As I followed His Majesty down the hall, the only sounds to be heard were our footsteps and the tapping of the King’s cane against the marble floor. The situation I found myself in was an interesting one. Never once has the King invited me on a walk. Nor has he ever asked anyone to go on a stroll with him. But here I was, following closely behind him as we walked through the quiet hall. 

“Walk beside me, Lady Sophia. There is no need for you to follow behind me,” His Majesty said, never once breaking his stride. Quickly, I hurried to his side and began to match his pace.

We continued to walk quietly side by side, passing the inner courtyard and into the grand garden. We never attempted to break the suffocating silence. Once we stepped into the garden, it felt as though a weight was lifted off my shoulders. The summer breeze was cooling and refreshing. I couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief.

This is refreshing. I thought to myself as a smile found its way onto my lips. The Imperial garden was a sight to behold. Flowers from all across the Kingdom flourished here. 

 “This place is wonderful at night, don’t you think?” 

I nodded in affirmation. “It’s stunning,” I replied.

“Tell me, what do you think about the royal family?”

I stood there quietly, caught off guard by the sudden question. Did his majesty say this to trap me?

He only smiled, “I see you don’t take after your father, he would’ve told me already.” He slowly made his way to one of the benches in the courtyard and sat down. “Royalty is complex balancing act”.

I hesitated, unsure whether to sit beside him or remain standing. His hand, adorned with heavy rings, motioned toward the open space on the bench. I obeyed, the stone cool beneath me as I folded my hands in my lap.

“A balancing act?” I echoed softly, keeping my eyes fixed on the roses ahead rather than daring to meet his gaze.

“Yes,” he replied, voice calm but heavy with something unspoken. “One wrong step, and it all crumbles. A king does not simply rule. He must juggle loyalty, bloodlines, politics, and…” His sharp eyes slid toward me, “…the ever-changing hearts of the people.”

The way he said it, it felt less like a lesson and more like a warning.

I shifted uncomfortably. “Do you ever tire of it, Your Majesty?”

For a long while, he said nothing. Only the cicadas in the trees filled the silence. Then, with a weary exhale, he leaned back. “Of course. But a king cannot afford to indulge in weariness. He must wear his crown even when it burns.”

His cane tapped lightly against the stones, punctuating his words. My curiosity betrayed me before my caution could silence it.

“And… if the crown burns too much?”

His smile was sharp, humourless. “Then someone else must bear it. Whether they are ready or not.”

My heart skipped. The summer breeze that had felt so refreshing now seemed to cut cold against my skin. Was this conversation drifting toward me? Or toward someone else within the palace walls?

He reached out suddenly, plucking a white lily from the nearby planter. With deliberate care, he held it out to me. “Do you know what this flower means?”

I took it hesitantly, the soft petals trembling between my fingers. “Purity…?”

He chuckled, low and dark. “Perhaps to the common folk. But here, in the language of court… it means sacrifice.”

His eyes gleamed, searching mine for a reaction.

The lily quivered in my hand. I dared not crush it, though every instinct told me to throw it away. Sacrifice. His Majesty’s words lingered in the night air like smoke.

“Do you know,” the King said at last, leaning on his cane as his gaze drifted toward the high palace walls, “that flowers here grow despite being surrounded by stone? They thrive… but only as long as the gardener permits.”

His tone carried no warmth. I swallowed. “Your Majesty speaks of sacrifice, of balance. Do you believe the garden, the Kingdom, remains in your hands alone?”

He turned his head slowly, finally locking me in his stare. Those eyes were old, but they gleamed with an unsettling sharpness. “Not entirely.” His fingers drummed against the head of his cane. “There are always… others. Eager hands, reaching for the shears.”

A chill crawled down my spine. He wasn’t speaking of mere gardeners.

“Do you mean…” My voice faltered.

“Marcus,” he said flatly, without the slightest hesitation. “And Julia. Together, they think themselves clever. Subtle. But I hear the whispers in my halls as clearly as the cicadas in these trees. My own Queen conspiring with my own son.”

My throat went dry. The summer air no longer cooled, it suffocated.

He leaned closer, his voice dropping, forcing me to hear each word as though it were carved into stone. “They seek to quietly prune the branch, Lady Sophia. To remove me. Piece by piece, stroke by stroke. But the King is no withered limb to be discarded.”

My hands trembled against the lily. I could feel the weight of his implication pressing down upon me, demanding silence, loyalty, or something far more dangerous.

“You will not speak of this,” he continued, his tone a command wrapped in velvet. “But you will watch. And when the moment comes, you will tell me what you see.”

I nodded weakly, though my heart thundered with fear. His Majesty’s lips curved, not into a smile, but into the grim satisfaction of a hunter who has just set a snare.

Above us, the garden’s lanterns flickered. The night seemed suddenly darker.

The King’s words echoed in my ears, leaving me adrift in a storm of thoughts. I dared a glance at him, his posture, once towering and resolute, seemed smaller now in the pale moonlight. The cane at his side was not just an accessory; it was a necessity. His hand trembled faintly against its handle.

“Your Majesty…” I whispered, gathering courage. “If you know of their schemes… why do you not stop them? Why allow their influence to spread? Why sit idle as they strip your power away?”

His eyes did not waver. He stared at the lily in my hand, as if its meaning amused him still. Then he exhaled, slow and heavy, as though the weight of the crown pressed down harder with every breath.

“Because,” he said at last, voice carrying a strange calmness, “it no longer matters.”

My lips parted, shocked at such resignation. But before I could speak, he raised his hand to silence me.

“Marcus and Julia are blind in their hunger. Let them tear at the throne. Let them drain themselves in their desperate grasping. Their ambition will rot them from the inside.” He leaned closer, his whisper colder than the night breeze. “It is not Marcus who will inherit balance. It is Alexander.”

The name struck me like lightning. My breath caught in my throat.

“The second prince,” I stammered.

A flicker of something rare, pride, softened his gaze. “Alexander is different. He does not lust for power, nor does he conspire like his mother. He listens. He observes. He… learns. Where Marcus seeks control, Alexander will bring order. Where Julia twists hearts, Alexander will earn them. He is the son worthy of succeeding me.”

I froze. My pulse raced wildly as his words sank in.

My grip on the lily faltered, its stem bending under my tightening fingers. The world seemed to tilt beneath me. The story I thought I knew was no longer certain.

And in the silence between us, one truth screamed in my mind:

This was never part of my past.

The King’s words still rang in my ears when his expression shifted, softening into something I had never thought him capable of, sorrow. His gaze no longer carried the sharp weight of a monarch; instead, it seemed burdened by the frailty of a father.

“I know,” he said slowly, almost to himself, “that I have not been a father to Alexander.” His hand tightened around the head of his cane. “I left him in the shadows, while Marcus basked in the light of my approval. I let his mother scorn him, neglected to shield him… and in doing so, I betrayed my own son.”

The confession hung between us, raw and unguarded.

“I am not deserving of him,” the King whispered. “Not of his patience, his gentleness… nor of the heart that still beats with loyalty despite everything I have taken from him.”

I held my breath, struck dumb by the rare crack in his armour.

Then his eyes turned to me. For the first time, they carried no command, no calculation, only a piercing certainty. “Yet, despite my failures, he has you. That is why I can endure this decline, why I can accept the erosion of my power. Because he is not alone.”

The blood in my veins stilled.

He leaned forward, lowering his voice so that even the summer wind could not steal it. “Do you think I have not noticed? The way he looks at you, as though your presence is the only air he knows? The way you soften in his company, though you guard yourself before the rest? It has always been evident.”

Heat flooded my face, but words abandoned me. He knew. He had always known.

The King’s lips curved into a weary shadow of a smile, and then he rose with the help of his cane. His back was not as straight as it once was, but the authority of his presence filled the courtyard all the same. He inhaled deeply, the night air rattling through his lungs.

“Alexander is a sensitive boy,” he said firmly, his voice now carrying the tone of a decree. “He feels deeply, too deeply at times. Do not let him push you away when the weight of his heart becomes too heavy. Cling to him, Sophia. Hold fast. No matter what happens, do not let him go.”

His gaze swept over me once more, solemn, as though he had passed a crown into my hands.

I bowed my head, clutching the crushed lily against my chest. The garden around us blurred, for my mind could not escape the enormity of what he had just entrusted to me.