The day of Leandro’s visit arrived faster than I had anticipated.
My body, still ached even a full week after narrowly escaping death. Each day my frustration mounting at not being able to use magic to fully heal. The bruises that marred my skin had faded from black and blue to a sickly yellow-green, but the stiffness in my limbs lingered.
I had been confined to my chambers for most of the time, a prisoner of both my injuries and the heightened protection post attack. It wasn’t just my body that lacked energy; my mind, too, felt sluggish, weighed down by an invisible fog that refused to lift. Eamon, ever loyal and eager to assist, had made valiant attempts to continue the research on the Vesper Summit on my behalf.
“I’ll find something,” he’d promised one evening, his brow furrowed as he scanned through a stack of old documents. But his efforts had been cut short time and time again. At first, he’d been given leniency, and was allowed to stay by my side while I recovered, but now it seemed his duties as a servant were taking precedence.
“It’s fine,” Eamon had said when I expressed concern over his growing workload. He’d smiled in that easy, disarming way of his, brushing off my worries as though they were nothing. “I don’t mind helping out where I can. I’ll always make time for you.”
And he did. Whenever he could steal a moment, he would appear at my door, sometimes with a tray of tea or a book on magic he thought might distract me from my frustrations. His presence was a balm, soothing the restless ache in my chest that seemed to worsen in his absence.
This morning was no different. The pressure in my chest had settled into a familiar heaviness as I sat by the window, staring out at the gardens below but seeing nothing. My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of my chamber door creaking open. Turning toward the noise, I expected to see Eamon with one of his usual cheerful greetings, but instead, Elara swept into the room with two other maids trailing behind her.
“Elara,” I began, frowning as they bustled in with armfuls of fabric and boxes that jingled faintly with the sound of jewelry inside. “What is all this?”
Elara’s face lit up with excitement as she set down her load on the edge of my bed. Her eyes sparkled like a child’s on the morning of a festival. “Preparations for Prince Leandro’s visit, my lady,” she explained brightly. She gestured toward the other two women, who were already unpacking their burdens onto every available surface in sight. “This is Vianne and Mirelle. They’ll be assisting us today.”
I glanced at the two maids and felt a pang of guilt for not remembering them. They had been introduced to me before, surely, but their faces blurred together with so many of the other staff in my mind.
“Sir Gavriel,” Vianne called out toward the hallway as she adjusted her grip on a heavy velvet gown draped over her arm. “Would you be so kind as to guard the door?”
The knight stationed outside gave a curt nod and stepped into position just beyond the threshold, closing the door firmly behind him.
“Elara,” I tried again as she began pulling out an array of gowns in every shade imaginable and laying them out across my bedspread like offerings at an altar. “This really isn’t necessary.” My voice wavered slightly at the sight of all the silks and satins shimmering like liquid light under the morning sun streaming through the window. I had seen and worn beautiful dresses before, during important dinners or events back in Nimrea, but I just didn't understand why one was necessary for tea.
“Nonsense!” Elara chirped without missing a beat. “You must look your absolute best for Prince Leandro.” There was an almost reverent tone in her voice as she spoke his name, a tone that made me wonder if she might be half in love with him herself.
Before I could protest further, Elara and her accomplices descended upon me. Vianne took charge of my hair while Mirelle knelt at my feet to slide on different pairs of shoes.
Elara held up gown after gown for inspection until finally settling on one. It was a masterpiece in emerald green that seemed to shimmer like dew-kissed leaves in springtime sunlight. “This is perfect,” she declared triumphantly as she held it up against me.
The next half-hour passed in a blur of motion. Fingers deftly weaving intricate braids into my hair; combs adorned with silver leaves being pinned into place; and brushes of makeup sweeping across my face.
When they finally stepped back to admire their handiwork, I couldn’t help but stare at my reflection with wide eyes. The woman staring back at me looked almost otherworldly—a vision draped in elegance and grace that felt entirely foreign yet strangely familiar all at once. I was also thoroughly impressed with how quickly they had managed to pull it all off.
A knock at the door broke through my admiration for the three maids.
“Come in,” I called out instinctively, expecting Sir Gavriel to inform me that Prince Leandro had arrived.
Instead, Eamon stepped into view, and for a moment it felt as if the tension in my body had been released.
He wasn’t dressed in his usual attire but rather wore a finely tailored butler’s suit. The sharp lines accentuated his lean frame while lending an air of sophistication I hadn’t quite seen before.
“You look…” His voice trailed off briefly as his gaze met mine through the reflection in the mirror.
“Wonderful work,” he said finally, turning toward Elara and her team with an approving nod that sent all three women into fits of blushing giggles.
My stomach twisted uneasily when Mirelle lingered just a moment too long under his gaze before offering him an almost shy smile.
I turned away quickly under pretense of adjusting one last comb in my hair, but not before catching sight of Mirelle glancing back over her shoulder at Eamon as she left… and not before feeling that same uneasy knot tighten once more in my chest.
Once the three maids had left, Sir Gavriel entered the room. His sharp eyes, cold and judgmental, landed on Eamon with an unspoken accusation that hung heavily in the air.
“My lady,” he began, his tone clipped and formal, the kind of voice one reserved for reprimands disguised as concern, “it is not proper to be left alone in a room with a man.”
“But it is proper to be alone with two men in a room?” I countered smoothly.
“I am your knight, my lady,” he said stiffly, as though the title itself placed him above reproach. “So it does not apply to me, but—”
“And Eamon is my attendant,” I interrupted sharply, unwilling to let him continue his tirade of thinly veiled classism.
Though I had yet to see Sir Gavriel in combat, Elara had assured me he was among the finest knights in the kingdom. Yet for all his supposed virtues, his constant disdain toward Eamon grated on me like sandpaper against silk. His glares and snide remarks were a constant reminder of the rigid class lines he so fervently upheld.
Sir Gavriel hesitated, his jaw tightening as though he were swallowing words that begged to be spoken. Finally, without another glance at Eamon, he stepped back toward the door. “As you wish, my lady,” he said curtly, though his tone suggested it was anything but what he wished. He retreated into the corridor but left the door slightly ajar.
Eamon approached me then, his movements fluid and unhurried as if unaffected by Gavriel’s hostility. He stopped just behind me, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him. His hands found their way to the back of my neck, his touch featherlight yet electric.
The unexpected intimacy sent a shiver down my spine, as his fingers deftly undid the latch of heavy emerald necklace. The soft chuckle that followed was warm and rich, brushing against my senses like velvet. His breath caressed my skin as he leaned closer, teasingly murmuring near my ear.
“That’s better,” he said softly, holding up the necklace briefly before setting it aside. His eyes met mine through the reflection in the mirror before us, there was a playful glint dancing within their depths.
I turned abruptly to face him, breaking away from the charged moment reflected back at me. “The butler suit looks good on you,” I said quickly, striving for casualness even as my heart betrayed me with its uneven rhythm. “Better than the other servant clothes.”
Eamon’s lips quirked into a knowing smile as he chuckled again, this time deeper and more deliberate. “Hmm,” he mused, adjusting the fitted jacket with a roll of his shoulders that only accentuated how well it clung to him. “It does look good, doesn’t it? But it’s not as comfortable.” He stretched slightly as if to emphasize his point, revealing just how perfectly tailored the suit was to his muscular frame.
I felt heat rise to my cheeks and quickly averted my gaze under the pretense of smoothing out a wrinkle in my skirt. “We should head down to the garden,” I said hurriedly, my voice higher than usual as I sought to redirect both our attention.
Eamon stepped aside with an exaggerated bow and an amused smile playing on his lips. “After you, my lady.”
With practiced grace, or what I hoped resembled grace, I swept past him and into the corridor where Sir Gavriel stood waiting like a sentinel carved from stone. His eyes flicked over Eamon briefly before settling on me with an unreadable expression.
Together we made our way through the mansion’s grand halls, their gilded opulence contrasting starkly against the tension simmering between our small party. Each step echoed faintly in the otherwise hushed expanse until we reached an ivy-covered archway.
The garden unfolded before us like a painting brought vividly to life—a riotous display of color and texture that seemed almost otherworldly in its beauty. The air was fragrant with the mingling scents of blooming roses and jasmine, carried on a gentle breeze that rustled through the canopy of trees overhead.
Beneath a gazebo draped in cascading vines and crowned with pale pink climbing roses sat an elegantly set table adorned with porcelain tea pots and an array of pastries so artfully arranged they appeared almost too perfect to eat.
As we approached, I plucked irritably at the lace cuff of my sleeve, a nervous habit born from years of enduring dresses that prioritized appearance over comfort. This particular gown was undeniably exquisite: layers of silk and tulle embroidered with delicate golden threads that shimmered in the sunlight like spun starlight. Yet its restrictive corset and voluminous skirts felt more like a gilded cage than garments meant for tea.
“Overdressed for tea,” I muttered under my breath with no small amount of irritation.
Elara’s voice chimed in gently from behind me like bells ringing softly in a distant tower. “Nonsense, my lady,” she said with an indulgent smile as she adjusted one final detail on her own attire before taking her place by my side. “You’re to take tea with royalty—and not just any prince but the second prince himself.”
Her words were meant to reassure me; instead they only served to deepen my unease. I scoffed lightly, unable to hide my disdain for both her enthusiasm and what it represented.
“Maybe you’ll be the next princess,” Elara added mischievously as she giggled behind her hand like a girl sharing secrets during a sleepover.
The very thought made me shudder involuntarily. My eyes darted toward Eamon instinctively, his expression unreadable save for a fleeting furrow of worry etched across his brow.
“I hope I am not so unlucky," I remarked dryly though inwardly praying fate shared my sentiment.
Prince Leandro's arrival was heralded by the soft crunch of gravel under the measured steps of a man who knew the weight of every stride he took. He emerged from the shadow of an arching willow, sunlight catching on the polished silver buttons of his black velvet doublet, which hugged his broad shoulders and tapered waist in a manner that could only be described as regal. With every step, he seemed to draw the very essence of nobility around him like a cloak.
Leandro’s face broke into a wide and charming smile as he approached me at the table.
“Greetings to the second Sun of Aurorea.” I said as I curtsied, the corset cuttinng into my ribs as I dipped low.
“I am pleased to see you out of bed, and looking beautiful Lady Kildare.” Leandro answered as he took the seat across from me.
"Your concern for my health is most touching, Your Highness," I said as I sat down, though even to my own ears, I could hear my voice laced with insincerity.
"Merely a prince doing his duty to look in on those most important to our kingdom," Leandro replied with a sly smile,"I am truly pleased to see you've recovered well."
As Elara and Eamon set out the tea service with practiced grace, the clink of porcelain against silver served as a delicate counterpoint to the tension weaving between us.
“I see that you have appointed a personal maid and knight.” Leandro remarked as his gaze quickly flickered between Elara and Sir Gavriel. Both of them bowed at the recognition from the prince. “I commend you for following my advice.” He said with a smirk that caused me to flinch at the irksomeness of his comment. “Though with those two, I don’t see why you would need to keep an attendant around.” He coldly remarked as his gaze did not hide the disdain toward Eamon.
“The appointment of Elara and Sir Gavriel came from the Marquess, your Highness.” I said as I fought to keep the mask of civility on my face as I spoke to him. “If it had been up to me, I would have just my attendant at my side, as he is more than capable of performing his duties.”
"Speaking of duties," Leandro began after a casual sip of tea, "there are matters regarding your recent attack that require discussion.”
The shift in tone was immediate and jarring. Gone was the flirtatious charm that had danced in his words moments ago; in its place stood something colder—more exacting. His lips pressed into a thin line as he met my gaze with unflinching seriousness.
Comments (0)
See all