All Things Must End

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟑 • 𝔹𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝕊𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕤

        I do not look up until I hear the door slams shut, submerging the room back to darkness. I thought I would be worked up after a conversation like that, but I only feel drained of energy. My tears are long since spent anyhow when it comes to this war of love. I just hope that this is the final battle.

***

A Healer is sent for the wounds on my wrist after the Darklng left, but it is the only visitor allotted to see me that day. I do not set eyes on the Darkling for the rest of the week. For the next couple of days, the few servants that were trusted enough to stay in the palace, which was very few, all come into the bedroom at different times during the day with silver platters of food—steaming meats, vegetables, bread, soups—but the trays only accumulate on the nightstand untouched. Eating has suddenly become such a chore with my despondent mood that I just don't bother eating at all. Documents and other work-related papers stack up on my desk, dismissed and forgotten. I continue to dance on the dangerous line of simply existing instead of living.

The servants exchange worried glances as they clear full trays of food from my chambers each night. My guess is that some of their fear stems from what the Darkling will do to them when they come back with the uneaten dishes. I just can't bring myself to eat. It all tastes the same.

        Coraline comes in after all the other attendants fail in getting me out of bed. She sighs heavily as she passes by all of the cold attempted meals. "I brought you tea," she says, offering me the porcelain cup. I shake my head. Her chapped lips curve into a frown, but she doesn't push it on me. She just sets it with all the other meal platters. Then, she observes me for a moment, letting silence fill the room before saying, "I know you are angry with the King, and I'm not saying what he did to you was right, but I can see that he loves you profoundly."

        "Everybody keeps saying that!" I snap. "But if he really loved me," I reveal the heavy shackle burdening my wrist from under the blankets, "he wouldn't have done this."

        "My sweet child, he did this because your love means too much to him to lose. Love and fear go hand in hand. Everyone fears losing the thing they love most. It makes them think irrationally and do things they wouldn't usually do to keep said love."

        I sit up in bed, aiming a thoughtful gaze at her. "You sound like someone who speaks from experience."

        A puff of air leaves her lips and she sits on the end of the mattress with a long grunt. Coraline looks wistful as she thinks of what to say. She fiddles with a strand of her grey hair that fell out of her tight bun.

        "My Harrold, my husband, was my only love. I would give anything to have him back."

        I gulp. "What happened to him?"

        "Died in the war. He crossed the border into Fjerda one too many times. When you lose someone like that, you never trust the world to hold your heart again out of fear that it may get crushed," Coraline explains. "You must remember that the King has already gone through loss after loss, being the general of the Second Army before he was King." And being nearly five hundred years old, I think to myself. "You mustn't blame him for being cautious. You deserve freedom, yes, but that scares him. It reopens his battle scars from years ago. I just ask that you keep that in mind before you decide that he is your enemy."

        "I'm sorry Coraline," I huff. "But I cannot forgive him this time."

        "You do not need to forgive him, dear, but perhaps it will help to understand him."

        She raises slowly from the bed and pats my leg before taking her leave. I am left to my thoughts and the lonely bedroom once again.

***

My back is turned to the door as I lay in bed the next afternoon, staring blankly at the parallel wall colored a velvety dark green. I hear the door swing open and a silver tray is once again placed on the nightstand. I wait to hear the sound of a servant closing the door, but it never comes. I hold my breath in the silence. When the mattress dips down beside me, my body tenses up.

"My Alina, I know you are angry with me," the Darkling says in a voice as soft and comforting as a parent's lullaby, "but you must eat something, drink something."

I am aware that my appearance is probably similar to a corpse: pale, emaciated, and unmoving. If I keep this up, regardless if I'm immortal or not, I won't last long.

        My eyes flutter close when I feel the familiar comfort of his hand combing through my snow-white hair, the other massaging my shoulder in an attempt to get me to roll over or at least acknowledge him.

        "Alina, please," he begs, his voice breaking in sincerity. It gets me to turn over to face him. The Darkling's frown and creased brow deepen when he sees the sharp angles of my jaw, hollow cheeks, and purple bags under my eyes. "Come here," he coaxes, pulling me up into a sitting position with ease. He finds the bowl of warm broth on the side table and dips the spoon in before raising it to my lips.

        I hesitate at first, but the growl of my stomach leaves me with no room to argue, so I open my mouth and let the golden broth in. I sigh when I feel the warmth go down my throat, earning a smirk from the Darkling, but immediately I return to my brooding face afterward. I expected him to have a cocky response like "I told you so" but he just sits with me, intent on feeding spoonfuls of soup to me until I shake my head when I am too full to continue.

        There are a million things on his tongue that he wants to say to me, but the only thing that comes out is, "I love you."

        Me and Coraline's conversation comes to mind.

        You do not need to forgive him, but understand him.

        "I know," I whisper while hugging my knees to my chest. "Even so, I still can't forgive you."

        The Darkling nods with a bitter smile. "Okay," is all he says. His shoulders roll back, his back straightening, indicating that the wall that blocks out emotion and hurt has been put up again.

        He stands to his natural height, towering over me, his eyes searching me one last time to find some sort of hesitancy over my decision, but I hold strong.

        "I'll be back tomorrow to make sure you eat," he says.

        Then he is gone.

        I may understand why he's done this to me, but I won't forgive him this time. I won't forget. Even if it tears me apart to hurt him, I won't give in.

        This is war.