The moon hung high, casting silver light over the quiet gardens of Everthorns Castle. It was the first time in months that Marlowe and Easton found themselves alone, away from the prying eyes of courtiers and nobles. A cool breeze stirred the petals of night-blooming flowers, filling the air with their soft fragrance.
Marlowe stood at the stone railing, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon, where Easton's kingdom lay beyond the rolling hills. The weight of her duty as Princess of Everthorns pressed heavily on her shoulders, but at that moment, it was overshadowed by something else—an ache she could not name.
Easton, standing beside her, studied her profile. The moonlight caught the strands of her pale lilac hair, giving her an almost ethereal glow. He had come to Everthorns under the guise of diplomacy, yet he knew his reasons ran deeper.
"You've been avoiding me," he finally said, his voice quieter than usual.
Marlowe did not look at him. "Avoiding you? A king shouldn't flatter himself so easily."
His lips quirked into a small smile, but his eyes remained serious. "Marlowe."
Something in his tone made her finally turn to him. There was a moment of silence between them—one heavy with things left unsaid. Then, she exhaled softly and looked away again.
"I don't know what you want from me, Easton," she admitted, gripping the stone railing as if grounding herself. "You are a king. I am a princess of a kingdom that has every reason to question you."
"And yet you are here with me," he countered, stepping closer. "You don't trust me, and still, you haven't turned me away."
She hesitated. "I can't."
The words were barely above a whisper, but they carried a weight that neither of them could ignore.
Easton reached out, fingers brushing against hers. "Then don't."
For a fleeting moment, Marlowe let herself close her eyes and breathe him in—the scent of his coat, the warmth of his presence. But just as quickly, she pulled her hand back.
"This cannot be," she said, voice steady once more. "You and I… we stand on opposite sides of history."
"Then let’s change history," he said.
She didn't answer. Instead, she turned away, retreating into the castle, leaving Easton standing alone beneath the moonlit sky.
---
A Conflict: The Breaking Point
The throne room of Everthorns was tense, thick with the weight of words that had yet to be spoken. Marlowe stood before her father, King Alden, her back straight, her face carefully blank. But inside, she was a storm.
Easton had arrived that morning, not with swords or armies, but with an offer—an offer of peace, of unity. But peace came with a price.
"You expect me to believe this man?" King Alden's voice was sharp, his eyes burning into his daughter. "The same man who sits on the throne of a kingdom built on blood?"
Marlowe inhaled slowly. "And yet you sent me there, Father. To uncover the truth. And I have."
"And what did you find?"
She hesitated, eyes flickering toward Easton, who stood tall but silent beside her. His presence in Everthorns was already an act of defiance against those who wished to see him as an enemy.
"That the truth is not as simple as we believed," she finally said.
King Alden scoffed. "You speak like a woman who has forgotten where she belongs."
Marlowe clenched her fists. "I have not forgotten. But I will not pretend that I do not see what is in front of me. Easton is not the man you think he is."
"He is a king, Marlowe. And kings do not act without reason. Whatever he has offered, it is because it benefits him."
Easton finally spoke, his voice measured. "Then let it benefit us both. Our kingdoms do not have to remain at odds."
King Alden turned to him, eyes cold. "And what would you have, then? My daughter at your side, to secure your rule?"
Silence.
Marlowe's heart pounded. She had asked herself the same question many times. Did Easton want her for herself, or for what she represented?
Easton met King Alden's gaze without flinching. "No. I want her because I cannot imagine my life without her."
Marlowe’s breath caught.
But her father merely laughed, shaking his head. "You are a fool if you think I would ever allow such a thing."
Easton’s jaw tightened. "Then perhaps you underestimate what your daughter wants."
The words struck like a blade. All eyes turned to Marlowe.
She could feel the weight of the decision pressing upon her, the expectations of her father, the silent hope in Easton's gaze.
She had never felt more torn.
Well that was almost 10 years ago.
_
A Moment with Their Four Children
The golden afternoon sunlight streamed through the castle’s arched windows, casting a warm glow on the polished stone floors of the royal nursery. Laughter echoed through the spacious chamber as the four children of King Easton and Queen Marlowe played together, their energy boundless.
Marlowe sat on a cushioned bench near the large window, her lilac hair catching the sunlight as she watched them with a soft smile. Easton stood beside her, arms crossed, observing their children with the quiet pride of a father who cherished these rare, peaceful moments.
On the plush rug in the center of the room, Roxanne, the eldest at twelve, sat with a book in her lap, pretending to read aloud a grand adventure story. "And then the brave knight stood before the wicked dragon, sword raised high—"
"That's not how it goes!" Joane, one year younger, interrupted, hands on her hips. "The knight didn’t fight the dragon. He tamed it."
Michael, now eight, rolled his eyes. "That’s boring. The knight should fight!" He grabbed a wooden sword from the toy chest and brandished it dramatically. "I’ll slay the dragon myself!"
"Michael, be careful with that," Marlowe warned, but there was amusement in her voice.
Little Cassaline, only a year old, sat on the floor, clapping her tiny hands and giggling at her brother’s antics. She had just started taking her first wobbly steps and was determined to chase after her siblings, even if she fell every few minutes.
Easton chuckled, shaking his head. "It seems we have a warrior, a scholar, and a storyteller in our midst."
"And a little mischief-maker," Marlowe added as Cassaline attempted to tug on Joane’s long sleeve.
Michael puffed out his chest. "I’ll be the best knight in the kingdom!"
Roxanne smirked. "You’ll have to stop falling off your pony first."
"Hey!"
Joane laughed and scooped Cassaline into her arms, twirling her around while the baby squealed in delight. "And Cassaline will be our little queen one day, ruling over all of us!"
Easton smiled as he watched them. "It’s hard to believe how quickly they’re growing," he said to Marlowe, his voice quieter now.
Marlowe glanced up at him, seeing the rare softness in his eyes. "Too quickly," she agreed. "Sometimes, I wish time would slow down, just for a little while."
Easton wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. "Then let’s savor these moments while we can."
She leaned into him, content, as the laughter of their children filled the room.
_ 
At just 28 years old, Marlowe received the heartbreaking news that her time was limited.
It had started as a quiet ache, a faint exhaustion that never seemed to leave her body. At first, Marlowe dismissed it—she had always been strong, always able to push through. But as the days passed, the signs became impossible to ignore.
She could no longer walk through the castle without feeling winded. Her hands, once steady and firm, trembled when she held a quill. And worst of all, there were nights she would wake up gasping for air, her chest tightening as if something inside her was slowly failing.
One afternoon, when she could no longer bear the uncertainty, Marlowe summoned the royal physician in secret. She sat in the dim candlelight of her chambers as the elderly man carefully examined her, his expression growing more grave with each passing moment.
When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle but firm. “Your Majesty… I fear your condition is beyond healing.”
Marlowe stiffened. “What are you saying?”
The physician lowered his gaze. “Your body is weakening. It may be an affliction of the heart or something deeper within. But whatever it is… you do not have long.”
She gripped the armrest of her chair, her nails digging into the polished wood. “How long?”
The physician hesitated before answering. “Perhaps months. A year if fortune is kind.”
Marlowe’s world blurred for a moment. The weight of the words pressed down on her, suffocating. She had prepared for battles, for betrayals, for ruling a kingdom—but not for this.
Not for leaving Easton. Not for leaving her children.
Swallowing her fear, she straightened her back. “No one must know,” she commanded. “Not yet.”
The physician hesitated but eventually nodded. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
When he left, Marlowe sat in silence, staring into the flickering candlelight. She placed a trembling hand over her stomach, wondering if life still had a place inside her—or if it was already too late.
__
Despite the grim prognosis, Marlowe defied the odds and lived for five more years. She witnessed her eldest daughter, Roxanne, turn 16, her second-born, Joane, reach 15, Michael grow to 12, and her youngest, Cassaline, celebrate her fifth birthday.
Throughout those years, she cherished every moment with her family, treasuring the time she had left. She laughed, guided, and loved deeply, ensuring that her children would carry her warmth even after she was gone.
Then, the day after Easton's birthday celebration, as the kingdom still buzzed with joy, Marlowe took her final breath. Her passing left a profound silence in the castle, a void that no one could ever fill.
The moment Queen Marlowe took her last breath, the castle fell into a deafening silence. The once joyful halls of Drach became filled with sorrow.
King Easton
Easton, who had been holding her hand, felt his entire world collapse. He had known this day would come, yet he was not prepared for the emptiness that followed. He held her lifeless body in his arms, whispering her name, hoping—begging—for a response that would never come. The grief was unbearable. He did not leave her side for hours, unable to accept that the love of his life was gone.
Princess Roxanne (16 years old)
Roxanne stood frozen at the doorway, her hands trembling as she clutched the frame. Her mother had always been her greatest source of wisdom, her guiding light. Tears streamed down her face as she struggled to contain her sobs. She wanted to be strong, but at that moment, she was just a daughter who had lost her mother.
Princess Joane (15 years old)
Joane collapsed onto the floor beside the bed, gripping her mother’s lifeless hand. “No, no, no,” she repeated over and over, shaking her head in disbelief. She had prayed every night for more time, for a miracle. The pain of losing Marlowe tore through her like a storm.
Prince Michael (12 years old)
Michael didn’t understand at first. He stared at his mother’s still face, waiting for her to wake up. “Mama?” he called softly. When she didn’t answer, he turned to his father, tears pooling in his eyes. “Papa, why isn’t she waking up?” The realization hit him like a crashing wave, and he broke down, his cries filling the room.
Princess Cassaline (5 years old)
Little Cassaline didn’t fully grasp what was happening. She tugged on her mother’s sleeve, trying to wake her up. “Mama? It’s morning,” she said innocently. But when her siblings and father cried, she knew something was terribly wrong. Tears welled in her eyes as she clung to her father’s leg, frightened by the overwhelming sadness around her.
The Castle & The Kingdom
The news spread across the kingdom like wildfire. The people of Drach mourned the loss of their beloved queen, draping black banners over the city in her honor. Marlowe had been loved by all—her kindness, strength, and wisdom had left a mark on everyone’s hearts.
The royal family was shattered, but they knew they had to carry on—for Marlowe, for the kingdom, and for each other.
__
The Aftermath of Queen Marlowe’s Death
For days, the castle remained in mourning. The air was heavy with grief, and even the sun seemed to dim over Drach.
King Easton’s Grief
Easton was no longer the man he once was. He sat by their bed for hours, staring at the empty space beside him. He barely spoke, barely ate. He felt as if a part of him had died with Marlowe. He was a king, but at that moment, he was simply a husband who had lost his wife.
He often found himself wandering the gardens where they used to walk together, or sitting in the nursery where Cassaline had once been a newborn in Marlowe’s arms. Everything reminded him of her.
Roxanne Steps Up (16 years old)
Roxanne knew her father was breaking. Despite her own grief, she took on more responsibilities, making sure her siblings were cared for. She studied politics and kingdom affairs more seriously, knowing one day she would have to take on her mother’s role. She was determined to honor Marlowe by being the strong, wise daughter she had raised.
Joane’s Anger and Pain (15 years old)
Joane struggled with the loss in a different way. She became distant, avoiding her family and lashing out when anyone tried to comfort her. She was angry—angry that her mother was gone, angry that life had taken her too soon. She spent hours riding her horse through the kingdom, trying to outrun the pain in her heart.
Michael’s Determination (12 years old)
Michael turned his grief into focus. He trained harder, pushing himself to be stronger, knowing his mother would have wanted him to protect their family. He wanted to make her proud, even if she wasn’t there to see it.
Cassaline’s Innocence (5 years old)
Cassaline, still too young to understand the full weight of the loss, often asked when Mama was coming back. The family tried to explain in gentle ways, but she would sometimes wander the halls, looking for Marlowe. She clung to her father and siblings more than ever, afraid of losing them too.
The Kingdom of Drach
Marlowe’s death wasn’t just a loss for the family—it was a loss for the entire kingdom. The people mourned their queen deeply, for she had been their light. Statues were built in her honor, songs were written about her kindness and strength, and her name was spoken with reverence for generations to come.
A Promise to Move Forward
Though grief weighed heavily on them, the royal family knew they had to continue. Marlowe had always been their strength, and now, they had to be strong for her.
One night, as Easton sat in the dark, Roxanne entered his chambers and took his hand.
“She wouldn’t want you to stay like this, Papa,” she whispered.
Easton looked at his daughter—the same purple hair , just a little bit darker Marlowe once had. He pulled her into an embrace, and for the first time since Marlowe’s death, he let his tears fall freely.
They would carry on.
For Marlowe. For the kingdom.
For the love that would never die.
__
After Marlowe's passing, King Easton changed. Though he remained strong and decisive as a ruler, those closest to him could see the weight of grief in his eyes. He became more serious, more focused on his duties, but there was an emptiness in his presence that hadn't been there before.
He ruled with fairness, honoring Marlowe’s memory by upholding the values they had built together. He ensured Everthorns and Drach remained in harmony, respecting the legacy Marlowe left behind. His children were his greatest priority—he guided them, protected them, and prepared them for the future.
At times, the court whispered about whether Easton would remarry, but he never entertained the thought. His heart belonged to Marlowe, even in death. Instead, he poured himself into his kingdom and his family, making sure the throne would be passed down to someone worthy.
Despite his sorrow, he remained the powerful and wise king Drach needed. But in the quiet moments, when no one was watching, he would sit by the window, looking out at the stars, whispering to the night:
"I hope you’re watching, my love. I hope I’ve made you proud."