the King's petals

      His Highness rode ahead with Duke Jeremiah, followed by a quiet procession of servants and the remaining young ladies. Among them, Aurora walked beside Celeste, her eyes scanning the forest’s edge with the focus of a scholar and the wonder of a child.       “The honeysuckle here is different,” she mused. “Sweeter, paler… not as bold as ours in the South.”       “Your Highness,” Lady Camilla called out, adjusting her coiffure with a practiced flick of her wrist, “Shall we walk much farther?”       “Patience, fair lady,” the Duke replied with a charming smile.       Xavier said nothing, only gave a small, wry smirk and kept riding.       Aurora, meanwhile, had tied a linen satchel to Celeste’s saddle.       “Hold on, my love, I’ll be quick,” she murmured, stepping off the path and reaching for a low-hanging branch heavy with dark berries.       Just as she plucked a handful, a voice, quiet, close, unmistakable, spoke behind her.       “They’re overripe, my lady.”       Aurora gasped, whirling around so fast she nearly dropped her harvest. There he was…Xavier, having left the procession and standing just an arm’s length away, sunlight dappling his hair.       “You startled me, Your Highness!”       “My apologies,” he said, though his eyes sparkled with quiet amusement. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”       She pressed a hand to her chest, willing her heartbeat to slow.       “You move like a shadow.”       “And you,” he replied, glancing at the berries in her palm, “Gather like a storm.”       Aurora laughed, the tension melting away.       “Only because the forest doesn’t mind if I take a little.”       “Neither do I,” he said softly.       “Who are you planning to hunt, Your Highness?” Aurora asked, brushing a stray leaf from her sleeve.       “Not sure yet,” Xavier replied, scanning the tree line with the ease of someone who knew the woods like his own breath. “Whoever crosses our path. There are foxes here, hares… Even boars have been spotted.”       “Oh!” Her eyes lit up. “And does sea buckthorn grow here too?”       “Yes,” he said, turning to her with a curious tilt of his head. “Do you need some?”       “It’s excellent for healing wounds, Your Highness,” she explained. “The berries, the oil and leaves. Most people use it for everything from cuts to winter coughs.”       Xavier paused, thoughtful.       “There’s a patch not far from here. I’ll show you.”       He didn’t ask if she wanted to go. He simply began walking off the main path.       “What’s your horse’s name, Your Highness?” Aurora asked, glancing at the prince’s imposing black stallion. Muscular, gleaming, with eyes as sharp as his rider’s.       “I don’t know,” Xavier replied absently, stroking the horse’s neck.       Aurora blinked.       “You… don’t know?”       “No,” he said, almost sheepish. “I’ve never given him one.”       She stared at him, incredulous.       “But… he’s your horse. You ride him all the time!”       Xavier shrugged, a faint smile playing at his lips.       “He’s palace-bred. Assigned to me like a set of armor or a sword. I suppose I never thought of him as… His own being.”       Aurora’s expression softened. She reached out and gently touched the stallion’s muzzle. He nuzzled her palm, as if recognizing a kindred spirit.       “That’s not good, Your Highness,” she said softly. “Every creature deserves a name. It means they’re seen. That they matter!”       Xavier watched her, how the horse leaned into her touch, how her fingers moved with instinctive gentleness, and something in his chest tightened.       “Then… what would you name him?” he asked.       Aurora met the stallion’s deep, intelligent eyes.       “Something fierce, but loyal. Veylan, maybe. It means ‘shadow that protects’ in the old Southern tongue.”       Xavier repeated it quietly.       “Veylan…”       “How are you, good boy?” Aurora murmured, scratching Veylan between the ears. “Do you like your new name?”       The stallion gave a soft snort, almost as if in approval.       “See? He agrees!” She grinned, then turned to her own mare, who stood patiently nearby. “This is Celeste. She’s not as dashing as you, big fellow, but she can swim!”       “Swim?” Xavier echoed, eyebrows lifting in genuine surprise.       “It gets so hot in the South,” Aurora explained, her eyes lighting up with memory. “I take her to the lake or the waterfall all the time. She loves it! Dives right in, shakes water everywhere, then trots back like she’s conquered the ocean.”       Xavier chuckled, shaking his head. “The water here is freezing. You’d last three seconds.”       “Your Highness!” Duke Jeremiah’s voice cut through the trees, polite but urgent. “We’ve arrived.”       They both turned. The hunting party had gathered ahead, near a sunlit clearing ringed with brambles and old oaks. The other ladies stood in a neat cluster, their gowns untouched by dirt, their gloves pristine. Lady Elianna shot Aurora a look that could curdle milk.       Lady Elianna approached the prince just as he stood beside Duke Jeremiah. She asked a question and both men exchanged a glance, brows lifting in silent agreement.       “That’s impossible, fair lady,” Jeremiah said firmly.       Lady Elianna forced a smile, but her eyes flashed with frustration. She gestured toward Aurora, her voice laced with false innocence.       “And yet it’s possible for her to pluck flowers from the sacred grounds of Sindersfell without consequence? Why isn’t she punished for such impropriety?”       Aurora instinctively tucked her satchel behind the folds of her green dress, as if she could vanish into the fabric itself.       “I’m truly sorry,” she said quickly, bowing her head. “I meant no disrespect.”       Before Lady Elianna could press further, Xavier spoke.       “Lady Vale asked for my permission before gathering anything. And I granted it. The gifts of nature are not meant to be hoarded or forbidden. They are meant to be used wisely, especially when they bring healing.”       His words hung in the air. Lady Elianna’s smile stiffened. She curtsied, tight-lipped.       “Of course, Your Highness.”       But as she turned away, her whisper slithered through the leaves:

“Enjoy his favor while it lasts.”

      Aurora remained still, heart pounding.       The other girls swirled around the prince like petals caught in a summer breeze. They are aughing too brightly, adjusting their sleeves with deliberate grace, “accidentally” dropping gloves just to have him pick them up. They leaned in when he spoke, tilted their heads just so, let their voices soften into something honeyed and fragile.

All except Aurora.

      Tara had suggested it in a hushed whisper as they prepared that morning:       “You could stumble on a root, so he’d have to catch you. Or say your head aches from the ride… Or that you’re faint with hunger. He’d notice you then, for sure.”       Aurora had shaken her head immediately.       “No. That’s not right… It would feel false. And I doubt he’d even like it.” She’d glanced toward the window where Xavier stood speaking with the hunt master, his profile sharp against the morning light. “Besides… He already knows I’m not one of those ladies.”       Because he’d already seen her at her most real. Barefoot and bleeding, feverish and fierce, laughing with leaves in her hair and dirt on her knees.       So she stood apart.       “Lady Vale, don’t fall behind!” Duke Jeremiah called out, glancing back just as Aurora tucked a cluster of bright yellow celandine blossoms into her satchel.       “I’m coming, Your Grace!” she called, already jogging to catch up, so focused on her herbs that she’d forgotten to lead Celeste properly. The mare snorted and tossed her head in mild protest.       “Sorry, sweet girl, I completely forgot… Oh!”       Aurora froze mid-step.       A low, guttural growl rumbled from the underbrush ahead. Deep, primal, unmistakable.       “Your Highness!” she called sharply, voice cutting through the forest hush. “Your Grace! I hear something… Something dangerous.”       Instantly, Xavier and Jeremiah turned, hands flying to their weapons. The hunting party behind them stilled, the air thick with sudden tension.       From the thicket, eyes gleamed. Amber, watchful, unblinking.

A boar.

      Massive, tusked, muscles coiled beneath bristled hide.       And it was staring straight at her.       Celeste instinctively shifted into battle stance. Ears pinned back, hooves stamping lightly, nostrils flaring as she sensed the threat bearing down on her mistress.       Xavier spun around in one fluid motion, sword already half-drawn. The other ladies gasped, some stumbling backward.       “Lady Aurora, don’t move!” Duke Jeremiah commanded.       She stepped in front of Celeste, shielding her mare with her own body. Shoulders squared, chin high, even as her heart hammered against her ribs.       “I have no weapon…” she whispered.       Her bow was back at the palace. Her hunting knifestill sheathed at her belt… It would be useless against a beast this size. And the satchel full of herbs wouldn’t stop those tusks.       She stood her ground in a green dress, bare-handed, between a wild boar and the only creature who’d carried her through every storm.       From behind her, Xavier’s voice cut through the tension.       “Then stay perfectly still. I’ve got you.”       “I’ve never killed an animal…” Aurora breathed, eyes wide as the boar took another heavy step forward, its snout twitching, tusks glinting in the dappled forest light.       She pressed her back against Celeste, feeling the mare’s tense muscles beneath her. Then, with a soft snort of warning, Veylan surged between them. Xavier’s great black stallion planting himself like a living shield, hooves stamping, mane rippling with defiance.       “Your Highness!” Aurora cried.       Xavier didn’t hesitate. Sword flashing in the sunlight, he lunged forward with a warrior’s grace. Fast, precise, placing himself squarely between the beast and Aurora.       But the boar charged.       Aurora screamed, and in her panic her foot caught on a root. She stumbled backward and fell hard onto the forest floor, the breath knocked from her lungs.       From the ground, she watched in horror as man and beast clashed. Xavier sidestepping a brutal lunge, his blade slicing air. The boar roared, enraged, circling.       “Don’t move!” Jeremiah barked, already nocking an arrow.       But Aurora wasn’t listening.       “Your Highness!” Aurora cried out.       Her father’s warnings flashed in her mind like lightning: “A wounded boar is the most dangerous of all. Never turn your back. Never hesitate.”       In one swift motion, she yanked the hunting knife from her belt. Not to kill, but to protect.       She threw.       The blade spun through the air, glinting gold in the forest light, and buried itself deep in the boar’s flank behind the shoulder, where tendons met muscle.       The beast shrieked, staggering sideways, its charge broken. Blood darkened its bristled hide, and for a heartbeat, it stood trembling, confused, enraged.       That was all Xavier needed.       He lunged forward, sword arcing low and true, and with one clean strike, ended it.       Silence fell, broken only by the heavy panting of horses, the distant rustle of leaves, and Aurora’s ragged breath as she pushed herself up from the damp earth, hands shaking.       Xavier turned to her immediately, his chest heaving, eyes wild with adrenaline and relief.       “Aurora!” He was beside her in three strides, dropping to one knee. “Are you hurt?”       She shook her head, still gripping the empty sheath at her side, her entire body thrumming with the aftershock of survival.       “No,” she whispered. “But… your horse…”       “Veylan’s fine,” he said quickly, glancing back at the stallion, who stood proud and unharmed, ears still alert. “You were brilliant.”       Around them, the hunting party stood frozen. Lady Elianna pale with shock, servants wide-eyed, even Duke Jeremiah looking at Aurora with newfound respect.       She trembled uncontrollably. Shock coursing through her like icy water, and her knee, still tender from the ravine, throbbed with every heartbeat. She tried to rise, but her legs refused to obey.       Xavier was there instantly, his arms firm yet gentle as he helped her to her feet, holding her steady when she swayed.       “Are you alright?” he asked, voice rough with concern.       “I… I didn’t mean to… I truly didn’t want to…” Her voice shattered, breath hitching between words.       “You did exactly what you had to do,” he said firmly, his hands warm on her arms. “You were brave. You were smart. You saved us both.”       “I didn’t want to kill it…” she whispered, tears spilling over. Hot, sudden and unstoppable. She turned her face into his shoulder before she could stop herself, her body shaking with silent sobs. “I never have… I never wanted to…”       Xavier didn’t hesitate. He pulled her gently against him, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other holding her close, as if shielding her not just from the eyes of the court, but from the weight of what she’d just done.       “It’s alright,” he murmured into her hair. “Let it go. You’re safe now.”              “I’ve committed a terrible crime, Your Highness,” Aurora choked out, her voice trembling with guilt and grief. “I’ll accept any punishment you see fit…”       “Don’t you dare say that,” Xavier said firmly, cupping her face in his hands. His thumbs brushed away her tears. “You acted like a true warrior. Like someone who protects what matters.”       He nodded sharply to Jeremiah, who immediately stepped forward with a leather-bound flask.       “Jeremiah, water.”       The Duke handed it over without a word, his usual composed demeanor softened by quiet respect.       “Calm yourself, please,” Xavier murmured, pressing the flask into her shaking hands. “Don’t cry.”       “Thank you, Your Highness,” she whispered, barely able to speak around the lump in her throat. She took a small sip, the cool water steadying her, but her eyes remained kindness and ashamed, even in the midst of his kindness.       But Xavier wouldn’t let her hide.       He gently tilted her chin up until she met his gaze. His eyes are blue as storm-lit sky, holding hers with unshakable certainty.       “You didn’t just survive today, Aurora,” he said, voice low enough that only she could hear. “You saved us again. And I will never forget that.”       The Duke smoothly shifted Xavier’s attention.       “What shall we do with the carcass?”       Xavier didn’t hesitate.       “Order the servants to take it. Roast it for tonight’s supper in honor of Lady Vale.”       The words struck Aurora like a physical blow.

In her honor?

      Her stomach twisted. This wasn’t just gratitude… It was a declaration. Bold, public, unmistakable. The court would see it for what it was: the prince exalting her above all others, not for beauty or birth, but for courage.       Panic fluttered in her chest. She hadn’t come here to be celebrated. She’d come as a guest. Not as a queen-in-waiting.       “No, please, Your Highness… Don’t!” she blurted, her voice too sharp, too earnest. She dropped into a hasty curtsy, head bowed. “It’s not worthy of such honor. I only fulfilled my duty to His and Her Majesties. Nothing more.”       But Xavier simply looked at her and in his eyes, she saw no ceremony, no politics. Only truth.       “Duty?” he said softly, so only she could hear. “Or heart?”       And before she could answer, he turned to the servants with quiet command:       “Prepare the feast.”

“Ah, he’s so stubborn.”

      Arguing with His Highness was never wise. And yet again, she found herself swept along by his will, powerless to stop it. The same pattern…       Aurora walked back with the hunting party in silence, her gaze fixed on the path ahead, no longer registering the whispering glances or the rustle of silk behind her. Not even Lady Beatrice’s unexpected look of quiet sympathy could pierce the fog of shame clouding her thoughts.       They returned to Sindersfell long after the sun had begun its descent, but despite the chaos, Aurora had managed to fill her satchel with rare herbs, mosses and berries. All treasures she planned to send home. Should she tell Grandmother Josephine what happened? The thought made her wince.       No… She’d confide in her friends first.       Back in their chambers, Tara and Simone rushed to her side the moment she stepped through the door.       “That was horrifying, my lady! How are you feeling now?” Simone asked, helping her out of her dusty tunic.       “I’m ashamed,” Aurora whispered, sinking onto the edge of the bed. “Every time I end up failing His Highness in some way.”       “Don’t you dare say that!” Tara exclaimed, kneeling before her. “Not everyone would have thrown a knife to save him! That wasn’t failure, that was valor!”       Aurora swallowed hard.       “He ordered the boar to be roasted… in my honor.”       The words hung in the air.       Tara and Simone froze.       “He didn’t just thank you,” Simone breathed. “He honored you. Publicly. In front of everyone!”       Tara placed a hand over Aurora’s trembling one.       “My lady… This isn’t just kindness. This is choice.”       “The Chosen One? Oh, don’t be ridiculous! What kind of Chosen One am I?” Aurora scoffed.       “It’s more than obvious, my lady,” Simone said gently, brushing the dust from Aurora’s tunic. “Even the servants whisper about it. His Highness doesn’t just like you. And he’s not hiding it.”       Aurora sighed and began untying the ribbons from her braids, letting her long hair fall loose around her shoulders. She stared at the satchel full of forest treasures like leaves, berries or roots, all carefully wrapped.       “What should I write to Grandmother?” she murmured, more to herself than to them. “I want to send her everything I gathered today.”       “Tell her the truth, my lady,” Tara said, arranging the herbs on a clean cloth to dry. “Every word.”       “She’ll be furious…” Aurora winced, remembering her grandmother’s stern face whenever anyone acted recklessly.       “She’ll be furious if you don’t tell her,” Simone corrected softly. “Grandmother Josephine raised you to speak plainlyn and to own your choices, even the hard ones. She won’t scold you for protecting the prince. She’ll scold you if you pretend you didn’t.”       Aurora looked at her two dearest friends, her sisters in all but blood, and finally nodded.       “You’re right.”       She reached for parchment and ink, her hand steadier now. Because if she was going to be honest with anyone…

“Dearest Grandmaaa! I hope everything I’ve sent you will be useful for our people and it may help heal, strengthen, and bless the Southern Lands so they may always flourish! His Highness and Duke Jeremiah took us on a hunt through the royal forest. It’s truly magnificent here… All was well until a fierce boar charged us! Luckily, His Highness acted swiftly to protect everyone! I haven’t made any friends among the other guests. They’re… sharp-tongued and watchful, especially Lady Elianna. She can’t stand the sight of me. But truly, I pay it no mind. How could I compare myself to these noblewomen with their jewelry and manners? I know I’m no peasant, but I still feel like I’m standing on the wrong side of a mirror… Close enough to see the court, but never truly in it. Don’t fret, though. Tara and Simone are with me always, and we’ve grown quite comfortable here. I believe His Highness will soon make his choice. Only four of us remain…. With all my love and stubbornness, Rorie.”

      She handed the satchel and letter to Chancellor Andrew, who gave a small, reassuring nod.       “I’ll see it’s delivered before anything spoils.”       “Thank you for your kindness, Your Excellency,” Aurora said, bowing deeply, already turning to leave.       But the Chancellor gently stopped her with a raised hand.       “I’ve heard quite a bit about what happened in the ravine… And again today in the forest.”       Aurora’s stomach dropped. She straightened, bracing herself.       “I deeply regret my actions,” she said quickly, voice trembling slightly, “And I’m ready to accept any punishment. Even if it means having my hair cut and being locked in darkness without food or water.”       Chancellor Andrew’s expression softened, almost amused.       “That’s not how things are done here, Lady Vale. What you did was not reckless, it was commendable. His Majesty and Her Majesty will both be attending the banquet tonight.”

Oh no… Oh no.

      Panic surged through her like wildfire.       She’d rather face a dozen Wanderers with nothing but a knife than endure the weight of royal eyes upon her, especially his.       “What do I do?” she whispered. “This is unbearable…”       She took a slow breath. Squaring her shoulders, she gave the Chancellor a small, determined nod.       “Thank you for the warning, Your Excellency,” she said, voice steadier now. “I’ll be ready.”       The banquet hall glittered with candlelight and fine silks, every noble face turned toward the high table, but none watched Aurora as intently as the King.       He had not taken his eyes off her since she entered.       Now, as the servants poured wine and the roasted boar was presented, a centerpiece in her honor, the King started to speak.       “Your actions speak clearly, Lady Vale,” he said, his gaze steady, piercing. “They show you are willing to do much… Even everything.”       A hush fell over the table. Even the rustle of gowns stilled.       Aurora rose slowly, her back straight, her hands clasped before her to hide their trembling. She met the King’s eyes without flinching.       “I act only in service to you, Your Majesty,” she said, her voice clear despite the storm inside her. “To ensure Philos never knows danger while I draw breath. If I have failed you in any way… I beg your forgiveness.”       A beat of silence.       Then, to her surprise, the King’s stern expression softened slightly with something far more rare: respect.       “You have not failed us, Lady Vale,” he said. “Quite the opposite.”       And beside him, the Queen gave a small, knowing smile.       At the far end of the table, Xavier watched her. His eyes bright, his chest swelling with quiet pride.       Aurora sat back down, her heart thundering, but for the first time, it wasn’t just from fear.       It was from the terrifying, exhilarating sense that she was no longer merely a guest.