Harry Styles Shorts and One Shots

The Ghost of You 4 **

18+ only

Word count: 9,400

Cassandra

  "Princess," a voice echoes around my mind. "Are you quite all right, my lady?"

My eyes slowly open, seeing the physician, Lambert, hovering above me with a worried look scattered on his face. I gasp from the closeness, being completely startled by his presence.

"Forgive me," the young doctor backs away, my chest heaving. "Princess Cassandra, you have fainted. Do you remember anything?"

I grip onto the sheets of the infirmary bed, recalling the moment that I realized that Harry, gods, King Harry is dead. And I can see him? My gaze flicks around the room, wondering if he is somewhere lingering about. But how is it possible?! He is but a spirit, and yet I can feel him? The memory of our bodies pressed together in the Hall of Fallen Kings makes me ache, but I ignore the feeling. He isn't real.

"Forgive me, I believe I took too much of the nightshade you provided for me, my lord."

Lambert sighs with a bit of relief. "Oh, heavens. Well, please only use two drops next time, my lady. Any more can cause hallucinations, paralysis, and possibly even death."

"I was having hallucinations from it, it seems," I blurt out, rubbing at my perspiring forehead. "I believed I was seeing spirits of dead kings."

"Lord Hand Gregory had mentioned you saying something of the sort. May I examine your eyes before I release you to your bedchambers? You've most likely slept off the effects by now."

I nod reluctantly, looking every which way as he approaches my bedside. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Quite some time, my lady. The sun has yet to rise, though." He holds candlelight up to my eyes, instructing that I follow his finger from side to side. "You seem to be back in order. Shall I fetch your handmaiden to escort you back to bed?"

"No," I tell him gently. "Thank you, my lord. I feel well."

He gives me a nod and a polite grin, offering his hand to help me out of bed. I stand on shaky legs, looking down at my feet and remembering that I left my bedchambers without my night slippers. I wanted to be stealthy as I paid Harry a late night visit, hoping to do all of the things Rose and I spoke about as she brushed my hair.

I am mad, though, clearly. If I were seeing spirits, wouldn't I be seeing more than just Harry? God, what am I saying? I've simply made the whole thing up to help me cope with the situation of Anthony. Yes, that is the answer. Harry is nothing more than an imaginary partner that I've created and manifested. But he felt so real. And his kiss was unlike anything I've felt from Anthony. This was—passionate.

Perhaps I should ask Lambert for a prescription of some sort. Maybe I truly have gone mad and need to be medicinally sedated until I regain my normal senses.

With my last exhale of courage, I leave the infirmary, making my way up the stairs and down the corridor to my bedchambers. Anthony is still snoring, but I cannot rest when I know he is bound to wake up soon. I'm worried he will take me in the night in my sleep, rendering me more powerless against him than normal.

I pace alongside my bed, my eye capturing the white rose that rests slightly browned on my vanity. A small smile lifts my lips as I cross the room, picking the flower up and nestling my nose into the center of it. I breathe it in, replaying the moment of Harry and I kissing deeply in the garden.

The way his tongue moved with mine has my stomach clenching in such a new way. It's an unfamiliar ache, and one I've only experienced while with Harry. How can he be imaginary if all of the reactions I have to his presence are so very real? I can still feel the fervor of his tongue, and the warmth of his hard body against me. How is he—warm? How is he here? How is any of this real?