The everning light filtered softly through the grand arched windows of the royal dining hall, casting silver beams upon the long, polished oak table that stretched the length of the room. By decree of King, the royal family was to share an everning meal, a rare gathering after years of distance and unspoken wars.
Silverware gleamed in the candle light, every goblet and platter arranged in precise symmetry. Along the walls stood servants in muted attire, heads bowed, awaiting a signal to serve. At the far end of the room, two towering doors carved with the crest of Ravenvall stood open, the entrance through which the royal family would enter in their order of precedence.
Prince Davis arrived first. His presence drew the eyes of all who stood in waiting. Clad in dark garments, his coat trimmed in silver and black, he looked every inch the heir apparent, and yet every step carried the weight of memories.
He paused a moment by the threshold, his gaze sweeping across the hall. The same ceilings that had witnessed his mother's laughter, the same table that had hosted her and later, her death's quiet aftermath. there lingered the shadow of defiance behind his eyes. He took his seat without a word, the chair creaking lightly beneath the tension that accompanied him.
Moments later, the two princesses entered, Zuri and Hannah.
Zuri, with eyes of soft amber offered her brother a respectful smile. Her warmth reached him, though faintly. Besides her walked in Hannah, whose expression was colder, eyes sharp with judgment, lips pressed in a line that barely concealed her disapproval.
Zuri spoke first, soon after they took a sit, her voice a timid melody. "Brother, it has been too long since we've seen each other and shared a meal together."
Davis inclined his head, lips curling slightly in something near a smile. "Too long indeed. I'd forgotten what this hall looked like in the everning light. Forgive me, I haven't been able to see you... a lot a matters required my attention.... on the contrary... you have grown to a splendid beautiful woman Zuri"
Zuri chuckled, but Hannah scoffed under her breath.
"Brother! really zuri!? He shouldn't be here." Hanhah spoke coldly,
Zuri turned to her sharply. "Sister...."
"No," Hannah continued, her chin lifting. "We were peaceful before his return. Now the palace stirs with unrest, with whispers and tension."
Prince Davis gaze darkened, but his voice remained calm.
"You know peace built on silence is no peace at all."
Before Hannah could reply, the soft rustle of silk announced the Queen's entrance.
Queen Rahel was regal as ever, her hair bound in silver threads, her gown flowing like twilight silk. Her beauty had not waned, yet her eyes carried a coldness that time had deepened. She approached the Prince with a measured grace, the faint scent of lavender trailing in her wake.
She leaned close, her words low enough to sting in private. "Do not corrupt my children with your presence , Davis. You may return to these halls, but you will never be a brother to them."
Davis did not move. His hand clenched beneath the table as a flicker of restrained fury passed through Davis's eyes. His voice, when it came, was calm but edged like a blade.
"You know my Queen, Princess Zuri is such a fine artist has she ever tell you....?" He paused
"Or shown you any of her paintings? She has been painting for so long now, way long before I left" He let a slight smile escape him, the smile that meant to mock her.
The Queen stiffened, a tremor of disbelief shadowing her features.
"What nonsense is this?" She asked, eyes lingering between Prince Davis and Princess Zuri as she joined them at the table.
"So tell me, Zuri," Prince Davis said, ignoring the Queen.
"Do you still paint?" He asked. Zuri blinked, amazed by the question.
"I... have not, lately." she stammered
"Why?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.
"Women of this realm are free now, are they not? You need not hide your art. You could even open the academy you dreamed of. Ravenvall would be richer for it."
The Queen anger rose, her face paling from the words she heard but could not swallow.
"What insolence is this Davis? To plant such ideas"
But Zuri's eyes had already brightened, filled with hope. "You truly think I will be able to achieve that dream , brother?"
"absolutely Zuri" Davis said, his tone softening. "And I will help you make it so, as I promised long ago."
He then turned his gaze to Hannah, whose composure had faltered. "And you... you always longed to join the Council, to have your voice heard among the ministers. When I am crowned, I will make certain you have that seat."
For the first time, uncertainty flickered in Hannah's proud eyes. "You would... do that?" she questioned, he had her heart flatter for a minute.
He nodded. "Ravenvall needs courage, not obedience, You, on the other side, are the definition of a strong leader."
Before she could respond, a voice cut through the rising tension. The queen's voice.
"Enough!" Her words carried the weight of years of control, tempered with fury barely restrained.
"You would not corrupt them any further with your tricks, Davis." Her gaze cold, sharp, unrelenting.
"Careful... mother!" Davis interjected, his tone low and deliberate. There was a spark in his voice, a provocation hidden beneath the surface. Calling her that, the Queen, was audacious, almost mocking. He had never addressed her so, and yet now he did it with an ease that spoke of calculated defiance.
"You didn't just dare...."
The Queen's eyes narrowed, lips pressing into a thin line, her shock quickly replaced by renewed anger. She could feel the challenge in the Prince's voice, and it struck at her pride.
Before the tension could escalate further, The King entered, his presence immediately filling the room. He did not raise his voice; he did not need to. One word, spoken with absolute authority, cut through the charged air:
"Silence."
The Queen faltered, her fury momentarily contained by the sheer weight of his command. Even Davis stiffened, though the spark of provocation lingered in his eyes. He stood rigid, respecting the King's authority outwardly, but the defiance beneath the surface remained untamed.
"What's the fuss about?" The King questioned as he entered.
The servants bowed deeply, the air growing heavy under his presence. His cloak of deep navy trailed behind him, the crest of Ravenvall gleaming at his shoulder.
"If the royal table cannot uphold manners," he said coolly.
"then this kingdom is poorer for it."
Everyone fell silent.Yet the sound of silver against porcelain as the servants quickly started preparing the table, could not drown the quiet storm brewing in the Prince's chest.
The King finally settled into his seat, exchanging polite greetings with his children. His gaze lingered on the Queen. "Are you... all right?" he asked gently, noting the tight line of her lips and the shadow of displeasure in her eyes.
Before she could respond, Davis leaned forward. "Your majesty, I was planning to open an art academy for Zuri as she can paint well.... since women are free you know..... but.... " he said, voice calm but insistent. "Mother suggested she handle it herself."
"Art academy!?... Zuri can paint?" The King Questioned, his eyes lingered between his children.
The Queen's eyes narrowed, a flash of anger crossing her face. The Queen's provocation only made Zuri and Hannah giggle, the sound light and mischievous.
"Children," the King interjected firmly, his voice carrying through the hall.
"Hush now." He cupped his hand and gestured to the servants. "Serve them."
As the meal began, a quiet conversation unfolded. The King glanced at his son. "Do you need anything, Davis, as you settle in?" he asked, concern softening his voice. But he was too late asking, Davis thought.
Davis shook his head, his gaze distant, almost absent. "Everything will be handled slowly," he replied.
"This is my home now; there is no reason to rush." he added.
The King nodded, though he noticed Davis barely touched his food. Just as he was about to speak again, the doors to the hall opened. I, Linda, the Prince's right-hand woman, entered. My steps were firm yet graceful, my posture unbent by the weight of royal scrutiny. I was clad in a plain uniform of black and grey, my sword absent but my authority unmistakable.
The Queen rose from her seat, her voice sharp with authority. "Who allows such intrusion? Guards....This is hardly the time....."
But Davis interrupted, his tone firm and final. "I called for her. let her through...."
"She disrupts the royal meal..."
"Must I remind you that she is my right hand woman..... she will taste the food."
The Queen's eyes widened in disbelief, but Davis's expression left no room for argument. Gasps whispered through the servants.
"servants, step outside and wait till called" The Queen dismisses the servants so the conversation can continue privately.
The Queen's lips curled, sharp and calculating. "What is it..." she said, her voice dripping with restrained anger.
".... that you fear your food be tested? Do you think yourself unsafe in your father's hall?"
Davis's jaw tightened, his gaze flicking toward her, unflinching. There was a spark of defiance in his eyes, a quiet challenge beneath the calm surface he presented to the room.
The King, seated between them, did not raise his eyes. He continued slicing his meat with methodical precision, each movement deliberate, as if aware of the storm brewing yet choosing not to intervene. His silence carried weight, the unspoken authority that ensured everyone knew he was observing, calculating, but confident that everything would be handled.
The air between the Queen and Davis crackled with tension, sharp and taut.
Prince Davis rose slowly from his chair. The tension in his body was palpable, years of exile, grief, and betrayal condensing into that moment. His voice thundered across the hall.
"My mother was poisoned in this hall!"
Davis's hand slammed against the table, sending goblets toppling and wine spreading across the linen like spilled blood. His voice shook with fury and grief, raw and jagged. "Should I not be wary? Should I pretend these walls have not taken everything from me? ... you all might be able to do it, but I can't"
The room froze. The air seemed to thrum with the force of his anger, the weight of his loss pressing on everyone present.
Then the King's voice cut through, sharp and commanding, leaving no room for defiance. "Davis! Enough!"
The authority behind the word was absolute, tinged with anger that matched his son's intensity. The King rose slightly from his chair, his gaze hard and unyielding.
"Do not let grief turn into chaos! These walls have seen tragedy, yes.... but your fury will not rewrite history!"
Davis faltered, chest heaving, fingers trembling as he clenched his fists. The King's eyes, blazing with disappointment and control, pinned him where he stood. The fury in him battled with the unflinching presence of the man who had ruled this kingdom and shaped him, a reminder that even rage had limits.
The hall remained tense, the spilled wine a quiet echo of both past pain and present wrath, while Davis struggled to hold the storm inside him under the weight of his father's authority.
I stepped closer, my hand hovering near his arm, not to restrain him, but to anchor him, to give him something solid to hold onto. My fingers brushed against him lightly, steady, as if telling him wordlessly that he shouldn't give in to his anger.
Davis's chest heaved, the storm inside him folding slowly into something colder, more controlled. Yet as his gaze settled on me, there was a flicker of something foreign, something I had rarely seen. Anger still burned in the edges of his eyes, but beneath it, a fragile thread of need, of silent pleading, wove itself into the sharp lines of his face.
That made me remember that night, when he had looked almost as unmoored, his hands trembling with frustration, his eyes searching for some anchor in a world that never seemed to stop moving. Then, as now, he didn't ask for help outright, but his pain called for it, clear to anyone who dared to see.
Stepping toward him was instinct, not bravery. I could feel it as he watched me, the rigid walls he built around himself softening under my touch. It wasn't just anger that drove him, it was a cry for support, a yearning he refused to voice. My presence, my steady hand, seemed to answer that silent call, and for a fleeting moment, again he allowed himself to be seen, not the Prince, not the heir, but the man beneath it all.... and am glad, am the one, who could see through it.
"Come," he said finally, to me, voice low, controlled. "I no longer have an appetite."
Then, glancing at Zuri, whose hopeful eyes shone in the tense silence, he added with careful calm: "I would speak with you soon, sister. There's much to be done."
Even as he turned away, I felt the subtle tremor of his surrender, the unspoken acknowledgment that he had let someone again, touch the storm inside him, but that, for now, it was enough.
He left without bow or farewell, his cloak sweeping behind him as he strode out. I followed, my head held high, the echo of our departure lingering long after the doors closed.
The royal family sat in stillness, the King's eyes heavy with thoughts unspoken, the Queen trembling with fury, and Zuri staring at the door, heart torn between love and dread.
We walked through the corridors in silence, side by side. The air was heavy, thick with what had just happened in the hall. The echo of our footsteps followed us, a rhythm that matched the pulse in my chest. The Prince didn't speak, his eyes stayed ahead, his jaw tight, his hands brushing against the coat as if holding himself together. But even without words, I could feel it... the tension rolling off him, the pain he tried so hard to bury beneath his composure.
I matched his pace, careful not to get too close, yet close enough that he knew I was there. He didn't need comfort; he hated pity. What he needed was someone to walk beside him in silence, someone who wouldn't flinch at the weight he carried. And though he said nothing, his presence spoke volumes, every step, every breath, every glance that flickered my way before quickly shifting forward again.
I could still see the ghost of his anger, the way his shoulders tensed when the Queen's words echoed in his mind. It hurt to watch him like that, broken yet unyielding. Somewhere deep down, I knew the reason he didn't tell me to leave. Maybe he just needed someone to stay.
As we walked, my mind wandered, back to that night I had promised myself not to forget. The warmth of his arms, the quiet shudder in his breath when he thought I was asleep, the way he almost broke but didn't because I had been there. That night, I had seen not a Prince, but a man, fragile, hurting, human. And here he was again, carrying the same storm.
When we finally stepped outside, the cold air met us, and with it came a strange peace. The laughter and music of the palace faded behind us until only the sound of our steps remained. I didn't know where he was leading me, but I followed without question.
The moment he pushed open the old wooden gate, the scent hit me, lilies, damp grass, the faint sweetness of jasmine. My breath caught. The sight before me stole my words.
The moonlight washed over everything, the pool shimmered like glass, flowers glowed in shades of white, blue, and gold. It was breathtaking. "It's beautiful," I whispered, afraid that if I spoke too loud, it would disappear.
He watched me quietly as I wandered closer. My fingers brushed a petal, soft, cool, alive. "You like flowers?" he asked, his voice low.
I turned to him and smiled. "I love them," I said, letting my eyes roam the garden. "They speak when words fail."
Kneeling beside a patch of sunflowers, I couldn't help but tell him what they meant. "These... they mean happiness. They always turn toward the sun, even when it hides." I looked at the bright yellow petals glowing under the moon. "They remind us that joy isn't something we chase..... it's something we choose."
Then another flower caught my eye , pale pink, soft, heart-shaped. I held it gently. "And this one... the bleeding heart. It means sorrow. They say it blooms for the pain we carry. Beautiful, but always a little broken."
When I looked up, he was watching me. I smiled faintly, brushing my hand over my skirt before standing. "Your mother must've loved this place," I said softly.
"She did," he answered, eyes shifting toward a cluster of white peonies. "They were her favorite."
"They're beautiful," I murmured. "Then she must have been strong and graceful... like you." I caught his gaze and added, almost shyly, "You must've taken her eyes."
For a moment, his expression softened. He smiled; not the kind of smile he wore before others, but something real, unguarded. It made my heart ache in a way I couldn't quite name.
We walked along the edge of the pool, and I felt the air between us ease. My laughter filled the silence, something I hadn't heard in so long. Then, in a sudden burst of courage, I turned to him. "Can I use the pool?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Can you swim?"
I grinned. "No... but you could teach me. If you promise."
That word.... promise.... felt heavier than it should have, but I didn't take it back.
He hesitated, then sighed. "Only if you promise to keep it secret."
I lit up immediately. "I promise!" I said quickly, raising my hand like a vow. "It'll be our little secret."
He almost smiled again. "And I'll show you a secret door from my chambers," he added, surprising me. "It leads straight here."
My eyes widened. "Truly?"
He nodded, and I laughed.... full, unrestrained, the way laughter should sound. The joy of it bubbled up inside me until I spun once, giddy, forgetting titles, rules, everything. "Thank you, Your High.... I mean, Davis!"
He watched me, quiet, as I danced around the pool. I didn't care how I looked. For once, the world felt weightless. The moon shimmered on the water, the flowers swayed, and the night belonged only to us.
I stopped at the pool's edge, looking down at the reflection of the moon. It looked lonely, floating on the rippling surface. I understood that loneliness, to stand surrounded by beauty, yet feel the emptiness inside.
Behind me, I heard the flick of a lighter. I turned and saw him holding a cigarette, the glow briefly lighting his face. "You're smoking again," I said softly, worry creeping into my voice.
He didn't answer. Just turned away, exhaling slowly. The smoke curled toward the sky, blurring the line between light and dark.
The scent of flowers mixed with the faint burn of tobacco, sweet and bitter all at once. I stood there, watching him in silence.
I didn't say it, but I thought it: He's hurting again.
And though I knew he would never let me carry his pain, I still wished he would.
Because no matter how much he tried to hide behind the title of a Prince, I would always see the man beneath, the one who smiled rarely, trusted less, but somehow, let me walk beside him anyway.
That night, under the moon and the quiet of his mother's garden, I made a silent promise of my own.
To stay. No matter how hard he pushed, no matter what storm was coming , I would stay by his side