The palace garden was quiet, the only sound the soft rustling of leaves in the afternoon breeze. Eleanor stood at the edge of the walkway, her hands nervously clutching the small box that held the cake she had baked. In the distance, under the shade of a large oak tree, Prince Adrian sat with a book in hand. His posture was relaxed, though his sharp features remained as unreadable as ever. Nearby, Sir Cedric sprawled lazily on the grass, his eyes closed as if savoring the tranquility of the moment.
Eleanor sighed, debating whether to approach. The memory of Adrian's disappointed gaze still lingered in her mind, making her hesitate.
"Just go," Greta whispered, standing beside her. Her tone was firm but encouraging. "You baked that cake for him. If he's still upset, this is your chance to fix things."
"But what if he refuses to talk to me?" Eleanor asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "What if he's still angry?"
