Chapter 3 CHAPTER THREE
ROSALINDA
Grayson.
The name felt like a half forgotten song on my tongue, a memory of loss and longing. He was a boy birthed by the maid who raised me. Three years older than me, always just a little bit ahead, a little bit stronger. My mother, the young Queen at that time, was incredibly ill after my birth, it had taken a toll on her delicate body. So, a maid was assigned to take care of me, to nuture and protect me in my earliest, most vulnerable days. It was Grayson's mother, a king gentle woman with hands scarred from work but a heart overflowing with warmth.
Eventually, mom fully recovered after some months, almost a year. But by then, Grayson and I had formed an unbreakable bond, even as a baby and a toddler, I grew up with him by my side, a constant comforting presence. He was the only one, the only person who didn't use my title as the princess or heir, who didn't look at me with either fawning deference or fearful respect. He made me feel special, but in his own way- not because of my crown, but because I was me. I was a child then, innocent and unburdened by royal expectations, but I knew what love was. And we had that, a pure uncomplicated affection forged in shared laughter and whispered secrets under the stars.
Until...one day, the kingdom was attacked by the Mooncrest Kingdom. The air was filled with screams, the stench of blood, and metallic clash of swords. Many were fallen, nobles and commoners alike, but Grayson despite his youth didn't stop. I was twelve, he was fifteen. He hid me in a secret spot we both had discovered years ago, a small hidden grotto near the lake, carefully getting rid of any stray leaves or broken twigs that would give away where I was. His face, streaked with dirt and fear, was the last thing I saw before I slipped into a terrified darkness.
He promised me he'd be back, that he needed to go get his mother. I clung to that promise like a lifeline. I passed out, the terror and exhaustion finally overwhelming me. When I woke up, the war had ended, and I had already been rescued by our Royal guards. Our kingdom won, of course, but the victory tasted like ash. We lost so many people, including Grayson's mother.
As for Grayson? He vanished. No one knew what happened and frankly, no one seemed to care. The court dismissed him as 'just a boy' I cried for weeks, hot angry tears that turned into months of silent grief, but my pleas for someone, anyone, to look for him were met with dismissive shrugs and the boy same talk. 'He was just a serving boy, Princess. It happens in war.'
But that serving boy saved me. And now he's dead.
He wasn't just a serving boy, he was my everything, my first friend, my confidant, my protector, my first love. My heart had shattered that day, I tried to move on, to accept the harsh realities of my world, but it felt like betrayal. So I carried him in my heart, hoping that one day, by some miracle, we would cross paths again, and I'd apologize for not being strong enough to find him...and maybe...tell him how I truly felt.
And right now.
He was standing right in front of me, in Prince Zade's uniform, his face older, harder, his eyes guarded. My throat felt thick, clogged with ten years of unspoken words. I couldn't utter a single word.
He was now the guard of the a man I was supposed to marry. The universe truly had a sick sense of humor.
"Princess Rosalinda. I'm sorry for the interruption. Shall we continue this walk another time?" Zade's voice, laced with concern snapped me back to reality. He had watched my stunned reaction, his brow furrowed with curiosity, but he hadn't pressed. I turned to face him, forcing a nod that felt stiff.
"Sure, we can,"
"Take my guards. They will escort you back to the palace."
"Of course, thank you."
I looked back at Grayson, whose gaze was now fixed on the sand, his shoulder tense. It was hard to read his face as he was looking down. Zade let go of my hand and began to walk away, I watched as Grayson followed, his back now to me, receding into the shadowy night, taking my breath and my sanity with him.
What the fuck was going on in my life?
I don't know how I got back to my room. My feet moved one after the other, but my mind was somewhere else. All I knew was that I was suddenly on my bed, in my nightrobes. My hand reached for the hidden drawer in my beside table, a place I only knew about. I had kept it hidden for only one reason- my fingers brushed against the worn edges of the old parchment.
Letters from Grayson.
The ones he had written for me every year, for my birthday. He started when I turned five...for seven years until we departed, he never failed to send me letters.
My heart ached as I held them tightly to my chest, the papers crinkling under my grip. The warmth of the papers seeped into my skin, a bittersweet reminder of a love I thought was lost.
God - what do I do?
The next morning I woke up with a terrible headache, a dull throb behind my eyes that almost matched the ache in my heart. As usual, my maids came in, a flurry of soft fabrics and hushed voices, dressing me in a practical, yet elegant gown. I offered to have my breakfast in bed, a rare request that immediately sent ripples of concern through the palace. My parents rushed to my room, their faces etched with worry, I insisted I was fine and just needed some space. They asked if it was about Zade, perhaps if our late night walk had gone sour, but I said no.
I couldn't bring myself to say that it was because of Grayson. Not yet. Not ever, maybe. I'm not sure how they would react- scorn, disbelief, maybe even anger. He was just a serving boy to them.
After they left, I managed a small bite of my sweet bread, the taste like sawdust in my mouth, and left my room, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I needed answers. I headed straight towards the guards quarters.
"I'm looking for a guard," I announced, my voice perhaps a little too loud, drawing the attention of three burly men polished their armor.
They all bowed, while one raised his head and asked. "Which guard, Princess?"
"One of Prince Zade's guards," I clarified, my voice laced with an urgency I couldn't hide. "He has sharp gray eyes...his name is Grayson."
The three guards exchanged confused glances, then shook their heads in unison as if they didn't know what I was talking about. "There is no guard named Grayson in Prince Zade's retinue, Princess. We know all of His Highness men."
"What?" My voice rose. It couldn't be. I had seen him. His eyes. His scar. The facial structure..it was him.
"What's the Princess doing here?" I heard a familiar voice, deeper now say. I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat. Grayson was walking towards us, fresh from training from the looks of it, a sheen of sweat on his brow, his helmet held causally in his hand. His dark curly hair was all over his forehead, matted due to the sweat, my eyes trailed to his lips that were impossibly red and pressed in a thin line. I looked up, my eyes locking onto those piercing gray irises.
"Princess," he bowed. "Is there an issue?"
"I was looking for you," I blurted out, unable to filter my words.
He arched a brow in amusement, a movement so familiar it sent another pang through my chest, he looked at the three confused guards, who seemed to understand the silent command in his gaze. They all stood up and left.
He then turned back to me, his expression unreadable. "Am I in trouble, Princess?"
Tch, he still had that boldness...
It was one thing I loved so much about him.
"Grayson-"
"Who's that?" His question, sharp and unexpected threw me off guard, shattering my fragile hope of an immediate reunion.
He was denying me.
Denying us.
Denying his own name.
"Isn't that your name?" I blurted out, unable to stop myself.
He froze, then stared at me directly in the eyes. His gray eyes...there was a wall in them, a carefully constructed barrier of indifference, but beneath it, I could sense a tremor. "It's not. It's Cyrus." His voice was flat, devoid of the warmth or familiarity I was remembered from our childhood.
"Cyrus?" I laughed, stepped closer, closing the distance between us. "Oh really? Then I suppose my eyes are deceiving me then?"
He shrugged and swayed his body as he leaned all his weight on one foot. "Maybe."
Fucking sassy little-
"So you're trying to say you don't have a single memory of playing hide and seek in the Royal gardens or stealing tarts from the kitchen with a certain scrawny little princess?"
He scoffed and straightened up. "I'll take my leave now. My prince needs me." His attempt to dismiss me was almost insulting.
"Little feet," I blurted out the childish nickname he gave me. Slowly, his head turned, his eyes wide, reflecting a mix of pain and shock.
I took another step closer, my voice dropping, laced with a mixture of anger, hurt, and a desperate plea for recognition. "It's Cryus, ugh?" I mimicked his earlier dismissive tone. "Don't play coy, Grayson..I know it's you. Eyes don't lie."
He said nothing. Not a word. His face was a make of stony resolve, his eyes shuttered, though I swear I saw a flicker of pain, a fleeting shadow pass through them. He simply turned around, his back to me and walked off down the corridor.
What has gotten into him?