The gifts began arriving steadily—at first, one at a time. A gold pendant encrusted with sapphires. Then, an exquisite silk gown in a rare shade of blue, embroidered with tiny silver leaves. Then, more—boxes of fine jewelry, velvet-lined and gleaming. Elegant hairpins, carved from crystal and shaped like swans. Hand-picked flowers from the southern gardens, where the sun always touched first. And finally, a gilded chest filled with coins from five kingdoms, polished and untouched.
Each gift was carefully wrapped and presented with reverence by the palace servants, who stood stunned at the doorway to Aurora's chamber.
"All of this... for me?" Aurora had murmured the first time, wide-eyed.
Her maids could not hide their wonder.
"My lady," one whispered, almost breathless, "In all our years of service, never—never—has His Majesty sent gifts like this. Not to Queen Selene. Not even to Queen Virelda on her wedding day."
"Not even on her wedding day?" Aurora repeated, barely believing it.
The maid shook her head solemnly.
Another added, "His majesty must truly adore you."
Aurora said nothing, but a strange stillness fell over her. She touched the golden brooch that arrived that morning—shaped like a crescent moon, delicate and cold in her hand. Her expression was unreadable.
That night, the palace was unusually quiet. A breeze whispered through the open balcony doors. The candles flickered. Aurora stood from her vanity, leaving the shimmering gifts untouched behind her, and made a sudden decision.
"Fetch my cloak," she said.
Her maids startled. "My lady?"
"I am going to see His Majesty."
-
Aldric and Commander Kael sat deep in discussion over border negotiations. Scrolls were spread across the table between them—maps, troop counts, treaties—but Aldric's gaze kept drifting. His attention was fractured, distracted, his thoughts elsewhere.
A knock came at the door.
"Your Majesty," a guard said, stepping in. "Queen Aurora is here."
Aldric's head snapped up. Kael nearly choked on his breath.
"She… what?"
The door opened slowly, and Aurora stepped in, her white cloak falling around her like mist. Her gaze was steady, though her hands were folded tightly in front of her.
Kael jumped to his feet and bowed. "Your Majesty."
He shot Aldric a look—one that was a mix of "Good luck" and "Do not mess this up"—before excusing himself, practically slipping out the door.
Silence hung in the air.
Aurora bowed, voice quiet. "I came to thank you, Your Majesty… for the gifts."
Aldric, standing by the table, nodded once. "It was only what I should have done long ago. And if there is anything else you want—anything at all—I will give it. If you wish to return to Elareth, I will send you. With soldiers. Or gold. Or—"
"I do not want to go back to Elareth," she cut in, her voice breaking.
Aldric looked at her carefully.
"There is nothing there for me anymore," she added softly. "Only ash."
There was a pause, heavy and personal.
She straightened. "I only came to say… thank you. And to ask you to stop sending gifts. My reply has not changed."
Aldric did not respond at first.
As she turned to leave, his voice stopped her.
"I was raised never to be soft," he said quietly. "Affection… kindness… they were weaknesses as I was told. I was raised to rule with discipline. To be feared, but fair. Never to love."
Aurora froze mid-step.
Aldric went on, his tone vulnerable in a way she had never heard from him before. "But then you came. And now I find myself wanting to be more than I was taught. I do not know how to unlearn what built me. But perhaps…" he stepped closer, just a little, "you could teach me. By guiding me. By… loving me."
The words landed like a blow to her chest.
She turned her face to him, stunned. Not because of the confession—he had made that once before—but because of the rawness. The plea beneath it. The fractured little boy hidden in a king's voice.
But she could not answer. Could not move.
She gave a small bow and slipped from the chamber so quickly, the air still carried her perfume.
Kael returned moments later, looking over his shoulder. "Well your majesty?"
Aldric did not respond immediately. His eyes remained on the door she had just left through.
"She thanked me," he said, as if he could hardly believe it. "But she said no… again."
Kael clapped once, sighed, and sank into his seat. "You said you wanted to win her heart, did not you, Your Majesty?"
"I do."
"Then stay the course," Kael said. "Keep showing her the man she does not believe you can be. The king commands armies, but the husband? He must persuade."
Aldric nodded faintly, jaw tight. "I will be consistent," he murmured.
-
Aurora rushed back to her chamber, her maids wide-eyed as she swept past them, cloak billowing like a storm.
Once inside, she shut the door, pressed her back to it, and closed her eyes.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly. But not from love. No, not love. It was something else. Something nameless. Something terrifying.
She had seen many faces of Aldric—the cold, the cruel, the king. But this one? This soft, trembling, unsure man? It unsettled her more than anything.
She collapsed onto her bed, arms hugging herself tightly, as his words echoed again and again in her mind.
"Teach me… by loving me."
And though she tried to quiet it, the echo would not fade.
-
The whispers started like wind through palace cracks. A grapevine, they called it. Fitting, since it all began with grapes.
"A silver tray had been seen passing through the royal corridor—grapes still glistening with frost, accompanied by a scroll sealed with the king signet. It was brought to Queen Aurora Quarters."
"The Queen who came last. The Queen they once believed beneath them. The Queen now draped in gifts."
-
Queen Selene sat before her tall mirror, brushing her golden hair with mechanical grace. Her chambermaid, Anaïs, hesitated behind her.
"Your Majesty," Anaïs finally said, "it is true. His Majesty sent her rubies today. A full box. And hairpins from Ishtara."
Selene's hand faltered mid-brush. Her reflection flickered.
"Does she smile when she receives them?" she asked quietly.
Anaïs blinked. "She… tries not to. But from what I heard, the girls say she always looks surprised, as if she does not believe she deserves them."
Selene turned slightly, still staring into the glass. "At least she is honest."
Anaïs tilted her head. "Your Majesty?"
Selene exhaled. "I used to think that if I became the perfect queen—graceful, soft-spoken, always proper—he would notice me. That someday His Majesty would look at me the way men look at women they love."
She stood slowly, smoothing the silk of her gown.
"But His Majesty does not look. He rules."
-
Queen Virelda's rage burned slow—hot and private.
She paced her chamber like a panther, fingers twisting the ring on her thumb. Her maid stood by, awkwardly silent until the Queen turned sharply.
"What did His Majesty send her today?"
"A necklace, my lady. Gold filigree with emeralds."
Virelda laughed—but it was a sound without humor. "He has never asked me what I like. Never once."
She looked to the closed balcony doors, her jaw tight. "Do you know what I gave up to be here? What I left behind?"
The maid said nothing.
Virelda did not need an answer. Her voice cracked just slightly when she added, "I was not chosen. I was offered. And he took me out of duty, not desire."
She pressed her palm to the cool glass, her reflection fractured in the pane.
"But I have a heart. And it is tired of being invisible."
Later that night, Selene and Virelda both found themselves on opposite ends of the moonlit corridor. Neither had meant to wander there. Neither expected the other.
They stopped mid-step, eyes locking across the hall. Neither spoke.
Selene glanced toward the hallway that led to Aldric's wing, then back at Virelda. "Do not flatter yourself. I was not going to His Majesty."
Virelda lifted her chin. "Of course not. Neither was I."
Silence lingered, fragile and cold.
Then Selene whispered, "He never looks at us, does he?"
Virelda's gaze faltered—just for a breath. Then she turned and walked away.
In their chambers that night, both queens lay awake—beneath fine sheets and velvet ceilings—not mourning their power, but mourning the warmth they never received.
And in a quiet chamber at the center of it all, Aurora sat holding another letter, her heart pounding with confusion—not knowing that her silence was the storm tearing through two other women's hearts.
-
Since the moment Aldric spoke the word Elareth, something in Aurora's chest had tightened—like an old wound she had buried beneath layers of silence.
She had held herself still, had smiled, nodded, composed herself. But the name cut through her like wind in an open grave.
When she returned from her garden, to her chamber that evening, she did not let her maids speak. She dismissed them softly, her voice distant, like someone sleepwalking through memories.
The chamber was quiet—candlelight flickering against the marble walls—but in her heart, the snow of Elareth still fell.
She walked to her grand wardrobe, the one carved with curling branches and lion motifs, far more elegant than the one in her former chamber.
She reached beneath the folded velvets and silks until her fingers touched a wooden box—small, plain, slightly chipped at the corner. The only thing she had brought with her from Elareth.
It had been months since she opened it.
She sat on her bed, placed the box in her lap, and slowly lifted the lid.
A faint scent escaped—lavender and old parchment, mixed with something faintly bitter. She ran her fingers across a small white pouch, tied shut with twine. She opened it, and there it was.
The sleeping medicine.
Wrapped in a cloth, still intact, though slightly crumbled at the edge. Miri had pressed it into her hand that day—hurriedly, nervously, with trembling fingers and tearful eyes.
"I do not know what you will face there. But please- stay alive, Aurora."
Aurora closed her eyes, Miri's voice replaying again and again in her ears.
She had never used the medicine.
Perhaps she had been too angry to sleep, too hurt. Or perhaps she had hoped for death, once. Back then, in that cold straw bed, in a kingdom that called her royalty but treated her like a blemish.
She pulled her knees to her chest, rested her head on them, and sighed.
"Miri…"
They had never been exactly close. Miri had been a quiet servant, a girl of few words, often overlooked by the other servants. But she had shown care. Not pity. Not duty. Care.
In a world where everyone either ignored Aurora or reminded her of her shame, Miri had simply cared.
Aurora found a folded note beneath the cloth bundle—Miri had written it hastily, the ink slightly smudged. She unfolded it and read.
"You will make it through. You are stronger than all of them. If you ever think of me, let it be on a day you are still alive. That alone would make me happy."
Her throat tightened. She leaned back slowly onto the bed, still holding the pouch, her hair falling across the sheets like a waterfall of snow.
There had been a letter all this time?
How was Miri now?
Did she still serve in the palace? Was she safe?
Had Evelyn grown even crueler?
Aurora stared at the ceiling, letting the memory take its place beside her like an old ghost. Not all memories were kind—but some, even in their ache, kept you from vanishing.