Chapter 247 TEIGEN LXXVII
Audrey let out a small laugh, "Yes, he has"
Greer leaned forward, eyes shining. “But if he writes like this, if he sends gifts and flowers, surely he regrets what happened. Every word sounded true.”
Astrid crossed her arms. “Regret does not undo pain. A letter cannot heal burned hands.”
Orchid frowned at her. “You are far too cold.”
“I am sensible,” Astrid replied. “The King is not known for gentleness. I have seen him in court. Even the air changes with his mood. I would be careful.”
Ruby smiled faintly. “And yet, if he wrote to you like that, you would be in tears.”
Astrid flushed and looked away. “I would not.”
Greer laughed. “You would.”
Their laughter filled the room again, soft and easy, wrapping around Audrey like comfort.
For the first time since the fire, she felt present. Not trapped in memory, not held by anger.
Still, the past lingered.
She remembered the flames, the heat, the moment he had thrown the book into the fire. She had seen fear in his eyes. Fear, pride, and something she had not understood.
She pressed her bandaged hands together. “Perhaps,” she said quietly, “I have been too proud as well.”
Ruby nodded. “Pride protects the heart until it is ready to forgive.”
“Then I must be well protected,” Audrey said dryly, earning soft laughter.
Orchid lifted a gold earring, admiring it. “I think the King means to melt that pride with jewels. Look at this. It could buy half the north.”
“And the other half with the tiara,” Greer added.
Faye smiled as she arranged the boxes. “His Majesty has always loved deeply. When he gives his heart, he does not hold back.”
Astrid lifted the tiara, watching the light catch on it. “I wonder what love means to a man who rules an empire.”
Ruby glanced at Audrey. “Perhaps she can tell us.”
All eyes turned to her, even Elijah, who stood quietly by the door.
Audrey felt warmth rise to her cheeks. She looked down at her hands. “Love,” she said after a moment, “is when a man burns your favorite book and still finds a way to make you miss him.”
The room filled with laughter again, though softer this time. Greer fanned herself. “You are hopeless, my lady.”
“Perhaps,” Audrey said.
Elijah stepped forward, clearing his throat. “His Majesty also asked that these gifts be moved to your bridal chamber, should you wish to display them before the ceremony.”
Audrey raised a brow. “He assumes I have agreed?”
Elijah chose his words carefully. “He hopes that you will.”
The room quieted again.
Faye stepped closer. “He is trying, my lady. Men like him do not always know how to ask forgiveness. This may be his way.”
Audrey looked at Elijah, then at the letter beside the flowers. You faced what I feared.
Forgive me, not as your King, but as the man who still loves you.
She had read it only once, yet the words stayed with her.
At last, she spoke. “Very well, Elijah. Have the gifts taken to my chamber. But the dandelions stay here.”
A flicker of surprise crossed his face before he bowed. “As you wish, my lady.”
The maids gathered the boxes and carried them out, their silks whispering as they moved.
When the door closed, the room felt calmer, quieter. Only the women remained, and the small vase of wild flowers.
Orchid smiled at Audrey. “I think you will forgive him before the sun sets.”
“I daresay you should stop daring things you don’t understand,” Audrey teased, but there was no bite in her tone.
Faye chuckled. “Forgiveness is not so swift, Orchid. But hearts have a way of softening when reminded of love.”
Greer clasped her hands. “Oh, Faye, you speak like a poet.”
Ruby smirked. “She’s been around poets long enough. Darius’s letters have that effect.”
“Don’t encourage her,” Astrid muttered, but even she was smiling now.
Audrey’s gaze drifted to the dandelions again. They were such simple flowers, yet there was something eternal in their brightness. She traced one of the petals lightly with her fingertip, careful not to disturb its fragile crown.
When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet but certain. “I suppose,” she said, “I might see him tomorrow.”
The room went silent, and then— Greer shrieked. “Tomorrow!”
Orchid clapped her hands in delight. “At last!”
Astrid sighed, though there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. “I’ll fetch the fainting salts for Greer.”
Faye looked pleased but measured. “A wise choice, my lady.”
Ruby, with a faint smirk, added, “Perhaps even the right one.”
Audrey stood slowly, her pale blue gown whispering around her ankles. The sun had dipped lower now, spilling amber light across her chambers.
She turned toward the window. Her reflection caught in the glass — soft, luminous, uncertain. “I don’t know if it’s wise,” she murmured. “But it feels… necessary.”
Faye stepped behind her and rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Then it is.”
They stood there for a moment in companionable silence, the laughter of her ladies fading into the soft hum of the late afternoon.
Outside, the palace bells began to toll — slow, melodic, steady. Each chime seemed to echo through Audrey’s chest, a reminder that time was moving forward, pulling her with it whether she was ready or not.
She looked at her reflection once more, at the woman staring back at her — the soon-to-be Queen, the once-angry girl with bandaged hands, the beloved of a man she was not sure she forgave yet but still loved no less.
And for the first time, she didn’t turn away.
~
The scent of parchment and beeswax polish hung heavy in the royal library, a grand hall walled in gold-spined tomes that whispered of centuries past.
Shafts of pale morning light pierced the stained-glass windows, scattering colour across the reading desks where Lady Audrey sat bent over a manuscript, quill poised delicately between bandaged fingers.