The kingdom of Aethelgard in the late summer days was breathtakingly beautiful. Golden sunlight blazed over the towering limestone spires, while a gentle breeze from the ocean carried a salty scent, sweeping across the barley fields just beyond the city walls.
But to Princess Elara, it was all just a painting on a wall: perfect, serene, and forever out of her reach.
At ten years old, Elara's world was confined to lengthy etiquette lessons, heavy, suffocating layers of silk gowns, and the stern gaze of Lady Beatrix.
"A princess must walk as if gliding on water, Princess," she reminded her, her voice dry and cold like the last withered leaves of the season.
In the blink of an eye, as her nanny turned to adjust the steaming jasmine teapot, Elara lifted the hem of her lace dress, her small feet swiftly slipping away from the great hall. She crossed the Royal Gardens, where crimson roses bloomed brilliantly, heading straight for the western stone wall.
The oldest, most moss-covered, and darkest wall in the palace.
But it was also the only place where Elara felt truly alive.
Beyond that wall lay the Cavalry Training Camp.
She climbed a large, ancient tree, its roots twisting into natural steps. Elara pressed her bright blue eyes against the gaps between the dense vines. On the other side, dust swirled. The rhythmic shouts of the recruits, the clanging of wooden swords, the smell of sweat, dirt, and the heat mingled in the air.
"ONE!"
A sudden gust of wind swept through, tossing her pale blonde hair. Her silver butterfly-shaped hairpin—a rare gift from her father before he embarked on his expeditions—struck a jasmine vine and fell over the wall.
Elara froze.
Her small hands gripped the cold stone tightly. The wall was too high. On the other side was the forbidden area for new recruits. She bit her lip, a wave of regret rising within her, intending to turn back silently.
"This hair clip… is it yours, young lady?"
A voice rang out from beneath the wall, calm, slightly hoarse from the dust.
Elara startled, looking down.
It was a boy of about fourteen. He wore no gleaming armor, only a worn, rough linen robe, his face smeared with dirt and sand. But his eyes were a rare silver-gray—cold as tempered steel, yet concealing an indescribable warmth. In his calloused hand was a small butterfly hair clip, strangely out of place.
"Who… are you?" Elara blurted out, forgetting all royal etiquette.
The boy looked up. When his eyes met the royal blue of her dress, he immediately knelt on one knee, bowing respectfully, but a gentle smile still curved his lips.
"I am Cedric, Princess," he said. "Just a man learning to wield a sword… to protect you."
Elara's heart skipped a beat.
"Could you… return it to me?" she whispered. "It is my most precious possession."
Cedric rose. But he didn't immediately pass the clip through the gap in the stone. His gaze swept over the jasmine bush creeping along the wall. With skillful movements, he plucked the purest white jasmine branch, gently placing it beside the silver clip, before passing both through the gap.
"I find this branch very much like you," Cedric said softly, his voice fading into the wind. "Beautiful… but hidden behind cold walls."
When Elara reached out to take it, her slender fingers lightly touched his calloused hand. A vague tremor, like a gentle electric current, coursed through the heart of the ten-year-old girl. The sweet scent of jasmine mingled with the lingering scent of the morning sun on the boy's hand.
"Thank you… Cedric," she whispered, calling someone by their name without a title for the first time.
"Princess!"
Lady Beatrix's voice rang out from afar, sharp and unforgiving.
Elara recoiled in shock. Before running away, she managed to glance back through the crack in the rock.
"Tomorrow afternoon… will you still be here?"
Cedric stood in the shadow of the wall, his hand still warm from the brief touch. He nodded, as if giving an unspoken vow.
"Every evening, when the sun sets behind the West Tower," he said, "I will wait. To tell you how blue the ocean is behind these walls."
Elara left, the jasmine branch hidden in her bodice.
She had no idea that it was the first—and only—moment her heart found refuge in the rule-bound, silent, and solitary world of Aethelgard.