Days That Didn’t Belong to the Crown
544 Words
The days that followed felt borrowed.
They were not written into schedules, not announced by attendants, not approved by anyone who mattered. They slipped quietly between meetings and preparations, stolen in small moments that neither Alice nor Alex spoke of too loudly.
In the mornings, Alice was expected to attend lessons.
In the afternoons, Alex was summoned to discussions that never seemed to end.
And yet, somehow, they kept finding each other.
Sometimes it was by accident—passing in corridors where neither was supposed to linger. Sometimes it was deliberate, a glance exchanged across a room, a turn taken too early, a step slowed just enough.
They learned the palace’s blind spots quickly.
A stairwell no one used.
A narrow passage behind the old archives.
A gate that was watched, but not closely enough.
Alice led the way.
She moved through Lunareth with the ease of someone who had learned where not to be seen. Alex followed, surprised by how natural it felt to let her choose the path.
“You’re good at this,” he said once.
She shrugged. “You learn when staying still feels worse.”
They slipped beyond the palace grounds one afternoon, just far enough to reach the lower streets where the city softened. Lunareth was quieter there—less polished, less careful. The air smelled like bread and dust, like things that existed whether the crown approved or not.
Alice breathed easier.
They shared food from street vendors again, standing too close, arguing over nothing.
“You always take the last piece,” Alex accused.
“You hesitate,” Alice countered. “That’s your fault.”
He laughed before he could stop himself, then glanced around as if laughter were something that could be confiscated.
They spent hours wandering without direction.
They talked about small things. About books they half remembered. About places they would go if travel didn’t require permission. Alice complained about tutors who corrected her breathing. Alex complained about advisors who never seemed satisfied.
For a while, they were not an engagement.
Not kingdoms.
Not futures.
Just two people sitting on a low stone wall as the sun dipped low, feet swinging idly.
“I like you better like this,” Alice said suddenly.
“Like what?” Alex asked.
“Not standing straight,” she said. “Not thinking so hard.”
He considered that. “You make it difficult.”
She smiled. “Good.”
At night, the palace felt heavier.
They returned separately, slipping back into their assigned roles as if nothing had happened. Alice lay awake longer than usual, replaying moments she didn’t want to forget. Alex stared at the ceiling of his guest chamber, listening to a silence that felt louder than the council chambers ever had.
On the fourth day, Alice went out alone.
Alex had been called away early, pulled into discussions that left no room for delay. Alice waited as long as she could—then longer. Eventually, she slipped away, telling herself it was only for a short while.
She knew the paths.
She always had.
The sun was already lowering when Alex finally broke free.
By the time he reached the gate, the air had shifted.
Something was wrong.
Alice did not come back.
- Writer
