They allow me one final visit before my exile.
The guards escort me to King Wilius's sickbed through corridors I've walked a thousand times, past tapestries and portraits that once felt like home. Everything looks the same, but nothing is.
I'm a ghost in my own life now, permitted this single grace before I'm erased completely.
The King's chambers smell of sickness—herbs and medicines that can't quite mask the scent of a body slowly giving up. The curtains are drawn against the afternoon light, leaving the room dim and close.
King Wilius lies propped against pillows, his once-robust frame now gaunt, his skin the color of old parchment. But when I enter, his eyes find mine immediately, and they're still sharp. Still kind.
"Your Majesty." I move to his bedside after a short courtesie, and the moment I'm close enough, I take his frail hand in both of mine. "How are you feeling today? Is the pain any better? Did you manage to sleep last night? The physicians said they were trying a new remedy—has it helped at all?"
The questions tumble out before I can stop them, genuine concern overriding everything else. Because this dying man raised me.
After I arrived at court as an infant orphan with nothing but a minor noble name, King Wilius always looked at me with gentle and genuine kindness. He gave me a home, a place. A purpose.
He never made me feel like an obligation or a charity case. He made me feel wanted.
A soft smile crosses his weathered face. "Rosetta, dear," he says, his voice barely above a whisper but warm with affection. "Always thinking of everyone else first… Even now."
"Of course now."
I settle carefully onto the edge of his bed, still holding his hand as if I could anchor him to this world through touch alone.
"You're... you've been more of a father to me than anyone. You stood by me through everything. Every loss, every disappointment, every time I thought I couldn't survive another day... You believed in me when no one else did. Even… he."
My voice cracks on the last words. After the third stillbirth, when the court ladies had started whispering that I was cursed, when even the servants looked at me with pity, King Wilius had summoned me to his private study.
He'd taken my hands, just like I'm holding his now, and told me that my worth had nothing to do with my womb. That I was precious simply because I existed.
I believed him. I've tried to keep believing him through all the losses that followed.
"Dear child." His fingers squeeze mine with surprising strength. "I heard what happened. The celebration yesterday… what my son announced to the court…" His eyes search my face, and in them I see sorrow that matches my own. "Tell me. Tell me the truth. What really happened?"
The permission to speak honestly, to say the words no one else will let me say breaks something open inside me.
My eyes burn with tears I've been holding back for days.
"My sons… they were alive, Your Majesty," I whisper. "I saw the birthmark on his arm—the same one I have. They took them from my arms, and the next day they told me they were stillborn… That I'd imagined their cries, that grief had broken my mind and I…"
I couldn’t finish without choking on my tears, and King Wilius's jaw tightens. "Go on."
"I found them in Cecily's chambers. Both of them. Alive and healthy and... and mine. I know my own children, Your Majesty." The tears spill over now, hot tracks down my cheeks. "But when I picked one up to check for the birthmark, Cecily caught me. She screamed, the guards came…"
My voice breaks completely as I continued the torture of the memories.
"And yesterday, Leander stood before the entire court and declared those babies hers. He's sending me away, annulled our marriage and my sons will grow up thinking Cecily is their mother…"
The silence that follows is heavy with rage and grief. King Wilius's breath comes in shallow gasps, his free hand clenching the blanket.
"There's something I need to give you," he says finally. "Something I should have given you years ago, but I was waiting for the right moment. Perhaps... perhaps there is no right moment. Perhaps there's only now."
He turns his head toward the window. "In my desk—the drawer on the left side. There's a small wooden box. Bring it to me, child."
I rise immediately, crossing to the ornate desk positioned to catch the morning light. The left drawer slides open easily, and inside, resting on velvet, is a carved wooden box no larger than my palm.
I carry it back to the bed, placing it carefully in King Wilius's hands.
His fingers tremble as he opens it. Inside, nestled in more velvet, lies a medallion on a silver chain. It's old—ancient, even—the metal tarnished with age. Strange symbols are inscribed around the edge, surrounding a phrase in a language I don't recognize.
"Take it," King Wilius says, lifting the medallion with effort. "Wear it always. Keep it hidden beneath your clothes, close to your heart. Don't let anyone see it. Don't tell anyone you have it."
I accept the medallion with shaking hands. The metal is surprisingly warm, as if it's been held recently. "What is it? What do these words mean?"
"You won't understand yet." His voice is fading, growing more strained with each word. "But when the time comes… and it will come, Rosetta, I promise you it will… everything will become clear. This medallion is your truth. Your identity, your…"
His grip on my hand suddenly tightens like a vise. His eyes go wide. "Your Majesty?" My heart lurches. "What's wrong? What…"
"There's more…" The words come out urgent, desperate. "There's so much more I need to tell you…" Then suddenly his body convulses and the medallion slips from his fingers.
I catch it reflexively, pressing it against my chest with one hand while my other hand grips his. His back arches off the bed, his face contorting in agony, and a terrible gasping sound tears from his throat.
"Help!" I scream toward the door. "Someone help! The King… Please, someone come now!"
The door bursts open and servants flood in, followed by physicians with their bags of remedies and instruments. Hands pull me away from the bed, gently but firmly, and suddenly I'm standing by the wall while bodies surround King Wilius.
"Your Majesty, can you hear me?" Master Aldric's voice is sharp with controlled panic. "Your Majesty, stay with us. We're going to help you."
I watch them work with herbs and potions, with prayers and desperate remedies. One physician presses his ear to the King's chest. Another forces liquid between his lips. A third holds his wrist, feeling for a pulse.
I can't look away. Can't move. Can't breathe.
King Wilius's eyes find mine through the press of bodies. His lips move, forming words I can't hear over the chaos. I lean forward, straining to understand, but a servant's shoulder blocks my view.
When she moves aside, his eyes are already glazing over.
"No…" I whisper. "No, please. Your Majesty, please…"
"He's gone," Master Aldric says quietly. He straightens from the bed, his expression grim. "His Majesty the King is dead."
The words don't make sense. They can't make sense.
King Wilius was just speaking to me. Just holding my hand. Just trying to tell me something important—something about my identity, about something important I need to know, about…
The medallion presses against my palm, still warm.
The servants begin covering the King's body with a sheet, their movements practiced and somber. Someone is already moving toward the door to announce the news to the court. Master Aldric murmurs something about preparing the body.
I stand there, clutching the medallion so hard the edges bite into my skin, and realize with crushing finality that I am completely alone.
King Wilius is dead. My sons are stolen. Leander has erased me. And the one person in this entire kingdom who truly loved me—who knew secrets he never got to tell—is gone forever.
I slip the medallion over my head, tucking it beneath my dress where no one can see it. The metal settles against my sternum, right over my heart, just as King Wilius instructed.
Whatever this medallion means, whatever truth it holds, it's the only thing I have left.
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