Chapter 13:
The morning sun filtered through the canopy of climbing roses, their crimson petals spilling like ink across the trellis. Under the shade of a charming terrace, Mariela sat neatly with her hands folded in her lap, Gideon standing quietly at her side.
An elderly servant approached, carrying a silver tray. Her steps were graceful, her smile warm.
"Miss Mariela," she said softly, setting down a porcelain teapot and delicate cups. "I've brought you herbal tea, a blend popular in the capital. I hope it suits your taste."
Mariela smiled, inhaling the fragrant steam curling upward. "Thank you for your hospitality. It smells delicious already."
As the old servant lingered, Mariela lifted the cup to her lips and took a sip. The tea bloomed across her tongue with unexpected richness—floral, sweet, and faintly spiced. Her eyes widened in delight.
"This is incredible!" she murmured, unable to hold back her smile. "I need to learn this recipe."
The woman chuckled softly, bowing her head. "You flatter me, miss. But I'm afraid I cannot share it freely. This blend happens to be the prince's favourite." She hesitated, her eyes twinkling. "Though… perhaps I'm reading too much into it. After all, you are the first young lady he's ever invited into his quarters."
Mariela froze, the cup halfway to her lips, heat creeping up her neck. "I—what? No, I—"
"Maybe you are reading too much into it, Mary."
The voice cut through the moment like a blade wrapped in silk. Mariela shot to her feet, her heart leaping as she turned to see Prince Richard stepping into the garden.
"Your Highness!" she said quickly, lowering her head in a respectful bow.
Richard's expression softened into a smile as he approached. "Good morning, Mariela."
Mary gasped, bowing hurriedly. "I beg your forgiveness, young master. I'll fetch more tea and some amuse-bouche at once." She shuffled away, leaving the two of them.
"Please sit," Richard said as he lowered himself onto the table across from her. Only then did Mariela sit as well, careful to keep her posture perfect.
"Thank you for inviting me into your quarters, sire," she said politely. "If I may, this garden is… the most remarkable place I've seen in the palace."
"High praise so early in the morning," Richard said, his lips curving. "But Mary deserves the credit. She tends to this space better than anyone."
He shifted his gaze toward Gideon. "And how are you this morning?"
"Well, sire. Thank you for asking."
Mary returned with a tray of delicate cakes and fruit-filled biscuits, placing them carefully on the table.
"Please enjoy," she said.
Richard nodded. "Thank you, Mary. That will be all for now."
Mariela reached for a small strawberry tart. One bite, and her eyes lit up as the sweet filling melted in her mouth. She tried a biscuit next—crisp, buttery, faintly scented with orange.
"Oh my…" she mumbled between bites, forgetting herself. "I can't believe noble people eat like this all the time. The food is so delicious!"
Gideon gently cleared his throat, giving her a subtle look. "My lady, please."
Mariela's face went red. "Ah—oh! I mean—"
But Richard's laughter rang through the terrace, deep and unrestrained. "Please enjoy as much as you like, Mariela."
She looked down, mortified, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips.
"Shall we walk it off?" Richard asked, his grin softening.
Mariela swallowed quickly. "If it doesn't trouble you, sire."
Richard stood, offering his arm, but she didn't take it. Instead, he glanced at Gideon with an amused glint in his eyes. "We'll be back shortly. Stay and enjoy the tea."
As they strolled down a narrow garden path shaded by roses, Gideon settled into the seat Mariela had left behind. He kept his face neutral, though his mind churned. Why did the prince want her alone? To persuade her about the mission—or something entirely different?
Mary poured him a cup of tea, watching the retreating pair with curious eyes. "Strange, isn't it?" she said softly. "I've never seen the young master laugh like that. He looks… lighter somehow."
In the rose-covered alley, Mariela walked ahead, her fingers brushing the leaves as she tried to calm her racing thoughts. Richard followed behind, his expression unusually thoughtful.
When she turned suddenly, they nearly collided.
"Oh—I'm sorry!" she said, stepping back.
But her foot caught on a root, and she teetered.
"Careful."
Richard's hands shot out, gripping her waist to steady her.
Her breath hitched. They were too close—far too close.
"Pay attention," he said softly. "You almost fell."
She turned her face away, flustered. "Th-thank you, sire."
He released her slowly, clearing his throat. "I wanted to speak with you."
Mariela blinked. "With me?"
"Yes." He hesitated, reaching into his coat pocket, then stopped. "But first—what's that you're holding?"
"Oh." She held up a small jar shyly. "It's something I made. It's not much, but… if it works, it could be a major step forward in medicine—and even beauty care."
Richard raised a brow, intrigued.
"I wanted you to try it," she said softly. "If you'll allow me, sire. For your wound."