Word Count: 1673
~Avila
I feel my father's hand on my back as he leads me to the table that has been set up for us.
We are at an inn further away from the mountains now. Father arrived this morning and watched me do another speech. With him present, people were far calmer, although I could tell he wasn't missing the agitation in the crowd.
People don't trust me. I'm not sure they ever will.
Now, my father has set up a private dinner for us in the inn. He ceased all activity in the main hall, turning it into a place where him and his daughter could enjoy dinner.
It's strange seeing how people so easily bend to his will. I'm still not used to being a royal, even if I don't know any other way of living.
"Isn't this just lovely, darling?" father exclaims brightly as he pulls my chair out for me. "I've missed you dearly."
I slide into the seat, trying to ignore my sweating palms.
When if first met my father again, I was beyond excited. He seemed so kind, until it became clear that he was hiding how disconnected he truly was from our family.
"I wish I could see you more," I say, smoothing a napkin over my lap as I look over the overly lavish table setting.
I'm not sure the candles and intricate silverware were entirely necessary, although only the best for the King, I suppose.
His smile is warm. "Me too sweetheart."
"Why don't you come home more often, then?" I question. I've come into this dinner not wanting to brush everything off as usual.
If I have to be harsh I'll do it.
"Your mother covers any business needing to be dealt with at home, while I deal with it across the Territory," he responds simply.
I wish he would drop that smile off his face. It doesn't suit him. The frown lines etched between his brows paint a different story. This isn't a man who is usually so happy.
"What is the point of being married then? Of having a family?" I question.
Waiters sweep into the room. One pours us a deep red wine while two others place steaming plates of steak and vegetables in front of us.
"I love my family-"
"You can be truthful. I'm not a child, and I am to rule one day," I cut in bluntly, giving him a long look.
His smile slips for the briefest moment, and something flickers in his eyes. It's clear that I'm going to have to be straight with him if I want him to give me the information I'm looking for.
"A King or a Queen must marry. They must establish a union that people can rely on," father explains to me calmly, picking up his serrated steak knife. "More importantly, they must produce and heir, which is you."
"Is that why I don't have siblings? You never needed them?"
He looks uncomfortably as he chews on his steak slowly. "No. Your mother had you and we knew you were absolutely perfect."
I almost want to laugh. I doubt that's the case. From what I can tell, most royals have as many children as possible to secure the crown. Clearly something went wrong between Crimson and my father.
"Until I died," I mutter, staring him down over the rim of my glass.
"We definitely did not see that coming." He shifts, clearing his throat.
I narrow my eyes. I'm hoping the alcohol will embolden me. I should probably be enjoying my limited time with my father, considering I may not see him again for a long time. However, this may also be only chance to find out what is being kept from me.
"How did I die?" I ask.
Father frowns down at his vegetables. "Your mother didn't tell you?"
"I want your side of the story." I lift one shoulder.
He sets down his cutlery before stroking the beard he has grown over the last couple months. He's trying to make it seem like he's recalling the exact details, but I get the feeling he's trying to recount what my mother has said.
"You had a terrible accident. It was all very sudden," he states, looking pleased within himself.
My heart sinks. Accident?
"An accident?"
"Yes, you ah...you fell down and hit your head," he says, concentrating on cutting his meat which spills blood out across the white plate, staining the poor cauliflower.
My gaze drifts across his face, reading his expression. He's lying, obviously. He can't meet my gaze and his smile is trembling slightly. Not to mention the fact that he has almost cut his way through the plate, leaving scars across it's expensive surface.
"How did I fall?" I ask carefully.
"You slipped." He presses his palm to his forehead. "I'm sorry sweetheart, my memory isn't as good as it used to be."
Clearly. Everyone has told me I died from my sickness, although my father clearly can't remember that version of the story. He knows to lie about it, though.
"You would think you would remember your daughter's death in vivid detail," I mutter blandly, drawing my fork through my mashed potatoes.
"I was away at the time."
I blink. "Did you even come back for the funeral?"
He stares at me for a moment, his lips parted in shock. I feel a twinge of regret, of guilt for being so cruel. However, it's a genuine question, and one I can't be sure of the answer to.
"Of course I did." He sounds offended. "Avila. I know me being away is hard, but it doesn't mean I don't love you."
He holds his hand out across the table for to hold, but I ignore it.
"I've been told I got sick. That's how I died. No one mentioned anything about an accident," I tell him, watching his face morph into horror for the briefest moment.
"Oh...perhaps I meant sick. I apologise for my memory." He taps the side of his head.
I get the feeling his memory is just fine. If it weren't, he wouldn't be fit to be the King.
"You can tell me the truth," I say with a sigh. "Everyone else doesn't think I can handle it, but I assure you, the truth will do me far better than lies."
He leans back in his seat. "You are far stronger than I remember, Avila. You are going to be an excellent Queen."
"Please, tell me something," I beg. He's evading the question and it's going to drive me made.
"I have this sweet memory of you with my mother. Your grandmother has obviously since passed, but when you were just two years old, she would sit you on her lap and bounce you around. You would giggle so much your cheeks would turn bright red." He sighs wistfully at the thought.
I roll my eyes. "Father..."
Finally he sobers, leaning forward again. He pushes his plate aside, done with his steak but he leaves the vegetables untouched.
"Although there are plenty of sweet antidotes about your past, you need to be careful to move on, Avila. The past is best left behind," he says darkly, in a way that warns me to stop pressing for information.
Unfortunately for him, I have no plans to stop.
"Why?"
"People are suspicious of you. They want to know you can be trusted, that you're not linked to any dark magic." His fingers start tapping against the table at the mention of that. "By moving on, you're encouraging them to move on too."
I tilt my head. "Are you saying there's dark magic involved in my death."
"Not exactly." He looks unsure.
"Father, tell me."
"What did I say, Avila? Move on." His voice raises slightly, a flicker of anger passing over his face. "You have an excellent husband and a great future in front of you."
I huff out a sigh. I'm tired of everyone telling me to enjoy my life. They have no idea not to have any memories, to not know anything about who is around them. To have to assume this life belongs to them, even if it doesn't feel like it.
"What about the rebellion? What if they ruin everything?" I question, wondering if my father knows anything about Emerick.
"They won't. I'm not sure what you've heard, and who you've heard it from, but the rebellion is not as strong as they like to boast about. It is very under control," he replies simply.
"Hmm. Okay."
It didn't seem like that. His own daughter has been conferring with rebels and he had no idea. I wouldn't be surprised if some of the members work for him, in his own manor.
"You have nothing to worry about. Everything in your life is dealt with for you," he assures me gently, finishing off his wine. "All you have to do is be loyal to the crown, and to do your job."
If only that would be enough.
"I will be, once I get the answers I'm looking for." I stand, tossing my napkin onto the table.
"Avila-"
"I don't know what you're so afraid, but whatever it is, only makes me want to know the truth even more," I snap.
Speaking to my father like this might get me in trouble, but I no longer care. It's not as if he will be around long enough to see my punishment through.
"The answer you are looking for won't make you any happier," he mutters, rubbing his forehead, almost like he has given up. He isn't as invested in keeping this secret as my mother is.
I just shake my head at him, disappointment crawling up my throat. "At least I'll never have to wonder."
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