the King's petals

      In the kingdom of Philos, a selection has been announced. Who will become the future wife of the Crown Prince?       The Sindersfell Palace is the ancient citadel of the Kingdom of Philos. It is far more than just the royal family’s residence. It was the very embodiment of the realm’s history and might. Hewn from pale gray stone quarried in the northern mountains, it stood proudly at the top of a cliff. Inside, the palace was a labyrinth of lofty halls, endless corridors, galleries adorned with stained-glass windows casting kaleidoscopic patterns across the marble floors and countless hidden staircases known only to the castle’s inhabitants and the oldest servants.       At this very moment, in the palace dining hall bathed in soft morning light from a tall window, Prince Xavier sat with his parents. He pushed aside an elegant porcelain plate, his breakfast barely touched, and surveyed the familiar surroundings with a weary gaze.       “Why do we even need this selection?” Xavier sighed as his father once again brought up the same old topic.       “You are my only son and heir to an entire kingdom. You’re young, handsome, and you need a partner. This selection couldn’t come at a better time,” the King replied as he always did.       “And how many are there?”       “Twenty. Their carriages arrive tomorrow afternoon. I hope your choice won’t disappoint me.”       Xavier slowly set his fork down on the plate, his eyes drifting toward the window where spring blossoms shimmered beyond the glass.       “You’re not leaving me any choice…”       The King looked at his son with paternal firmness.       “This isn’t some whim of mine, Xavier. It’s your duty. The kingdom must know its future is in capable hands. You’re not merely choosing a wife. You’re choosing a future queen.”       Xavier turned to his mother.       “What if none of them is the one I need?”       The Queen set down her knife and fork and met her son’s gaze.       “Then you’ll choose not with your heart, but with your mind.” She traced a finger along the rim of her wineglass, gathering her thoughts. “I came to Sindersfell through an alliance between our houses. Your father and I barely knew each other before our wedding. We learned how to stand side by side. It wasn’t the romance you read about in books. It was far stronger.”       The King fell silent for a moment. Then he rose, walked over to his son, and placed a hand on his shoulder.       “Then find her among them or teach them how to truly see you.”       He turned toward the door but paused on the threshold, waiting for the Queen.       “And… if all twenty prove unsuitable — well, that’s no tragedy. The selection will simply continue.”       The door clicked shut behind them. Xavier was alone.       Tomorrow afternoon, the carriages would arrive at Cinderfell. And perhaps one of them would bring not just another candidate, but a revolution in the heart of the future king.

***

      Aurora Vale’s modest estate, known as the Southern Holdings or simply the Southern Lands, was far more than just a cluster of large villages in the south of Philos. Here, the eternal summer reigned. The air hung thick and sweet, perfumed with blooming citrus groves, jasmine and freshly cut grass. The true wealth of these lands lay not in mines or forges, but in the earth itself, the nurturing soil that fed the kingdom. Endless fields of flowers carpeted the hillsides, vineyards produced wine famed across the continent, and olive groves and orchards groaned under the weight of peaches, figs and pomegranates.       The Vale family home reflected this warmth and generosity. Spacious rooms flooded with light from large windows, and everywhere a lot of vases brimming with fresh-cut blooms, changed every day by Tara, Aurora’s handmaiden. Young Lady Vale’s library stretched floor to ceiling with books on economics, agriculture, history, and poetry.       For Aurora, the Southern Lands were more than just home. She didn’t rule from some cold study. She walked among her people, knew every villager by name, consulted elders and immersed herself in every detail of daily life.       Now, as chaos unfolded in her chambers, Simone, her other handmaiden, tried to take charge while Tara stood wringing the hem of her apron in distress.       “My lady, please calm down! You’ll catch a chill!” Simone threw a warm silk shawl over Aurora’s shoulders, but the girl shrugged it off.       “What selection? Is it some kind of joke? Hahaha! Not funny!” Aurora paced the room, her cream-colored nightgown swirling around her like a translucent cloud. “I’m not taking part in this! Parading myself like a livestock at a fair? No, girls. I’m sorry but I won’t go!” She shook her head fiercely, refusing to let Tara comb her hair.       “My lady, please understand,” Tara pleaded, trying to untangle a comb caught in Aurora’s thick tresses. “They wouldn’t summon you without any reason. You must be at the palace tomorrow.”       “Over my dead body! As if I care about your prince! Bruh!” Aurora snapped, abruptly rising from her vanity so hard the comb flew from Tara’s hands and clattered to the floor.       “My lady!” Simone gasped, scrambling to retrieve it. “You know that refusal isn’t just impolite. It could be seen as an insult to the Crown!”       Aurora whirled around, her gray eyes flashing like an enraged cat’s.       “So let them think what they will! I’m not a doll to be dressed up so some spoiled prince who can point and say ‘I’ll take that one!’”       Tara sighed, carefully gathering scattered hairpins.       “But you were chosen from hundreds, maybe thousands of girls… You received a personal invitation from the King’s own chancellery, sealed with the royal crest! They don’t send those lightly…”       Aurora froze.       “What?”       “Yes, my lady,” Simone nodded, holding up a parchment stamped with golden wax. “Look here, your name is handwritten. And Chancellor Andrew signed it himself!”       Slowly, Aurora took the letter. Her fingers trembled.       “But… why me?” she whispered. “I’m no a painted beauty. I don’t know court etiquette and I don’t want to.”       Tara smiled gently.       “Maybe that’s exactly the reason.”       Simona added, “Or perhaps someone noticed you long ago…”       Silence fell. Aurora sank back onto the stool before the mirror and wordlessly handed Tara her ribbons. She stared at the letter, then at her handmaidens. Her shoulders slumped.       She understood now. She had no choice.       “But when could they have even seen me? All I know is farming and combat. I have no interest in playing the harp, embroidering patterns or reciting poetry…”       Simone pulled out gown after gown.       “Why not?” Tara asked, slipping golden bracelets from Aurora’s wrists. “The Kingdom of Philos prides itself on its warriors. The prince himself is a master swordsman and has fought in battles more than once. Maybe he wants someone who can stand as his equal?”       “Hmph… possible,” Aurora mused, flexing her knuckles. “Then I certainly won’t dress like some commodity.” She turned to Simone. “Find something simpler… And no, Tara,” she added, setting aside a heavy diadem, “That’s far too ornate.”       After hours of preparation, Aurora stood before the mirror. A lavender gown, corset-free and fluid as water, gracefully draped her body shape, accentuating the strength in her shoulders, the line of her back and the quiet confidence forged not through courtly dances but through real labor and training. Two dark braids were woven into one with silk ribbons, kept neatly out of the way.       Tara, with brush in hand, carefully traced fine lines along Aurora’s eyelids.       “Hold still, my lady,” she said. “Let them remember your gaze. Let them know you’re no timid flower.”       Simone adjusted the necklace at Aurora’s throat. Moonstones shimmered against silver. It's a keepsake from her parents... Aurora’s fingers brushed the cool gems.       “I suppose it works” she said, studying her reflection. She attempted a smile.       “You’re breathtaking, my lady,” Simone declared proudly.       Aurora picked up lace gloves embroidered delicately along the seams.       “It’s time, girls.” She straightened the necklace with resolve. “Let him think he’s choosing a wife… I’ll be the one judging whether he’s worthy of me.”

***

      The journey from the Southern Lands to Sindersfell felt like traveling to another world. The carriage rolled past endless fields carpeted in blossoms. The air was warm, sweet, and thick with the hum of bees.       But with each passing hour, the landscape shifted. Flowering meadows gave way to heather-clad hills, then dense pine forests where sunlight barely pierced the canopy. And then, around a final bend, a sight stole Aurora’s breath.       Below, a wild river roared, and across its churning waters, perched on an impregnable cliff, rose Sindersfell Palace. Aurora pressed her face to the carriage window, gazing at the stern fortress, the bridge spanning the furious river, and her thoughts inevitably turned to the man awaiting her.       “What is he really like, this Crown Prince Xavier?” she wondered.       She’d heard tales of his undeniable beauty and his intelligence. She’d also heard how he’d led the royal guard to crush a rebellion on the western border.       The carriage rumbled onto the bridge. Aurora clenched her fists. This wasn’t a selection. This was a true battle.       She tore her eyes from the raging river and turned to Tara.       “Ah, girls. I think… I’m starting to get nervous,” she exhaled.       Her gaze fell on Simone, who was intently writing neat lines in the leather-bound journal on her lap.       “Writing your report on Phase One of Operation ‘Southerns Invade Sindersfell’?”       Simone looked up.       “Just recording observations, my lady.”       Aurora shook her head fondly. To her, neither Tara nor Simona were mere servants, they were her friends, her council, her guard, her only true family since her parents’ passing.       “Fine. Note that the subject expresses skepticism toward the upcoming event and its central figure.”       Tara smiled. Simone dipped her quill and wrote carefully:       “Lady Vale displays combat readiness and signs of heightened cognitive activity.”       With a thunderous clatter, the carriage crossed the bridge and began to slow as it entered the palace’s outer courtyard. Aurora’s faint smile vanished, replaced by her usual mask of indifference. She straightened her spine and took one last glance at her reflection in the dark windowpane.

The game had begun.