Forbidden Love

Chapter 2: Whispers In The Garden

(Walter’s POV)

The night was still, except for the soft rustle of leaves and the faint chirping of crickets. Lantern light spilled across the garden path, catching the delicate curve of her face. Princess Bella stood only a few paces away, and yet the distance between us felt greater than the breadth of kingdoms.

For a moment, neither of us moved. Her gaze lingered on me, steady and unafraid, though propriety should have demanded she turn away. My heart thundered in my chest, and my throat felt dry, as though even the simple act of breathing was dangerous.

At last, she spoke.

“I knew someone was there,” she said softly, her voice carrying in the stillness like a secret meant only for me. “You don’t walk like the others.”

Her words startled me. Did she recognize me, even in the shadows?

“I did not mean to intrude, Your Highness,” I managed, bowing my head. “I was only…”

“Guarding me?” she interrupted gently. “Even when no one asked you to?”

The faintest smile touched her lips, though it was tinged with sadness. She gestured to the bench beneath the old willow tree and began walking toward it, the lantern swaying at her side. I hesitated, torn between duty and fear, but when she sat down, she looked back at me expectantly.

“Please,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “Sit with me. Just this once.”

Every instinct screamed against it. Guards did not sit beside royalty. Guards did not share in their solitude, their burdens. Guards kept their distance. Yet something in her tone, pleading, weary, left me powerless to refuse.

I crossed the path slowly, lowering myself onto the stone bench, leaving just enough space between us to remind myself of the boundary I dared not cross.

For a long while, she said nothing. Her eyes wandered the lantern-lit garden, as if she were searching for answers in the swaying flowers and moonlit leaves. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft but heavy.

“Do you know what it is like,” she began, “to live every moment for others? To never have a choice that is truly your own?”

I turned to her, my chest tightening. “I cannot claim to know, Your Highness. But I know what it is to feel trapped.”

Her eyes flickered to mine, surprise flashing there. Perhaps she hadn’t expected honesty from a guard. She gave a faint, sad laugh.

“I was promised away before I could even speak,” she confessed. “To Prince Adrien of Estoria. My fate sealed as a baby in arms, long before I even knew what it meant to love or to choose. It was not my will. It was my mother’s. A marriage to bind alliances, to strengthen her throne. And so, I was never asked what I wanted. I was never allowed to want.”

Her voice wavered, and I saw in her eyes a pain far greater than the luxuries of the palace could ever conceal. My hand twitched at my side, aching to reach for hers, to offer comfort, but I forced it still.

“Your Highness…” I said quietly. “You carry a heavy burden. Too heavy for one heart alone.”

She smiled bitterly. “And yet, I carry it. Because what choice do I have? If I resist, I am selfish. If I comply, I am lifeless. Either way, I am not my own.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. I wanted to tell her everything, that I understood her loneliness, that I had seen her pain long before this night, that my heart had been hers in secret for years. But the words caught like thorns in my throat.

She drew a slow breath, her voice trembling now. “Sometimes, I envy the simplest lives. The washerwomen who laugh freely. The children who run through the market with no eyes watching them. Even the guards who stand at their posts, silent but free in ways I will never be. At least their hearts belong to themselves.”

Her words pierced me like an arrow. If only she knew the irony, the cruel twist of fate that even a guard’s heart could be shackled, bound by a love he dared not reveal.

Before I could respond, she turned to me, her gaze locking on mine with startling intensity. “Tell me Walter, do you believe people like us, those trapped by duty, can ever be free?”

My breath caught. She had spoken my name. My name. Not “guard,” not “soldier.” Walter. It was as though the distance between us had shattered in that single word.

I swallowed hard. “I… I don’t know. But I believe freedom is worth fighting for. Even if the world calls it forbidden.”

Her eyes softened, glistening under the lantern light. For a heartbeat, I thought she might cry. Instead, she leaned back, looking toward the stars with a sigh that carried years of longing.

“I wish I could believe that,” she whispered.

The air between us thickened, charged with words unsaid. My heart screamed to bridge the gap, to reach for her, to tell her that she was not alone. But before I could act, footsteps echoed in the distance. Attendants searching, guards patrolling. The spell of the garden fractured.

Bella straightened quickly, slipping back into the mask of royalty. She lifted her lantern and stood, her face once again serene, as though she had not just laid bare her soul to a mere guard.

“Thank you for listening,” she said softly, her tone formal now, distant. “Forget what I’ve said. For your own sake.”

She turned to leave, her lantern swaying as she disappeared into the shadows of the palace path.

I remained on the bench, my hands trembling, my chest burning with the weight of everything I could not say.

Forget? Impossible.

If anything, tonight had carved her deeper into my soul than ever before.

And yet, as the garden fell silent once more, a gnawing fear began to take root within me: secrets like this never stayed hidden for long.

The night after Bella left me in the garden, I could not sleep. Her words echoed again and again in my mind.

"Tell me, Walter… do you believe people like us, those trapped by duty can ever be free?"

She had spoken my name with such quiet desperation that it burned into me like fire. And when she told me to forget, how could I? Forgetting her was like asking the sea to forget the shore.

The following days at the castle passed with a strange weight. Bella walked the corridors with her usual grace, her face composed, her voice calm. To the untrained eye, she was every bit the dutiful princess. But I had seen the cracks beneath the mask. I had heard her voice tremble.

And that knowledge bound me to her more than ever.

I tried to keep my distance. I buried myself in my duties, drilled with the other guards, and forced my eyes away whenever she passed, reminding myself that the gap between us was more than the distance between the marble stairs she climbed daily. But it was futile. My gaze found her like a moth to flame. She filled every silence, haunted every corner of my thoughts.

It was during one of those evenings, while patrolling near the inner courtyard, that Clara caught me staring.

Clara was no ordinary handmaiden. She had served the princess since childhood and carried herself with a sharpness that saw more than it should. She was loyal to Bella, fiercely so, and anyone who thought otherwise was a fool.

“You watch her too closely,” Clara murmured as she passed me, carrying a basket of folded linens.

The words startled me more than if she had shouted. I straightened instantly, my hand tightening on the hilt of my sword. “I beg your pardon?”

She paused, tilting her head at me. “Don’t pretend. I see it. The way your eyes follow her. The way you freeze when she enters the room. Others may not notice, but I do.”

My blood ran cold. If Clara had seen, how long before someone else did?

“I am a guard,” I said stiffly, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “It is my duty to observe. Nothing more.”

Clara’s lips curved into the faintest, knowing smile. “Perhaps. But be careful, Walter. The palace walls have ears. And not everyone would be so kind if they noticed.”

Her words lingered like a shadow as she walked away.

I told myself she was only imagining things. Yet that night, as I stood at my post outside the princess’s chambers, I felt the weight of unseen eyes pressing on me.

And then the door opened.

Bella stepped out, her hair loose about her shoulders, her robe a soft cascade of silk. She carried a candle that lit her face with a gentle glow, her eyes heavy with sleeplessness.

“Walter,” she whispered.

My heart stumbled. “Your Highness…”

“Not here.” She glanced down the hall, her expression tight. “Come.”

Every rational thought screamed at me to refuse, but my feet betrayed me. I followed her down the quiet corridor, past the columns, until we reached a smaller chamber, unused, forgotten. She closed the door behind us, the candlelight flickering against the stone walls.

“I cannot rest,” she admitted, her voice low. “Every word I spoke that night in the garden weighs heavier on me. I fear… I fear I should not have told you.”

Her eyes searched mine, wide and uncertain, like a prisoner who had tasted freedom for the first time and was terrified of losing it.

“Do not regret it,” I said firmly. “You needed someone to hear, and I am glad it was me. Your burdens are safe with me, Princess.”

Her lips parted, as if she wanted to say more, but the words died. Instead, silence filled the space between us, thick and charged.

In that silence, I felt the truth stirring, dangerous, unstoppable. My heart ached to confess, to tell her that I was hers, bound not by duty but by love. But the thought of what such words could cost. Her reputation, my life, held me still.

And yet, as she looked at me, her eyes glistening, her breathing unsteady, I realized she already knew.

We stood like that for what felt like an eternity, the candle flame trembling between us.

Then, abruptly, she stepped back, her voice breaking. “You should go.”

I hesitated. “Bella…”

Her name slipped from my lips, soft and reverent, but it was enough to make her flinch.

“Go,” she repeated, more firmly this time. Her hands trembled as she turned away.

I bowed my head, my chest burning, and left the chamber. But even as the door closed behind me, I knew nothing between us would ever be the same again.

Because tonight, whether spoken or not, the truth had been revealed.