The Alliance

Chapter 12: Portrait of a flower

A few days ago~

The grand halls of Windsor Castle shimmers in the golden glow of the afternoon sun, the rays streaming through towering stained-glass windows. Prince Phillip of Mercia, clad in a tunic of deep crimson embroidered with golden thread, paces the throne room, his commanding presence filling the space. His athletic frame, honed by years of swordplay and jousting, moves with a grace that belied his size. His sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes has earned him the adoration of every maiden in the castle, though he bares himself with a quiet dignity that set him apart from mere charmers.

The ambassador, Sir Alfred of Mercia— who have just returned from Eldermere enters, bowing deeply before presenting a carefully wrapped package. “Your Highness, I bring the portrait of your future bride, as per your request.”

Phillip’s pulse quickens as he gestures for the package to be opened. When the cloth is peeled away, revealing the portrait of Jasmine, Phillip’s breath catches in his throat.

The artist has captured her in ethereal detail—the cascade of her raven-black hair, her soft, wide emerald eyes that seems to hold a world of secrets, and the delicate arch of her lips. The backdrop of the portrait features a hint of Eldermere’s rolling hills, adding to the mystique. Jasmine’s beauty radiates from the canvas, and though Phillip has not met her, it feels as though her presence fills the room.

“She is… breathtaking,” Phillip says softly, unable to tear his eyes from the painting. A rare smile spread across his face, one that reaches his usually guarded eyes.

The ambassador bows. “She is said to be as kind as she is beautiful, Your Highness. A jewel worthy of Mercia.”

Phillip turns to the royal goldsmith, who stands silently nearby. “I want a gift—a token of my admiration. Handcraft something special. A locket, perhaps, with Mercia’s crest on one side and space for her likeness on the other.” He glance back at the portrait. “Make it flawless, as she deserves nothing less.”

The goldsmith bows. “It will be done, Your Highness.”

Phillip dismiss the others, keeping the portrait in his private study. For hours, he sits before it, imagining what she might be like in person. He envisions her laughter, the grace of her movements, and how their conversations might flow. The thought of finally bonding with her fills him with anticipation.

He admiration is cut short by a bitter memory. He recalled that his heart had once belonged to another—a commoner named Rosaline, the daughter of the castle’s chief gardener.

Rosaline had been his first and only love. Her fiery wit and unpretentious charm had drawn Phillip in like no other. They had stolen moments in secret, laughing under moonlit skies and dreaming of a life where love, not duty, dictated their paths.

But when the Queen declared that Phillip’s marriage must serve the crown, he had no choice but to end the affair. He remembered the last time they met in the garden, her tear-streaked face and trembling hands as he tried to explain.

Rosaline stood beneath the old oak tree in the royal garden. The garden is quiet and the bed of blooming roses is bathed with the silver light of the moon— her arms wrapped around herself against the chill. She turned when she heard the crunch of boots on gravel, and her breath caught as Phillip approached. He wore no crown or princely robes—only a simple tunic and breeches—but his presence still made her heart ache.

“Rosaline,” he said softly, his voice carrying a weight that immediately unsettled her.

“What is it,Phillip?” she asked, taking a cautious step forward. “Why do you look like you’ve been carrying the world on your shoulders?”

He stopped a few paces away, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Because I am. And tonight, I have to make the hardest decision of my life.”

Rosaline frowned, confusion clouding her features. “What are you talking about?”

He took a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the ground before meeting hers. “My Mother has arranged my marriage… to a princess of Eldermere. The alliance is crucial to the survival of both Mercia and Eldermere. I have no choice but to go through with it.”

The words hung in the air like a death knell. Rosaline’s face paled, and she took a shaky step back. “No… no, you’re not serious.”

“Rosaline, please—”

“You promised me!” she interrupted, her voice cracking. “You told me we’d find a way, that nothing could come between us.”

“I know,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “And I meant every word. But I didn’t know this would happen. My duty to the crown must come first. If I refuse this marriage, it could mean war. Thousands of lives—innocent lives—could be lost because of me.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she shook her head. “And what about us? Do our lives mean so little compared to politics and treaties?”

Phillip stepped closer, his expression anguished. “You mean everything to me, Rosaline. You always will. But I can’t be the selfish prince who chooses his own happiness over his people. Don’t you see? This is bigger than us.”

Rosaline’s tears spilled over, and she let out a bitter laugh. “Bigger than us? You’re the prince, Phillip. You could change the rules if you wanted to. But instead, you’re hiding behind them.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, his voice rising. “I’ve fought against these chains my whole life, but some things cannot be undone. I can’t abandon my duty. Mercia needs me.”

“And what about me?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Who will I be without you? You’ve been my whole world.”

Phillip reached for her hand, but she pulled away. His voice broke as he said, “You’ll always be my heart, Rosaline. But I have to let you go—for both our sakes.”

She stared at him, her chest heaving with emotion. “You’re a coward, Phillip. You’re choosing the crown over love. Don’t try to make it sound noble.”

He flinched, her words cutting deep. “If there were any other way, I’d take it. But this is my path. And I’ll carry the pain of losing you for the rest of my life.”

Rosaline wiped her tears with shaking hands, stepping back into the shadows of the garden. “Then I hope the crown keeps you warm at night. Goodbye, Phillip.”

“Rosaline—” he called after her, but she was already gone, disappearing into the darkness.

As he stood there alone, the scent of roses mingling with the chill of the night, Phillip felt the full weight of his decision settle on his chest. The garden, once their secret haven, now felt like a tomb for the love they had shared.

Her words had haunted him ever since, and the void she left nearly tore him apart. But Phillip had buried his heartbreak beneath his sense of duty, becoming the leader his people needed.

Now, as he stares at the portrait of Jasmine, he feels something stir—a glimmer of hope that perhaps this union can bring him more than just political stability. Perhaps, in time, he can come to love her.

“Five days,” Phillip murmurs, tracing the edge of the frame. “Just five more days, and I’ll meet her.”

Though his heart remain scarred, Phillip resolves to honor his duty and give Jasmine the life of a queen. For the first time in years, he allows himself to dream of a future that isn’t solely built on sacrifice.