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It was said that when Princess Arcaena awoke each morning, the birds sang her a special song; for like a second sunrise, she too glowed. A halo of pink and gold radiated from her as she rose from her bed, casting their hues upon the faces of her ladies maids, their arms full of finery that glinted and glowed in her rays. They each waited patiently to robe her in the finest silks the kingdom had to offer, to braid her dark silken hair, to adorn her in gold. The maid’s eyes were wide and awed as the Princess stretched her arms above her head. 

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“She is everything a Princess ought to be,” they whispered in the hallways to the other staff, “She is elegant, and kind, and good.” Some speculated she had been sent right from the heavens, while some said her mother, the queen of a distant land in the West, had been just as angelic. Whether it was good genetics or divinity come down, one thing was certain, and all agreed, “She will make the most excellent Queen.”

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As her morning glow softly dimmed from orange and gold to a faint pink blush upon her golden tanned cheeks, her youngest maid stepped forward eagerly, slippers in her hands. “Good morning, your highness.” Arcaena turned to her, a smile playing on her pink lips. “You have been summoned to the gardens, Princess, by his Royal Highness. He wishes to take a turn about the roses with you.” Arcaena’s smile widened into a grin, and the full force of her beauty practically knocked the young maid backward. 

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The Princess’ emerald eyes twinkled as she threw back her covers, letting her feet dangle. The young maid stepped forward, sliding sky blue jeweled slippers onto her delicate feet. Arcaena landed on her feet as light as a feather, and the other maids were there, looping her arms through a silken blue robe.

 

“Thank you, my ladies.” Her voice, like her words, was soft and sweet. “I shall wear the red gown, I think, then. A rosey gown for a rosey occasion.”

 

Her maids chittered in agreement, moving about the rooms in their usual pattern - the eldest opening the windows, airing out the room, whilst the youngest pulled out a stool at the ornately carved vanity in the corner of the chamber. The third maid, a young woman about the same age as Arcaena herself, dug through the wardrobes until she found a gown the color of rubies.

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Arcaena’s curls flowed down her back like a dark waterfall, the perfect length for ornate braiding and weaving into elegant updos. The youngest maid brought a brush through her hair slowly, reveling in the smooth way it glided through the strands. Arcaena closed her eyes, revelling the feeling of her hair being combed so gently, as fingertips massaged her scalp in small circles. This was her favorite part of preparing for the day, and she savored every moment of the treatment.

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The smell of rose oil filled the air as the maid placed droplets in her ends, the perfume giving them even more lustre, and she began to braid and pin her curls into a soft, romantic coiffer. The eldest maid stepped forward, opening the vanity’s top to reveal rows upon rows of glistening hair pins - gold, emeralds, rubies and sapphires twinkled back at her. Arcaena considered, tapping a slender finger against her dimpled chin. “What do you think, ladies?” 

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The maids hmmphed as one, considering the array of beautiful jewels.

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“I think gold, your highness.” The eldest maid pronounced, her voice slightly worn. “I recall the prince mentioning how much he loved to see gold shining in your dark hair.” 

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“Then gold it shall be.” Arcaena relaxed, closing her eyes, allowing the women to do their work. They pinned and primped, adding a subtle rouge to her already rosy cheeks and lips. Their movements were rehearsed, like parts in a dance, as her maids helped her don her rose red gown - one of hundreds they had dressed her in since she had arrived last Autumn. In her mere six months at Briston Castle, Arcaena’s unique style had quickly become fashion to other ladies at court. Where women in this region had opted for large, voluminous layered skirts and tight, cinched corsets, Arcaena’s people lived on the coast and preferred gowns that flowed in sheer layers of gossamer. 

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Arcaena assessed herself in the mirror, taking in her full figure, her round curves accentuated by the gauzy gown. Ruby earrings hung from her ears, matching the dress perfectly. Gold pins, shaped like tiny leaves, speckled her hair, some curls hanging loose from her crown of hair, brushing the tops of her lightly freckled shoulders. She smiled, and her rosy cheeks sprouted two tiny, symmetrical dimples. Her golden skin glowed warmly against the color of the fabric.

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She looked like a rose - one she hoped the Prince would finally be poised to pick.

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Prince Elliott had made it quite clear that his intention was to marry. With his father now passed, gods rest his soul, his mother had tasked him with this one responsibility - marry, and take his rightful place on the throne. And so, Elliott had invited the daughters of any neighboring nations, and their neighbors for good measure, to dine with him at Briston Castle last year.

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One after another, the Prince met the beautiful, accomplished, intelligent young women. One after another, he had been stunned to silence by their wit, their bravery to cross into his distant land, their dedication to their people. But one after another, he had failed to find one with whom his heart had sang.

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Until Arcaena. 

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When she had arrived to the feast, the world stopped. Silence fell. Though around him, revelry continued, Elliott’s head was completely devoid of thought. His heart had squeezed, and skipped several beats, and he’d forgotten how to make his chest rise and fall in a regular rhythm. There was nothing else, no one else, in the entire universe. There was just Elliott and Arcaena.

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She had swept into the room with her ethereal beauty, her odd fashion, her glowing skin, and every eye turned to take her in. She had bowed low, gazing up at him through dark, thick lashes, and those emerald eyes had stolen his ability to speak. He could not welcome her, could not bow in return. All Elliott could do was drink her in.

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It had taken the better part of a week for him to work up the courage to summon her for an afternoon stroll in the gardens. Whether she read his silence during their walks as indifference, she did not let on - she simply smiled that dazzling smile, and spoke enough for the both of them. She told him of her home, of her people - of the ocean that called to her at night, the waves lulling her into a peaceful stupor. She told him of her favorite horse, Allegro, and their adventures riding along the rocky coasts. She told him of her family, her older brother, soon to be king, much like Elliott.

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He called upon her, day after day, unable to speak but wholly glad to listen. Arcaena indulged him, somehow knowing that he needed time - and slowly, he began to tell a few stories of his own. He told her of his childhood summers at the lake, hunting and fishing with his cousins. He told her of his late father, of his wisdom and kind spirit. He told her of his favorite horse, Quickfire, and challenged her to a race. She had laughed, and agreed - warning him she would not let him win, not even to win his hand.

Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and their walks in the gardens had become a warm and familiar ritual. Arcaena didn’t know the exact moment when it had happened, but at some step along the garden path, she had fallen in love with the king to be. And she and her maids had surmised that he, too, had stumbled into love between the flower beds. Yet, he had not proposed. 

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“It could be his lordship’s nerves, my lady.” Her eldest maid had reassured her. “I’ve know him since he was a boy, and believe me, this is far from his norm. The lad is dumbstruck with love, I just know it.” She had patted Arcaena’s arm in reassurance, but it hadn’t made her feel any bit better. She had long accepted it - she loved Elliott. She loved his small, secret smiles, his soft spirit, his open mind. But she feared that if he didn’t make his move soon, she would be summoned back by her mother and sent to a prince with less kind eyes.

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Today will be the day, Arcaena thought to herself as she descended the stairs to the courtyards, her skirts swishing around her and flowing behind in the breeze. It was a cool morning, and Arcaena was thankful for the long, billowing sleeves on her gown.

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Water trickled in the fountain centered in the round space, tulips of every color decorating the central garden surrounding its edge. A statue of a woman holding a vase stood tall and proud in the center, water pouring from the face into the pool below. Children ran along the stone paths, chased by their nannies, and Arcaena let the sound of joyful little laughter fill her spirit as she made for the trellised entrance to the rose gardens. Today WILL be the day. He will ask me for my hand.

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Meticulously manicured shrubs lined the paths, and royal gardeners laboured amongst them, pruning and plucking the rose bushes not much unlike her maids did to her each morning. They each waved at her as she passed, all too used to her presence amongst them alongside their Prince - who, at that very moment, rounded the corner right into Arcaena’s path.

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Prince Elliott stopped dead in his tracks, his icy blue eyes took Arcaena in as they always did - as if he was seeing her for the first time, stunned by her beauty and grace. Princess Arcaena offered him a smile, curtseying low. “Good morning, your highness. I am pleased you have summoned me today. The weather is particularly fine for a stroll, don’t you think?” 

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Prince Elliott nodded dumbly. Starstruck. “Indeed, my flower.” He had begun calling her by the nickname after their strolls had become a regular occurrence, and he relished how it brought a blush to her cheeks every time. Her eyes danced and he held out a hand. “Come. Let’s see how the roses are blooming today,” Arcaena took his outstretched hand, their skin buzzing at the contact, “though I fear none of them will compare to the rose I have just here.”

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As he placed a gentle kiss to her knuckles, it took all of Arcaena’s strength not to swoon. His golden hair, usually perfectly coiffed, fell into his forehead as he bent down, his cerulean eyes never leaving hers. Her breath stuttered, though she tried with all of her might to maintain her cool, calm exterior. His breath was warm on her skin, his hand tightening its grip, and she squeezed back.

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Arcaena let Elliott lead her through the rows and rows of rose bushes, arm in arm, their quiet conversation heard only by them and the royal chaperone assigned to follow them through the gardens each day. Their steps echoed across the stones as Elliott told her about his dealings with the royal council, frustrations with trade deals in the south. Arcaena told Elliott of a book she had been reading, one of pirates and mermaids that reminded her of folklore from home. She tried not to let it show how much she often longed for the sea in this mountainous region so far from home.

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They meandered as the sun rose, until it beat down on them from above - much like Elliott’s responsibilities that he would need to return to as their tour came to a close. They came to a small clearing in the winding gardens, a small pond full of lazy fish swimming about filled half of the space. A large tree shaded a bench, where Elliott led Arcaena to rest. 

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Another day, another walk through the garden with no proposal.

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Arcaena gazed into the pond, watching the fish swim round and round, aimlessly. Was she like these fish? Circling around and around, no end goal in sight?

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“Will you come, then?” Arcaena’s head snapped up, realizing Elliott had been talking. His eyes searched hers, brows pinched. “Arcaena?”

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“Of course. Your wish is my command, your majesty.”

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Elliott smiled brightly, the small gap between his front teeth that she loved so much showing, and Arcaena could not help but smile in return - though she had no idea what she had agreed to. Elliott stood just as a member of the council strode into the yard, beckoning him. 

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“It seems duty calls,” He sighed deeply, “I’ll see you tonight, my flower.”

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“I look forward to it, your highness.” 

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Her maids had been in a frenzy when she’d returned, announcing that she had to get ready to meet Elliott…somewhere. The youngest maid had interrogated half of the kitchen staff to find out what the Prince had planned, but gained no more knowledge than simply, “dinner.”

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“I eat dinner with the court every night. He never has to invite me to dine - what’s so special about tonight?” Her maids had shrugged as they finished styling her for dinner. Her curls ran down her back loosely, a sea blue gown flowing around her - the official color of her nation. A tiara adorned her head, diamonds and pearls catching the light, and she sent up a prayer to any god that would listen, Tonight will be the night.