In Favour |Clara Walseworth|

Beyond the Garden Wall ~ Chapter 3

Germany, 1816.

The palace gardens were vast and serene, a sanctuary from the whirlwind of the previous evening. Clara sat on a stone bench, nestled among the blossoming roses and neatly trimmed hedges. A gentle breeze whispered through the trees, carrying with it the scent of fresh flowers and the distant sound of birdsong. It was a peaceful contrast to the overwhelming formality of the ball. Here, she could breathe freely, her thoughts less tangled by the weight of expectations. In her hands, she held a small, leather-bound book, though her attention wandered between the words and the quiet beauty around her.

She loved the idea of reading but often found herself struggling. The letters seemed to dance on the page, shifting in ways that made the task slow and frustrating. Still, she persisted, determined to make sense of the text, even if it meant reading the same sentence over and over. Clara sighed softly, lifting her gaze from the book to the surrounding gardens, trying to steady her thoughts. She longed for a distraction from the jumbled words in front of her.

It was then that a figure appeared at the edge of her vision, moving cautiously from around the corner. Clara blinked, her heart quickening slightly as she recognized the man approaching her. It was Prince Leopold, William's older brother.

Leopold had always been something of an enigma in court. Where William was charming and effortlessly princely, Leopold was quiet and unassuming, almost awkward in social settings. Despite being the crown prince, destined to rule one day, Leopold had none of his brother's natural ease with people. He was tall and slender, with soft brown hair that often seemed to fall into his eyes, and his expression was more often shy than regal.

Clara straightened slightly as he approached, unsure of what to expect. He had not been as prominent at the ball last night, keeping mostly to the shadows while his younger brother danced with noblewomen. Now, here he was, in the quiet of the gardens, looking slightly out of place and yet somehow... peaceful. He walked slowly before crouching down beside the pristine flower beds gently plucking out five Lillie's before moving to the next one and picking more continuing till his hand was full with a bunch.

Clara's eyes stayed on the man watching his kind behaviour but either shuffle of her feet on the floor the tiny stones made a sound loud of enough to drag the Prince out of his activity. "I apologise your highness I did not mean to cause any interruption." Clara bowed her head down "oh it is unnecessary to apologise for such things Miss ?" He stared at her sat on the bench. "Miss Clara Walseworth your highness."

"Miss Walseworth," he greeted, his voice soft, as if he were unused to speaking in such open spaces. He gave a slight, awkward bow. "I hope I am not intruding." Clara quickly stood and curtsied, offering a small smile to ease his apparent nervousness. "Not at all, Your Highness. You are most welcome." Leopold hesitated, his gaze flicking to the book in her hands. "I see you are reading. I—ah, I didn't mean to disturb you." Clara shook her head gently, closing the book with a soft thud. "It's no disturbance, I assure you."

There was a pause, as Leopold seemed to gather his thoughts. His hands were clasped in front of him, his posture stiff but not unfriendly. "I don't often come across others in the gardens," he admitted, his eyes flitting around as if searching for something to anchor his attention. "I enjoy the quiet here. It's... a good place to think." Clara nodded, understanding all too well. The palace, grand and imposing as it was, could feel suffocating at times. "I find it the same. The gardens are a refuge from... everything else." Leopold's gaze returned to her, his expression softening. "Yes, exactly."

Another pause, though this one felt less awkward. There was a gentle understanding between them, unspoken but present in the air. Leopold seemed to relax ever so slightly, as if the pressure of his princely role had eased for the moment. "What book are you reading?" he asked, his voice careful, as though he didn't want to pry too much. Clara glanced down at the book in her hands, a faint flush of embarrassment rising to her cheeks. She hesitated, knowing that her reading struggles would likely sound trivial to someone like him. "It's a collection of poetry," she said, holding the book out slightly for him to see. "But... I'm afraid I'm not very good at it."