(The Day of the Meeting with Lady Elenor Veymont)
Eyan stood before the mirror, adjusting the stiff collar of his formal attire. His reflection stared back with narrowed eyes and clenched jaw.
"I hate it…" he muttered under his breath.
Hans, standing a respectful distance behind, could see the weight pressing on his king's shoulders.
"Your Majesty," Hans said carefully, "how long do you think you'll endure it?"
Eyan's lips twisted. "Fifteen minutes. That's it."
Hans suppressed a sigh, his inner thoughts sharp. He won't last five.
With a sharp tug to straighten his cuffs, Eyan strode out of the chamber and into the long corridor of the palace. His boots struck against marble, echoing his impatience.
"Your Majesty!" a voice called from behind.
Eyan turned, irritation already flickering in his eyes. "Now what do you want?"
The palace physician, Dr. Aldric Veynar, hurried toward him, clutching a small bag.
"Are you leaving to meet Lady Elenor?" the physician asked, slightly out of breath.
"Unfortunately, yes," Eyan replied dryly.
Dr. Aldric extended the bag. "Then please, take this with you."
Eyan accepted it, brow furrowing. "What is this?"
"Your father instructed me to give it to you," the physician explained. "He asked that you share it with Lady Elenor."
Eyan stared down at the bag.
"…Father did," he repeated flatly.
"Yes, Your Majesty," the physician confirmed with a small bow.
Eyan's lips curved into a humorless smile as he tucked the bag under his arm. "Fine."
Without another word, he turned sharply on his heel and continued down the corridor, the bag weighing heavier than it should.
---
Eyan's carriage halted in front of the grand hotel. He stepped out, muttering under his breath, "Let's end this as quickly as possible."
Inside, Lady Elenor Veymon awaited him in the lounge, already seated with the poise of a noblewoman well-prepared for this "meeting of destiny."
She rose and bowed gracefully. "It is an honor to meet you, Your Majesty."
Eyan inclined his head, voice polite but clipped. "Nice to meet you, Lady Elenor."
He sat across from her with the air of a man who would rather be anywhere else—preferably battling an entire army.
"I was waiting eagerly for you," Elenor said, her smile demure.
"I had some matters to attend to," Eyan replied curtly.
"I understand… You are a busy man."
Silence. Long, heavy silence.
Desperate to break it, Elenor leaned forward. "Your Majesty, do you remember me? We met when we were children—"
"No. I don't."
Her smile faltered. "…I suppose you wouldn't."
The waiter approached to take their order.
"What would you like, Your Majesty?" Elenor asked sweetly.
"A glass of water is fine."
"Just water? Nothing else?"
"No."
Elenor, flustered, turned to the waiter. "Then… water for His Majesty. And a cup of tea for me, please."
When the waiter left, she gathered her courage again. "You truly are just as the rumors say."
Eyan raised a brow. "Oh? And what rumors are those?"
She offered her most charming smile. "That you are both handsome and kind."
Eyan actually laughed, a soft, amused sound that startled her. "Kind, you say? That's the first time I've heard such a ridiculous rumor."
Her cheeks warmed. "N-no, I meant—"
"Lady Elenor," he interrupted smoothly, "you lived abroad, did you not?"
"Yes, I did."
"Then you don't know about me at all."
Her throat tightened. "I… I see."
For a moment, neither spoke. Then Elenor cleared her throat delicately. "As you know, our fathers are dear friends. They wish for us to be married."
Eyan leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable. "Yes. That is what my father wants. But I do not."
Her fingers trembled slightly against her teacup. "Your Majesty… do you dislike me so much?"
Eyan gave her a faint, almost pitying smile. "It's not about disliking you. It's simply that… you are not the one."
Her voice was barely a whisper. "Then… is there someone else you love?"
This time, his lips curved genuinely, though his eyes darkened with something she could not name. "I do."
Elenor's smile broke.
Eyan rose, brushing off his coat as if the conversation had grown dusty. "Do yourself a favor, Lady Elenor—do not keep your hopes up. Unless you wish to be hurt."
She forced a polite nod. "I… understand."
With that, he extended his hand courteously and escorted her toward her carriage.
"Take care, Lady Elenor. And for both our sakes, let us not meet again."
Before she could respond, he turned on his heel and strode to his own carriage—
---
Eyan leaned back against the velvet cushion of the carriage, loosening his collar with an irritated sigh.
"It took longer than I expected," he muttered. "Far too long."
Inside the carriage, Eyan sat in silence, his gaze fixed on the passing streets beyond the window.
"It took longer than I expected," he muttered under his breath, almost to himself.
He tapped the roof. "Let's go."
The carriage jolted forward, and as it did, a small bag slipped to the floor. Eyan bent down, picked it up, and frowned.
"I had forgotten about this…"
He untied the string and opened it, finding a small wooden box. Slowly, he lifted the lid.
"…Cookies?"
On top of them lay a folded note. He unfolded the paper and read aloud quietly:
"Share it with Lady Elenor. Bond over something sweet."
His hand stilled. "Father wanted me to… eat cookies with her."
He closed the box with a muted sigh. His eyes lingered on it in silence, but then a thought stirred within him.
"…Wait." His eyes narrowed at the box in his hands. "Cookies… Princess likes cookies."
For the first time all evening, his lips curved into a faint smile. He looked down at the simple, ridiculous little box as though fate itself had just smacked him in the face.
"It's a sign."
He knocked on the roof again. "Stop the carriage."
The coachman glanced back through the window slot, wide-eyed. "Your Majesty?"
"Go to the palace without me. I have something to do."
"But—"
"I said go."
The coachman paled. "…Yes, Your Majesty."
The carriage rolled off, leaving Eyan standing in the quiet street with a box of cookies in his hand.
He looked down at them once more, a small, almost boyish laugh escaping him.
"Let's go home," he murmured.
Home—not the Palace.
Home to Eva.