a/n; I know it's been pretty long - sorry about that, but haha I've been focused on a lot of other fics! do note; chapters from now here will not be as long as before for the sake of my sanity & also because I don't want to drag things out if necessary. Everything is always tightly planned so the chapter basically ends whenever I finish writing whatever needs to happen lol. but that said, the chapters r still decently sized!

do comment as it would greatly motivate me! vote on this chapter too <3

—

You wandered around like a ghost after the ordeal. You hardly got any sleep those few days — your posture was wilting, unlike the regal and proud way you used to stand — and your eye bags were dark and heavy, like black crescents had been left to hang on your eyelids.

You told yourself that this would be temporary. You told yourself that this period of depression and sadness that was enveloping you — it would all be temporary. You kept telling yourself that this wasn't supposed to be how things played out, but then the cold, hard facts would be tossed at your face: oh, but Y/n — this is exactly how it is. This is how everything is playing out.

The palace people must have heard of the news, for they looked at you with piteous eyes. They whispered condolences to you as they passed by in the corridors and yet they steered clear of you. You were glad they did so, because you weren't ready to listen to hastily uttered apologies and you weren't ready to look at people's pitiful gazes and looks of sadness. You were holding enough sadness in your heart already — you didn't need other people's borrowed pain either.

The funeral was arranged at the courtesy of Silas. You were grateful to him for that, and it made you doubt your suspicions that he was the culprit. Maybe you had been hasty in jumping to conclusions. Maybe it had been a freak accident. But still, to your surprise, many people attended the funeral. Your cousins, who stared at you like they had seen a ghost, your father, who you meaningfully avoided, and the palace servants who had watched you grow up. They brought little gifts and flowers and bowed their heads towards you.

Without you even being aware of it, you had become a key figure in the palace. It was ironic, that at the funeral of a person you had once loved most in the world, you realized how many people loved you. You realized how many people cared for you. And it allowed you to think that maybe you weren't alone anymore, after all.

Silvia had attended too, but you couldn't bring yourself to even talk or look at her. She patted you on the shoulder before she moved away to place a small basket of flowers and cakes on the table.

You clung onto Silas when you first arrived at the funeral scene. No expense had been spared: everything was beautiful, even the funeral wreaths. The casket was laid at the very front. It was an open casket funeral, Silas told you. You could go ahead and look at your mother's face at any time. But you found yourself tearing from it, not doing so. You wished to delay it for as long as you could. You wanted the moment between her and you to be intimate and private, and not in front of the numerous wandering attendees.

"I don't know, Silas," you whispered shakily, "I don't even think I can stand here for the majority of the funeral, smiling genuinely at people and pretending everything is alright when really; it's not —"

It was a huge mess. Over time the sobs and the tremors had been reduced to nothing but a blathering, numbing mess. Over time the pain had become less real, but instead a strange sort of emptiness had taken root in the pits of your stomach.

Were you damaged? Or were you just trying to live? Which was it? You were still trying to learn. You were trying to cope.

"Take a seat," Silas cajoled quietly, "you should rest."

Silas looked like he was regretting holding a funeral. He saw that perhaps you would have liked to mourn by yourself. You appreciated his gesture, but ultimately, you would have preferred a much smaller ceremony.

You were really starting to wonder if Silas even knew you. Had you been too absorbed in the honeymoon stage with him?

"I'll be the one to greet the people who come," Silas added.

You mustered up enough energy to smile weakly. "The future Emperor greeting the guests of his butler's mother's funeral? What do you think people will say?"

Silas softened and looked at you with an agonizing gaze. "People will understand. They'll have to understand. Your mother just died, after all."

Your mother just died, after all. It was odd to hear that from another person's lips. Your mouth opened, and then closed, and then you shook your head. "Just go ahead, then. Do as you wish."

"Y/n," Silas called quietly.

You didn't budge. It was hard to move nowadays. Your body felt like lead, and even your thoughts moved like sludge. But you liked the latter: it was better to not think at all, than to think furious, racing thoughts of your mother's death.

"Y/n," Silas repeated, before he tipped your head up with careful precision, like he was dealing with an obstinate, petulant child. And yet his touch was infinitely gentle, and you wondered if he was cruel enough to be the one who killed your mother and then comfort you.

"I know, I know," you murmured, "such actions are not befitting of the royal butler. I'm neglecting my duties. But I think my mother deserves this, at least. She deserves someone to think of her so often."

Silas simply clasped your hands and looked at you with a warm, deep gaze. "Don't be too harsh on yourself, Y/n."

You stiffened at his words.

Do you dare, Silas? Do you dare to say such words after possibly being the one to kill my mother? Do you dare to touch my face with the very hands that have been stained with the blood of my kin? Do you dare to act all innocent and kind even when you might have been the one to kill her?

Were you overthinking? You might have been. There was a high chance that Silas hadn't killed your mother — there was a high chance that you were blaming him for something he didn't commit.

To your horror, you felt tears drop from your eyes again. You blinked them away and leaned against Silas, hoping that your worst fears wouldn't be proved true.

"I have to be, Silas. I have to honour her memory. This isn't about being harsh on myself. This is about me remembering her."

"But —"

"You haven't lost anyone before," you said, and you were startled by the anger in your tone, "what would you know, Silas? What would you know?"

Silas stilled. An unfamiliar expression crossed over his face then, and it was too quick for you to notice. You froze, and then your bottom lip started to tremble. "I'm sorry."

Grief was changing you.

"Don't apologise. I was out of line," Silas murmured.

Fights between the two of you had been so exceedingly uncommon before. But now it seemed like as each second passed, you were pushed nearer and nearer to your breaking point. Every time you thought things were fine, and that you would soon force yourself to heal, something would set you off again. There were these emotions that kept swinging back and forth like an old, rickety seesaw, and you didn't appreciate it.

"You must find it strange," you said, "that while I wish to forget this process, I still allow memories of her to linger. What I wish and what I'm doing is contradictory, I'm aware."

Silas didn't interrupt or say anything. He allowed you to continue speaking without a single word. And so you did.

"I'm burdened by her love, Silas," your voice cracked slightly, "When someone is gone, and you're the main person who carries all her last memories, everything becomes a burden. if I forget my mother, that would be terminating her existence, don't you think? If I allow myself to let go, that would be wiping her existence away from the world. If I forget about her, who will remember her? My father? Certainly not. You? No. Even my cousins will regard her as a distant memory one day."

That was how fickle one's life was. Once someone perished, it was hard to leave a legacy behind.

"But you're torturing yourself like this," Silas said in a pained voice, "you're torturing yourself by forcing yourself to —"

"Silas," you cut in, "don't go into places that don't involve you. You never liked my mother — am I right to say this?"

"...You are," Silas whispered, "but why must you ask the questions that you don't want the answers to?"

You wondered what his reaction would be like if you straight up asked him: what did you do with my mother? Did you kill her? You have asked yourself that question numerous times already. You didn't know whether you wanted to know the answer.

But you didn't. You set your mouth in a straight line and stood up, tearing your fingers from Silas's touch. "I will pay my respects to her now. Don't follow me."

Silas didn't push. He let you leave, and it felt like your heart was bursting and cracking into pieces all over again. Silas had once picked up all those pieces — Silas had once been your refuge.

You asked yourself: would Silas simply become a temporary person that you had shared all those permanent memories with?

You didn't turn back to look at him.

—

Your mother was beautiful, even in death.

She had always been so beautiful. You always thought that it was a shame that she married your father, who gave so little to her. He gave no affection, no warmth, nothing, except perhaps his good looks. If she had married someone else, she would have been happier, and so would your father —

But you would never have existed. Silas wouldn't have existed, either. Would you have traded your life for your mother's happiness? Were you that selfless? Or were you greedy enough to allow the same path of events to happen again?

The curse, you thought tiredly, is this how it all unfolds?

You looked at your mother again. It was common in open casket funerals to put makeup on her face, and you could see that she had blush dusted on her cheeks. It made her look alive, when in truth, she was a corpse. She was a corpse on display, and you wanted to crack open her eyelids with your finger just so you would remember what it was like to have her look at you again.

"How did you die, Mother?" You asked, swallowing. Your hand pressed against the glass encasing her body. "Did you really die of an illness? But you always kept yourself so healthy. You baked all those sweets, yes, but you were awfully health conscious, too. How could an illness render you dead?"

Obviously, there was no reply. You were muttering to someone who would never be alive again. But still, like a foolish person, you decided to continue your ramblings. If anyone saw you like this, they would have called you crazy. Wasn't it strange that people called people in grief mad? What was maddening about feeling devastated about the loss of someone? Was it not a normal human emotion? Was it not a normal human response? Just what was strange about it?

"We were very close at the start, you and I," you murmured, "I still remember. When I was eight, when I had first met Silas — you were so gentle and kind. And then you become more cruel; more callous...if you had remained unkind, would I have mourned your death?"

That was a terrible thing to say aloud. You winced and your fingers felt cold and unmoving. The tears were still free falling from your face, and it made your fingers slippery against the glass. You caught a few glances thrown your way and several mutters.

"What a pity. He lost his mother."

"But he's an adult, isn't he? Should he not be regulating his emotions better?"

"He's the Royal Butler, and yet..."

These comments came from the nobles. The nobles who had come purely because they hated to see the image of you distraught. The nobles who had come because they wanted to see a commoner who had dared to eclipse them fall.

You saw Silas's hands reaching for his blade. His eyes had darkened. You caught his eye and gave him a sharp look. You did not want any bloodshed here, of all places. Don't be childish, you wanted to tell him.

You didn't know why you were becoming. Hateful, maybe? Just a while ago at the ball, you had laughed when Silas had stabbed that noble. And now you were condemning him. Love and hate were really in the same vein.

"The nobles are terrible."

"Y/n is openly grieving for his mother — how could they be so cruel? So harsh? How could they —!"

Those comments were from the servants in the palace. The ones on your side. Of course, they could not directly oppose the nobles, but this made you more relaxed. You left the casket and went back to your seat, mindlessly watching as people one by one, went up to the casket and muttered their own words. Were you supposed to give a speech on how wonderful your mother had been, on what a great mother she was? You would rather not, not because you didn't believe she was a great person, but because you simply didn't want to.

As people left and entered, the place became quiet enough for you to slip into your swarming thoughts again. And later, after a while, the noise escalated and you could see in your peripheral vision; your father startling and his eyes widening.

You whipped your head to face the entrance, and you found a choked sound leaving your lips.

The Emperor.

Even the Emperor had attended the funeral.

The noise exploded in your ears. You drew back like you had been shot. Your expression mirrored your father's (plain, unadulterated shock), and for once, you looked like him. You finally looked like your father, at your mother's funeral. It was like you had traded her life to finally resemble your father.

"What is His Majesty doing here?"

"Didn't he loathe Sarah?"

"Is he here to pay his respects, or..."

All of these murmurs were punctuated by a soft chuckle. And then the chuckle dissolved into laughs.

The Emperor was laughing.

It was the kind of merry, joyful laugh that broke the smooth marble of his skin, the kind of laughter that carried along the winds to your ears. And it was the kind of laugh that didn't suit a funeral.

Your mother's funeral.

That bastard, you thought. That fucking bastard. How dare he laugh? How dare he — laugh —

How dare he —!

You sent your father a withering glare. Your father hadn't moved. He was horrified, you knew. Only the Emperor could elicit that much emotion from him.

The last time you had truly talked to the Emperor was such a long time ago: you couldn't remember. Your memory was smudgy at best. Was it when you had been pushing those cookies on the cart, and he had stopped to look at you, to say you looked like your mother? You knew the Emperor loved your father, and you knew that he had hated your mother.

Another thought flashed in your head.

What if — he has — what if he was the one to —

You shot another look of desperation at your father. You two were meant to be grieving together, for God's sake. You two were meant to be closer. And yet the problem was that you couldn't feel his pain, for he was so distant from you, and he couldn't feel your pain either. You two were strangers to each other — it didn't matter anymore.

There was so much anger in you. Once misplaced, now fitting.

Silas resolved the problem for you. He walked up to his father, and you could feel the nobles and commoners alike gasping — this was the first time they had ever been seen together in public, father and son. At that moment, you pitied Silas, almost, for never having a bond with either of his family members. He would never experience the loss of family because his family members didn't even acknowledge him in the first place.

"Your Majesty," Silas's voice was low. It was clear he didn't want to attract any attention, and yet at that moment, everyone was focused on them. The Emperor, and the Crown Prince. The two most powerful people in the Empire.

"Ah, my son."

"Laughing at a funeral is unsightly, don't you think?"

"Oh, but it's just so hilarious, isn't it — it's awfully amusing," The Emperor smiled. "She died. She finally died."

"Your Majesty."

"What? If you ask my butler, he would know that I longed to see this day. Ralph would know that perhaps Sarah's death was his fault — if he had not dared to say yes those years back, she would have lived. Ah, reminiscing those times make me even more so happy that she's dead," the Emperor — Casper — smiled. "Good riddance, I would say."

"Your Majesty,"  your father spoke up after a while. "I beg of you. Don't do this here."

"Or what?"

"This is a funeral. Do you not have decorum? Your son's butler just lost his mother. Your butler just lost his —"

"Ex-wife," Casper said cheerfully.

"You knew her. You were willing to tolerate her."

"Yes, I was, before she decided to be utterly selfish."

"Must you do this in front of everyone?" Your father looked at Casper with desperation, "must you? Must you always be like this? Wild, untamed, completely incorrigible? Y/n is grieving. He does not have time to deal with your silly nonsense."

"Since when did you care so much about your son? You hardly batted an eye when he went and broke down like that. Anyone can see he is out of his mind. Y/n's mad. The curse will persist."

Your throat went dry as you listened to this low, heated exchange. Your father and Casper — just what were they?

Were they lovers?

No, that couldn't be. There was too much old resentment and fury underlying their tones. Was this what you and Silas were destined to be?

"Casper," your father switched to his name, and his tone was raw and yet soft, "please."

For the briefest moment, Casper's eyes softened. Then it switched back to a neutral one again. "How convenient for you, isn't it? Switching back to calling me by my name when you want to get your way."

Your father stayed silent.

Casper's lips twitched. "I am in a considerably good mood, so I suppose you will get your way." He turned to face Silas. "You should take good care of your butler there, son. Who knows? He might end up marrying the servant girl. I tried to help you a few years back, you know. I told her to stay away from Y/n. Clearly, she defied me."

You saw from the corner of your eyes, that Silvia blanched at that.

Silas's face, however, was unreadable. Casper L switched his attention to you then, and you didn't know what kind of expression was there on your face. Was it fury? Shock? Pain? Devastation?

"My condolences, Y/n," Casper said softly, "but let me tell you this: if it hadn't been for that wretch, you would never have been born."

You would never have been born.

You were starting to wish that what the Emperor said was a reality.

—

hope everyone liked it! sorry - very boring but things will pick up soon :) allegiance is a longfic so do be patient with it - I promise it heads somewhere

again, do vote and add to your library to receive updates if you haven't done so yet! u have no idea how much votes help with an author's motivation so they r greatly appreciated

**marital woes update tmr, to be whole might update tmr or friday.

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