After a hearty breakfast, Dylan and Xavier waited in the shade of the charming garden for the raven-haired girl to return. Yet, as time ticked on, it became clear she would not. Instead, a different young woman arrived, her presence announced by the soft rustling of her maid's attire.
She bore a polite smile, her greyish hair styled into a neat bob, and her similarly hued eyes reflecting calm professionalism. She curtsied gracefully before introducing herself.
"My name is Delilah, and I have come to collect the dishes and leftovers."
As she moved with practiced efficiency, Dylan spoke, his tone measured yet inquisitive. "Excuse me, Delilah, but where is the other girl?"
Delilah paused, tilting her head curiously. "Another girl? Might you be referring to my twin sister, Mary? We are often mistaken for one another, though you'll find her eyes are amber."
"No," Dylan replied with a subtle shake of his head, "I meant the young lady with jet-black hair and green eyes. She was the one who prepared this breakfast for us."
At this, Delilah's eyes flickered with something unreadable—curiosity, perhaps, or caution. She considered the query carefully before answering.
"Ah, I see. She is currently… occupied," Delilah said with a polite vagueness that only piqued Dylan's interest further.
"And may I ask her name or station?"
Delilah's gaze sharpened ever so slightly. "You both are esteemed guests of Duke Nabal, are you not? If so, I'm afraid her identity is of no consequence to you."
Xavier frowned at her evasiveness, his voice laced with mild frustration. "What do you mean by that?"
"It is not my place to divulge what she has chosen not to reveal herself. If she deemed it necessary for you to know, she would have informed you. Now, if you'll excuse me…"
Delilah gathered the last of the dishes with remarkable speed, dipped into another curtsy, and vanished before either man could press further.
Dylan leaned back against the chair, his golden-hazel eyes narrowing in contemplation.
"She's hiding something," Xavier muttered, echoing Dylan's thoughts.
"That much is obvious," Dylan replied. "But what, and why?"
The Parlor and the Absent Crown Princess
The two spent the better part of the morning wandering the lush palace gardens. Dylan had been eager to locate the private library where he and Lyra had spent countless hours as children, yet the paths seemed unfamiliar, the grounds altered by time.
Their search was interrupted by the sharp call of Rosa, the ever-brusque maid from the day prior. She summoned them to the private parlor where the royal family awaited.
As they entered the grand room, the faces from last night's dinner greeted them once again, seated in arranged elegance around a polished table. But one seat, conspicuously central, remained empty—the seat meant for Crown Princess Lyra.
Dylan's gaze lingered on the vacant spot as Duke Nabal rose to greet him. The Duke's slicked-back blond hair gleamed in the sunlight filtering through the high windows, but his smile was as thin as the brittle leaves of winter.
"Ah, Prince Dylan," Nabal intoned. "I trust you rested well after your journey?"
"I did, thank you," Dylan replied smoothly. "Though I must admit, I had been hoping to meet Her Highness Lyra today."
Nabal waved a dismissive hand. "Ah, the Crown Princess is… otherwise engaged. She has many duties, you understand."
Astrid, seated to the Duke's right, offered a softer explanation. "She was feeling unwell this morning and went to bed early last night. She sends her apologies for her absence."
Dylan inclined his head, masking his disappointment. "Of course. I hope she recovers swiftly."
The conversation shifted then, as Astrid and Dylan exchanged fond recollections of their families and childhood. Yet, the ease of their dialogue was often disrupted by Duchess Medea and her family, who interjected to steer the topic toward wealth and their supposed accomplishments.
"Hubris has a collection of the rarest creatures in the kingdom," Medea boasted with a saccharine smile. "I'm sure you'll be impressed, Prince Dylan."
"Indeed," Hubris added with a smug grin. "I would be delighted to show you, perhaps in a few days' time?"
"That sounds most agreeable," Dylan replied diplomatically.
Karen, the youngest of the family, leaned forward eagerly. "May I join you? I would love to see the creatures as well."
Hubris snorted derisively. "You're just a child, Karen. This is a matter for adults."
Karen scowled. "I am turning seventeen this year!"
The family chuckled at her indignation, but Dylan turned his attention back to Astrid.
"Will you and Lyra be joining us?" he asked.
Astrid hesitated, a flicker of discomfort crossing her serene features. "I cannot promise, but I will consider it."
"I would greatly appreciate it," Dylan said earnestly. "It has been far too long since I last saw Lyra. I had hoped to see how she has changed."
Astrid's purple eyes softened. "She is both the same and not the same. You will have to see for yourself, I think. Shall I inform her of your presence, or would you prefer it to be a surprise?"
Dylan smiled at the idea. "Let it be a surprise."
"I'm certain she will be delighted to see you," Astrid assured him.
As the conversation shifted again, Dylan's thoughts grew heavy with questions. Why was Lyra so conspicuously absent from these gatherings? Why had no one informed her of his visit? And why did it seem that everyone, from Nabal to Medea, was intent on keeping her at arm's length?
The King's Chambers
After the parlor conversation concluded, Astrid offered to take Dylan to visit King Derek. As they approached the King's chambers, Dylan felt a pang of nostalgia and worry. The last time he had seen Derek, the man had been a vibrant figure, full of life and wisdom.
But the figure that greeted him now was a shadow of that memory. King Derek sat propped against pillows, his once-strong frame reduced to frailty. His grey hair was unkempt, his skin pallid and paper-thin, and his voice trembled with every word.
"Dylan?" Derek's face lit up with recognition. "Oh, my boy, it is you!"
"It is good to see you, Your Majesty," Dylan said, stepping forward to help the King sit upright.
"You've grown so much," Derek marveled, his voice thick with emotion. "Tell me, how is your father? And your brother? Is Aaron still as stubborn as ever?"
Dylan chuckled softly. "He is indeed, Your Majesty. He sends his regards and wishes for your health."
The King's laughter was weak but genuine. "It has been too long since I saw him. Too long since I saw any of you."
They spoke for a time, reminiscing about the past and exchanging news of their families. Dylan hesitated, then asked, "Your Majesty, might I ask after Princess Lyra? I have not yet had the pleasure of seeing her."
Derek's expression softened. "She was here just this morning, checking on me before she left to visit Katherine. She spends much of her time in the library these days."
"The library," Dylan murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I remember those days well."
Derek chuckled. "You and Lyra were inseparable back then."
Dylan's cheeks tinged with color, but he smiled nonetheless. "I look forward to seeing her again."
As they parted ways, Dylan's thoughts lingered on the past—and the girl he had once known so well. The mystery surrounding her absence only deepened his resolve to uncover the truth.
"Tell me, my boy," King Derek asked, his voice warm despite its raspiness, "what else is happening in Helios these days?"
Dylan smiled, leaning forward in his seat. "Nothing too remarkable, though we've been working on a rather ambitious project—a bridge that will cross into the Kingdom of Gaia."
The King's dull eyes lit up with interest. "A bridge, you say? That is indeed a brilliant idea. Have you discussed this with Nabal yet?"
"Not yet," Dylan admitted.
"Well, he oversees these matters for now. It would be prudent to speak with him directly."
Dylan hesitated before voicing his next question. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, but… doesn't Her Highness Lyra assist with these affairs? She is the Crown Princess, after all."
King Derek chuckled softly, though the sound quickly dissolved into a weak cough. "She does help with paperwork—she has a sharp mind for such things. But truth be told, she's still young, barely twenty. And these old hands of mine," he glanced ruefully at his frail fingers, "no longer work as they once did. She takes up the tasks I cannot."
"Don't speak so harshly about yourself," Dylan said earnestly. "You are still strong, and I have no doubt you will recover to oversee your kingdom as you once did."
The King smiled, his expression tinged with melancholy. "You speak so kindly, Dylan. I only wish I had your confidence."
There was a pause before Dylan ventured another request. "Your Majesty, if I may suggest… would it not be beneficial for Princess Lyra to lead discussions regarding the bridge? She will be Queen one day, and such responsibilities would be invaluable preparation."
Derek regarded Dylan thoughtfully before nodding. "You are wise beyond your years. Yes, I like this idea. I shall speak with Nabal and inform Lyra of this decision. It is time she steps further into her role."
Dylan bowed his head in gratitude. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
The King's expression softened further, and he reached out, placing a frail hand over Dylan's. "I have a request for you as well, my boy."
"Please, anything," Dylan replied at once.
"It may be too much to ask, but…" Derek's voice wavered, and he took a steadying breath. "Realistically speaking, I won't last much longer."
"Your Majesty, please—"
"Let me finish, Dylan," the King interjected gently. "I said this to Aaron when he visited, and now I must say it to you. Look after my daughters. Astrid may seem strong, but she carries burdens of her own. And Lyra…" He trailed off, his voice thick with emotion. "Lyra keeps everything hidden. She hardly shares her thoughts or feelings, not even with me. I fear she is hurting, bearing too much alone. The world can be a cruel place, and I do not want it to destroy her."
Dylan swallowed, his throat tight. "You do your daughters a great disservice, Your Majesty. You underestimate their strength—strength they have inherited from you."
Derek chuckled weakly. "Perhaps you're right. But promise me, Dylan. Promise me you will be there for them when they need it."
Dylan placed his other hand over Derek's. "I promise. But I was prepared to do so even before you asked."
Derek smiled, his eyes glistening with gratitude. "I knew I could count on you. Aaron sent you for this reason, didn't he?"
Dylan nodded silently.
"Then I am all the more grateful."
The two continued talking until Derek's exhaustion forced him to retire.
A Glimpse Through the Door
As Dylan walked back to his chambers, deep in thought, a sharp voice broke through the quiet of the hallway.
"Heather! Heather! Where are my shoes?"
The voice was unmistakably Karen's, and curiosity got the better of him. Pausing outside a slightly ajar door, Dylan peeked inside to find Karen surrounded by maids, her thin bobbed hair bouncing as she impatiently searched for her shoes.
In the midst of the commotion, a young girl—barely fourteen—hurriedly fetched a pair of slippers. Her raven-black hair and sea-green eyes caught Dylan's attention, but her petite frame and childlike features quickly dispelled his initial hope.
"That's not her," Dylan muttered to himself, feeling a pang of disappointment.
Before he could linger further, footsteps approached, and he turned to find Xavier regarding him with a raised brow.
"Your Highness," Xavier drawled, "since when did you take up the hobby of sneaking around ladies' chambers?"
Dylan rolled his eyes. "Don't be absurd. And guess what—I've discovered that 'Heather' isn't her."
"Who? What? And who in the world is Heather?" Xavier looked utterly baffled.
Dylan grinned and grabbed his arm. "Come, I'll explain everything."
The Revelation
As they ascended the staircase, their conversation was interrupted by a frantic voice echoing from above.
"Your Highness, Crown Princess Lyra! Please, you dropped one of your shoes!"
Dylan froze, his heart pounding. He looked up just in time to see a figure descending the stairs—a figure he instantly recognized.
The raven-haired lady from the morning was now adorned in a formal gown of rich crimson, the fabric cascading like liquid fire. Gold chains adorned her hair, framing her face with an elegance that took his breath away. Emerald jewels sparkled against her delicate features, perfectly complementing her green eyes. She held one shoe in her hand, the other seemingly forgotten.
"Princess Lyra! You shouldn't run like this!" the maid called after her, holding the missing shoe aloft.
"It's fine! It's faster this way—ah!"
Lyra turned her head to reassure the maid but lost her footing on the stairs. She let out a startled cry as she stumbled forward.
Dylan's instincts took over. In an instant, he caught her, one arm around her waist to steady her, the other deftly catching the errant shoe mid-air.
Their faces were mere inches apart, their breaths mingling as their eyes met. Her wide, astonished gaze locked onto his, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away.
Dylan's lips curved into a fond smirk as he held up the shoe. "So you really were Lyra."