"Well," a voice broke through, sharp as a snapped twig, "this looks... intimate."
Rowen froze.
My eyes widened, and I turned quickly, stepping away. Rowen slowly straightened, his jaw tight.
Rye emerged from the trees, arms folded, one brow lifted like he was witnessing a private scene he had every right to interrupt. He took a few casual steps toward the stream.
"I see some things never change," he said lightly, gaze flicking between us. "Still playing house in the woods."
"What are you doing here, Rye?" Rowen asked, voice hard.
"I was walking," Rye said. "Until I stumbled across your little secret swim club."
I forced a smile. "It's just a place we come to—"
"Oh, I remember," Rye interrupted, eyes not leaving Rowen. "Even back at school, you two always ran off together. You liked playing pretend, didn't you, Rowen? Like you belonged."
Rowen stepped forward slowly, his shoulders tense. "I don't pretend. I do belong."
Rye smirked. "Right. The palace orphan who thinks he's royal now."
"Stop it," I said, stepping between them.
But Rye didn't. "You think just because the king let you stay, you're something more? You'll never be one of them."
"I'm not trying to be," Rowen snapped. "But I earned my place here. You? You just show up and expect everything handed to you?"
"Everything?" Rye laughed bitterly. "No. Not everything. Just maybe… what you've been keeping for yourself all these years."
Rowen's fists clenched. "Don't talk about her like she's something to take."
"Then why haven't you done anything about it?" Rye said, eyes cold now. "You just linger around like a ghost, waiting for her to choose you. Hoping she notices. Pathetic."
Rowen shoved him.
Not hard. But enough.
Rye stumbled back a step, surprised. Then grinned. "Finally found your spine."
Rowen took another step forward. "Say one more thing, Rye. I dare you."
"Enough!" I shouted, stepping between them. My voice trembled. "Both of you—stop this. Now!."
But Rye kept going. "And what will you do, Rowen, when she realizes you'll always be the boy in the shadow?"
Rowen's fist flew without thinking.
It landed—just barely grazing Rye's jaw, but enough to make him stumble back a step.
"Rowen!" I shouted.
But Rowen wasn't listening. "Say one more thing!"
Rye straightened, brushing his chin with a small smirk. "There it is."
Rowen stared at Rye, chest heaving. Rye looked smug still, wiping the corner of his mouth—but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes now. Wariness. Maybe even satisfaction.
"I didn't mean to upset you," Rye said, smoothing a wrinkle in his coat. "I just wanted to see the stream. You can have your little fairytale back."
He turned and walked away, slow and unbothered, the sound of his boots crunching fading into the woods.
I stared at Rowen—silent, wide-eyed—and something in my expression changed.
Not anger.
Not shock.
Just quiet, painful disappointment.
Without a word, I turned away. My skirts were still wet, my sandals covered in mud, but I didn't pause. I walked straight out of the stream, toward the trees where our horses were tied.
"Evelynne!, please…" Rowen called after me softly.
But I didn't look back.
I just kept walking.
DURING LUNCH
The long table gleamed under the afternoon light pouring through stained-glass windows, the crystalware catching glints of gold and blue. Servants moved quietly around the room, refilling goblets and laying down fresh platters of fruit, roast quail, and honeyed breads.
At the head of the table, the King sat tall, his expression composed but observant. The Queen, graceful as ever, engaged Lord Halden(Rye's father) in light conversation about trade routes and council meetings.
Rye sat to the Queen's right, offering charming smiles and clever remarks. "Your garden is even more stunning than I remember, Your Majesty. The lilies have certainly flourished under your care."
"They've always responded to a bit of patience, it's all thanks to Evelynne," the Queen said warmly.
I sat across from Rye, next to Rowen, my posture perfect but stiff. I hadn't touched my wine. I'd barely touched my food. I hadn't looked at Rowen once.
Rowen, meanwhile, kept his head slightly bowed, jaw tight, fork resting motionless beside his untouched plate. His knuckles were still slightly red from the hit earlier. He said nothing.
Rye, noticing, smiled faintly and reached for the pitcher of rosewater. "Rowen, old friend," he said smoothly, "you haven't said a word. Everything all right?"
Rowen glanced up, meeting his eyes for a single, sharp second. "I'm fine."
"Hmm," Rye said, pouring the drink with deliberate grace. "You seem... tense. Long morning?"
I shifted in my seat.
Rowen's reply was low. "You know exactly how the morning went."
Rye raised a brow, feigning innocence. "I only meant the weather. But if something's weighing on you, by all means…"
The King spoke up then, breaking the tension. "Rye," he said with a polite smile, "How long will you and your father be with us?"
"A few weeks, Your Majesty," Lord Halden answered instead. "We're due in Bellgrave by the end of the week, but I thought it's only right that Rye become reacquainted with the court before then."
"A fine idea," the King said. "It's been some time."
I forced a small, diplomatic smile. "We're glad you came."
Rye turned to me, his tone warm. "And I'm glad to be here. Especially now that we're all… grown. Some friendships change with time, don't they?"
I gave him a blank look. "Some remain the same."
"And some fade entirely," Rye added, flicking his gaze toward Rowen with a knowing smirk.
Rowen's fingers tightened around his fork.
"Excuse me," I said suddenly, rising from the table. "I'm not very hungry."
The Queen frowned slightly, but nodded. "Of course, dear."
Rowen looked up as I left, my footsteps soft but unhurried as I disappeared through the side hall.
He hesitated… then pushed his chair back and stood.
But the King's voice stopped him. "Rowen."
Rowen froze. Slowly turned.
"Stay. I have something to discuss with you afterward."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Rowen said quietly, sitting down again—his gaze still fixed on the doorway where I had gone.
Across the table, Rye leaned back in his chair and took a slow sip of wine, a trace of satisfaction lingering at the corners of his smile.