12. Elena #2
Her grin sharpens. “You said he’s back under questioning. I doubt anyone’s interrupting the king to report you went shopping.”
I did promise him. But…
“His birthday’s in a couple of weeks,” I say quietly. “This would give me a reason. Something normal.”
Hannah lights up. “Lunch. Shops. Maybe a little sightseeing.”
I shake my head with a smile. She hates confinement as much as I do. It’s why she’s pushing—why the instincts we learned as children are clawing their way back.
I drop my hands to my sides. “If—and that’s a big if—we do this, we need Lance and the team on board.”
She waves me off. “You’re the queen. And Bray wants me to be happy.”
For the first time in days, the weight in my chest eases. The air feels clearer. The ground is steadier.
“Okay,” I exhale. “Let’s do it.”
Hannah claps her hands. “Perfect. We’ll invite Lizzie. Maybe Arabella to make it look innocent.”
I loop my arm through hers as we head toward the calla lilies, the roses seeming to watch silently behind us.
It feels like movement.
Like choice.
And I can’t shake the feeling that whatever is blooming beneath the surface, whatever message the roses are still holding, we’re already walking straight toward it.
The royal vehicles roll silently to a stop one block from downtown, and one after another, we step out onto the sidewalk. The doors shut softly behind us as the engines pulling away like we were never here at all.
Already tense, Lance’s gaze sweeps the street in a single practiced motion, sharp and assessing.
“Your Majesty,” he mutters under his breath, “you really shouldn’t leave the palace.”
I adjust the scarf at my neck and meet his look. “It’ll be fine. It’s just for a little while.”
The words flow. Far too easily. Because the moment I raise my eyes, the city steals my attention.
Rich greens spill from planters and window boxes, ivy climbing brick walls as if the buildings themselves are alive.
The air is cool and clean, brushing against my cheeks like a quiet invitation.
At the end of the block, a wide stone fountain sends water arcing into the sky, droplets catching the light before falling back down in a steady rhythm.
Voices overlap, vendors calling out, friends talking over one another, laughter bursting free without restraint.
No fear. No tension. Only life.
My chest tightens—not with anxiety, but with something dangerously close to hope. One day, when the last shop is restored, when the city no longer bears the scars of loss, this will be Zurdonia’s downtown. Alive. Thriving. Whole.
As we continue down the street, I fall into step beside Blake. He smiles knowingly, his mouth curving upward.
“You know,” he says lightly, “I’m just getting back into Alexei’s good graces, and now you ask to leave the palace.”
I grin at him. “Yes, but we’ve already established you like breaking the rules.”
He closes the car door behind me with a quiet click. “I also like keeping my job.” His eyes flick toward the others ahead of us. “Braydon mentioned you’re looking for a gift for Alexei.”
I fall into step beside him, nodding. “His birthday’s in a couple of weeks.” I sigh. “I just don’t know what to get a man who already has everything.”
Blake slips his hands into his pockets, shoulders relaxed. “In my experience, women appreciate gifts with meaning over things that just sit on a shelf.”
A soft laugh escapes me. “Oh, is that right?” I arch a brow. “Does that theory extend to Ash?”
The good doctor and my talented driver still manage to spend plenty of time together, even though Blake’s been cleared from physical therapy for months.
His free hand rises to tug at his collar. “Not yet. But I’ve been thinking about getting her something.”
Ahead, Lizzie pulls Arabella’s jacket closed gently, her hands smoothing over the material, readjusting her hat until it shades her face just so. The quiet tenderness of the gesture draws my attention back.
“What are you thinking of getting her?” I ask Blake. Curiosity, mostly. And maybe a little hope that inspiration might strike.
He hesitates before answering. “She told me once about a family cabin they used to visit every Christmas. Her dad worked with wood. She’d sit in his shop for hours while he built things.” His voice lowers. “She said those were some of her happiest memories. Before he passed.”
Something warm settles in my chest.
“Maybe,” he continues, “I could find something that reminds her of that.”
My smile comes easily this time. “That’s really sweet, Blake. I didn't realize you had such a soft side.”
He scratches the back of his neck, studying the ground. “It’s nothing.” He clears his throat and shifts his stance. “Anyway, Alexei’s the same way. He’s definitely more sentimental than people give him credit for.”
I snort. “Are we talking about the same Alexei?”
That familiar, charming grin snaps back into place. “When it comes to you, yes.” He gently bumps my shoulder.
“Hey!” Hannah’s voice cuts through the moment. She’s already a few steps ahead, scarf wrapped snug around her neck. “Are you coming, or are you planning to talk to Blake all day?”
“I’m coming!” I call.
I slip on my black sunglasses and tug my hat a little lower. Between the scarf, the jacket, and the turned-up collar, the queen disappears, another woman enjoying the city.
I glance back at Blake. “Thanks for the suggestion.”
He dips his head. “Anytime, Elena. We’ll be close. Watching.”
A few hours later, we continued moving, store to store, laughter spilling between us, our hands filling with small souvenirs and simple joys meant for people waiting back home.
For now, I let myself blend into the crowd, savoring the rare freedom of walking through a city that is finally letting me learn how to breathe again.
The streets of Petrova unfold around us as we move from shop to shop, and I find myself slowing to absorb it all.
People greet one another with brief touches to the wrist instead of embraces, murmuring in a clipped dialect that rises and falls like a code I don’t yet understand.
Vendors press small paper cones of spiced seeds and honeyed nuts into waiting hands, the air rich with smoke, citrus, and something fermented and sharp that makes my nose sting.
Women walk in tight clusters, their laughter low and knowing, while men trail a step behind, carrying parcels and watching the street with practiced awareness.
Children weave through it all unchecked, barefoot and bold, trying to tug coins from the massive fountain in the heart of downtown, impish grins that earn a playful scold but no real anger.
It’s louder than home, rougher around the edges.
Yet there’s an unspoken rhythm holding it together, an understanding of roles and resilience that feels earned rather than inherited, and I can’t help but sense how deeply this city has learned to survive by relying on its people instead of its crown.
“Still nothing?” Hannah asks as the cashier slides the bag toward me.
I hook two fingers through the handles and draw it to my side. The figurine inside clinks softly, Fletcher’s gift safely tucked inside. “No,” I say. “Nothing feels right.”
The bell chimes as we step back onto the street.
We’ve been walking for over an hour, long enough that my feet ache and my shoulders have finally dropped from somewhere near my ears. Downtown hums around us, voices and traffic, the easy rhythm of people who aren’t hiding from anyone, and it feels almost rebellious to… exist out here.
I’m debating whether I can justify a second stop that sells pastries when Hannah loops her arm through mine.
“What do you say… after we finish this street, we grab lunch and maybe take a tour.”
I laugh. “Ah, yes. Nothing says keeping a low profile like sightseeing.”
Hannah doesn’t even argue. She reaches into one of the shopping bags and pulls out a folded brochure, like it’s a magic trick, Tunnel Tours.
I blink at it, then at her. “A—what—tour?”
“The old tunnels,” she says easily. “After they updated their water systems, they decided not to tear the originals out. Preserved them instead. Now they let people wander around down there.” She shrugs. “Thought it might be fun.”
I turn the brochure over in my hands, eyeing the smiling stock photo like it might wink at me. Underground. Of course. I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “You really know how to sell a relaxing afternoon.”
Still… I don’t hand it back.
The next storefront glows with amber light, glass cases gleaming beneath a hand-painted sign announcing Custom Jewelry & Engraving. Lizzie and Arabella angle toward it without hesitation, already reaching for the door.
Hannah slows beside me. “What about jewelry?”
I stop at the window. Necklaces cascade across velvet, rings aligned in symmetrical patterns. My reflection greets me from the mirror: hidden, anonymous. My gaze drifts… then stills.
Deeper inside, on a small display table, something darker catches my eye.