The soft morning light filtered through the window panes, gently waking Mariela from her sleep. She sat up slowly, her eyes drawn to the distant memory of the green garden she'd visited with Prince Richard. Something about it still tugged at her.
"There was a plant," she whispered to herself, slipping quietly out of bed. "I'm sure I saw it there. But where exactly was it? Here? Or maybe it was closer to the fountain…?"
She tiptoed through the garden paths, her eyes scanning the lush greenery.
"This thing is certainly huge," she muttered, frustrated by how easily she had gotten turned around. "Ugh, where were we yesterday…?"
A voice suddenly interrupted her thoughts.
"Out sneaking again, my lady?"
Mariela jumped. "Gideon! You scared me! And what do you mean sneaking again?"
Gideon crossed his arms, his brows knit in that familiar disapproving glare. "I was looking for you last night. You vanished without a trace. Care to explain?"
She paused, her heart quickening. "I don't know what you're talking about, Gideon," she said, looking away.
He said nothing more, but the tightness in his jaw didn't ease. "Your father is calling for you. Breakfast is served."
"Father?" Mariela's eyes lit up. "Maybe he'll finally tell me what he really thinks…"
Gideon stepped aside and gestured for her to follow. "After you, my lady."
Inside the guest dining room, Peter sat with a warm smile, waving her over.
"Hey, little one. Come eat with me—they've brought my favorite cornbread today. And look what else I've got—your favorite: chocolate milk cream."
"Chocolate milk cream?!" Mariela rushed over, practically glowing. "Why didn't you call me sooner, Gideon?" she giggled, taking a sip like an eager child.
"I didn't want to ruin the surprise," Gideon said with a rare smile.
"Well, good job," she mumbled between sips, a streak of cream coating her upper lip like a mustache.
Just then, a voice echoed from the doorway.
"I'm glad to see you both enjoying your breakfast."
Mariela and Peter turned to find a tall, well-dressed man standing in a respectful bow.
"I apologize for the interruption. Allow me to introduce myself—my name is Lavish Parn, servant of His Majesty Prince Richard. I have been assigned as your liaison, should you wish to communicate with the prince."
Peter offered a polite nod. "I see. Nice to make your acquaintance, Sir Parn."
"Lavish will be just fine, Sir Marriot," he replied, then turned to Mariela. "And for you, my lady?"
"Then you can call me Mariela," she said brightly. "Please don't be like Gideon here—too stiff. It's only because he's kind that I tolerate it."
Lavish chuckled softly. "Mariela, it is."
"See?" she said, nudging Gideon. "Obedience is key to satisfaction."
"I'll keep that in mind, my lady," Gideon replied with mock solemnity.
They exchanged playful jabs until Lavish cleared his throat gently.
"Forgive the intrusion again. I simply came to inform you that the breakfast served is not meant to influence any decision. However, by order of the king, I am to guide you through the capital today, and you are welcome to anything you desire."
"The capital?" Mariela gasped, gripping Gideon's arm in excitement. "Can we really go?"
But her father's voice quickly tempered her joy.
"I appreciate the king's generosity," Peter said calmly, "but unfortunately, we will have to decline the offer. We are leaving today."
Mariela blinked. "Wait—what?"
"May I ask why, Sir?" Lavish inquired gently.
Peter's gaze remained steady. "This visit was for service, not leisure. It's time to return home."
Lavish bowed his head. "Understood. The prince also wished to speak with you before your departure."
"That won't be necessary," Peter replied, his tone unyielding. "Please proceed with preparing our things."
Lavish hesitated, sensing the tension. "And… regarding the prince's proposition?"
Peter's eyes narrowed slightly. "Why ask me that now? Do I not have the right to return home as I choose?"
"My apologies, Sir," Lavish said, bowing deeper. "I'll prepare everything immediately."
As he turned to leave, Mariela's heart pounded.
"Father," she began softly, "about the prince's proposal—I wanted to talk to you—"
Peter held up a hand. "We'll talk once we're home. Go pack, Mariela."
"Yes, Father," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
Gideon stepped beside her. "Let's go, my lady."
She followed with slow, heavy steps. Her chest ached with confusion. Her father had never spoken to her so curtly before.
In the prince's manor, the mood had shifted.
"What? They're leaving today?" Prince Richard stood from his seat in disbelief.
"Yes, Sire," Lavish confirmed. "Sir Peter refused any further hospitality. I suggested you might want to bid them farewell, but he declined."
The prince ran a hand through his hair. "You did well, Lavish. I'll take care of the rest."
"If I may, Sire…" Lavish hesitated. "You should speak to the guard—Gideon."
Richard raised a brow. "Gideon, eh?"
"Shall I summon him?"
"No need," the prince said firmly. "You know I prefer to handle things myself."
Meanwhile, Gideon was busy loading bags and preparing the carriage. Mariela stood at a distance, watching him work. Her heart tugged painfully as she glanced toward the city walls.
"The way Father's acting… it's like we'll never come back," she thought. "If I don't see the capital now, I may never get the chance."
With quiet determination, she made her move.
Scaling a tall tree whose branches extended beyond the guesthouse fence, she swung herself over the wall and landed softly on the other side. She tucked her cloak tight around her and darted toward the bustling street.
A merchant's chariot, loaded with wares and heading toward the city, offered the perfect opportunity. She slipped inside while no one was watching.
As the chariot began to roll toward the grand market, Mariela peeked out from beneath a bundle of cloth, a glimmer of thrill in her eyes.
"Perfect," she whispered.
As the merchant's chariot rolled past the towering palace gates and into the heart of the capital, Mariela could hardly contain her excitement. When the cart slowed near a corner to unload goods, she slipped out quietly, her boots landing softly on the cobbled street.
The world before her stole the breath from her lungs.
The capital market was alive—radiant and buzzing with life. Joyful music spilled through the air as street performers played fiddles and flutes. Dancers twirled in the center of the square, their skirts swirling like petals. Children ran past her in fits of laughter, chasing ribbons and tiny painted balls, their faces smudged with sweet syrup.
Mariela stood still for a moment, soaking it all in. She had dreamed of this place, but reality far outshone her imagination.
The scent of roasted almonds, honeyed cakes, and grilled meats swirled through the air, making her stomach rumble.
"Oh… this is perfect," she whispered, her face lighting up with wonder.
Drawn by curiosity and joy, she began wandering from stall to stall like a child set loose in a dream.
One merchant displayed glittering jewelry of all kinds—gleaming earrings, bracelets adorned with gemstones, and necklaces that sparkled like captured starlight.
"Made with real river pearls, young lady," the vendor boasted proudly. "Fit for a noble!"
Next, she stumbled upon a cake shop trimmed in ivory and gold, its windows lined with tiny edible sculptures. A display of golden fruit tarts made her stop in her tracks.
The shopkeeper, a kindly old woman, caught her delight. "Go on, sweetling—first bite's always free."
Mariela accepted a tart with both hands, her eyes sparkling. The moment the pastry touched her tongue, she closed her eyes in delight. "Mmm! That's… amazing."
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and skipped off to the next booth, tasting roasted nuts, sweet tea, and something wrapped in lavender leaves.
Mariela wandered deeper into the market, her arms now full of tiny samples and colorful keepsakes. Just as she rounded a corner near the flower stalls, her eyes landed on something that made her stop.
Tucked between two towering booths was a much smaller stall, its wooden frame decorated with ribbons and pressed flower charms. On the table lay the most enchanting jewelry she had seen yet—delicate bracelets strung with beads made from carved wood, stones shaped like tiny leaves, and tiny glass pendants that shimmered in soft colors.
Each piece looked like it had a story.
"Oh, how precious," Mariela murmured, gently picking up a bracelet with a butterfly charm.
"They're all handmade, dear," came a warm voice.
Mariela looked up and saw an elderly woman with a kind face smiling at her from behind the stall. She had soft wrinkles around her eyes and wore a simple dress, her gray hair tied in a loose braid over her shoulder. There was a gentleness about her, the kind that reminded Mariela of home.
"I've never seen anything like these," Mariela said, admiring the little treasures. "Did you make them all yourself?"
The woman gave a small nod. "Every piece. My hands may be slow now, but they still remember beauty."
Just as Mariela opened her mouth to ask another question, the woman suddenly turned aside and coughed—deep, dry, and hoarse. Her hand trembled slightly as she steadied herself against the edge of the stall.
"Are you alright?" Mariela asked, stepping forward in concern.
The woman waved it off at first, but the coughing didn't stop.
Without thinking, Mariela placed her things on the table and reached into the small pouch she carried at her waist. She had always kept a few healing herbs with her—just in case.
"Please, may I help?" she asked gently. "I know a little about plants and remedies."
The woman gave a weak nod, eyes watering from the cough.
Mariela quickly pulled out a tiny cloth bundle and opened it to reveal dried mint leaves, a bit of chamomile, and a pinch of goldenroot. She asked for a cup of warm water from a nearby tea vendor and began to crush the herbs gently with a stone she found near the stall.
"Mint to open the chest, chamomile to soothe, and just a bit of goldenroot for strength," she whispered to herself as she worked.
Within minutes, she handed the steaming cup to the woman, who took it with slightly trembling hands and drank slowly. The coughing began to ease.
The woman let out a long, relieved sigh. "That… that helped. Thank you, child. You have the hands of a healer."
Mariela smiled softly, a little embarrassed. "I'm studying. I hope to become a physician one day."
"You already have the heart for it," the woman said, placing a hand over Mariela's. Then she reached beneath the table and pulled out a velvet pouch. "For your kindness, please—take this."
Mariela's eyes widened as the woman placed in her hand a bracelet she had admired earlier, the one with the carved butterfly and amber leaves.
"I couldn't—" she began.
"You must," the woman insisted kindly. "The market is full of buyers, but not many healers with a soul like yours. Take it as a token of my thanks."
Mariela blinked, her heart warm and full. "Thank you," she said, clutching the bracelet to her chest. "I'll treasure it."
As she stepped away, she looked down at the bracelet wrapped around her wrist. It shimmered softly under the sun, and for a brief moment, Mariela felt like the city had given her a gift just as precious as any treasure.
Just as she disappeared into the crowd of color and music, a shadow lingered at the edge of a narrow alley, half-veiled by the folds of a hooded cloak.
He stood still, arms loosely folded, gaze fixed on her with quiet intensity. From his vantage point, he had watched her slip from the merchant's cart, wander through the market, offer help to a stranger, and beam at every little delight like sunlight wrapped in a girl.
The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile—one that held something soft beneath its quiet amusement.
A silver pin glinted at the collar of his cloak.
"So this is what you wanted to see," he murmured under his breath. "Good."
And
with that, he melted into the crowd, silent as ever, keeping a careful distance as her adventure unfolded.