In the soft glow of her bedroom, Orielle rested against the pillows, the day's trials lingering in her weary frame.
The door creaked open, and Olive stepped inside carrying a steaming bowl of porridge prepared for someone of royal standing. It was far from plain. Honey gave the dish a rich golden sweetness, while chopped figs and dates added bursts of flavor. Toasted almonds and pistachios provided a delicate crunch, and a hint of imported cinnamon and nutmeg warmed the air. Goat's milk enriched the porridge, lending it a velvety creaminess.
Orielle saw the food reached for the bowl eagerly. "Olive, this looks amazing than-" But the moment the fragrance reached her, her stomach turned. A violent gag rose in her throat.
She jolted more upright, scrambling from the bed and stumbling toward the en-suite bathroom. However, she didn't make it. The sickness came suddenly, spilling across her clothing and the floor. Orielle froze in stunned silence, wide-eyed in horror at what had just happened.
Olive rushed to her side immediately. "My lady!" she gasped. But Orielle, equally mortified, grabbed a cloth and hurriedly began trying to clean the mess herself.
Olive reached out quickly. "Please my lady, leave it—I'll handle it! This isn't something you should do."
Orielle shook her head stubbornly, still wiping. "I made the mess," she insisted. "I can clean it. I'm sorry, I didn't think I would suddenly feel so ill." As she scrubbed, another wave of dizziness washed over her. The room tilted slightly, forcing Olive to steady her with a gentle hand on her shoulders.
Orielle's cheeks burned red. "I'm sorry for being such a bother… I'm not usually so incompetent."
"Of course not, Your Majesty!" Olive said warmly. "This is why I'm here. You'll never be a bother as long as you live here."
Orielle managed a faint smile and reached out to take Olive's hand in gratitude. But the moment she noticed the state of her own fingers, she recoiled quickly. "Oh no… this is…"
Olive glanced down, noticing the queen withdrawing her hands in embarrassment. A small, understanding smile touched her lips. "I'll draw you a bath, my lady," she said gently.
Orielle looked up at her, tears almost spilling over. "Thank you, Olive…" Olive bowed, her mind quietly buzzing with admiration. How humble the chosen maiden is…She'd make a fitting queen to Veridelle!
She filled the tub, letting warm water pour in while arranging a small tray of calming oils and flower petals beside it. When everything was ready, she helped Orielle out of her soiled clothes and guided her into the steaming bath.
Orielle sank into the water with a relieved sigh. As Olive gently scrubbed her clean, the water lapped softly against the porcelain edges of the tub. When Olive offered the tray of oils, however, Orielle quickly shook her head. The scent alone made her stomach churn again. "Maybe not those…" she murmured weakly.
Olive nodded without question and set them aside. Once Orielle was clean, Olive replaced the ruined garments with a fresh nightgown laid neatly nearby and stood ready with a towel.
"My lady," she said softly, waiting for her to rise. But Orielle sank deeper into the warm water instead. "Can I have a moment by myself, please?" she asked quietly. "I'm still feeling a little weak… and the water feels so soothing. I don't want to leave just yet." She gave a small, sheepish laugh.
Olive smiled kindly and bowed. "Of course. I'll wait outside then, my lady." She stepped out of the bathroom and closed the door behind her.
Then she froze.
King Tirian stood near the bedroom, his tall frame rigid, his face shadowed with visible distress. Olive quickly bowed deeply. But the king barely seemed to notice. His thoughts were elsewhere. After a moment, his gaze shifted toward her.
"You…You were helping Queen Orielle earlier weren't you?" he said, voice rougher than usual. "How is the queen?"
Olive kept her eyes lowered respectfully. "She is still unwell, Your Majesty," she answered softly. "But she is resting in the bath for now."
Tirian nodded once. A flash of irritation crossed his mind, a sharp and sudden anger directed squarely at Sol. He exhaled harshly before striding past Olive, stopping just outside the bathroom door.
Olive hesitated for a moment, concern flickering in her eyes. Ah... I forgot, they are married after all... "I'll be outside if you need me, Your Majesty," she said quietly.
Tirian nodded, took a slow breath, and pushed open the bathroom door.
As Olive walked away she couldn't help but feel a little saddened. What a pity, perhaps if she met King Sol first, Veridelle would've had the chosen maiden as it's queen...
Inside, Orielle sat submerged in the bath, only the upper half of her face visible above the white soapy water. She blew tiny bubbles from her nose, her cheeks puffing slightly as her hair floated wildly around her. Her arms were wrapped loosely around her knees.
Tirian paused in the doorway. A quiet laugh nearly escaped him. Her hair's a mess… again. "You seem to be enjoying yourself," he said warmly.
Orielle's head jerked up. Her eyes widened in horror the moment she saw him. She yanked her knees tighter to her chest, face turning bright red. "Don't look! Don't look!" she cried.
Tirian chuckled softly and obediently closed his eyes as he stepped forward one step. "But I came to see how you were doing," he said lightly. "Wouldn't closing my eyes defeat the purpose?" He continued walking. two step... three step...
With his eyes closed. Orielle panicked. Four step... five step... "Wait! You'll hurt yourself!" she protested as he got closer. He smirked faintly. "So can I open my eyes then?"
Orielle bit her lip, saying nothing. Tirian continued walking anyway. six step... seven step... eight step... As he neared the bath, Orielle raised both hands in front of her, eyes squeezed shut. "Please! Watch where you're going! You'll slip and fall into the bath!"
She waited for him to bump into her hands. But he stopped just short of them. Orielle opened one eye cautiously. Then the other. Relief flooded her face—until she noticed something. His eyes were still closed. "You opened your eyes, didn't you!" she asked confused.
Tirian knelt beside the bath. Eyes still obediently closed. "No," he replied calmly. "I'm just good at sensing my surroundings."
Orielle leaned forward suspiciously, inspecting his face closely to confirm his eyes were actually shut. "Sensing your surroundings?" she asked skeptically. "Do you not need your eyes for that?"
His eyes suddenly opened. His face was right in front of hers. Then he smiled. "I've fought enough battles to learn how," he said. "War doesn't only happen in daylight. Many times we were ambushed in the middle of the night. Or we had to attack on a pitch black war field"
His voice lowered slightly. "So you learn quickly. Either you stay learn… or you die." His gaze softened as it settled fully on her.
Orielle's hands unconsciously moved to the edge of the bath, resting over his. "Die…?" she repeated softly, worry touching her expression.
Tirian looked at her quietly for a moment before answering. "No one goes to war expecting everyone will return," he said. "Of course we fight hoping we will… but you must remember why we go in the first place."
Orielle thought for a moment. "To protect the kingdom?"
Tirian leaned back slightly, his gaze drifting as if remembering something distant. "It's the people," he said slowly. "A kingdom without its people is just land and stone."
His voice grew firmer. "We destroy threats before they have the chance to grow—not for the crown, not for territory… but so the people living their ordinary lives never have to face those dangers themselves." His eyes returned to her. "A kingdom lives through its people. Without them, it's nothing."
Orielle nodded thoughtfully. "I never thought of it like that…" Then a playful glint appeared in her eyes. "Does that mean you could move kingdoms?" she teased.
Tirian blinked. Confusion crept across his face. "Why would we do that?" he asked seriously. "It would take years to relocate everyone… finding land suitable for farmers, merchants, craftsmen—"
Orielle burst out laughing. The realization slowly dawned on him. At first he looked puzzled. Then he sighed and smiled. "You're messing with me." Orielle reached up and grabbed both his cheeks, squishing them together so his lips puckered.
"You're truly adorable, Your Majesty," she said with a grin. "I'm grateful no one saw this side of you before I married you." She leaned closer. "Otherwise I might've had to fight off all the women competing for your love."
Still trapped between her hands, Tirian looked utterly bewildered. "Fight over me?" he said through puckered lips. "You're the first person to ever have such strange thoughts, my queen."
Orielle leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on the lips. Then she pulled back, watching his reaction curiously. For a moment he looked surprised. Then he laughed. "Indeed the first," he said. "Such a strange little fox you are…"
His hand came up to cradle her cheek. Then he leaned forward for a deeper kiss.