“I-I’m so sorry!” I blurt, heat rushing to my cheeks as I stand and try to help clean up the mess with my napkin.
“Don’t trouble yourself it’ll be cleaned up once we leave.”
His fingertips brush mine in the scurry to absorb the wine, sending a shock of a touch so innocent, so simple, straight down my spine. As I flick my gaze up to his, his eyes float up to mine. We stand there for a moment. Silent. Staring at the other before I break eye contact and slide the wine glass far away from my table setting and sit back down. Failing to quiet the loud, anxious thoughts in my head.
“You’re shaking...are you alright?”
He motions to my hand on the table, and I slip it onto my lap.
Honesty. He appreciates honesty. “Yes, I suppose I’m just a bit nervous.”
“I’ve been told if you’re nervous, it shows you care,” he answers gently.
I pick underneath my nails to give myself something to do. “I’ve been told far too often that I care too much.”
A soft snort of his laugh sounds. “As have I.”
I can’t help but slide my gaze back to him. Waiting for him to elaborate. But he doesn’t. He only pushes his food around with a fork.
“Are you not hungry?” I ask.
A ghost of a grin pulls at his lips for a split-second before it falls. “No. No, I’m not. I’m afraid I do not have much of an appetite.”
“And yet you’ve invited me to dinner?” It's more a gentle question than an accusation.
He looks at me, and leans back into his chair away from the table. “I suppose you could say I’m…intrigued, by you.”
I bite my tongue to keep myself from blushing. “I thought with everypassing day I didn’t get selected for a private dinner with you was because you found me anything but.”
“Many people find those with power intimidating. I wanted you to feel more comfortable in your surroundings prior to meeting. And to give you time to remember more about yourself so I can learn about you. If…” he leans forward, “...you remember anything?”
I look down at my hands on my lap, fidgeting with my fingers as I search for anything interesting to share with him. All I can manage is, “Well, I’ve always been fond of botany. And walking through your gardens here has been a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I’ve never dreamed of seeing so many flowers and plants thriving all in one ecosystem. Especially this far north and at this altitude and…”
I glance up at him, finding him staring intently at me. Blushing, I drop my head again and murmur, “I’m sorry, this is quite a bore for many. They see flowers and think‘pretty’but don’t quite understand all that goes into caring for them to thrive.”
“It’s not at all a bore for me. Because I’m the one who tends to them all.”
Swinging my attention back up to him, I feel partly embarrassed to be so shocked at the reveal. “Y-you’re the one who…?”
He nods with a small smile. “Yes, so I don’t find it boring at all. In fact, I love to hear that my care for them does not go unnoticed.” Then his smile wavers, the joy in his voice fading as he says, “It’s actually been quite good for me. There are so many responsibilities and pressures within my role. Thousands upon thousands of lives rest on my decisions. And many judgments I never want to make, but must. So when I walk into those gardens, when I sink my fingers into the soil of this earth, it’s a way for me to escape. A simple way for me to build something I can be proud of, without the heaviness that my other responsibilities call for.”
My own face falls at the truth in his statement. I can only imagine how taxing it is to be in his position of power. “I understand. That’s how I got into gardening, too. To escape from reality, even if only for just a little while.”
That’s enough to get me another small smile. That kernel of understanding between the two of us.
I add in a soft whisper, “They say that gardening is a belief that there is a tomorrow. That the work you put in today will bloom with the attentionand care you give it. Even if you cannot see it in the moment, even if it feels grueling.”
“The fruit of our labor,” he agrees with a nod. “Someday, I’d love to walk the gardens with you and see which part is your favorite.”
I smile wide enough my cheeks burn. “I would love that.”
He chuckles softly, eyes down when he pats the table. “Your food is getting cold because of my chatter, and I don’t want to keep you too late with the trial tomorrow.” He pushes out of his seat. Bowing his head, he says, “Have a lovely evening, Ms. Lyra. I’ve enjoyed speaking with you. Do feel free to stay and dine as long as you wish.”
I open my mouth, wanting to ask him to stay. That, perhaps, the nervous shaking in my hands has faded, the pulsing in my skull gone now that I’ve found something in common with him. Something so near and dear to my heart. Perhaps the Cyrus beneath the King is much different than I could have possibly anticipated. He’s no longer a shadow of royalty, a figure of authority.
And I have a feeling what I’ve seen tonight of him is just the beginning.
“Thank you, Cyrus,” I call after him. “As have I.”
