Across Eternities

Solenara woke as the first rays of dawn filtered through her lace-draped window, the soft rustling of birds in the garden coaxing her from the realm of dreams. The air smelled faintly of dew and jasmine, and the faint golden glow warmed her skin.

With a reluctant sigh, she sat up in her massive canopy bed, its silk sheets pooling around her. The morning light danced across the murals painted on her chamber walls—scenes of rolling green hills and thriving forests, a subtle nod to her family's connection to the Earth.

Her maid, Mireth, a cheery young woman with quick hands and an infectious laugh, appeared at the door. She carried a tray laden with tea, freshly baked rolls, and a small bowl of honey.

"Morning already?" Solenara groaned, stretching her arms above her head.

Mireth set the tray on a small table by the window. "Good morning, my lady. You're lucky I don't let you sleep through breakfast, considering how late you stayed out last night."

Solenara grinned. "You mean, sketching. Not causing mischief, Mireth."

The maid arched a brow, refusing to be impressed. "I'd believe it if Prince Orlan weren't asking about your whereabouts at the feast yesterday."

At that, Solenara groaned louder. "Tell me he didn't..."

"Oh, he did." Mireth poured tea with practiced ease. "It wasn't just idle curiosity, either. He had that tone. As if his proposal wasn't turned down just weeks ago."

Solenara rubbed her temples. Prince Orlan was not just a suitor but a political thorn. As a foreign prince from the powerful eastern territories, he saw her as a means to solidify alliances. Though his intentions were strategic, his persistent offers came wrapped in flowery speeches and overbearing attention.

"He sees me as a conquest, not an equal," Solenara muttered, biting into a roll.

"And a future queen should have her choice, not a leash," Mireth added with surprising boldness.

---

The rest of her morning unfolded with the same familiar rhythm. After breakfast, Solenara visited the glasshouse, where the palace's most exotic plants thrived under the care of Master Ewen, the royal gardener.

The elderly man greeted her with his usual gruff warmth, his sun-weathered hands sifting through a pot of dark soil. "Late again, are we?"

"I was sketching," Solenara replied, brushing off his teasing. She crouched beside him, carefully lifting a small sprig from a planter. "Is this one new?"

"Straight from the southern isles," Ewen said, pride evident in his voice. "Not many have the patience for its fickle roots, but I thought you might take a liking to it."

Solenara turned the sprig in her hands, noting the faint silver veins running through its pale green leaves. "It's beautiful. I'll make sure it thrives."

"You always do," Ewen replied with a rare smile.

---

Her afternoons often revolved around courtly duties she would rather avoid. Meetings with advisors, tedious etiquette lessons with Lady Arryn—who had the posture of a rod and the personality to match—and an endless stream of formalities that grated on her.

The palace, for all its grandeur, often felt like a gilded cage. Each hallway was perfectly polished, every mosaic pristine. But the lack of imperfection only made her feel more confined.

It was during one such lesson, while Lady Arryn droned on about proper table manners, that Solenara's childhood friend Lira burst into the room.

"Are you ever going to stop tormenting her, Lady Arryn?" Lira's voice carried a teasing lilt as she leaned against the doorframe, her auburn curls bouncing with every word.

Lady Arryn's lips thinned, but she made no retort as Lira sauntered in.

"You look positively bored," Lira said to Solenara, plucking a grape from the fruit bowl on the table.

"I was," Solenara replied dryly. "And I still am, though significantly less now."

The two women shared a laugh, though Lady Arryn's withering glare finally sent Lira back through the door, beckoning for Solenara to follow.

"You'll thank me later," Lira called over her shoulder.

---

The two spent the rest of the afternoon roaming the outer gardens, much to Solenara's relief. Lira, the youngest daughter of a minor noble house, had none of the pomp and polish expected of someone in her position. She was loud, opinionated, and unafraid of stepping on toes—qualities Solenara admired deeply.

"I heard there was a skirmish near the northern pass," Lira said, skipping a stone across the ornamental pond. "Lots of mercenaries returning to the capital for shelter."

Solenara recalled the man she had met in the garden the previous evening, the memory of his easy laugh and sharp wit still fresh.

"Did anyone mention… strangers?" she asked carefully.

"Strangers?" Lira arched a brow. "Well, I suppose there were a few stories about some battle-worn hero, but you know how people like to embellish."

Solenara nodded, feigning disinterest.

---

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Solenara returned to her chambers, where Mireth had already prepared a basin of steaming water for her to wash.

Her thoughts drifted back to the violet-eyed stranger from the garden. Who was he, really? A wandering soldier with stories to tell—or something more?

The faint golden light that had always lingered in her dreams seemed brighter now, its warmth impossible to ignore.

Lying beneath the canopy of her bed, she closed her eyes and drifted into restless sleep.

Somewhere, in the forests beyond the capital, Kaelen gazed at the same stars.