34. Caelum
The garden feels different in the morning.
It always does, but today it feels like it’s waiting for something.
Not in an ominous way.
In a way that makes the air itself feel… attentive.
Like even the trees are listening.
Rowan walks beside me without speaking at first.
He does that more often now.
Not because there’s nothing to say.
But because silence between us has stopped being empty.
It has started to feel like something shared instead of something avoided.
My fingers brush against his once as we walk through the stone path.
Accidental.
Or at least it should have been.
But the moment it happens, something inside my wrist tightens.
A familiar pull.
Warm.
Low.
Present.
I stop walking before I fully understand why.
Rowan stops immediately too.
Always immediate.
Always aware of me in a way that still unsettles something in my chest.
“What is it?” he asks quietly.
I don’t answer right away.
Because I’m looking down.
At my wrist.
At the faint glow beginning to form again beneath my skin.
Soft pink.
Familiar.
But stronger than before.
More defined.
Rowan notices at the same time I do.
His own wrist reacts a second later.
Same glow.
Same pulse.
But deeper.
Like the bond itself has decided it’s no longer something subtle.
“It’s happening again,” I murmur.
Rowan doesn’t respond immediately.
He just watches it.
Like he’s trying to decide whether to treat it as danger or truth.
“It’s stronger,” he says finally.
I swallow slightly.
Because it is.
And I don’t know what that means.
Not really.
We start walking again, slower this time.
More aware of each other than before.
Every small movement feels amplified.
Every distance feels… negotiable.
The garden opens wider ahead of us.
Green layered over green.
Flowers spilling into sunlight like they belong there more than we do.
And then I see them.
Orchids.
They’re planted near the far end of the garden, partially shaded by a tall arch of ivy and stone.
Soft purple.
White.
Pale pink.
Delicate in a way that feels almost out of place here.
Almost too gentle for a palace built on control and expectation.
My breath catches before I can stop it.
Rowan notices immediately.
Of course he does.
“What?” he asks.
I don’t answer.
I’m already moving toward them.
Not fast.
Not rushed.
Just… drawn.
The closer I get, the more something in my chest tightens.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Something older.
Something buried.
My mother’s favorite flowers.
The thought arrives before I can stop it.
Uninvited.
Unfiltered.
And instead of pushing it away like I usually do...
I don’t.
I stop in front of them.
Just looking.
For a moment, I forget the palace.
Forget Rowan.
Forget everything except the way my mother used to stop exactly like this whenever she saw them.
Like they weren’t just flowers.
Like they meant something more.
Rowan stands beside me now, quiet.
Not asking.
Just present.
“They’re orchids,” he says softly, like he’s reading the moment instead of interrupting it.
I nod slightly.
“I know.”
My voice feels strange.
Heavier than usual.
Something in my chest shifts again.
The bond responds.
A low pulse through my wrist.
Warm.
Steady.
Stronger.
I lift my hand slightly.
And watch the glow intensify.
So does his.
Rowan’s breath changes beside me.
Just slightly.
Like even he can feel the weight of whatever this is becoming.
“It’s reacting to you,” he says quietly.
“No,” I reply.
Then pause.
“…It’s reacting to her.”
Silence.
Rowan doesn’t ask who I mean.
He already knows.
That’s the thing about him now.
He doesn’t demand explanations for things I can’t fully give.
He just lets me arrive at them in my own time.
I step closer to the orchids.
Carefully.
Like they might disappear if I move wrong.
My throat tightens slightly.
Because I haven’t thought about her like this in years.
Not properly.
Not without forcing it down immediately after.
But here...
it comes anyway.
I remember her hands.
Always warm.
Always moving.
Always brushing hair away from my face when I refused to sit still.
I remember her voice more than anything.
Soft, but certain.
The kind of certainty that didn’t need authority to exist.
And I remember the way she used to kneel in gardens like this one.
Not like royalty.
Not like someone important.
Just like someone who understood that beauty wasn’t something you owned.
It was something you noticed.
My chest tightens.
But I don’t push it away.
For the first time...
I let it stay.
Rowan shifts slightly beside me.
Not intruding.
Just close enough that I know he’s there.
“You don’t have to hold it in,” he says quietly.
I let out a slow breath.
“I always do.”
A pause.
Then...
“Not anymore,” he replies.
That lands differently than it should.
Not like command.
Not like instruction.
Like permission.
I look at him briefly.
Then back at the flowers.
The bond pulses again.
Stronger this time.
The glow under my wrist deepens, and I realise...
it isn’t just reacting.
It’s syncing.
With him.
With this moment.
With something neither of us fully understands yet.
“My mother used to bring me here,” I say suddenly.
The words come out before I can stop them.
Rowan doesn’t react with surprise.
Just listens.
“She said the palace needed places that didn’t feel like the palace,” I continue.
A faint exhale leaves me.
“I didn’t understand what she meant then.”
Silence.
“I think I do now,” I add quietly.
Something shifts in Rowan’s posture slightly.
Not physical tension.
Just attention deepening.
I crouch slightly in front of the orchids.
Careful not to touch them.
Just close enough to see them properly.
For the first time, I let myself actually remember her without immediately cutting it off.
Not just flashes.
Not just fragments.
But her.
Fully.
Her laughter when I tried to run through the garden too fast.
Her hand steadying me when I tripped.
Her voice telling me I didn’t have to be “anything” yet.
Telling me I could...Just be.
My chest tightens painfully for a second.
But I don’t stop it.
Rowan kneels beside me without being asked.
Close.
Not crowding.
Just… present.
I notice his wrist again.
The glow is stronger now.
Pulsing in time with mine.
Like the bond isn’t just between two people anymore.
It’s reacting to emotion itself.
To memory.
To presence.
“I didn’t think I’d remember her like this,” I admit quietly.
Rowan looks at me.
Softly.
Not pity.
Not judgment.
Just understanding.
“Sometimes you don’t choose when things come back,” he says.
I swallow slightly.
“No,” I agree. “They choose you.”
Silence again.
But it’s not heavy anymore.
It’s full.
We sit there for a while.
Just looking at the orchids.
Just existing in something that doesn’t feel like duty or expectation or pressure.
Eventually, I feel my breathing slow.
The tightness in my chest doesn’t disappear completely.
But it stops hurting in the same way.
Rowan shifts slightly beside me.
His shoulder brushes mine.
And instead of pulling away...
I stay.
The bond pulses once more.
Warm.
Steady.
Different than before.
Less like a warning.
More like recognition.
I close my eyes briefly.
And for the first time in a long time...
I let the memory of my mother stay exactly as it is.
Not controlled.
Not contained.
Not edited into something easier to carry.
Just… her.
When I open my eyes again, Rowan is still there.
Still beside me.
Still watching me like I’m not something fragile.
But something real.
And for the first time...
I don’t feel like I’m standing alone inside my own history.