VERONICA

CW: minor descriptions of anxiety.

The sun gleams in the sky, snow melting away in its wake, but the memories of winter will never fade. The ache remains, but the tears have dried, only leaving a trail of anguish behind. Death has been lurking in the shadows, watching from the sidelines, calculating when and where to strike.

Everything is silent. The flower petals have dried and curled inwards. The thorns are still intact, a reminder of the past, of the time Death overtook everything in its path, leaving everything to freeze as winter came.

Even as the temperatures rise, winter seems like a fever dream. New flowers appear with colourful petals of life, sending a message of upcoming change, but the ache lingers, destroying every aspect of hope, feeding on the last bit of will to keep going.

Death has been hungry for a long time, and it seems one innocent life isn’t enough. It feeds on every living thing it can find, drains it to the core to the point where there’s nothing left but a human that executes every little movement like a walking corpse with pale, greyish skin. Their cheeks are sunken, clothes too big on their starving bodies, but they keep going even when Death won’t let them have supper, even when Death has taken away all their most prized possessions.

Rosefell Kingdom is on the very edge of the steep cliff that leads directly into the hands of Death, and nothing can change people’s fate. Death knows and will wait, starving for more, for the last remaining people who still have hope and happiness to give up.

“Your Highness?”

Veronica blinks, mind and soul fuzzy, clouded over by the memories of winter. “Yes?”

Claudia’s gaze is fixed on the wooden floorboards, voice timid and careful as she speaks. “I’ve prepared a warm bath for you.”

Her strawberry blonde hair sits, collected in a bun, but the hours of her hard work are showing. Several pieces have now fallen from their original position, framing her face gently. Her work uniform is outworn. The black, knee-length skirt looks to be falling apart with every movement Claudia makes, and her white blouse has a grey undertone, and seems ready to tear.

The corners of Veronica’s lips twitch. “Thank you, Claudia.”

The poor servant looks exhausted beyond belief, but never complains about anything. Claudia has seen everything unravel, she has seen the damage, seen pain in its raw and true form, but she never left. Every morning is the same for her, and even if the water is cold, even if the lack of food is an issue more often than not, she smiles respectfully with a low bow, and never goes out of line.

People here are reserved, not showing their true feelings, not letting anyone get too close. Winter and Death truly feed on any living thing with too much love to give. But somehow, Claudia survived the harvest.

There’s a familiar ache resting in Veronica’s bones as she moves from her sitting position on the bed, her dark mocha eyes wandering across the place that’s supposedly her home.

Giant, arched windows cover one side of the wall with purple satin curtains. Floral wallpaper decorates the walls, a pleasant contrast to the dark wooden floor, and is lit up by a stunning chandelier.

A bitter feeling overtakes the exhaustion in Veronica’s veins, a sudden disgust crawling up in the back of her throat. They have so much to give, and they let everyone else suffer for the sake of their comfort and wealth. It’s sickening.

Veronica follows Claudia to the bathroom, ignoring the continuous ache in her muscles. White marble covers every surface that is to be seen with the naked eye. It’s chilly, a subtle breeze filling the room.

The tiny window above the white luxury bathtub stands agape. Veronica takes another step inside and glances to the side. She meets her own reflection in the mirror, and a frown immediately appears on her face. Her dark hair is a mess and her skin looks almost greenish. Quickly, she looks away.

The bathtub holds a scent of lavender that Veronica has been used to since the early days of her childhood, but at this very moment, she finds the scent nauseating. She steps in reluctantly. The warm water feels like a much needed comfort when it finally meets her skin, Veronica notices, and for a tiny part of a second, she lets herself indulge in a short-lived fantasy of better times.

Veronica tips her head back, letting the warm water soak her dark hair as the colour transforms into a black obsidian glow. The water successfully blocks out any sounds, giving Veronica the opportunity to have her moment of peace.

Still, it’s not enough. She feels every single vibration of Claudia’s movements in the water, and somehow, the warm sensation on her skin cools.

“Claudia,” Veronica says, eyes closed, “stop moving for a second. Relax.”

All the noises cease in an instant, and then, in another careful whisper, Claudia says, “a servant should not have such freedom. It’s barbaric. Not in such lands as these shall a servant have that gift… I have to work.”

Words die on Veronica’s tongue, and the conversation ends. This is a common situation they find themselves in, all because Claudia works too much and never takes enough time to rest. It’s slowly killing her. The atmosphere in the bathroom is tense, the soothing effect of the water vanishes, and the smell of lavender becomes disgusting.

“Princess Veronica, permission to speak?”

“Permission granted,” Veronica answers with a small sigh.

In a quick breath, Claudia says, “people say Majesty Cornelius returns to the castle today.” Veronica tenses, her head snapping towards the young servant. She sits up, water from the tub overflowing in waves.

“Today? My father comes home today?” Veronica steps out of the tub swiftly, water dripping from her body, drops running down her arms and legs.

Claudia hurries over with a towel, her next words spoken in a panicked tone. “Yes, Your Highness. People say, um, that he’s not alone.”

A familiar feeling of anxiety appears at the bottom of Veronica’s stomach.. “Not alone, how?”

“It’s the royal family of Northwind Kingdom, Your Highness.”

Veronica stills with the towel wrapped safely around her figure. Goosebumps form on her skin soon after, her hair dripping lavender scented water onto the marble tiles. She wipes the drops of remaining water away from her face, suddenly having trouble understanding anything that’s going on.

Why would King Cornelius ever want to bring the royal family of Northwind to Rosefell Kingdom? Northwind is known for its rough, devastating winters with snow storms threatening its citizens every year. Why would they want to endure the long travel across the rocky, unsure landscape, where the chances of getting buried in snow and falling into a ravine are so major that they’re risking their own safety?

Veronica continues to ponder over the information, but nothing seems to click. What could they possibly want? Northwind and Rosefell are complete opposites, as far as Veronica is aware. The lands of Rosefell are breathing with life everywhere you go. Lively meadows stretch as far as the eye can see with different breeds using the lands to all of their ability.

But her father has changed, an impulsive behaviour doesn’t seem unlikely, and yet making connections with people that far away is completely mental, unless he has something planned.

Her thoughts linger as Veronica gets dressed. The dress is too tight around her waist and the long, puffed sleeves are uncomfortable. The light blue colour doesn’t even complement her skin, and the heels are already causing her feet to ache.

“Would you like your hair up or down, Your Highness?”

The entire process of getting ready is tiring. “It’s your choice, Claudia.”

“Um, thank you,” she stutters, then stumbles over her words as she explains her reasoning why a low bun would be better than any other hair style. Veronica doesn’t listen, too caught up in her own thoughts.

“Why do you think my father is returning with the royal family of Northwind?” She asks, and Claudia stops her rapid explanation.

She brushes the dark brown hair in her hands slowly. “That, I cannot say, but I suppose you’re of age to be wedded, Your Highness.”

“You think he wants me to marry already?”

“Forgive me, but it’s fairly normal to go through with marriage at your age, Your Highness.”

Veronica scoffs, “I’m not planning to marry anytime soon. The old bastard will have to force me.”

Claudia remains silent, knowing better than to speak her opinion. Carefully, she holds the princess’ headpiece in her hands, and even if she’s held the tiara so many times, she still acts like it’s the most fragile thing in the world.

The tiara is a small, simple headpiece made of gold. The tiara’s structure is based on the many roses which twist and intertwine, creating a beautiful pattern and simplicity that Veronica wishes she could somehow apply to her current situation. The headpiece holds a lot of responsibility, unwanted responsibility that Veronica has never asked for, but this is reality, and no amount of daydreaming will change that.

She looks at herself in the mirror. Claudia is smiling behind her. Veronica peeks down into her lap, fingers overcome with minor tremors. “I’m not ready to marry, especially not to someone who I don’t know. It can only result in a life of pure misery.”

“Well, your Highness,” Claudia starts slowly as the smile on her lips struggles to appear believable. “Love is a powerful emotion and you mustn’t take it for granted. Who knows, maybe you’ll marry your eternal love?”

They both know the likeliness of finding true love, and Veronica can say with certainty that whoever her father demands her to marry will not be it, and that alone makes the thought hurt so much more.

Veronica looks up again, meeting her own blank reflection, taking in the talent of her trusted servant. She speaks with gratitude, “it looks gorgeous, thank you, Claudia. Maybe my future husband is my one true love.”

“We can only hope for the best, Your Highness.”

Claudia excuses herself quickly after in order to attend many of her other duties and tasks for the day. Veronica can only imagine the pressure the servants are under if King Cornelius is returning with guests. The kitchens must be a mess, with several pots and pans preparing a luxurious dinner with classic Southern cuisine. Veronica can’t say she’s excited.

The cold temperatures from the grim winter remain within the castle as Veronica moves down the cobblestone stairs with practised ease. The castle is colder than ever before, and the many fireplaces situated around the enormous construction, that Veronica still struggles to view as her home, trouble to provide warmth.

Her home has become so lifeless, a constant black aura surrounding her wherever she goes. The smile on her face is now a practised one that she bears with guilt instead of pride because there’s nothing to be proud of.

The stone walls feel suffocating, the old outlines of the previous painting still present. The colours have been sucked out of this place the day her father left and got rid of everything that might have indicated distraction. The big fire with the paintings and memories is still vivid in Veronica’s mind, even if she wants nothing more than for the memory to vanish. Even so, Veronica savoured one piece that she will never get rid of. That painting holds more value than anything she’ll ever own.

At last, Veronica reaches the bottom of the stairs, greeted by one of the many soldiers that remain loyal to the kingdom.

“Good morning, Your Highness.” Miller, a soldier who enrolled a couple of months prior, greets with a low bow of respect. His grey eyes glance at Veronica for a quick second before he returns to his original position, a small chunk of sandy brown hair irritating his eyes.

Veronica nods politely. “Good morning.” With a quick glance around, she speaks again. “Aren’t you on Commander Greyson’s service?”

“I am,” Miller responds, a certain note of respect and responsibility evident in his voice. “General Charles came to fetch him just a moment before your arrival. Commander Greyson advised me to stay here in the meantime.”

Veronica hums, “must be boring for you, isn’t it?”

For a moment, Miller turns to meet Veronica’s eyes. The look of surprise lingers on his face just a second too long before his face settles back into a neutral expression. “I could not be more grateful, Your Highness. My position in the Royal Guard is the best thing to happen to me in a long time.”

Veronica hums again, remembering the exact day of Miller’s official acceptance into the Royal Guard. Commander Greyson had seen all his potential and suggested to King Cornelius that Miller should be allowed the learn the valuable knowledge that comes with being of the Royal Guard.

Her father, as Veronica remembers clearly, had been sceptical and very reluctant about accepting more young men to join the Royal Guard. But with a few reassuring statements from General Charles and Commander Greyson, as well as Miller’s enthusiasm to join, it all worked out in the end. Miller was one of the lucky few who made it past the many trials, and he is, to this day, the most promising soldier Commander Greyson has ever seen.

Amid their conversation, Commander Greyson returns. Veronica notices him from the corner of her eye immediately. Before her walks a man of strength, a man of loyalty. Commander Greyson is one of the most trusted men within the castle, and General Charles seems to view him as his second in case of an emergency.

A pair of grey fierce eyes meet Veronica’s own, and the dark hair on top of his head seems unruly as always. As Greyson draws nearer, the sound of his footsteps along the stone tiles grows more prominent. Iron armour frames his body, his broad shoulders and defined jaw more pronounced as he moves.

“Princess Veronica,” he greets naturally, settling into a low bow.

“Commander,” Veronica returns, brown eyes dragging along the length of his body once more.

Greyson notices Miller standing in the same position as he left him. “Miller, I want you to rejoin the other soldiers and resume your training, understood?” The tone of his voice is firm but not unkind as he speaks, and Miller nods sharply, bowing once more before leaving through the doors leading to the Entrance Hall.

The hallway is empty, distant voices coming from the kitchens. Veronica and Greyson remain still in their spots as Miller’s retreating footsteps echo quietly. Veronica releases a small breath from her lips.

She meant to ask Greyson for clarity regarding King Cornelius’ return to the castle, but at this very moment, all words seem to have left her mind blank, anxiety crawling its way up her throat, sealing her airways shut. The black aura hiding within the castle will end up swallowing her whole, making sure that darkness covers every particle of her—

“Veronica,” Greyson says as he moves in front of her, tilting his head slightly forward in order to meet her eyes. “Breathe. Come back to me.”

With a pair of wide eyes and ragged breaths, Veronica whispers, “my father is coming back.”

“Yes,” Greyson whispers into the hallway with an undertone of caution. “He’s coming back.”

Veronica gulps down the anxiety to the best of her ability. “Today.”

“Today,” Greyson confirms slowly.

Veronica takes her head in her hands as she takes an unsure step backwards. “I don’t want that man to come back here.”

“I know.”

Veronica continues, “he brings nothing but suffering to those around him. Everything is in ruins after he left.”

As the words leave her lips, Greyson remains silent, an expression of conflict clear on his face. A frown of bitterness forms on his face in a matter of seconds, and yet all he does is sigh. “I understand how you feel, Veronica.”

He doesn’t understand, he really doesn’t, but Veronica doesn’t have it in her to say otherwise. She has conflicted emotions of her own, and won’t force her Commander to listen to all of her thoughts, most of which are completely and utterly stupid. The fact that she’s even speaking of her own father in such a poor manner in front of Greyson, a man who King Cornelius relies on dearly, is perhaps the most foolish decision she’s ever made.

Growing up, Veronica has been taught to never question anything her parents said, has been taught to never speak ill of her own family, and yet, here she is, breaking one of the sacred rules her father so badly wants her to obey. But he isn’t here, and hasn’t been a part of her life for a long time, so do those rules even hold the same value and respect as once before?

Only then, Veronica realises her absence from the conversation, but Greyson gives her a look of understanding. It has become a bad habit for her to get lost in her own head where she needs help to get back to the present, and no matter how hard she tries to stop herself from doing it, she can’t.

From afar, the sound of trotting horses grows stronger and stronger. Soon after, multiple voices seem to gather outside the castle, and Veronica’s heart skips an unneeded beat in protest, her mouth suddenly dry and her legs almost jelly-like.

The anxiety that has lessened in Greyson’s presence has her on edge again. As she moves closer, her feet move unsteadily. Veronica is truly standing on the very edge of a cliff, and if Greyson wasn’t here to ground her, she would have fallen into the hands of Death a long time ago.

The many sounds move closer and closer. Strangers have entered her home, Veronica realises. The voices grow more prominent with each passing second, their accent easily observed through the thick oak doors.

Her father is home, and he’s not alone.

Then the oak doors to the hallway open, and Veronica’s breath hitches. She doesn’t dare to take a single step closer as the door opens wider. The foreign voices sound friendly, curious even, but Veronica remains perfectly still, mentally preparing herself for the monster that’ll greet her soon enough.

Her father can’t have changed much, she thinks. He’ll be the same bitter man as he was the day he left. He has to be. Nothing has the power to change a broken man who offered his soul the second his love left this world.

But then, King Cornelius stands before her, and Veronica has never been so incredibly wrong. He has changed, but it’s not in the way she has expected.

His skin shines with a sickening grey undertone, and his dark hair looks dull and greasy by the roots. With the time he has been gone, Veronica’s father has aged at least a couple of years. To Veronica, he doesn’t look the same at all. He could be a stranger for all she knows.

Beside her, Commander Greyson bows, showing his devotion and respect to the king and his guests. Veronica’s eyes narrow at the many people in her castle, recognising four of them to be her father along with highly trained soldiers, but the remaining six, she’s never seen before.

They look different. Completely different from what Veronica has been expecting. The last remaining people—her guests, apparently—all have fair porcelain skin, and the more she admires their beauty, Veronica believes they might be angels sent from heaven.

Their blue eyes share the same glint of curiosity and kindness, which is accompanied by a toothless smile, stretched upon a pair of thin lips. Veronica takes it all in, and her lips part as she notices the colour of their hair. It stands in complete contrast to her own dark locks. The light in the room makes the blonde hair shine in a way Veronica never thought to be possible.

The second Greyson moves into a standing position again, Veronica snaps out of her thoughts and comes back to reality.

King Cornelius walks with determined, calculative steps, “Veronica.”

His voice booms throughout the castle, not a flicker of affection illuminated on his wrinkled features. His eyes have become colder than before he left, and his voice is sharp with authority. His beard has grown, a subtle undertone of grey slowly making itself more and more apparent. Her father’s armour, slightly bent and scratched, takes up his entire frame, making him all the more intimidating, and the sword resting comfortably in his belt isn’t helping.

The tone of Veronica’s voice is cold, spikes of ice aiming to cut through the armour protecting her father’s heart. “Father.”

He steps forward again, threateningly. “I thought your mother taught you manners.”

With a quick glance, Veronica sees the way her father’s hand is nearing the sword in his belt, and she submits into a low bow without a second thought. But that doesn’t stop King Cornelius from grabbing hold of his blade, pointing it directly at Veronica’s heart.

Her gaze drops to the floor. “Welcome home, Father.”

Veronica freezes as the blade moves closer to her face, and just as the sharp tip grazes her chin, she looks up to meet her father’s hollow eyes. With each passing second, they become lifeless. The light that once brought everyone hope is gone, and Veronica has lost all will to believe it’ll return. It’s terrifying what Death does to people, and Veronica can only wonder when she’s next and if she’s strong enough to survive this.

The grim expression on King Cornelius’ face doesn’t waver, but he withdraws his sword, and Veronica can finally allow herself to straighten. Greyson hasn’t moved a muscle, but he’s as stiff as a board, fists clenched and jaw set.

King Cornelius regards the Commander shortly, “I want you to leave. All of you.”

Greyson nods firmly, an apprehensive look passing over his face for no longer than a second, and soon enough they’re all gone, except Veronica, her father and three people she’s never met.

“What’s the meaning of this, Father?” Veronica dares to ask, and resists the urge to crumble under her father’s stare.

“The royal family of Northwind is staying here indefinitely.”

A beat.

“… indefinitely?” Veronica doesn’t mean to let her words sound doubtful, but she lets it slip without meaning to.

A wicked smile stretches upon her father’s chapped lips, but he says nothing. Instead, a woman steps forward.

Straight, white hair frames a kind, motherly face with a gentle smile and a pair of gleaming blue eyes. With each step, Veronica sees how elegantly she moves, her navy blue dress swaying softly.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, Veronica,” the woman says, voice airy. “I’m terribly sorry to hear about the death of Queen Cathleen. I can’t imagine what a young girl like you must go through. I’m here to offer my condolences, along with my husband and son.”

She reaches for Veronica’s hands, giving them a squeeze before letting go. But Veronica snaps out of her daze, and realisation slaps her right in the face. The woman in front of her is not a stranger, it’s Queen Chantal Langston.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Veronica tilts her head downwards, and smiles gratefully, exactly how they want her to.

King Edgar of Northwind is the next person to step forward and offer his condolences, and Veronica knows better than to let her true emotion of bitterness shine through her facade, so she forces the polite smile and words to fall from her lips as she awaits the last person.

It’s a young man—the prince. He moves with determination and confidence, and the act alone has Veronica suspicious. The shade of his eyes is lighter, his body slender and lean. The young man in question bears himself with confidence, and a charismatic act that has Veronica raising an eyebrow.

“Your Highness,” he says, voice dominated by an accent—it’s rich, and the ivory colour of his skin almost reflects in the light from the windows. “Prince Sebastian Langston of Northwind, heir to the throne.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Prince Sebastian,” Veronica responds, as if his words haven’t just pierced a hole into her chest.

Everything around her feels hollow even though countless men and women have entered her castle, and the darkened aura seems to thicken and suffocate the air out of her lungs.

Prince…

“I’m happy our children have met,” Queen Chantal starts again, successfully stopping Veronica’s train of thought. She continues to speak as if Veronica and Sebastian are no longer present. “I’m sure this alliance will do exceptional things for both parties.”

The smile vanishes, and Veronica’s demeanour changes within a second, her dark thoughts returning at once. “Alliance?” Her voice is cautious, her eyes flickering across the room, finding that no one is having the same panic slowly crushing their lungs.

Queen Chantal blinks, unsure, and her smile finally fades away. She says nothing and the panic in Veronica’s lungs expands to the back of her throat, sealing her airways shut once more.

“You and Prince Sebastian of Northwind are to be wedded.” The voice is cold and suffocating, and it reminds Veronica of nothing but heartache and grief.

Hello, it’s been a while!

Well, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of my new project. I’ve been working on this for so long, and I didn’t want to let it sit in my drafts anymore (I also really missed publishing, a lot).

Anyway, I hope you having a fantastic day wherever you are!

I love you <3

PS: the next chapter is out 28th of October—this Friday!