The next morning, when I finally woke up in the large, unfamiliar bed in Ferne Castle, my head throbbed painfully with a vengeance. I held my pounding head in both hands, gripping my temples and cursing myself thoroughly for getting so recklessly drunk the night before. It took a considerable while for my vision to clear properly; at first, everything remained frustratingly blurry and out of focus, shapes and colors bleeding together. Then, gradually, slowly, the world sharpened into clarity.
That's when I noticed Arvid was sleeping beside me in the bed.
His bare shoulders were the very first thing my eyes registered—rich, warm brown skin catching the morning light streaming through the windows, and tousled blonde hair spread across the pillow in messy disarray. My sluggish, hungover mind didn't immediately process what I was actually seeing for a full, long minute. I simply stared, confused and disoriented. Then suddenly it clicked with horrifying clarity.
I'm in bed with a half-naked Arvid.
Panic began to rise. I looked down quickly at myself, my heart racing. I wasn't much better off than him—I was also half-naked, wearing only my thin inner petticoat that barely covered my chest, the delicate fabric doing almost nothing to preserve my modesty.
What the hell happened last night?
Did we—? No. It couldn't be. That was impossible. With trembling hands, I lifted the heavy blankets quickly to check my body for any signs, any evidence. After a brief but thorough examination, relief flooded through me. Yes—nothing had happened. Not that. I was still a virgin, still untouched in that way.
I let out a long, shuddering sigh of profound relief, my racing heart beginning to slow. But then another question immediately surfaced: if nothing had happened between us, then why was he in bed with me at all? Even when we had camped outside during our journey, even in the cold wilderness, he had always made absolutely sure I was comfortable and safe, but he had never once dared to sleep in the same tent as me, always maintaining a respectful distance. Why was he suddenly beside me now, in the same bed, partially undressed? What exactly had happened last night after all that wine?
Then a fragment of memory suddenly surfaced from the foggy depths of my mind—something warm and incredibly soft touching my forehead gently. I tried desperately to probe deeper into my memories, to pull more details forward. Then it hit me with startling clarity.
Arvid had kissed me. On the forehead.
Intense heat rushed immediately to my cheeks, spreading rapidly like wildfire across my face. My whole body suddenly felt impossibly hot, feverish. I buried my burning face in my hands, utterly mortified by whatever had transpired.
Arvid stirred beside me in the bed, his breathing changing. Sharp panic jolted violently through my entire body. Without thinking, acting purely on instinct and embarrassment, I bolted out of the bed and ran directly into the adjoining bathroom, slamming the heavy door behind me much harder than I had intended. The sound echoed through the room.
"Rhia—are you okay?" Arvid asked from the other side, his voice soft and gentle, yet loud enough to be clearly heard through the thick wood. I heard the bed creak as he shifted his weight, then distinct footsteps approaching the bathroom door steadily.
"I'm fine—" I replied far too quickly, my words rushing out. I was terrified he might actually push the door open and see me in this state of undress and mortification. Something significant had clearly changed between us last night, something important I couldn't remember at all. And that unknown terrified me more than almost anything.
"I'm just going to take a quick shower to clear my head," I explained, trying to sound calm and normal. "Can you please call the maids for me when they're available?"
My voice betrayed me completely, trembling noticeably despite my best efforts.
"I will," he said simply, then paused for a long moment.
"About what happened last night—" he began slowly, his tone hesitant and careful.
I cut him off immediately, not wanting to hear it.
"What are you talking about? What happened last night? I honestly don't remember anything clearly."
I wasn't technically lying. The forehead kiss was the only truly clear, distinct memory I possessed. Everything else was just a blank void, a black hole in my recollection.
Heavy silence filled the space behind the door, stretching uncomfortably. Then he asked, slowly and deliberately, each word measured:
"You don't remember? Nothing at all?"
His voice had dropped noticeably lower and become deeper—too deep, almost unrecognizably so. It sounded like his breath had hitched in his throat. The rich tone seemed to slide across my skin like a physical caress, sending an involuntary shiver racing down my spine. I suddenly felt distinctly like prey—small, vulnerable, helpless, cornered by a predator. My knees weakened treacherously; I had to cling desperately to the door handle for support to keep from collapsing.
What on earth did I do to him last night?
"I… I don't remember," I whispered, barely audible.
The silence that followed felt sharp and dangerous. Then suddenly, without warning, the door rattled violently in its frame. Arvid was trying to open it—hard, pulling at the handle with considerable force.
"Open the door, Rhia," he demanded, his voice noticeably strained and low, like he was barely holding on to the last fraying strand of his sanity and self-control.
I felt exactly like a frightened little rabbit desperately hiding in a flimsy, inadequate hole while a hungry wolf prowled menacingly just outside, waiting.
"No," I breathed, my voice barely a whisper.
"Then I'll have to remind you," he said, his tone dark and promising. "I'll remind you of exactly what you did last night—what you said to me—and then conveniently forgot this morning. How you made me feel."
A sharp knock on the bedroom's main door interrupted him—thank all the gods.
He clicked his tongue in obvious frustration and stepped away from the bathroom door reluctantly.
"I'm angry with you," he stated bluntly, making sure I heard him clearly before walking off to greet the maids who had arrived.
Oh gods above… what had I possibly done to anger this temperamental, usually composed man? Whatever it was, it must have been terribly selfish or inappropriate. When I finally heard him talking calmly and normally to the maids in the other room, his voice returning to its usual pleasant tone, I finally released my death grip on the door handle. I cracked it open just slightly, peeking out to make sure he was truly gone, and then I collapsed onto the cold floor, my legs giving out.
Rhia, you absolute scoundrel, I scolded myself harshly. You must never, ever get drunk again. Never.
The maids eventually came in and helped me stand on my shaky legs, supporting my weight, and they tended to me with professional efficiency. By the time they had finished bathing me, drying my hair, and making me presentable, it was nearly noon—the morning completely gone. They brought me honey water—an old, traditional cure for hangovers that was supposed to help—and they had drawn a luxuriously warm bath that helped ease my pounding headache somewhat. Still, all throughout the lengthy process of being cleaned and dressed, my restless mind continued to torture itself relentlessly, desperately trying to recall what exactly I had done or said to Arvid to make him so upset.
But absolutely nothing came back. The memories remained frustratingly, stubbornly blank.
Once the patient maids had dressed me carefully in a light, simple cream-colored gown, I specifically asked them to skip adding any jewelry to my outfit.
"No jewels today, please," I instructed softly but firmly.
I was planning to visit Misty's grave today, to finally pay my respects. Wearing expensive luxuries and showy jewelry to a cemetery would be deeply inappropriate and disrespectful, even though I knew Misty's spirit wouldn't have minded—she had never been one to care about such formalities. But it was an important tradition in the North, one I intended to honor.
I also specifically asked one of the maids to send for Katherine to accompany me on this visit.
When I finally made my way downstairs, moving carefully on the grand staircase, Katherine was already waiting for me in the entrance hall. She wore a simple, modest white dress and notably no jewelry at all—she had understood the purpose of our outing without needing explanation.
"Did you know Misty personally?" I asked her gently as we began walking together.
Katherine looked up at me, her blue eyes thoughtful.
"Who didn't know her would be the real question," she replied. "She was such a genuinely kind soul—there's not a single place in all of Draga she didn't visit at some point. Everywhere she went, she brought laughter and joy with her. I was just a young child back then, but I remember her clearly. Even though I knew her as our future queen—"
Her tone shifted, becoming laced with obvious sarcasm on those last words. She made absolutely no effort to hide her persistent dislike of me, her resentment clear.
I simply smiled sadly, not rising to the bait.
"She would have made a truly fine queen," I agreed quietly, meaning every word. "Better than me."
We continued walking steadily toward the Ferne cemetery, which lay on the outskirts of the town. As we walked through the castle grounds, I happened to spot Arvid in the distance, standing and speaking seriously with a group of his soldiers. Even from this far away, across the entire courtyard, he somehow sensed my presence. He turned his head, scanning.
Our eyes met across the distance.
My heart crashed painfully, violently in my chest, as if physically struck. But he only looked directly at me for a single brief second, his expression unreadable, before deliberately looking away, dismissing me.
I stopped completely in my tracks, frozen.
He was really, truly angry with me.