On the dining table lay a modest breakfast of various kinds. Tea was prepared for Angela, her stepsister Zara, and her stepmother Jane, while her father preferred coffee. Each of them had a loaf of freshly baked bread; Angela enjoyed hers with butter, while the others opted for jam. As a family of modest means, they did not indulge in elaborate breakfasts. Her father had a well-paying position, yet they remained committed to simple meals.
"Father," Zara's voice pierced through the morning hush, prompting Angela to peek over the rim of her teacup. She set it back down on the saucer. "Who is that man?" Her gaze drifted behind Angela, and the latter already sensed whom she was inquiring about. Zara had cast glances at Zayden no fewer than five times since breakfast commenced.
"Angela's bodyguard," her father replied, casually placing a piece of bread slathered with chocolate jam into his mouth, washing it down with coffee.
"Oh…" Zara nodded, shifting her attention from Angela's bodyguard back to her. "You'd best not let this one run away, Angie." Angela nearly choked, overwhelmed by three distinct reasons: first, Zara never referred to her as "Angie"; second, the nauseatingly sweet tone of her voice was undoubtedly intended for the handsome bodyguard; and third, Zara had never spoken to her during breakfast, nor had Angela reciprocated.
With great effort, Angela restrained herself from regurgitating her breakfast into her teacup. She refrained from responding to Zara; there was nothing to say. Zayden's imposing presence behind her was palpable.
After breakfast, Angela instructed the coachman to prepare the carriage for her impending departure. She walked out of the grand double doors and descended the few flights of stairs, her bodyguard trailing behind her. Her thoughts were consumed not by her surroundings, but by the prospect of sharing a carriage with the muscled man behind her. They arrived at the carriage, which appeared almost toy-like in comparison to his stature. He allowed Angela to enter first before following suit. They settled opposite each other, avoiding direct eye contact. Angela scooted closer to the window, directing her gaze outside rather than at the man near the door. He respected her need for distance, and she appreciated that.
"Where do you hail from?" By this time, the carriage had left the mansion's gates and was en route to her maternal grandparents' residence, a journey of at least an hour. She turned to Zayden as she posed the question, only to find him already gazing back at her. He blinked in response to her question and opened his mouth to answer.
"The Kingdom of Kyrilia." Kyrilia lay four kingdoms distant from Elyverde, making it a considerable journey. Angela pondered how her father had encountered him. Surely, he must have been in Elyverde at some point—perhaps from a different land altogether. Elyverde was divided into four lands: the Land of the North, the Land of the South, the Land of the East, and the Land of the West. The lands bore no specific names, a decision favored by the King of Elyverde.
"Oh." She nodded. "I am from here, Elyverde." She noticed him smirk and bit her bottom lip. Of course, he was aware of her origins; he was hardly dim-witted.
"I know, princess." He sighed, glancing out of her window. He continued, "My father was the Duke of the East in Kyrilia, and my mother a duchess." A wave of nostalgia washed over him as he recounted his past. His gaze returned to hers, which was fixed upon him, unblinking. "I began my schooling at the age of eleven." Angela's eyes widened in surprise, prompting a chuckle from him. He had anticipated her reaction; typically, children began their education between the ages of three and five, and if they did not attend school, a governor was summoned for instruction. Zayden had possessed a family that most would envy. While his father was occupied with his duties as a Duke, he taught him geography and all a young boy should know in preparation for the title he would one day inherit. His mother, a duchess and accomplished artist, served as his governess. Under their guidance, Zayden had not required a formal education, yet his parents insisted he attend. "I went to a boarding school at eleven. I adored it there and never returned home, wishing to prove to my parents that I could thrive independently, that I was the big boy they believed I was." His expression shifted as he turned his gaze away from Angela and back to the window. "When I returned, I found the house empty, and I found my parents in the cemetery after seven years of absence." He turned back to her and noticed tears streaming down her cheeks. A gentle smile graced his lips. "This is not a sob story, princess; do not cry for me."
Angela gulped, silently sobbing as she hastily wiped her face, clearing away the tears. His tale was the most heart-wrenching she had ever encountered. The thought of leaving her father for seven years, only to return and find him dead, sent chills through her. Though her father often annoyed her, she held deep affection for him. "I am sorry. May your parents' souls rest in peace," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. He nodded, a small but genuine smile gracing his lips—not a smirk, nor a chuckle, but something that stirred her heart.
"It feels good to share this. I've never confided in anyone before." Just as she had never revealed her struggles with sleep paralysis to anyone but him. "I suppose what they say about sharing one's burdens is true? I rarely cry, though," he remarked, and Angela laughed softly.
"I would be quite frightened if you ever cried before me." He transformed his solemn expression into a playful smirk, and they held each other's gaze. It was only their second day of acquaintance, yet Angela felt as though she had known him for months, simply because he had chosen to share such intimate details of his life with her. "You can always share your burdens with me, you know. I shall be here for you."
What Angela remained blissfully unaware of was that her parents were, in fact, the cause of Zayden's parents' untimely deaths.