The palace gardens of Gaia were a masterpiece of nature's artistry, with sunlight filtering through the canopy of ancient oaks, dappling the emerald lawns with flecks of gold. The air was alive with the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant melody of songbirds, creating an ambiance that seemed to cradle the soul in serenity. Priscilla stood amidst this picturesque setting, the faint aroma of blooming jasmine weaving through her thoughts. It had been weeks since she left Anemoi, yet the purpose of her journey kept her firmly grounded.
Lyra had entrusted her with overseeing the final stages of the great bridge—a symbol of unity between their kingdoms—and concluding intricate trade agreements with Gaia's merchants. The bridge's progress had been swift, a testament to the industrious hands at work. But Priscilla's heart had found another, quieter mission: her budding friendship with Queen Mildred, the Queen Mother.
Their shared hours in the royal gardens had blossomed into a cherished connection. Conversations about the care of delicate orchids and the merits of rose pruning had evolved into something deeper, something more intimate. Priscilla had listened as the Queen spoke of a bygone era—of her late husband's laughter, her daughter's mischievous antics, and the precious, fleeting days when her son, Rowan, was merely a boy, free from the weight of the crown.
Today, Priscilla sought to rekindle those lost moments. The Queen's wistful recollection of afternoons spent baking with Rowan in the royal kitchen had sparked an idea—a chance to bring a touch of joy to her friend's life. With sleeves rolled up and her brow dusted with flour, Priscilla had spent the morning in the bustling palace kitchen. The recipe was simple, a tart made with care and precision, its crust golden and its filling fragrant with the essence of fresh fruit.
As the tea table was arranged in the garden, adorned with porcelain teacups and a vase of freshly picked lavender, Priscilla added a final touch: an invitation. Not just for the Queen but for King Rowan himself. She sensed that amidst the kingdom's trials, both mother and son longed for a moment of connection, a balm for their weary spirits.
The Queen arrived first, her steps light yet purposeful, her face alight with curiosity. "This is enchanting, Priscilla," she said, her voice warm but tinged with an undertone of longing as her gaze fell upon the tart.
Priscilla offered a gentle smile, her eyes meeting the Queen's with quiet understanding. "I thought we might share a moment of peace, Your Majesty. A tribute to the simpler times you hold so dear."
As the tea was poured and the tart sampled, a shadow fell across the garden path. Priscilla turned to see King Rowan approaching, his stride measured yet imbued with a quiet grace. His expression softened at the sight of the scene before him—a tableau of familial warmth he had not known for some time.
"I see you've made a tart," he remarked, his lips curving into a faint smile that carried a rare hint of boyish charm.
Priscilla gestured toward the empty seat beside the Queen. "Please, Your Majesty. Join us."
For a moment, Rowan hesitated, his gaze flickering between the tart and his mother. Then, with a nod, he took his place, the weight of his crown seeming to lift ever so slightly.
As tea was poured and laughter warmed the cool afternoon air, Priscilla quietly rose. "I'll take my leave, Your Majesties," she said softly, inclining her head.
The Queen's brow furrowed, and her voice carried a note of protest. "Must you, dear? You've arranged such a delightful afternoon."
Rowan echoed her sentiment, his tone firmer but no less earnest. "Indeed. Stay with us, Lady Priscilla."
But Priscilla shook her head, her smile polite but resolute. "I'm afraid duty calls. Please, enjoy this moment."
As she retreated, the Queen watched her go, a wistful smile gracing her lips. "Such a remarkable young woman," she murmured, her voice almost dreamlike. "It's a pity she's spoken for. Her fiancé is truly a fortunate man."
Rowan's expression softened, yet a shadow flickered across his face. His eyes lingered on the path Priscilla had taken, and for a moment, his mask of composure slipped. "Yes," he said quietly, his voice heavy with unspoken emotion. "A fortunate man indeed."
The Queen caught the subtle change in her son's tone, her perceptive heart sensing the depth of his unspoken feelings. As she sipped her tea, she pondered the quiet tragedy of unrequited affection, her thoughts swirling with unspoken prayers for her son's peace.
Rowan, meanwhile, sat in silence, the tart before him untouched. His heart ached—a longing so deep it felt as though it might consume him. Priscilla's laughter, her grace, her very presence had awakened something within him, something he could not allow himself to claim.
The sun streamed through the tall arched windows of the royal palace, casting a warm golden glow on the polished marble floors. The corridors stretched long and regal, adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of ancient battles and peaceful landscapes. Priscilla's footsteps echoed softly as she walked, her gown of pale blue silk swishing with each step. The delicate embroidery on her dress shimmered faintly in the sunlight, accentuating her graceful figure. Her dark, neatly braided hair was pinned into an elegant chignon, and a subtle glimmer of pearl earrings framed her soft, thoughtful expression.
It had been a few days since she had hosted the small tea party for Queen Mildred and King Rowan. Though modest, the gathering had created a quiet but significant ripple within the royal family. The shared moments of warmth and simplicity seemed to forge a deeper connection between them, uniting them in ways beyond the usual formalities of courtly life.
As Priscilla approached the royal library, the rich scent of aged parchment and polished oak greeted her. The towering shelves stretched to the ceiling, brimming with tomes bound in leather and gold leaf. She paused briefly, admiring the intricate carvings on the library doors, when a soft knock interrupted her thoughts. Startled, she turned and opened the door to find King Mildred standing in the doorway.
King Mildred's tall frame was impeccably dressed in a deep navy coat embroidered with silver threads, his posture as composed as always. His sharp cheekbones and piercing blue eyes spoke of his regal bearing, yet today, there was a subtle softness in his gaze. The faintest shadow of fatigue underlined his eyes, hinting at the growing weight of his responsibilities.
"Lady Priscilla," he greeted with a polite nod, his voice steady but tinged with warmth. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"Not at all, Your Majesty," Priscilla replied with a small smile, stepping aside to allow him entry. The gentle folds of her gown swayed as she gestured. "What brings you here today?"
Mildred's gaze flicked briefly to the ornate bookshelves lining the room before returning to her. "I wanted to thank you," he began, his tone quieter now, "for the little gathering you arranged for the Queen and me. It was a simple but thoughtful gesture. You remind me of the peace that can still exist in this world, amidst all the chaos."
Priscilla's cheeks flushed a soft pink, her smile growing warmer. "I'm glad you both enjoyed it. It was just a small thing, really. I thought it might be a pleasant change, given how much everyone has been occupied lately."
Mildred's sharp eyes softened as he studied her. Her poise and humility never failed to strike him. Today, he noticed the faint glow of sunlight catching the delicate embroidery of her dress, emphasizing her understated elegance.
"Lady Priscilla," he said thoughtfully, his voice gentler, "I've noticed something about you."
Priscilla tilted her head slightly, her brows arching in curiosity. "What might that be, Your Majesty?"
"You're always giving to others," he said, his words measured but tinged with admiration. "You bake for the Queen, arrange tea parties, and put so much care into the smallest of details. But… I wonder, is there anyone who does something for you in return?" His gaze held hers, earnest and probing. "What have you received that you are truly grateful for?"
Priscilla's smile wavered for a brief moment, her eyes lowering as a shadow of introspection crossed her face. She thought of the many times her efforts went unnoticed, but she quickly pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on a particular memory that brought her joy.
"Actually," she began, her voice soft but warm, "just last week, on my birthday, something wonderful happened." Her face lit up as she recounted the moment. "I was working late, as usual, and everyone had left the office. Curious, I stepped outside to see what was going on. That's when I ran into Lily, Lyra's personal maid. She accidentally spilled juice on my dress, and to make up for it, she gave me one of Lyra's dresses to wear."
Mildred's expression softened further, his interest piqued. "I imagine it must have been quite a sight," he remarked, leaning slightly forward.
Priscilla chuckled, her excitement evident. "Well, it turned out to be a brand-new dress, not Lyra's at all. It was a surprise—a gift just for me. When I came out wearing it, the lights were off, and candles filled the room. Everyone was waiting, and they sang 'Happy Birthday' to me. It was truly the best birthday I've ever had." Her eyes shone as she described the intimate gathering. "We danced and laughed all night, just the six of us—Lyra, Solon, Lady Katherine, Lord Edward, Lady Aster, and Lily. It was perfect."
Mildred's lips curved into a fond smile. "It sounds like a beautiful moment. Simple, yet deeply meaningful."
Priscilla's smile faltered briefly as she recalled the absence of her fiancé from that cherished celebration. She quickly masked her feelings, not wanting to dwell on the gap in her memory.
Mildred, however, noticed the subtle shift in her demeanor. His gaze grew more intent. "Six people?" he asked gently, though he already suspected the answer.
"Yes, just the six of us," Priscilla replied, her smile returning. "Oh, and the twins! That makes nine. It was intimate and simple, but full of love."
Mildred's expression softened further. "But your fiancé wasn't there?"
Priscilla's smile faltered again. Her gaze drifted momentarily to a distant corner of the room. "No," she said, her voice steady but tinged with something unspoken. "Why would he be there?"
Mildred's brow furrowed slightly, his concern deepening. "Your fiancé wasn't there?" he repeated, his voice softer this time.
Priscilla's eyes returned to him, guarded. "He was out of town," she said, her tone carefully neutral. She bit her lip, avoiding further explanation. "You know… the usual things. Work, duties. He couldn't be there."
Mildred's heart ached at her words. There was an unspoken sadness in her tone that he couldn't ignore. "Doesn't it get lonely, being without him? On such an important day?"
Priscilla hesitated, a quick, nervous laugh escaping her. "Ah, well," she stammered, "I'm used to it by now. It's… just the way things are in an arranged marriage, isn't it?" Her words were carefully chosen, but they lacked conviction.
Mildred's gaze remained steady, his concern evident. "Are you not happy with this engagement, then?"
The question struck Priscilla harder than she expected. She straightened, clearing her throat. "Your Majesty," she said politely but firmly, "I appreciate your concern, but these are matters I'd rather keep private." Her smile was polite but tinged with tension.
Mildred's expression softened. "Of course," he said gently. "I didn't mean to overstep. But… you seem like someone who deserves more than a life of obligation." His words hung in the air, sincere and poignant.
Priscilla's smile softened, though a trace of sadness lingered. "Thank you, Your Majesty," she said quietly, her voice almost a whisper, "Your majesty, pardon my rudeness, but why are you taking so much interest in my private affairs?"
Mildred's brow furrowed slightly as his gaze locked onto Priscilla's. His voice was quiet, almost introspective. "I'm just curious. Since I haven't found a spouse yet, I wonder how it feels."
Priscilla let out a soft laugh, her focus unwavering as she continued working through the stack of documents in front of her. The scratch of her pen was steady, betraying none of the weight of the conversation. "I believe I'm the wrong person to ask that."
"Why?" Mildred leaned forward, his fingers tracing idle patterns along the edge of the desk, his curiosity unabated.
"Because I'll give you an answer you won't like." Priscilla's tone remained calm, her words measured.
Mildred's lips curved into a faint smile, a flicker of playfulness lighting his eyes. "And how do you know I won't like it?"
Her hand paused briefly over the papers before she met his gaze, her expression softening slightly. "Because you need to get married, your majesty. Duty aside, your mother worries about you deeply. She wants nothing more than to see you happy—with someone who loves you at your side. I hope you find someone who loves you back, and more importantly, someone who makes you happy."
Her voice was gentle but resolute, each word carrying a weight that settled between them. For a moment, silence stretched in the room.
Mildred's gaze darkened, though his expression stayed calm. Leaning back, he studied her intently, as if trying to read the emotions she so carefully kept hidden. "...Have you found someone like that?"
Priscilla's pen stopped mid-stroke. Her posture stiffened slightly, betraying a hesitation she rarely showed. She blinked, a flicker of something unreadable passing through her eyes before she composed herself.
"Someone like what?" Her response was almost too simple, her voice devoid of emotion.
"Someone you love." His tone softened, the vulnerability in his words more than he intended to reveal.
For a fleeting moment, Priscilla froze, the question cutting deeper than she anticipated. Her mind raced, but she quickly put on a practiced smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I have a fiancé, don't I?"
'That's not the answer to my question.'
Mildred's thoughts churned, the evasiveness of her reply unsettling him. His brow furrowed as he observed her, noting how quickly she turned back to her work. He had expected certainty, conviction even, but this vague response stirred a growing curiosity. Could she be hiding something?
If only she had mentioned her fiancé with the warmth she reserved for speaking about the kingdom, he would have let it go. But her tone held a hollowness that gnawed at him. Was there something unspoken beneath the surface?
As the silence between them deepened, another thought crept into Mildred's mind. According to the reports he had read, only one sister had survived the tragic carriage accident—but the records never clarified which one. Everyone had simply assumed that Priscilla was the survivor. Yet, inconsistencies nagged at him: her birthday didn't align with the official records. The hobbies she mentioned? They were Leah's, not Priscilla's.
Could it be…?
Before he could dwell further, Priscilla's voice broke through his reverie. "What are you thinking about?"
He blinked, caught off guard. For a moment, he hesitated before offering a casual smile. "Shall we go out?"
Priscilla tilted her head, her brow furrowing slightly. "Go out?"
"I realized you haven't had a chance to properly explore Gaia. Would you like to see the city?" His tone was light, but there was an underlying weight to the offer, a deeper motive he wasn't ready to admit, even to himself.
Priscilla hesitated, her gaze flickering toward the door. "Shall I ask the Queen Mother?"
"There's no need," Mildred interjected, his response swift and firm. He softened his tone, almost hesitant. "She must be resting after working so hard. And you should rest too. You've been working for hours. A breath of fresh air would do you good."
For a moment, Priscilla seemed unsure, but eventually, a small smile crossed her lips. "That sounds nice. Give me a moment to fetch my cloak, and I'll be right back."
"Meet me by the eastern entrance in ten minutes?"
She nodded, her steps light as she left the room.
Mildred remained seated, his thoughts a tangled mess of questions and uncertainties. He had hoped to uncover more about her, to peel back the layers of her guarded demeanor. Instead, he was left with more questions than answers. The Priscilla he thought he knew felt like a mirage, a figure shrouded in mystery.
As she returned, her cloak draped elegantly over her shoulders, Mildred straightened, forcing his doubts aside. He was determined to carry on with his plan, though the path ahead was far from clear. Would this journey with her bring the answers he sought—or lead him further into the unknown? He wasn't sure if he was ready to find out.