After my father adamantly refused, he decided the best solution was to ban Keryth from the Day Realm and shut me in my room for an undetermined amount of time.

King Keryth was our enemy, he’d said. The Night Realm wanted revenge against us. They wanted to defeat us. Take our home. Possess our sun, our water, all our precious resources. Of course they’d want to claim the princess, too.

Father had argued that Valora is only so big, and that Keryth had plans to rule all the realms—Night, Day, Dawn and Dusk, and even the endless oceans surrounding the land.

I shouldn’t have expected anything different from a deranged, delusional man. Paranoia rules his mind now. Rational thought is lost.

My father hasn’t been the same since Mother died seven years ago. The mysterious plague that swept through our kingdom was brutal and vicious, only affecting adult females and leaving hardly any survivors. With a ninety-five percent mortality rate, we had every reason to believe Zephina wouldn’t live through it either. She was just on the cusp of maturity at the time, only twenty-one years of age. Maybe that saved her. Or maybe it was the constant care I gave. I was too young to catch the illness, so I stayed by my mother and sister for five days straight while the fever ravaged their bodies.

On the sixth day, Mother passed away while my father clutched her hand to his chest as though he could keep her here with him if he held on tight enough.

She was his fated mate. His soul was tethered to hers, and now that she’s gone, his heart is anchored to nothing.

He will go mad.

Eventually. Slowly. Painfully.

Being separated from the love of his life will lead to unbearable misery until he either takes his own life or gets himself killed on purpose.

Which is why I don’t understand how he could keep Keryth and me apart. Father knows this pain. Does he want me to be just as miserable as he is?

Maybe he’s provoking the Night Realm king, looking for a swift death.

But Keryth would never hurt my family. He’s a good man and a great king. He’ll be the best father to our children.

If I can ever get out of here.

I press a palm to my aching chest.

I feel hollow on the inside. Every breath I take is unsatisfying. Food tastes like nothing. I can’t find joy in the hobbies I used to love.

As I trudge over to my bed, I look at my knitting project on the armchair by the barred windows. A couple years ago, I started a blanket—a baby blanket. It kept me busy while I waited to reach maturity. I was almost finished with it when my hopes and dreams were shot down.

I haven’t picked it up in weeks.