The morning had begun as quietly as most. Lan was seated near the window, the pale sunlight touching her sleeves as she practiced calligraphy on a scroll. The ink danced in smooth strokes—until a knock at the door interrupted her concentration.
Mina peeked inside. "A guest has arrived. A friend of Prince Alaric."
Lan stiffened immediately. "Another noble?"
Mina smiled softly. "No… He seemed different. Warm. His name is Caelum."
....
Indeed, the man standing in the drawing room was nothing like the stiff-necked aristocrats she had met. Tall, dressed in navy robes trimmed with bronze, with tousled hair and a disarming smile, Caelum looked more like a traveling poet than a noble.
When he saw her, he dipped into a mock bow. "Princess Lan. Or may I say—Lan, the heroine of the garden?"
Lan blinked. "You've… heard?"
"I heard from two very enchanted children," he said with a laugh, "and a very proud Uncle Thorne."
Lan's cheeks flushed.
"I came to retrieve some documents for Alaric," he explained, holding up a sealed envelope. "But... I also came to see if you'd like to visit him today. He's overseeing a royal logistics inspection near the garrison."
Lan's heart skipped. "Can I?"
Caelum tilted his head. "It's not a formal setting, and no one can object if you're with me. Besides… you've been locked in here far too long."
....
The carriage rolled gently along the stone-paved path, the estate walls slowly shrinking behind them. Lan kept the window half-open, her eyes wide as she drank in the outside world: vendors at the far-off markets, noble carriages passing by, soldiers marching in clean rows. It all felt foreign and real.
Caelum sat across from her, watching her with faint amusement.
"You're more curious than I thought."
Lan smiled. "I haven't seen much."
He leaned back, arms loosely crossed. "I suppose not. This estate isn't exactly a palace of joy."
She hesitated, then asked, "How old is Alaric?"
Caelum blinked. "Didn't he tell you?"
She shook her head.
"He just turned nineteen last month."
Lan's eyes widened. "Nineteen…? He acts like he's much older."
Caelum chuckled. "He's had to grow up too fast. The battlefield ages boys before their time. Most nobles train in court dances. He trained with blades and corpses."
Lan looked out the window again, her thoughts heavier.
"Why are you friends with him?" she asked softly.
"I'm not sure I am," Caelum said after a pause. "But I owe him my life. And… I think he's lonelier than he admits."
When they arrived at the garrison grounds, the change in atmosphere was palpable. Soldiers moved in perfect order. Men in thick armor saluted. At the center of it all stood Alaric—sleeves rolled, voice low but firm, directing officers as maps and supply routes were laid out across a large table.
Lan stepped down from the carriage quietly, the wind playing with the ends of her veil. Caelum led her toward a shaded corner, keeping her away from the bustle.
Lan watched Alaric without speaking. The way he carried himself—like gravity had chosen him as its anchor. There was no hesitation in his voice, no softness in his eyes. He was only nineteen? It seemed impossible.
"Does he ever laugh?" she whispered.
"Rarely," Caelum said, hands in his sleeves. "But I've seen it. Once or twice."
As if sensing her gaze, Alaric looked up. His eyes landed on her, unblinking. There was no surprise in his expression—just a quiet, unreadable stillness.
Then, with a curt nod, he turned back to his work.
Lan didn't mind. Somehow, this silent acknowledgment meant more than words.