AUTHOR'S POV
The morning light slipped through the curtains, falling across Elle's face as she slept slumped over her desk. A pen was still clutched in her hand, her notebook pages filled with emotional scrawls. Slowly, she opened her eyes and sat up, her body heavy with fatigue.
Today was special. She was going to visit the grave of her mother, Queen Catherine Bowes.
After her bath, Elle chose a simple white shift dress. She braided her long hair loosely to the side, letting a few strands frame her face. A deep shade of red colored her lips, stark against the paleness of her skin that morning.
On her bed lay a bouquet of red roses—her mother's favorite. They had been freshly cut from Catherine's garden, a place still tended with love in the palace grounds.
The royal car drove toward the Briterra royal cemetery. The sky was bright, yet Elle's heart felt clouded. When they arrived, she walked slowly to her mother's resting place.
Queen Catherine had died tragically ten years earlier. Elle remembered it all too well. She had only been ten years old.
King Edmund, Catherine, and young Elle were returning from a short trip at their private campsite when their car skidded off the road and plunged into a ravine. Elle and her mother were thrown out. Catherine instantly shielded her daughter, taking the brunt of the impact. The heavy blow struck Catherine's head.
When the rescue team arrived, they found little Elle crying in her mother's bloodied embrace. Catherine was still breathing, but weak. She was rushed to the royal hospital. Doctors fought desperately, but fate was cruel. Catherine died during surgery from severe trauma and internal bleeding.
The news of her death shocked the world. A queen known for her kindness, gentleness, and compassion was gone far too soon.
Now Elle stood before her mother's headstone. She read the words etched into marble—lines she had memorized long ago:
In A VaultBeneath this marble slabAre deposited the remainsOfA beloved Wife & MotherCatherine Bowes, Queen of King Edmund Hoult1977 – 2009
"Missed more than words can say."
Tears streamed down Elle's cheeks once again. Her trembling fingers traced her mother's name.
"Mom… it's me." Her voice cracked. "In a few days, Dad is marrying Emma. I hate thinking about it. If only you were still here, everything would be different. If only… you hadn't sacrificed yourself that day."
Her sobs deepened.
"Mom… Emma's daughter is Zara. My enemy. You must remember I told you about her. And now… she'll be living under the same roof as me. I can't bear it, Mom. I just want to run far away… escape all of this."
Elle wept, clutching the bouquet before laying it gently on the grave. She bowed her head for a long time, confiding everything to the silent marble stone—her fears, her disappointments, her longing.
The sun climbed higher, its light falling squarely upon the white marble. Elle wiped her tears and rose. She knew her mother would never return. Yet here, at her grave, Elle always felt her mother was still listening.
CHRISTIAN'S POV
I stood a short distance away, watching Elle kneel at Queen Catherine's grave. From where I was, I could see her shoulders shake each time a sob escaped. The red roses lay on the stone, silent witnesses of her longing.
I still remembered the day Queen Catherine died. The world mourned. International media covered it for days. Many speculated the accident had not been mere chance.
I had never known her personally. But I often saw her on television—the humble queen who visited orphanages, who shook the hands of children, who smiled warmly at everyone. She was loved by all.
At her funeral, the entire nation grieved. I attended the mass with King Harry. That was when I saw little Elle seated in the front row. Her face was pale, her eyes swollen from endless crying. That moment, I realized—such a loss would shape who she would become.
And now, seeing Elle nearly grown, yet still fragile before that grave… my chest tightened.
I drew a long breath. She was still hurting. A wound that had never truly healed.
AUTHOR'S POV
Elle spent hours at her mother's grave that day. Every word she spoke seemed to lift a burden, yet at the same time reopened old wounds.
When she finally returned to the car, her eyes were swollen, but there was a faint calm in her expression. As though confiding in her mother had allowed her to breathe a little easier.
But deep inside, she knew the storm had not passed. Her father's wedding, Emma's presence, and above all Zara—still lay ahead, waiting to be faced.
Beside her, Christian remained silent. Yet his gaze was sharp, full of awareness. He understood one thing: protecting Elle was not only about shielding her from external threats. It was also about guarding her from the invisible wounds inside.