The ride back to Willow felt heavier than the one to the capital, like the carriage itself was weighed down by Rosaline's grief. Everything blurred past the window....trees, sky, dust....just colors bleeding into one another. She sat motionless beside Ciara, her hands clutched in her lap, her gaze fixed on nothing.
Ciara, ever the chatterbox, tried her best to cheer her up. She spoke about the market colors, the silly merchant who spilled strawberries all over himself, and even mimicked the posh accent of a noble lady they'd bumped into.
But Rosaline didn't laugh. Didn't even smile. Her body was present, but her mind... her mind was still at that market, still standing there.....watching the only person who could have made her feel complete turn away like she meant nothing.
By the time the carriage rattled over the familiar cobbled paths of Willow, the sun had dipped low, casting a golden hush over the village. It was nearing dusk, and the soft crackle of hearthfires warmed the evening air.
As they stepped down from the carriage, Ciara turned to her gently. "Do you want me to walk you home?"
Rosaline hesitated. Then she shook her head. "No. I need the walk… and the quiet."
Ciara frowned, worry tugging at her features. "Are you sure? I don't mind....."
"I'm sure," Rosaline interrupted softly, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Thank you… for everything."
Ciara touched her arm. "Anytime, Rosie. I'm just a few steps away, remember that."
Rosaline nodded, then turned toward home, clutching her satchel tightly as if it could hold the pieces of her that had been broken in the capital.
When she reached the little cottage, she knew her mother was home. Smoke curled from the chimney, and the scent of stew floated in the air. There was something grounding about it.....something safe. But it made the pain ache even more.
She opened the door and stepped inside quietly.
"Mama?" she called, her voice faint.
Eleanor Hartley was in the kitchen, her back turned as she stirred a pot. "Rosie? You're home!"
"I am," Rosaline said, dropping her satchel beside the door.
"I thought you'd be back yesterday," her mother said, not turning around just yet. "Did the fabric hunt take longer than expected?"
Rosaline cleared her throat. "We found almost everything. Just needed one more fabric, and… we decided to stay a bit longer. Look around the capital."
"That's lovely," her mother replied. "Did you girls have fun?"
Rosaline hesitated. "We did."
It was a lie, and she knew it sounded like one. Her voice cracked a little, the words brittle. Eleanor paused, slowly turning.
And then she saw her.
Her daughter stood in the doorway like a ghost of herself.....eyes swollen, shoulders sunken, mouth pressed into a trembling line.
Eleanor dropped the spoon. "Rosaline."
"I'm fine, Mama," Rosaline whispered quickly.
But Eleanor was already rushing toward her. "No, you're not. Come here. Let me see you."
Rosaline took a step back. "Please, I don't want to talk about it..."
"Nonsense," Eleanor said firmly.
"Rosaline Elizabeth Hartley, if you don't tell me what happened, I'll march to Ciara's this minute and drag it out of her."
Rosaline swallowed hard, her lips quivering. "I just… I've had a long day. I'm tired. I really just want to sleep."
Then the tears came....quiet at first, like a single drop on stone. But they didn't stop. Her shoulders shook as the sobs began to tear from her chest.
Eleanor froze in place, stunned by the sight of her daughter breaking before her eyes. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her, holding her like she used to when Rosaline was little and had fallen from a tree.
"Shhh, baby," she whispered. "It's alright. Just breathe. Let it out."
Rosaline clung to her mother, the pain too sharp to keep in anymore.
"I met him, Mama…" she choked out. "In the capital. I met him."
"Who baby?" Eleanor asked a little bit confused who she's talking about and then it dawned on her.
Eleanor stiffened. "Your mate?"
Rosaline nodded against her shoulder. "He's the king."
There was a moment of silence in the room.
"The king?" Eleanor repeated, blinking. "As in… King Darius Silverthrone?"
"Yes."
Eleanor pulled back slightly, enough to look her daughter in the eyes. "And… what happened?"
Rosaline's mouth trembled. "He didn't want me. He knew what I was to him.....and still, he looked at me like I was nothing. He walked away, Mama. Just turned his back like I didn't matter."
Eleanor's jaw clenched. "He rejected you?"
"Not officially," Rosaline whispered. "But… it felt worse. He made it clear I wasn't what he wanted."
The fury that rose in Eleanor was immediate. "How dare he?" she hissed. "Who does he think he is....just tossing aside what the Moon Goddess gave him?"
Rosaline shook her head slowly, her tears still falling. "Maybe the Goddess made a mistake."
Eleanor's heart cracked. "Don't you ever say that again."
"But it's true," Rosaline whispered. "Even my own mate didn't want me. If the one meant for me can look at me like I'm unworthy… then who else will?"
Eleanor held her face in both hands. "Sweetheart, listen to me. You are not unworthy. You are light and fire and strength, and he's a fool for not seeing it."
"I feel broken," Rosaline admitted, eyes wide and tired. "I feel like something inside me just… cracked."
"And yet you're still standing," Eleanor said softly. "That tells me everything I need to know."
Rosaline closed her eyes. "What do I do now, Mama?"
"You heal," Eleanor said. "You let yourself grieve, but you don't let it define you. The bond is still there, yes...but that doesn't mean you have to wait for someone who won't fight for you."
"Is it wrong that I still feel… something?" Rosaline asked, voice trembling. "Even after all that?"
"No," her mother said. "You're still tied to him. That pull won't disappear overnight. But, baby… just because he's your mate doesn't mean he deserves your heart."
Rosaline was quiet for a long moment. Then, in a whisper, she said, "I didn't cry in front of him. I wanted to....but I didn't. I waited until I left."
Eleanor smiled gently, brushing her hair back. "That's my girl. Brave as ever."
"But I don't feel brave," Rosaline admitted.
"You don't have to feel it to be it."
They sat like that for a while, mother and daughter, wrapped in silence and the scent of stew and woodsmoke. The weight on Rosaline's chest didn't disappear, but in her mother's arms, it felt a little less suffocating.
The pain hadn't gone.
But she wasn't alone in it.
And maybe, just maybe, that was a place to start.