yes, i have been trying to write this story for like 5 years. no, I don't know why it's taking so long lol. here's another update in case a single person is still reading this story!
...
It had been five months since I'd last seen Flynd.
Five months since I'd held his hand and felt the warmth of his palms on mine. Five months since I'd finally found peace in Arania.
I was generally happy in Meret. I missed Mam and Baba. Mam's boisterous laughter and Baba's gentle smile. It was so nice to be with them, to feel completely safe, to remember what it felt like to truly belong somewhere. I missed the food, and the sun. I missed walking barefoot and wearing fabric that didn't weigh down my entire body.
But even more than that, I missed Flynd. And often thought I was willing to lose this—lose my beautiful Meret—if it meant I could see him again.
I spent most nights wide awake, heart aching, and tonight was no different. Even the cool evening winds rushing into my room didn't soothe me. Some nights were worse than others; I dreaded those nights. When the ache was so sharp, I couldn't do anything but wail. When I let myself remember his embrace and smile. When I lingered on memories for a bit too long.
But tonight, the ache was dull, peripheral. As I lay awake, unsure how to fall asleep, I absentmindedly touched my belly. It had grown a lot bigger since I'd returned home. At first, I'd thought I'd been gaining weight from the hearty Meretian meals. Mam was relieved, apparently, I'd looked quite gaunt upon returning. When I told her about Aranian food, she hugged me, as if I'd told her I had gone to war.
But it was beginning to swell beyond that point now, the bump now becoming visible through my clothing. I didn't know what to think; if it was true—what would it mean?
And then something poked my insides.
I almost thought I'd imagined it. I touched my stomach again, holding my breath, waiting in complete silence. And then it happened again, a kick. A little kick. Meretian food didn't kick.
Tears burned my eyelids, the moment turning quickly from astonishing to devastating. I wasn't supposed to experience this alone. Flynd was supposed to be here. He was supposed to be excited and nervous and scared along with me. He was supposed to feel the kick and laugh in surprise. We were supposed to be experiencing this together.
...
At dinner, we all sat around the food bowl, eating quietly. Mam had had a stressful day and Baba had listened to Mam complain about her stressful day. It didn't feel like the right time to tell them, but I knew it never would.
"I'm pregnant," I said.
Mam slowly looked up from her food, terror and curiosity swirling in her eyes. Her lips parted but nothing came out. Baba stared at me in silence, confused.
"I'm pregnant," I said again. "I felt the baby kick last night. And haven't you noticed how swollen my belly has gotten?" Mam groaned, a guttural, agonized noise as pained as the howl of a trapped animal. Her eyes welled with tears, but she still didn't speak. Maybe thinking if she didn't talk, then it couldn't be true.
"Aren't you...happy?" I whispered. I didn't even know if I was happy.
Baba wiped his hands on his cloth and pulled me into an embrace. "I need to go back now," I whimpered into his shoulder, struggling to keep my voice even. This baby meant we truly were forever tied to Arania. Their worst fear. Every day, I could see the regret in their eyes. They had sent me away and I could have died, I knew they'd never forgive themselves.
Mam apologized to me every day, hugged me much tighter than she had in the past. She hadn't meant to hurt me. She hadn't meant to be so cruel. Sometimes, when I wandered the corridors at night, unable to sleep, I'd pass by their room and hear her sobs, Baba's soft words of comfort.
But it was too late now. We were tied to them, just like they'd wanted. And now, it was just as I wanted too.
"We cannot risk you being in danger again," Baba said, patting my back. "Arania isn't safe. We should never have involved you in our politics."
I gazed at Baba, shaking my head, "He must know he has a child. He must."
"We just need to think about this carefully, flower," Mam interjected. "We don't want to do anything rash."
I wanted to be rash. I didn't want to be strategic or careful anymore. I wanted to see my husband, I wanted him to know I was having his child. I wanted our family to be together again. And I would make sure it happened. I had to.
...
Flynd's POV
Every day was beginning to feel the same. I'd start the morning waking up on an empty bed, half of it cold and untouched. I'd change into something presentable—on my own—I had told the servants to stop coming a while ago. And then I'd wander to Father's office, wading through my surroundings, waiting for something to do.
Today was no different. I made myself presentable, it was the only thing I'd managed to still care about. And I walked out the door. It was hard to pay attention to anything lately, but I did notice how grey-cast the corridors looked. Cold, hard stone, shadowy from the grey Witylt skies. It was no wonder Ayan hated it here upon arriving. I imagined how cold she must have been those first few weeks, how uncomfortable and homesick. At least she was home now. I could only hope she was enjoying the Meretian sun, frolicking, glowing. Beautiful.
Father smiled hesitantly at me as I entered his office, "Flynd, good morning."
I shrugged and sat across from him. The floor looked especially cold today. Cold and sad. Grey. Even the walls. The desk. All of it was grey.
"Can I help with anything?" I asked. I just needed him to give me something to do. My productivity had gone up considerably and I could tell he was running out of tasks for me. But I needed them. I needed something else to think about.
"I'm sure you can," Father said. "But I don't think you should."
His expression was soft, nonjudgmental and calm, but irritation burned in my chest nonetheless. It was easy for him to say that when he'd never been in love. When he'd never lost anyone he truly cared about. It was easy for him to say that when he'd never even liked Ayan to begin with. "Don't tell me what I should and shouldn't do," I spat. "I don't need to be coddled."
"You didn't used to yell at the servants before."
I grimaced, remembering last week when one of them had spilled hot tea on me. I couldn't remember who was to blame, the servant for turning the corner without warning or me for incessantly looking at the ground. I had lost myself in my anger. As if trapped at the stake, engulfed by an overwhelming, fiery fury.
"I apologized," I muttered, feeling the weight of shame inching closer. "I apologized."
"You didn't used to yell at them before."
"And so what?" I snapped. "Maybe I've changed."
"You have," he growled.
The irritation and anguish was dizzying, all-consuming. And for some reason, Father looked a little bit blurrier than when I'd arrived. I hadn't eaten breakfast today. Or yesterday. I hadn't gone outside in months. I was out of shape. I was a dead man walking.
And I wasn't really angry. It wasn't anger. It was worse.
"Just let me go to her," I whispered, nearly begging. I had been asking to go to Meret since Ayan had left. Father was concerned they'd use me to retaliate. But Meretians weren't like Aranians, they were much more hesitant to stir political wounds. And they were peaceful, Ayan had proven that to me. Though even if they did use me to retaliate, I wouldn't care. It would be worth it if I got to see her just once more.
"We've discussed this already."
"Let's discuss it again."
"No, let's not."
I wanted to glare a hole right through his heart, perhaps then he'd understand what true heartache felt like. But he only glared back at me. I wanted to hate him. I wanted to hate him for making everything harder than it already was. But there was no point in hating him, I would find my way back to Ayan no matter the cost. It was only a matter of time.
I excused myself, not waiting for permission to leave. Father didn't stop me.
I didn't get any tasks for the day, so I resolved to wander the castle until nighttime. Maybe go out for a ride, purposefully avoiding the lilac trail. If I managed to go numb, it would go by much faster. And perhaps tomorrow I'd find something else to do.
I made it to the Dining Hall before someone shouted my name from behind. Sir Lorcan was rushing after me at an unusually determined pace. "Flynd, I need your help."
"What's the matter?" I asked, hating the wave of relief washing over me. "What do you need?"
"I think I've discovered something," he said. But there was no glint in his eye, no hint of excitement. I hadn't seen him so humorless before. Even in the most precarious circumstances, Lorcan could find something to joke about. Whatever he'd discovered was no laughing matter and I wasn't sure if I wanted to know what had placed him in such a state.
But it was something to do. And so I would do it.
...
Lorcan's POV
"You want to sneak into his office?" Flynd asked incredulously.
My head felt so heavy that it was almost laborious to nod. I knew how mad I sounded, but I cared about the truth more—despite how terrifying it might be.
"I don't know about this," Flynd murmured.
"I need to see if it fits," I insisted, prepared to start begging. If I didn't, I knew I would be haunted by the events of this morning for the rest of time. The memory was so clear and vivid, in the worst, most unsettling way.
Mama had decided to redecorate her cottage. She was restless and hated sameness. And of course, I'd promised to help her. There were so many trinkets lying around, and as I'd sifted through the mess, I'd found something odd: a quill box so familiar it was an assault to the eyes.
"What is this?" I'd asked, inspecting the felt inside. It had been a deep purple felt, the kind of purple only the extremely wealthy could afford.
Upon noticing what was in my hand, Mama had frozen. "I...I found it at a market, love."
"A market? Was it stolen?" The imprint of the felt had been in the shape of a quill. A quill that clearly had a long plume. When I'd looked up at Mama, the restrained nervousness in her eyes had told me I'd found something important.
Flynd tapped my shoulder. "Lorcan? Lorcan?"
I blinked. "Yes?"
"This all could easily be a coincidence."
"I...know," I said uncertainly. "But the shape of that quill. The plumes."
Flynd let out a heavy breath. The fear was beginning to creep in for him too. "What if..." he whispered. "what if it fits?"
My mouth quivered. I couldn't speak. The thought of the quill settling into the box perfectly made my heart race. What would it mean? What would I do next? Was this something I truly wanted to know?
To my relief, Flynd spoke again. "When Father is out, we'll take the quill. I'll say I need to speak to him and you can sneak in. I don't think we'll get away with it but—"
"I'll take all the blame," I interrupted. "You're only doing this to help me."
"I won't let him fire you, alright? I haven't spoken to him in weeks, if he wants that to change, then he won't anger me."
Flynd's face mirrored all the anxiety and confusion swirling in my mind. Neither of us knew what this could mean, but we knew it wouldn't end prettily.