A Crown of Roses

Chapter Two -Under the Stars

The sun crept through Eleanor's silk curtains at The Ritz, casting golden lines across the polished floor. But she noticed none of it—not the light, not the scent of roses in the vase, not the clatter of carriages below.

She was still seeing his eyes.

Those blue eyes that had looked at her as if they could see past every mask she'd ever crafted. As if Prince Alexander had pierced through every lesson she'd learned about being a proper noble lady, every obligation of silence, every rehearsed smile.

"Oh God," she whispered, pressing her hand to her racing heart. "I'm in real trouble."

A soft knock interrupted her spiral. "My lady? Lady Rosemont is here to see you."

Eleanor sighed. Her Aunt Rosemont, her late mother's sister and chaperone for the season, was a woman who missed nothing. She would certainly notice her agitation.

"Show her in, please."

Aunt Rosemont entered—a woman in her fifties with elegant grey hair and a face marked more by wisdom than wrinkles. Her keen eyes swept over Eleanor, then she smiled a knowing smile.

"So," her aunt said, settling into the opposite chair. "Last night's ball."

Eleanor sighed heavily. "I know what you're going to say—that I shouldn't have danced with him twice, that I was too candid, that every eye in the room watched us."

"Part of it, yes," Aunt Rosemont admitted. "But not all."

Eleanor looked at her in surprise.

"What you didn't say," her aunt continued, "is that I saw how he looked at you. And how you looked at him. That's a much bigger problem."

Eleanor felt heat rise to her cheeks. "I didn't look at him any particular way."

"Dear girl," Aunt Rosemont said softly, "I've known you since you were a child chasing butterflies in your father's garden, asking endless questions about why they existed. Your eyes have never lied. Especially when you're looking at something you find... beautiful."

There was no point in arguing. Her aunt had always known her better than she knew herself.

"But don't worry," Aunt Rosemont added, "you're not the only one who noticed. The entire room noticed. Now—do you truly know who Prince Alexander is?"

"He's the Crown Prince. King Philip's eldest son. He'll be king someday."

"More than that. He's the prize every noble family is racing to claim. Every girl this season dreams of becoming his queen. Yet he hasn't danced with any of them more than once, and he hasn't smiled at anyone the way he smiled at you."

Eleanor felt the weight of those words pressing down on her. "But I'm not here for him. I'm only here for the season—to experience London, meet people, perhaps find a suitable husband."

"Life doesn't always go as we plan, my dear," Aunt Rosemont said, leaning forward. "You've always been different. You read books other girls avoid, you ask questions no one else asks, you look at the world with eyes that want to understand it, not merely perform in it. That's what made your father proud—and also what made him worry about you."

Eleanor remembered her father, that quiet, wise man who encouraged her learning but always feared it would hinder her marriage prospects. "He wanted me to be happy," she murmured.

"Yes. And so do I. But happiness might come in a form we don't expect. And perhaps Prince Alexander sees in you what others see but cannot express."

Aunt Rosemont stood and adjusted her skirts. "We have visits this morning, and tonight there's a dinner at Westminster Palace. The Prince will be there."

"How do you know?"

A mysterious smile. "The invitations bear the royal family's seal. Prince Alexander always signs them personally."

She left Eleanor alone with her swirling thoughts.

---

The afternoon visits proved tedious. Every lady received her with curious eyes, every conversation brimmed with hidden hints, every question carried multiple meanings.

"We heard you danced with the Prince last night," Lady Charlesworth said, her smile false and her eyes sharp.

"He's a very skilled dancer, my lady. I was fortunate he chose me."

"Fortunate, indeed," the lady replied, exchanging glances with her daughter. "I do wonder what criteria the Prince uses in choosing his partners. Perhaps he appreciates..."

"Newcomers to court?" Eleanor offered calmly. "Perhaps. But we all know Prince Alexander does nothing without careful thought."

She'd learned from her father that some questions don't need direct answers—sometimes ambiguity is the best defense.

As Mary helped her into the carriage afterward, the maid whispered, "She was trying to provoke you, my lady."

"I know," Eleanor replied. "But I gave her nothing. If she wants to gossip about me, she'll have no material to work with."

Still, she knew the rumours would spread. Every eye in London was watching her now—she was already known as "the girl who danced with the Prince twice." But she was determined not to let that change who she was.

---

Westminster Palace was exactly as she'd imagined—and more.

When Eleanor entered the great hall with her aunt, she felt as if she'd stepped into a fairy tale. Crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting warm light over everything. Portraits of ancient monarchs lined the walls, their painted eyes reminding every guest that they stood in the presence of history itself.

The people here were different from last night's ball—more elegant, more refined, but their eyes were sharper, more curious. Every glance carried a silent question: *Who are you? And what are you doing here?*

"Stay composed," Aunt Rosemont whispered, touching her arm gently. "Everyone's watching. Smile as if this is your natural place."

Eleanor took a deep breath. She'd trained for this since childhood—how to walk among strangers as if their stares meant nothing, how to smile as if she feared nothing.

But she was afraid.

Of what? Of making a mistake? Of giving them something to whisper about? Or of...

She saw him.

Prince Alexander stood across the hall, speaking with a group of nobles. He wore a dark blue suit with gold embroidery at the edges, his golden hair perfectly combed, his smile polite. But his eyes...

His eyes were searching.

And when they found hers, everything stopped.

Time hung suspended. The sounds of the hall faded, the lights dimmed, and nothing remained but their gazes crossing through the crowd.

Then he smiled—not the polite smile he gave others, but something intimate, something private. A smile that said: *I see you. I noticed you're here. I'm glad you came.*

That smile ignited something in Eleanor's chest she hadn't known existed.

"Don't stare," Aunt Rosemont hissed from beside her. "You're drawing attention."

Eleanor forced herself to look away. But it was too late. Her eyes had already spoken, and everyone had seen.

---

An hour of formal introductions and empty conversation later, Eleanor escaped to the balcony.

The cold night air was refreshing after the hall's oppressive warmth. She looked up at the dark sky, where stars were emerging one by one.

*What are you doing to me?* she asked herself. *I came here to find a suitable husband, a quiet life. Not to fall in love with a Crown Prince.*

She knew any feelings for Alexander would be impossible. He was the future king—he belonged to the kingdom, not to himself. And she was merely a country noblewoman. The distance between them was vast, unbridgeable.

"The stars are beautiful tonight."

His voice made her jump. She spun around to find Prince Alexander standing at the balcony's threshold, smiling at her.

"Your Highness—"

"Alexander," he said quietly, stepping forward. "I asked you to call me Alexander. Remember?"

Her heart pounded, but she kept her face calm. "This isn't proper, Your Highness. We're in a royal palace. There are ears everywhere."

"Not here," he said, looking around. "The balcony is empty. The guards are at the entrance. We're alone."

This didn't comfort her. Why did he want privacy? What could he possibly want from her?

"I want to know," he continued, stepping closer, "why you didn't speak to me inside."

"Because propriety dictates I wait for you to address me first. I don't start conversations with princes."

He laughed—that deep, warm laugh she remembered from last night. "I know the rules, Eleanor. But I'm not asking about propriety. I'm asking for the truth."

She held his gaze, her resolve wavering. "Because I'm afraid."

He raised his eyebrows. "Afraid? Of what?"

"Of this." She gestured between them. "These glances, these smiles, all of this. You're a prince. I'm just a country lady. Nothing between us can be real."

He was silent for a moment, then smiled sadly. "Do you think I haven't considered that? Do you think I don't know how impossible this seems? But I also know this: when I danced with you last night, I felt something I haven't felt in years. Like I was breathing for the first time after drowning."

His words melted something inside her, but she held firm. "And then what? We dance together, talk on balconies, exchange secret glances while everyone watches and whispers—and then what? You'll become king and marry some princess. I'll go home to a man who doesn't love me, and spend the rest of my life wondering 'what if.'"

He moved closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch her cheek. His fingers were warm against her skin.

"Perhaps," he whispered, "there's a way."

She stared at him, eyes wide. "A way? What way?"

"I don't know yet," he admitted. "But I know one thing—I'm not ready to give up on you. And it's not just me."

"Who else?"

He smiled mysteriously. "The Queen noticed my interest. She's clever. She may not know what to think of you yet, but she knows you're different."

Eleanor's mind reeled. The Queen was aware of her? This was more than she could absorb.

"Don't say anything now," Alexander said softly. "Just remember—I'm here. And this isn't a dream."

Before she could respond, he turned and walked back into the hall, leaving her alone beneath the stars.

She stood there for a long moment, her heart pounding in her chest, his words echoing in her mind. It all felt so surreal—the Prince, his confession, the touch, the impossible hope.

"God," she whispered to herself. "I'm really in trouble."

---

When she returned to the hall, Aunt Rosemont's sharp eyes found her immediately.

"Are you all right?" her aunt asked quietly.

"Just needed some air."

"Air," Aunt Rosemont repeated skeptically. "Or something else?"

"Don't ask me now. Please."

Her aunt nodded. "When you're ready, I'll be here."

Eleanor danced with three different noblemen, exchanged pleasantries with the ladies of the court, and smiled in all the right directions. But throughout the evening, her eyes searched for him.

He was gone. He'd given her space to think—and somehow, that made her love him more.

Late that night, in the carriage leaving the palace, Eleanor watched the grand building recede into the darkness and whispered to herself:

"You, Alexander... you are certainly different."

---

That night was the true beginning—the beginning that would change everything. Eleanor didn't yet know she'd become part of a game much larger than herself: a game of thrones and intrigues and merciless duty.

And that her heart, which had begun opening its doors to Prince Alexander, would find itself at its very center.

But that was a story for another night.

---

To be continued... 🌹👑