Ever since the night King Aldric had looked her in the eye and confessed what no man had ever dared say to her—Aurora had avoided him like he was plague and fire wrapped into one. The memory of lying beside him without dreaming, without fear, haunted her more than his words did.
She no longer attended royal dinners, sending word through her maidens that she was "ill." The lie passed unchallenged, though her stomach was fine. Her soul was the one unsettled.
She avoided gatherings, events, and even the garden she loved so dearly. She would rather be stifled in her chamber than risk the chance of meeting his gaze again.
One late morning, Queen Ava summoned her.
"Her Highness wants to see you now, Your Majesty" Milla, one of Ava maids whispered to her in the hallway.
Aurora blinked, then nodded calmly. "Did she say why?"
Milla gave a strange look. "No, but... her expression was rather peculiar."
Aurora entered Ava's chambers moments later, the sunlight painting long stripes across the floor.
Ava rose from her couch with the gentleness of a woman who'd long understood court secrets and bodily signs. "Aurora, child," she said, with a small smile. "Sit."
Aurora obeyed.
There was a short silence before Ava leaned in, her voice low. "You have been pale lately. Avoiding meals. Restless, perhaps?"
Aurora swallowed. "I have just been… tired, mother."
Ava's gaze sharpened. "Are you with child?"
The words fell like a thunderclap.
Aurora's breath caught. "Mother?"
"I asked if you are with child."
Aurora held still. Her hands went cold. Child? She could not even bear the thought—she could barely understand herself, let alone explain the night she slept beside the man whose presence confused her soul. But she did not flinch. "No, Mother"she said softly, "I am not."
Ava studied her for a moment. Then simply nodded. "Very well. You may leave."
As Aurora exited the chamber, her heart still pounding, she caught a glimpse of Aldric from across the corridor. She froze.
He was speaking with a steward. His voice was calm, but something about his posture made her skin prickle. She ducked behind one of the tall marble pillars before he could spot her.
But he saw. He looked directly at the pillar. And walked away.
That night, the moon was high when he came.
The knock was gentle, but it startled her nonetheless. Elira opened the door and her eyes widened. "Your Majesty…"
Aurora stood from her bed slowly as her maids curtsied and excused themselves in a flurry of silent steps and bowed heads.
Aldric walked in, not smiling.
"Why do you avoid me?" he asked, voice soft, measured.
Aurora kept her eyes on the table. "I am not. Your Majesty."
"Aurora," he said, taking one slow step forward, "you are."
As he moved toward her, she instinctively took a step back. Her bare feet brushed the edge of her bed. Her fingers gripped the hem of her nightdress, trembling ever so slightly.
Aldric stopped. His brows pulled together, and for a moment, silence thickened the air like fog.
He spoke again, more quietly. "Do you despise me so greatly?"
She did not answer. Could not. Her throat tightened. Her gaze fell to the floor as her lip quivered, and her knuckles whitened around the edge of her gown.
He sighed. "I see." His voice was a thread of hurt and fatigue.
He turned, the movement slow, as if he were carrying something heavy on his shoulders. He reached for the door—
"Your Majesty, wait," Aurora said suddenly.
He paused, but did not turn. "Why?"
"I… I just—" she faltered. "Are you not staying here tonight?"
"No," he replied, still facing the door.
"Stay. Do not leave."
He turned now, brow raised. "Why?"
Aurora had no answer she could give. The truth tangled in her throat like vines—because I did not dream when you were beside me. But she could not say it.
He studied her. And then he walked towards her slowly.
She did not move. But every muscle in her body tensed as he reached her, stopping just a breath away. His fingers touched her chin. Lifted it.
Her eyes locked with his, unwilling and uncertain, but wide and full of hidden storms. Aldric leaned closer, slowly—his mouth inches from hers, his breath warm against her face. Then—
She pushed him. Hard.
He staggered back a step, caught himself against the post of her bed.
Her heart dropped. Her breath caught.
What had she done?
"I—I am sorry—" she gasped, falling to her knees. "I did not mean to. I just… I am sorry. Please… forgive me, Your Majesty."
She did not even realize she was crying until she felt her own tears warm on her cheeks.
Aldric stood still, staring at her. Hurt flickered in his eyes—not anger, just a quiet devastation.
He moved toward her again, knelt slightly, and gently lifted her to her feet. His thumb brushed a tear from her cheek.
Then, without a word, he turned and left. The door closed softly behind him.
Aurora stood there, still trembling. And the moment he left, her maids rushed in, anxious and wide-eyed.
She did not speak to them. She just sat on the edge of her bed, heart thundering, eyes distant.
What have I done?
Her mind raced.
Will he punish me for this?
Will he ever come back?
And somewhere, buried deep beneath all that, was a strange ache—a longing she did not understand.
The morning after, Aldric sat alone in his chamber, the early morning light creeping through the tall windows, drawing faint gold lines on the floor. His elbows rested on his knees, his face buried in his hands. The sting of Aurora's push still echoed, but not on his skin—on his heart. It was not the force of it that hurt. It was the fear in her eyes, the trembling of her hands, the desperate apology. The realization that he had become someone she feared.
And that, more than anything, burned him.
Meanwhile, in Aurora's chamber, silence reigned.
She had risen early, pacing the length of her chamber as dread bloomed in her chest like a dark flower. She expected a knock on the door, a summons, perhaps a guard standing stiff and cold at her threshold with a message: "His Majesty requests your presence." But none came.
Her maids brought her breakfast, setting the tray with fruits and warm bread, but she barely touched it. Her spoon stirred the tea absentmindedly. Her mind was miles away—stuck in the moment Aldric had lifted her chin, the near kiss, the sadness in his eyes after she pushed him, and the silence that followed.
She did not understand why she did it nor why it hurt her too.
In the King's Chamber
Aldric remained in his chair, his fingers tapping his thigh restlessly. The scrolls before him lay untouched. A fire crackled in the hearth, but he felt cold. For a man who never lost focus—his mind now wandered without anchor.
Commander Kael stood by the table, arms crossed behind his back. He had served Aldric since he was a sharp-eyed, steel-tempered boy of twelve, still learning the grip of his sword. But this—this dazed, brooding version of Aldric—was unfamiliar.
Kael cleared his throat, hesitantly.
"Your Majesty… you have barely read the report," he said, his voice low but laced with concern. "What troubles you?."
Aldric did not answer. He only nodded once, eyes still fixed on the distance.
Silence.
Then, a sigh. Deep and weary. He leaned back in his chair, looked up at the ceiling as if it held the answers to all his confusion.
"Kael," Aldric said softly, "Is love meant to wound so deeply?"
Kael blinked.
The silence that followed was heavy.
He had not expected that. In all the years of following Aldric—from training yards to war councils—never had the king spoken about personal matters, let alone love. Aldric, to Kael, was a fortress in human form. Stone and steel. And yet, here he was—cracked open.
Kael shifted uneasily, unsure how to respond.
"… It depends," he said finally, slowly, as if testing each word.
Aldric glanced at him from the corner of his eye.
Kael hesitated—then dared.
".…Are you in love, Your Majesty?"
Aldric smirked. The kind of half-smile that barely reached his eyes. "With Aurora."
Kael let out a quiet breath, as if confirming what he'd long suspected. He nodded once. "I wondered."
"She is already your wife," Kael added. "Why does it hurt?"
Aldric stood and walked to the window. He clasped his hands behind his back, gazing at the kingdom below. The sun had risen higher, washing the towers in light, but it did nothing to warm the weight in his chest.
"I told her," he said quietly. "I confessed how I felt. She rejected me."
Kael said nothing. Then, gently, he ventured, "Perhaps… Your Majesty could not have expected her to accept you so easily."
Aldric turned to him, confused. "Why not?"
Kael stepped forward, his voice steady but respectful. "Have you forgotten how you treated her when she first arrived in Velmora?"
Aldric flinched slightly.
Kael continued, slowly. "The cold chamber. The straw bed. Asking her to dance before lords like a performer… commanding her to sit on the floor like a servant. And casting her out into the snow to find your lost ring."
"Enough," Aldric said quietly, his jaw tight.
Kael halted.
The king lowered his gaze, his chest rising and falling with the weight of regret.
"…..I know," Aldric whispered. "I remember it all. I was merely…" The words died on his tongue.
He turned away, biting his lower lip, the memory of her huddled in snow flashing through his mind like a blade.
"I would not forgive me either," he said bitterly.
Kael stepped forward. "Yet, you may still undo the harm. It is not too late."
Aldric looked at him skeptically. "Undo? How?"
Kael gave a small shrug. "Begin with an apology. Then—offer her tokens. Women do love tokens."
Aldric raised an eyebrow, half amused. "And now you instruct me on the ways of women?"
Kael chuckled. "I have been married ten years ,Your Majesty. I know what makes a woman soften, even if she is as cold as frost."
Aldric's amusement deepened. "You think a few trinkets will win her heart?"
"No," Kael said. "But effort might. Consistency might. And… I overheard from the palace kitchens once that Queen Aurora has a fondness for grapes."
Aldric turned to him, interested now.
Kael nodded. "Start small. An apology letter… with grapes. Then gifts that show you see her. That you know her. She may never forget the past—but she might choose to forgive it."
Aldric stood still for a moment, letting the words settle over him like mist.
Then, slowly, a smile crept across his face. A real one. "Very well," he said. "Let us send for the grapes."
Later that morning, while the palace buzzed with its usual rhythm—maids rushing through corridors, pages delivering scrolls, and guards rotating shifts—Aurora remained in her chamber, still expecting the worst. She sat by the window, staring out at the sky, the untouched tea now cold in her cup.
Then came the knock. Her heart leapt.
She slowly turned, expecting a guard, or perhaps Queen Ava, or worse—a scroll of reprimand. But when the door opened, it was just one of the younger pages, small and nervous. He held a velvet tray in both hands, and atop it was a letter sealed with the royal crest... and a crystal bowl brimming with fresh, glistening grapes.
Aurora blinked.
"From His Majesty," the page stammered, bowing low.
Her brows furrowed as she slowly rose to her feet, walking over to him. She looked from the grapes to the seal, hesitant, confused. Her hand trembled slightly as she broke the wax.
The parchment was thick and smooth. Aldric's handwriting—firm, elegant, unmistakable—filled the page. But it was not a decree. It was not a command. It was something else entirely.
Aurora,
I never thought I would write to you in this manner. Yet there are words I should have offered you long before now. I seek no swift pardon. I know my faults stand tall between us. I know I wounded you when you first came to Velmora.
You spoke truth that day. I only now begin to see its shape. I wronged you. Deeply. More than once.
But I wish to begin anew. If nothing else, let this letter mark the first step of that beginning.
I recall hearing you once favored grapes. I cannot say if that love remains. Still, I hope they bring you a moment of ease. You were right to turn from me. Right to guard your peace.
Yet if you will grant me a chance—only one—I would try to earn the honor of standing near you again. Not by crown, nor command. But by effort. By sincerity. By truth proven over time.
I have wronged you, yes. But I would right myself, even slowly, if you permit it.
-Aldric
Aurora read it once. Then twice.
Her hands lowered slowly, her eyes locked on the words.
He… apologized?
The King of Velmora—Aldric, the same man who once tossed her out into the snow was now writing this? Guilt twisted in her chest, followed by something else. Something strange. A pull. A soft ache.
Her eyes drifted to the grapes.
They were fresh—small, dark, and fragrant, the kind that only grew in the eastern valleys.
She sank slowly into her chair, the letter still in her hand.
"He remembered…" she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
One of her maids stepped forward. "Should I send them back, Your Grace?"
Aurora did not answer immediately. Her gaze lingered on the bowl. After a moment of silence, she reached for one, lifted it to her lips, and took a slow bite.
Her maid's eyes widened.
But Aurora simply closed her eyes, letting the taste flood her senses—sweet, tart, familiar. A piece of peace.
In the King's Chamber
Kael was by the window when Aldric returned from his walk.
"Well?" the commander asked, trying not to sound too eager.
Aldric gave a small, tired smile. "The letter and grapes were delivered."
Kael raised a brow. "No yelling ? No flying plates?"
"No," Aldric replied. "Not yet."
"And…?"
"I think She read it," Aldric said, voice softer now. "She did not return it."
Kael nodded, then grinned. "That is a start, Your Majesty."
Aldric looked out the window toward the wing where Aurora stayed.
"Yes," he murmured. "It is a start."