Chapter 3: The Gateway
The crack in the façade, however small, became Amaya's entire universe. The fact that Aris Rowon had not only noticed her reading habits but had commented on them was a victory more monumental than any exam she'd ever aced. It was fuel for her delusions, and she stoked the fire happily.
Her new strategy was one of calculated, charming persistence. She started spending more time in her front yard, ostensibly reading on a blanket under the large oak tree that straddled the property line. In reality, she was a sentry, waiting for a glimpse, a chance encounter.
It was during one of these vigils, as she was dramatically re-reading the chapters she'd skipped (because what if he quizzed her again?), that a warm, melodic voice interrupted her.
"That must be a very good book. You look completely lost in it."
Amaya looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun. A woman stood there, holding a small, reusable grocery bag. She had Aris's same thick, dark hair, though hers was streaked with elegant silver and pulled into a loose bun. Her eyes—a softer, warmer version of her son's light hazel—crinkled at the corners with a kind smile.
This was Mrs. Rowon.
Amaya scrambled to her feet, brushing grass from her sundress. "Oh! Hi. Yes, it's… it's full of faeries and drama."
Mrs. Rowon's smile widened. "A welcome escape, I'm sure. I'm Elara Rowon. You must be Amaya from next door. Thank you again for the delicious cookies."
"It's nice to properly meet you," Amaya said, her manners kicking in automatically. Her heart, however, was racing. This was it. The gateway to the fortress. "And thank you for the casserole. My dad ate most of it."
Elara laughed, a light, pleasant sound. "That's what they're for. I was just about to put on some tea. Would you like to join me? I'd love to hear what a young person thinks of the neighbourhood. Aris is utterly useless for gossip, I'm afraid."
The invitation was so unexpected, so perfect, that Amaya almost squealed. She managed to contain it to a very enthusiastic, "I'd love to!"
She followed Elara into the Rowon house. It was neat and clean, but lived-in. The air smelled faintly of lemon polish and old books. Textbooks were stacked neatly on a desk in the living room, and diplomas hung on the wall in simple frames. It was a house of quiet ambition, a stark contrast to the colourful, slightly chaotic warmth of her own home.
"Make yourself comfortable, dear," Elara said, gesturing to the kitchen table. "Aris is at the library, so we'll have some peace."
He's not here.
The news was both a relief and a disappointment.
As Elara moved about the kitchen, steeping tea, Amaya's eyes darted around, absorbing every detail like a spy. A framed photo on the fridge showed a younger, slightly less serious Aris in a high school graduation gown. Her heart did a little flip.
"So, Amaya, you're in college already? Your mother said you skipped a few grades," Elara said, placing a cup of steaming chamomile tea in front of her.
"Yes, ma'am. I'm sixteen. In my first year, science stream," Amaya said, proud of the fact. Maybe this would impress Aris-by-proxy.
"Sixteen! My goodness. And already holding your own with university students. You must be very bright." Elara's praise felt genuine. "Aris was the same. Always had his head in a book, even as a little boy. Never for faeries, though," she added with a wink. "It was always the human body, how things worked. He's been focused on becoming a doctor since he was ten."
"That's amazing," Amaya breathed, filing the information away like something precious. "He must be so busy."
"Oh, impossibly so," Elara sighed, pride and worry mingling in her hazel eyes. "Between his studies and the part-time work he's taken on at the hospital library to help with expenses… he barely sleeps. Sometimes I think that boy doesn't know how to just be. It's all work, work, work. No time for friends, for fun…" Her voice trailed off, and she looked at Amaya with a sudden, thoughtful curiosity. "It's a pity. A young man his age should have a little more life in him."
Amaya felt a surge of protectiveness. She saw it now—the weight behind his sharp focus. It wasn't just coldness. It was exhaustion. Responsibility. The pressure of a family's hopes balanced squarely on his shoulders.
The mission shifted in her mind.
It wasn't just about making him notice her anymore.
It was about bringing him some of that light. That fun.
They chatted for another twenty minutes about school, the neighbourhood, and Amaya's family. It was easy, comfortable. Elara Rowon was warmth incarnate—a sun to her son's controlled gravity.
As Amaya rose to leave, thanking her for the tea, the front door opened.
Aris walked in, his messenger bag slung over one shoulder. He stopped short when he saw her standing in his kitchen. His gaze flicked from her face to his mother, then back again, his expression carefully unreadable.
"Aris! Look who stopped by for tea," Elara said brightly.
"I see," he replied, neutral as ever.
"It was lovely to meet you, Mrs. Rowon," Amaya said, her cheerfulness pitched just a little higher under his scrutiny. She moved toward the door—which he was still blocking.
He didn't step aside immediately.
He looked down at her, his light hazel eyes sharp behind his glasses, catching the kitchen light in faint gold flecks. "Amaya," he said, inclining his head slightly.
It was the first time he'd said her name.
It sounded different in his voice. More deliberate. More real.
"Aris," she replied, meeting his gaze with a small, defiant smile.
After a beat, he stepped aside.
As she walked back into the sunlight, she felt his eyes on her back—steady, assessing. She didn't look back.
She had breached the outer wall.
She had gained the queen's favor.
And the prince of the castle had finally—truly—looked at her.