The funeral of a great lord was an event of political importance, one that demanded the presence of the royal family—even those who had no connection to the deceased. Helaena stood beside you, stiff and uneasy, her hands clenching the fabric of her gown. Though her expression remained passive, her body betrayed her discomfort. Then, without warning, she reached for you.

—"I do not understand why I must be here."—She murmured.—"I do not know these people. I do not care for their customs or their loss. It is not mine to bear."

Helaena inhaled sharply through her nose, then turned her eyes to you—clear and striking in their sincerity, their usual faraway look replaced with something raw, something vulnerable. You felt her shift closer, pressing into your side as if the weight of the ceremony was too much to bear alone.

—""I do not want to be here."—she admitted, quieter this time.—"but with you… it is tolerable."

The moment was fleeting, the outside world beginning to creep back in as murmurs turned into prayers, as eyes once again fell upon the royal family. But Helaena did not let go, and neither did you.