As soon as the funeral procession disappeared out of sight, all pretence of quiet coping was lost and Maebh sank to her knees, uncaring of the mud that stained her dress. Her eyeballs hung heavy in their sockets, her irises threaded scarlet as memory filled streams washed down her cheeks; forming puddles of remembrance that longed for things to have gone differently.
She gazed up at the watery skies, her tears mingling with the rain as she gathered the strength to face reality. But to look down would mean to envision Bear cold in a coffin, bereft of a heartbeat.
When at last, she cast her eyes to the freshly dug soil, palpable pain surged with every expelled breath, reaching higher and near the bounds of hyperventilation –never sufficiently subdued by her intakes of air.
The grief was a heavy burden to bear; she was at the mercy of its awful, wretched numbness. But the guilt, the guilt was exceedingly heftier; the sound of Logan's wails would forever haunt her like the terrible antonym of a lullaby.
At the sound of heavy footsteps, Maebh sniffed, "I want to be alone." But she couldn't muster the energy to object Fillin's presence further as he kneeled down beside her.
Neither of them said a word for a moment, the grey clouds gradually ceasing their drizzles.
"I wish he had a tombstone." Maebh sighed.
"The unmarked grave will protect his memory from sullying and his family from receiving the backlash of his deeds. He has been granted a far more honourable resting place than an Atimos deserves."
Maebh's numbness momentarily dissipated and with speed like lightning, she spun to face him, "How dare you. Bear was my friend!"
"He tried to kill you." The prince reiterated, clenching his jaw.
"He was ill, it wasn't his fault! You will not vilify him and minimise his identity to something he wasn't!"
Fillin's eyes blazed. "Where is the justice in disallowing me from doing so when you are lading your own shoulders with the fault of his death."
Her voice trembled, "That's different! If I hadn't ignored the red flags and pulled the plug when my intuition told me to... If I had helped him in receiving the right help after his incarceration, maybe he-"
"Stop." Fillin said with such ferocity that it startled her into silence. "Hrólfr Lowell was unstable when you met him and the instability persevered until he died. By no means are you to blame for his inevitable demise."
Maebh hands trembled uncontrollably; she dug her nails into her palms to stop the onslaught, forcibly enough to draw blood.
"Come here." Fillin said, but the command was devoid of its usual, forceful tone.
She hesitated long enough for the prince to take the lead. He wrapped his arms around her and submerged her in that intoxicating scent. It was far from a perfunctory gesture mandated by social etiquette and had all the agitating qualities of oceanic waves, gently dousing the beach. Maebh tried to resist sinking into his embrace; she sincerely tried her hardest.
"Please don't let go." The words barely managed to escape as repressed sobs chocked her voice back.
Fillin said nothing and rested his chin on top of her head, clenching her a little tighter.
Having been gone for far longer than initially anticipated, Coinín, Maggie and Logan were preparing to head off by the time they returned to the castle. The little boy was fast asleep in the backseat of the car, exhausted from the afternoon's emotions.
"We'll see you soon, Irish girl." Coinín hugged Maebh, holding onto her like some sort of lifeline.
She bit her lip. "I'm sorry he didn't get a proper burial."
"Don't, Mae. They would have done far worse than shoving his death under the rug if it weren't for your involvement." He said the last part only for their ears to hear as he peered over to where Maggie was talking to Fillin and Hèmène, who had also come to pay her respects.
Maebh felt more tears well up and blinked furiously, refusing to become a snotty mess once more when Coinín had been the one to lose his brother.
She observed Logan's slumbering form through the window and a flare of guilt pierced her gut. Soundlessly opening the door, she pressed a feather-light kiss to his forehead and mentally pledged her devotion to him.
"Such sweet simpletons." The queen mused as they retreated back to the confines of the castle after the Lowell's had departed.
Maebh arched her brow askew at the derogatory comment and nearly bumped into the door.
"I offered to secure a spot for Logan at Arcadia's boarding school," Hèmène elaborated. "but dear Maggie would hear none of it."
The revulsion Maebh felt left a bitter taste in her mouth that coerced her tongue impulsively. "What loving family would send their recently orphaned nephew to a boarding school? Forcing him into an unfamiliar social environment after losing his father would traumatise him beyond repair! The fact you even brought it up speaks volumes of your own parenting skills."
"By the gods, young lady!" Hèmène scowled, tutting disapprovingly. "Both my sons spent their childhoods at the school and they groomed Fillin into the crown prince he is today. You should be thankful. His education was essential in girding up his loins for the ascension to the throne."
At the revelation, Maebh felt as though spiders were crawling up her arms. Her eyes darted to find Fillin's to confirm what she already suspected to be true and her heart ached at the mere notion of him having been robbed of maternal love throughout his younger years.
Fillin wore his face impassively, and she hadn't the foggiest idea what emotion lay hidden beneath. Nothing about him betrayed that he had detested his juvenescence and perhaps that in itself, was a stumbling block.
The queen grabbed her elbow and marched her to the salon for a little more privacy, Fillin striding in tow. She sat down in the settee and signalled for her to do the same as she raised a dainty finger at Zeff, silently requesting him to fetch tea. The black-haired man broodingly took his leave and Maebh paced the stone floor like a caged animal.
"At what age did you sent them there?" she wondered incredulously.
"3-years-old, around the time of their first shift." Hèmène disclosed and began to tap her long nails irregularly, irritably.
Maebh stopped in her tracks and impaled her with a thunderous glare.
Distracted, the queen belatedly noticed the young woman's facial expression and sighed. "Oh hush, they would come home during the weekend."
"Right, because that makes complete sense! They were toddlers, not some bloody hobby you could take a five-day break from!"
"Mind your tone, young lady! I should have known you weren't paying attention in class last week when I spoke about the boarding school and you didn't throw one of your infamous fits," Hèmène curled her lip diabolically, a glint of misplaced satire in her pointed look. "You neglected to apprehend that my future grandsons will also be attending."
Maebh saw red, fury churning deep within her system.
On the brink of explosion, the first signs of detonation began to simmer through, "My children will nev-" until she noticed Fillin shaking his head imperceptibly. He didn't utter a single word, but she understood the meaning of the gesture. So instead, she forced her anger to lay low, conjured up the sweetest of tones and said, "Téigh trasna ort féin."
Hèmène took a sip of the tea that had been handed to her and lifted her chin in a disdainful manner. "What nonsense are you disgorging, darling?"
Out of dutiful respect, Maebh did not grant the queen a translation of her blasphemy. "My dress is dirty, I need to get changed."
——————————
The annual, archaic festival of the Lykaia could not have come at a more grievous time. Food sellers were weaving through the masses, the aroma of their wares wafting up nostrils enticingly, hyperactive children were running about, nectar flowed freely, abundantly and the ambience was electrified by laughter and live music.
The royal family's attendance was imperative to the festival's main event: a ritualistic ceremony in which sacrifices were made to the gods, in the name of a prosperous kingdom. And so, Maebh too, was expected to attend. Hours after burying and bidding Bear farewell, she found herself amidst throngs of overexcited Arcadians.
The night was dark and starless, only illuminated by the twinkling of a thousand colourful bulbs that decorated Lykaios Óros. Though no amount of fairy lights could lift Maebh's spirits.
Wanting to drink herself into a stupor, she had adopted a spot close to the bar –where countless men and women had attempted to strike up a conversation. None of them succeeded in engaging her fully, but Maebh remained civil and courteous, playing the part of the submissive future-queen Hèmène was drilling her to be. While averse to the traditional beliefs and too stubborn to dance to Hèmène's tune, in that moment, her compliancy served as the perfect mask.
During an interval of solitude, her gaze automatically sought out Fillin. It seemed the festival was a highly popular gathering but frankly, the main square wasn't massive in size. Even though logic would suggest that the prince was indeed, in the thick of the crowd somewhere, Maebh sensed him as if she could see the vestige of his scent trail and followed it to the entrance of the citadel, where he stood out like a thistle amongst nettle. Fillin was a deceptively handsome man, misleading on account of him being a multifaceted conundrum. He appeared as immaculate as ever, talking to a man in a voluminous robe –Zeff the guard dog invariably positioned nearby.
Her own custodians were no more than three feet removed from her and as if by mutual agreement, Ben and Dai each tilted their heads in acknowledgement when they espied her looking.
Maebh rubbed her talisman habitually and wondered how much longer she would have to endure this day.
As she contemplated whether or not to approach Fillin, a gust of wind flurried up against her back, seemingly urging her forward; toying with the pearly strands that had escaped her bun.
Without warning, Fillin's head snapped up from his conversation, his eyes colliding directly with her own as though she had yelled his name across the square. Her organs were drained of blood as crimson heat suffused her cheeks, spurring her to turn on her heel and make a getaway –but her egress was interrupted by fingers wrapping around her wrist and brandishing her skin with iron heat.
"Nephente?"
The crown prince's eyes were fixed on her, studying her with enigmatic interest. Maebh tried to shake him off to no avail. His hold barred her advancement, not painfully but certainly impenetrably as if his muscles were made of steel.
She lifted her empty glass suggestively and forced her gaze to stay its course, angling it straight into his topaz maelstroms. "Just getting another drink."
"Is that so?"
"It is. Now please let go of my wrist."
Fillin instantly accommodated her request but subjected her to his scrutiny in such a puzzling way that she delayed her limbs from springing into action. He remained silent a long time.
"Do you want to go home?"
Maebh expelled a painful breath, feeling utterly drained. "Can I?"
His response came in the form of a heavy hand being placed at the base of her spine, he took the glass from her hands, placed it on a random tray and steered her away from the festivities.
"Fillin?"
At his mother's graceful call, Fillin halted and patiently waited for her to adjourn her conversation with her husband and the high priest. She approached them warily. "The ceremony is starting in five minutes."
"We'll be taking our leave."
"Why don't be silly. You'll stay here."
"Mother, I am merely notifying you of our impending absence. It's not up for discussion."
"I insist you stay," she pressed, a decidedly threatening implication in her words. "The Lyk-"
"Very well." The king –who had seamlessly loomed in on them– disrupted his wife and eyed his firstborn coolly for his breach in attendance protocol, though he refrained from addressing his insolence directly.
Hèmène accepted her husband's answer begrudgingly and folded her lips into a strained smile as Fillin lead Maebh to the town gates.
The walk back to the castle was brisk and quiet, both of them immersed in their own thoughts. At length, Fillin breached the turmoil of Maebh's inner reflections with an unforeseen question.
"Did you love him?"
Her pace faltered for a fraction of a second. "Bear?"
The prince's keen assessment of her provided all the verification she needed.
"In one way or another, yeah. But not in the same way I-" love you. Maebh cut herself off and sucked in a sharp breath. Partly in relief for having seized hold of her loose tongue, partly in alarm as she frantically banished the affirmation of her affections to the outmost crevices of her conscience.
"I cared for him deeply, platonically." She hurriedly added.
Upon reaching the bibliotheca dormir, she almost desperately set about distracting herself with mundane tasks, unnecessarily prolonging them in hopes of avoiding another interaction with Fillin. Needless to say, there was the option of sleeping in the tower room but the prospect of nightmares tickled her fancy even less than those amber orbs.
After showering, performing a 10-step skin care routine, brushing her hair and teeth twice and getting changed into her pyjamas, luck wasn't on Maebh's side.
Up on the mezzanine, she found the prince awake and well in bed, skimming through a stack of abstruse papers. She yawned theatrically and slipped under the covers; mumbled a goodnight and deliberately turned her back towards him.
Soon, a rustling and a click resounded, the vanishing of artificial light welcoming the hour's sheathing nocturne. She could feel and hear Fillin tossing and turning for a good minute before he presumably secured a tolerable position.
Maebh tried to recite lines of poetry in her head, random wildlife facts, even endeavoured the counting of sheep, anything to keep her mind from wandering. It seemed like an eternity before her drooping eyes found solace when all of a sudden, her entire body was violently flipped to face the opposite direction.
"Have you ever been in love?"
"Damnú air, mac tíre dúr! You could have just asked me to turn around." She hissed, her heart wildly thudding against her ribcage.
Even within the darkness of night, the prince's blank expression was clear as day, unwavering as a statue's gait, silently demanding an answer.
"No, I haven't." she surrendered the lie effortlessly, her voice managing not to waiver. However, the gumption she next displayed came from some bizarre recess within her own delusionality.
"Have you ever been in love?"
Fillin chuckled curtly and it deflated her.
"I figured since the whole maternal love ordeal turned out to be peripheral, perhaps your biological incapability too could..." She offered, letting the sentence go unfinished; her implications undoubtedly weighing enough for his intellect to fulfil.
"Love is but a fool's escapism."
Maebh cautiously diminished the space between them and felt the warmth of his breath on her cheeks, their imperceptible bond flaring hotly at the proximity.
"Love is letting your heart beat for someone other than yourself." She stated, before unconvincingly adding: "Or at least that's the gist from my plethora of romance novel reading."
Fillin eyed her coolly and she bit the inside of her cheek to stem whatever her insides were fussing about.
"Technically, it's also a chemical reaction with a neurological base so I do wonder what would happen if you took oxytocin supplements." She tried to lighten the mood. "I might slip one or two into your coffee to make you forget all about that boarding school shebang."
"The castle is no place for children." Fillin said lowly, with a hint of distaste.
"Then we'll make it one!" the words tumbled out of her mouth, running too fast for her brain to catch up. Awkwardly, she cleared her throat, "I- I thought we had outgrown your mother's outdated credences?"
"Improved upon, not outgrown."
Maebh sighed and decided to drop the subject; dispirited by the wedge the prince was wont to drive between them. Wrought with stagnancy, the air felt soiled by Fillin's unyielding wall.
Seemingly seeking to rekindle what had been afflicted, he stroked a tentative finger along the column of her neck, pausing at the spot his mark was located. Her hand lifted of its own accord as she settled it over his, basking in the euphoric pins and needles. "Feels nice." She hummed.
"It's wired to." Fillin spoke tiredly, retracting his touch.
"Right," her whole demeanour fell as the rift between them reared its ugly head. "Thanks for reminding me."
She rolled over to stare at the ceiling and gave herself a figurative punch to the cerebrum. By striking up a deal with the prince, Maebh had dealt her own cards and would therefor –albeit with a critical eye—accept what the future held for her as queen, fine-tuning the establishment one step at a time. The same could not be said for the I love you that had nigh on revealed itself to the prince.
Over the past couple of weeks, she had gotten carried away, grown too comfortable to the idea of reciprocated love. Fillin would never love her and she had lost focus of the fact that the foundations of their relationship were built on centuries of tampering fate; her emotions fabricated by an unnatural force, solely in existence to aid the royal procreation process.
Peering over at her stranger's still form, Maebh called his name, hoping he had yet to succumb to the song of melatonin. A hoarse grumble came and she paraphrased it as an affirmative response.
"I want to spend some time in Haines Junction. I'm aware of the conditions of our agreement but it'll only be temporary, a month or so—to help out Maggie and Coinín and to... you know... be there for Logan."
"Yeah, mkay."