The feast is grand, as expected, with buffet tables overflowing with Lenora’s favorite dishes. I pick up a bucket of hot wings and a bottle of Coke. It was her favorite meal, and tonight, it feels like the only thing I can bring myself to eat. Each bite of the crispy, spicy chicken reminds me of her laugh, the way her eyes would light up over something so simple. I chase it down with Coke, but the sweetness burns my throat with an ache I can’t explain.
As I finish, I see Nana—well, Nancy, but she never lets me call her anything but Nana—approaching me. She looks just the same as always, the kind smile she wore at the wedding, the smile Lenora inherited.
“How are you coping, dear?” she asks, her voice laced with concern.
The truth is right there on the tip of my tongue: I’m not. I’m broken. I hate myself. But instead, I force out a simple, “I’m good.”
Nana isn’t fooled. She holds my hand, and I feel a warmth radiate from her touch, so familiar and so missed. “She thought the world of you, you know. I’d never seen her look at anyone the way she looked at you,” she says gently. “You need to take care of yourself, Asher. Get a haircut, shave that beard.” She chuckles softly, trying to bring lightness into the moment.
I try to smile. “I’ll try, Nana.”
Her gaze softens as she speaks again. “You need to stop hurting yourself, dear. She wouldn’t want you in pain.”
A deep pang of guilt tugs at me. I know, Nana, I know. But knowing and doing are two different things. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve thrown myself into training, pushed my body to its limits just to feel anything other than this gnawing emptiness.
“I’ll try,” I repeat, this time with more conviction, even if it’s a lie I tell myself as much as her.
Later, I sit with Lenora’s dad, Leonis, and the others: Carter, Marco, Claude, Nathan. We share cold beers and laughter, the kind that sneaks up on you when you’re not expecting it. They tell stories of their children, of sleepless nights and diaper catastrophes. Carter’s face pales slightly as he recounts Arya’s mood swings during pregnancy, drawing chuckles from the group. For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel a flicker of genuine happiness.
But the night wears on, and so does the drinking. By the time it’s time to say goodbye to everyone, the alcohol has hit me hard. I’m crying, though I tell myself it’s just the booze. In reality, I don’t want to be alone—not now, not tonight.
As the others teleport home, leaving the kingdom’s garden quiet under the night sky, I find myself gravitating toward the bar. I need something stronger than beer—something to drown the thoughts that refuse to leave me alone. The barmaid, a kind lycan, pours me a small glass of whiskey. I down it in one go and gesture for more.
A pretty blonde takes the seat next to me. Her hungry eyes lock onto mine as she orders the same drink.
“I’m Daphne,” she introduces herself, leaning in closer. “Would you like some company, handsome?”
I shrug. “Drink if you want, I don’t care. I’m not looking for anything, just so you know.”
She giggles, not put off at all. Her hand trails over my thigh. “I can help you with… certain urges,” she whispers, her fingers creeping higher.
I push her hand off, more aggressively than I intend. “I said I’m not looking for anything, Daphne.”
She looks taken aback but recovers quickly. “Sorry, King Asher,” she says, her voice smooth. “How about just a drink then?”
I sigh, rubbing my forehead. I’m not in the mood for this, but it’s late, and I don’t feel like going back to an empty house yet. “Fine. Just one.”
Her presence is tolerable after that, the conversation just light enough to distract me from my thoughts. Before I know it, I’ve had way more than one drink. The whiskey burns as it goes down, numbing everything inside me.
When I stand, the world spins. Daphne is quick to slip her arm around me, supporting my weight. “Let me help you home, my king,” she purrs.
“No,” I manage to slur. “I’m fine.”
The barmaid steps in, sensing the situation. “There’s a room behind the bar,” she offers, handing me a key.
I fumble with it, dropping it into my glass, but somehow manage to pull it out with my lips. Daphne giggles again, trying to make a playful move, but I push her away, swaying as I stumble out of the room, ignoring the commotion of Daphne’s voice.
I don’t even remember the barmaid’s name, but I’ll have to thank her tomorrow. Somehow, I make it to the small, dim room, locking the door behind me. The bed calls to me, its simplicity all I need right now. I strip off my shirt and pants, collapsing onto the mattress without even bothering to pull the blankets up.
As the darkness closes in, I feel the weight of everything pressing down on me. The alcohol dulls it, but not enough. Lenora’s face is the last thing I see before I sink into unconsciousness.