The garden had just begun to stir awake with the pale hush of dawn. A breeze laced with the scent of dew and jasmine curled gently around the marble arched and sapphire-tiled floor, brushing against the white garden swing where princess Havynlee sat, cloaked in rich crimson that cinched her waist and spilled like silken fire around her ankles. Her long black hair was let loose, dark waves tumbling down her back, catching glimmers of sunlight.
She looked like a portrait, painted in contrast – the innocence of a swing and the danger of crimson lace. Her bare shoulders glowed under the soft morning light as she waited, unmoving, listening to the quiet.
Havynlee loved the color red.
She didn't know why.
It was something that always lived in her bones,in her breath.
The maids often said her mother had lived red too – wore it like a crown, like a spell, like something only the bold dared to touch.
Maybe that's why Havynlee had grown to love it as well or maybe it had always been in her.
Then came the gentle click of porcelain.
Lia arrived with a silver tray. Steam rose from the fine china cup, swirling in thin ribbons. The scent of chamomile and rose hips curled through the air – calming, comforting, almost too ordinary for the scene unfolding. Next to the cup sat three delicate sugarcane biscuits, crisped golden and brushed with honey.
"Your tea, princess," Lia said gently
Havynlee didn't respond at first. Her eyes were half-lidded, head tilted slightly, as if listening to something far away.
Then—
She began to hum.
The sound that slipped from her lips was not new to Lia. She had heard the princess hum since she was a baby – fed her, bathed her, watched her grow into the polished young woman she now served. Havynlee was twenty-one now, no longer a child.
But this voice...this voice was not hers.
It started so soft, so soft Lia almost thought she imagined it. But the melody grew – a haunting tune, airy yet deep, like a lullaby sung by the wind itself. Even the birds in the branches above froze, the moment the first true note left Havynlee's lips. The leaves no longer rustled. The wind stilled. The entire garden bowed to the sound as though spellbound.
Lia felt it before she understood it. A prickling across her skin. Goosebumps. Her throat tightened, and her knees nearly buckled beneath her. The sound echoed not just through the garden, but through her bones. It was beautiful – achingly beautiful. And familiar. That voice...
"Seraphielle," Lia whispered. Her voice cracked.
That was it. That was the voice.
Seraphielle – Havynlee's mother – had once hummed like this too. It wasn't just their shared beauty or grace or the fire that lingered behind their soft eyes. It was this voice. The tone. The strange way it curled in the air and made it heavy, made it alive.
Lia had been Seraphielle's closest companion once, before the queen's jealousy drove everything into ruin.
Something was bothering Lia.
She couldn't shake it. Not just the singing, there were other things.
Strange things.
Like the time she'd found Havynlee crouched over an injured bird in the garden. The tiny creature had a broken wing, it's chest heaving weakly. She had expected Havynlee to call for help. Instead, the girl had whispered something to it –
Something Lia hadn't heard – and moments later, the bird had lifted into the air and flown away as if it had never been hurt.
Or the other day, when the roses had wilted in the sun, their petals browned and broken. Havynlee had touched one gently, almost absentmindedly, and the bloom had opened again – lush and red, drinking light like blood.
She has never spoken of it. Not to anyone. What would she even say? That the princess had brought a bird back to life? That the flowers bowed beneath her touch? She would be thought mad.
Now, that same impossible power swam beneath Havynlee's voice, tugging at the threads of the world around her.
It was as if the swing swayed not by wind, but by breathless awe. Even the clouds stilled above.
Havynlee's lips parted in a final note – soft, aching, haunting.
Then silence fell.
Lia dared a breath. Goosebumps dusted her arms.
She looked at the girl she had helped raise, tucked her into bed when the king was away at war, dried her tears after nightmares. And, for a moment, saw someone else. The curve of her cheek. The light behind her silver eyes…..the way her lashes brushed her skin. The way she sat like she belonged to another era.
Havynlee finally turned her head and gave a soft smile. "Did you bring my tea?"
"I….yes, princess." Lia said, setting the tray down on the small marble table beside the swing. Her hands trembled slightly. "I hope it's still warm."
Havynlee nodded, lifting the cup. She took a delicate sip, her eyes fluttering closed in contentment.
Lia swallowed, then gathered her courage. "You….you weren't in your room last night, were you, your highness?"
Havynlee turned to look at her, blinking slowly. "What do you mean?"
"I checked," Lia continued, cautiously. "I came by with your hair oils and didn't see you. I waited you never came back."
The princess furrowed her brow, confusion dancing behind her eyes. "I was in bed. All night."
Was she lying? Lia couldn't tell.
But Havynlee never lies.
Or…..did Havynlee really not know?
Was it her at all?
She clutched the tray tighter, unsure if the chill she felt was from the wind or something else entirely.
"Are you certain?"
There was a pause.
A long, quiet pause.
Then Havynlee blinked and nodded, though slowly. "Yes I….i think so."
But even as she said it, something in her voice faltered. A flicker of doubt. A hesitation. As if the memory had blurred at the edges. As if she wasn't sure.