The late dinner was eaten in silence.

  The only exceptions were the sounds of chewing and swallowing, which were very loud for Airena and extremely quiet for Arenor.

  During this entire time, Airena did not utter a word, nor did Arenor, who, seeing her mood—or rather, her complete lack thereof—understood that trying to help her now would be futile: his words could make the situation even worse than it already was, even if it seemed that it simply could not get any worse.

  This time, the food on the table was different from the Prince's usual diet, and the amount was very small, if not meager.

  The reason for this was that, judging by her appearance and the words of the healer Shafia, Airena had not been eating properly for several years in a row, and even when she did eat, it was not the best food, so if she now began to fill her stomach with large pieces of meat, whole fish, bread rolls, various fruits, sweets, and washed it all down with wine or beer, she would, at best, simply vomit, and at worst, she would die either from cardiac arrest, pulmonary edema, brain damage, or all of the above at once.

  That is why Arenor ordered that the table be set with as little food as possible today, so as not to provoke Airena into actions that could cost her her life.

  Today they also ate with their hands, which was different from the Prince's usual way of eating.

  Although cutlery was not particularly necessary for eating and was not an important part of etiquette, Arenor had used it since childhood because he simply did not like to get his hands, mouth, and anything else that could be involved in eating dirty. But today, seeing how the spoon constantly slipped out of Airena's sweaty palm and how the knife could not cut even the softest food due to the weakness in her fingers, he ordered the servants to remove all cutlery from the dining room: hers because she simply could not use them, and his because he did not want to make her feel awkward and uncomfortable, being the only one at the table who ate with her hands.

  Seeing her once again stuff several pieces of meat into her mouth and then choke, he said in an almost pleading voice:

  "Airena, dear, please don't stuff yourself with food. No one will take it away from you. Take a little at a time, chew, swallow, and take some more, but again, a little at a time."

  He specifically asked that the meat not be served in one large piece, but cut into many small pieces so that Airena wouldn't have to stuff herself with food, but it didn't help; she did it anyway, succumbing to what seemed like an unending feeling of hunger and completely ignoring all his words about eating slowly and little by little, because otherwise she would simply cause herself irreparable harm.

  When the meal was over and each of them had drunk a glass of wine to wash down the food, it wasn't long before Arenor noticed that Airena was drunk: her movements became more sluggish, her reactions slowed, and her eyelids kept trying to close, as if from sudden fatigue.

  Unlike Arenor, who, although drunk, was able to control himself masterfully in this state, Airena had no control over herself at all, knocking everything off the table with her clumsy movements until the drowsiness caused by alcohol finally overcame her and she laid her head on the table and fell asleep.

  "Airena..." he called softly, approaching her and crouching down next to her chair, "...are you okay?"

  Silence was his only response.

  "Maybe we should postpone the funeral ceremony until another day?" he asked gently. "Since you're in such a state that—"

  "No," she muttered indistinctly, lifting her head from the table — still very sluggishly, but even so, there was a certain determination in the movement. "No," she said more clearly.

  Although her answers were still monosyllabic, Arenor understood perfectly well how many words were actually hidden behind them.

  "Airena—"

  "Your Highness," Nasir suddenly called out, approaching the Prince almost silently, "it's time to go."

  Exhaling wearily, Arenor helped Airena up from her chair. He was about to let her go, allowing her to walk on her own, when she suddenly clung to him with her whole body, her head swaying and falling directly onto his shoulder.

  Exhaling wearily for the second time, he wrapped his arms around her waist — tightly enough to help her stand and walk, but gently enough so that he wouldn't get punched in the face for "harassment" later.

  However, he still thought that despite his precautions, at best, he would still get hit in the face, and at worst...

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  "Let's go, Airena," Arenor said, exhaling wearily for the third and last time, leading her out of the dining room. "It's time to honor your brother."

  ***

  It was cold outside. The icy air enveloped their bodies completely, as if hugging them tightly — only these hugs were not pleasant at all; they burned, leaving red marks on their skin.

  Arenor made sure that Airena was warm and gave her a woolen cloak, which, although it looked completely out of place with her golden dress and silver tiara, served its main purpose and kept its owner warm. However, despite this, Airena continued to shiver convulsively. It took the Prince a few minutes to realize that the real reason for her incessant shivering was not the cold at all.

  The only light, apart from the two oil lamps carried in their calloused hands by Nasir and Zafir, was the moonlight; rays as white as fresh milk streamed down onto the sand, right where the sarcophagus lay.

  There was no need to dig up the grave; the pit was already ready.

  Arenor knew that Airena would most likely want to prepare the grave for her deceased brother herself, in order to express all her feelings towards him. However, she was still very weak, and digging a hole deep enough to accommodate the size of the sarcophagus was a laborious task even for two huge, muscular men, let alone a petite girl. That is why, a few hours before the ceremony, Arenor ordered his guards to prepare it themselves so as not to burden Airena even more.

  The truth was that this funeral ceremony was only a ceremony in name, as there was no ceremony at all; there was only a dark night, intense cold, moonlight, and four people, only one of whom knew the deceased.

  But it had to be admitted that the sarcophagus was indeed what Airena wanted it to be: made entirely of gold, shining brightly even in the night mist; from a distance, this light seemed like a lighthouse, giving lost travelers hope that they would be able to return home.

  Only for Airena, standing so close, this light was not the light of a lighthouse giving hope, no.

  It was the glow of a golden sarcophagus in which lay the body of the man who was everything to her; the body of her brother, the body of Irai.

  It was a glow that took away all the hope she had left.

  It was a glow that meant she would never be able to return home.

  "Show me him," she said suddenly.

  A shadow of panic flashed across Arenor's face, which he managed to hide almost immediately.

  "Airena, dear, you can't—"

  "Show me my brother."

  Her loud cry pierced the silence of the desert night like the tip of a dagger.

  "Airena," Arenor called her gently, taking her by the hand. "We can't—"

  She wrenched her arm free and lunged forward, toward the pit; toward the sarcophagus lying within it; toward her brother lying inside it.

  Toward Irai.

  "Show me—"

  Arenor managed to grab Airena before she jumped into the pit.

  "Airena, no," he said, holding her back. "The sarcophagus is already sealed, you can't—"

  "Show me him," she shouted again, as if she hadn't heard the Prince's words at all.

  Her eyes widened in wild terror, and her heart beat so frantically that Arenor could feel it himself, as if it were beating not only against her ribs, but against his own.

  "Your Highness," Nasir called to him, "what should we do?"

  Hesitating for a second, he glanced at Airena, who was writhing in his arms; her irises grew more and more golden with each passing second, until tears began to form in her eyes.

  "Fill the hole—"

  "No!"

  "I—" Nasir began, but was interrupted by Arenor's loud, commanding shout.

  "Fill it with the sand!"

  The guards obeyed, causing Airena to let out a piercing scream that nearly deafened them. Tears streamed from her eyes, falling onto the sand and running down it, dripping directly onto the sarcophagus, which was the same color as her tears.

  "No! Stop!"

  Holding Airena was not difficult physically: although she resisted quite actively, she was also too weak for her actions to have any effect. However, mentally... it was torture; the most cruel torture Arenor had ever experienced.

  "Airena, calm down," Arenor said, his voice trembling with panic. "Please, you need to..."

  "No! Show me him!"

  She kept screaming the same thing over and over. The words poured out of her mouth in a continuous stream that was impossible to stop, even if he decided to cover her mouth. But Arenor did not want to test the truth of that thought; he had already taken away her ability to move, and he did not want to take away her ability to scream as well; after all, now it was the only thing she could do besides crying.

  At one point, Arenor stumbled and fell; the impact of his back against the thick layer of sand knocked all the air out of his lungs, but he still did not let go of Airena, continuing to hold her in his arms, which now felt to her like the shackles in the royal prison, put on her without her consent and restricting her every movement.

  "Forgive me, Airena..." whispered the Prince when she screamed again, "...I'm so sorry, Airena..."

  Arenor's quiet muttering and Airena's loud cries merged together; it was a symphony of pain and despair. Seconds, minutes, and perhaps even hours passed; their voices became hoarse and strained, as if unable to withstand the tension, but she continued to cry out; not as loudly, more quietly, but she continued nonetheless.

  Until, in an instant, Arenor covered Airena's eyes with his palm, and her voice broke, and her cries turned into uncontrollable sobs that shook her whole body convulsively.

  "We're done," Zafir said after a while.

  Arenor silently unclenched his hands, allowing Airena to break free from his grip.

  "No... Irai..."

  Airena crawled to a small mound of sand — where a few minutes ago there had been a huge hole. She began to dig it back out; her movements were frantic, but her body was weak, and the sand slipped through her fingers faster than she could throw it aside.

  "Show me him... show me Irai..."

  Arenor, unable to bear to watch, raised his head, exposing his eyes to the moonlight, as if it could burn them out, freeing him from the cruel fate of witnessing Airena's agonizing suffering.

  When she grew tired enough to simply sit down and begin drawing patterns in the sand that were meaningless to others but so meaningful to herself, beneath a thick layer of which lay her brother's body, locked forever in a sarcophagus, Arenor stood up and, approaching her, carefully so as not to disturb the patterns, crouched down beside her.

  "Come on, Airena," he said gently, helping her up and gently wrapping his arms around her waist, supporting her body on her legs, which were buckling from exhaustion. "Come on, dear."