I followed Lourice through the winding corridors, my heart hammering against my ribs. I expected her to lead me to the grand dining hall, perhaps a cold and formal room where we would sit at opposite ends of a long table. But instead, we headed toward the West Wing—a part of the palace I had yet to explore.
We stepped outside into a secluded courtyard enclosed by high, manicured walls of deep green grass. It was a living maze, illuminated only by the silver glow of the moon.
There, standing in the center of the clearing, was Eri.
She was breathtaking. She wore a flowing white silk robe that seemed to catch the moonlight. Her long, spun-gold blonde hair cascaded down her back, completely unbound, shimmering like a waterfall of liquid light beneath the moon. For a moment, my breath hitched. This was exactly how I remembered her—the "Forest Fairy" I had glimpsed beneath the moon years ago, her blond hair looking ethereal then, and even more divine now.
Lourice bowed silently and retreated, leaving us alone in the stillness of the night. Eri was facing away from me, her silhouette regal against the greenery, her golden hair contrasting beautifully with the dark leaves. She wore a heavy, embroidered mantle over her shoulders to ward off the biting chill of the evening.
I cleared my throat softly to announce my presence.
She turned around slowly. She wasn't smiling; instead, her brow furrowed slightly as her eyes swept over me. She noticed immediately that I had come unprepared for the cold, wearing nothing but my thin Hanbok.
"You'll freeze out here," she murmured, her voice like velvet.
"I... I can ask the maids to fetch me a thicker shawl," I stammered, shivering as the wind nipped at my skin.
"No need for that," she replied.
In a movement that felt like slow motion, Eri reached up and unfastened the silver clasp of her own mantle. She stepped toward me, the silk of her robe whispering against the grass. With a gentle, deliberate grace, she draped the heavy, warm fabric over my shoulders. The scent of her—sandalwood and cold mountain air—wrapped around me instantly, warmer than the cloth itself.
"How about you, my Queen?" I asked, looking at her white robes. "You'll be cold."
"It's fine," she said, her expression softening just a fraction. "My inner layers are thick enough. I only took the mantle off because it felt heavy tonight."
I nodded, clutching the edges of her cloak tightly. I knew she was lying—her silk robe looked light—but I didn't dare protest.
"Shall we?" she asked.
She picked up a small, ornate lantern from a stone pedestal. She began to lead the way into the entrance of the grass maze. I followed, but as the walls narrowed and the path grew dim, a familiar sense of unease settled in my chest. I have always been wary of tight, enclosed spaces.
Eri seemed to sense it. She was walking a few paces ahead, the lantern casting long, dancing shadows against the green walls. Suddenly, she slowed her pace, waiting for me to catch up.
Without looking back, and while still holding the lantern in her other hand, she reached out. Her fingers found mine, sliding into my palm and gripping my hand firmly.
I gasped softly, my heart skipping a beat. She didn't turn around; she kept her gaze fixed on the path ahead, but her grip was steady and grounding.
In an instant, my fear changed. I was no longer afraid of the narrow path or the dark corners of the maze. I was no longer shivering from the cold. Instead, a frantic, overwhelming heat surged through me. My pulse raced where our skin met, and a silent prayer formed in my mind—a wish that this maze would never end, and that the walk to wherever she was leading me would last forever.
We walked hand in hand, her palm surprisingly soft against mine despite the strength I knew she possessed. We finally reached the heart of the maze, where a beautifully set table stood beneath the open sky. It was arranged perfectly for two, but instead of sitting across from each other like strangers, the chairs were placed side by side—so close that our sleeves would brush with every movement.
"Sit," she said, her face returning to its usual serious mask.
As we sat, she looked up at the vast expanse above us. "I usually dine here alone. I find that the stars and the moon are the only company that doesn't ask for anything. But tonight..." She paused, her gaze shifting from the sky to me. "Tonight, the view is much better because I have someone to share it with."
I gasped softly, my heart thumping so loudly against my ribs I was certain she could hear it. To break the suffocating tension, I tried to find my voice.
"I didn't know you were such a romantic, Queen Eri," I teased breathlessly.
Eri tilted her head, looking genuinely confused. "Is that true? Is this what you consider romantic?"
"For me, yes," I whispered, my face heating up.
"I see," she murmured, looking back at the table. "Such things are foreign to me. I was trained from birth to be a Crown Princess and a warrior before anything else. I was taught to lead, to fight, and to rule. No one ever taught me... this."
I swallowed hard. My face felt like it was on fire. She truly didn't realize that giving me her mantle, holding my hand through the dark, and bringing me to a private dinner under the stars was the very definition of romantic. It was all natural instinct for her—a silent, protective claim.
"Then tell me," I asked, gathering my courage. "For you, what is romance?"
Eri went quiet, looking thoughtful. "I have read novels," she admitted. "But I never understood if the words on the page were meant to be felt. However..."
Before I could react, Eri reached out and took my hand again. This time, she didn't just hold it; she began to rub her thumb over my knuckles, her chair so close that I could feel the radiant heat of her body.
"Your hands are still so cold," she whispered.
She leaned in closer to inspect my fingers, and I felt the warmth of her breath against my skin. We were so close that our eyes locked—gold-flecked depths meeting mine. In that silence, the world seemed to shrink until there was only the sound of my racing heart.
Gurgle.
The sudden, loud sound of my stomach protesting its emptiness shattered the moment. I froze, dying of embarrassment. I had been so caught up in the magic that I forgot I hadn't eaten since lunch.
Eri blinked, then a ghost of a smile—the first I had ever seen—flickered on her lips. She pulled back slightly, but the intensity didn't fade; it just changed.
"It seems my wife is hungry," she said softly.
Instead of calling for the servants, Eri began to serve me herself. There was no one here to watch us—no Lourice, no chambermaids, no court officials. In this hidden corner of the maze, she wasn't the Queen being served by the world. She was a woman choosing the finest cuts of meat and the sweetest fruits, carefully placing them on my plate to ensure I ate well.
Watching her, I realized that this was her version of romance. It wasn't in grand speeches or flowery words. It was in the way she looked after me, the way she shared her warmth, and the way she made me feel like the center of her private world.