One of the benefits of being a princess, is that even if you absolutely had no night's rest, you feel like a pile of faeces, you look like a scarecrow and you are in the emotional state of a depressed turtle, there will be a team of people ready to make you look more than presentable for your father's funeral – which, let us not forget, will be broadcast to the entire world.
Well, they didn't do it immediately. Before the transformation I ate my breakfast, by myself, in my room, and then I roamed the palace for an hour straight. At first I set out looking for T'Challa. Unfortunately, I found him busy with important phone calls, so I moved on. Walking around, trying to empty my mind, actually seeing nothing of my surroundings. Also, I was trying really hard to get used to having an extra shadow, following me around all day.
Eventually I took a shower, and when I came out, a team of people was waiting for me. They dressed me, and combed my hair. They hid my misery behind makeup, and pinned my hair up in a neat bun, covering it by a thin net with small pearls. Around my neck they hung a necklace with silver pendant, which - I was certain – had hung around my mother's neck when her father had passed away.
In the end I looked into the mirror, unable to recognise myself. Because in the reflective surface, I saw a strong, young woman, not a girl being crushed by responsibilities. A young woman looking a lot like her mother, if not for her father's blond hair.
Waiting outside my door was not only Barnes, but also T'Challa, who wore his official clothing. He took my hand, and led me to the garage, where my personal car was waiting.
'The procession will come in twenty minutes,' he spoke quietly into my ear. 'I will have to leave soon. But first, how are you holding up?'
I tried to smile a brave smile, feeling it quiver instead. 'I'll manage,' I assured him, before I choked. 'I look like her, don't I?'
His dark brown eyes didn't even have to look a second time before he answered. 'Yes. But I see him too, in the way you are holding up. You have his character.'
Someone of his delegation said something, and T'Challa smiled sadly. 'I have to go. Stay strong, I know you can.'
I nodded, and he kissed my forehead before stepping into his own car. I watched him leave, the hollowness in my stomach growing.

'Highness?' I turned around. Barnes was holding the door for me, so I could get inside without trouble. I tried to smiled through wet eyes.
'Thank you.'
Inside the car I clamped my hands together, with the black veil - the thin layer of fragile fabric that covered my shoulders - between them. Little warmth it gave me. Useless, if I hadn't felt comforted by gripping it.
Had it been up to me, T'Challa would have ridden with me. Alas, even though our nations had strong bonds, placing our relation before the traditions of my country would be both selfish and dumb.
Twenty minutes, T'Challa had said, and twenty minutes it was, until the black car containing my father's coffin came into view. However, it had felt like decades had passed, while I tried to control my breathing, while I tried to make sure I wouldn't cry.
Whilst we made our way across the roads, I looked outside through the tinted windows. Alongside the road were hundreds, maybe even thousands of people, many holding candles, watching in silence as the procession came by.
So many people… all here for him. A hero of the people. A father to the country.
I was startled when Barnes suddenly spoke.
'I realise I haven't said this to you yet, highness,' he said. I looked at him. He was looking at me with dark eyes, for once not checking our surroundings for potential threats. 'But I want to offer you my condolence for the loss of your father.'
'Thank you.' My smile wavered. Despite everything, I was glad he had said father, instead of king. That was, I realised, what bothered me most. Because those people had lost a king, someone to make hard decisions for them. But I had lost my father. And yes, I had Janson, who could help me make difficult decisions. I had Barnes to keep me safe. I had T'Challa to hold my hand when things got rough. Yet, I had still lost my father. My hero, my guardian, my friend, my parent, my world, my everything.
Therefore I didn't want to step out of this car as a princess. Because the princess would bury her king. I wanted to step out as a daughter, who buried her father.

Nevertheless, it was a princess who took Barnes' hand to get out. It was a princess who held her head high when men dressed in traditional black clothing carried the coffin into the cathedral. It was still a princess who followed, trying not to look at all the people in the pews, who were no doubt all very important. People who ran the world from behind desks.
And it was a princess who took her place on the dais, overlooking the crowd, not seeing a single face. Because it was the daughter who saw her friend's eyes. Who sought strength in them, and who found it when he smiled with encouragement. Because it was the daughter who felt like she might have lost her father, but still had a brother.

I gave a speech - a truly royal speech - about a righteous king, who happened to also be a father. "My father" were the words I used, even though my tongue kept tripping over the ways I actually called him; mostly dad, but sometimes - I remembered the time an extremely loud thunderstorm had raged above the palace grounds, and I had squeezed myself between my father and mother in their large bed - I had called him daddy. I shared some happy memories, precious little pearls they were, but not my best – those were mine and mine alone.

It was Janson who followed me, giving a speech about a beloved king, again that stranger, the righteous king, and a generous man. I didn't listen. I thought it nonsense. This was a show, a big spectacle, not even close to what my father would have wanted. My mind took me to my mother's funeral, which had been far more private, with far less people and far less fuss. It had happened here, because my father had insisted she would be placed inside the family tomb. "She is family," he had said, a drained look on his face. "She's done more for this family than most of the corpses down there."
Eventually the bishop of Saluport spoke. He was an old man, who spoke about heaven and the afterlife. No matter how much I believed my parents where there, I wished they would have let T'Challa speak. When my mother had died, he had told me about their culture, and their afterlife. How death wasn't the end, but instead a stepping off point.

After a long silence filled softened by music, the coffin was carried down a stone staircase, into my family's tomb. I followed, again alone.
We rounded corners, and passed the graves of my ancestors. The hallways were cold and draughty. At the same time, though, strangely musty. There were no cobwebs, thanks to the chosen ones who were allowed to go down here and look after the graves of old.

When they had placed the coffin on its proper place – beside my mother's – I watched the carriers go, bowing for me, not saying a word. There was only one person who stayed: my new shadow.
'Hello, mom,' I greeted softly, standing as close as I dared to the grave in the wall, 'I'm back. It's a bit too soon, I know. But dad couldn't wait. I don't blame him. Really dad, I don't. You have the right to follow her. I just wished you could have waited a bit longer. At least you've got mom to guide you…' I swallowed, pulling the thin veil a bit closer around my shoulders. I was running out of oxygen. The world started spinning around me - dazzling me, choking me. 'I think I have to go. You know how I don't like confined spaces… that hasn't changed since last time…' I breathed in deeply. My hands gripped the edge of the tomb. It was cold, hard stone. Rough, course enough to scrape a layer of skin.
'I miss you so much…'