**Funeral by the Sea—Ramin Djwadi**
The blow struck the wooden wall behind them with a sickening crack. Ember flinched only slightly, but her eyes flew open to flare furiously at the man. Grandfather or not, his behavior was vile—disgusting in a way that made her blood churn.
But to her surprise, the crown princess showed no reaction. If anything, even in the face of the impending attack, she didn't flinch at all. Instead she remained standing, her poise stern, composed and unmoved.
Ember didn't want to imagine what one had to go through to attain that level of lethal grace even in the face of disaster, tragedy and danger—all from family nonetheless.
"I've a ship to catch," The crown princess said, her voice clipped, eyes narrowed like drawn blades, "better get on with what you've to say and save us both the time spent on hollow theatrics."
The old man retreated, a dark smile replacing the cruel expression he once wore. "I hope the ship you're catching leads back to Thalor. You're a married woman, now that Elysandra is healed, you should return back to your husband's home and take your rightful place as his queen."
The crown princess's mask cracked—not with surprise, but with rage. The air in the atmosphere shifted instantly while goosebumps peppered Ember's arms. She instinctively stepped aside in order not to be caught in the inferno that was about to explode.
"Her names is Elara," the crown princess seethed, taking one deliberate step forward, "not Elysandra. And to think that you've any right to order my steps as you once did my mother is foolery on your part, Marek Dorne Andal."
His hand rose, trembling with fury."How dare you speak to your king, your father….!"
"Now listen to me and listen carefully, father," The crown princess cut in sharply, venom dripping from every syllable,
"I will become the Queen of the Huntsmen for that is after all exactly the price to which you sold my marriage. But it's not to serve your ambitions. Not to empower you. Not to make an alliance with you. Now release my ship instantly before this reunion of ours turns any more sour than it already is."
The old man stood shocked, face red and fists dripping with blood clenched to his sides. "I am your father your king! You and your daughter will need my support to fight against that greedy husband of yours. That treacherous court was able to poison your daughter and you will be the next to die under their blades should you continue on so foolishly!"
The crown princess's voice cracked with fury as her composure finally splintered."How noble of you to mention both my husband and his treacherous court—both whom you sold me to!" She screamed, chest heaving. To Ember's shock, tears streamed down her eyes, tears that could only originate from the kind of pain that tore hearts open.
"Do you know…can you imagine…what they did to my daughter?! To my Elara?!"
Seeing the crown princess breaking down and losing her act, Ember knew she had to act instantly lest things turned bad.
She quickly rushed forward, wrapping her arms around the crown princess's waist. The older woman tensed at first, then buckled.
"Mo…mother," Ember whimpered, tears welling in her eyes, "I'm right here, am I not? Let's leave please. Grandfather scares me." She sniffled, hoping and praying that the crown princess would get the message and recover her composure.
It was obvious that she still had a lot of unprocessed grief about her daughter, but Ember knew that the crown princess wouldn't want the very act that she herself had suggested to be exposed so easily.
The crown princess, whose body shook violently, looked down on her small figure that kept hugging her by the waist. Tears that rolled down her cheeks landed on Ember's face that was filled with tears of her own.
"You're right, Elara," the woman muttered, shaky hands caressing Ember's hair as if trying hard to gather herself and pick pieces of herself that had been shattered by none other than her father.
"Let's leave." She muttered with finality, a silent understanding passing between the both of them.
Ember nodded, and the crown princess took the lead without another word to her father. But Ember didn't leave immediately—not until she turned back and glared meaningfully at the man. As far as she was concerned, anyone who was capable enough to cause the crown princess to break down like so was likely a very terrible person.
Her so-called grandfather returned the gesture by muttering harshly under his breath, 'Like mother and daughter', before he then proceeded to slam the door behind Ember.
If only he knew.
——
Later, they boarded The Serpent of the Seas which was released under the old man's reluctant orders. Ember followed the crown princess to the foredeck of the ship as it set sail, salt-tinged wind snapping at their clothes.
She barely took in the splendour of the vessel—the obsidian hull, the steel serpent scales, the crimson sails. All she could think about was the woman besides her, the grief buried beneath her regal bearing.
"Our journey back to Thalor will take fourteen days," The crown princess said without turning, her voice cool, her gaze fixed on the sea, "you must use these fourteen days to dutifully learn from Syria on everything you must know about your family."
Ember bowed in response. "Yes, Your highness."
"You address me properly," she added, "Same as I will to you… daughter."
"Of course…mother."
"That would be all. Syria is waiting for you at the lower deck. Our encounter with my father has further proven to me how smart and quick on your feet you can be. I expect no less going forward."
Ember said nothing in response to that. Instead, her gaze drifted to Knight Asborne who stood some distance away, cradling a black urn.
She knew what—or rather, who—was inside.
Elara Thorne.
Ember stopped behind a mast and watched, unseen, as the crown princess approached the knight. No words were exchanged between them. None were needed.
Ember watched as the woman caressed the urn for a moment, then she opened it, dipped her hands inside of it, and then tossed a fistful of ash into the ocean.
The wind caught it like dust from a forgotten star spoken of in the stories Ember read when she still believed in fairytales.
The crown princess tossed another fistful, and then another before she closed the lid of the urn.
Ember thought that she would keep the remaining ashes, but a few seconds later to her surprise, the crown princess tossed away the urn itself into the waves. It landed in the water with a quiet plop, and Ember didn't get to see it sink as their ship sailed over it.
Her heart thudded in her chest until she could hear it all the way in her ears. She knew for a fact that she was set to replace her doppelgänger, yet something about that moment made it seem even more permanent.
There was no undoing it. The real Elara was now forever lost, and her doppelgänger would take her place.
So she clasped her palm together, eyes shut as she paid her private respects to the deceased princess.
"Rest in peace, Elara Thorne," she thought, "may the spirits guide you."
——
The days that followed blurred into one another.
Ember studied relentlessly—Thalor's geography, noble houses, her new siblings, her father, his consort. She memorized it all, piece by piece, until the names rolled off her tongue like she had known them since birth.
Even though it wasn't expected of the real princess who had been sick all her life to know so much, the crown princess insisted that Ember learn every single thing. Because their return wasn't for reunion, it was to wage a cold political war and enact a revenge which Ember would serve as a pawn for.
And with her new mother spearheading the path, Ember was forged anew like a weapon from the furnace. And by the fourteenth day, Ember's mind buzzed with names and duties. Her posture, her speech, her expressions—they had all changed.
Yet one thing remained unchanged; the nightmares.
The man in the flames still came to her. His hand, colder with each passing nightmare, reached for her—only to eventually let go.
He always let go, finding her unworthy of his saving grace.
And the flames welcomed her back each time.
Every. Single. Time.
But Ember hardly had the time to wonder why Viktoria's face was always replaced in her nightmares by that of a strange man that felt mkre real than the lie she would now live and breathe every time.
She hardly had the time to think about it because they arrived at Thalor—an appearance that marked the first proper beginning of her identity as princess Elara Thorne.
But trouble was waiting for them. White clothes decorated the port of Thalor announcing the death of the king and Elara's paternal grandfather.