On the day of Asil's funeral, the sky was low, heavy, overcast with leaden clouds.
There was almost no wind — only a sticky cold that crept under clothes, made bones ache, and turned breath into white steam on the lips.
The procession moved slowly — from the castle's main entrance to the northern necropolis, where beneath stone slabs, all the rulers of the North for the past three hundred years lay at rest.
The coffin was simple, without excess — just as Asil would likely have wanted it. No gold, no jewels. Only smooth wood, polished to a shine, and an engraved name: Asil Nara Ashelot, Lord of the Northern Lands, Keeper of the Northern Border.
Remesis walked directly behind the coffin.
She did not remember how she had dressed that morning. Did not remember leaving the room. Did not remember someone handing her a dark dress and draping a heavy mourning cloak over her shoulders.
Everything happened as if in a fog — blurred faces, muffled voices, strangers' hands supporting her when she stumbled along the way.
Her maid Julia walked beside Remesis, steadying her by the elbow.
"Hold on, Princess," Julia whispered quietly, when Remesis could barely stand on her feet. "It won't be much longer."
Remesis nodded but did not answer.
She looked at the coffin — at the smooth wood, at the brass handles, at the careful way the pallbearers carried it. It seemed to her that this was not reality. That it was a bad dream from which she would soon wake.
But the dream did not end.
The necropolis greeted them with cold and silence.
This was an ancient place — older than the castle itself, older, perhaps, than the North itself. Stone tombstones stood in several rows, and the wind that wandered between them sang a low, drawn-out song.
The coffin was lowered onto a special pedestal before the open grave.
The priest — old, gray-haired, with a face like the bark of an old tree — began to recite prayers in an ancient dialect that Remesis did not understand. She stood, clutching the edge of her cloak, and looked at the dark earth below.
There, where Asil would soon be lowered.
There, where she would lie alone — in the cold, in the darkness, and in eternal silence.
The priest's words flowed like water — monotonous, endless. The people around stood silently — vassals, servants, guards, several lords from neighboring lands. All in black. All with stony faces.
No one cried.
Remesis did not cry either.
She felt so strange that she could not even find any words.
Everything had happened too suddenly.
She still did not even know how to react.
According to the physician they had called to examine Asil's body, the princess had died a natural death in her sleep. But that... was so absurd.
How could someone like her die so easily?
What natural death in her sleep?
It was nonsense. Complete nonsense.
And yet, a fact remained a fact.
Even if the true cause of death was not determined, Asil was dead. Now that she was dead, the North had lost its lord, and Remesis had lost her warden. Now she could be free. Finally.
But... For some reason, instead of immense relief, Remesis now felt only emptiness and a dull ache somewhere deep in her heart.
Even now, standing at the funeral, she felt the ground give way beneath her feet.
And it was... Literally.
At first, it was barely noticeable — a slight dizziness that could be attributed to fatigue and lack of sleep. Remesis squeezed Julia's hand a little tighter, trying to keep her balance.
"Princess?" the maid looked at her worriedly. "Are you unwell?"
"I'm fine," Remesis whispered. "Continue."
But it wasn't fine. Nothing was fine.
The dizziness grew. The picture before her eyes began to blur — faces turned into colored spots, the outlines of the tomb blurred, and the priest's voice began to come from somewhere far away, as if through thick water.
Cold.
At first, she thought it was just the wind. But the cold was different — not external, but internal. It rose from somewhere deep within, from her very core, spreading through her veins like liquid ice.
"...Princess!" Julia's voice became louder, more anxious.
Remesis wanted to answer but could not. Her tongue seemed glued to the roof of her mouth. A noise filled her ears — first quietly, then louder, turning into a deafening roar.
The ground swayed.
She felt someone's hands catch her. But that no longer mattered. Darkness crept in from the edges of her vision, narrowing the world to a small point of light.
The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was the black oak coffin being slowly lowered into the grave.
And then — nothing.
***
Remesis regained consciousness in her room.
The first thing she saw was the familiar canopy above her head.
Remesis lay on the bed, covered with a thick woolen blanket, staring at the ceiling, trying to understand how much time had passed.
The room was dark. The drapes were tightly drawn. On the bedside table stood a bowl with some liquid and a stack of clean towels.
She tried to sit up, but her body would not obey. Every movement was difficult — as if she had run many miles or lifted heavy weights.
"Do not get up, Your Highness," came a voice from the right.
Remesis turned her head.
A man sat on a chair beside the bed. An elderly man with a gray beard and sharp, attentive eyes. She did not recognize him at first — her thoughts moved slowly, like stones.
"You..." she began, her voice hoarse.
"Physician Gregor, Princess."
"Ah, right..."
Remesis finally recognized this man. He was a physician in the northern castle.
The man rose from his chair and approached the bed.
"Allow me to check your condition, Princess."
He took her hand — with dry, cool fingers — and began to feel her pulse. Remesis did not resist. She watched his focused face and waited.
"How much time has passed?" she asked.
"You were unconscious for about four hours," the physician replied, not looking up from his task. "The ceremony ended without you. The Lord has already been buried."
Remesis closed her eyes and remained silent.
Four hours. She had missed the moment when the earth finally settled onto Asil's coffin. When the priest spoke the last words. When the people began to disperse.
She had missed saying goodbye to her.
This feeling twisted painfully inside her.
"You have overexerted yourself, Your Highness," the physician continued, releasing her hand and stepping back. "Your body is weakened. Lack of sleep, malnutrition, constant stress... You take too poor care of yourself."
"I'm fine," Remesis answered automatically, although she knew it was a lie.
"No," the physician said, and for the first time, firmness sounded in his voice. "You are not fine. And it is not only about mourning the Lord."
Remesis opened her eyes and looked at him.
Physician Gregor stood by the bed, his hands clasped behind his back, and on his face was an expression she could not read. Something between concern and... caution. As if he bore tidings he was afraid to speak aloud.
"What are you trying to say?" she asked, her heart beating faster — not from fear, but from a premonition.
The physician was silent for a few seconds, as if gathering his thoughts. Then he walked to the table, took the bowl of murky liquid, and held it out to Remesis.
"Drink this," he said. "It is a medicinal brew. It will strengthen you."
"I don't want to drink," Remesis replied. "I want to know what's wrong with me."
The physician sighed heavily and set the bowl back down. He sat back on the chair and looked at her intently.
"Princess," he said quietly, "I must inform you of something important. And I beg you — try to remain calm."
"Speak," Remesis's voice was steady, though everything inside her trembled.
The physician looked her straight in the eye.
"Your Highness, you are pregnant."