Alexis lingered by the door longer than necessary.
He had already taken two steps into the hallway before turning back again, leaning casually against the frame as though he had simply remembered something trivial.
"Hiral."
Hiral, who had just returned to the window, glanced at him.
"Yes?"
"We'll have dinner together tonight."
Hiral gave a small nod.
"And," Alexis added with exaggerated seriousness, "you had better not be doing anything strenuous until then."
Hiral raised an eyebrow.
"Because," Alexis continued with a mischievous tilt to his mouth, "if I suspect you are exerting yourself, I might start getting ideas about what counts as strenuous activity."
Hiral stared at him for a long moment.
Then scoffed.
"You should hurry along, Your Majesty. Your duties await."
Hiral with great exaggeration bowed.
Alexis chuckled, clearly pleased with himself despite being dismissed.
"Yes, yes."
He gave one last look—brief, soft, almost reluctant—before finally turning and leaving.
The door closed.
Silence followed.
The moment Alexis's footsteps faded down the corridor, the gentle smile on Hiral's face vanished.
He leaned lightly against the window frame, his posture shifting into something more thoughtful—sharper.
His gaze swept across the garden below.
Paths of white gravel wound through carefully trimmed hedges. Marble benches stood beneath arching trees. A small ornamental pond reflected the blue sky like polished glass.
Hiral's eyes traced every detail.
Distances.
Blind spots.
Guard rotations.
He watched the servants walking along the far path, the position of the side gate, the walls surrounding the estate.
His mind began to move.
If I leave through the eastern garden after midnight… the shadow of the magnolia tree reaches nearly halfway across the path…
He imagined himself slipping through the garden.
Scaling the low stone ridge behind the fountain.
Crossing the outer wall.
Too exposed.
He shifted the angle in his mind.
Perhaps from the roof.
Perhaps through the servant corridors.
His fingers tapped lightly against the window frame as he ran through scenario after scenario.
He had already lost too much time.
Weeks—months even—spent unconscious while the world continued to move.
If the next stage of the plan was to unfold properly, he needed to act soon.
As his gaze drifted lower, something bright caught his eye.
Marigolds.
A small patch of them grew near the window—golden petals swaying gently in the breeze.
Hiral paused.
For a moment, the calculating sharpness in his eyes softened.
Golden.
Like Alexis's hair.
Bright and warm even under harsh sunlight.
Fiery.
Stubborn.
He smiled.
But this time there was a faint sadness beneath it.
"Truly troublesome…" he murmured quietly.
He pushed away from the window and began walking around the room.
The chamber was spacious but not unfamiliar in its purpose—luxury wrapped around confinement.
When he approached the door, his suspicion was immediately confirmed.
Two guards stood outside.
Their shadows shifted beneath the gap of the doorway.
Hiral was not surprised.
After all—
He was still a war prisoner.
No matter how much Alexis seemed to treasure him it didn't change the fact that he is a war prisoner, a great trophy and a leverage for Ro.
Hiral turned back into the room and rang the small bell on the side table.
Almost immediately, a servant entered.
The young man bowed deeply.
"Honored Guest, how may I assist you?"
Hiral tilted his head slightly.
"Would it be possible for me to have materials for embroidery?"
The servant blinked in visible confusion.
"Embroidery…?"
"Yes."
"I… I will need to ask the head butler for permission."
Hiral nodded calmly.
"Of course."
"Please wait a moment."
The servant bowed again and hurried out.
Several minutes passed.
Hiral returned to the chair near the window and waited patiently, the quiet breeze stirring the curtains beside him.
Eventually the servant returned, this time carrying a small tray.
Embroidery hoops.
Needles.
Fine thread.
A square of clean white linen.
"I apologize for the delay, Honored Guest," the servant said as he set the materials down. "The head butler has approved your request."
Hiral inclined his head.
"Thank you."
The servant bowed once more before leaving.
The door closed again.
Hiral picked up the cloth and examined it briefly.
Then he threaded the needle.
His movements were calm, practiced.
The needle dipped through the linen with quiet rhythm as colored thread slowly formed delicate shapes.
First came the outline of a letter.
A.
Elegant.
Simple.
Then came the flowers.
Snowdrops.
Small white petals drooping like quiet bells.
And hawthorn.
Tiny blossoms spreading around the edges like scattered stars.
Their birth flowers.
But the design carried meaning far beyond sentiment.
A signal.
Recognizable only to the few who knew what to look for.
When finished, the handkerchief would look like nothing more than a personal gift—something sentimental Hiral might give Alexis.
And Alexis, as Hiral knew very well, would likely place it in his chest pocket without hesitation.
Displayed openly.
Where certain eyes within the court would see it.
Where the spies loyal to Hiral would recognize the message.
I am alive.
Proceed.
The needle passed through the cloth again.
And again.
Outside, the marigolds continued to sway in the sunlight while inside the quiet room, Hiral patiently stitched together the next movement of a plan that had already begun to reshape kingdoms.