the King's petals

      Aurora’s hair had been braided with care. Two delicate plaits swept back from her temples and secured with her grandmother’s heirloom comb, the rest flowing free down her back like a river of dark silk. Her black dress, simple yet elegant, hugged her frame just so, the corset laced not too tight, allowing her to breathe.       Her lips were stained the faintest rose, her eyes lined with just enough kohl to make their storm-gray depth impossible to ignore.       “You’re nervous again, my lady,” Simone murmured, lighting a stick of calming incense. The sweet, earthy smoke curled toward the ceiling.       “I can’t help it,” Aurora whispered, smoothing her gloves for the tenth time. “He’ll be here any moment.”       It was absurd, really. She’d faced down thw Wanderers without flinching, charged into danger barefoot and unafraid, but now her palms were damp, her heart drumming like a war march.       “It’s the Crown Prince!” she told herself. “Only the heir to the throne, the man who’s seen you feverish, tearful, reckless… And he still chose to come back.”       As if summoned by her thoughts, a soft knock echoed at the door.       And there he stood.       But not in black.

In white.

      A finely tailored white shirt, embroidered along the cuffs with silver thread like morning frost, paired with crisp white trousers. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, perhaps from the morning warmth, perhaps from habit, and his hair was tied back in a neat tail, revealing the clean line of his jaw, the quiet intensity of his sky-blue eyes.       And there was something in his hands.

A bouquet?

      Crimson poppies blazed like embers among sprigs of lavender and clusters of wild chamomile. The very language of his heart, gathered in stems and petals.       Aurora’s breath caught.       He’d come as a man offering flowers with quiet courage.       “Good morning, Lady… Aurora,” Xavier said, stumbling slightly over her name because speaking it without a title still felt new and maybe almost intimate.       “Good morning, Your Highness,” she replied, taking the bouquet with both hands. The petals were soft against her skin, the sweet scent filling the space between them. “These are beautiful! We have poppies like these in the South. Do you mind if I leave them here? They’ll need water.”       “Of course,” he said, watching as she carefully placed the bouquet on the small table by the window. Then his eyes returned to her. Slow, deliberate, tracing the line of her shoulders, the fall of her hair, the quiet strength in her stance. “You look… Breathtaking.”       Black suits her far more than he’d imagined. It didn’t hide her, it honed her like a moonlight on steel.       “You look very handsome too, Your Highness,” Aurora said.       “May I invite you for a walk?” he asked, offering his arm.       She hesitated just a heartbeat but long enough for her pulse to flutter, then slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. The fabric of his sleeve was cool, fine linen, but beneath it, she felt the warmth of his arm, the steady rhythm of his presence.       “Thank you for the flowers, Your Highness,” she said softly as they stepped into the hallway.       “I chose them according to the language of flowers,” he admitted.       “I noticed,” she smiled, glancing up at him. “And I must say, I’m surprised. You’re so attentive to details, Your Highness.”       “Just Xavier,” he corrected gently. Then, after a pause he softly added, “And yes… I pay attention to everything that concerns you.”       “I’m embarrassed again!” Aurora murmured, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks.       “You blush beautifully,” Xavier said, smiling.       As they walked through the palace corridors, every servant they passed bowed deeply, eyes lowered in reverence. Though more than one stole a glance at the striking pair: the tall brunette in black and the fair prince in white. Together, they looked like moonlight meeting dawn.

Too harmonious, too fated to be mere chance.

      Xavier guided her toward the western courtyard, where the palace’s oldest chapel stood, its stone spire piercing the sky.       “Would you like to see Sindersfell from above?” he asked.       “Yes, of course! That sounds wonderful,” Aurora replied, her nervousness momentarily forgotten in her curiosity.       Inside the chapel, a narrow spiral staircase coiled upward into shadow, its steps worn smooth by centuries of footsteps.       Aurora lifted the hem of her dress just enough to climb, but her heels clicked awkwardly against the cool stone. After a few steps, she stumbled slightly.       “Your High…” she began, then caught herself. “Xavier… Ah. I’m sorry. Yes… Xavier. Would you mind waiting? I didn’t quite choose the right shoes for stairs…”       “You want to take them off?” he asked, glancing back.       “If you’ll allow it,” she said, already reaching for the delicate buckles.       “But it’s cold here, Lady Aurora. The stone will chill your feet,” he said, frowning.       “Don’t worry about it, Your…” she stopped herself again, cheeks flaming. “Xavier. Yes. Really, I’ll be fine.”       But before she could argue further, he knelt.       “Let me,” he said simply, and with careful hands he loosened the straps of her shoes himself.       Aurora froze, breath caught in her throat.       This… This! Good heavens! How embarrassing! Oh God! It’s… Too tender.       He rose, holding her shoes in one hand, the other outstretched to steady her.       “Lean on me if you need to,” he said softly. “I won’t let you fall.”       And as she stepped barefoot onto the ancient stairs, her fingers curled around his arm, she realized that it wasn’t just the view she was climbing toward.       It was him. All of him. And she wasn’t afraid to reach.       “This chapel has a special place in Sindersfell,” Xavier said as they reached the top of the winding stairs. He gestured toward the arched window overlooking the kingdom. “From here, you can see the entire palace, the river cutting through the cliffs… And even the ravine.” He glanced at her, voice softening. “It looks so close from up here. And yet you reached me that day so quickly despite the distance.”       “I was too… overwhelmed,” Aurora admitted, her gaze fixed on the distant scar of the ravine against the horizon. “I didn’t think. I just ran.”       “You handled those Wanderers better than half my guard would have,” he said, admiration threading through his words.       She stiffened slightly, her fingers tightening on the stone windowsill.       “To tell the truth… They’ve brought nothing but pain to my family and to my people. Because of them, I…” Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard. “Because of them, I… Sorry.”       “Your parents.” Xavier ends gently, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it from her.       “Four years passed,” she whispered, eyes glistening but dry. “But the wound never closes. I’m still learning how to breathe without them. It all happened so fast… One moment they were planning the harvest festival… But the next…” She trailed off, her throat too tight to continue.       Xavier didn’t reach for her. Not yet. But he stood close. Close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, the quiet strength in his silence.       “I’m so sorry,” he said, the words heavy with genuine sorrow. Not as a prince offering condolences, but as a man who understood loss. Then, he added, “But you became their legacy. And that… is something they would be fiercely proud of. I believe.”       A single tear finally slipped free.       “You’ll say again that the sun shouldn’t hide behind clouds,” Aurora said, a small, wry smile tugging at her lips. “And honestly… I’ve come to like that thought.”       Xavier smiled back, the morning light catching the blue of his eyes. But concern still lingered in his voice.       “Yet I hate seeing you cry. It makes me feel… Responsible.”       “No, no, please don’t!” she said quickly, turning to face him fully. “You have absolutely nothing to do with it. Truly!”       He looked at her then.       “Lady Vale,” he said, “You are one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. I admire you. Deeply.”       Aurora hesitated, then, she said with a soft exhale.       “You can call me Rorie.”       “Rorie?” he tested the name like a new melody. Gentle, unexpected, intimate.       “Yes,” she said, her gaze drifting to the sunlit stones beneath her bare feet. “That’s what Mother and Father called me. To everyone else, I’m ‘the Lady,’ ‘the ruler,. Ah… ‘My lady this,’ ‘My lady that’… But somewhere along the way, I forgot that beneath all that, there’s still just… Rorie. The girl who climbs trees, who cries over poppies, who runs barefoot through chapels and doesn’t care much what the people thinks.” She looked up at him then, eyes clear, unguarded. “And today, for the first time in a long while… She got to be here.”       Xavier didn’t speak right away. He simply reached out and brushed a stray curl from her cheek.       “Then I’m honored,” he said softly, “To know her too.”       “To be honest,” Aurora said, her voice quiet but steady, “Very few people truly know this part of me. Only Grandmother, Tara, Simone and a handful of friends who’ve been with me since I could walk. And somehow… I feel like you could know Rorie too.” She looked out over the river, the cliffs, the distant fields. “Rorie is the one who starts midnight pillow fights with the servants. Who throws festivals so wild half the kingdom shows up just for the music and wine. Who isn’t afraid to look foolish, who cries without shame, and yes…” she added with a spark in her eyes, “She is a girl who will absolutely throw a punch if someone hurts the people she loves.”       Xavier listened, his expression unreadable for a moment.       “Rory is your private name. And I admit… I envy how free you are.”       Aurora turned to him, a flicker of defiance in her gray eyes.       “They’ve tried to kill me. Kidnap me. Force me into a marriage I never wanted. But they picked the wrong girl.” She lifted her chin. “As you can see, Your Highness, I’m still standing. Alive and unbroken.” She hesitated, then added, quieter: “I did want to go home. Really. But surrendering? That’s not a warrior’s path. Yes, the other girls’ words cut deep. Thy called me wild, uncouth, unfit for court. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I don’t know all their rules. But here, with you now… It’s me who’s beside you. Not them.”       Xavier laughed. A warm, shoulder-shaking laugh made her heart stutter. That soft, unguarded sound she’d come to adore.       “People say all sorts of things about me too,” he said, brushing a hand through his hair. “But look around, Lady Vale.” He gestured to the kingdom spread beneath them. “This is my Philos. Not theirs.”       Aurora smiled, slow and knowing.       “Then I suppose it’s a good thing you’re the one choosing who walks beside you in it. But… what will His Majesty and Her Majesty say? Do they even agree with your choice?” Aurora asked.       “They’ve known for a long time,” Xavier replied.       “Really?” her breath hitched.       He reached out and gently touched her shoulder. His hand is warm, steady, anchoring her to the moment.       “I am absolutely serious about choosing you as my wife,” he said, his voice low but unwavering, each word carved with quiet certainty.       A high-pitched hum filled her ears like a distant chime, like the world holding its breath.

Is this a dream?

      “I’ve read countless books,” he continued, stepping closer, his gaze never leaving hers. “Listened to advisors, weighed rumors, heard every opinion under the sun. And none of it matters. Because I’ve already made my first and last choice in this matter.”       Her head spun. The chapel walls seemed to blur. The river below, the wind in the trees, the distant cry of a hawk, everything faded into muffled silence.

This can’t be real.

      He kept speaking about duty, about the future, about trust, but his words slipped past her like echoes through thick glass. All she could feel was the weight of his hand on her shoulder, the intensity in his eyes, the impossible truth radiating from him like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

Xavier chose me.

      “I… I don’t even know what to say to you…” Aurora stammered, feeling as though a bucket of icy river water had just been poured over her head. Shocking, overwhelming, leaving her breathless.       Xavier’s expression softened with regret.       “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said it so suddenly. Forgive me. But I won’t take back my words. Take all the time you need, I won’t rush you.”       She swallowed hard, then, with a quiet, trembling hope, looked up at him.       “Can we… go down to the river afterward? I’d like to know it better.”       He offered her his arm again, but Aurora didn’t take it.       Instead, she stepped forward and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder.       “Xavier…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Saying no to you would break my heart.”       Xavier held her tightly, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other wrapped around her waist, as if he’d been waiting for this moment since the day she first walked into Cinderfell. He breathed in the scent of moonflowers, lavender, and something uniquely her. Sunlight, soil and something like steel.

“This is it,” he thought. “This must be what true feeling is.”

      “Aurora…” he murmured into her hair.       “Xavier,” she repeated, clinging to him like an anchor, tears now flowing freely. “Xavier…”       Gently, he ran his fingers through her long, loose hair, watching the light catch its dark-chestnut waves like liquid amber.       “Look at me,” he said softly.       She pulled back instantly, quickly wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, suddenly self-conscious.       “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… To be so forward. Or to cry on you like this…”       He caught her wrist, stopping her.       “No,” he said. “Don’t hide from me. Not now. Not ever.”       She brushed his hand lightly, almost shyly, and murmured.       “Will you walk me down again?”       Without hesitation, he twined his fingers through hers and gently pulled her closer, until she was just within the circle of his arms, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, the quiet strength in his hold.       “If you don’t mind,” he said, voice soft as twilight, “I’d like to watch the stars with you later. On nights like this, they shine so brightly… it feels as if you could reach up and touch them.”       Aurora leaned into him just slightly, her heart quieting in a way it hadn’t in months.       “You’ve shown me your world,” she said, her voice clear and sure, “And I promise. I’ll take you to mine.”       “Your world is hundreds of kilometers from mine,” Xavier said softly, “But I’d walk twice that distance if it meant seeing you there.”       They descended the chapel stairs slowly, side by side, fingers still loosely entwined, as if neither wanted to be the first to let go.       “You already know a part of my world, Your Highness,” she continued, a hint of a smile returning to her lips. “But one day, I’ll show you all of it properly. There’s a great harvest fair coming soon. Music, dancing, orchards heavy with fruit… roasted meats, wine that tastes like sunlight, and stories that last till dawn.” Her eyes sparkled with remembered joy. “You’ve probably never been to the Southern Lands.”       “I have,” he admitted, surprising her. “Not to your estate, but close. Near the border villages. I saw the citrus groves from a distance… The golden fields at sunset.” He glanced at her, voice dropping lower. “But I’d be honored to see them with you.”       Aurora’s breath caught.       “Only if your mother and father don’t object.”       Meanwhile, word had already spread through the palace like wildfire:       “His Highness had left Lady Vale’s chambers smiling, her hand in his, a bouquet of poppies in her arms.”       “He’d taken her to the chapel tower alone while the rest waited in silence.       The remaining ladies were furious.       Lady Elianna flew into a rage in her chambers, hurling silk slippers and tearing lace from her gloves. She snatched the delicate sketch she’d spent weeks perfecting, a portrait of Xavier on horseback, and thrust it into the flame of her candelabra, watching it curl into ash with blazing eyes.       “How dare that insolent peasant weave her web around him?!” she hissed. “She doesn’t even know how to curtsy properly!”       Lady Beatrice said nothing. She simply packed her trunks in silence, refused the farewell gifts from the royal treasury, and left Cinderfell before dawn. Her departure was so quiet, it was as if she’d never been there at all.       Lady Sophia had been dismissed by Duke Jeremiah several days earlier after a particularly bold and clumsy attempt to seduce him using what could only be described as “Every possible and some impossible method.”       It had left the Duke thoroughly unimpressed.       “Unlike that uncouth peasant,” Sophia had said, trying to brush her fingers against his hand, “At least I know how to read and write, Your Grace.”       “Speaking ill of others is unbecoming, my fair lady,” Jeremiah had replied smoothly, tucking his hand behind his back. “And rather unkind.”       Just then, Tara appeared at the end of the corridor, clutching a basket of herbs and searching for the Duke. She froze mid-step when she saw him smiling at Lady Sophia, only to realize with quiet relief that his smile was already fading as soon as he spotted her.       “There you are!” Jeremiah’s face brightened genuinely. He strode toward Tara, taking the basket from her hands with a warm nod. “Thank you for this.” Then, politely but firmly, he turned back to Sophia. “We’ll speak another time, Lady Sophia.”       “What nonsense!” she cried, scandalized. “You can’t just walk away and leave me here!”       “You know the way,” he said simply and then added with a playful wink to Tara, “Come, let’s see what’s in this basket.”       Sofia stamped her foot in fury and stormed off toward her chambers, her silk skirts flouncing like offended peacock feathers.       “How do you do that, Your Grace?” Tara asked, smiling as they walked side by side.       “Nothing difficult about it, I assure you,” Jeremiah replied with a chuckle.       “She turned as red as a tomato!” Tara laughed.       “A tomato?” The Duke’s eyebrows lifted in delight. “I’d never have thought of that!”       Tara ducked her head, cheeks flushing slightly at her own bold choice of words.       “May I go to the kitchens?” she asked, glancing ahead. “They’re short on hands today.”       “Of course, Tara, go ahead. And thank you for coming so quickly. I didn’t mean to pull you from your duties.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, gleaming object. “Ah, yes. This is for you.”       Tara’s breath caught.       It was a metal disc, perfectly round, etched with ancient runes.       “A runic circle…” she whispered in awe. “For me?”       “For you,” he confirmed, pressing it into her palm. “I bought it from a trader in the eastern market. The moment I saw it, I thought of you.”       “But Your Grace… It’s far too expensive! I can’t possibly accept it!”       “Then you’ll wound me deeply,” he said, eyes twinkling.       Tara clutched the circle to her chest, eyes shining.       “Thank you… Truly. Thank you!”       And as she hurried off toward the kitchens, the rune warm against her skin, she couldn’t help but think:       “Even the Duke sees us not just as servants, but as people worth remembering.”       And somewhere behind her, Jeremiah watched her go, smiling quietly to himself, already wondering what rare trinket he might find next that would make her eyes light up like that again.       At that very moment, Chancellor Andrew sat in his sunlit office, dictating a formal decree to Simona, who stood poised with quill in hand.       “You have beautiful handwriting,” he remarked, watching the elegant curve of her letters.       “Thank you, Your Excellency,” she replied, not looking up, focused on the careful stroke of the pen.       “‘Given the above,” he continued, voice calm and measured, “‘The Council has concluded that the complaint shall be dismissed without recourse.’”       Simone’s hand moved steadily across the parchment, ink flowing like disciplined thought.       Then, unexpectedly, Andrew shifted and spoke in the Southern dialect, soft and familiar, like a breeze from home:       “You’re doing wonderfully. I’d very much like you to be my assistant. But alas…”       Simone froze, quill hovering mid-air.       “That honors me deeply, Your Excellency!” she said, cheeks warming.       “Nonsense,” he said gently, and reached over to replace her inkwell with a fresh one. “You’re intelligent, composed and precise. Your talents deserve to be used where they’ll truly matter.”       He paused, then added, still in their shared tongue, “The kingdom needs minds like yours. Not just in a lady’s chamber, but in its halls of power.”       Simone lowered her gaze, but her heart swelled.       No one outside the Southern Lands had ever spoken to her like this. Not as a mere attendant, but as someone seen.       She dipped her quill again, her strokes now just a little steadier, her resolve a little stronger.       Xavier offered to Aurora his hand again, and together they walked toward the small fleet of rowboats moored at the river’s edge, their hulls gently rocking in the current.       “Here, one can truly admire the beauty of nature,” Aurora said softly, gazing across the water where sunlight fractured into golden shards on the rippling surface.       “Everything is so different in your lands,” Xavier replied, his voice thoughtful.       “You too…” she turned to look at him, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’re… different.”       He studied her, curious.       “Different how?”       “When I first saw you,” she admitted, her voice low and honest, “I thought that you must wish to live another life. One without all this weight. Without the endless duty, the watchful eyes, the expectations pressing down on you like stone.”       She paused, then added with quiet certainty.       “Believe me, I know that feeling well. And the woman I am now at twenty-three isn’t so different from the girl I was at nineteen, the one suddenly left with an estate, a grieving people, and a mountain of responsibilities… when all she really wanted was to slice apples midair, gather wildflowers, and throw darts just for the joy of it.”       Xavier was silent for a long moment. The river murmured beside them, wind stirring the willow branches overhead. Then he reached for her hand.       “You’re right,” he said. “I am tired of it all. But meeting you… It’s like finding a patch of sunlight in a room I didn’t even know was dark.”       He stepped closer.

“Maybe I don’t need a different life, Rorie. Maybe I just needed you in this one.”

      “Sometimes I imagined you as a villager in the South,” Aurora said, her voice soft with daydreaming. “You’d race down dusty lanes playing tag or leapfrog with the children. You’d build a mountain of hay just to climb to the top and shout silly, made-up words at the sky. You’d stomp grapes barefoot, listen to the elders’ stories by the fire, and laugh so loud the whole valley would hear you.”       Xavier’s eyes grew distant, touched by the picture she painted. A life unburdened, simple, alive.       “In every campaign I’ve ever led,” he replied, “I’ve stopped to watch the wildflowers bloom along the trail. I’ve stood by rivers at dawn just to hear them speak. I’ve run my hands through tall grass that swayed like waves and in those moments, I felt like myself. Not the future king. Just a man who belongs to the earth like everyone else.”       He glanced at her, a quiet truth in his voice.       “I’ve never loved courtly gatherings or endless councils the way I love riding patrols with Veylan when sleep won’t come. There’s peace in the rhythm of hooves, in the silence between stars.”       Aurora smiled, thinking of her own mare.       “Celeste and I have seen our share of danger too. She’s been wounded, poisoned, even stolen! But she always fought her way back. Because she’s not just a horse…” her voice softened. “She’s mine. And I’m hers.”       Xavier reached for her hand, weaving their fingers together as they stood at the riverbank.       Two warriors, two souls shaped by duty, yet yearning for the same thing. A place where they could simply be.       “And now,” he said, “I’ve found someone who understands that silence… And that wild, unguarded joy.”       Aurora leaned into him, the river singing beside them, the sun warm on their shoulders.       “Then let’s build a world,” she whispered, “Where princes stomp grapes and ladies climb hay mountains… And no one has to choose between duty and laughter.”