Better Things to Come

What Makes a Princess Happy?
Steam curled in lazy ribbons through the air, veiling the white stone walls of the bath chamber in a soft mist. Warm candlelight flickered in ornate sconces along the marbled archways, casting golden reflections over the surface of the water. The tub—oval, deep, and carved from a single slab of polished onyx—rested in the center of the chamber like a sacred altar.

Princess Rhiannon sat immersed in the water, her skin glowing under the shimmer of rose oil and steam. Her hair, soaked and darkened by the bath, cascaded down her back like molten bronze, floating in the water’s surface like strands of silk.

Kneeling beside the tub was Isabel, her closest handmaiden and childhood confidante. With sleeves rolled up and fingers gentle, she worked lather through Rhiannon’s hair, her hands expert and unhurried. The scent of lavender and citrus clung to the air, soothing and sweet.

“He didn’t even speak,” Rhiannon murmured, her voice soft and distant. “Not a word. Just looked through me like I was glass.”

Isabel wrinkled her nose. “That’s because the Prince of Edralis is a pompous, sullen prick!”

Rhiannon let out a breath that was almost a laugh, though it faded quickly. “Isabel…”

“Well, it’s true,” Isabel said, her fingers pausing mid-comb to gesture vaguely. “He could’ve at least nodded or grunted. Something to acknowledge your existence. But no. Nothing. Just that dead-fish stare. He’s rude, arrogant and cold. He may be handsome, but you can’t warm yourself on a statue.”

“You don’t know him,” Rhiannon said gently, settling further into the water. “None of us do. And if I were him… I wouldn’t be thrilled either.”

Isabel blinked. “You’re defending him now?”

“I’m not,” Rhiannon said. “I just… I understand. A foreign princess shows up, expecting to be wed to him. It must feel like a siege. Like being conquered without a sword drawn.”

Isabel scoffed. “Please. If anyone’s doing the conquering, it’s you. Showing up with an eleven-carriage convoy, wearing sapphire and silk, walking like the palace already belongs to you.”

Rhiannon laughed, the sound soft and real, echoing against the walls. She turned and splashed water in Isabel’s direction. “You traitor.”

Isabel squealed and swatted at the air. “Hey!”

“I’m not trying to force myself on anyone,” Rhiannon said, more serious now, her eyes watching the ripples in the water. “My father thinks this is a wise alliance. That Edralis will need Astraellos when the next war comes. I’m just… obeying.”

Isabel gave a long, knowing sigh. She reached for the towel laid beside the tub and held it out. “Come on. You’ll turn into soup if you stay in there much longer.”

Rhiannon stood, the water cascading from her body in graceful arcs. Isabel wrapped her in the towel without hesitation, arms briefly circling her as she helped her step onto the warm stone. The bond between them was not merely servant and mistress—it was deeper. Woven through years of whispered secrets and shared dreams.

Together, they moved into the adjoining bedchamber. The air here was cool, the fire crackling in the hearth, the canopy bed draped in velvet. Rhiannon seated herself on the carved vanity stool, her towel now wrapped around her like a second skin.

Isabel stood behind her and took up a brush, running it gently through Rhiannon’s hair.

“Do you think,” Isabel asked softly, “that marrying the Prince of Edralis will truly make you happy?”

Rhiannon’s eyes lifted to the mirror. Her reflection stared back—poised and elegant, every inch the royal she had been groomed to be. But beneath it… shadows lingered in her gaze.

She didn’t answer right away.

Her lips parted.

“I…” Her voice faltered, then steadied. “I don’t know.”

A quiet silence followed. Not empty but thick with unsaid things.

—

The hallways of the palace were vast and gilded, echoing with the quiet clink of armored guards and the soft sweep of noblewomen’s dresses as they passed.

Prince Alexander walked them alone.

His dark regal attire was immaculate, as always, but there was a restlessness in his steps, his hands tucked behind his back as if containing an energy that refused to settle. The servants gave him some space, bowing quickly, eyes averted.

His thoughts were elsewhere.

In Bellaflor, with Aurora. Her words, their kiss.

Ever since he came back to Edralis, that kiss had haunted him in his dreams—not in a bad way. He’d been craving it, long for it like a fish out of water. 

And now… there's Rhiannon.

A reminder of the life he was born for. The alliances, the expectations, the bloodless chains of diplomacy.

He turned the corner swiftly—and collided with something soft.

Someone.

A soft gasp echoed through the hall as the impact sent the figure stumbling backward, but before she could fall, Alexander’s arms shot out and caught her by the waist.

Her arms instinctively flew up around his neck to steady herself.

He looked up.

Rhiannon.

For a long, breathless moment they didn’t move.

Their faces were inches apart. Barely a breath separated their lips. Her eyes, a glimmering sapphire blue, searched his ocean blue ones, wide with surprise… and something else. Something fragile and electric.

His grip at her waist tightened unconsciously as they stared into each other’s eyes in complete silence.