The next morning began with soft footsteps in the corridor, servants carrying breakfast trays, and the muffled clang of swords from the training field. Word spread quickly that Prince Adrien had been seen at dawn, already sweating through extra drills. Rowan watched over him, calm and solid as stone.
Anastasia didn't see Kit at breakfast. She checked the courtyard on the way to help the maids, peering through the arches as students and pages hurried about their tasks. No sign of brown boots or a worn cap.
She told herself to focus. She folded ribbons. She tied knots. She carried boxes from one table to another.
Drizella spilled ink twice and Cinderella cleaned it both times without a word. Rowan drifted in and out to check progress, but Kit never appeared.
By midday, Anastasia found herself watching the training grounds again. She saw the prince practicing relentlessly, trading blows with Rowan. Rowan corrected him often, sometimes physically adjusting his stance or pushing him off balance. The prince refused to yield, jaw tight with pride.
But no Kit.
In the evening, she lingered in the garden, hands tucked behind her back. The lamps lit the paths and fireflies hovered near the hedges. She expected Kit to show up and make a comment about the flowers or the weather or how Rowan was a tyrant in human form.
Nothing happened.
She slept poorly that night.
The second day arrived with more bustle than the last. The queen had completed the results of the selection trial, and by afternoon the palace was flooded with parchment, seals, and gifts. Servants loaded wagons and saddled horses, preparing to send letters to every candidate's home.
Drizella insisted on choosing the ribbon colors herself, which caused a mild riot.
Cinderella kept the peace with soft words and gentle hands. Anastasia tied the final bows, her expression thoughtful, her movements slower than usual.
By late afternoon, the wagons rolled out in lines along the main road, guards escorting them through the gate. The letters and gifts would reach every household by tomorrow evening. The palace halls felt strangely empty after they left.
Throughout the day, Anastasia's worry only grew. She scanned doorways, courtyards, kitchens, stables, and the long terrace overlooking the river.
No Kit.
No voice calling out to her. No clumsy attempt at small talk. No grin.
Maybe Kit had been reassigned to another part of the palace.
Maybe Rowan sent him away for a few days.
Maybe he was somewhere tending horses or polishing armor and couldn't leave.
She tried to convince herself of these harmless answers, but worry tugged at her anyway, stubborn and persistent.
By the third morning, Anastasia's patience wore thin. Worry had been manageable before, something she could swallow down with tea or distract away with Drizella's blabbering and scrolling through her phone which she left back in her world.
But now, every hallway felt like a puzzle missing one piece, and her eyes kept searching even when she told herself not to.
During laundry hour, she stood beside the long basin while a row of maids scrubbed linens. She walked beside the maids tried to sound casual.
"That boy… the one with the cap. The clumsy one. Brown boots. Works around the palace sometimes…"
A maid frowned. "Clumsy? Which one?"
"There are many." Another laughed.
"Oh." Anastasia nodded, feeling silly.
She left the place quickly and moved on.
Later, she passed by the stables. Stable boys brushed horses and swept straw into neat piles. She stopped near a horse with a glossy coat, pretending to admire it.
"I saw a guard around here sometimes," she said lightly.
"Young. Quiet. Orange hair."
The stable boy thought for a moment.
"That sounds like the courier apprentice. Not a guard."
"No. Not him. This one talks too much."
The boy shrugged. "Haven't seen anyone like that in days."
Anastasia walked toward the kitchens next. The cooks stirred pots that smelled of onions, pepper, and herbs. She leaned near the table where vegetables were being chopped.
"There used to be a boy who came by for scraps sometimes," she said, keeping her tone even.
"Lean build. Always smiling. Red-orange hair."
One of the cooks snapped peas without looking up.
"Could be a page. Or a candlemaker's son."
"Or a locksmith's nephew," someone added.
They laughed among themselves. Anastasia didn't.
She excused herself and continued her quiet search. The palace was large and full of people, yet it felt as if Kit had vanished between two doorways and never stepped out again.
By late afternoon, she sat with Drizella and Cinderella near an open courtyard, embroidery frames resting on their knees. Drizella pricked her finger three times in ten minutes and cursed softly each time. Cinderella offered to help.
Anastasia barely knows how to stitched.
Her eyes stayed on the gardens, on the guards at their posts, on the terrace above the training grounds. Still no sign. Still no voice calling her name. The worry in her chest kept twisting tight, as if she owed him an apology she never got to deliver.
As the sun began to drop, she returned to the workrooms. The maids sorted the last of the leftover ribbons and sealed empty boxes. Anastasia approached slowly.
"Has anyone seen that new guard?" she asked, sounding more direct than before.
"The smiling one. I think his name was Kit."
The room paused for a heartbeat, thinking. Then one maid snapped her fingers.
"Ah! The orange-haired boy?"
Anastasia's heart jumped. "Yes!"
"I heard he got kicked out," the maid said casually, as if mentioning the weather.
"Happens sometimes. Disgrace or laziness or bad temper. They send them back to their homes."
The words struck harder than expected. Anastasia blinked, stunned.
"Kicked out?"
"That's what I heard," the maid insisted.
"He hasn't been seen all week. Someone said he was dismissed. Guards like that don't last."
One of the other maids nodded.
"If he made trouble, they won't keep him."
Anastasia stared at them, mind racing.
Kit… kicked out? Banished from the palace? It sounded wrong. Kit was clumsy and reckless but never lazy, never cruel, never silent. He bounced like energy itself, even when Rowan scolded him.
"He wouldn't just leave," Anastasia murmured. "Not without saying anything."
The maids had already returned to their ribbons and boxes.
Anastasia stepped outside into the corridor, breathing slowly, trying to settle the ache in her chest. The courtyard lamps flickered awake for night, and the stone paths glowed faintly.
She pressed a hand to her forehead.
"Someone got the story wrong," she whispered, refusing to let sadness win.
"He didn't get kicked out. That can't be true."
But as the evening deepened and the palace quieted, she couldn't shake the feeling of missing something important—some truth hovering just out of reach.
That night the palace halls were dim, candles lined like quiet sentries along the walls. Anastasia walked them slowly, her steps unsure. She had one name left on her list, one person who always knew more than anyone else: Rowan.
She found him outside the training hall, checking swords and arranging equipment for the next morning. His face was focused, sleeves rolled up, hands steady as ever. Anastasia hesitated near the doorway.
"Rowan?" she asked softly.
He glanced up. "Yes?"
She tried to arrange her words in the most harmless form possible.
"Do you remember the guard boy? Kit. Clumsy boots, orange hair. I saw him often. He hasn't been around lately."
Rowan paused for a beat, then returned to stacking shields.
"Many come and go."
"I know," she said, staying close. "But this one was helpful. Or tried to be. I just… wondered if he's alright."
Rowan didn't answer at first. His jaw tightened, barely noticeable unless someone was watching closely.
"He was punished," Rowan said finally. "Dismissed from his position. He left."
It was a clean answer, short and firm. Rowan did not look at her.
Anastasia stared at him, waiting for something more. A name. A location. A reason. Anything.
But Rowan lifted a sword rack and carried it toward the back of the hall, making it clear the topic was finished.
She swallowed hard, nodding though no one could see.
"I understand."
She didn't, not really.
When she left the training hall, the night air hit her like a wave. She reached the garden steps before her knees gave out. She sat there, face hidden in her hands, breath shaking in and out as if her chest had forgotten how to work.
Kit was gone. Just like that.
No goodbye. No explanation. No smile to soften the leaving.
Midnight wrapped itself around the palace like a dark blanket. Most candles had burned low, leaving long shadows stretching across the courtyard stones.
Anastasia sat on the garden steps, cloak pulled around her shoulders, head bowed.
She didn't cry loudly. She just sat there with everything twisting inside her. Sadness came first, heavy as iron. Then worry. Then a new feeling she hadn't named yet, sharp and aching. But regret hit hardest.
She regretted not searching sooner. Not asking directly. Not talking more. Not laughing back when Kit joked. Not saying thank you properly. Not saying anything properly.
She stared at her hands in the moonlight and whispered to no one, "I didn't even tell him I liked him." The words felt too small for what she meant.
The truth rose quietly, as if it had been waiting behind her ribs all along.
"I love him…"
There was no panic in the confession, only tired certainty. It made sense now, all the worrying and searching and longing. She loved him, and he was gone, and she hadn't said a single thing that mattered.
A tight breath slipped from her lips, almost a laugh, almost a sob.
"Of course I figured it out now. Too late."
She leaned back against the cold stone step and closed her eyes, letting the night wind cool her flushed face. The silence settled, thick and unbroken, as if the whole palace held its breath.
Then something moved.
Not wind. Not birds. Footsteps.
Slow ones.
Anastasia sat up, heart hammering, head turning toward the archway.
A figure stepped from the darkness, cap in hand, hair catching the moonlight in warm streaks of orange. His boots scuffed against the stone, familiar and real.
He stood there, breathing hard, as if he'd run the whole palace just to reach her.
"Anastasia—"
She froze.
Her heart did too.
And the night refused to fill in the rest.
---------------------------------------
SIDE NOTE: I made this a special long chapter to celebrate my results for the finals. I hope you all liked it. ☺ please look forward towards the next chapter.
If you like my story then give it a star and share it with your friends, this will help me to keep motivated and write new stories.