The Princess stood in the garden's open door. Birds, leaves, wind, more heard than seen due to the bright sun behind her. Painful contrast to the dim hallway we walked from was blinding.

  The Princess - her golden embroidery glimmered in the sun - measured us as we approached her. Two jewel-like eyes tracked my movement, then shifted to the person beside me. She looked past Pythia and the Legatus, offering them a deep, respectful bow, but her gaze lingered on my caretaker.

  Multiple feet tapped and clicked on the floor when we stopped and the escort dispersed to give a space for conversation. Irritating, warm gust of wind from the garden's door hit my face, but fortunately quickly vanished.

  Pythia, acting like an aunt rather than a Highest Priestess, addressed the Princess casually.

  "Ariadne, my dear, how are you faring?"

  Small chit-chat followed between Legatus Argus, Pythia, and the Princess. They looked like a reunited family.

  *That tension between Legatus and Pythia seemed real, but now?*

  *Was it just political play?*

  *The day of the attack, Pythia seemed genuinely worried about the Princess. Now, she looks like she meant it.*

  *Weren't they in political conflict? Over me? Did something change after the attack? Or is this just how highborns fight?*

  The Princess's eyes stole glances at my caretaker. Evadne's warmth intensified as she pulled her elbow closer to her side. And me along with it.

  "We'll leave you with your guest, Ariadne. The Legatus and I have a meeting with the Head of House Heracles. Pray for me, child." Pythia rested her hand on the Princess's shoulder, confiding in appearance, complaining in truth. The Legatus seemed to harbor similar feelings about the upcoming meeting.

  With that, they left with most of the escort. It was our turn to greet the Princess.

  She stood straight, her head high, eyes locked on Evadne. On both her sides stood Royal Guards, restraining their 'dogs'—the Hellhounds. The beasts panted, jaws full of sharp, pointy teeth. The Princess smiled, revealing her own, though her eyes remained cold.

  I searched my memory for the etiquette rules I'd been force-fed. The High Priestess and the Princess were considered equals on the social ladder. To show mutual respect and avoid rudeness, they should aim for a simultaneous, equally deep bow.

  As Saint—as Pandora's chosen—I could ignore etiquette almost completely. Almost.

  So I waited, with growing curiosity, for Evadne and the Princess to exchange bows.

  They didn't.

  Instead, they shared a similar, seemingly calm gaze. A silent duel fought with smiles and unblinking eyes.

  I couldn't wait all day, so I broke the silence. I bowed slowly, but kept my eyes high. "Princess."

  She turned to me immediately, her face completely transforming. The cold mask vanished, replaced by that alluring, disarming smile I remembered from the garden.

  She reached out and took my free arm, throwing a dismissive comment into the air.

  "I'll take over from here. Thank you, High Priestess."

  "Of course," Evadne replied, yet she did nothing. I had to gently pull my arm from hers.

  "See you later, Evadne," I said casually.

  The Princess squeezed my arm tighter, pulling me toward the entrance.

  We crossed the threshold and entered a bright garden with clear sky. Had to squint my eyes, before they adjusted. Birds chirped - chipped at my skull. The scent of flowers carried on a gentle wind, cooling me off. The Princess held me close, her waist brushing against mine in the rhythm of her steps.

  "Princess," I started.

  She cut me off instantly. "Ariadne."

  "Princess Ariadne, I'm sorry I missed our last meeting."

  She didn't reply right away. Our footsteps crunched on the fine gravel of the path.

  "Uncle told me..." she paused, looking up to me, "...you're taller."

  The absurdity of her comment made me burst into laughter.

  Her eyes searched my face with a seriousness I hadn’t seen in her before. Then her expression broke into a wide grin, and she let out a chuckle of her own, her chest trembling with a vibrant rhythm.

  "Princess, what are you saying?" I asked once my breath steadied.

  "I have no doubt, Leonard." The seriousness returned to her face. "You're taller than two weeks ago." She placed a hand on her delicate jawline, a finger resting on her cheek as she pondered. "It must be the training."

  "Likely. It was also the reason for my absence," I added, trying to mend the damage from breaking my promise. She played her game, but I intended to play mine. And she was a valuable piece on the board.

  "Yes, Uncle told me. You’ve had a rough time there."

  I didn’t reply. There was no need—words couldn’t express what I felt anyway.

  "But!" she exclaimed enthusiastically. "Where are your tools?" She glanced back at my guard following us. The sun didn’t reflect off his armor so much as sink into it.

  "What tools?" Surprise filled my voice.

  "I wrote to you in the letter." She frowned in mock anger. "The one in the package."

  Damn.

  The letter from the Envoy. The one that came with the red flowers. It was still on my desk. Unread. The gift too. Unwrapped.

  "I..." I gulped, the tips of my ears burning hot—and not from the fever. "I forgot to read it."

  She stopped abruptly. I looked away at the treeline, staring with an intensity as if I had never seen a tree before.

  A suppressed chuckle. Another. Then a burst of loud, genuine laughter.

  "You're so bad at this, Leonard," she whispered into my ear, patting me on the chest. There was no anger or malice in her voice, just... amusement.

  "S-so what was inside?" I finally turned my head to her.

  "Painting tools, Leonard," she said, breaking away from me. She increased her pace. The long, dark green dress she wore danced gently from side to side. It was deeply cut along her back, but her skin was hidden beneath a thick braid that swayed alongside her waist.

  I forced my look past her. In the modest pavilion an easel waited with brushes and paints, and in front of it a solitary bench, wide enough for two.

  She came into the center of my view again. Settled softly on the bench, guiding the fabric beneath her as her hand glided along the length of her thighs, accentuating the lines of her figure.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  "Are you coming?" she asked softly without turning back to me—instead she took the brush and dipped it into the paint.

  Her voice prompted my legs to movement. When I leaned over her to sit down, the familiar scent of roses reached me. I took a deep breath.

  Idiot.

  The bench was surprisingly comfy, but narrow. Both her shoulder and... lower parts touched my feverish body. Warmth emanated from her, but not enough to worsen my symptoms.

  I forced my focus on the painting—just begun. A tall, beige vase filled most of the canvas. The draft of the flowers inside parted the picture in two: left, an ashen sky; right, a cloudless blue.

  Her delicate hand moved smoothly over the vase, adding a shadow to make the picture more realistic. I looked at her arm, exposed skin at the wrist—her simple seal and... a scar. Fresh. A single line, as if her hand had been severed and stitched back again.

  She caught my stare.

  "Interested," she asked softly, her voice trailing with quiet allure, "in me?"

  I turned back to the canvas, but asked nonetheless.

  "That scar." My voice calm, measured. "Is it from the attack?"

  "Yes," she replied, not looking away from the picture.

  With slow, deliberate movement, she dipped the brush again. In silence.

  "Are you ok?"

  What a stupid question, Leonard, I chided myself.

  "Are you ok?" she repeated, echoing my words.

  "No," I said simply.

  "Well, me neither." She shrugged her shoulders, aiming for tough, but her usually steady voice lost its rhythm just for a heartbeat. "But we have to live with it, don't we?"

  "Sorry, didn't mean to—"

  "It's alright, Leonard. We both know that life here is not a fairy-tale."

  Agreed.

  "Well, well, Leonard," she started mischievously after a few brushes, "now I demand compensation."

  "Compensation?"

  "For ruining the mood." She finally turned her head toward me, with those two gems of hers looking straight at me. "For skipping our meeting." She tilted her head, clearly enjoying my awkwardness and growing unease, "For ignoring my gift." She pouted, pretending to scold me with her brush, "For not writing back."

  "W-well... I had training."

  "For the first," she said, seemingly ignoring my words, but playful tones returned to her voice. She grabbed my hand from my knees; hers was pleasantly chilly. The brush ended up in my hand, and the Princess guided my wrist to the painting, then covered my palms, showing me the movements.

  "Layer after layer," she whispered, slightly leaning toward me, "patiently," she stopped to look at me, then back at the painting, "carefully," her hand guided mine across the canvas, "until you get..." Her mesmerizing voice trailed off, and she finished with a sharper stroke across the canvas, "the effect you desire."

  She released my hand quickly but smoothly. I awkwardly returned the brush and she took it, humming and tilting her head playfully, as if figuring out the next 'payment'.

  "Leonard, you have to move." Althea's soothing voice chimed in.

  "Princess," I began, standing up. She raised her eyebrows with a silent question, to which I replied, "I have to keep moving, because of the Crucible, otherwise may body may heal wrong."

  She lifted herself with effortless grace, took the painting in one hand, and my arm with the other. When we crushed the gravel with first steps, she gave the canvas to her guard, who followed us alongside my shadow.

  "I was meaning to ask you—"

  "Oh my, how impertinent. Do you want to extend your sentence? I haven’t even stated the second compensation, and now you want to question me?"

  Rustling leaves fell off the oak beside our path. Movement took my attention when I was thinking about an answer.

  I took a breath, readying for reply, but she continued, and I couldn’t help but smile at her performance.

  "For the second, you are about to meet my father."

  "Not happening," I interrupted her instantly.

  "Just the three of us, Leonard."

  Silence. Only birds chirped like they were trying to fill the space.

  "Papa is dying to meet you."

  "Maybe later," I tried to deflect, avoiding her gaze. My hand dropped to the nicely trimmed hedge, sliding along as we walked. The sharp tips of the branches scratched. Sadly, they never reached the itch buried deep within my bones.

  "When?"

  "Tomorrow." A familiar lie slipped out. The one I gave the guards for days, spending mornings in the Prayer Room. I chuckled, realizing how stupid it sounded at that moment.

  She took the bait, her lips curved, eyes glimmered. But this time she was the one who used the silence.

  "Alright, fine, you said you have brothers, I can meet one of them instead," I said, and added quickly, "I'll choose which week."

  She mused, supporting her head with a hand and tapping her cheek. "Should I accept this bargain?"

  "And for the third?" I pushed the deal.

  Althea jumped in, "Leonard, you have to go back soon." Urgency tainted her voice.

  Her smile widened; she was enjoying this. "I'll think about it. Don't forget the fourth." She finished with a wink.

  Setting her playful jab aside, "Your name," I said flatly, "I've been curious about it."

  Princess smoothed out her fringe, shaking her head gently, her eyes tracing the path ahead.

  "Yes? Interested in me...," she asked innocently, "again?" She placed her finger on her lower lip.

  "It sounds different. Foreign." I pressed on.

  She replied as if stating the obvious. "Because it is."

  Williams. Ariadne Amelia Williams. Her second name, and last name. They sounded out of place. Brutus, Pylades, Idas—most of the other names carried the same flavor. But Williams? I could guess it was from a neighboring kingdom, but Evadne had said the harsh truth.

  "But there’s only one kingdom left."

  She seemed to ignore my words at first, but then she turned to me. Her voice stripped of playful melody, instead slow and deliberate.

  "It is from a place no mortal can reach."

  There was only one answer that made sense.

  "From another world? Like me?"