One month later.
Grief had changed shape, but it hadn't disappeared.
The first weeks had been unbearable.
Daphne cried until her throat hurt. Some nights she woke up shaking. Some mornings she couldn't leave the bed.
Arin cried too, just not where people could see him. But Alaric knew. He saw it in his eyes, in the way his best friend stared too long at nothing.
Alaric had tried to be strong for both of them, for his wife and his emperor, but it hadn't been easy.
When Daphne finally told him she wanted to leave the palace, her voice had been soft but certain.
"It reminds me of him," she'd said. "Every corridor… every window."
Alaric didn't argue.
They moved back to the Blake estate the next day.
Still, he returned to the palace at least twice daily. He handled council meetings in Arin's stead, standing before the ministers and saying calmly,
"The emperor requires rest."
No one dared question it.
