The first day was a complete haze. Most people left me alone - servants, security guards, minsters, clerks - they all kept their distance. Not one of them bothered me with official business. I knew this was mostly Janson's dint - probably also T'Challa's - and I was immensely grateful for it.
T'Challa himself barely left my side, watching me like a guard dog - or perhaps a service dog. He even stood close when lab coats showed me the body. That was done quickly; a short look; a quick peak/ as if that would make it all better.
Not even could I get close; they had to examine it, to determine the cause of death. And it would be a shame if some strange disease would wipe out the last remainder of the Meliatis family.
He looked peaceful. Pale and strange, like a wax doll. Not my real father, a fake. Something to replace him. Because my father wasn't in there. He had already left.
The autopsy team assured me that they were absolutely certain he hadn't suffered. That it had been quick, probably even painless. I nodded, and thanked them, as was proper for a princess. Whilst I was dying inside of something no doctor could cure.

Afterwards, the king of Wakanda took me to one of the smaller dining rooms. There he ordered food what was easy to eat and light on the stomach. Apparently it wasn't for show. Because he also made me eat it.
'How do you do it, Challa?' between two slow bites of pasta I got my voice to work. 'I'm not going to survive the throne…'
T'Challa look thoughtful. 'You shouldn't,' he started slowly, 'see it as a burden, El. I think you should only consider it an honour, a privilege. People respect you, honour you, because you watch over them.'
I snorted. 'You might. Because of all the… well, you know.' I gestured awkwardly, indicating his alter ego, The Black Panther. 'But I'm… just me. Not some master strategic, genius or mentalist, just plain old me. Besides, I never know what to say; I bet I'll even start a world war, just because I forget some stupid etiquette.'
T'Challa chuckled softly, and I glared at him; I wasn't even joking!
'Elissa, you should have more faith in yourself. Also, being queen isn't something you do alone. You've got Janson, and me.' His eyes fixed mine. 'I'll help you too, Elissa. And not only for the sake of our countries being close allies for decades. You'll be a great queen - it's in your blood.'
'Yeah… mom was a great queen, even though she wasn't born royal. And dad, well, the staff always told me they were very fond of him.'
T'Challa nodded mournfully. 'Your family's losses are mourned beyond these palace walls.' He was silent, and quietly tapped his fingers on the smooth surface of the table. 'Elissa, there's another thing I wanted to discuss.'
His sudden nervous behaviour intrigued me, despite my hollow feeling. I feared that hollow feeling… when my mother had passed away, it had almost consumed me. Now it had returned. A black hole had formed inside my stomach, slowly dragging everything in.
'What is it?' I rolled pasta around my fork, looking glumly as the strings wrapped around until they fell off again. Limp, lifeless strings. How appropriate.
'Your safety.'
I frowned, and forgot about the food.
'How's that? I'm in the place, filled with guards, surrounded by guards, surrounded by gates with guards… I don't see how I could be in danger.'
T'Challa frowned too, a worried look in his dark eyes. 'I have a bad feeling about this, El. I don't want to be right, of course, but… well, you know your father wasn't sick. Neither was he old. So, whatever happens next, I don't think it's a bad idea to upgrade your security.'
I sighed, knowing I wouldn't like his proposal. But I was too exhausted to argue.
'What do you have in mind?'
The tapping accelerated a bit. 'A… friend …of mine. Preferably I'd help you… but you know, I, too, got a lot of duties. His name is James Barnes, but I think you know him by his other name…. "The Winter Soldier".'
My eyes widened. 'You mean the man who…' I didn't want to say it, so I just mumbled, '…your father…?'
The kind solemnly shook his head. 'He didn't, I told you.' Of course. I knew a lot of things I maybe shouldn't know about; T'Challa had never held much secrets for me – even though he was six years older than me, we'd always talked freely.
'Yes, I know… but… he did do a lot of other stuff… Quite horrible stuff…'
For a moment T'Challa looked me into my eyes, and frowned lightly. 'Sometimes I regret telling you all the things I told you. I never realised how young you were; you always seemed so grown up. So many stories not fitted for a child… ' he shook his head slightly. 'And yes, he has – in a way. But I have told you the whole story, so you know very well it was never really him. That it was the machine they made of him.'
My gaze went back to the rolling pasta.
'What are your ideas of "guarding"?'
'Outside the room is okay – for now.' He saw the look in my eyes. 'It's for your own safety.'
'Sure it is,' I muttered. 'There comes a moment you'll lock me in a bulletproof coffin, claiming that when they think I'm dead, they won't try to kill me.'
T'Challa chuckled sadly, 'don't give me ideas.'