The Moon’s Alluring Journey

A Seat at the Table

Sunlight filtered in through gauzy curtains as the sounds of morning stirred life into the estate. Somewhere beyond the guest wing, I could hear birdsong and the soft clatter of cookware from the kitchen—an unfamiliar kind of peace.

I dressed quietly and stepped into the hall, following the scent of fresh bread and something sweet baking. The house was a maze of polished wood and warm, sunlit rooms, filled with the subtle hum of a family going about their day.

Ashvin’s sister found me first.

“Your Highness!” she exclaimed, nearly dropping the bundle of folded linens in her arms.

I smiled. “Good morning.”

She flushed and quickly curtsied, though her excitement was poorly concealed. “Good morning, Your Highness. I didn’t know you were awake. Did you sleep well?”

“I did. Thank you,” I said, watching the nerves give way to a grin.

She was about sixteen, with the same copper-toned hair as her brother, though hers was tied back in a ribbon. Bright hazel eyes, full of energy.

“I’m Mabel,” she added. “You probably don’t remember me. I was twelve the last time we came to the capital.”

“I remember,” I said. “You were hiding behind your mother’s skirts and glaring at anyone who tried to speak to Ashvin.”

Mabel gasped, then laughed. “He told you that?”

“No,” I said, enjoying her sheepish expression. “But I remember the look.”

She giggled, then stepped closer, voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone. “I always liked you. I used to watch how he changed around you. He always stood straighter, like he couldn’t afford to be anything less than perfect.”

That made me blink. “Did he?”

“Oh yes,” she said firmly. “You made him serious. But not in a bad way. He wanted to be his best.”

Before I could respond, she looped her arm through mine like we were longtime friends. “Come to the garden. Mama made breakfast. Papa won’t say it, but he’s nervous. He’s been polishing his boots since sunrise.”

Despite myself, I laughed. “I’ll try not to terrify him.”

“Too late. You already have,” she said cheerfully.

Outside, the garden was buzzing with soft life. A large table was set beneath a canopy of flowering trees. Ashvin’s parents rose as we approached—his mother still elegant in her simplicity, and his father clearly trying to hide how formal his posture had become.

“Your Highness,” his father said, bowing low. “It’s an honor to host you.”

“Please,” I said gently. “No need for ceremony. You’ve opened your home to me. I’m grateful.”

His mother offered a small smile. “We were… surprised to see you, but you are always welcome under our roof.”

Mabel leaned in. “See? That was her being nice.”

“Mabel,” her mother said with a tone of warning, though there was fondness beneath it.

Breakfast was simple but delicious—honeyed bread, spiced fruit, warm herbal tea from the garden. As we ate, the tension began to melt. The family began to ask questions—not out of protocol, but curiosity.

What was the capital like these days? Did I ride often? What did the palace kitchens serve for winter feasts?

Even Ashvin looked more at ease, seeing his family laugh and speak to me as something closer to a person than a title.

When his father asked how long we would stay, Ashvin deferred to me.

“Only another night or two,” I said. “We have a long road ahead.”

His mother gave a small nod. “Then we’ll make sure you're well-fed before you go. And no one leaves without taking the greenhouse’s herbs. That’s tradition.”

Mabel beamed. “I’ll make you a bundle myself.”

I caught Ashvin watching me across the table, not speaking—but there was something softer in his gaze.

This morning, I didn’t feel like a princess in a stranger’s house.

I felt… welcome.

The hallways of Ashvin’s family estate were bathed in golden light, soft and warm as it spilled through the tall windows. I kept my pace even, my hands loosely clasped in front of me, taking in the subtle scent of citrus and herbs carried from the nearby greenhouse.

“That went better than I expected,” I said, offering a small smile. “Your sister could’ve questioned me like a high council inquisitor, but instead she offered me pastries.”

Ashvin chuckled beside me. “Mabel’s never been one to bow easily, but she’s always liked you. Said you bring out a different version of me.”

I raised a brow. “I didn’t know I had that effect.”

His smile was brief, but there was a glint of something behind it—something unsaid. “You’ve always made me want to be more than just a soldier or a farm boy from the southern hills. Even when we were kids, you moved like someone already destined for something greater. I just… didn’t want to fall behind.”

I looked away, toward the end of the corridor where sunlight pooled on polished stone. “I don’t always feel like I belong to anything. At court, everything is painted in masks and meanings. Here, it’s different. Quieter. People look at me like I’m someone to meet, not someone to fear.”

Ashvin didn’t answer right away. I could feel his gaze on me, steady and unreadable. “They’re still watching you,” he said at last. “But not because of your crown. Because you’re you.”

I turned my head slightly. “And what do you see when you look at me?”

There was a pause—subtle, but I felt it like the space between heartbeats.

“You, Your Highness.”

I studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable but kind. Always kind.

“I’ll never really be just Dania again, will I?” I asked, softer now.

“No,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you lose her. Just… that you carry her with the rest of it.”

I breathed in deeply, the air tinged with sun and soil. “Then I suppose I should learn how to carry her better.”

“You already are,” he said quietly. “Even when you doubt it.”

I gave him a look. “Don’t let that sincerity go to your head, Knight Ashvin. I still outrank you.”

He smiled, the formal kind he used when teasing. “Yes, Your Highness.”

We walked a few more steps before I paused at an open archway that overlooked a vibrant orchard. Trees swayed lazily in the warm breeze, their branches heavy with orange blossoms.

“If I’m to spend the day playing the relaxed countryside guest, I’ll need a guide,” I said. “Preferably one who won’t bore me.”

Ashvin gave a mock bow. “Then allow me the honor. Just don’t expect me to hold back if you complain about the dust.”

“Fair enough,” I said, allowing myself to relax as I followed him toward the path.

For once, there was no court, no judgment, no whispered legacy trailing behind me—only the sound of our footsteps, and the rustle of the orchard ahead.