The everning light filtered softly through the grand arched windows of the royal dining hall, casting silver beams upon the long, polished oak table that stretched the length of the room. By decree of King, the royal family was to share an everning meal, a rare gathering after years of distance and unspoken wars.
Silverware gleamed in the candle light, every goblet and platter arranged in precise symmetry. Along the walls stood servants in muted attire, heads bowed, awaiting a signal to serve. At the far end of the room, two towering doors carved with the crest of Ravenvall stood open, the entrance through which the royal family would enter in their order of precedence.
Prince Davis arrived first. His presence drew the eyes of all who stood in waiting. Clad in dark garments, his coat trimmed in silver and black, he looked every inch the heir apparent, and yet every step carried the weight of memories.
He paused a moment by the threshold, his gaze sweeping across the hall. The same ceilings that had witnessed his mother's laughter, the same table that had hosted her and later, her death's quiet aftermath. there lingered the shadow of defiance behind his eyes. He took his seat without a word, the chair creaking lightly beneath the tension that accompanied him.
Moments later, the two princesses entered, Zuri and Hannah.
Zuri, with eyes of soft amber offered her brother a respectful smile. Her warmth reached him, though faintly. Besides her walked in Hannah, whose expression was colder, eyes sharp with judgment, lips pressed in a line that barely concealed her disapproval.
Zuri spoke first, soon after they took a sit, her voice a timid melody. "Brother, it has been too long since we've seen each other and shared a meal together."
Davis inclined his head, lips curling slightly in something near a smile. "Too long indeed. I'd forgotten what this hall looked like in the everning light. Forgive me, I haven't been able to see you... a lot a matters required my attention.... on the contrary... you have grown to a splendid beautiful woman Zuri"
Zuri chuckled, but Hannah scoffed under her breath.
"Brother! really zuri!? He shouldn't be here." Hanhah spoke coldly,
Zuri turned to her sharply. "Sister...."
"No," Hannah continued, her chin lifting. "We were peaceful before his return. Now the palace stirs with unrest, with whispers and tension."
Prince Davis gaze darkened, but his voice remained calm.
"You know peace built on silence is no peace at all."
Before Hannah could reply, the soft rustle of silk announced the Queen's entrance.
Queen Rahel was regal as ever, her hair bound in silver threads, her gown flowing like twilight silk. Her beauty had not waned, yet her eyes carried a coldness that time had deepened. She approached the Prince with a measured grace, the faint scent of lavender trailing in her wake.
She leaned close, her words low enough to sting in private. "Do not corrupt my children with your presence , Davis. You may return to these halls, but you will never be a brother to them."
Davis did not move. His hand clenched beneath the table as a flicker of restrained fury passed through Davis's eyes. His voice, when it came, was calm but edged like a blade.
"You know my Queen, Princess Zuri is such a fine artist has she ever tell you....?" He paused
"Or shown you any of her paintings? She has been painting for so long now, way long before I left" He let a slight smile escape him, the smile that meant to mock her.
The Queen stiffened, a tremor of disbelief shadowing her features.
"What nonsense is this?" She asked, eyes lingering between Prince Davis and Princess Zuri as she joined them at the table.
"So tell me, Zuri," Prince Davis said, ignoring the Queen.
"Do you still paint?" He asked. Zuri blinked, amazed by the question.
"I... have not, lately." she stammered
"Why?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.
"Women of this realm are free now, are they not? You need not hide your art. You could even open the academy you dreamed of. Ravenvall would be richer for it."
The Queen anger rose, her face paling from the words she heard but could not swallow.
"What insolence is this Davis? To plant such ideas"
But Zuri's eyes had already brightened, filled with hope. "You truly think I will be able to achieve that dream , brother?"
"absolutely Zuri" Davis said, his tone softening. "And I will help you make it so, as I promised long ago."
He then turned his gaze to Hannah, whose composure had faltered. "And you... you always longed to join the Council, to have your voice heard among the ministers. When I am crowned, I will make certain you have that seat."
For the first time, uncertainty flickered in Hannah's proud eyes. "You would... do that?" she questioned, he had her heart flatter for a minute.
He nodded. "Ravenvall needs courage, not obedience, You, on the other side, are the definition of a strong leader."
Before she could respond, a voice cut through the rising tension. The queen's voice.
"Enough!" Her words carried the weight of years of control, tempered with fury barely restrained.
"You would not corrupt them any further with your tricks, Davis." Her gaze cold, sharp, unrelenting.
"Careful... mother!" Davis interjected, his tone low and deliberate. There was a spark in his voice, a provocation hidden beneath the surface. Calling her that, the Queen, was audacious, almost mocking. He had never addressed her so, and yet now he did it with an ease that spoke of calculated defiance.
"You didn't just dare...."
The Queen's eyes narrowed, lips pressing into a thin line, her shock quickly replaced by renewed anger. She could feel the challenge in the Prince's voice, and it struck at her pride.
Before the tension could escalate further, The King entered, his presence immediately filling the room. He did not raise his voice; he did not need to. One word, spoken with absolute authority, cut through the charged air:
"Silence."
The Queen faltered, her fury momentarily contained by the sheer weight of his command. Even Davis stiffened, though the spark of provocation lingered in his eyes. He stood rigid, respecting the King's authority outwardly, but the defiance beneath the surface remained untamed.
"What's the fuss about?" The King questioned as he entered.
The servants bowed deeply, the air growing heavy under his presence. His cloak of deep navy trailed behind him, the crest of Ravenvall gleaming at his shoulder.
"If the royal table cannot uphold manners," he said coolly.
"then this kingdom is poorer for it."
Everyone fell silent.Yet the sound of silver against porcelain as the servants quickly started preparing the table, could not drown the quiet storm brewing in the Prince's chest.
The King finally settled into his seat, exchanging polite greetings with his children. His gaze lingered on the Queen. "Are you... all right?" he asked gently, noting the tight line of her lips and the shadow of displeasure in her eyes.
Before she could respond, Davis leaned forward. "Your majesty, I was planning to open an art academy for Zuri as she can paint well.... since women are free you know..... but.... " he said, voice calm but insistent. "Mother suggested she handle it herself."
"Art academy!?... Zuri can paint?" The King Questioned, his eyes lingered between his children.
The Queen's eyes narrowed, a flash of anger crossing her face. The Queen's provocation only made Zuri and Hannah giggle, the sound light and mischievous.
"Children," the King interjected firmly, his voice carrying through the hall.
"Hush now." He cupped his hand and gestured to the servants. "Serve them."
As the meal began, a quiet conversation unfolded. The King glanced at his son. "Do you need anything, Davis, as you settle in?" he asked, concern softening his voice. But he was too late asking, Davis thought.
Davis shook his head, his gaze distant, almost absent. "Everything will be handled slowly," he replied.
"This is my home now; there is no reason to rush." he added.
The King nodded, though he noticed Davis barely touched his food. Just as he was about to speak again, the doors to the hall opened. I, Linda, the Prince's right-hand woman, entered. My steps were firm yet graceful, my posture unbent by the weight of royal scrutiny. I was clad in a plain uniform of black and grey, my sword absent but my authority unmistakable.
The Queen rose from her seat, her voice sharp with authority. "Who allows such intrusion? Guards....This is hardly the time....."
But Davis interrupted, his tone firm and final. "I called for her. let her through...."
"She disrupts the royal meal..."
"Must I remind you that she is my right hand woman..... she will taste the food."
The Queen's eyes widened in disbelief, but Davis's expression left no room for argument. Gasps whispered through the servants.
"servants, step outside and wait till called" The Queen dismisses the servants so the conversation can continue privately.
The Queen's lips curled, sharp and calculating. "What is it..." she said, her voice dripping with restrained anger.
".... that you fear your food be tested? Do you think yourself unsafe in your father's hall?"
Davis's jaw tightened, his gaze flicking toward her, unflinching. There was a spark of defiance in his eyes, a quiet challenge beneath the calm surface he presented to the room.
The King, seated between them, did not raise his eyes. He continued slicing his meat with methodical precision, each movement deliberate, as if aware of the storm brewing yet choosing not to intervene. His silence carried weight, the unspoken authority that ensured everyone knew he was observing, calculating, but confident that everything would be handled.
The air between the Queen and Davis crackled with tension, sharp and taut.
Prince Davis rose slowly from his chair. The tension in his body was palpable, years of exile, grief, and betrayal condensing into that moment. His voice thundered across the hall.
"My mother was poisoned in this hall!"
Davis's hand slammed against the table, sending goblets toppling and wine spreading across the linen like spilled blood. His voice shook with fury and grief, raw and jagged. "Should I not be wary? Should I pretend these walls have not taken everything from me? ... you all might be able to do it, but I can't"
The room froze. The air seemed to thrum with the force of his anger, the weight of his loss pressing on everyone present.
Then the King's voice cut through, sharp and commanding, leaving no room for defiance. "Davis! Enough!"
The authority behind the word was absolute, tinged with anger that matched his son's intensity. The King rose slightly from his chair, his gaze hard and unyielding.
"Do not let grief turn into chaos! These walls have seen tragedy, yes.... but your fury will not rewrite history!"
Davis faltered, chest heaving, fingers trembling as he clenched his fists. The King's eyes, blazing with disappointment and control, pinned him where he stood. The fury in him battled with the unflinching presence of the man who had ruled this kingdom and shaped him, a reminder that even rage had limits.
The hall remained tense, the spilled wine a quiet echo of both past pain and present wrath, while Davis struggled to hold the storm inside him under the weight of his father's authority.
I stepped closer, my hand hovering near his arm, not to restrain him, but to anchor him, to give him something solid to hold onto. My fingers brushed against him lightly, steady, as if telling him wordlessly that he shouldn't give in to his anger.
Davis's chest heaved, the storm inside him folding slowly into something colder, more controlled. Yet as his gaze settled on me, there was a flicker of something foreign, something I had rarely seen. Anger still burned in the edges of his eyes, but beneath it, a fragile thread of need, of silent pleading, wove itself into the sharp lines of his face.
That made me remember that night, when he had looked almost as unmoored, his hands trembling with frustration, his eyes searching for some anchor in a world that never seemed to stop moving. Then, as now, he didn't ask for help outright, but his pain called for it, clear to anyone who dared to see.
Stepping toward him was instinct, not bravery. I could feel it as he watched me, the rigid walls he built around himself softening under my touch. It wasn't just anger that drove him, it was a cry for support, a yearning he refused to voice. My presence, my steady hand, seemed to answer that silent call, and for a fleeting moment, again he allowed himself to be seen, not the Prince, not the heir, but the man beneath it all.... and am glad, am the one, who could see through it.
"Come," he said finally, to me, voice low, controlled. "I no longer have an appetite."
Then, glancing at Zuri, whose hopeful eyes shone in the tense silence, he added with careful calm: "I would speak with you soon, sister. There's much to be done."
Even as he turned away, I felt the subtle tremor of his surrender, the unspoken acknowledgment that he had let someone again, touch the storm inside him, but that, for now, it was enough.
He left without bow or farewell, his cloak sweeping behind him as he strode out. I followed, my head held high, the echo of our departure lingering long after the doors closed.
The royal family sat in stillness, the King's eyes heavy with thoughts unspoken, the Queen trembling with fury, and Zuri staring at the door, heart torn between love and dread.
*
*
Prince Davis pov
We walked through the corridors in silence, side by side, the echo of our footsteps blending with the faint hum of the castle around us. The halls stretched endlessly, their cold stone walls pressing in, yet somehow, having her there made the weight lighter, even as my own chest still throbbed with anger and grief.
I kept my gaze fixed ahead, jaw tight, hands occasionally brushing against the sides of the coat. I didn't speak, but she could feel the pulse of my restraint in every measured step. She matched my pace, careful not to crowd me, but close enough that her presence offered some anchor to the storm I carried within.
I had wanted to get out of that hall, away from the Queen's sharp words, away from the memory of betrayal and loss. Yet as I walked, she saw it, the small flickers I tried to hide. The way my shoulders stiffened and relaxed in rhythm with the heartbeatm, the tension in my hands that my touch had subtly eased, the almost imperceptible glance that lingered toward her when he thought she wasn't looking. She could see right through me, and I hated it.
She remembered again that night, the night she does not want to forget. Being curled in my arms, the warmth that came with how our lips met but also how I had carried the same storm, almost breaking under it, and how her quiet steadiness had been enough then to keep me from tipping over completely. Now, as we moved through the endless corridors, she realized I needed her, I needed someone by my side, partly why I tangled her in this mess, why I could never let her go even if I wanted to.... I needed someone, more than I would ever admit, more than words could say.
Step by step, I mirrored her, feeling the strange tug of closure that neither of us acknowledged aloud. And though I didn't speak, though I didn't allow my guard to fully drop, I could feel the thread between us, the fragile, invisible tether that bound me to her in ways I refuse to name, yet could not deny.
Somewhere ahead, the corridors turned, and the unknown awaited. For I, it wasn't the destination, it was simply to escape, to breathe, to be away from the suffocating walls of expectation. But for her, walking beside me, she understood that this flight wasn't just from anger, it was from the pain I had never learned to release. And silently, she vowed to stay close enough to hold me when the storm finally broke.
I had almost forgotten how quiet the palace grounds could be when night fell. The further we walked from the halls, the dimmer the laughter became, until only the sound of our footsteps echoed against the stone paths. Linda still followed, her curiosity showing in the small, quick glances she stole.
When we finally stepped through the old wooden gate, the scent of lilies and damp grass greeted us. My mother's garden. My hideout. The one place untouched by the cold hands of the palace.
The moonlight spilled over the pool like liquid glass, rippling softly against the marble edges. The flowers ..... bluebells, chrysanthemums, jasmines, all seemed to glow under the silver light. Linda stopped walking. Her breath caught.
"It's beautiful," she whispered, stepping forward as if afraid the place might vanish if she moved too fast.
I watched her fingers brush the petals of a nearby flowers.
"You like flowers?" I asked, knowing already by the look in her eyes what her answer would be.
Her lips curved into a soft smile. "I love them," she said simply.
"They speak when words fail." She knelt beside a cluster of bright yellow blooms.
"These.... these are sunflowers. They mean happiness," she said, her voice light and almost childlike. "They always turn toward the sun, even when it hides. I like to think they remind us that joy isn't something we chase, it's something we choose."
She then reached for another flower , delicate white petals streaked with pale pink. "And this one... the bleeding heart," she murmured, her fingers careful.
"It means sorrow. They say it blooms for the pain we carry .... beautiful, but always a little broken."
I found myself staring, not at the flowers, but at her. At how easily she spoke of both happiness and sorrow as if they were sisters , inseparable. Her eyes glowed with admiration, her smile soft and genuine. It had been too long since I'd seen anyone smile like that.
"My mother's favorite," I said quietly, pointing to a bed of white peonies near the pool. "She said they meant strength. Grace under burden."
Linda turned to me, her expression warm. "Then she must've been strong and beautiful. You must have taken her eyes."
For the first time in a long while, I smiled... not out of courtesy, but from something real. The kind of smile that didn't need to be rehearsed.
We wandered along the pool's edge, her laughter filling the silence that once guarded this place. Then she stopped, turned to me with that spark in her eyes that always seemed to break through my walls.
"Can I use the pool?" she asked suddenly.
I raised an eyebrow. "Can you swim?"
"No," she admitted with a grin, "but you could teach me... if you promise."
That word .... promise .... it landed softly yet heavy. I hesitated. This pool wasn't just water. It was memory. My mother's touch. Her laughter echoing against these walls. Only Royals were allowed here. I almost said no.
But then she looked at me, really looked. And everything inside me unraveled. There was a light in her eyes that begged to be heard and trusted.
I sighed. "Only if you promise to keep it secret."
Her face brightened instantly. "I promise!" she said, holding up her hand like a vow.
"It will be our little secret" she smiled and that smile melted something in me I dared not name.
"And I'll show you a secret door from my chambers," I added before I could stop myself. "It leads straight here."
She gasped. "Truly?"
I nodded. She laughed, that unrestrained, golden kind of laugh that made the air around us lighter. Then she jumped, spun once, and clasped her hands together in excitement. "Thank you, Your High..... I mean, Davis!"
Her joy was pure. She looked like the child I never got to be — free, wild, unchained. I envied that. Watching her dance around the pool, I realized how much I had forgotten what freedom felt like.
But then, She's crazy.
Not the kind of madness that drives people wild, but the kind that makes you forget reason altogether. Reckless, not in a dangerous way, but in how she followed her heart without hesitation. She never addressed me as she should, never bowed, never waited for permission. She simply does as she please, and I... I let her.
She knew ways to my heart I didn't even know existed, and somehow, I allowed it. Looking at her now, radiant and unbothered by titles or rules, I saw everything I was never meant to have. She was both my perfect devotion and my quiet end.
Only if I could allow myself to feel ... truly feel .... I would've given her the world and more. But feelings were luxuries I could not afford. Not when the crown demanded the man I was not yet ready to stop pretending to be.
So, I chose to let her be. To keep her close, as she should be , near enough to warm me, far enough not to burn me.
And as she stopped to look at the reflection of the moon in the water, I felt that twist inside my chest again. That quiet ache.
I wondered if I even deserved the warmth I felt tonight. If she knew who I truly was, the kind of prince I am, the weight of what I had done and yet to be done.... would she still look at me that way? Would she stay?
I didn't want to find out. I didn't want her to leave. She was the only one who ever looked at me without seeing a crown.
Silence stretched between us, tender and uncertain. I slipped my hand into my coat pocket and pulled out my cigarette.
When I lit it, the spark illuminated my face for a second. Linda's eyes widened. "You're smoking again," she said softly. eyes filled with worry.
I didn't answer instead, I turned away, exhaling slowly, the smoke curling toward the moon.
The garden smelled of flowers and fire, of peace and ruin all at once.
And I stood there, beside the only person who ever made me forget which one I truly was.
And that's when I realized... I had forgotten who she truly was.
She wasn't just Linda.... the woman who smiled at flowers and laughed like sunlight breaking through clouds. She was my right hand, my shadow in duty, sworn to protect the very crown I sometimes despised.
For a fleeting moment, I hadn't seen the responsibility she bore, nor the path that bound us both. I had only seen the woman, gentle, curious, free.
But freedom was not a gift meant for people like us.
That night, I made myself a promise. I would focus on what lay ahead. There was still so much to be done, and she, though brave, wasn't yet prepared for what was coming. If she was to walk with me through the storm, then she could not be soft. I would have to harden her heart, sharpen her will, teach her to endure as I had.
Her training would begin at dawn.
No hesitation. No gentleness. She needed to understand the world that awaited us, a world that would show no mercy for softness, no patience for affection.
I took one last drag of the cigarette, the smoke curling between us like a thin veil of truth. I reminded myself that I was still a Prince, one with plans buried deep beneath the surface, far from anyone's reach.
And if I was to see them through, I could not afford distractions... not even the kind that smiled at me like she did.