As we prepare to leave the garden and return to the castle, Orios straightens up, his eyes narrowing toward the distant edge of the field. “Rook,” he calls to Daed, his voice low and intrigued, “look.”
I follow his gaze, and there, near the tree line, stands a deer. It’s a magnificent creature—strong and muscular, with antlers like a crown atop its head. It stands still, unaware of us, grazing peacefully in the golden grass. Orios wipes the dirt from his hands. “Now that’s something more substantial,” he says with a grin. “We could have a real feast tonight, and it’s been so long since I’ve hunted.”
I glance at Daed, feeling a pang of uncertainty tighten in my chest. This is the moment—the test of his promise. The untamed wilderness calls to him, just like it does to Orios. The pull of their instincts, the way their kind thrives on the thrill of the hunt. My eyes flick between the deer and Daed, waiting, wondering if he’ll agree and break the peace I hoped we’d find here.
For a moment, Daed stands quietly, his eyes fixed on the deer, his jaw clenched as though he’s weighing the choice in his mind. Orios looks at him expectantly, already envisioning the hunt.
But then Daed sighs, turning to Orios with a calm but firm expression. “No,” he says, his voice steady and resolute. “There will be no hunting for food or sport while we’re here. We’ll be eating stew tonight, Orios.” His lips twist around the words that follow. “Vegetable stew.”
Orios blinks in surprise, clearly not expecting such a response. His mouth opens as if to protest, but then he sees the look in Daed’s eyes—an unspoken command to let it go. He grumbles under his breath but nods. “As you wish, Your Highness.”
I smile with relief, my shoulders relaxing.
“I’ll make some bread to go with the stew,” Solena adds.
“Wonderful,” I say, wiping my hands on my tunic. “Stew and bread it is.”
The grand kitchen is a sight to behold, almost too pristine to disturb with the mess of cooking. It’s all smooth, pale stone counters and arched windows that let in the golden sunlight of the afternoon. Copper pots hang from hooks above a wide hearth, and shelves made of lightly polished wood hold jars of spices and dried herbs that fill the air with a fragrant, earthy scent.
Solena gives everything a quick dusting. It seems as if no one has used this kitchen for some time. Then I stand at the counter, chopping vegetables for the stew, the rhythmic sound of the knife on the board grounding me in the moment. Across from me, Solena kneads dough, her hands working the flour and water into a soft, pliable mass. She hums under her breath as she prepares the bread, her movements sure and confident. From the store, she’s gathered provisions—flour, salt, and fragrant yeast. The dough rises quickly in the warmth of the sunlit room.
Out on the balcony, I can hear Daed and Orios talking in low voices. The murmur of their conversation is punctuated by the occasional laugh from Orios, no doubt still finding amusement in Daed’s refusal to hunt the deer earlier. I roll my eyes, wiping my hands on my apron.
The thought of Daed, the Prince of the Mordorin, standing out there idly while I’m working in the kitchen?Absolutely not.He may be accustomed to meals served on silver platters in Baev’kalath, but where I come from, everyone pitches in. I narrow my eyes at him through the open doors and call out, “Daedalus!”
He turns at the sound of his name, glancing in through the archway, his brow raised in question.
“Stop standing around out there and make yourself useful,” I say, waving him inside.
Daed steps into the kitchen, looking bemused as I hand him a wooden spoon. “You wantmeto help with this?” he asks, his eyes flicking to the bubbling pot of stew over the hearth.
“Yes,you,” I say, unable to hold back a smile. “Now stir.”
He smirks but obeys, giving the pot a slow, deliberate stir. His gray eyes meet mine briefly, a teasing glint in them. “Are you sure this isn’t some form of punishment?”
“Oh, definitely,” I laugh. “You’re going to stir that stew until it’s perfect.”
Daed gives a mock glare but continues to stir, the scent of the stew beginning to fill the kitchen with rich, earthy warmth.
When dinner is finally finished, we set the table in the grand dining room. The space is breathtaking—a long table of smooth, pale wood, with chairs draped in light fabric that flutters gently in the breeze. The walls are painted in soft, airy hues of cream and gold, and sunlight pours in through tall arched windows, casting the room in a warm, inviting glow. A delicate chandelier hangs above, its crystals catching the light and sending tiny rainbows dancing across the walls.
We find a few bottles of wine stored in the back of the pantry, rich and red, and we fill our glasses as we sit down to eat. The four of us gather around the table, the stew steaming in bowls before us, the fresh bread warm and fragrant beside it. Solena beams proudly at her handiwork, and Orios is already reaching for a second slice of bread before he’s even finished his first.
As we eat, a sense of ease settles over the atmosphere—something light and natural. I glance at Daed, who sits beside me, his shoulders finally relaxed, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he listens to Orios weave a tale. Solena laughs, her face aglow with joy. In this moment, it feels as if the rigid social hierarchies of the outside world fade away. We are no longer a prince or aprincess, a reaper or a maid. We are simply people, sharing food and sipping wine, and in that simplicity, everything feels perfect.
I let myself wonder—could this be what normal feels like? What it might be like to live without the constant shadow of Baev'kalath hanging over us? Here, there are no haunted halls, no whispers of the past chasing us at every turn. For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not thinking about our enemies, about the battles waiting to be fought. I’m just here, in this moment, and I can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, this is something we could have again.
After our meal, Solena and I clear the table, but we task the Mordorin warriors with the washing up. With the sun still in the sky, I decide on what I want to do next, going to my room before returning to the garden, this time with the serpentine vine in my hands.
I kneel in the dirt, more comfortable than any throne, and run a knuckle along her stem, and for the first time in a long time, I hear her yawn as if she’s just waking from a long nap.
“There you are,” I smile.
It was a kind gift from the sisters, but I think even they did not realize how she would suffer in Baev’kalath. She needs to be somewhere she can thrive, where her roots can seep deep into the earth and grow strong. I know I must return to the fortress sooner rather than later. I won’t expose her to the same fate. Not when I can leave her here in the sun.
I start digging, scooping out soil with my hands before wriggling the vine free from the bowl.
“How did I know I would find you here,” Daed says from behind me.
