the King's petals

      If only he weren’t a prince… If he were just an ordinary man… Then this would be different.       In her mind, they were already in the other world.       Two horses galloping through sun-dappled woods, kicking up dust as they reached the edge of the southern waterfall, the air cool and sweet with spray.       “Not so hot today! Thank the skies,” Aurora murmured, stroking Veylan’s silken mane. “Good boy, yes you are…”       Then came Xavier’s voice.       “Celeste, mind if I borrow your lady for a moment?”       Before she could react, he swung down from his horse and was at her side. Aurora looked up at him, puzzled until he suddenly scooped her up, hoisting her over his shoulder like a sack of grain.       She shrieked half in shock, half in laughter already guessing his plan.       “No! I don’t have my things!” she protested, squirming as the waterfall’s roar grew louder.       “You won’t need them,” he said, marching toward the water’s edge.       “Xavier!” she cried, using his name.       “I didn’t plan to bathe you in your clothes,” he replied casually, as if discussing the weather.       “Ah, okay, thanks awfully,” she huffed, dangling upside down, her hair brushing the grass.       He gave her backside a light, playful swat.       “Xavier!” she yelped, then pounded his back with a half-hearted fist. “It’s not funny!”       “Toughen up, my lady,” he tossed over his shoulder, grinning.       “Are you kidding me?” she challenged and began kicking her legs wildly, laughing despite herself, heart light as mist in the summer air.       She hadn’t even realized the banquet had ended because she was lost in daydreams of waterfalls and stolen laughter, of a world where anything didn’t matter and a prince could be just a man who carried you into rivers.       She rose on unsteady legs, bowed silently to the assembled court and then froze as His Highness called her name.       “Lady Vale?”       She turned quickly.       “Yes, Your Highness?”       “How are you?” he asked.       “I’m… Ah… I’m fine, I suppose,” she managed. “Though I must admit, I still feel terribly awkward about tonight…”       Xavier stepped closer, just enough to lower his voice further.       “I’ll come for you tomorrow morning.”       She blinked.       “But…”       “I want to spend the entire day with you.”

Sorry?

What?

      Her breath caught.       Did she imagine it? Or maybe she misheard him?       An entire day for the two of them?       Was this… Well… A courtship? A private walk?

A date?

      Okay then.       No?       Or yes?       Her mind spun like a startled bird in a cage. She wanted to protest. It’s too daring, too strange, too much! But to refuse him, especially here in front of everyone, would be unthinkable. So she swallowed her panic and bowed her head.       “I obey, Your Highness.”       She watched as he turned and fell into step behind the King and Queen, his figure disappearing down the candlelit corridor.       Only then did she realize…       He’d worn his hair loose earlier, but now it was tied back in a low tail.              And his doublet was darker than usual, edged in silver thread and was one she’d never seen before.

He dressed for tonight, for the feast and maybe for me?

      The thought hit her like a sunbeam through storm clouds.       And for the first time she didn’t scold herself for noticing. She only smiled.       For the hundredth time since arriving at Cinderfell, maybe the thousandth, Aurora found herself thinking it again.       Xavier is devastatingly, unfairly beautiful.       And tomorrow, he would come for her.       Himself.       To her chambers.       He’d offer his arm, and she’d rest her hand on it. Light, proper, but close enough to feel the warmth of his sleeve, the steady strength beneath. He’d lead her somewhere of his choosing.       But where?       What did he plan?       The thought coiled in her partly fear, partly thrill, part wonder so sharp it ached.       After the banquet, she’d walked back to her room as if through a dream, her legs heavy, her mind racing. The halls felt longer, the silence louder. Simone and Tara were busy with their own tasks, perhaps unpacking herbs, perhaps whispering with servants, and they would likely come later.

“I have to act as if I won’t vanish into smoke the moment he looks at me.”

      She needed a dress. Something elegant but not showy, something that can fit her better.       She needed words, maybe topics to discuss that wouldn’t betray how breathless he made her. Politics? Hunting? The difference between northern and southern honeysuckle? She needed to remember every rule of courtly decorum, every curtsy, every lowered gaze…       Especially now, when the other candidates surely loathed her more than ever.       For example, Elianna.       Aurora couldn’t help the rebellious thought that followed her head.

It would serve her right to be dunked in the courtyard fountain. Thinks far too highly of herself, that one.

      She sighed, running a hand over the smooth fabric of her green riding dress which was still lying where she’d dropped it after the hunt.       Tomorrow wasn’t just a walk. Maybe it was a test. Or a choice. Or a step toward something she’d never dared name.       And for the first time, she wasn’t running from it.

She was getting ready.

      She didn’t need to impress him.       Not when he’d already seen her in every shade of herself. Tear-streaked and trembling after the ravine, feverish and muttering in delirium, furious and sharp-tongued when courtiers sneered, laughing until she couldn’t breathe, silent and distant, lost in memories of home.       He’d witnessed it all. And never once called her improper. Never once looked away.       So what was the point of intricate braids, suffocating corsets, or layers of silk meant to dazzle strangers?       No. She’d wear black.       Black had always been her favorite. Not for mourning but for its quiet power. It reminded her of the night sky over the Southern Lands: so deep, so endless, scattered with stars that watched over her.       Though lately… The stars here seemed fewer. So interesting. As if Sindersfell’s lights had stolen them.       And black suited him, too. She remembered how it sharpened the lines of his face, how it made his eyes glow like twin flames in shadow.       She’d pair the dress with black lace gloves, delicate but strong.       Her mother’s moonstone earrings and the heirloom necklace cool silver against her skin.       Her hair? Mostly loose, wild, as it liked to be, but with the sides gently braided back, just enough to keep it from her round face.       Her favorite shoes were ruined, but she fortunately had another pair.       “How do I look?” Aurora asked, turning slowly before her handmaidens, the black fabric catching the candlelight like liquid night.       “You’re as radiant as ever, my lady!” Simone beamed. “But tell us, please, how was the banquet?”       “I, ahem… I actually don’t remember,” Aurora admitted, frowning slightly.       “You don’t remember?” Tara’s eyes widened.       “No. I was too lost in my own thoughts.”       “About him?” Tara pressed, unrepentant.       “Tara!” Simona jabbed her in the ribs, cheeks flushing.       “Oh, come on! It’s obvious!”       Aurora sighed, her shoulders softening.       “Yes… He said he’s coming for me tomorrow.”       Tara and Simone exchanged a glance. Wide-eyed, breathless, brimming with quiet triumph.       “You’re serious?” Simone whispered.       “And I’m terrified,” Aurora added, lowering her head, fingers nervously smoothing the lace at her wrists. “His Highness… What if I say something foolish? What if I trip? What if I just disappoint* ll him?”       Tara stepped forward and gently lifted Aurora’s chin. L       “My lady, look at you. You faced a boar with a knife and stood your ground before the King himself. A walk with the man who’s been stealing glances at you since day one? That’s really not something to fear.”       Aurora swallowed hard. Then, faintly, she smiled.       “Then I suppose… I’ll just be myself.”       She wouldn’t sleep again tonight. That much was certain.       Her mind spun like a restless wind through the trees: Where will he take me? What if we run out of things to say? Why now? Why a whole day? Why only two of us?       The answer hovered, soft but undeniable.       He wants to know me. Not Lady Vale of the Southern Lands, not the candidate in the selection, but as a girl called Aurora.       She turned to her reflection one last time, the black dress flowing like shadow around her.       “Why black, my lady?” Simone asked gently, fastening the last clasp of the moonstone necklace.       “I don’t know,” Aurora murmured. “It’s a beautiful dress.and I haven’t worn it yet. Do you think je’ll like it?”       Tara, arranging the lace gloves on the dressing table, looked up and smiled.       “He’ll love it, my lady. But not because of the dress.”       Aurora met her eyes in the mirror.       “Then why?”       “Because it’s you,” Simone said softly. “And he’s already in love with that.”       “Try to sleep, my lady. Shall I light some incense?” Tara offered, holding a slender stick of sandalwood.       Aurora shook her head slowly, already sinking to the floor, arms wrapped around her knees.       “I don’t know if it’ll help…”       “You’re nervous again,” Tara observed, kneeling beside her. “None of the others pace like this, you know.”       “Only three of us left now,” Simona added softly. “Lady Camilla left just before dusk. Quietly, with her maids and two trunks.”       “They say His Highness has been generous with every guest,” Tara mused. “Whole chests of gifts like silks, jewels, perfumes…”       “Fabrics and trinkets,” Aurora murmured. “They’ve had those their whole lives.”       Simone studied her mistress carefully.       “But you… you wanted to leave, my lady. If you’d gone, it wouldn’t have pleased His Highness.”       “He made it clear he wouldn’t let me go,” Aurora admitted, her voice low, almost fragile. “But… Should I be glad of that?”       Tara placed a warm hand over hers.       “Listen to your heart, my lady. Not your fears. Not the court. Your heart.”       “We’ll be here at dawn,” Simone promised, “To help you ready yourself before he comes.”       Aurora looked between them. Her friends, her sisters, the only family she had left, and a quiet wave of gratitude washed over her.       “Thank you, girls.”       “For what?” Tara asked.       “For accepting me exactly as I am. Even when I’m stubborn, reckless or terrified.”       Simone smiled.       “My son, your invitation was… astonishingly bold,” the Queen murmured, gently pulling the comb through Xavier’s long hair, strand by strand, as she had when he was a boy.       “She didn’t even seem to notice me,” he replied.       “That’s only how it appears to you.”       Xavier sighed, leaning back slightly into the rhythm of her strokes.       “I don’t understand her. She acts as if she’s afraid of me… But I’ve done nothing to hurt her.”       The Queen paused long enough to choose her words carefully.       “The scouts we sent to the Southern Lands watched her for weeks,” she said softly. “They saw her barefoot in the vineyards, stomping grapes at dawn. They saw her scythe flashing in the hayfields, her hair tied back with twine. They watched her race through the orchards on that mare of hers, laughing as she leapt over fallen logs. They saw her sit with village children in the square, mending torn clothes and telling stories about stars and wolves.”       She resumed combing.       “She has no idea they were there. No idea we already knew her soul before she ever set foot in Sindersfell.”       Xavier was silent for a long moment.       “She doesn’t fear me. She fears being seen as… Less. Less noble. Maybe less polished or less worthy.”       “Then show her,” the Queen said, setting the comb down and placing both hands on his shoulders, “Show her that you don’t love her in spite of who she is but because of something more.”       Xavier closed his eyes.       And for the first time, he understood that his invitation tomorrow wasn’t just a walk.       “What do you plan to do tomorrow?” the Queen asked, watching her son carefully.       “I want to show her the chapel,” Xavier said, “ I also wanted to walk her through the gardens beyond the palace walls…” He hesitated, then met his mother’s eyes with quiet resolve. “And I recently read that red poppies are given to express passion, deep love and loyalty.”       “Red poppies?” The Queen arched a brow, surprised.       “Yes.” He rose and fetched a bouquet wrapped in soft linen from the table by the window. He held it out to her.       A stunning arrangement of crimson poppies, sprigs of lavender, and wild chamomile, tied with a simple black ribbon.       “I had this prepared. I’ve been studying the language of flowers.”       The Queen took the bouquet, her fingers brushing the velvety petals. A slow, knowing smile touched her lips.       “Lavender for devotion,” she murmured. “Chamomile for patience and strength in adversity.” She looked up at him, eyes glistening. “You didn’t just choose pretty blooms, did you?”       “No,” Xavier said softly. “I chose her.”       In that moment, the Queen saw not the Crown Prince of Philos, but the boy who’d once brought her dandelions from the courtyard, convinced they were the rarest treasure.       And now, he was offering his heart in petals and silence.       “Then give them to her with both hands,” she said, returning the bouquet. “She can understand what they mean… You’ve grown so much, my boy.”       Xavier smiled, ducking his head like a boy caught in a moment of unexpected tenderness.       “I don’t know, Mother… Maybe this is what real feeling feels like.”       “She couldn’t take her eyes off you during dinner,” the Queen replied gently.       “She barely ate,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Just a sip of wine and a few strawberries. That’s all.”       He’d watched her.       He’d watched her from the moment she first stepped onto his land.not as a supplicant, not as a guest, but as a ruler in her own right. She is forever a powerful lady of the Southern Lands. She is sun-kissed, unyielding, shaped by eternal summers and scented with wildflowers.       She wasn’t like the others. She didn’t simper, didn’t perform, didn’t mold herself to fit the mold of what a courtly bride should be. And that was precisely why his chest tightened every time she smiled, why he found himself listening for the sound of her boots in the hallway, why he remembered the exact shade of her eyes at dusk.       Tomorrow he would offer her his arm as a man inviting the woman he chose to see his world.       The chapel. The gardens. The riverbank where he’d once carved his initials as a boy.       He wanted her to know his Sindersfell. His Sindersfell is not just the simply gilded halls, but the quiet corners where he’d hidden from duty, dreamed of battle, or simply watched the stars.

She didn’t know it yet. But one day, this land would be hers too.

One day, she would stand beside him not as Lady Vale, but as his Queen.

      But for now?       For now, he simply wanted a day. Just one.       Just the two of them, a bouquet of poppies and the unspoken truth blooming between them like a silent confessions written in petals.       And yes. They still hadn’t practiced slicing apples with swords. But he’d make time for that too. Because if there was one thing he was certain of, it was this. He wanted a lifetime of “tomorrows” with her.       “Write this down, Tara,” Simone said, folding Aurora’s black gloves with meticulous care. “‘Lady again suffering from sleeplessness due to nerves.’”       “Mhm,” Tara hummed, her quill scratching softly across the page.       “I still owe him that apple-slicing lesson,” Aurora murmured, tugging at a loose thread on her sleeve. “But there aren’t any apples left…”       She sighed, then frowned, suddenly struck by a new worry.       “What if black isn’t right for… For a date?”       She’d finally admitted it even if only in the privacy of her own mind. That’s what tomorrow was.

A date.

      And His Highness hadn’t whispered it in secret. He’d announced it openly, in front of the entire court, even the King and Queen!       Oh no, what a shame!       Her cheeks burned anew just thinking about it.       “I think I’ll do two small braids along the sides,” she said, trying to distract herself, “And pin them back with Grandmother’s comb, please. The rest I’ll leave loose.”       “That’ll frame your face beautifully, my lady,” Simone said warmly. “The moonstones will catch the light, and the black will make your skin glow like dawn over the vineyards.”       Aurora closed her eyes, imagining it:       Xavier guiding her through hidden garden paths she’s never seen, pointing out the way the river crashes against the cliffs just beyond the palace walls. Maybe he’ll show her secret passages he used as a boy like crumbling stairwells, sunlit balconies tucked between towers or forgotten courtyards where wildflowers push through cracked stone.       And at some point he’ll offer his arm. She’ll slip her hand into the crook of his elbow. Proper, yes, but close enough to feel the solid warmth of him, the quiet strength in his stance, the way his sleeve brushes her wrist with every step.       Her stomach fluttered.       “Do you think…” she began, “He’ll tell me why he chose me?”       Tara set down her quill and looked at her lady with gentle certainty.       “He won’t need to. You’ll see it in everything he shows you. Because he’ll be showing you his world and inviting you to stay in it.”       “There’s something in the way you carry yourself around him,” Simone said gently, hesitating just a moment before adding, “I don’t mean to overstep, my lady, but it almost seems like you’re a little afraid of him.”       Aurora didn’t answer right away. She stared at her hands, calloused from bowstrings, scraped from stone and branches, and let out a soft, trembling breath.       “Something inside me strongly pulls toward him,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t understand why. It’s like a strange gravity. I can’t fight it, no matter how hard I try.”       She swallowed, eyes glistening.       “And yes… I’ve cried more tears because of him than anyone else in my life. Not from sadness. Well, not only from that. But from this ache? Like my soul recognizes his before my mind can catch up.”       Tara set aside her embroidery and moved closer, placing a warm hand over Aurora’s.       “Maybe that’s what real love feels like, my lady. Not like a joy but maybe a depth. You’re not losing yourself in him. You’re becoming more yourself… Because he really sees you.”       Aurora looked up, eyes shimmering with vulnerability.       “But what if I’m not enough for the life he offers?”       “You already are,” Simone said firmly. “You just haven’t let yourself believe it yet.”