the King's petals

      “Petals in a whirlwind. Your laughter, lighter than wind, echoes in my heart,” Xavier murmured as they neared the palace gates, the words spilling from him like a quiet confession.       Aurora smiled, warmth blooming in her chest, and yes, in doubles that familiar and sweet fluster rising in her cheeks. Such devoted attention was flattering… Almost too much to believe.       Maybe this is all a dream, she thought. Maybe I’m still feverish, still lying in my bed, imagining that the future king chose me…

Me, with my rough hands and wild heart as his Queen Consort.

      Imagining he kissed my forehead like a ritual. Imagining he sees me… Truly sees me.       But his hand was warm in hers. The stone beneath her feet was real. And his next words grounded her completely.       “I wish to ask my mother and father for their blessing,” Xavier said, turning to her with quiet resolve. “Allow me to escort you to them.”       “I obey, Your Highness,” she replied, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest.

Of course she was nervous.

      No, his parents didn’t seem cold or fearsome. Quite the opposite. They’d raised a son who valued courage over courtesies, who saw worth in honesty, who carried kindness like a second sword. That spoke volumes.       As they walked down the grand corridor, something new happened.       Servants paused mid-step. Maids curtsied, guards bowed, stewards stepped aside with lowered eyes deeper than protocol demanded, warmer than duty required.       “Don’t need to,” Xavier said firmly, his tone gentle but commanding. “Go about your work. There’s no need for that.”       But Aurora understood.       They weren’t just bowing to the Crown Prince.       They were bowing to her. To the Chosen One. To the woman walking beside the crown prince, the one who’d faced boars and Wanderers, who’d made Xavier a real man.       The King and Queen sat by the hearth in the royal study, firelight dancing across the parchment-strewn desk, their heads bent in quiet consultation over a stack of sealed reports. The room was warm with woodsmoke and the soft rustle of turning pages.       The door opened.       First came Xavier, stepping inside with the calm grace of a man who had already made his choice. He bowed deeply, formal, yet intimate, as only a son before his parents could be.       Aurora followed, her black dress whispering against the marble floor, the moonstones at her throat catching the firelight like captured stars. She dipped into a flawless curtsy, head lowered, hands folded. A portrait of composure, though her heart thundered like war drums in her chest.       “Mother, Father,” Xavier said, his voice clear and resolute. “We’re here.”       The King set down his quill. The Queen lifted her gaze and in that single look Aurora saw not judgment, but something far more profound. Maybe, a recognition?

They’d been waiting.

      “If it’s not too much trouble,” Xavier began, “We’d like to ask for your attention.”       “We are your parents,” the King replied, setting aside his papers with deliberate calm. “And we’ve never stopped paying attention to you. What brings you both here today?”       Aurora kept her eyes lowered. Protocol demanded it. Respect required it. And yet her pulse roared in her ears like a battle charge.       “We’ve come to ask for your blessing,” Xavier said, his words clear, unwavering. “If you would grant it.”       The Queen rose without a word. Her silk skirts whispered against the floor as she stepped forward, stopping just before Aurora. Gently, she lifted a hand.       “Look at me.”       Aurora lifted her head.       The Queen studied her, the gray eyes, the quiet strength in her jaw, the faint scars on her hands that spoke of a life lived fiercely.       “To be the Chosen One is not a small burden,” the Queen said, her voice soft but firm. “But I have no doubt you will bear it with honor.”       “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Aurora murmured, bowing again, deeply.       The King leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, but his gaze held no judgment, only measured approval.       “Wearing a crown isn’t the same as wielding a blade,” he said. “But my son didn’t choose a porcelain doll. He chose an equal. A woman who would lay down her life for her people. That is the kind of strength that will make Philos not just prosperous, but unbreakable.”       Aurora met his eyes now, her voice steady as steel.       “I will serve Philos for as long as I can breath, Your Majesty.”       A faint smile touched the King’s lips.       “Your father… He turned a forgotten village into a thriving region. Several estates so rich, they nearly rival Sindersfell itself. I knew your parents well.” His expression softened, just slightly. “They raised a daughter worthy of their legacy and worthy of this throne.”       Tears pricked Aurora’s eyes, but she held them back.       “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she whispered, her voice thick with gratitude.       “I bless you,” the King said, his voice resonant with quiet authority.       Xavier turned instantly to Aurora and took both her hands in his. Warm, sure, as if anchoring them both to this moment forever.       “And I bless you, my children,” the Queen added, her eyes glistening with unshed tears of her own.       Aurora looked up at Xavier, her breath catching. The weight of everything, years of grief, courage, solitude, and now this… It pressed against her chest like a tide. She blinked rapidly, fighting back tears.       “Rorie… what is it?” he murmured, his voice low and tender, meant only for her.       “I’m sorry,” she whispered back, her voice trembling. “I’m just… Overwhelmed.”       The King rose from his seat, a faint, knowing smile on his lips.       “Go further, children. There is much to do now and even more to prepare for.”       “Thank you… Thank you!” Xavier said, his voice thick with emotion as he squeezed Aurora’s hands tighter, as if afraid she might vanish like mist at dawn.       And then they turned together walking out of the royal study not as prince and candidate, but as partners, as equals, as the future King and Queen of Philos.       Behind them, the fire crackled softly in the hearth, and the King placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder.       “She’s everything we hoped for,” he said quietly.       The Queen smiled, watching the door through which they’d disappeared.       “No,” she corrected gently. “She’s everything he needed.”       “I’ll walk you to your chambers, Lady Vale,” Xavier said, offering his arm. “You should rest.”       “Probably no one’s there,” Aurora mused. “Tara and Simone are likely still busy.”       “Dinner will be soon,” he replied with a knowing smile. “And I’d wager your friends are still in the kitchens. The head cook hasn’t stopped praising them all day!”       “Oh, absolutely!” Aurora laughed. “With their energy they belong nowhere but the kitchen.”       She glanced toward the corridor leading to the service wing, a playful glint in her eye.       “Did you know that it was always possible to sneak into the kitchens?” Xavier’s grin turned mischievous. “Because I could swipe a few sweets for us just like when I was a boy.”       “Sweets?” Aurora raised an eyebrow, amused.       “Of course! What else would a princely thief steal?”       She chuckled.       “I used to give sweets away as a child. We’d gather in the village square, sit in a big circle on the ground, and eat them all together. Dozens of us, sticky-fingered and laughing.”       Xavier’s eyes lit up.       “Jeremiah and I built stone forts in the courtyard! We stacked them like castles!”       “We made sand ones!” Aurora countered, grinning. “Big enough to crawl inside! Though they never lasted past the first rain.”       The prince slipped into the kitchens with the silent grace of a boy who’d done this a hundred times before. But only now, he tugged his Chosen One behind him, eyes gleaming with mischief.       He pointed to a gleaming crystal bowl perched on the high counter which was overflowing with candied citrus peels, rose petals crystallized in sugar, and golden quince slices glistening like jewels.       “Your Highness,” Aurora whispered, scandalized, “You’re not actually going to…”       But before she could finish, a clatter of pots and a chorus of delighted gasps erupted.       “His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Xavier!” a scullion cried, nearly dropping a tray of bread.       The entire kitchen froze, then broke into joyful chaos. Cooks grinned, maids curtseyed mid-stir, and a line cook nearly set his sleeve on fire from turning too fast.       Aurora stood bewildered, caught between good manners and panic just as Xavier snatched a generous handful of candied treats and tossed them toward her like a prize.       “Here, Lady Vale!”       “Your Highness, this is highly improper!” she hissed, flustered, scrambling to catch the sugary cascade before it hit the floor.       “I hear everything!” boomed the unmistakable voice of the head chef from the pantry doorway, arms crossed, flour-dusted apron tied tight but his eyes sparkled with barely concealed amusement.       Xavier froze, caught red-handed, arms mid-air, face the picture of princely guilt.       Aurora covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. Half mortified, half enchanted.       The kitchen held its breath.       Then the head chef sighed dramatically, shaking his head.       “Take the whole bowl. But only if Lady Vale promises to bring her handmaidens back tomorrow. We can’t manage without them.”       Xavier, relieved, bowed.       “A fair trade, Master Cook.”       From the far end of the kitchen, through a haze of steam and the scent of rosemary, Tara and Simone appeared. Cheeks flushed from the hearth’s heat, sleeves rolled up, hands dusted with flour.       “My lady!” Simone called out, relief brightening her face.       But the moment they saw the prince, both girls instantly dropped into deep, perfectly timed curtsies, foreheads nearly brushing their knees.       Xavier waved a hand, his usual ease returning.       “No need for that.”       The head cook stepped forward, wiping his hands on his apron, and gave a knowing look at the prince.       “Your lady is under reliable protection now. Though…” he added with a wry smile, “But to me, this ‘protector’ will always be the little rascal who stole my ginger tarts at age seven.”       Aurora couldn’t help it. She laughed, the sound warm and bright, echoing softly off the stone walls.       Xavier shot the cook a mock-offended look.       “I returned the plate…”       “Yes, but it was empty,” the cook retorted.       Tara and Simone exchanged glances, their eyes dancing with quiet joy. They’d never seen their lady like this. Lighter, freer, smiling without shadows in her eyes.       Dinner would be ready soon, so there was just enough time to sneak away with their pilfered treasures clutched like contraband.       “Have you ever tried catching food in your mouth?” Xavier asked, plucking a candied violet from the bowl with theatrical flourish.       Aurora smirked, the ghost of childhood mischief dancing in her eyes.       “Only berries, maybe. When we were harvesting.”       “Well then,” he said, “Let’s test your skill.”       Before she could protest, he flicked the sugar-dusted violet into the air.       “Xavier…” she started, torn between scandal and sheer amusement. “This is so undignified and absolutely hilarious…”       The violet arced. Then, with perfect comedic timing, it smacked him right in the eye.       Aurora burst out laughing, hand flying to her mouth but it was no use. The sound spilled out, bright and unrestrained, echoing off the courtyard walls.       “Oh Heavens!” she gasped, shaking her head, tears of mirth gathering in the corners of her eyes.       Then, with sudden, gleeful determination, she straightened and fixed him with a playful glare.       “Your Highness… May I try too?”       Aurora tossed a candied petal into the air and caught it cleanly between her lips, barely blinking.       “Wow!” Xavier exclaimed, genuinely impressed. “What if I throw it? Can you catch it then?”       “Well… If no one’s watching,” she said, glancing around the quiet courtyard with mock caution.       “So what if they do?” he replied with a shrug, already selecting another sugar-glazed bloom from the bowl. “Let them see.”       “This isn’t quite proper, Your Highness,” she protested but there was no real weight behind it.       “I’m throwing! Three… two… one!”       Before she could brace herself, the candied flower sailed toward her.       “Oh!” she cried, snapping her teeth shut just in time, catching it perfectly.       Xavier blinked.       “Wow, that’s reflexes.”       “You just don’t throw properly, Your Highness!” she teased. “You have to calculate the arc, the wind resistance, the…”       “Ah, that’s so boring, Lady Vale,” he groaned, throwing his head back in exaggerated despair.       Aurora laughed again. A full, bright sound that rang like bells in the twilight, and for a second, they weren’t Crown Prince and Lady of the South.       They were just two people, stealing sweets and catching them like children, beneath a sky that held its breath in wonder.       And somewhere in the palace above, a guard leaned over the balcony and whispered to his fellow.       “Did you see that? His Highness laughed.”       “Aye,” came the reply. “Looks like Her Ladyship’s already queen in everything but name.”       “I loved learning,” Aurora said, her voice softening with memory. “Especially agriculture and botany. Those lessons still guide me every day.”       “That’s why you understand nature so deeply,” Xavier replied, watching her with quiet admiration.       She tilted her head.       “Maybe… What about you? What’s your favorite science?”       “Astronomy,” he said simply.       Aurora’s eyes widened.       “That’s difficult!”       He smiled.       “So is agronomy. It’s a whole constellation of sciences itself.” He plucked a candied violet from the bowl and held it up. “Take this flower. What would you tell me about it?”       Instantly, her scholar’s mind engaged.       “Violets are low-growing herbaceous perennials. Five petals, dozens of cultivars, and in the right climate they can bloom up to nine months a year. They’re also used in remedies like feverfew blends, poultices for inflammation, even calming tinctures…”       She trailed off as Xavier gently lifted the sugar-dusted violet to her lips.       Their eyes locked. His blue as a cloudless sky and hers, gray as stormy and wide, with breathless awareness.       Slowly, almost shyly, Aurora parted her lips.       He placed the flower on her tongue.       For a heartbeat, the world stilled. The scent of sugar, the warmth of his fingers so close to her mouth, the unspoken understanding that this wasn’t just a shared sweet.       “Thank you,” she murmured, flustered, quickly covering her mouth with her hand as if she could hide the lingering sweetness, the warmth in her cheeks, the way her heart still fluttered like a bird in spring.       “Dinner will be served soon,” Xavier said, glancing toward the palace, “And you never even made it to your chambers.”       “It’s quite all right, Your Highness!” she replied quickly. “I’m not hungry and not tired at all. Time with you… It passes too quickly to notice anything else.”       He gave a small, apologetic bow.       “Forgive me for taking up your entire afternoon.”       “No, no… Of course not, Your Highness…” she began, only to be gently interrupted.       “Xavier.”       Her breath caught. Again.       She looked down, fumbling for composure.       “Yes… Xavier.”       A slow, tender smile touched his lips.       “Hearing my name from you… It sounds especially lovely.”       Aurora’s cheeks flushed deeper, but she didn’t look away this time.       “I can feel how uneasy you’ve become, Lady Vale,” Xavier said gently.       “Ah… I… It’s just… Well…” Aurora stammered, her hands twisting in the folds of her black skirt.       “Are you afraid of the marriage bed?” he asked directly but not unkindly. There was no pressure in his voice, only quiet concern.       Aurora sucked in a sharp breath.       “The… marital act…”       “I would never hurt you,” he said firmly, his eyes locking onto hers with absolute sincerity. “And I would never… Ever press you for something you weren’t ready to give. Please don’t fear that. Yes, young couples go through it,” he added, a faint, reassuring smile touching his lips, “And yes, there are many… How to say… Nuances. But you don’t need to worry.”       He paused, noticing the blood draining from her face.       “Rorie? You’ve gone pale.”       Gently, he reached out and adjusted the crooked flower crown still nestled in her hair. Both of them having completely forgotten they’d stood before the King and Queen wearing nothing but petals and borrowed courage.       Aurora remained silent, but her gaze didn’t waver. She studied him. The curve of his jaw, the softness in his eyes, the way his long hair caught the evening light. And yes… A few decidedly improper thoughts flickered through her mind.       Ever since that late-night conversation with her handmaidens, when Tara had laughed and called Duke Jeremiah “an angel without a halo,” the very man she dreamed of, and Simona had scolded her for even raising such topics, Aurora had found herself wondering:

What is it truly like… To be with a man?

      “You’ve gone even paler, Aurora,” he said, voice laced with worry.       “I’m sorry…” she whispered.       “I’ve frightened you more,” he said, regret flashing across his face.       “No! Not at all!” she insisted quickly. “It’s just… I’ve faced the Wanderers, fevers, betrayals… But your question… Honestly… It made me think. Deeply.”       He nodded slowly, then offered his arm.       “Let me walk you to your chamber. Forgive my bluntness.”       “Thank you,” she said, rising with him. “You haven’t offended me. Truly. It’s only… I’ve seen much in this life, yet this… Actually, it feels like standing at the edge of a cliff I’ve never climbed. And I don’t know if I’m afraid or just unprepared.”       Xavier’s hand closed warmly over hers.       “Then we’ll learn together,” he said softly.       He walked her to the door of her chambers and, with a reverence that made her breath catch, lifted her hand to his lips. The kiss was feather-light, warm, fleeting and impossibly tender.       “Please don’t take my words too seriously,” he said, his voice low, tinged with regret. “I don’t always think before I speak and I never meant to hurt you. You’ve cried too often already because of me.”       “It’s alright, Your Highness!” she assured him quickly, forcing a small, steady smile. “Thank you for such a full, wonderful day. We probably won’t see each other again tonight, so… Have a good evening and… Good night?”       Xavier blinked, surprised by the quiet farewell. He hadn’t expected it, but then, perhaps he shouldn’t have. A day like this was enough. More than enough.       “Yes,” he said softly, a faint smile touching his lips. “I suppose so. And good night to you too.”       The moment the door closed behind her, Aurora’s composure shattered.       She slid down the wood, back pressed against the surface, and sank onto the floor, her legs folding beneath her like a child’s. The dam broke silently. No sobs, no cries, just tears streaming down her face as she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, rocking gently, trying to hold her own pieces together.       She was so tired of being an armor. Of being the strong one, the steady one, the unbreakable Lady Vale.       It wasn’t that she feared his choice. She knew his feelings were real, gentle, deep and true. She’d seen them in his eyes, heard them in his voice, felt them in the way he touched her like she was something sacred.       No… What unsettled her ran deeper.       It was the terrifying, quiet whisper in her soul:

What if I’m not just marrying a prince but losing myself?

      She needed to speak with somebody to untangle the storm inside before it drowned her.       Perhaps she’d write to Grandmother Josephine. Pour her heart onto parchment, wrap it around the pressed forget-me-nots still woven in her hair. Those fragile blue witnesses to vows spoken in sunlight and laughter. Her grandmother would understand. She’d survived her own wars, both with blade and with silence. She’d know what it meant to stand at the crossroads of love and duty, and still choose to walk forward.

But for now… she’d wait for her friends.

      Tara and Simone would come soon, smelling of herbs and hearth-smoke, their arms full of stories from the kitchen. With them, she could be bare. No titles. No pretense. Just Rorie. The girl who cried, who doubted, who feared the unknown as much as she longed for it.       They wouldn’t judge her for trembling. They’d sit beside her on the floor, just like when they were children hiding from thunderstorms. They’d listen without flinching. They’d speak plainly. Tara with her quiet wisdom, Simone with her sharp clarity. And they’d remind her, as they always did, that she wasn’t alone.       Her handmaidens brought dinner straight to her chamber, knowing their lady must be utterly spent after the whirlwind of the day.       “You’ve been crying, my lady,” Simone said softly, setting the tray on the small table with quiet precision.       “Yes,” Aurora admitted, quickly brushing at her cheeks. Though the tears they had long since dried, leaving only faint traces and swollen eyes.       “Again because of him?” Tara asked, not unkindly, as she knelt to stoke the low fire in the hearth.       A sharp pang pierced Aurora’s chest. Soft, aching, familiar.       “Yes…” she whispered.       The word hung in the air between them, heavy with everything unsaid.       Simone exchanged a glance with Tara, then moved to sit cross-legged on the floor beside Aurora, her voice gentle but steady.       “Did he hurt you?”       “No,” Aurora said quickly. “Never that. He is kind. Too kind. He asked about the marriage rites. About that part.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And I realized that I’m not afraid of him. I’m afraid of what comes after. Of becoming someone I don’t recognize.”       Tara sat beside her now too, close enough to touch.       “You think wearing a crown will erase Rorie?”       Aurora looked down at her hands.

“What if I can’t be both? The queen they need and the woman he loves?”

      Simone took her hand.       “He didn’t choose you despite who you are, my lady. He chose you because of it. The climbing trees, the pillow fights, the way you cry over boars and laugh at candied violets landing in his eye. He sees all of it. And he wants that woman beside him. Not a statue in silk. He wants you.”       Tara nodded.       “And if the court tries to sand you down? We’ll be there to remind you who you are. Every day.”       Aurora let out a shaky breath, then, slowly, leaned her head on Tara’s shoulder, her fingers tightening around Simona’s.       In the quiet warmth of the room, with the scent of roasted herbs and fresh bread rising from the tray, she let herself believe it might be true.