The Fallen Princess

Twenty One

“Come in!” Zaria called from the balcony, grateful, actually desperate really, for any interruption. For days she’d been tucked away in this beautiful, gilded cage since the assassin incident; a prisoner wrapped in silk and sunlight.

“Good morning, Princess!” Prince Christian announced as he stepped inside. “What a stunning room for a stunning woman,” he added, sweeping a look over the bedchamber Callen had arranged for her, all carved wood and pale stone and gauzy curtains.

Zaria slipped through the flowing drapes, leaving the balcony’s chill behind as she stepped into the main room. “What brings you here today?” she asked, unfazed by his easy flattery. “Straight to the point…” he sighed dramatically.

“Here I was, hoping you might be furious with me for failing to rescue you as promised. But perhaps, since all of this is entirely Callen’s fault, you might find it in your lovely heart to forgive me.”

“I’m not upset with you, Prince Christian. I never was,” she told him smoothly, gesturing toward the sitting area. He only shook his head and stayed standing. “So is it safe to assume that we're still friends then,” he said with a hopeful tilt of his mouth.

“I didn’t realize there was ever a time we weren’t,” she teased lightly. That earned her a genuine chuckle. “Actually,” he said, expression shifting from playful to business in an instant, “I’m here as a noble courier, for the sake of your sanity. Mother has sent me to deliver you from your boredom and escort you to afternoon tea.”

“Ah, so this wasn’t a heartfelt visit to rekindle our friendship after all,” Zaria sighed. “Truly devastating.” Christian offered his arm with a flourish. She took it willingly, enjoying the simple act of leaving the room. They moved into the corridor, their footsteps echoing softly on polished stone.

“How is it,” Christian mused, “that you grow more beautiful every time I see you?” “You flatter me, Your Highness. Imagine the honor of being admired by such a handsome prince,” Zaria replied, lips curving.

“You’ve received plenty of praise from a prince with the exact same face,” he countered. “More handsome than mine, I hear you say. But then again, it’s been some time since you’ve seen it, so who’s to say?”

Her amusement faded, just slightly, at the reminder of how long it had been since Callen visited her. The glow in her expression dimmed; Christian caught it at once and cleared his throat. “My brother has never shown much interest in women,” he remarked softly. “But with you… he’s different.”

“I beg to differ,” Zaria snapped. The bitterness slipping through before she could soften it. “The Courtesans he welcomes at his door every night feels like plenty of ‘interest in women’ to me.” “That is… a common gesture of thanks here, however currently, it’s my father's attempt to distract him from you.” Christian explained gently.

“Then perhaps I need a distraction from him, too.” she muttered under her breath. Christian gave her arm a sympathetic pat. “In that case,” he said with a crooked smile, “I am happy to offer my assistance.” She didn’t laugh.

“You should know,” he added with a soft sigh, “he’s been turning them away, which is actually making things much worse.” He flashed her a grin, bright and careless on the surface, though it didn’t quite disguise the weight underneath.

“I know he’s engaged,” Zaria admitted quietly. “But I can’t help how I feel about him… and now I’m trapped here without him... or my brother...” Christian's expression turned thoughtful. “I’m sorry you feel trapped. These walls are strong enough to keep armies out… and people in.”

They reached the base of the stairs, and he stopped her with a gentle pressure on her arm. “When’s the last time you saw your brother?” He asked. “I haven’t since we arrived.” Her voice dimmed around the words. “Then that changes today,” he said simply. “I’ll take you to him.”

Her head snapped toward him, eyes brightening. “You promise?” “Promise,” he said, and there was nothing playful in it, only certainty, as he guided her out toward the gardens.

Christian slowed as they rounded a hedge of flowering shrubs, and Zaria followed his line of sight. A young woman stood beside a tall rose-draped trellis, sunlight catching in the soft curls of her copper-toned hair. Her gown was pale rose silk, hands clasped lightly before her, her eyes sparkling with open curiosity.

“Princess,” Christian said, leading Zaria forward, “allow me to introduce my favorite cousin, Lady Rosalie.” Rosalie’s face lit instantly when she saw her. “Oh! You must be Princess Zaria,” she exclaimed, dipping into a graceful curtsey that was more enthusiastic than formal.

“I’ve been hoping to meet you ever since you arrived. The nobles can’t seem to speak of anything else.” She straightened, cheeks pink with delight.

Zaria blinked, startled by such eager admiration, but dipped her head in return. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Rosalie.” “Please, just Rosalie,” the girl insisted warmly. “You’re even lovelier than they said.”

Christian rolled his eyes, though fondness softened his expression. “Careful, Rosie. You’ll frighten her away before she’s even had tea.” Rosalie swatted his arm. “Hush. You see why I prefer the company of ladies? We possess far more sense.”

Zaria laughed quietly, the last of her tension easing under Rosalie’s sunny energy. “I’m very happy to meet you,” she confessed. “I admit… having a friend here would be a comfort.” Rosalie practically glowed. “Then you already have one.” Zaria’s smile turned genuinely soft as Rosalie linked their arms and tugged her along with bright enthusiasm.

“Oh! Have you heard? A convoy of Elves is due to arrive next week!” Rosalie blurted as they approached the terrace. “The entire court is buzzing.” “Really?” Zaria kept her tone mild, but excitement sparked in her chest at the word Elves.

“Yes! They’re so dignified,” Rosalie said dreamily, reaching for a teacup as they took their seats at the shaded table. “Have you met them before?” Zaria asked. Rosalie nodded, eyes alight. “Nearly two years ago. They’re our closest neighboring country, even though we don’t share a border.”

“They reside on the Isles of the Western Sea,” Christian added, sliding into his chair with practiced elegance. Zaria sent him a small, grateful glance for the quiet geography lesson.

“Hello, my dear children,” the Queen greeted warmly as she joined them, robes whispering over the stone. Everyone but Christian rose immediately. “Good morning, Ma’am,” Zaria said, bowing her head respectfully.

“We were just discussing the Elves,” Christian said. “Ah yes, they should arrive any day now,” the Queen replied, settling into her chair. “Please sit.” She stirred sugar into her tea with measured grace. “They are especially interested in you, my dear.” Zaria blinked. “Me?”

“Oh yes. The King sent word shortly after your arrival,” the Queen said, smiling. Christian’s expression tightened slightly at that. “Have you ever met an elf besides your mother and brother?” The Queen’s smile softened as she folded her hands neatly in her lap. "No. This will be my first time.” Zaria didn’t try to hide the excitement threading into her voice.

“Mother, has Callen been informed?” he asked. “I assume so,” she replied, unbothered. “You boys always think the worst of your father.” “He is a great King,” Christian admitted, “but a terrible father.”

He rose, placing his napkin neatly on the table. “Ladies, excuse me.” He paused behind Zaria’s chair. “I’ll return to escort you to your brother.” “Thank you, Your Highness,” she said softly, sincerity warming her tone.

“You should invite your brother to tea sometime,” Rosalie said with a blush as she nibbled a sugared biscuit. “I heard he’s incredibly handsome.” “I’d be lying if I said otherwise,” Zaria replied, unable to resist, and Rosalie beamed.

The Queen chuckled. “I may be older, but I can still appreciate a handsome man.” They shared a light laugh. “Speaking of handsome men…” the Queen said, voice turning sly. “My son seems quite taken with you, Zaria.”

Zaria nearly choked on her biscuit. “Oh… no, Ma’am. His Highness, Crown Prince Christian and I are just friends.” The Queen gave her a knowing little smile that made Zaria’s cheeks warm. She hadn’t meant Christian at all. She was talking about her other son.

“Well, I for one can’t wait to be married,” Rosalie chimed in, clapping her hands together, eyes shining with youthful glee.

She sighed dreamily, already lost in her own vision of the future. “Just imagine it… taking long strolls through the palace gardens, reading together by the fire. Dancing in the halls when no one is watching. Oh, it all sounds so lovely, doesn’t it? I only hope my husband is handsome.” She added the last part with a playful grin, and Zaria returned it as politely as she could manage.

“Miss,” a servant murmured beside Rosalie, leaning in. “You have piano lessons at noon.” “Oh! Thank you for reminding me,” Rosalie said, then turned to her aunt. “Aunt Gelda, may I be excused?” “Of course, dear,” the Queen said, patting her niece’s hand.

Rosalie stood, smoothing her skirts. “Zaria, I hope to see you again soon.” she asked hopefully. “Of course,” Zaria glanced toward the Queen for permission. “If it is alright with you, Ma’am?”

“Of course, my dear,” the Queen said, warmth softening her regal features. “I quite enjoy your company.” “Me too!” Rosalie added brightly, giving a little wave before hurrying back toward the castle. Once she disappeared from view, the Queen rested her hand over Zaria’s in a gentle, maternal gesture.

“Be patient, dear,” she murmured. “My husband has made things difficult for him… but I can tell, you have something special.” The Queen rose, and Zaria followed suit automatically. “I would love to stay and talk longer, but it seems someone is waiting for you.” The Queen nodded toward the shade of a nearby tree.

Zaria turned. There, beneath the dappled shadows, stood Callen. Still, watchful, dressed in the same clothes Christian had worn earlier, yet there was no mistaking him. The line of his shoulders, the quiet intensity in his golden gaze, the way the air seemed to tighten around him.

Something in Zaria’s chest drew taut at the sight of him; that now-familiar ache. A mixture of longing, anger, and something dangerously like hope, curling warm and sharp beneath her ribs.