By the time the funeral rolls around, I haven't left my bed in a week. Ethan comforts me after my worst nightmares and gives me space when it all becomes too much. Some days, I crave his voice and touch like a woman starved; others, I can't bear to be around anyone. My sisters have respected my wishes, sending me notes via Ethan.

Juliette returned to Moonbright late yesterday evening, hugging me and telling Ethan to send a message if we needed her. I knew by the look in her eyes that she didn't want to go, but she had to get ready for the funeral. With a jolt, I realize that the service is this afternoon. Ethan and Queen Vanessa have been working with servants and officials nonstop to make sure everything is in place.

I swallow hard. Ethan hasn't brought up my attending the service, but I know he and his mother consider me part of the family and that my absence would crush them. The mere thought of being around all those people, despite the sad circumstances, has my heart rate speeding up. Closing my eyes, I take deep, slow breaths, focusing on the rise and fall of my chest.

I must repeat the action several times before I feel the adrenaline drain from my body. Despite my panic, I know I won't be able to move past what happened—both in the nightmare and reality—for a long time. I get out of bed slowly, my muscles aching and stiff after lying there for days.

A soft knock on my door causes me to turn my head. "Come in," I call out as I walk to the bathing room. Gwen's blonde ringlets appear in my vision a heartbeat before I see her face. She smiles at me, her astute eyes scanning my face.

"Good morning, my lady," she says, bowing her head. Even after two years of marriage to a prince, I'm still not used to that. Nor am I used to the bows and curtsies I get whenever I walk the halls of Maliwen's palace. Despite everything, part of me still believes my father's words.

"Good morning, Gwen," I reply as I shut the door behind me. These days, I don't bat an eye at my reflection. I cover it up with concealer as best I can and move on. No one besides Gwen and Ethan know about the nightmares, and I intend to keep it that way. I move on to my closet, finding my most modest dress.

My eyes lock on a knee-length black cocktail gown I bought years ago. I have just slipped the dress over my head when I hear a knock on the door. Glancing at my reflection, I take another breath before exiting the closet.  "Your Highness," I hear Gwen say.

I don't hear Ethan's murmured response as I step out of the bathing room. His eyes scan the room, lighting up when they land on me. "How are you?" he asks, crossing the room in seconds and taking my hand.

Nodding, I gently kiss his cheek and pull back to look into his eyes. Though my expression is calm, I have no doubt he can see the shadows in my eyes. "I'm okay."

Relief floods his eyes as he squeezes my hand. "Have you thought about attending the funeral? You don't have to if you're not feeling up to it." Though his voice is calm when he says it, anxiety dances in his eyes as the words leave his mouth. I know that he wants me by his side during this challenging time, and honestly, there's nowhere I'd rather be.

Another knock on the suite door startles me, interrupting my response. I inhale sharply, my heart skipping a beat. Gwen excuses herself to answer it, leaving Ethan and me alone. I hear murmured conversation, Gwen's soft voice as she thanks whoever is on the other side, then the sound of the door as it shuts.

"A letter for you, my lady," she says as she walks back into the bedroom. I can see the faintest lines of concern on her forehead, but her expression is calm. She glances at Ethan, then flicks her eyes back to me.

My eyes fill with concern at the motion. I take the letter from Gwen, sitting on the edge of the bed. Ethan wordlessly sits beside me, placing a steadying hand on the small of my back. Hands shaking, I slowly unfold the letter.

The words, written in a heavy, unfamiliar hand, are sloppy. Like whoever wrote it was in a hurry. A knot of dread forms in my stomach as I begin to read.

'Are you surprised to hear from me again, Lauren? You shouldn't be, considering what you've been through. I've been thinking a lot lately about the past—specifically, your time in Moonbright.'

As I read that sentence, I choke on my breath. 'I remember when your mother first became friends with Adelaide. The two of them were thick as thieves. When you met Juliette, your friendship blossomed almost as quickly. Adelaide loved you—she doted on you like a second daughter. However, the king and Fabian weren't so welcoming. Fabian's hatred was driven by jealousy—he'd never had a close relationship with his mother or sister, yet they'd welcomed you in immediately.'

I have to pause and press a trembling hand to my stomach as the words sink in. I know who wrote this—though I wish I didn't. I take a shuddering breath, exhaling shakily before returning to the letter.

'The king was an altogether different story. He was the one who encouraged me to join the rebels in the first place. Of course, I did it unaware that he was using me. But you know that already. When your mother found out what I was doing, she threatened to leave me, concerned only for you and your sisters. After I'd been there a few months, the king began blackmailing me—using you, your sisters, and your mother as bargaining chips. He told me he'd make me suffer if I didn't keep doing what I was doing.'

My heart stops dead in my chest, a choked gasp escaping my lips. 'Fast-forward to a few years ago. The king had taken you on as a servant and your mother as his wife's lady-in-waiting. He kept you on a tight leash, finding pleasure in seemingly mindless tasks created to make you suffer. When I heard what he was doing, I tried to stop it. I did. But the king had a secret agenda. He wasn't just using you—he was breaking you.'

I have to pause yet again as a sob shudders through me. I know what's coming—I can feel it deep in my gut. Yet I'm paralyzed by fear. My hands have gone rigid on the paper, creasing the edges. 'Why do you think he kept you around for so long? He had to make sure his plan was going off without a hitch. When the ball came about, he saw a perfect opportunity—make the prince fall in love with you, then after a few years, leave you when he realized what a mess you were.'

I go limp in Ethan's arms, his grip tightening around me. 'What he didn't count on, however, was the prince's compassion. Ethan saw through your title and deep into your soul. He saw all the broken pieces, trauma, and scars, yet he sought you out anyway. But have you considered everything you've been through the past three years? The nightmares, anxiety, depression, PTSD—the trauma you suffered left invisible scars on your soul. Be careful, Lauren: don't let your past ruin your present.'

Tears blur my vision, dripping onto the page and smudging the words. Tremors wrack my body as gut-wrenching sobs tear through my chest. I can feel something inside me violently breaking in half—like a piece of my soul has disappeared. I can hardly breathe through the pain, let alone speak. Ethan takes one look at my face and pulls me to him, stroking my hair as I sob.

He's quiet for a few moments before speaking, his voice soft. "Maybe... maybe I should tell Mom you're not feeling up to the service." Though the words pain him, he forces them out through gritted teeth. Even though I'd already resolved to attend the service, a familiar heaviness descends on me, pulling me deeper into grief and depression.

My heart clenches painfully at his words. Wordlessly, I rise from the bed and walk into the bathing room, again shutting the door behind me. I'm on autopilot as I wash my face, eliminating any trace of grief, depression, and shock that had been present in my features. Luckily, my dress is still spotless, so I double-check my reflection a final time, not even flinching at the hollowness of my eyes.

Something—whether it indeed had been a part of my heart or soul—had been violently shattered when I'd read the letter. And I realize now that no matter how many years went by or how I tried to cope, nothing would fix it.

It's an out-of-body experience as we leave the suite, Ethan clutching my hand tightly. Based on the worried glances everyone we pass gives us, I'm assuming my expression is vacant, tears staining my cheeks. I can't even find the strength to care—nor the will to feel anything.

Queen Vanessa greets us as we reach the chapel, which I haven't yet visited. The decor is beautiful, but I don't even notice it. I've retreated so deep into myself that I don't even blink when she eyes me, nor do I meet her gaze. She opens her mouth, eyes filled with concern, but Ethan puts a hand on her arm, stopping her with a gentle shake of his head.

The service is a blur. Numerous men and women approach Ethan and Queen Vanessa, offering condolences and kind words. Many acknowledge me by name, but I don't respond to anything. When the service ends, I slip out of the chapel, making a beeline for the castle. I take back hallways the whole way, not wanting to run into a single soul.

I reach our suite in minutes, yet it feels like hours. A heartbeat after I shut the door, my legs give way, and I slide down to the floor. The tears have dried on my cheeks, leaving streaks in their wake. A single sentence from the letter is on repeat in my head, haunting me. The nightmares, anxiety, PTSD—the trauma you suffered left invisible scars on your soul.

Read and review!