the King's petals

      “Maybe you will change your mind yet?” Tara asked gently, her fingers working the tension from Aurora’s shoulders.       For days now, her lady had barely spoken, barely left her chambers. The fire that once lit her steps had dimmed. She moved like a shadow of herself. Distant, hollow, as if her spirit had already galloped far ahead, back to sun-drenched fields and open skies.       “Please, my lady,” Tara pressed, voice soft as a lullaby, “Tell me what’s in your heart. Don’t keep it locked inside… You’re only hurting yourself more. I’m here. Always.”       A single tear slipped down Aurora’s cheek and fell onto the silk of her sleeve.       “Tell me why are you so sorrowful?” Tara asked, her voice trembling with concern.       “My soul won’t quiet itself, Tara,” Aurora whispered, staring at her hands folded in her lap. “I feel it deeply. I shouldn’t stay here any longer. We must leave quietly. Don’t tell anyone. Though…” She gave a faint, bitter smile. “No one will even notice we’re gone. You’ve seen it yourself. Five or six carriages have already departed.”       “But everything was so good in the garden, my lady,” Tara insisted gently. “His Highness…”       “His Highness,” Aurora cut in, her voice barely above a breath, “Is someone I was never meant to know.”       Tara shook her head, eyes glistening.       “Don’t say that…”       “It’s only right to return to my duties,” Aurora said, her voice flat but resolute.       “But the people in south are proud of you,” Tara insisted.       “They’ll be proud of me when I’m back home working, not lingering in this palace like some idle ornament!” Aurora shot back, the old fire flickering in her voice for the first time in days.       “But what about His Highness?”       “He’s drowning in attention,” she snapped, rising abruptly from the floor where she’d been curled up. The same way she’d sat as a child when storms rolled in over the hills. She strode to the window. The sun was sinking, painting the sky in amber and violet. “He doesn’t need anything from me.”       “Don’t say that…” Tara whispered, turning to face her.       Suddenly, the doors burst open.       Simone stumbled in, pale as parchment, hands trembling.       “My lady… The Wanderers… His Highness…”       “What?” Aurora’s breath caught.       “No… Oh no!” Tara gasped.       “Tracks were found near the ravine —the very place we passed on our way here…”       “Where is he?” Aurora demanded, already moving.       “My lady, where are you going?!”       But Aurora was already gone out the door like a shot, knocking over a startled servant and nearly bowling over Lady Camilla in the hallway.       “My lady!” the handmaidens cried, sprinting after her, but Aurora had vanished down the corridor, a blur of green fabric and desperation.       She didn’t remember running down the grand staircase. She didn’t remember how she reached the stables or how she’d untethered the horse herself. All she knew was rage. White-hot and sharpened by fear.       Thankfully, the ravine wasn’t so far. And the sky still held enough twilight for her to follow the trail.       She knew the danger.       The sun sets in the west. She would ride hard. And she would find him before the shadows did.       When Aurora reached the edge of the ravine, she heard the sharp clash of steel.

Xavier?

      Twilight still clung to the sky, casting long blue shadows, but it was enough to see. She sprinted toward the sound, leaving her horse to graze quietly below. The noise came from the old suspension bridge. Rusted chains, splintered planks, clearly abandoned for years.

And there he was.

      Xavier stood on the narrow span, back straight, sword in hand, surrounded by three Wanderers. They circled him like wolves, eyes glinting in the fading light.       “Your Highness!” she shouted.       He turned at the sound of her voice just for a second, but it was enough. One of the Wanderers lunged, sensing the opening.       Then a sharp thwip cut through the air.       An arrow struck the attacker square in the forehead. The Wanderer crumpled instantly, toppling over the side of the bridge into the gorge below.       Aurora stood at the cliff’s edge, bow already nocked with a second arrow, eyes blazing.       “What are you staring at? Haven’t been shot at in a while, you stupid assholes?” Aurora snapped, already releasing another arrow. It whistled through the air and struck the second Wanderer in the thigh. It howled, lost its balance, and tumbled over the edge of the swaying bridge, vanishing into the chasm below.       “What are you doing here?” Xavier’s voice cut through the chaos.       “That’s my question!” she shot back. In one fluid motion, she snatched the sword from his hand and slashed the frayed support rope on the near side of the bridge.       The entire structure lurched violently, planks groaning, chains shrieking in protest.       “Run!” Xavier yelled.       He grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward, sprinting across the trembling bridge as the remaining Wanderer scrambled back in panic. Behind them, wood splintered, ropes snapped, and the bridge began to collapse section by section into the roaring darkness below.       They barely made it to solid ground before the last plank gave way with a final, echoing crack.       Gasping for breath, Xavier spun toward her, still gripping her hand.       “Lady Aurora!” Xavier’s voice tightened as he spotted the deep gash on her foot.       “Nothing serious, Your Highness. Just landed badly,” she muttered, eyes fixed on the treeline, refusing to meet his gaze.       “Why are you even here?”       “I’m not answering that.”       “You shouldn’t have been anywhere near this place. How did you find the ravine?”       “By the sun. It’s not exactly difficult.”       “Who told you?”       “You ask too many questions, Your Highness,” she snapped, tugging the hem of her torn dress over her scraped knees. “I doubt your parents will be pleased by your little adventure.”       “They’ll be far less pleased that I endangered you,” he said fiercely.       Aurora flinched.       “Doesn’t matter. I wasn’t planning to stay anyway,” she blurted, then froze. “Oh.”       The words hung between them, sharp and sudden, like a snapped bowstring.       Xavier stared at her, stunned.       “You… weren’t going to stay?”       She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her throat had closed tight, and for the first time that evening, she looked at him — really looked — and saw the flicker of something raw in his eyes that had nothing to do with battle.       And everything to do with loss.       “Why…?” Xavier pressed, his eyes locked onto hers. He wasn’t letting her go this time.

What could she say?

      Because I hate this palace, but I can’t stop thinking about you?       Because every time you look at me, I forget how to breathe but I also remember exactly how far apart we really are?       Aurora dropped her gaze. She knew him well enough by now to know he’d corner her until the truth bled out.       “I’m not worthy of you,” she whispered.       “Why?”       His voice was calm, but beneath it, something coiled tight.       “It’ll be better if I just leave quietly. As if I’d never come at all.”       “Why?” he asked again, each repetition heavier than the last.       He looked composed. Face unreadable, posture steady, but the air around them had gone sharp, charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.       Aurora swallowed hard.       “I’m sorry about the bridge. I’ll have it rebuilt as soon as possible.”       “You still haven’t answered my question,” Xavier replied.       “What do you want me to say? Just… let me go.”       “Why?”       His tone grated against her nerves. Too controlled but also too demanding. This wasn’t the quiet prince from the garden, laughing as his arrow missed the target. This was the heir to the throne, and he was cornering her like a fugitive.       This isn’t what she expected. Not this at all.       “Do you want the truth?” she asked, finally meeting his eyes.       “Absolutely.”       “You’re a wonderful man,” she said, voice trembling only slightly. “Kind, brave, more than anyone here.”       “Then why?” he pressed, stepping closer.       Aurora looked past him toward the distant silhouette of Sindersfell, its towers sharp against the violet dusk.       “Because here I feel like I’m in a cage. It’ll be better if we go back home with my girls,” Aurora said, her voice low but firm.       “I can’t let you go,” Xavier replied instantly.       She turned to face him fully now, searching his eyes. Had she angered him? Or was it something deeper? Something raw and aching beneath the surface? They were both wound tight, strung like bowstrings pulled to the breaking point.       “That’s not fair,” he said at last, the words quiet but heavy. “Where’s your horse?”       “Near the cage…”       He wasn’t backing down. She could see it in the set of his jaw, the fire in his gaze.       No. He wouldn’t let her slip away. Not this time.       Just then, a sudden shiver ran through her, and she sneezed softly. Of course. She was standing in nothing but a thin dress, scratched in evening chill.       “I’ll see you wrapped properly, Lady Vale,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.       The conversation had unraveled.       Without waiting for her reply, he shrugged off his dark cloak, took her gently by the arm and draped it over her shoulders. The fabric still held the warmth of his body, and it smelled faintly of leather, steel, and something like cedar.       “I… I can manage on my own,” she began.       “This isn’t a request,” he said firmly. “It’s an order.”       Disobeying him while he was like this — tense, stern, brimming with quiet fury — would only make things worse. So she pulled the cloak tighter around herself, heart pounding at the intimacy of it. His scent woven into the fabric, his warmth still lingering against her skin.       “I obey, Your Highness…” she murmured, then sneezed again. “Sorry.”       “Bless you,” he said, voice softer now, though his eyes remained watchful.       They walked down the slope together in silence, the ravine whispering around them. At the bottom, her mare grazed peacefully on the sparse grass, reins trailing loosely on the ground.       “This is Celeste,” Aurora said, her voice warming for the first time in hours. “She’s helped and saved me more times than I can count.”       “A mare?” Xavier asked.       “Yes.” Aurora stepped forward, stroking Celeste behind the ears. “Are you tired, my pookie?” she cooed, pressing her forehead briefly to the horse’s warm neck. “No more rushing. You did brilliantly.”       The horse nickered softly, nudging her shoulder as if in reply.       Xavier watched them — the warrior, the woman, and her faithful companion — bathed in twilight, wrapped in his cloak and bruised, yet unbent.       And for the first time since she’d spoken of leaving, something in his chest loosened.       Maybe she could stay if only he found the right words to keep her.

He’d never met a girl like her.

      The ones at court were nothing like this. They spoke in riddles and curtsied until their knees ached, but they never saw him. Not really.

Aurora did.

      And he was beginning to understand: her calm was a mask. Beneath it burned something fierce, stubborn, unyielding… Just like him. Perhaps that was exactly what he needed.       “May I ask you something?” Aurora said tentatively, still stroking Celeste’s mane.       “Yes.”       “How did you know the Wanderers were here?”       “A patrol spotted their tracks,” he explained. “They’d taken shelter in a cave after their ambush was repelled on the road. But I know their patterns. They always move toward warmth when the nights grow cold.”       “The Southern Lands,” Aurora sighed. “Even the children carry knives there. I started throwing daggers when I was seven… maybe eight.”       Xavier looked at her and in that moment he understood that dhe wasn’t just his equal.

She was his match.

      “How will you explain what happened to your parents?” she asked as they walked back toward the palace, their footsteps quiet on the moonlit path. The night sky here wasn’t as deep and star-drenched as in the South.       “You won’t be punished,” he said firmly.       “I’ll protect you,” she replied without hesitation.       Her knee burned where she’d scraped it raw, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she adjusted the quiver strapped to Celeste’s saddle.       “Are you warm enough?” Xavier asked, glancing at her wrapped in his cloak.       “Yes,” she answered softly. “Thank you. ’ll return your cloak once we reach the gates.”       If anyone saw her like this — hair half-loose, one shoe missing its clasp, blood drying on her knee — they’d have more than enough to whisper about.       “Don’t be absurd. You’ll catch a chill”.       And to tell the truth… Breathing in the scent of his cloak felt like a luxury she shouldn’t be allowed. Was this care? Or just courtesy?       They reached Sindersfell slowly, the river roaring as it always did, the palace standing tall and silent against the night.       “I’ll take responsibility for the bridge repairs, Your Highness,” she said.       “Forget it,” he replied, studying her tense posture, the way she winced when she thought he wasn’t looking. “Thank you… For not hesitating to come to my aid.”       “It’s my duty to His Majesty”.       “I’m deeply grateful, Lady Aurora,” he said, softer now. “And… Forgive me if I was rude with you earlier.”       “It’s you who should forgive me,” she answered quickly. “I ought to behave more appropriately.”       They left Celeste with the grooms, who stared wide-eyed as the Southern girl vaulted over the stable fence and found her own mare in seconds.       “My apologies for the disturbance,” Aurora said with a hurried curtsy. “It was necessary.”       But as she straightened, her knee disturbed her more, and she gasped.       “Oh… my leg…”       Before she could protest, Xavier swept her into his arms and carried her through the palace entrance.       Gasps and hurried footsteps followed. Servants appeared from every corridor — maids clutching linens, guards stiffening in place, chamberlains frozen mid-step. All staring at the prince holding a barefoot, bloodied girl wrapped in his own cloak, her face is almost pale.       “Your Highness!” gasped the servants.       “Send for the physician to Lady Vale’s chambers. ”       “At once, Your Highness!”       “What a shame…” Aurora began, her voice faint.       “Just a little longer. We’re almost there,” he said, tightening his hold.       “Your cloak…”       “Not now.”       The doors to her suite swung open at his approach. Gently, he laid her down on the bed. Her dress had ridden up in the chaos, revealing her legs… Strong, scraped, marked with fresh wounds. Beautiful, not in the way court ladies were admired, but still attractive.       She must have stumbled in those heels across the rocky slope, chasing danger just to reach him.

He didn’t look away.

He wouldn’t.

      For a second, the world narrowed to her breath, his hands, still trembling slightly from battle.

And the silent understanding that neither of them could pretend anymore.

      Simone and Tara burst into the room, breathless and wide-eyed, but the moment they saw the prince standing by the bed, they slowed at once, moving quietly to their lady’s side. They bowed deeply to His Highness.       Xavier hadn’t let go of Aurora’s hand. Her fingers were cold and he held them as if he could warm her with his grip alone.       “She needs water,” he said, “And her leg must be cleaned and bandaged.”       Tara nodded swiftly and turned toward the sink, already pouring water into a porcelain cup. Simone knelt by the bed, gently lifting the blanket to inspect the wound, her expression tight with worry.       Xavier finally released Aurora’s hand only to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead, his touch feather-light.       “Don’t you dare to leave me now,” he murmured, so softly only she could hear. “Not after all that.”       Aurora heard every word. Every rustle of cloth, every sigh of the physician, every hushed instruction, but it was as if she were listening through water. Her body was there, her eyes half-lidded, but her mind drifted somewhere between exhaustion and shock. She hadn’t truly slept since the moment she’d heard the news of the Wanderers. The adrenaline had carried her through the ravine, through the fight, through the walk back… but now, it was gone.       “The wound is quite deep,” the physician said as he finished cleaning the gash on her knee. “It will take time to heal. She must stay in bed, and the bandages need changing every few hours. If fever sets in…”       He placed a small vial of dark liquid and a packet of herbs on the nightstand.       “These will help bring it down.”       “Thank you, sir,” Simone said, bowing deeply.       Tara pressed a cool, damp cloth to Aurora’s forehead, whispering softly,       “You’re safe now, my lady. Rest.”       But even in this stillness, Aurora’s fingers twitched against the sheets as if still reaching for a hand that had just let go.

His hand.