Echoes of the Past

It's been 2 weeks since Maxwell and Elena had agreed to coparenting, and her regular visits to lighten up Theodore's stay in the palace. Although, Elena had once sworn never to set foot in the palace again. Yet here she was, walking through its gleaming halls. A past she had fought to escape.

But she wasn't here for the palace. She was here for her son.

Each visit was meant to help Theodore adjust to his new life, a compromise she had made for his well-being. What she hadn't anticipated was the way these visits would stir the past, reopening wounds she had long convinced herself were scars. And she wasn't the only one feeling the shift.

From the moment Elena stepped into Theodore's life at the palace, something between Maxwell and Francesca began to change.

Francesca had always prided herself on being composed, elegant, and, above all, in control. She had spent years by Maxwell's side, standing as his queen, his partner. But lately, it felt like she was standing alone.

She first noticed it in Maxwell's attention.

Before, his presence in their marriage had been distant but constant. He was not a man of warmth, but he was reliable, present in their carefully structured life. Now, however, she found his mind elsewhere. His gaze would drift when she spoke, his answers, with distraction. He spent more time in Theodore's chambers. 

The realization crept in slowly. One evening, she walked into the dining hall, expecting to find Maxwell waiting for her as he always did. Instead, she found him missing. She sought him out, knowing exactly where to find him.

Theodore's room.

The doors were slightly open, just enough for her to see inside without being noticed. And what she saw sent a slow, simmering anger through her veins.

Maxwell was standing by the fireplace, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. His expression was filled with admiration, his eyes… His eyes were fixed on Elena.

She was seated on Theodore's bed, running a gentle hand through their son's dark curls as she spoke to him in hushed tones. Theodore clung to her, his small fingers gripping her dress as if afraid she would disappear if he let go.

And Maxwell… he was watching. Not with disinterest. Not with indifference. But with something else, something Francesca hadn't seen in him in years. A quiet pull. A familiarity that should not exist between them anymore.

She didn't stay to watch any longer. She turned and walked away, but the scene kept ringing in her head. 

In addition to Francesca's misery and subtle neglect, there has been a shift in the Queen mother's attitude towards Elena. If there was anyone in the palace who despised Elena's presence more than Francesca, it was the Queen Mother. Or at least, that had been the case.

Elena had expected nothing but hostility from the older woman. The Queen Mother had orchestrated her downfall once before, had ripped her from the palace with cold precision.

But this time, something was different.

It started subtly.

The first time Elena greeted her, she expected a scoff, a dismissive glance, perhaps even silence. But instead, the Queen Mother acknowledged her beyond her expectations 

Elena brushed it off as nothing, an accidental moment of civility. But then it happened again. And again. The change was gradual. The Queen Mother, who once spoke of Elena as if she were a mistake, began to listen when she spoke about Theodore's needs. She would sit nearby when Elena and Theodore played together in the gardens, her sharp eyes watching in awe and excitement. 

One afternoon, as Elena helped Theodore adjust his coat before heading to the stables, the Queen Mother approached them.

"The boy looks healthier," she observed, her voice crisp but lacking its usual sharpness.

Elena looked up, momentarily startled. "He's eating better now," she said carefully. "He was struggling before, but I've been making sure he feels comfortable here."

The Queen Mother studied her for a long moment. Then, to Elena's utter shock, she said, "Good." It was just one word. But it held the weight of something larger.

For the first time, the woman who had once banished her from the palace was seeing her not as a mistake, not as a threat, but as Theodore's mother. And that was a victory Elena had never expected. 

Meanwhile, Maxwell had found himself falling in love with Elena all over again. Though he had convinced himself that his love for Elena had been buried. But buried things had a way of resurfacing.

At first, it was in the small moments. A glance that lasted too long. A flicker of familiarity in her voice. The way her presence seemed to fill the spaces around him, whether he wanted it to or not.

Then, one evening, Elena was saying goodnight to Theodore, sitting beside him in bed. She whispered something to him, something Maxwell didn't quite catch, and then she smiled.

It was soft, unguarded. A smile filled with warmth, with love. 

He had seen that smile before. It was the same one she used to give him, back when things were different. Back when they had been in love.

At that moment, standing there, watching her, he knew this rage had been a lie. 

Something inside him stirred. Something dangerous. He turned away before he could think about it too much. But the thought was already there, refusing to be ignored.

Did he ever truly stop loving her ? And if he hadn't… what did that mean for everything else?

Could this be a new chapter for a love that refuses to die?