18th February, Stellar Year 2924
Leal
The doorbell rang once. Then again. And again, persistent, almost impatient.
Evelyn paused mid-step in her quiet apartment, staring at the door as if it might reveal its visitor through wood and brass. No one visited without notice. Not here. Not her.
The bell rang a fourth time.
She exhaled and paced toward it, each step measured, controlled. When she opened the door, she saw the flowers first.
A bouquet.
White roses.
Precious. Fresh. Almost painfully white.
Her gaze lingered on the petals before drifting downward,slowly, carefully,until it reached the hand holding them.
Large. Familiar.
Her heart burst before her mind could catch up.
"Good afternoon, Evelyn."
The deep voice wrapped around her like something remembered from childhood. She did not answer at first. She simply stared.
Before she could greet him, he placed the white roses into her hands.
Only then did she look at his face.
The boy she remembered was gone. In his place stood a man; taller, broader, sharper in every angle. The softness of youth had carved itself into defined lines. His eyes were the same, though. Unreadable. Steady. Watching.
In her memories, she still saw him as the thin, solemn boy who rarely laughed but always stood closest.
Her body moved before her pride could interfere.
She stepped into his arms.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, pulling back just enough to see him clearly.
A faint curve touched his lips.
"Dylan can visit whenever he wants," he said with quiet complaint, "but I have far too much on my plate."
She rolled her eyes softly. "Come inside."
Evelyn turned, hiding her face briefly in the flowers as she walked.
"Still fresh, like always," he added.
She did not ask whether he meant the roses or her.
"Thank you, CP. Make yourself comfortable."
The lounge was warm, bathed in soft afternoon light. Evelyn placed a cup of coffee before him, steam curling gently upward.
"So," she said, settling across from him, "what are you doing here?"
"Business," he replied, removing his coat. "And I thought I should pay you a visit."
She took the coat from him automatically, smoothing it before placing it aside. Her fingers lingered a second too long.
"You've grown up, Perseus," she said quietly, sitting beside him now. "I almost didn't recognize you."
He leaned back into the couch, stretching slightly, as though relaxing was a deliberate act.
"So have you, Eva."
He did not say the rest.
You're the one who changed the most.
It was you we no longer recognized.
( The present royal family had three young members of their generation. Evelyn Aurelia, eldest among them, daughter of Third Prince Csepel Raden and Lucine. Then Perseus Alaric, the Crown Prince. And the youngest, Dylan Alastair Xander.
They had grown up together in Capaldi's vast estates. Summers by the lake. Winters by the fire. Secrets shared in hallways that no longer belonged to them. Harmony, once.)
Evelyn sank into the couch beside him.
She had always found it strange,whenever she felt close to breaking, one of them called. Or appeared. As if some invisible thread still connected them across distance and silence.
"Your skills improves with every visit," she said lightly.
A low laugh escaped him.
"How have you been, Eva?" he asked.
His hand reached for her head without hesitation, fingers brushing lightly through her hair. She did not resist. She never had. With him, boundaries had always been invisible and understood.
"Good," she answered. "My workplace is good."
He hummed in acknowledgment.
But his gaze shifted.
It moved past her smile. Beneath it. Searching for fractures.
"And you?" she asked quickly. "Have you eaten?"
"No."
She frowned.
"Why?"
"Work."
She stared at him disapprovingly.
"I have this instinct," she said, laughing softly,
"to cook warm food for you and Dylan and watch you both eat."
"Like an elders" he muttered.
She raised an eyebrow.
He considered it, then added,
"No. More like a grandmother."
She blinked in surprise.
Since when did he learn humor?
Still smiling, she stood and moved toward the kitchen.
As she cooked a local dish she had recently learned, they talked. About trivial things. About the city. About work. About nothing that mattered and everything that did.
By the time they finished their late lunch, the sky had shifted to a softer hue.
Perseus suddenly remembered something and reached into his pocket.
"I have a little present for you."
His tone turned secretive.
She laughed. "What is it?"
"A snowy Capaldi."
He held out his phone.
A video played.
White blanketed the vast estate grounds. The familiar rooftops. The lake frozen at the edges. Snow clinging to the old iron gates.
Evelyn watched in silence.
"How long has it been since I last saw Capaldi covered in snow? a snowy Capaldi? " she whispered.
Her voice was lower now. Guarded. As if too much emotion might shatter something fragile. Something that's magic.
"Dylan sent me autumn," she said after a moment. "And you sent winter."
He nodded.
"I appreciate it."
She scrolled absently through the gallery, and then paused.
Her fingers stiffened.
A photograph.
Perseus. Her parents.
Standing together at the estate.
She returned the phone immediately, almost too quickly.
He noticed.
He took it back, saw the image, and cursed quietly under his breath.
"How have they been?" she asked.
He understood what she meant.
"Good," he answered carefully. "In health."
She inhaled.
"I…" Her voice faltered.
The walls returned. He felt them rise between them like an invisible fortress.
He hid the phone and looked away, studying the room instead. The small plants by the window. The framed art. The quiet life she had built away from everything.
He hesitated to meet her eyes.
They were no longer soft like before. They were distant. Guarded.
He had always wished they would soften again.
"Perseus Alaric," she said softly.
He looked at her.
His cousin.
His once gentle elder sister.
"Yes?"
"You don't resent me, do you?"
The question struck deeper than any accusation. And she has asked the question that perhaps hurt him the most in the years gone forever and in years yet to come.
"For what?"
His voice was neutral, controlled. The wall around his heart rising higher.
"For leaving without farewell,"
she said.
"For leaving Capaldi. For abandoning everything."
Silence stretched between them.
"No," he replied at last.
"No one does."
It was vague. Too vague.
But it was all he could give.
They sat without speaking for a long time.
Finally, he stood.
"I should go."
She stood as well, awkward now, hands slipping into her pockets as she walked him to the door.
He opened it.
Then paused.
His back faced her. He remained still for a few seconds.
Something in him resisted leaving.
He turned.
She stood there, small in the doorway light, shoulders slightly drawn inward. Apologetic without speaking.
He could not watch her like that.
He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.
Strong. Protective.
"It's settled," he murmured.
"Dylan will send spring. I'll bring summer."
He inhaled the faint floral scent around her. Roses. Soap. Something uniquely hers.
She smiled against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.
Strange.
Foreign.
She remembered it weaker once, years ago, when she had held him after a fall, when he was still thin and fragile and stubbornly quiet.
Now it was strong.
Unyielding.
Time had changed them both.
"Drive safe," she said when he finally released her.
He stepped into the elevator without another word.
The doors closed.
Evelyn remained standing for a moment longer.
When she shut the apartment door, a rush of cool air swept through the lounge from the open window. It brushed past her like a passing presence,checking on her, perhaps, before escaping again into the evening.
She stood there quietly.
Winter had come to Capaldi.
Spring would follow.
Some seasons returned faithfully.
Others never did.
And yet, somewhere between distance and silence, something still endured.