𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐀

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 17

"And leave from here" Atlas said Flora was about to tell something but another voice interrupted "No, She is not going anywhere" It was king. He continued "She loves you and it obvious You also knew that she is lying about that she don't love you. But did you asked what's her problem? why is she lying?" Prince Atlas remained silent. Queen took a deep breath and said "Just marry Victoria, You disappointed us Prince Atlas, you didn't asked her why she said like that"

Atlas stood there, the weight of his indecision pressing upon him like the stone walls of the castle. Flora's eyes, once filled with warmth, now held a hint of desperation. The truth hung in the air, heavy and unspoken.

"Why?" The word escaped Atlas's lips, barely audible. He turned to face Flora, his heart pounding. She looked fragile, like a delicate flower caught in a storm. Her lips trembled, and for a moment, he saw the vulnerability she had hidden so well.

Flora's heart raced as she handed over the crumpled letter—the words etched in ink, a secret she had carried from yesterday. Prince Atlas's eyes widened as he read the contents, and then, without warning, he pulled her close. His embrace was desperate, as if he feared she might vanish like a wisp of smoke.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice raw. "Please don't leave me."

Flora's tears flowed freely, dampening the fabric of his royal tunic. She clung to him, torn between love and duty. "I have to," she choked out. "If I stay, they'll find my parents. They'll—"

"No," a commanding voice interrupted. It was the king, standing there with an air of authority that silenced the room. "Your parents will live here in the palace. No one will harm them."

Flora's knees gave way, and she sank to the floor. Gratitude overwhelmed her. She looked up at the king, her eyes shimmering. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Thank you for saving them."

The king's gaze softened, and he extended a hand. Flora took it, rising from her kneeling position. The weight of her secret had shifted, replaced by a new kind of burden—the knowledge that her parents were safe, but her heart remained entangled in a web of intrigue and danger.

As the court buzzed with whispers, Flora wondered how long this fragile peace would last. She had chosen love over duty, but the consequences were far from over. Prince Atlas's grip tightened, and she knew that their path was fraught with challenges. Yet, for now, they stood together—a village girl and a prince—bound by a promise and the unyielding determination to protect what mattered most.

"But what about me?"Victoria's voice echoed through the opulent chamber, her eyes aflame with fury. The air crackled with tension as she confronted Prince Atlas, her heart a tempest of emotions.

The prince's shoulders sagged, burdened by the weight of his choices. His gaze met Victoria's, and he exhaled a weary breath. "I'm sorry for disappointing you, Princess Victoria," he murmured, his voice a threadbare whisper. "It was a misunderstanding between us, and Flora and I are together again." His words hung in the air, final and irrevocable.

Victoria's anger surged, a tempest threatening to consume her. She had loved Prince Atlas—their stolen glances, secret rendezvous—but now, she was cast aside like a forgotten relic. Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms. "Not keep any interest in you anymore?" she spat, her voice venomous. "You think you can dismiss me so easily?"

Flora, caught in the crossfire, watched with wide eyes. Her neck throbbed where Victoria's grip tightened. She had never wanted this—a love triangle, a kingdom's fate hanging in the balance. But destiny had woven their lives together, and now she stood at the precipice of heartache and duty.

The king, silent until now, stepped forward. His gaze bore into Victoria's, unyielding. "Princess," he said, his voice a steel blade, "you forget your place." His words were a warning, a reminder of the hierarchy that bound them all.

Victoria's laughter was brittle. "Place?" she scoffed. "I've danced on the edge of betrayal for you, Atlas. I've risked everything." Her grip on Flora tightened, and the flora gasped, her vision blurring.

Prince Atlas stepped between them, shielding Flora. "Enough," he said, his voice firm. "Flora is my choice. Our love defies kingdoms, but it is our truth." His eyes met Victoria's, regret etched in their depths. "Forgive me," he whispered, "but I cannot rewrite my heart."

And then, in that charged moment, Victoria released Flora. The princess stumbled back, gasping for air. Her gaze shifted from Atlas to the king, who nodded solemnly. "Your parents are safe," he said to her. "But your path is yours to forge."

"We are going to my kingdom after the day tomorrow,” Prince Atlas announced. The air in the grand hall shifted, charged with anticipation. The courtiers exchanged glances, their eyes alight with curiosity. For some, it was a joyous occasion—a return to their beloved land. But for others, like Veronica and her daughter Victoria, it was a bitter pill to swallow.

After all that transpired, **Flora** found herself standing in the quiet sanctuary of the Art room. The air smelled of linseed oil and memories—the brushstrokes of countless artists etched into the very walls. The room held a sacred stillness, as if it cradled secrets and dreams.

And there, seated on an ornate wooden chair, was the Queen. Her silver hair cascaded like a waterfall, and her eyes held the wisdom of ages. She looked up as Flora entered, her gaze softening. The queen's presence was both comforting and formidable—a paradox that only royalty could embody.

Flora bowed, her heart fluttering like a trapped bird. "Mother," she whispered, her voice barely audible. The queen's smile was a balm, a reassurance that transcended words. She rose from her seat, her gown trailing behind her like moonlight.

"Flora," the queen said, her voice a gentle breeze. "you are a child of the cosmos, woven from stardust and dreams."

Flora's eyes welled with unshed tears. She had yearned for this moment—for a chance to speak to the queen, to seek solace in her presence.

The queen stepped forward, her touch feather-light. She enveloped Flora in an embrace—a mother's embrace. "God," she murmured, "will give you what you deserve, my child. The path ahead is treacherous, but you are not alone. Your parents watch over you, their love a shield against the storms."

Flora clung to the queen, her tears staining the royal gown. "But Veronica—" she began, her voice breaking.

The queen's eyes held galaxies. "Veronica," she said, "is a tempest. Ambition blinds her, and envy fuels her fire. But remember this, Flora: True power lies not in thrones or titles, but in the purity of heart."

Flora nodded, her resolve hardening. She would protect her parents, unravel the mysteries, and honor her love for Prince Atlas. The queen's words echoed in her soul—a beacon in the darkness.

As they stood there, two women—one crowned, the other veiled in destiny—the Art room whispered its secrets. Paintings watched, their eyes following Flora's every move. And in that hallowed space, Flora vowed to be more than a princess. She would be a force—a tempest of her own.

"Don't be sad," the queen whispered, her breath warm against Flora's cheek. "For you are the dawn, my child, and the sun shall rise."

And so, Flora stepped back into the world, her heart aflame with purpose. The journey awaited—the kingdom, the prince, and the truth that would reshape their fates.