Aelric stood with regal poise, his hands clasped firmly behind his back, every muscle in his form exuding quiet authority as the moonlight caressed the metallic glint of his shoulder plates, casting gentle shadows like whispered secrets. Alone beneath the nocturnal sky, his gaze remained fixed on the garden pond, where delicate ripples transformed the reflective surface into a living masterpiece of shifting stars and clouds.
The garden itself was a marvel of artistry—a symphony of nature and human care. Each stone in the winding path was deliberately placed, as if woven together by an unseen master artist, and every blossom seemed strategically arranged with the precision of a painter's final brushstroke. Moonflowers gradually unfurled, their translucent, pale petals bathing in a soft, blue-tinged glow. Nearby, a waterfall murmured its ceaseless lullaby—a quiet, rhythmic chant resembling the gentle cadence of a sleeping giant's breath—into the serene pond. Fireflies meandered amid the hedges, trailing threads of golden light between lantern-lit branches, scattering an aura of warm radiance over the cool, silvery night.
And yet, despite the breathtaking beauty that surrounded him, Aelric's heart felt a quiet desolation; no marvel could fully thaw his guarded solitude.
Then, a delicate rustle drifted from a nearby tree—a sound not loud but faint enough to be noticed by one who had spent myriad moonlit nights feigning solitude. Still facing the rippling pond, Aelric's sigh broke the silence. "You again?" he murmured, his voice heavy with both resignation and a hint of reluctant amusement.
From somewhere in the shadows, a lilting voice replied, light and teasing: "I could be a squirrel." Gradually, Mei-Ling emerged into view, perched effortlessly on a weathered limb of a majestic Starwillow tree. There, she sat with an elegance that outshone even the iconic statues and opulent thrones, her legs crossed in relaxed defiance of gravity. In one fluid motion, she descended—smooth as a drifting feather on the stillest of airs—landing with the practiced grace of a cat intimately aware of its own allure.
"You're not a squirrel," Aelric retorted dryly, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite his irritation.
"Don't sound so sure," Mei-Ling replied, her tone silky as she casually brushed imaginary dust off her sleeve. "How is it that you always manage to slip into the palace unnoticed?" Her words dripped with playful mischief.
"Talent," he countered with a mischievous wink, his tone laced with irony. "Perhaps aided by a few well-placed bribes. Persuasion is my specialty."
A low groan escaped him, mingling with the night's ambient sounds. "I need new guards," he confessed, his voice soft but laden with exasperation.
"You do indeed," she agreed with a knowing smile. "But not so competent that I get caught. I like the view up here too much to risk it."
Narrowing his eyes in feigned sternness, Aelric declared, "You shouldn't be here. This is private property."
Her voice, smooth and velvety, countered, "Oh, I'm not referring merely to the garden." The subtle double meaning sent a shiver of both scandal and amusement through him. For a moment, his jaw tightened, and that faint, traitorous blush began to peek onto his usually impassive cheeks—an emotion he struggled valiantly to conceal.
Now fully facing her, his eyes remained watchful yet guarded. "You've been coming here every night just to gaze at..." he hesitated, cursing the vulnerability in his tone, unwilling to name the very feeling that unsettled him.
Without missing a beat, Mei-Ling's smile turned triumphantly playful. "You?" she teased, her voice a melodic challenge.
A charged silence ensued before he drew a deep, almost imperceptible breath, filling his senses with the mingled fragrances of moonlight and lotus. It was inevitable that she would carry the scent of danger entwined with delicate petals.
With a mock swoon, she leaned toward an invisible windowsill. "I simply cannot resist your handsome face," she murmured, her tone both flirtatious and daring.
Casting his eyes skyward as if pleading for the mercy of unseen gods, Aelric replied, "Leave."
"Or what?" she countered with innocent coyness, tilting her head ever so slightly. "Will you toss me into the dungeon?"
A smirk flickered across his face as he replied, "That can be arranged."
She cooed softly, stepping closer with a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Oooh, will you visit me often? Bring me grapes? Whisper state secrets through the bars of my cell?"
"I could kill you now," Aelric warned in a low, controlled tone that carried both menace and reluctant amusement.
"And yet you haven't," she responded, her lashes fluttering like delicate butterflies. Their gazes locked—a silent, electric exchange—before he turned his attention back to the shimmering pond.
He grumbled, "I've had a long day. For once, I'd prefer an evening free from the taunts of a moonlit saboteur in silk slippers."
"I'm not wearing slippers," she retorted lightly.
"I noticed," he replied, the corners of his mouth betraying his attempt at seriousness.
Stepping closer, Mei-Ling brushed her shoulder against his—a touch so gentle it sent ripples through the charged quiet. "You know," she murmured, eyes soft yet mischievous, "you're not very good at pretending you don't like me."
"I am exceptional at it," he insisted, his gaze unwavering despite his inner turmoil.
"Oh?" she lifted an inquisitive brow. "Then I must be exceptionally likable to make it this difficult."
A twitch of a smile played upon his lips.
"Is that a smile I see?" she gasped, feigning scandal. "Aelric, is that—gods forbid—a glimmer of joy?"
"It was indigestion," he deadpanned.
"From that sumptuous royal feast earlier? Perhaps next time, don't let your advisors stuff your plate like a prized goose."
"I am the king," he retorted, though the humour was evident.
She shrugged coyly. "Perhaps a hungry king, maybe even a flustered one."
"Flustered?" he scoffed, his tone mixing disdain with a trace of amusement. "I have fought in wars."
"You've clearly never fought off a determined woman," she grinned boldly.
His teeth gritted as he replied, "I'm trying."
"Try harder," she urged, their eyes locking in an unspoken duel of wills. Reaching out, she gently plucked a fallen petal from his shoulder. "You always stand here like a statue. Perhaps I should start charging admission," she teased.
"Maybe I should have you arrested," he quipped back.
"For flower theft?" she countered, playful indignation in her voice.
"For trespassing," he said with a low chuckle.
She pouted mockingly. "You wound me, Your Majesty."
"You're impossible," he stated, though a warmth in his tone betrayed his affection.
"And yet, you're still here," she observed softly.
"I'm standing here. That doesn't mean I—"
"Want me here?" she interjected with playful insistence. "Please. If I were a mere fly, you'd still let me buzz around because part of you enjoys the noise."
"I could swat you," he muttered, his tone laced with feigned threat.
"I dare you," she challenged.
His jaw clenched imperiously as he murmured, "Gods, woman."
Closing the distance, she took a deliberate step closer, completely entering the realm of his guarded space, and to his dismay and secret delight, he did not step away.
At that precise moment, the distant sound of giggles and murmured voices floated in from a nearby corridor—two servants ambling toward the garden with a flickering lantern in hand.
"Servants," Aelric hissed under his breath. In an impulsive flurry, he grasped Mei-Ling's wrist and pulled her into the hollow of an ancient Starwillow trunk hidden artfully behind the lush hedge.
She gasped at the sudden closeness but soon giggled as the intimacy of the moment overtook her caution. Pressed chest to chest, his arm shielding her from the world, Aelric's warm breath mingled with hers, sending shivers along her temple.
Tilting her head in playful invitation, she whispered, "Your Highness, are you hiding with me?"
"Hush," he murmured, his voice faltering slightly under the weight of his conflicted emotions.
She smiled and, in a move as sudden as it was daring, kissed him. The kiss was bold and deep—a fervent blend of memory and fire, longing and challenge. For a suspended moment, he resisted, his mind racing with the reasons he should pull away, but his hands betrayed him, holding her as if enchanted by a force beyond command.
Their embrace did not waver until the unmistakable giggling from the servants filtered through the night. One whispered, "Oh stars, they're snogging in the tree hollow," while the other giggled, "Should we tell someone?" The playful voices were quickly abandoned, left behind in a chorus of snickering as the servants hurried off into the darkness.
Aelric remained frozen in place, while Mei-Ling slowly disentangled herself, a victorious gleam dancing in her eyes. Their eyes met one final time in a silent, charged exchange.
"I'm not sorry," she whispered, her voice tender yet teasing.
"I... noticed," he admitted softly. With a heavy sigh, he turned his attention back to the rippling pond, his jaw set and hands once again firmly clasped behind his back.
For a long, lingering moment, she watched him—observing the interplay of shadows and light across his solemn face. "Good night, broody king," she said, her tone both playful and affectionate.
He remained silent, and after a while, she added, "Try not to miss me too much," before vanishing into the embrace of the night.
Closing his eyes, Aelric whispered hoarsely to the silent garden, "Gods help me...I already do."
Meanwhile...
In the tranquil, shadow-draped expanse beyond the palace gardens, where the air was saturated with the intoxicating fragrance of night jasmine, a pair of spies observed from the concealment of the trees. They moved with the stealth and grace of seasoned predators, their eyes locked on the shimmering pond below, reflecting moonlight like liquid silver.
"He's with her again," one muttered, his voice barely disturbing the stillness, quieter than a whisper.
"The witch," the other hissed, a note of disdain lacing his voice.
There was no need to utter her name—her identity was a secret shared by all.
Without further exchange, the first spy slipped away through the dense hedgerows, disappearing into the night as effortlessly as smoke dissolving into the wind. Moments later, he stood within a lavish chamber, illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight, the air thick with the rich scent of rose oil.
Lady Aurelina sat poised at her vanity, meticulously coiling her long platinum hair into flawless spirals. Her robe of blue silk draped elegantly, hinting at the presence of a concealed weapon beneath its folds. She didn't spare a glance at the spy—she didn't need to. She had already sensed his presence.
"Well?" she inquired with serene composure, adjusting a golden pin with deliberate grace.
"He's in the garden again, my lady," the spy reported, dropping to one knee. "Speaking with the witch."
Her hands froze, the comb halting mid-twist.
"Of course he is," she murmured, her words laced with a sweetness that dripped with venom.
She turned then, her gaze meeting the spies with a smile that could curdle blood.
"Follow her."
The spy blinked, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. "My lady?"
Aurelina rose, the silken folds of her robe whispering like a serpent's breath. "Bring her to me. Tonight."
"But—"
"But," she interrupted, her voice as sharp and delicate as glass shattering beneath a velvet glove, "do not let Aelric see you. If he does, I'll have you tossed to the dogs before dawn."
The spy swallowed hard, nodding, his resolve steeled by her chilling command.
"Alive or dead, she comes to me," Aurelina declared, stepping closer, her eyes glinting with a cold, unyielding fire. "And if you fail..."
Her fingers gently lifted the spy's chin, a sweet smile playing on her lips.
"...I will kill you myself."