The Princess’s Warden

The first thing I noticed about the dining hall was the table. It was unnecessarily long—so long, in fact, that I couldn't imagine anyone using its far end without shouting. It was massive and, judging by its polished sheen and ornate carvings, made of some incredibly expensive wood. For all I knew, it probably had magical properties, too, because nothing else could justify something this extravagant.

I'd been in a quiet state of shock since yesterday at the sheer amount of money nobles spent on ordinary things. I suppose in some strange way, I was lucky—lucky to witness such wealth that a man like me, a farmer's son, would otherwise never lay eyes on. If this was just the magistrate's mansion, I couldn't imagine how mind-numbingly amazing the king's palace must be.

The air in the dining hall was cool, and the ceilings stretched high above, with glittering chandeliers casting soft light across the room. The stone walls were lined with tapestries, depicting abstract patterns I couldn't make sense of, and narrow arched windows offered glimpses of the fading evening outside.

At the far end of the hall, the magistrate stood waiting. He greeted the princess with a deep, practiced bow.

"Sorry for the late introduction, Your Highness. I am the magistrate of the city of Kirel, Auren Varess," he said smoothly. His words were polite but precise, as though measured for efficiency. "I'm sure my humble home pales in comparison to yours, but I hope it will provide you with enough comfort to recover from your recent ordeals."

The princess curtsied gracefully, the picture of royalty restored.

"I thank you for your hospitality, Lord Varess," she replied, her voice calm and authoritative. "Your people have taken good care of me and my savior. I will not forget this favor."

"Just doing my duty, Your Highness," he said simply, his gray eyes revealing nothing.

"I will make sure to reiterate that such duties should be largely rewarded."

The corner of the magistrate's mouth quirked slightly at that. "Thank you, Your Highness."

The exchange felt cold and tense, with words that sounded courteous but carried layers I couldn't quite decipher. Watching them, I couldn't help but feel completely out of place. This wasn't my world. I almost wanted to say, "If you two want privacy, maybe I'll go eat in the kitchen or something."

But I kept my mouth shut.

The dining hall, for all its luxury, was stifling. The sheer size of the table made everything feel distant, and the walls seemed to press in with their formality. I'd heard rumors back in my village that nobles had strange rules about how they ate—using tiny forks for specific foods or drinking with their pinky up. I hoped those stories were lies because I didn't have the faintest clue about noble etiquette.

The magistrate's voice broke through my anxious thoughts.

"Sir Caelan," he said, turning toward me. "I hope you don't think I have been ignoring you. The strangeness of this morning has us perturbed. We have investigated everything..."

There was something deliberate in the way he said that, like a hidden threat wrapped in silk.

"But we can only thank you for having found the princess and saved her from a tragic fate. So thank you." He bowed slightly, his movements precise, though his gaze remained locked onto mine.

I froze, completely caught off guard. My ears burned as I stammered, "Umm... I... I just did what any normal person would do, umm, Your Magistrate."

Auren Varess gave me a small nod and gestured for us to sit. "Please, let us dine. You may sit at the head of the table, Your Highness."

I followed his gesture to the chair he was pointing at. It was grand—a throne in everything but name. Tall and made of rich, dark wood, its back arched dramatically upward, carved with intricate patterns of vines and beasts. The seat was cushioned with deep red velvet, the kind that probably cost more than my family's farm and half the village combined. It screamed "royalty."

But the princess shook her head firmly. "I will sit next to Caelan."

The words hung in the air, heavy and unexpected.

The magistrate paused for a beat, his gray eyes flicking toward her before simply inclining his head. "As you wish, Your Highness."

I looked at her, startled, but she ignored me completely, already moving toward the spot beside me.

I sighed inwardly, glancing at the knights standing near the hall's entrance. They were watching me closely, their faces unreadable, but I could almost hear their thoughts—What is this farmhand doing here?

The answer? I had no clue.

**

The food laid out before us looked absolutely incredible. The kind of food that didn't just taste good but screamed wealth and refinement. The aroma was intoxicating—a mix of roasted meats, subtle spices, and fresh herbs that hung in the air like an unspoken promise. Every dish was presented like a work of art: slices of braised venison draped in a glossy herb sauce, golden-skinned honey-glazed pheasant arranged with roasted apples, and warm rosemary flatbreads still steaming softly in their basket. There were bowls of creamy mashed turnips with shaved truffle, wild greens tossed with a tangy citrus dressing, and honey-roasted carrots and beets glistening in the soft candlelight.

I stared at the spread, trying to ignore how my mouth watered. I hadn't even taken a bite, but I already knew this would be the best meal I'd ever had.

Despite the grandeur of the feast, the air was thick with tense silence. A quartet of musicians played softly in the background, their string instruments filling the room with a melody that should have been soothing, but it only made me feel more out of place.

I still couldn't get used to all of this—the towering walls, the gilded dining hall, and the fact that I was sitting here at all. Being serenaded while surrounded by enough food to feed my whole village for weeks should've felt like a dream, but I knew I'd enjoy it more in the quiet of my room—no, correction, the princess's room. I was just the baggage attached to her.

"I have sent a message to the king via Skycallers, and it should have arrived already. I'm sure word that you are found will bring His Majesty great relief," the magistrate said, his tone smooth and measured.

"Thank you," the princess replied softly.

I glanced at her and noticed a shift in her expression. For the first time since I'd met her, a small, genuine smile broke through her otherwise weary features. It was faint, but it was there, and it softened the quiet weight she'd been carrying.

I tried to focus on my meal, still conscious of the princess sneaking glances at me every now and then. I pretended not to notice, but the faint smile playing on her lips wasn't lost on me.

The dessert was the highlight of the evening—delicate honey-berry tarts with buttery golden crusts, filled with sweetened berries that practically burst with flavor. A dollop of cream sat on top, smooth and rich. I closed my eyes with the first bite, letting the tart sweetness melt on my tongue. It was so good that I couldn't help but grin. If I got the chance, I was definitely going to ask someone what these were called.

We left the dining hall after finishing, the tension lingering but softened by the meal. The magistrate's servants had led us to the back of the mansion, where a garden stretched out in the quiet evening air.

The garden was stunning, even under the pale glow of moonlight. Neatly trimmed hedges framed winding stone pathways, their edges dotted with clusters of flowers—roses, bluebells, and silver blooms that seemed to shimmer faintly. Lanterns hung from wrought-iron posts, casting pools of warm golden light along the paths. A soft breeze carried the faint scent of jasmine and roses, mingling with the quiet trickle of a stone fountain at the garden's center.

The princess walked ahead of me, her dress trailing softly behind her as she moved with slow, deliberate steps. I followed a few paces behind, letting the silence grow comfortable. It was the kind of quiet you shared with someone you didn't mind being around—familiar and unforced.

"Bet you can't wait to go home, huh?" I asked, my voice low in the stillness.

"Yes... and no," she said quietly, her tone hesitant.

I frowned slightly at her response. "What do you mean?"

She stopped walking, staring at the cobbled path beneath her feet. "I dread the return home without my mother. I can't get the image out of my head. I feel constantly afraid. Even now, facing people, I can't help but tremble..."

Her voice was small, fragile in a way that took me by surprise. I looked up, and when she turned around, I froze. Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes wide and blazing like a fire in the dark.

"I don't know how to live," she said, her voice shaking. "Don't know how to feel. I'm so scared."

Before I could think, she stepped toward me. She looked so small, so breakable, and I did the only thing I could—I held her.

Her sobs were muffled against my chest, her body trembling in my arms. I didn't say anything. What could I say? I just stood there with her, letting her grieve in the only way she could.

It struck me then that she wasn't the strong, put-together person she seemed earlier. That confidence had been a front—a fragile mask hiding the weight she was carrying.

"I only look strong because someone gives me strength," she whispered after a long silence.

I hesitated. "Yeah... I'm sure even now, your mother is still watching over you."

She shook her head faintly, her voice quieter now. "What gives me strength is simply an ordinary reason."

Her words were cryptic, and I frowned slightly, but she didn't explain further. She just leaned against me, and I let her.

The garden was still, save for the faint rustling of leaves and the distant trickle of water. I didn't know how to fix what she was feeling, but in that moment, just standing there with her seemed to be enough.