The Prince’s Forbidden Gardener

Chapter 16 A New Life

Kael signed the transfer order before dawn. He did not include any reasons in the decree.

Roland realized that from that moment on, she would no longer be far away. And that proximity, rather than simplifying the task, made it more dangerous.

The palace was cleaner than the infirmary. But it wasn’t any safer.

Morning light streamed through the tall windows and crossed the polished stone beneath Elara’s worn shoes.

The palace was cleaner than the infirmary. But it wasn’t safer.

There were guards at every turn: one at the infirmary corridor, two near the eastern arch, another by the staircase.

Elara kept her eyes downcast and her hands clasped in front of her lap, but she counted every door.

Thomas had taught her that: don’t look curious, but mentally note and remember everything.

Beside her, Thomas walked with the measured dignity of a man who had lost nothing. His face was pale, but his back remained straight.

Too straight, perhaps.

A mere gardener should have seemed grateful. Thomas looked like a man entering enemy territory.

Lieutenant Roland walked half a step behind them. Not close enough to suffocate them. Not far enough to leave them exposed.

Elara noticed how Roland placed himself between them and the palace, and the thought warmed her in an uncomfortable way.

Since they’d left the infirmary, Roland had spoken only in practical warnings: uneven step, colder corridor, avoid the public galleries.

Simple words.

Elara didn’t want to take comfort from his voice, but she did anyway.

Finally, they reached a narrow passageway, decorated with panels painted with intertwined vines and silver birds. It wasn’t as magnificent as the corridors of the queen’s apartments, but it was still too beautiful for servants.

Elara stopped before she realized it. Her heart beat faster: she wasn’t entering a house, but a place where every step could be observed, reported, judged.

Roland noticed it immediately. His eyes did not reproach her; they sought her out, as if he had understood that the fear lay not before her, but all around her.

“Any problems?”

“No.” Her voice came out too softly. “I was just thinking that…”

She didn’t finish.

She had always imagined a prison with iron bars, not beeswax and fresh roses.

“His Highness has ordered that you be housed near the inner service gardens,” Roland said. “You’ll be close to the kitchens, the lower greenhouse, and the east staircase. Fewer people pass through this way.”

“Fewer nobles,” Thomas corrected calmly.

Roland didn’t deny it.

“That, too.”

Two maids rounded the corner. They looked at Elara, then at Thomas, and quickly lowered their eyes. One whispered.

Elara felt that sound like a touch on the back of her neck.

Do they know we’re strange?

Roland turned his head slightly, and the whisper died before it could turn into a second piece of gossip.

The girl’s fingers slid toward the leather bracelet on her wrist. Still there, still tied. Still capable of hiding what she couldn’t afford to be.

On that side of the walls, even the leather seemed fragile.

The rooms they’d been assigned were at the end of the passageway. Two small rooms, connected by a shared sitting area and a narrow door leading to a service corridor. The furniture was simple but sturdy. There were clean blankets, fresh water, and a vase of white lilies by the window.

Elara stared at the bed that was too neat, the walls that were too close, the window that was too high. She didn’t know if those rooms were a refuge or a trap dressed in clean linen.

“You should rest before your duties begin,” the officer remarked with a sigh.

“Our duties?” Elara asked.

Roland seemed uncomfortable for the first time.

“You will remain in the service of the crown,” he said. “You have been transferred from the rare plant gardens to the inner gardens, under the prince’s direct authority.”

“I’ve ordered your books brought here,” Roland added more quietly. “No one will touch them without your permission.”

Elara hated the relief she felt that he had thought of them before she dared ask.

A knock at the door came before Thomas could reply.

Roland opened the door.

Standing in the doorway was a palace official—thin and sharp-featured—holding two folded documents sealed with green wax. He bowed just enough to observe protocol.

“Assignments for the gardeners,” he said. “By order of Crown Prince Kael.”

Roland took the papers before Thomas could move.

The official’s eyes flicked toward Elara. Too quickly. Too curiously.

Roland took a tiny step, almost imperceptible, but enough to cut off that curiosity before it turned into a question.

Then he left, without comment.

Roland checked the hallway before closing the door.

Only then did he hand one document to Thomas and the other to Elara.

His name was clearly written on the front.

Almost everything was routine work: watering schedules, an inventory of medicinal herbs in the lower greenhouse.

She could do it with her eyes closed. These were among the simplest tasks for someone versed in the art of botany. She was well accustomed to shifts and assignments that were usually more strenuous.

She knew how to be useful. Quiet. Invisible.

Then her eyes reached the last line: “Private Winter Garden—Apartments of Crown Prince Kael”

Cassia Corvinus. Elara reread the prince’s name on the page and lowered the sheet of paper.

Elara folded the sheet without realizing it. The palace, with its white lilies and guarded gates, seemed to close in around her.

It was no longer just a name Thomas had whispered. It was a door. And she would have to open it.

Every day.

She would walk through that door every day.

And on the other side, he would be there.