Elowen
The morning air was fragrant with dew and the gentle perfume of roses, climbing vines, and the evergreens that lined the palace pathways. The sunlight fell in dappled patterns across the cobbled walk, catching the soft sheen of my gown and warming the pale embroidery at the cuffs. My heart still raced, though Fiona's calm presence helped steady my nerves.
"The gardens are best seen before the day grows too hot," she said, her voice like gentle chimes. She gestured gracefully toward a rose arbor, its blossoms spilling in shades of crimson and blush. "I thought it prudent you witness them first, before the attendants begin their midday rounds."
I nodded, allowing myself to breathe a little more freely, though I could not entirely rid myself of the memory of the fall. The King's hands. The heat of his body pressed against mine. The briefness of that closeness, and yet the lingering intensity it left in its wake.
Fiona walked at my side with that effortless poise, and though her words were light, I detected their subtle purpose. "I trust the King did not startle you too severely in the library?" she asked, her tone casual yet precise.
I felt my cheeks warm and forced a composed laugh. "He is… rather imposing, I admit. Yet—" I hesitated, uncertain how much to reveal. "—he is courteous, and the fall was hardly a matter of consequence."
Fiona's eyes, warm and knowing, glanced sidelong at me. "Of course. It is only natural that one might be unsettled. His presence carries… weight. Few can remain entirely unmoved."
I swallowed hard, aware that the faint tremor in my voice betrayed more than I intended. "He… is unlike any I have encountered, Lady Margaret. There is a gravity to him, yes, but… also something indefinable. I cannot quite name it."
Fiona smiled faintly, as though my words confirmed something she already knew. "Unpredictable, yes. Intense. But not without fairness or consideration. You will find, in time, that the man himself is far simpler than the stories told by those outside these walls."
I looked at her, curious. "Even so, one wonders what it must be like to dwell so constantly beneath such scrutiny."
"Indeed," she replied softly. "It is a delicate balance — to serve, to govern, and yet to remain human. That is why the gardens, the books, and those few quiet chambers are so essential. Even a king must find refuge."
I allowed the words to settle, feeling a strange comfort in her presence. It was one thing to meet the King in the imposing chambers of the palace, with all its weight of law and ceremony, and quite another to step into these gardens, where the sunlight seemed to soften the very air itself.
She led me along winding paths lined with blooming hedges, pointing out the rarer specimens with gentle pride, yet never pressing too close, allowing my thoughts to wander as freely as the wandering streams beneath the bridges. And yet, even in this calm, I could not forget him — the feel of his body, the firmness of his hands, the way his eyes had locked with mine.
Fiona must have sensed the reverie, for she added lightly, "You will meet him again shortly. Perhaps the library incident should be considered an… introduction of sorts."
I flushed at the implication, but could not deny it. The memory lingered, pressing against propriety, demanding attention. "An… introduction, yes," I murmured, forcing composure into my tone.
She placed a reassuring hand briefly upon my elbow. "Do not allow it to unsettle you, Elowen. The King's intensity is formidable, yes, but it is tempered by justice and discernment. You will find your footing soon enough."
I inclined my head, grateful for her guidance, though I knew that no advice could entirely prepare one for the force of him — a man whose presence was as commanding as the palace itself, whose touch had left an indelible mark upon my senses, and whose quiet scrutiny I felt even when he was out of sight.
As the rose arbor came into view, its blooms a cascade of red and pink, I drew in a steadying breath. The palace beyond shimmered faintly through the branches, a reminder that, though the gardens offered a brief reprieve, the life awaiting me within its walls was as unyielding as the stones beneath my feet.
And yet, even so, I could not help but wonder how long it might be before the King's eyes found me again, and whether I would be prepared when they did.
The announcement came at the dining table, when the silver platters were laid out and the air carried the warmth of roasted meats and freshly baked bread. I sat straight-backed, trying not to let my nerves betray me, though every rustle of fabric and every lifted goblet made me feel as though the entire hall was watching.
The King's voice, deep and commanding, cut through the gentle hum of conversation.
"Tomorrow evening, we shall host a ball," he declared, his gaze sweeping the table. "A proper introduction for our Queen. All matters will be made official then."
My heart stumbled at the words our Queen. They had weight, heavy as iron, yet warm as fire. For a moment, the chatter ceased, and I felt the eyes of the court pressing down on me like a cloak too fine for my shoulders. I bowed my head just enough to show respect, though I could not stop the flush that crept across my face.
He turned slightly, his tone gentling, "You shall wear our traditional attire. It is the way of our people, and it will show them you honour us."
Before I could summon a reply, Fiona leaned forward, her eyes alight with excitement. "Oh, how wonderful! I shall help you prepare. We must find the finest silks and embroideries. You will look radiant, I swear it."
Her enthusiasm broke the tension, and I could not help but smile. Fiona, though only four years younger, had the ease and warmth that reminded me of my younger sister Cecily. There was no malice in her, only the bubbling joy of youth and genuine care. I found myself softening in her company, the loneliness of this new life dulling as her laughter wrapped around me like a comforting shawl.
"I would be most grateful," I said softly, meeting her shining eyes. "I fear I would be quite lost without your guidance."
She reached across the table to squeeze my hand discreetly, a gesture of solidarity that made my chest ache with unexpected fondness. "Then it is settled," she whispered. "Tomorrow, you shall dazzle them all, and no one will dare doubt who you are meant to be."
The King nodded in approval, his dark gaze lingering on me, unreadable yet steady, as though he weighed not only my worth but my willingness to belong. I lowered my eyes to my plate, the butterflies in my stomach fluttering wildly—not from fear, but from something far more dangerous.
The table had long been cleared, silver trays carried away by quiet-footed maids, yet I remained seated, my heart restless despite the lull of the afternoon. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, bathing the carved oak in warm gold, and I could not help but marvel at how life had changed in a matter of days.
Fiona leaned closer to me as we walked together through one of the galleries, her arm brushing mine. "You must not fret," she said softly, her blue eyes bright with the kind of mischief that only youth carried. "The ball will be grand, and all eyes shall be upon you. I, for one, have already thought of the gown you must wear. Velvet, perhaps. Or silk in the colour of the deep sea, so that no one forgets who their queen is."
Her words lifted a laugh from me, one I had not expected to escape. "You make it sound as though I should relish such attention."
"And should you not?" she asked, halting us near a tapestry depicting some battle long past. "You are to be their queen. You must let them see you shine, for the king will be watching, and he is not a man who misses detail."
Her tone softened then, and I sensed there was more beneath her chatter than simple excitement. Fiona, though four years younger, seemed eager to take me under her wing, perhaps because she too had once been a new bride in this fortress of stone and duty.
We sat together in a smaller salon, where tall-backed chairs framed a low table laid with sugared fruit. She peeled a slice of pear with delicate fingers, handing it to me. "When I arrived here, I knew not a soul. I trembled each time the great doors opened, convinced all judged me unfit. But it was he"—she nodded toward the direction of the great hall where the king still lingered—"who demanded I lift my chin. 'A crown is never meant to rest upon a bowed head,' he told me. I suppose now those words are yours to carry."
Her kindness struck me deep. I had not thought anyone here might understand the quivering weight in my chest. "Fiona… you are unlike what I imagined."
"And what did you imagine?" she teased, leaning close, her dark braid falling forward.
"Coldness. Rivalry, perhaps. I had feared you might see me as an interloper."
"Oh heavens, no." She shook her head, eyes wide. "If anything, I am relieved. Relieved that another woman walks these halls, someone nearer my own age. You will see—by tomorrow evening, when the candles burn and music fills the air—you will not stand alone."
Her hand found mine then, squeezing gently. The gesture was small, yet it rooted itself in me like an anchor. For the first time since entering this castle, I believed perhaps I could belong.
From the corridor beyond, a deep voice carried—firm, commanding. His. The king's words echoed as he spoke with one of his stewards, and a hush fell over me at once. Fiona noticed, her lips curving with sly amusement.
"You hear him and grow stiff," she whispered. "Does he unsettle you so greatly?"
Heat rose in my cheeks, and I glanced away, ashamed of how my heart betrayed me. "He is… formidable."
"Formidable, yes," Fiona said, laughter in her voice. "But not cruel, not to you. You will learn."
At that moment, the heavy doors opened, and he entered the salon. His presence filled it at once, the air tightening. His gaze found mine, held it, and something unspoken passed between us—something that made Fiona's hand slip from mine as though she too had sensed it.
"Ladies," he said, his voice like low thunder. "The hour grows late. Tomorrow shall demand much of us all. Rest, if you can."
I curtsied, though my knees trembled, and as I lifted my head, his eyes lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary before turning away.
Fiona leaned close again once he was gone, whispering in delight, "Oh, my dear—you have already captured him."