The morning air had a chill to it, though the sun had already climbed past the east towers. Pale light filtered through the garden trees, draping the swing in dappled shadows that shifted gently with the wind. Somewhere down the corridor, maids bustled with fabric, pinning lace and argued over the length of royal sleeves.
But Havynlee wasn't among them.
She had slipped out, escaping the giggling gaggle of seamstresses and well-meaning court women discussing water colour best suited for a future queen. She wasn't in the mood. Not for chatter, not for pinpricks of needle, not for the talk about lace, veils, embroidery, and not for the heavy silence that followed every "congratulations," threw her way like a curse.
Let Lia handle it.
She'd told them, quietly but firmly, that she had no interest in dress today. That any dress would do for her engagement.
"Just pick one and let them be done with it."
And so Havynlee fled to the garden – the only place left untouched by the upcoming union everyone pretended to celebrate.
She sat on the swing in the garden – that hidden crescent of stone and ivy just outside her chambers. Her pale fingers curled around the by ropes as she swayed gently, the soft creak of the swing marking time. She was in her nightgown still, white and sheer, with a pearl-studded robe thrown loosely around shoulders. Her hair had come undone from its earlier style, falling in dark rivers down her back.
The garden was quiet. Too quiet.
Then came the footsteps. Soft, hesitant, not quite sure of their place. A maid approached, holding a small silver tray –porcelain teacup, warm biscuits laced with honey. She was new. Very young. Barely out of girlhood.
The girl walked slowly, balancing the silver tray that steamed faintly in the morning chill.
Her appearance was…. Strange. Not ugly. In fact, she was beautiful in a way that felt oddly out of place. Long red waves humbled down her back like a curse. Her eyes green like the edges of a broken glass, and a freckled face they didn't quite match the way she stared.
Havynlee turned her head slightly, just enough to see her. Her eyes – those unnerving silver eyes – meet the girl's. And for a second, something passed between them.
Not a word. Not a whisper just….. something."
The girl blinked quickly and looked down, cheeks blooming with confusion. "Your tea, princess," she mumbled, voice low like she was afraid it might echo.
Havynlee gave a quiet nod, not speaking.
"Is there anything else you need?" The maid said, not meeting Havynlee's eyes again.
"No," Havynlee said softly, watching her closely. "That will be all."
The maid hesitated, lingered for a beat too long, then turned and walked back toward the open archway, disappearing into the palace like she'd never been there at all.
But her eyes…before she turned away, those eyes lingered. Not in admiration, not even fear.
Curiosity.
Havynlee stared at the tea for a moment, then looked back at the archway. A breeze rolled through, cold despite the sun, lifting her robe and sending shivers across her collarbone. She sipped the tea slowly, lips barely touching the cup. It was sweet, like the kind her mother used to make….or the woman she only knew through second-hand tales and dreams.
She closed her eyes.
And then the singing began. It came soft at first, barely than a hum – like something remembered, something born in the bone. Havynlee let it rise in her throat, a haunting melody in an ancient tongue no one has taught her. Her voice floated through the garden, light and piercing, weaving itself into the wind.
Inside her chambers, Lia paused from sorting through silks. She tilted her head, recognising the tune but unable to place where she'd heard it.
In the corridor, a guard turned slightly toward the sound, then looked away quickly, unsettled.
Far across the palace, a mirror cracked. Just slightly. A hairline fracture no one would notice – yet.
Back in the garden, the song faded from Havynlee's lips like mist.
Her fingers gripped the rope tighter. The swing stilled.
The lullaby – something her mother used to hum when brushing her hair in dreams that didn't make sense…..
She wasn't alone.
Footsteps echoed against marble. A shadow crossed the pathway.
King Alaric appeared, he had not worn the full ceremonial grab. Just a dark velvet coat, embroidered lightly, his crown-less head bare. His features always stern and carved from stone – seemed softer tonight, his eyes caught in a memory.
"Seraphielle," he'd heard her. The song.
Havynlee looked up, "your majesty."
"You only call me that when you're trying to keep your distance," he said gently.
She didn't reply.
"I was told you ran from your seamstresses again," he chuckled.
"They weren't fast enough to catch me." Havynlee murmured, sipping her tea.
He huffed out a soft laugh but it didn't last. The garden fell quiet again.
Then Alaric sat beside her on the swing slowly, carefully. As if sitting next to something fragile.
"It's beautiful here," he said, eyeing the swing. "Seraphielle planted those silver irises before she got pregnant. They bloom only under certain moons."
Still, she didn't say a word.
"Are you…." he stated. "Are you happy with this marriage?"
Havynlee didn't speak at first. Then she turned to him, her voice calm – too calm. "How can a woman rejoice in marriage to a man too timid to raise his voice for her?"
The silence between them deepened. The swing creaked. Alaric blinked.
"He let me be humiliated. He sat silent while his mother tore out my name in front of everyone," she added. Her voice trembled now, but not from weakness – from something buried, something burning.
Alaric looked at her. Really looked.
Havynlee wasn't crying. She never cried. But something had shifted.
"You barely speak, Havynlee," he whispered, "where is all this coming from?"
He reached into the inner pocket of his velvet robe and pulled something out – a necklace. A delicate gold chain holding a small pearl swan pendant.
The swan was pearl-white with black eyes and golden beak. Flawless, like it had never been touched by time.
"This was hers," he said softly. "Your mother's."
Havynlee stared at it.
He fastened the necklace around her neck. The moment the pendant settled against her collarbone, the sky split open.
Cold.
The air shifted violently. The warm summer breeze became icy in seconds. The candlelight inside the palace windows flickered and dimmed. Alaric's breath came out in mist.
And Havynlee…..didn't flinch.
She sat perfectly still, her eyes closed, fingers wrapped around the pendant.
"Let's go inside," Alaric said, his voice was tight, trembling. "It's getting cold."
But Havynlee didn't move.
And then. It happened.
She sat straighter. Her shoulders rose. Her eyes…were no longer Havynlee's.
"Did you really love her?"
The question hit like a slap. Alaric flinched.
"Did you search for her? Did you search properly, or just mourn and move on?"
Alaric's lips parted. "I–"
"Or was I enough? Was I just a second chance? A shadow that looked enough like her to keep?" Her voice was low now. Sharper. "Is that why you kept me in the palace? Because I looked like her? Was it guilt, or just need?"
"I tried to find her," Alaric rasped. "For months." His eyes clouded, and for a moment, he looked less like a king and more like a man drowning in guilt.
"I didn't even know she was pregnant with you when Iridessa cast her out," he whispered, his throat tightening. "When I returned from war….five long months had passed. I searched, gods know I searched. My guards scoured every corner of Eldenwilde, every village and hamlet beyond its borders. I had her likeness drawn, hung in market places and crossroads, with rewards promised to anyone who found her."
His hands trembled as they closed into fists.
"And then….. one day, word came. A traveler reported a woman, heavy with child, who bore Sera's face. I rode through the night, I rode into my bones ached – but I was too late. When I arrived, she was already lying in a pool of blood."
Alaric's voice broke, he bowed his head as though the weight of the crown itself was pressing him into the earth…..
"And you, my little one – you were lying next to her lifeless body."
His breath hitched, and for a moment, it seemed the king of Eldenwilde might weep like a child.
Her death is mine to bear. If I had stood against my father years ago…. Sera would still be alive. She would have worn the crown beside me, not Iridessa. I loved her – gods, she was my first love. But my father…." his voice soured, "….he forced my hand. He told me she was unworthy, that she was no princess. Iridessa came with gold, armies, and the wealth of her kingdom. I married her to strengthen Eldenwilde. But I never loved her. Not once."
He swallowed hard, his eyes glistening.
"The only woman I ever loved was Seraphielle."