Chapter 53 The Garden - Amelia’s POV
The guard who escorted me to the kitchen garden kept shooting curious glances my way, his professional mask slipping to reveal poorly disguised interest. I couldn't blame him—the girl who'd been at the centre of castle gossip for days, now dressed up and being led to a private breakfast with the Alpha King. If I'd been in his position, I'd have been curious too. My fingers kept finding their way to Nora's necklace, tracing the delicate silver crescent as if it might actually contain some courage I could borrow.
'You don't need borrowed courage,' Kaela whispered in my mind. 'You've got your own.'
As we approached the garden entrance, butterflies took flight in my stomach. This wasn't like our impromptu breakfast yesterday after days of separation—this was planned, intentional. A date. The word still felt foreign, almost ridiculous given our circumstances. Two cursed wolves playing at normalcy.
The guard stepped aside at the entrance, and I took a deep breath before stepping through the ivy-draped archway into the kitchen garden. The morning sun filtered through fruit trees, casting dappled shadows across the stone pathways. And there, at the same small iron table where we'd sat yesterday, was Aleksandr.
He stood when he saw me, and something in his expression made my breath catch. He wore simple clothes—dark pants and a deep blue shirt that almost matched my dress, as if we'd coordinated without trying. His hair was neatly styled, his face freshly shaven. But it was the look in his eyes, warm and almost reverent, that sent heat crawling up my neck.
"Amelia," he said, my name a soft exhalation on his lips. "You look beautiful."
I smiled, fighting the urge to look down or dismiss the compliment. "Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself."
His laugh—a rare, genuine sound—eased some of my tension as he pulled out my chair. As I sat, the delicious aromas from our breakfast spread hit me all at once: fresh pastries, perfectly ripened fruit, something savoury and herb-scented steaming in covered dishes.
"Did Nora ambush you this morning too?" I asked as he took his seat across from me.
"Completely," he admitted, his mouth quirking up at one corner. "I was reviewing reports when she marched in, confiscated my paperwork, and informed me I had exactly thirty minutes to make myself presentable for our 'date day.'" He made air quotes around the term, his expression amused. "I believe her exact words were, 'The kingdom won't fall in one day, but your chance at breaking this curse might if you don't start living like a normal wolf occasionally.'"
I laughed, reaching for a pastry that looked like it was filled with almond cream. "That sounds like her. Mira was equally insistent."
"Conspirators, the both of them," he said, though his tone held no real annoyance. He poured coffee for us both—strong and black for himself, with cream and sugar for me, exactly how I preferred it. The small gesture, the fact that he'd remembered, warmed me more than the coffee itself.
"I'm glad they conspired," I admitted, taking a bite of the pastry. It practically melted on my tongue, the almond flavour rich and not too sweet. "This is delicious."
"Chef outdid himself," Aleksandr agreed, serving us both from the covered dishes—fluffy scrambled eggs with fresh herbs, roasted potatoes with rosemary, and sliced ham glazed with something that smelled faintly of honey and cloves.
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the garden quiet except for birdsong and the distant sounds of kitchen staff beginning their daily routines. It struck me how different this felt from our breakfast yesterday—the desperation and uncertainty replaced by something gentler, more peaceful.
"So," I said, breaking the silence. "A whole day planned for us. Have you ever been to the theatre in the city?"
He looked up from his coffee, a shadow of something—sadness? regret?—crossing his face briefly. "Not in many years. Not since before the curse began to manifest."
I reached across the table to touch his hand, a gesture that would have been unthinkable just days ago. "Then we'll make new memories today."
His fingers curled around mine, warm and strong. "Yes. We will."
In our shared mental space, I felt Kaela and Skoll circling each other, their energies intertwining in a dance as old as our species.
'Good day for running,' Skoll rumbled, projecting images of forest paths and open meadows.
'Someday,' Kaela promised, her longing a tangible thing. 'Someday soon.'
After we'd eaten our fill, Aleksandr stood and offered me his hand. "Shall we walk? The rose garden should be in full bloom now."
I took his hand without hesitation, letting him lead me through the kitchen garden and into the more formal royal gardens beyond. Guards followed at a discreet distance—a reminder that despite appearances, this was no ordinary date. The Alpha King never went anywhere unprotected, and after the episode in the garden last week, extra precautions were in place.
But I refused to let that shadow our day. Instead, I focused on the beauty around us—the geometric precision of the formal parterre with its low boxwood hedges, the rainbow of tulips standing at attention in regimented rows, the sweet scent of blooming lilacs hanging in the air.
"I never saw gardens like this growing up," I said as we strolled along a stone path. "Frozen Mountain was too high, too cold for anything this delicate. We had hardy vegetables, pines, not much else."
"And you?" Aleksandr asked quietly. "Were you hardy too?"
The question caught me off-guard with its perception. "I had to be," I replied after a moment. "Or I wouldn't have survived."
His hand tightened around mine. "I'm glad you did."
We continued our walk in companionable silence, eventually reaching the rose garden he'd mentioned. It was a circular space with gravel paths winding between beds of roses in every imaginable shade—blood red, sunset orange, pale pink, creamy white, and even a few that were so deeply purple they appeared almost black in the shadows.
"My mother created this garden," he said, his voice softening with memory. "She believed every rose had its own personality, its own story to tell."
I stopped to admire a particularly beautiful specimen, its petals a gradient from deep crimson at the centre to almost white at the edges. "What would she say this one's story was?"
He studied it, then me, his eyes moving between us as if making a connection. "That beauty often comes from contrast. That differences can create something more striking than uniformity."
The words settled over me like a warm blanket, an acceptance of my mismatched eyes, my trapped wolf, all the ways I didn't fit the mold of what I should be.
We completed our circuit of the gardens as the sun climbed higher, talking of small things—books we'd enjoyed, foods we preferred, the antics of the palace staff. Normal conversations, the kind people had when curses and prophecies weren't hanging over their heads. By the time we returned to the castle for lunch, my cheeks hurt from smiling more than I had in years.
The private dining room where lunch awaited was small and sun-filled, with windows overlooking the gardens we'd just explored. A single table was set for two, a covered silver dish at each place. When Aleksandr lifted the covers, the rich aroma of seafood and herbs filled the air—risotto studded with plump shrimp, delicate scallops, and flecks of fresh herbs.
"Perfect," I said, suddenly realising how hungry our walk had made me.
Aleksandr smiled, reaching for my hand across the table. "And we're just getting started."