The House of Control

The Shadows in Bloom

Harry was making his usual rounds, walking through the manicured gardens of The House, his mind preoccupied with the weight of his new responsibilities. The visit from the princesses had only intensified the expectations placed on him, and he found himself craving moments of quiet whenever he could manage them. The evening air was cool, carrying with it the faint, heady scent of flowers from the garden's darker edges.

As he walked, he noticed a figure standing in the shadowed part of the garden, half-hidden beneath the thick canopy of a flowering tree. Stepping closer, he saw it was Princess Alana, standing quietly, her silver eyes focused on a patch of flowers that seemed to blend seamlessly into the shade. She looked serene, as though she belonged in that dim corner, the evening light accentuating her midnight-dark hair.

Harry approached her, his steps careful, not wanting to intrude. "Princess Alana," he greeted, bowing slightly. "I didn't expect to find you here."

Alana turned, her gaze soft but perceptive. "I find the shadows... calming," she replied, her voice as steady and cool as her presence. "The flowers that grow here are rare—most people never take the time to notice them."

Harry's eyes drifted to the plants around them, noting the way each flower seemed to thrive in the subdued light. He had seen the plants before, but he'd never taken the time to really look at them.

"What do they mean?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Alana's gaze drifted back to the flowers. She knelt beside one, her fingers brushing over its dark petals with a quiet reverence. "This one," she murmured, "is called a nightbloom. It only opens in shadow or in the quiet of night, hiding from the sun. Its petals are used in remedies for clarity of mind." Her voice softened as she looked at him. "I've always felt an affinity for it—this flower, though hidden, possesses its own beauty and purpose."

Harry listened intently, his curiosity deepening. "And this one?" He gestured to the plant beside it, its leaves sharp and pointed, almost like needles.

"Piercing needles," Alana replied. "Its roots can draw out poison, purifying what would otherwise destroy." She looked back at him, a faint smile on her lips. "It's a healer, hidden in plain sight, often mistaken for something dangerous."

Harry couldn't help but be impressed. "You know a lot about these plants," he said, his tone respectful. "How did you learn all this?"

She stood, her gaze drifting back to the garden. "Back at the palace, I have a greenhouse of my own," she explained. "It's filled with plants like these—flowers, herbs, and roots, each with its own meaning, its own purpose. Growing and studying them gives me peace. The world outside the palace can be... overwhelming."

Harry nodded, sensing a deeper layer to her words. "I can understand that," he replied. "The House has been overwhelming for me at times, too. But learning to see its details has helped me."

They walked through the garden together, talking about plants, remedies, and the quiet, shadowed spaces they both seemed drawn to. Harry found himself intrigued by Alana's calm presence, her quiet wisdom. She had a way of speaking that drew him in, making him want to understand her world, her life.

As they made their way toward the dining room for dinner, the conversations drifted to other topics—the beauty of the moonlight on clear nights, stories of Alana's life in the palace, the little quirks of life that only revealed themselves in quiet, unspoken moments. By the time they reached the dining room, they were both tired and hungry, the easy flow of their conversation lingering as they joined the others for the meal.

Later That Evening

After dinner, Harry approached Alana as the guests dispersed from the dining hall. "Would you care for a walk by the gazebo?" he asked, his tone polite. "The garden looks even more beautiful under the stars."