Skip to content She refused to be a worthy representative of this crown; let her be the wife of the most despicable man. I will punish this man for his weakness and his horrible existence. Her world collapsed around her.
The princess’s eyes filled with tears, but she neither cried nor begged. Instead, she lowered her head, swallowing the pain as was her wont. Beside her, the slave, who didn’t bother asking her name, stared at the floor as if he wanted to disappear. A murmur filled the room. Some ladies stifled laughter, while others averted their gaze. As for the king, he was finally free of the problem. She was led into the inner sanctum of the palace, to the room where her feet had never set foot. Her room would now be a hastily renovated old warehouse. That night, lying on a thin mattress, she listened to the sound of rain pouring from the windows. She stared at the ceiling. She slept wrapped in an old blanket. A different silence fell. It was a silence of contempt, a silence that did not judge. And for the first time, she felt fear. She felt something strange, a slight emptiness, as if the day’s humiliation had opened a new space for her. Dawn came, shrouded in fog. Her rebellious companion rose cautiously, trying not to make a sound. She watched him in silence. For years she had been surrounded by servants who smiled
while judging her in their hearts. There was another man, whom her father considered the keeper of the royal stables. The third spoke, his voice faint, almost a whisper. “Would the lady like some bread?” She hesitated before answering. “I’m not hungry,” she lied. He simply nodded and left. He insisted, mocking her. The fourth cleaned, the fifth lit the fire; the fireplace shook. The sixth placed wildflowers on the table. He uttered a word. And on the seventh, she broke the silence. “What’s your name?” The man hesitated. His eyes met hers for the first time. “Elias,” she repeated softly. A name of titles, of a coat of arms, but one that held something special even before his arrival. Gradually, her routine shifted to the neglected garden. There, among the roses, ravaged by winter, Elias told her his first story.
Pointing to the lavender, he said, “These flowers grow best when pruned drastically. The roots are turned over, the soil is loosened.” She looked pained, but that was how she was reborn, stronger. She looked at him in amazement. Every time he approached, she entered like a breeze, like a cloud.