There's that agonizing silence again, that empty space only filled by the ambience of this world.

And Sophia Elise simply keeps her eyes away from this political token of a husband, staring at the floor to his right in this pathetic attempt to keep herself from actually discombobulating herself into a billion pieces of ego.

Sophia Elise knows how this story ends, knows the thoughts currently forming within the mind of this Crown Prince. She knows the words that shall come from his mouth, knows what he will say to her with that look on his face.

Because it's happened before.

Because it was once quiet in the Imperial Palace.

As the snow once drifted down from a gray sky, and the crack and snaps of the oil radiators filled the eastern wings, a young princess had done her usual routine of sneaking away into the farest recesses of this sprawling labyrinth of reinforced concrete. Hidden from responsibility, with some forgotten novel in her small hands as she settled into one of the many small, dusty corners of this old fortress turned palace for another day of skipped classes and many readings.

Because this was so much better than having to deal with manners teachers, the history classes, the mathematics tutors, the varying degrees of shadow tasks she would have to take alongside mother and father. Because in this place there were no loud noises, none of those uncomfortable dresses that snipped at her skin—here she could finally have some semblance of… normal.

In this half-forgotten sitting room whose wall shared the warmth of one of the servant's quarters' electrical heaters, behind one of the thick curtains that hid a stained glass window that was half-covered from some old renovation; cuddled up with a large glass bottle of orange seltzer water and a very thick book—she could be alive.

Romance in Andante, this half-historical half-romance novel that was practically a foot thick detailing the exploits of that White Wolf, Sophia the First in that Reichland campaign of hers. A story perhaps a bit beyond the reading skills of an average twelve year old in Capital, but this rare section of a motivated Sophia (the Eighth one) was anything but average.

Plus, any good Princess would wish for a spouse as cool as the one that Empress managed to catch, right?

Of course. That very much still developing brain gives her. Cute, very smart, better with swords and best with words. Even if he is sorta a tomgirl he does have that… husbando energy.

And in that quiet moment they came in—intimate beyond measure the mother and father of this girl in their hushed voices. Spoken as if the walls had ears, as if even in this lifeless concrete structure had some spirit living within it—taken from the world and left to observe from its perch atop Immortal Hill.

And that thing listened to them, that girl listened to them; curled in that quiet and warm corner away from detection.

"She's gone again." The mother speaks with an almost royal authority. "That damned brother in law of yours took his one good eye off of her and she's gone like the wind. How many times…"

"She's quick, and quiet." The father interrupts, holding his voice back, trying to smile. "We lose her over dinner when we're all there. Hells even Naomi can't even keep tabs on her. What makes you think that one-eyed patches can?"

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"It's not just that, Arden." She pushes closer this time, keeping her voice steady and cold. "You see how she doesn't look at us, or anyone. And remember those tantrums whenever those maids tried to fit her into the uniform? She has them no more but…"

"But she has them in her heart." The father completes his mate. "She says many things, but never speaks."

"Even Alice speaks." The mother compares. "Why not her? We can't know if anything is wrong if she doesn't tell us."

Why not her?

This woman continues, gripping her military uniform. "If her classes are too hard we can make them easier, if she doesn't like a tutor we can change them. If she doesn't like the clothing we can tailor them. What does she want?"

"I asked her, once. Remember?" He begins gently. "She said 'I don't know.'"

"How can we know if she doesn't know?" That woman holds back something in her heart.

And the man has no words except for these. "I don't know."

He doesn't know.

"I don't know either." She replies to join him.

She doesn't know.

"Is there anything we can do?" This Empress has desperation in her tone, a serrated edge to her voice. "Have any of your cousins seen this before? Is there anything in your damned hellscape of a home that can explain this?"

The mountain sighs. "You don't think the physicians have any good ideas? They did say…"

"Damn them." She curses. "Our daughter is not sick with any parasites. We'll never allow them to drill holes in her skull for this. Arden please…"

"Up north, we don't think of these things. Maybe some children are just different." The man tries to calm her. "Even Beatrice had her… condition. And don't you see how much better she is doing at home? Maybe there's something with…"

"... with Sophia?" The Empress turns to the window, to the snow falling from the sky and onto a bustling city before them all. "She's been here all this time and yet she's still like this. Remember on Victory Day… we thought she'd died from that reaction."

"She seized…"

"Clawed at her arms…"

"Bled from her ears, like she tried to tear them off her head…"

Oh how loud the bells sung, how your own hymn and song felt like it was drowned in the ebb and flow of a million souls in ecstatic celebration. The palace composes this poem to this hidden Princess. How you did drown in that, and you tore at yourself to keep yourself alive.

"I'm glad we're keeping her here." Arden Marchland breathes calmly, trying to ascend that mountain of his. "I don't want what happened to Beatrice to happen to her."

"She's not Beatrice." The cold logic of that woman chills the room. "She's not Naomi, not Natan… not even Alice."

And these words are only spoken by the Empress of the Imperium, quietly and in some horrible human desperation for answers. "Arden… did we fail Sophia?"

She specifies more, spiraling into this vast trap of her own mind. "I was too busy with those Goddess damned Axials and their wars. You were too busy trying to raise those twins and… and with Beatrice's behaviors… "

That woman rubs her abdomen, almost cursing it in some terrible realization of her own fragility. "A-and… we didn't expect her… "

"Alice is wonderful."

"I know." She growls those words out. "But with her…"

Her hands clasp, collecting the droplets of dew from tea shrubs.

Her hands clasp, water slipping between fingers.

Onto thirsty earth.

Empress Annia can only say these next words, slowly and gently. "Did we fail her, Arden? Did we not give her enough time? Attention? Is it our fault she's like this?"

Arden Marchland stares into her eyes, and then away, and back to her. The mountain howls in its soul, and sings the song to the valley. "I don't know."

And curled in that small corner of some forgotten recess of the Imperial house, Sophia Elise the Eighth doesn't know either.

She never will.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.