the King's petals

      Standing in the shadow of the columns and watching how Xavier accept the expensive gifts, some memories of Aurora’s childhood washed over her like a warm, wild tide.       She remembered the time she’d jumped off a high cliff into the lake on a dare from the neighbor boys just to test how deep it was. She remembered how Mother and Father scolded her afterward, saying that such behavior was inappropriate to a young lady. She remembered galloping into the woods on her horse to shoot arrows at targets she’d carved herself. She remembered gathering wild berries for her mother, who would brew healing tinctures from them. She remembered walking across thin ice, feeling it bend beneath her feet with a sharp, cracking groan, how her long braids stiff with frost, while Tara and Simone shrieked from the shore, begging her to come back. But the girl had only laughed, bouncing lightly on the trembling ice, utterly fearless.       “And he has no idea what that feels like,” she thought again.       Xavier was a prince. But had he ever, even once, been truly himself?       All eyes turned to the modest chests from the Southern Lands, dwarfed among the gleaming lacquered caskets of other noble houses. The Duke had already announced the display of gifts.       Simone, face perfectly composed, opened the first chest. Resting on soft velvet inside lay an elegant wooden pipe, delicately carved with twisting grapevines, and a small, tightly packed pouch.       “Tobacco from our plantations, Your Majesty,” Aurora said clearly, addressing the King. “Aged using a method unique to the South.”       Then Tara, fingers trembling slightly with nerves, lifted the lid of the second chest. Nestled within silk pouches were sewing notions of extraordinary beauty: silver needles and a thimble exquisitely engraved with a tiny raspberry.       “For quiet evenings, Your Majesty,” Aurora added, turning to the Queen. “So the warmth of your hands may live on in every stitch you make.”       But everyone was waiting for the third chest because, surely, that was where the gift for the prince lay.       Lady Vale stepped forward and opened it herself. Instead of expected jewels or exotic finery, her fingers closed around the hilt of a dagger.       The blade was forged from steel, its surface shimmering with a muted, silvery-gray gleam and etched with a subtle wave-like pattern. The hilt was carved from dark walnut, polished to a deep luster, and wrapped tightly with steel wire. There was no gold and no gemstones because it’s not a simple trinket. It was a real weapon for real use.       With a steady stride and the sounds of her lavender skirts trailing behind her, Aurora approached the prince. Bare-handed, she grasped the blade itself, not the hilt, and offered it to Xavier with the solemn grace of one warrior presenting steel to another.       “A true warrior’s weapon,” she said clearly. “For His Highness.”       She heard stories about the prince long before arriving at Sindersfell, and Aurora knew, with quiet certainty, that only a weapon could truly impress him. Because she also is keen on weapons. While other girls dreamed of fine dresses and pretty boys, she’d trained with staves, swords, knives and daggers with her father or other inhabitants. Though as the young ruler of the Southern Lands, she’d always preferred ranged combat with bows or javelins, anything that let her strike from a distance.       Did His Highness know that about her?       Of course… Someone among his chamberlains had already briefed him on each guest’s background. How exhausting it must be to be fed endless reports on every guests who stepped through the palace gates!       The dagger she’d brought bore an engraving her father had made years ago: “In this steel, the cloudless sky is reflected.”       And indeed, the blade shimmered with a faint, cool blue hue… Ah, like the prince’s eyes… Blue…       Because his eyes were beautiful. Their color was like wild blueberries… Or perhaps honeysuckle at twilight.       Wait… No! Wait!       “What kind of thoughts were these?”       “Bruh!”       The color of his eyes reminded her of hydrangeas, hyacinths, bluebells or forget-me-nots. Soft, deep, and impossibly vivid, like summer captured in a single glance.       “Oh, for heaven’s sake!!!”       She mentally shook herself.       “Stop noticing berries and flowers in his eyes, you silly! You came here to observe a prince, not to lose your head over him!”       The prince slowly reached out. His fingers closed around the hilt, brushing lightly against the girl’s palm.       “Thank you, Lady Aurora,” he said. “This is a most valuable gift. For one who wields a sword, mastering a dagger should pose no difficulty.”       Aurora inclined her head slightly.       Xavier turned the dagger in his hands, studying it with a practiced eye, then swiftly reversed his grip, feinted a quick thrust, and smoothly sheathed it again.       Aurora’s eyebrow lifted in quiet surprise.       “You already know how to use it, Your Highness.”       He smirked.       “I was hoping you might show me how to shoot a bow. I’ve heard tales of your skill.”       “I’m afraid your fingers won’t thank you,” she replied, a hint of playful caution in her voice.       “I’ll survive.”       A faint smile touched her lips before she looked away as if trying to hide just how much she liked that idea.       “Oh God, oh God… Don’t look at me! This distance is too dangerous… Oh. Dangerously beautiful. Ah… What am I even thinking? Curtsy properly to His Highness. Don’t blush!”       That was all racing through Aurora’s mind. A frantic whirl of panic, awe, and something dangerously close to delight.       Meanwhile, the exchange of gifts continued in the hall.       Lady Jasmine presented the King an inlaid casket of rare incense, for the Queen it was a circlet of pearls and moonstones. For the Prince it was a ring bearing the engraving of her house’s crest.       Lady Elisa offered an album of watercolor sketches of the palace gardens, painted by her own hand, and a musical box that played a melody she had composed herself.       Lady Beatrice brought a handwoven rug, spun from the wool of mountain goats, and a vial of perfume crafted from her grandmother’s ancient recipe.       Later, as the hall gradually emptied and the guests were ushered away by the chamberlain toward their quarters, Chancellor Andrew approached the Prince.       “Cancel the musical salon,” the prince said calmly. “Tomorrow I wish to spend time in the garden with our southern guests.”       The Chancellor arched a brow.       “And what exactly will you be doing in the garden, Your Highness?”       “I wanted to learn how to shoot a bow,” Xavier replied. “Under Lady Vale’s instruction.”       “As you command.”       The guests were settled in private apartments in the west part of the palace. Everything had been arranged with impeccable care: fresh flowers, scented oils, silk bedding and plush robes laid out by the hearth.       But when Simone and Tara entered Aurora’s chambers, they found her standing by the window, gazing out at the eastern garden. The place where tomorrow there would be bows, targets… and him.       “My lady…” Tara asked softly. “Do you like it here?”       Aurora turned. In the moonlight, her face looked pale and thoughtful.       “I’m waiting for tomorrow,” she said. “He wants me to teach him how to shoot a bow.”       Simone stood behind her, gently brushing out Aurora’s long, loose hair for the night.       “Are you sure he’ll come?” the handmaiden asked doubtfully.       “He’ll come,” Aurora said with quiet certainty. “He’s not the kind who breaks his word.”       As Tara carefully unfastened the heavy gown and removed Aurora’s jewelry, the young lady’s thoughts had already fled to the garden. In her mind, she rehearsed their meeting, imagining every detail. How she’d stand behind him, how her fingers would gently rest on his biceps to guide his stance, how she’d murmur instructions close to his ear. She pictured the prince drawing the bowstring, steadying his aim, the arrow flying true and burying itself in the target.       The distance between her and His Highness would once again be dangerously close. The key was to stay calm and act naturally, trying not to let her emotions betray her.       Sleep refused to come. Behind her closed eyelids, his face lingered, not the composed mask he’d worn in the hall earlier, but something softer, quieter.       “My lady, you’re nervous,” Simone observed softly as she snuffed out the candle.       “I’m not, really,” Aurora murmured, turning onto her side to face the moonlit night beyond the window. “It’s just…”       “Sleep well, my lady,” Tara said with a gentle smile, tucking the blanket around her shoulder. “Tomorrow will be a full day.”       Aurora nodded but kept her eyes open.       Somewhere beyond the palace walls, the wind rustled through the leaves. Perhaps, even now, a target marked with charcoal already stood in the eastern garden. And perhaps the prince wasn’t sleeping either. Maybe he stood at his own window, gazing at that very garden where he’d try his hand at archery tomorrow. Maybe his fingers traced the hilt of the dagger she’d given him. Maybe he was thinking of the girl with the long, ribbon-bound braid and the lavender dress…       Aurora finally closed her eyes.       “Goodnight, girls…” she whispered. “And thank you.”       “For what?”       “For staying with me.”

***

      In the morning, Aurora woke so early that the moon still lingered in the sky, refusing to yield to the sun. She hadn’t truly slept at all. She was tossing and turning, counting sheep in her head only to lose count again and again, her mind too restless to find peace.       There were no birdsong, no rooster crowing from a neighboring yard, no scent of fried onions or roasting meat, no woodsmoke curling from the chimney, not even the warm, earthy smell of fresh milk. Outside, utter silence reigned. No laughter, no hurried footsteps, no creak of wagon wheels or the familiar groan of the well’s pulley. Just stillness. And this silence didn’t comfort her. It pressed down, heavy and strange.       Aurora sat up in bed and rubbed her palms over her face.       “Too quiet,” she whispered. “Like a cave.”       Breakfast wasn’t served before nine, so there was no need to rush. Yet calm eluded her. She rose and walked to the window.       “I wonder what the prince is doing right now?” she murmured aloud.

If only Xavier lived in the South…

      He’d already be sitting on the porch of an old random Southern house. Barefoot, tousle-haired, dressed in a simple linen shirt. In one hand, he’d hold a freshly baked loaf, still warm from the oven, its crust crackling softly. In the other hand he had a mug of herbal tea steeped with mint and honey or maybe a bowl of ripe berries. He’d be watching the sun rise over the hills, the morning mist curling above the creek, a distant rooster crowing in the distance.       “Sleep well?”       Aurora settles onto the creaky step beside him not in a nightgown, but in his shirt, slightly too big for her, slipping off one shoulder, paired with loose trousers rolled up to her ankles.       “And you?”       “Oh… I haven’t been this embarrassed in ages!”       “Didn’t you like it?” He leans closer, his lips nearly brushing her temple. “You reacted in a way that made me think you liked it very much…”       “Hush!” She jabs him in the ribs. “We need to help with the hay today.”       “Shall we ride the horses, huh?”       “Oh, I know exactly what you mean by ‘ride’! Argh!” she snorts, but her body betrays her, leaning instinctively into his warmth.       Xavier chuckles softly and pulls her against his chest, pressing her head to his heartbeat before playfully poking her cheek with a piece of bread.       “Eat it. You’ll need your strength… for later.”       His hand slides beneath the fabric of the shirt, oh, sorry, his shirt, leaving a trail of heat on her skin.       “Stop flustering me, Shen…” she says, trying to sound steady, “Or I’ll accidentally reach for my dagger.”       “Go ahead, my brave warrior,” he murmurs, his lips finding the curve of her neck as his fingers slowly tug the collar aside…       “Oh God! What am I even thinking?!”       Aurora gasped aloud, her cheeks burning as if scalded.       “Absolute nonsense… I must just be exhausted.”       She needed to pull herself together now. Hurriedly, she slipped into the hallway and asked the startled night maids for directions to the washroom. The icy water on her skin offered some relief, but it couldn’t wash away the lingering phantom: the imagined warmth of his hands, the ghost of his breath against her neck, the unbearable closeness that existed only in her mind.       “It’s improper to think such things…” she scolded her reflection in the mirror. “Then why… Why? ” she whispered, pressing a trembling hand to her chest, “Why won’t my heart stop racing?”       She ached with longing for the Southern Lands.       “I shouldn’t have listened to the girls… I should’ve stayed home. Especially with haymaking season…”       Right now, she’d be breathing in the scent of freshly cut grass, feeling the familiar earth beneath her bare feet instead of pacing these halls, tangled in a storm of restless unease where shame, curiosity, and something dangerously close to desire twisted together.       Breakfast would be served soon. Maybe it is better to walk by the fountain? Fresh air and the murmur of water might wash away these foolish daydreams. She needed to steady herself, to be Lady Vale, not like some flustered girl who blushed at a single glance from the prince.       She walked slowly down the endless corridor, but her thoughts refused to quiet.       “He’s got girls like me all over Philos! Just raise a finger, and they’ll flock to him like moths to a flame, especially with that face of his!”       Stop. Was that… Jealousy?       No, wait, it’s impossible. She hadn’t come all this way just to let herself fall for such nonsense.       Of course, Aurora was no painter’s muse. No ethereal beauty whose portrait would grace royal halls. She wasn’t as dazzling as the grand crystal chandelier in Sindersfell’s ballroom. She’s a completely ordinary girl.       And surely… a prince wouldn’t want someone like her.       But then why did that thought prick so sharply in her chest?       And why did the memory of his fingers brushing hers as he took the dagger, have a strange, aching hollow, linger like a wound?       Back in her room, Aurora found Tara and Simone already waiting. They took one look at her and knew at once: their lady was troubled.       “Girls…” Aurora said quietly, her voice strained. “I think I’m in trouble. And it’s far worse than I realized.”       “Is something wrong, my lady?” Tara asked gently.       “They’ll bring breakfast any minute,” Simone added pragmatically.       “No, it’s not that.”       The two handmaidens exchanged a glance.       “Write this down, Simone,” Aurora murmured, pacing toward the window. “‘The plan is cracking with a long, mournful groan before it’s even truly begun.’”       “Wait, my lady… But why?” Tara pressed, concern knitting her brows.       “I have a suspicion,” Simone said carefully, “But I shouldn’t say it aloud.”       “Say it…” Aurora sighed, bracing herself.       “You’ve fallen in love?”       Tara gasped and covered her mouth, horrified by Simone’s boldness.       Aurora froze by the window, her spine stiffening. As always, Simone’s bluntness had struck true, ripping away the veil she’d desperately tried to keep wrapped around her own heart.       “Simone!” Tara scolded, watching Aurora’s face pale.       “And add this, Simone,” Aurora said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “‘The plan didn’t just crack. It shattered into a goddamn thousand pieces the moment he looked at me.’”       She turned to face them, her usual composure fraying at the edges.       “I… I truly don’t know what is that. But it’s stronger than I am. His gaze, his voice… Ah…”       Her shoulders slumped.       “I feel like my armor is crumbling. What can I do?”       She exhaled, voice trembling.       “I came here only to observe Sindersfell, but now I’m losing my head.”