and the silence I had built around myself. Yet, sometimes the silence felt heavier than any noise ever had.

I looked at Arthur for a moment; his warm brown eyes shone with a light that forced me to look away as quickly as possible. If my older brother shed a single tear, I would collapse. Arthur’s hand gripped mine tightly, as if he wanted to make sure I survived this day.

That was what hurt me most now, the love that remained. The love for those I had known all my life. It would be easier to feel nothing.

But my brothers, my sisters, my friends. I couldn’t give up on this love; I would have risked everything to protect them. From my own devastation, from my own self-destruction. I loved them so much that I tried, tried with everything I had to keep them from seeing me fall apart.

Since Mother passed, this feeling had begun to frighten me. The way love could still live within me. Fierce. Desperate, while everything else crumbled.

Disappeared.

Died.

The best thing I could do was to keep them at a distance as much as possible, not to let them be destroyed by my own nightmares, my own darkness.

Arthur averted his gaze briefly. Voices echoed around us as I let the silence of my own thoughts consume me.

“Alyana, did you hear me?” Arthur whispered gently in my ear, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Lyra’s here.”

My gaze turned to see my friend, who approached us with careful steps, her wild red hair rippling in the wind, brushing against her pale skin, her dark blue dress grazing the grass. Even from here, I could see her rosy cheeks and her puffy eyes, and the attempt to cover her tears with a soft smile.

Arthur’s hand tightened around mine when Lyra finally stepped before us and bowed. The need to reach out to her, to stop her, prickled beneath my skin. I hated, hated so much she had to do that. Just because people were watching us. Arthur’s hand tensed. Everything about him stiffened at the vision of Lyra bowing before us.

His hand left mine, reaching to help Lyra stand up. “Don’t,” he hissed in a low voice.

Lyra glared at him with her fierce amber eyes.

“She had to do it, Arthur. It’s protocol,” Aurora’s sharp voice warned. Her golden hair wavered in the wind; her lips pursed as she stood proudly.

Arthur’s gaze fell on our sister. Her ice blue eyes—the same as our father’s—narrowed at him.

“But she’s like family…” Romy said with trembling lips.

Her dark dress dulled the light in her pale blue eyes, snuffing it out entirely. Strands of chocolate-brown hair had escaped her bun, clinging to her tear-soaked cheeks.

“Yet, she isn’t. Grandmother is watching us; stop your nonsense,” Aurora spat, taking Romy’s hand in hers. “Come, Romy.”

Aurora turned her back, pulling at Romy’s arm, to join Grandmother Sophie, who chatted with her other children.

I winced at Aurora’s bitterness, yet I said nothing as I watched her taking away our little sister. If I said something, Grandmother would know it and tell Father, and who knew what he would do to me if I argued publicly with his precious Aurora? I ignored the tingling sensation on my back—over the scars.

I glanced at my father’s siblings. Everyone had reunited for the occasion… everyone except one. Uncle Marlon wasn’t here. Of course.

It was common knowledge that the bastard prince no longer came to Lorath. Grandmother had always hated him because of what he represented: our grandfather’s adultery—the child of his true love.

The late king had favored him, even though Marlon couldn’t become king because of his illegitimacy, and that protection had died with our grandfather. When we were children, Uncle would visit us often. Over the past few years, he stopped coming here; he even stopped sending letters. The last time I saw him was at Mother’s funeral, five years ago.

Haedeon exited the prayer hall of the Sacred Domes, stepping into the courtyard where we all stood. My skin prickled at the sight of him. The bells tolled behind, announcing the wake at the palace. The crowd followed the High Mage, who offered to enjoy a midday tea. I’d rather go to the Seven Hells than have tea with that man. Could I even consider him a man? I wasn’t sure.