There were no songs or speeches. No mourners or grief-stricken faces.

I never saw the king shed a single tear over the death of his son.

He announced the prince's passing at dinner before having the boy's chair removed from the table.

The court gasped, and some held their hands to their hearts—

But as quickly as it had come, their shock was gone.

The king finished by declaring that his wedding to the twins would commence in one day, and the court raised their cups in a toast before resuming their laughter and gossip.

I was appalled by the lack of care for the prince's death. Nothing more than a few words were given, and any sorrow that might have been shared was doused with celebration about the upcoming wedding.

Would there be no funeral? No mourning?

I found Roland after the meal and asked if there was to be any ceremony for the royal who died.

"He's already been buried," Roland said with a scoff.

"What about your promise that I would be free after doing what you asked?"

"You were promised freedom if you healed the prince."

"What is my purpose here then?"

He did not answer but turned and wandered off.

I realized the danger of my position. None of the court dared to look my way during dinner, and even Interra and Amatha were coldly distant. No one said it, but it was clear the blame for what happened was placed on me.

I was the beast that threw the prince from its back.

I was the one who killed him.

Not even the wolf would answer when I tried to speak to it.

I was alone, and whether the king would seek vengeance for his son's death was still uncertain.

The next morning I made my way to the courtyard to find where the prince had been buried. The charred walls were an eerie reminder of our first encounter, and now it seemed a grim premonition as well, for that had ended in an almost fatal accident.

Gardeners were scraping and washing the black dust from the walls, preparing for another crop of vines and flowers. Covering the past with new beauty.

The prince had not been a pretty flower, he hadn't even been gentle, but there was something grotesque in how everyone instantly ignored his life, as if he were as unimportant as a plant that could be burned to make room for something else.

I tried, and failed, to convince myself that the king's uncaring nature came from deep grief. Twice I spotted courtiers walking through the courtyard, and twice I attempted to stop them and express my sympathy for the passing of their future ruler. I was answered with ugly stares and turned-up noses. Perhaps it was their custom to meet death with indifference. But it didn't feel that way. It felt like a cruel sort of forgetting.

As I walked alone, I spotted a survivor in the dust. A single pink bloom had managed to escape the fire. I picked it and held it with care in my hand. When I lifted it to my nose, there was a trace of fragrance beneath smoke. I pocketed the flower, believing it would be safer with me than the gardeners.

It took nearly half a day to find the graveyard, which was tucked into a corner of the gardens, barely visible unless one was looking for it. I imagined it would be a grand sight, some beautiful marble monument or ornate tomb. It was nothing of the sort, only a handful of marked stones in a small plot of the courtyard, out of sight and memory.

The prince was beneath the ground, and the notion did not comfort me.

In a way, he was still trapped within the castle.

A stone marked his resting place. It had his name, which I discovered was Antony, and the years of his birth and death carved into it. No mention of his royal status or the cause of his end. No mention of anything about him.

An entire life condensed to a name and numbers, and a stone that would sit with no one ever bothering to mourn it.

I took the pink bloom from my pocket and knelt to place it at the base of the stone. I began to cry. I didn't feel guilty over my part in his death, no, I cried because I knew no one else would. Because a life spent locked up was barely a life at all, and it hadn't been the prince's fault entirely that he was a miserable, sour child. There was an empty space in his heart that should have been filled with love.

It seemed a terrible thing to have a grave with no tears, so I did not wipe my face, but let mine fall to the cold, hard dirt.

A low voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Why do you cry, boy?"

I looked up to find a man studying me with a bemused expression. He was squat in stature, standing a few feet shorter than me. His head was bald and shiny and he wore a brown robe tied at the neck and waist with golden string. When he spoke, the inside of his mouth appeared black, and his small teeth were stained yellow. His fingernails were the same brown color of his robe, with cracks running through them. Despite his troll-like appearance, his face was kind.

"I'm crying for the prince," I answered, expecting a severe remark in return.

"Ah, but that's my job."

"Your job?"

"I'm the Grave Weeper, not you."

"I don't know what that is."

"I care for those passed on."

"You...protect their graves?"

"No, I visit once to give them a good watering."

"You cry for them."

"I'm the Grave Weeper."

"Is it...improper for me to cry?"

He shrugged. "Don't have curiosity for what's proper. I do what I'm for, and that's to carry sorrow where it's needed." He looked around at the empty courtyard. "There's none here to take from the shoulders of others, so I'll craft my own."

"How will you do that?"

"There's plenty to gather from. A kingdom without an heir. A father without a son. A child gone."

He grinned, and from his eyes came two streams of tears. He bent to touch the stone over the prince's grave and released a heavy sigh that turned into weeping. Not wanting to disturb his work, I cast my gaze down and continued to ponder the prince's life.

As he cried, the Grave Weeper spoke, giving a strange eulogy that no one but myself would hear.

"No sun will meet your skin again. No cakes will be eaten or shared. No heads will bow for your passing. A prince, once warm, now cold under the ground. But your bones will not shiver, for they know nothing of pain or pleasure. A space is left, as the sheets of your bed lose your heat and smell. Each soul should have tears to drink for their adventure beyond, but you have none, so I will give you mine. For we must all have a care for things, or the world is already doomed. Somebody cherished you, once. Somewhere in your life, whether it lasted years or seconds, another had a stirring in their heart at the sight of your face or the sound of your name. And even if no tenderness came before or after, there was a time when you were loved. Because love is guaranteed for all things. Your loss has changed the world. Your light will never be felt again, but your spirit will remember it mattered. I am the Grave Weeper, and I am at your grave to prove that no one will escape being missed."

With his speech finished, the Grave Weeper continued to cry. I joined him, and together we found relief in our tears. I cried harder for the prince than I ever did for Pa, for I knew that Pa, at least, had known kindness and love in his life. I hoped that the prince would be found by some divine spector, who would take him into its arms and show him what peace was.

I touched the marked stone.

"Wherever you are, I hope you're free and running through the trees. I hope you never see a wall again for the rest of time."

Before he stood to leave, the Grave Weeper took the pink flower from the prince's grave and pushed it into his mouth.

"Payment for my services," he said as he chewed.

"Grave Weeper," I asked as he turned away, "who will cry when you die?"

He winked. "Anyone who bothers to care."

***

I was a ghost in the halls of the castle, devoid of any purpose, with nothing to do and no one to speak to. Everyone I passed ignored me, appearing to barely see me at all.

There was a freedom that came with being alone. I was no longer expected to save a life or harm others. I wondered if I would still be considered a special guest and sit at the king's table. Would I even be allowed in the dining hall for meals?

I didn't care, for I preferred my own company to any offered by the court.

All I had to do was keep myself out of the king's attention until I had a chance to escape. If the king took me on another hunt, I might urge the wolf to run.

It was in this aimless wandering that I found myself at the door to Interra and Amatha's room. I hadn't spoken to them since the night their tapestry was revealed, and I wanted to know if they were excited about their wedding.

And I haven't finished my tapestry, I added in my mind.

I thought now might be a good time to continue my work.

They were the only two in the castle who I hoped wouldn't scorn me.

I knocked on the door, and as I waited for an answer I tugged on the vial around my neck. The door opened but it was neither of the twins. It was a stranger, a bespectacled woman with needles between her teeth.

The royal tailor, I surmised. 

She looked impatient, and my appearance only exacerbated her mood.

"What do you want?" she snapped.

"I wanted to...visit Interra and Amatha."

Her eyes grew wide as if the idea of a boy in the bride's room was the height of impropriety.

"You've no business being here," she said and began to shoo me away.

"It's all right," Interra's voice called from the room, "the child is allowed to visit."

The tailor huffed and allowed me to pass through the door. The twins were standing on short stools, both draped in long swaths of fabric.

Being fitted for their wedding gowns, I realized.

"S'not proper for a boy to visit while you're being dressed," the tailor said.

When the twins did not reply, the tailor resumed her work with minimal grumbling. I took my seat a respectable distance away, so I could turn my head and avert my gaze if needed.

"What do you think of our dresses?" Amatha asked.

"The color is pretty. You'll both make beautiful brides."

"Yet you are frowning."

"Am I? I hadn't noticed."

"Are you not excited for our wedding?" Interra asked with a raised brow.

"Oh, I am! I didn't mean to imply—"

"You think we should all be sad," Amatha guessed, "for the prince?"

I shrugged. "I don't know what I think...I guess I feel bad for him. No one notices he's gone."

Amatha moved from her stool. The tailor tsk'd and snapped, "I asked you not to move!", but Amatha ignored her and came to me. She placed a hand on my shoulder and gently squeezed.

"The dead are dead, Josiah. They cannot know if you mourn them or not. Death is as natural as life. We do not mourn a baby for crying or a bird for singing, because it is natural for them to do so, just as it is natural that one day all of us will fall."

"But it's the end of a life," I argued.

"Do you truly miss the prince?"

"I...pity him."

"Because the castle has not stopped their lives?"

"Because he was never happy."

The tailor gasped at my words, but Interra was quick to defend me.

"He's just a boy," she said to the shocked woman, "too young to understand the complexities of court."

"You don't know what you're saying," Amatha said to me. "You knew the prince for—what? A handful of days? How could you possibly judge his entire life in that time? I don't believe your frustration is about the prince. I think it's about yourself."

"What do you mean?"

"Are you afraid that, with the prince no longer here, you will be forgotten?"

"I prefer it."

"Do you fear a life within these walls?"

After a moment I nodded my head.

"But Interra and I will be here with you."

"You're the only people who bring me happiness," I admitted. "But after you're married and become queens...I might not be allowed my happiness anymore."

Amatha laughed. "You'll make yourself sick with all that worry. You must stop bottling your emotions."

"That's why I came here. Maybe I could put them to use on my tapestry."

Amatha's face fell.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "Has something happened to it?"

"I'm sorry, it is..." Amatha's voice trailed off and she threw a cautious glance at her sister.

Interra's expression was likewise somber as she left her stool to join us.

The tailor threw her hands into the air. "I suppose I'll wait here," she said with a snort. "I've only got two dresses to sew for a wedding tomorrow!"

"I hope you won't be cross with us," Interra said, ignoring the belligerent woman behind her, "but we weren't sure you would return. Seemed a tragedy to leave your tapestry unfinished, so we...took the liberty of completing it."

"The picture you began is there," Amatha said, "we only added to it."

I wasn't sure how to feel.

"May I see it?"

"We've rolled it up," Interra said. "We wanted your eyes to be the first to look upon it. We ask that you do it in private."

"Then you'll have a reason to visit us again," Amatha continued, "so you can tell us what you think."

Interra moved to a dresser near their shared bed and opened a drawer. She withdrew a long tube of fabric held together with silver string. She placed the gift in my lap.

"You know the best part of finishing a tapestry? The chance to start a new one."

"But not today," Amatha said. "As you can see, we're far too busy."

"After the wedding then," I promised and the twins nodded.

The tapestry was much smaller than the one they completed for the king, barely the length of my forearm. But a part of it was mine, and I was proud of that fact. I couldn't wait to cut the string and see what the twins had created with my beginning.

"Are you angry with us?" Amatha asked.

"No," I said with a smile, "I don't think I could ever be angry with you."

Interra leaned close so the tailor would not hear.

"Remember the vial we gave you?"

"Yes."

"Are you wearing it?"

"I am."

"Good." She pulled back and ruffled my hair.

"Ladies, if you please!" The tailor stomped her foot. "I must insist you return to me! The work will never get done with that boy around to distract you!"

The twins giggled.

"We must ask you to leave," Amatha said. "We'll see you at the wedding tomorrow, yes?"

"I suppose you will, if the king allows."

I watched them return to the pouting tailor and retake their place on the stools. They looked like elegant statues, and I felt a pang of jealousy. For a second I wished it was me they were marrying, so they would be spared whatever misery would come from having the king as their husband. I rose from my seat, anxious to see my tapestry, and made my way to the door, stowing the tube in a pocket for safekeeping. I gave a short bow to the twins, who nodded in recognition, not daring to move more than their heads lest the tailor burst into flames.

I opened the door and nearly ran into the king. His hand was held up, ready to knock, and shock crossed his face before settling into a dark grin. I feared now might be the moment when he chose to punish me for the prince's passing.

"The wolf has come to see my brides, eh? To have some time with them—alone?"

"Th-they're not alone."

He peered into the room and watched the tailor move from one bride to the next.

"You wanted to get a peek at them, didn't you?"

His accusation insulted me.

"Never, Your Highness. I wanted to talk to them, but they're busy. I was just taking my leave."

The king pushed past me and held his arms out to greet the twins.

"My beauties! I wasn't aware you thought it appropriate to entertain guests while you were undressed."

The sharpness in his tone made me shiver. I walked through the door, wanting to put as much distance between myself and the king as possible, but his voice called back:

"Don't leave yet, young wolf. Come and join me."

I re-entered the room and stood beside the king. He put his arm around my shoulders and bore down on me with a little too much weight.

"We're delighted by your visit," Amatha said with a charming smile.

"Yes," Interra added, "we are most excited for tomorrow to arrive."

"Of course you are," the king replied with slight lewdness.

His eyes roamed over their bodies, and though the twins were fully covered it felt like they were naked under his gaze.

"Wouldn't you agree," he said to me, "that I'm the luckiest king in all of history? To have not one, but two of the most beautiful women in the world?"

"You are indeed, Your Highness."

The king's hand grabbed my arm and tightened to the point of pain.

"Many are jealous of my prizes, and more still wish to take what is rightfully mine." He looked down at me. "Do you know what I would do to such fiends if they ever tried?"

I didn't want to hear the answer.

"No one would be that foolish, Your Highness."

"You'd be surprised at people's lack of sense."

"H-has anyone tried?"

"None have been so bold. Except you, who dares to enter my brides' private chambers without my permission."

A lump formed in my throat. The king pulled my body against his, slowly squeezing the air from my lungs.

"You gave me permission," I squeaked.

"He's right, my love," Amatha interrupted, "you said the boy is no threat."

"What use do women have for little children?" Interra asked with a giggle.

"Which is why I remain confused by his presence here," the king muttered. "What do you say, wolf? What use do they have for you?"

"I...that is...they were teaching me how to use the loom."

The king's pressure was gone in an instant, and his face turned red as he bellowed with laughter.

"Teaching you—the loom?!" he shouted between insulting brays. He slapped my back so hard I stumbled forward, and a painful stinging ran up my spine.

"I wanted to create something," I explained as I collected my breath. "I thought it would be a good way to pass the time."

"Hunting is a way for a boy to pass the time. Learning the sword and riding horses. Not locked up inside all day." 

Like your son, I thought bitterly.

"I may have given permission once, but I take it back. You will not visit my brides anymore. If you need something to do, you'll find a pastime that befits men." He leaned in, almost touching his nose to mine. "My women are not your friends. Tomorrow they will become queens, and queens do not entertain children. Do you understand?" I nodded. "If I ever catch you alone with them again, you won't have fingers left to use on your precious loom. And I—"

He went abruptly silent, and a terrifying moment passed as I tried to figure out what had stopped him. His eyes were on my neck.

"What's this?" he whispered as he tugged at the string and pulled the glowing vial from beneath my shirt. "It's...a favor? Who gave it to you?"

"Stop wasting time on the child," Interra said. "Come talk to us instead."

It was obvious she wanted to take his attention from me, but the king ignored her and studied the liquid that swirled inside the delicate glass.

"My, my. We've all got our secrets, don't we?"

I was utterly confused by the king's insinuation. He released the vial and stood up straight. He touched his neck, and I watched with growing dread as he pulled a vial from under his shirt. The shape was identical to mine, and on its body was the same silver flower embellishment. The only difference was the liquid inside. The king's was tinged with yellow.

There could be no mistake that both vials had come from the twins, though I'm certain the king and myself believed we were the only ones to be gifted them. He turned to the women and pointed to his necklace.

"This was a token of your love," he hissed.

The twins stared at him with faces of stone. I knew they could not save me, but their silence felt like a betrayal. The king grabbed my arm and dragged me from the room. I let him pull me without refusal, for there was no excuse I could give that would prove my innocence. We made our way through the castle until we stood at the entrance to the dungeon.

The king unlocked the door, and without knocking he opened it and pushed me inside.

Odd Gran was sitting at her alchemy table, toying with her powders and potions. She said nothing to the king who burst into the room and threw a boy to the floor.

"A present for you, witch."

As he closed the door behind him, he gave a final command:

"The rest of his days belong to you."