The throne room looks like someone turned "rich" into a physical object.
Golden pillars, carpets so soft I feel guilty stepping on them, and a chandelier big enough to crush a small car.
I stand there awkwardly while Clara glides forward like she's auditioning for Royal Swan Ballet.
The man on the throne looks up — middle-aged, strong, with tired eyes that soften the moment he sees me. Then, before I can even blink, he's out of his seat and walking toward me.
"Ariana…" he breathes, voice cracking just a little.
I freeze.
Oh no. Not another emotional reunion. I'm running out of reaction faces.
He stops right in front of me, studying my face like he's memorizing it. Then— suddenly— he laughs, pure relief spilling out of him. "By the gods, it's truly you! My daughter!"
My what now?
Before I can process that, he wraps me in a bear hug that smells like sandalwood and nostalgia. My body goes stiff. My brain? Blue screen of death.
"Uh… hi. Yeah. Totally your daughter," I mumble into his very royal shoulder. "Big fan of your… throne?"
Clara stands a few steps away, smiling that perfect smile again. But her hands are clasped too tightly — the knuckles white.
"She doesn't seem to remember much, Father," Clara says gently. "Perhaps the… ordeal affected her memory."
"Memory?" I echo. "Oh. Yeah. Definitely lost that. Totally blank. Don't even know my Wi-Fi password anymore."
The king looks devastated, like I just confessed to forgetting Christmas. "Oh, my poor child," he says, guiding me toward a velvet couch. "You've been through so much. Rest now. We can speak of what happened later."
"Cool. Rest. Great idea," I say quickly, because honestly, my brain is melting.
He calls for servants, who appear instantly like ninjas in expensive robes. One of them bows and gestures politely.
"Take Princess Ariana to her chambers," the king says softly. "See that she's comfortable."
Clara's eyes flick toward me again — something sharp hiding behind her calm expression. "Yes, Father. I'll make sure she's… well taken care of."
The way she says it sounds sweet. The way it feels sounds like a threat wrapped in ribbon.
As I'm led away, I glance back once more. The king's still watching me like I'm his whole world.
And I can't help wondering — who was the real Ariana?
And why does it feel like she's still here… somewhere inside me?