21. Chapter 20
Chapter 20
A t first, the garden feels like an impossible task. Tangled vines choke the life out of the space, wild weeds covering what was once a beautiful, orderly sanctuary. I stand still for a moment, overwhelmed by the sight of it. Where do I even start? The sunlight bakes the mess of plants and for a moment it feels like too much.
But then I drop to my knees and plunge my hands into the dirt. The cool, rich soil between my fingers instantly grounds me, bringing me back to The Grove—to the simplicity and purpose of working with the earth. The feel of it, the smell of it, tugs at memories of home, a bittersweet ache settling in my chest. I close my eyes for a second, allowing the connection to wash over me. I can do this. I’ve done it before.
Solena is already beside me, her hands deftly pulling herbs from their wild beds, moving with the precision of someone who does not shirk from hard work. Meanwhile, I tackle the job of ripping out the weeds and untangling the vines. It's peaceful at first, the soft rustle of leaves and birdsong in the air. But as the sun climbs higher, the work grows harder, and the heat begins to bear down on us.
It doesn't take long before Orios and Daed reluctantly join us. They stood back at first, clearly unsure of where to even begin, and it amuses me that these fearsome Mordorin warriors are afraid of some weeds and dirt. Orios grumbles as he pulls at a thick root, his movements slow and awkward, while Daed frowns in frustration, ripping at the overgrowth with all the grace of a warrior, not a gardener. Sweat drips down both of their faces as they struggle to keep up with the tasks.
Eventually, even they can’t stand the heat. With a grunt, Daed pulls off his shirt, tossing it aside. His chest gleams in the sunlight, muscles rippling as he bends to uproot a stubborn plant. Orios follows, not to be outdone, and soon both of them are working shirtless, dirt clinging to their skin as they toil under the midday sun. The sight of them—normally so poised and composed—now sweaty and dirt-streaked, makes me grin and for a moment Solena loses her focus as her eyes roam every inch of Orios’ torso. Their struggle with the menial labor is almost endearing.
By the time we’re done, the garden looks immaculate, transformed from a wild mess into a beautiful, orderly space. Rows of vegetables, herbs, and flowers, bloom under the sun, and there’s a deep satisfaction in seeing what we’ve accomplished together.
“Well, that was... an experience,” Daed says, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, his usual smugness replaced by exhaustion.
“Didn’t expect to be a gardener today,” Orios mutters, leaning heavily on his shovel.
I laugh, shaking the dirt from my hands. “The garden wasn’t going to fix itself. But I think we did well.”
We gather the fresh vegetables—plump tomatoes, fragrant herbs, leafy greens—and with every step, I feel a contentment settle over me.
As we prepare to leave the garden and return to the castle, Orios straightens up, his eyes narrowing toward the distant edge of the field. “Rook,” he calls to Daed, his voice low and intrigued, “look.”
I follow his gaze, and there, near the tree line, stands a deer. It’s a magnificent creature—strong and muscular, with antlers like a crown atop its head. It stands still, unaware of us, grazing peacefully in the golden grass. Orios wipes the dirt from his hands. “Now that’s something more substantial,” he says with a grin. “We could have a real feast tonight, and it’s been so long since I’ve hunted.”
I glance at Daed, feeling a pang of uncertainty tighten in my chest. This is the moment—the test of his promise. The untamed wilderness calls to him, just like it does to Orios. The pull of their instincts, the way their kind thrives on the thrill of the hunt. My eyes flick between the deer and Daed, waiting, wondering if he’ll agree and break the peace I hoped we’d find here.
For a moment, Daed stands quietly, his eyes fixed on the deer, his jaw clenched as though he’s weighing the choice in his mind. Orios looks at him expectantly, already envisioning the hunt.
But then Daed sighs, turning to Orios with a calm but firm expression. “No,” he says, his voice steady and resolute. “There will be no hunting for food or sport while we’re here. We’ll be eating stew tonight, Orios.” His lips twist around the words that follow. “Vegetable stew.”
Orios blinks in surprise, clearly not expecting such a response. His mouth opens as if to protest, but then he sees the look in Daed’s eyes—an unspoken command to let it go. He grumbles under his breath but nods. “As you wish, Your Highness.”
I smile with relief, my shoulders relaxing.
“I’ll make some bread to go with the stew,” Solena adds.
“Wonderful,” I say, wiping my hands on my tunic. “Stew and bread it is.”
The grand kitchen is a sight to behold, almost too pristine to disturb with the mess of cooking. It’s all smooth, pale stone counters and arched windows that let in the golden sunlight of the afternoon. Copper pots hang from hooks above a wide hearth, and shelves made of lightly polished wood hold jars of spices and dried herbs that fill the air with a fragrant, earthy scent.
Solena gives everything a quick dusting. It seems as if no one has used this kitchen for some time. Then I stand at the counter, chopping vegetables for the stew, the rhythmic sound of the knife on the board grounding me in the moment. Across from me, Solena kneads dough, her hands working the flour and water into a soft, pliable mass. She hums under her breath as she prepares the bread, her movements sure and confident. From the store, she’s gathered provisions—flour, salt, and fragrant yeast. The dough rises quickly in the warmth of the sunlit room.
Out on the balcony, I can hear Daed and Orios talking in low voices. The murmur of their conversation is punctuated by the occasional laugh from Orios, no doubt still finding amusement in Daed’s refusal to hunt the deer earlier. I roll my eyes, wiping my hands on my apron.
The thought of Daed, the Prince of the Mordorin, standing out there idly while I’m working in the kitchen? Absolutely not. He may be accustomed to meals served on silver platters in Baev’kalath, but where I come from, everyone pitches in. I narrow my eyes at him through the open doors and call out, “Daedalus!”
He turns at the sound of his name, glancing in through the archway, his brow raised in question.
“Stop standing around out there and make yourself useful,” I say, waving him inside.
Daed steps into the kitchen, looking bemused as I hand him a wooden spoon. “You want me to help with this?” he asks, his eyes flicking to the bubbling pot of stew over the hearth.
“Yes, you ,” I say, unable to hold back a smile. “Now stir.”
He smirks but obeys, giving the pot a slow, deliberate stir. His gray eyes meet mine briefly, a teasing glint in them. “Are you sure this isn’t some form of punishment?”
“Oh, definitely,” I laugh. “You’re going to stir that stew until it’s perfect.”
Daed gives a mock glare but continues to stir, the scent of the stew beginning to fill the kitchen with rich, earthy warmth.
When dinner is finally finished, we set the table in the grand dining room. The space is breathtaking—a long table of smooth, pale wood, with chairs draped in light fabric that flutters gently in the breeze. The walls are painted in soft, airy hues of cream and gold, and sunlight pours in through tall arched windows, casting the room in a warm, inviting glow. A delicate chandelier hangs above, its crystals catching the light and sending tiny rainbows dancing across the walls.
We find a few bottles of wine stored in the back of the pantry, rich and red, and we fill our glasses as we sit down to eat. The four of us gather around the table, the stew steaming in bowls before us, the fresh bread warm and fragrant beside it. Solena beams proudly at her handiwork, and Orios is already reaching for a second slice of bread before he’s even finished his first.
As we eat, a sense of ease settles over the atmosphere—something light and natural. I glance at Daed, who sits beside me, his shoulders finally relaxed, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he listens to Orios weave a tale. Solena laughs, her face aglow with joy. In this moment, it feels as if the rigid social hierarchies of the outside world fade away. We are no longer a prince or a princess, a reaper or a maid. We are simply people, sharing food and sipping wine, and in that simplicity, everything feels perfect.
I let myself wonder—could this be what normal feels like? What it might be like to live without the constant shadow of Baev'kalath hanging over us? Here, there are no haunted halls, no whispers of the past chasing us at every turn. For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not thinking about our enemies, about the battles waiting to be fought. I’m just here, in this moment, and I can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, this is something we could have again.
After our meal, Solena and I clear the table, but we task the Mordorin warriors with the washing up. With the sun still in the sky, I decide on what I want to do next, going to my room before returning to the garden, this time with the serpentine vine in my hands.
I kneel in the dirt, more comfortable than any throne, and run a knuckle along her stem, and for the first time in a long time, I hear her yawn as if she’s just waking from a long nap.
“There you are,” I smile.
It was a kind gift from the sisters, but I think even they did not realize how she would suffer in Baev’kalath. She needs to be somewhere she can thrive, where her roots can seep deep into the earth and grow strong. I know I must return to the fortress sooner rather than later. I won’t expose her to the same fate. Not when I can leave her here in the sun.
I start digging, scooping out soil with my hands before wriggling the vine free from the bowl.
“How did I know I would find you here,” Daed says from behind me.
I glance over my shoulder and smile. “Did you enjoy the stew?”
He pats his stomach. “Surprisingly yes. The washing up part, not so much.”
“Well, how about you make breakfast tomorrow and I’ll do the washing up?”
“You want me to… cook?”
I grin. “I have seen you turn to smoke, vanish into thin air and fly straight into a cyclone, but cooking worries you? I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“We can only hope,” Daed exhales.
I hold his gaze for a moment longer, then look down at the vine in my hands, its tendrils curling and twisting with life. It feels as if the plant itself is eager to be set into the soil, to root itself here. I smile and glance back at Daed, still watching me with that curious expression, as if he's trying to make sense of the peace I find in this simple act.
“Come here,” I say softly, patting the ground beside me. “I want to show you.”
He hesitates for a second, but then, as if drawn by something he doesn’t quite understand, he crouches down next to me. The closeness of him makes my breath catch, his presence overwhelming in the quiet intimacy of the garden. His shirt is still open from earlier, and his skin glows faintly in the sunlight. I can feel the heat radiating off him as he moves closer, his broad shoulders brushing mine.
“This is how you plant her,” I explain, gently placing the vine in the shallow hole I’ve dug. My fingers move through the dirt, cradling the fragile roots with care. “You have to make sure the soil is soft enough, so she can spread her roots without being suffocated.”
Daed watches my hands intently, studying my every movement. I take one of his large hands in mine and guide it to the vine. His fingers brush against mine, rough from battle, but gentle now, as if he’s afraid to hurt the delicate plant.
“Like this,” I murmur, guiding his hand to cover the roots with earth. His touch is careful, tentative, and it’s a strange contrast to the strength I know he wields. I can feel his breath on my skin, warm and steady, and I suddenly realize just how close we are.
“See?” I say, my voice barely above a whisper as I glance up at him. “It’s not so hard.”
Our faces are inches apart now, the air thick with something that feels deeper than the garden, than the act of planting. His eyes meet mine, and there’s something different in them—softer, more vulnerable. I forget about everything else. It's just him and me, here in this garden, our hands in the earth.
“Not so hard,” he echoes, but there’s a slight rasp in his voice, a tightness in his throat that I can feel mirrored in my own chest.
I release his hand slowly, my fingers lingering on his for a heartbeat longer than necessary. His gaze falls to my lips, then flicks back to my eyes, and I can’t tell if it’s the magic of the garden or the quiet intimacy between us, but the air seems charged now, humming with something unsaid.
“I think she’s going to do well here,” I say, breaking the silence, though my voice is a little unsteady. “She’s strong. She’ll take root and grow.”
Daed’s hand remains in the soil, his fingers lightly brushing the vine. He turns his head slightly, just enough that his cheek grazes mine, and my breath hitches again. It’s a fleeting touch, but it feels like a spark, sending a warmth through me that has nothing to do with the earth beneath my hands.
“I hope so,” he says quietly, his voice a low rumble.
His words hang between us, heavy with meaning, and I realize he’s not just talking about the vine. There's something deeper in his tone, something that makes me feel as though he’s talking about me—about us.
“You seem different here,” I say. “Lighter. I’ve seen you smile at least twice.”
“You have a way of making things seem less... difficult,” he admits, his voice softer now, his gaze flickering down to where our fingers press into the soil, before meeting mine again.
For a heartbeat, it feels like the world stands still. His fingers tighten around mine, just slightly, and I can’t tell if he’s holding onto the earth, or if he’s holding onto me.
But suddenly Daed pulls away, his fingers slipping from mine as he clears his throat. “I, uh, need to clean up,” he says, his voice breaking the moment like a fragile glass. The warmth of his hand is replaced with the cool air, and I watch him step back, the space between us growing wider.
“Of course,” I reply, forcing a smile that feels more like a mask than a reflection of my heart. He turns away, and I’m left kneeling in the garden, the serenity of the flowers around me contrasting sharply with the hollow ache that starts to form in my chest.
Once inside the castle, I retreat to my room, a swirl of emotions catching in my throat. I wash my hands of the soil and change into a simple nightgown, the soft fabric feeling delicate against my skin. I sit on the edge of the bed, the plush mattress inviting, but my heart isn’t in it.
I keep glancing at the door, hoping to hear his footsteps approach, to feel his presence wash over me again. Before I lie down, I find myself drawn to the balcony, the cool night air brushing against my skin. Stepping outside, I lean against the railing, gazing out over the garden bathed in silver moonlight.
The edges of the moon shimmer like the finest silk, a delicate veil that seems to pulse with life. As it waxes in its fullness, it brings forth an aura of warmth and promise, inviting dreams and stirring desires. The soft glow illuminates the petals of the flowers below, making them appear as if they are sprinkled with silver dust, and the leaves seem to shimmer, dancing in the light breeze.
As my gaze wanders, I catch sight of Orios and Solena nestled beneath the flowering branches, their silhouettes entwined in a tender embrace. Their kisses are soft at first, delicate brushes of lips that speak of their affection. I shouldn’t be watching—this moment feels private, sacred—but something holds my gaze. I take in the way Solena tucks her hair behind her ear as Orios cups her face, his touch reverent, the moonlight casting a gentle glow around them.
As their kisses deepen, the atmosphere shifts, a longing radiating between them. Orios pulls Solena closer, and she melts against him, her fingers trailing down his arms, tracing the contours of his sinewy muscles. They breathe each other in, savoring the intimacy of the moment, and I feel the stirrings of envy and admiration mix within me.
But then, as their affection grows more fervent, the warmth turns into a fire, and I realize I should not be watching. I try to look away, but I’m rooted to the spot, lost in the beautiful tableau unfolding before me. It isn’t until their hands begin to explore, the kisses becoming more passionate and possessive, that I finally drag my eyes away, feeling a rush of heat and embarrassment, my heart pounding as I retreat inside.
As dawn lightens the sky, I wake alone to the gentle chirping of birds filling the air. I stretch and blink against the brightness streaming through the open balcony doors, feeling the warmth on my skin—a stark contrast to the cold shadows and eternal gray sky of Baev’kalath.
The door creaks open, and Solena steps in, her bright smile illuminating the room even further. “Good morning, Princess!” she chirps, bustling over to my side. “Let’s get you ready.”
I sit up, pulling the sheets closer around me. “You don’t need to do that here, Solena.”
She shakes her head, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Nonsense! I get you ready faster and do your hair much better than you do.”
With that, she drags me from the bed. Unlike the vast wardrobe of the fortress, I have only what we brought with us.
“Pants and tunic?” she asks.
I shake my head, my gaze landing on the familiar green dress I wore on the ship. “No. I’ll wear this today.”
“Very well,” she says, stripping me out of my nightgown in the blink of an eye.
Usually so stoic and focused, Solena wears an immovable smile this morning. Maybe it’s the power of Pariseth that has these typically surly Fae in such good moods, or perhaps it’s the lingering blissful glow from what I witnessed in the garden last night.
Once my dress is on, she moves behind me, brushing my hair with soft, gentle tugs that feel oddly comforting.
“You’re happy this morning,” I remark, glancing at her in the mirror.
Solena's cheeks flush pink. “Yes, I am. Being able to be in the open with Orios is a luxury we are not afforded in Baev’kalath.”
“You were certainly in the open with him last night,” I say, and my eyes widen as I realize my words have slipped out.
Solena freezes mid-stroke, her cheeks growing even warmer. “Your Highness! You were… watching?”
My cheeks burn too, equally embarrassed. “I couldn’t sleep and wandered onto the balcony at the wrong time.”
“Well, no harm done,” Solena gulps. “Let’s just never speak of it again.”
I nod, relief flooding me. “Yes. I’d like that very much, thank you.”
Solena resumes brushing my hair, letting out a deep breath. “I assure you, we’re not usually this adventurous. Must be the Lover’s Eye approaching.”
I frown, confusion knitting my brows. “What do you mean?”
She laughs softly, a hint of mischief in her tone. “The full moon. It’s the Lover’s Eye tonight.”
My breath catches in my throat at the mention. The Lover’s Eye. Daed had mentioned it in passing—a night when tradition dictates that the king and queen make love in public under the watchful gaze of the moon, surrounded by their people. A sudden wave of nerves crashes over me, churning my stomach.
“Oh,” I manage to say, my voice shaky. “I didn’t realize.”
Solena leans in, a smile dancing on her lips. “Orios and I have always celebrated it in secret. But not here. This will be your first Lover’s Eye with Prince Daedalus. How exciting!”
I force a smile, but it feels brittle as my stomach twists tighter. “Yes. Exciting.”
Her gaze flits to the bed—one side rumpled, the other still perfectly made. “He didn’t sleep here last night?”
“No,” I reply, my heart sinking at the implication.
Solena gives my hair a final stroke before laying the brush down on the dresser and turning me to face her. I wish she hadn’t; the concern in her eyes reveals the anxiety etched across my face.
“You are a good woman, Princess Amara,” she says firmly. “And Prince Daedalus is a fine leader, the greatest warrior House Mordorin has ever seen. The Lover’s Eye isn’t just about physical connections; it’s a joining of heart and mind as well. I’m sure the Pale Eye will take care of you both.”
I wish I shared Solena’s faith—not just in the Mother Above, but in my husband. I nod, though the weight of uncertainty still presses down on me. What if Daed doesn’t want me? What if tonight, under the moonlight, we remain as distant as ever? All I can do is wait and see what the night brings.
We leave the bedchamber and stroll down the hall when I spot a room I’ve never noticed before. Its door is half-open, revealing a clutter of paintings and trunks stacked against the far wall of an otherwise empty space. Curiosity piqued, I pause.
“What’s that?” I ask Solena, already stepping inside before she can respond.
She hisses under her breath, a mixture of annoyance and alarm. “Your Highness, we’re not supposed to go in there.” Her frown softens slightly. “Though, I suppose you’re allowed.” Reluctantly, she tiptoes after me.
I make my way to the paintings, flipping through the heavy, dust-covered frames. Faces of unfamiliar Fae stare back—elegant features framed by long, shimmering blond hair and flawless blue eyes. I let the portraits rest back against the wall and turn my attention to a pile of golden fabric on the floor. As I lift it, dust billows around me, and when I shake it out, an embroidered emblem appears: a ship riding the waves, guided by a gust of wind.
“House Ithranor,” I breathe, recognizing the symbol of one of the great houses of the Sundered Kingdoms who fled during the Betrayer’s Battle. “Why is this here?”
Solena’s expression shifts, and it’s clear she knows more than she’s letting on.
“Solena,” I press, my voice firm. “Tell me.”
With a reluctant sigh, she explains. “This castle—this entire island—was once part of House Ithranor’s territory. When they were aligned with House Mordorin, this served as an outpost for their warriors. But when they fled during the war, House Mordorin… moved in.”
I blink, taken aback. “I didn’t know that.”
“Not many do,” she replies tersely. “And I’d prefer to keep it that way. So, if you wouldn’t mind leaving this room…”
I frown. “I doubt Daed would care if I knew such a detail. I wondered why this place felt so different from Baev’kalath.”
“And now you know,” Solena urges, her tone pleading. “Please, Your Highness.”
With a dramatic roll of my eyes, I appease her and step back into the hallway. Solena hurriedly closes the door behind us, and I’m about to press her further when a foul stench wafts up the stairs, stopping me in my tracks.