An Unexpected Encounter

Layla was tending to a patient when the voice of a servant rang out behind her.

— We are going to the palace.

She turned around and met the gaze of a man with a sly smile.

— The palace? she repeated, incredulous.

Finally. After all these days spent in the miserable hospital, she would at last see the queen. What kind of sovereign could leave her people in such a state?

She followed the servant out of the building. As they moved away from the poor district, the scenery changed. The filthy, narrow streets gave way to paved avenues lined with trees, and the dilapidated houses were replaced by elegant residences with well-kept gardens. Even the air seemed purer.

When they reached the palace, Layla lifted her eyes to the massive golden gates. Before them, powerful horses pawed the ground under the firm hands of armored riders, while maids bustled about in a courtyard filled with an intoxicating fragrance.

The carriage came to a stop. The servant, still wearing his mocking grin, gestured for her to step down.

Layla held back a sigh. I don't know what's more infuriating: the state of Narcéa or that wicked smile.

They entered the palace. What she discovered exceeded all imagination.

Gleaming marble, dazzling chandeliers, carpets so thick they muffled footsteps… Everything exuded opulence. Here, there was no sign of shortage, no trace of the misery that plagued the streets just beyond.

This time, the servant remained silent as he led her through the corridors to a vast hall. Without a word, he stopped at the door and left her to enter alone.

At least I'm rid of him.

As soon as she stepped inside, she was struck by the brilliance of the light, the splendor of the decor. Gold and velvet blended in an almost unreal grandeur.

But her attention was quickly drawn elsewhere.

Before her, a towering knight, as rigid as a statue, blocked her view. But to his right, another figure immediately caught her eye.

The man was not as massive as the warrior, yet he radiated an overwhelming presence, filling the room without needing to move. He wasn't enormous, but he was there. Truly there.

An involuntary shiver ran through Layla.

She had expected to see the queen. But who were these men?

Layla had expected to see the queen. But when she entered the grand hall, she was met with an entirely different sight.

A man—imposing and motionless. A guardian, without a doubt. Tall, solid, with a piercing gaze. He exuded discipline, silent authority. Yet, in his eyes, there was a glimmer of amusement, as if he were witnessing something unusual.

Layla shifted her attention to the other figure in the room.

Seated with a false nonchalance, he was waiting for her, a faint smile lingering on his lips. Unlike the soldier, his authority did not stem from his stature but from something more elusive. A quiet intensity, a confidence that needed no proof. He was the kind of man one could not ignore, even if he said nothing.

He studied her for a moment, as if evaluating something. Then, in a casual tone, he said:

— So, tell me… how do you find your work?

Layla held his gaze, wary.

— Difficult. There is a lack of resources, and the conditions are deplorable.

The prince nodded slowly, as if he had expected this answer.

— And yet, you continue.

— That's why I'm here, isn't it? she replied simply.

The guardian's lips twitched in the faintest of smiles. He rarely saw Oris like this. Not this engaged. Not this… curious.

— Do you lack anything? the prince asked, his tone too casual to be innocent.

Layla raised an eyebrow.

— Many things.

Oris' smile widened slightly.

— Tell me.

She didn't hesitate.

— Better medicine, proper tools, at least some support. And a fairer distribution of care between the people and the nobles.

Oris arched an eyebrow, as if he had heard something amusing.

— I was asking about you, he clarified. Not the others.

She blinked.

— Me?

— Yes. What would make your daily life more bearable?

Layla hesitated, caught off guard. Then, with a touch of irony:

— A roof that doesn't leak, clean water, firewood… and maybe a feather pillow.

Oris burst into laughter, followed by his guardian.

— A feather pillow? Now that is a noble request, the prince remarked.

— I'm joking, she replied with a smirk. Mostly.

Oris' gaze gleamed for a moment before he extended his hand toward his guardian.

— A thread.

The man obeyed without a word, handing him a thin roll of black silk. Oris let it slide between his fingers before offering it to Layla.

— Take it. If you ever need to see me, tie it around your wrist.

She took it, intrigued, gripping it between her fingers.

The guardian, however, watched Oris with a hint of surprise. He had never seen him act like this. Not this lighthearted, not this direct. And that amused him.

Oris eventually sighed, running a hand over the back of his neck as if already bored of the conversation.

— You may go, he said, feigning disinterest.

Layla inclined her head slightly and turned on her heel.

Before crossing the doorway, she cast one last glance back.

The guardian was still smiling.

And Oris suddenly seemed aware that, for once, he had entertained someone other than himself.

Layla left the grand hall without another word, the thin roll of black silk still clutched in her hand. The exchange had left her with more questions than answers. Oris was not the distant man she had imagined, but he wasn't easy to decipher either.

As she disappeared behind the heavy doors, silence settled.

The soldier, still at his post, cast a brief glance at Oris before fixing his gaze straight ahead once more. He was not used to seeing the prince like this. Not distracted, not hesitant Oris knew neither. But… different.

Yet, after a moment, he said in a neutral tone:

— You didn't bring her back to the palace. Or even offer her better housing.

Oris took his time to respond, his voice measured.

— That would have drawn Xadran's attention.

A brief pause, then a faint smile finally ghosted across his lips.

— And perhaps… to test her.

The soldier resumed, a trace of controlled amusement in his voice:

— And… I wasn't aware you had a weakness for healers, my prince.

Oris did not react immediately. Then, in an even tone:

— I don't.

— Of course. And that black thread is just a coincidence.

Oris turned his head slightly toward him, expression unreadable. A silence stretched between them.

The soldier suppressed a smirk. He wouldn't overstep. But he knew how to recognize an unusual situation.

And Oris unshakable as he was had just done something… unusual.