Nightmares

The silence of my chamber is a stark contrast to the chaos that reigned just days ago. I sit here, amidst the opulence that feels more like a cage, questioning my every decision, every move that led to this moment. Why couldn’t I save him? The image of the dagger, its blade coated with poison, is seared into my memory. I knew the risks of battle, knew that loss was inevitable, but nothing prepared me for the void that Deaken’s death has left in my heart.

I should have been stronger, should have been able to do something, anything, to prevent this. The weight of the crown feels like a mountain upon my head, and I find myself drowning in a sea of ‘what ifs’. Tears stain my pillow as I weep in the solitude of my bed, the nightmares that have plagued me offering no respite. Whether my eyes are open or closed, the nightmare is the same, unyielding, merciless.

Damon’s knock on my door is a lifeline in the storm. “Caroline,” he says with such tenderness, “you are not alone.” His words are meant to comfort, to remind me of the strength I possess, the strength that Deaken believed in. But how can I be the queen these people need when I feel so broken inside?

The nightmares are relentless, a constant battle even after the war has ended. They remind me of my loss, of my perceived failure. But Damon is there, his hand on my shoulder, a pillar of support. “He heard you,” he assures me, and I want to believe him. I want to believe that Deaken knew how much I loved him, that he knew he was my world.

Each day dawns with a heaviness that seems to grow rather than diminish. I rise from a bed that offers no comfort, my dreams a battlefield as treacherous as the one that claimed Deaken. The crown upon my head is a constant reminder of the expectations upon me, the responsibilities I must shoulder. Yet, how can I lead when my own soul feels adrift, lost in a sea of grief?

The castle, once filled with the sounds of life, now echoes with the silence of loss. I wander its halls like a specter, haunted by the memories of what was and what can never be again. The laughter and love that once filled these spaces seem like echoes from another life—one that slipped through my fingers like grains of sand.

Damon’s presence is a balm, yet it cannot fully penetrate the armor of sorrow that encases my heart. “You are not alone,” he reminds me, but the solitude I feel is not one that can be eased by company. It is a solitude of the soul, a chasm that has opened up with Deaken’s passing.

The kingdom looks to me for guidance, for reassurance that all will be well. But as I stand before them, I see the reflection of my own doubt in their eyes. Can I be the queen they deserve? Can I find the strength to lead them to a brighter future when my own path feels shrouded in darkness?

Yet, as I gaze out upon the faces of my people, I see not just expectation, but hope. They have placed their faith in me, believing that I can be the light that guides them through this time of uncertainty. And in their hope, I find a flicker of my own.

I will not let Deaken’s sacrifice be in vain. I will rise, not just for myself, but for him, for all those who have been lost, and for those who remain. I will embrace the pain, let it forge me into the queen I must become. The road ahead is uncertain, but I will walk it with the courage that Deaken showed us all.

The nightmares may never leave me, but they will not define me. With each new day, I will fight to keep the darkness at bay, to build a kingdom that is a testament to the love and sacrifice that has been given. And perhaps, in time, I will find peace in the knowledge that Deaken’s spirit lives on in the world we are creating—a world of hope, of strength, and of enduring love.

As I stood there, lost in the sea of my own turbulent thoughts, a small figure darted through the crowd. A little girl, no more than five summers old, her hair a cascade of golden curls, ran up to me with the unbridled joy only a child can possess.

She wrapped her tiny arms around my waist, her embrace pure and untainted by the complexities of the adult world. “Queen Caroline,” she said, her voice a melody that cut through the fog of my sorrow, “you saved my daddy.”

I knelt down to meet her eye to eye, and in her bright blue gaze, I saw not the shadow of war, but the promise of peace. “The bad man kept him because he took food for us,” she continued, her innocence a stark contrast to the harshness of recent events. “But you fought, and now he’s home. Thank you.”

Her words, simple and heartfelt, were a balm to my aching soul. In her eyes, I was not a queen draped in the mantle of grief, but a hero who had restored her world to its rightful order. It was a perspective I had lost in the depths of my own loss.

I hugged her back, the warmth of the moment melting away the icy grip of despair. “Your daddy is very brave,” I told her, “and I’m so glad he’s safe with you now.”

As she scampered away, her laughter a light that pierced the darkness, I felt a shift within me. This child, and countless others like her, needed me—not to grieve, but to lead; not to lament what was lost, but to protect what remained.

Deaken had given his life so that children like her could live without fear, without hunger, without the shadow of tyranny over their heads. And I, as their queen, would honor his sacrifice by being the leader he believed I could be.

I was needed, not just as a symbol of power, but as a guardian of the future we had all fought for.

I stood up, my resolve strengthened, my purpose clear. The path ahead would not be easy, but it was one I would walk with the courage and determination that Deaken had inspired in us all. For him, for the kingdom, for every small child who looked to me for safety, I would be the queen they deserved.