WHISPERS IN THE GARDEN
774 Words
CHAPTER 4
That evening, the palace gardens bloomed under the glow of lanterns and moonlight. The roses had been trimmed, the hedges shaped, and the royal musicians played soft harp music near the terrace — all part of Queen Isolde’s effort to “create a charming atmosphere for diplomacy.”
Arabelle hated it already.
She was supposed to be socializing with delegates and nobles, sipping overpriced wine, and laughing at unfunny jokes. Instead, she slipped away behind the marble fountain and ducked into the hedge maze — the one place no one dared follow without getting hopelessly lost.
Except, apparently, one person.
“You do realize disappearing at royal functions is becoming a habit,” Prince Darius’s voice came from behind her.
She didn’t even flinch.
“I’m allergic to fake smiles and political nonsense,” she said, not turning around. “Didn’t feel like dying tonight.”
He stepped beside her, hands behind his back. “So you decided to hide in a hedge.”
“Better than hiding behind a crown.”
He laughed under his breath. “Touché.”
They walked together in silence for a few moments, their feet crunching lightly on the gravel path. Fireflies danced in the air. Somewhere in the distance, a lute strummed a slow, romantic tune — as if the universe was mocking them.
“You didn’t have to follow me,” she said after a while.
“I didn’t,” he replied. “I wanted to.”
That stopped her.
He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t performing. His voice was quiet, honest, maybe even… gentle.
“Why?” she asked carefully, watching him out of the corner of her eye.
“Because every time I talk to you, I forget I’m a prince.”
She turned to look at him fully now, her brow furrowing.
“You say things like that and expect me not to punch you.”
He laughed. “I mean it. With you, I don’t have to be diplomatic. Or perfect. Or prepared. You call me out, argue back, and I never know what you’ll say next. It’s exhausting. And fascinating.”
Arabelle stared at him, unsure how to respond.
Then he added, “Besides, I’ve seen how you look when you’re pretending not to enjoy my company.”
“You’re delusional,” she said — but her voice was softer now.
A breeze stirred the leaves around them. Darius looked at her, really looked, and something unspoken passed between them again.
But before the moment could settle, a harsh voice shattered the air.
“There you are.”
Both turned sharply to see Lord Harland — the king’s advisor and perhaps the most unpleasant man in the kingdom — stepping into the path, his beady eyes narrowed.
“I was wondering where the princess had wandered off to,” he said, clearly unimpressed. His gaze flicked between the two of them. “And with Westmoor’s prince, no less.”
Arabelle straightened. “Is that a problem, Lord Harland?”
“Only if the court starts whispering. Which they already are.”
Darius raised an eyebrow. “Do you always stalk the royal garden looking for scandal, Lord Harland?”
“I watch for weakness,” he said coldly. “And distraction. Both of which I see here.”
Arabelle stepped forward. “Careful. You’re dangerously close to being punched by royalty.”
Harland ignored her. “His Highness should remember his place — and why he’s here. This is not a vacation. It’s a negotiation.”
Then he turned to Arabelle with a sharp glare. “And you, Princess, would do well to remember that your duty lies with your kingdom. Not with moonlit walks.”
With a dramatic sweep of his cloak, Harland disappeared back into the hedges.
Darius exhaled slowly. “Charming fellow.”
“He’s been circling my family like a vulture for years,” she muttered. “And he hates me.”
“Well,” Darius said, smiling again, “at least we have something in common.”
She smirked despite herself. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”
“Nope.”
They lingered a moment longer, but the spell had been broken. Arabelle turned toward the exit, her voice suddenly quiet.
“You should go back. Before someone accuses us of plotting to overthrow the crown.”
He paused. “And if we were?”
She stopped. Looked back at him.
“Then we’d better not get caught.”
And with that, she vanished into the maze, heart pounding louder than any music back in the ballroom.
To be continued....
- Writer
