A Heart Divided

Chapter 2

The Cloth Maker's Hands

Alden's workshop was small, nestled in the heart of the market district, tucked between the bustling streets of Aramore. It was a modest place, simple but warm, with sunlight filtering through the grimy windows. The smell of wool, linen, and dye lingered in the air, mixing with the faint scent of the evening's wood smoke. The walls were lined with rolls of fabric—rich silks, rough-hewn cottons, and dyed woolen cloths. It wasn't much, but it was enough for Alden. His fingers worked with care, running the needle through a patch of cloth, stitching carefully and methodically. Each piece he created was crafted with the utmost attention to detail, a skill he had learned over the years from his late mother, who had been a seamstress in the market district.

But tonight, his thoughts were far from the fabric. His mind kept returning to the one thing he couldn't ignore: Princess Eliza.

It had been weeks since their last meeting, a fleeting encounter in the market that had changed the course of his life forever. He remembered the first time he had seen her—not as the princess of Aramore, but as a woman, vulnerable and real, standing among the common folk. Her cloak had been simple, her face hidden beneath a hood, but her eyes... her eyes had caught him. There was something in them, something that made him feel as if they shared a secret no one else knew.

Since that day, their secret meetings had become more frequent. They exchanged letters—carefully written, carefully concealed. She told him of her life in the palace, of the suffocating demands of being a royal, of her struggles with the marriage she had been forced into.

For Alden, it was the first time he had met someone who understood him—not as a commoner, not as a cloth maker, but as a man with desires and dreams.

But as much as he yearned to believe in their connection, Alden knew the truth: a princess and a commoner could never be together.

Tonight, the letter he held in his hands—written in Eliza's delicate script—had brought both hope and fear.

My dearest Alden,

I write to you in secret, for the world is watching, and my every move is scrutinized. The wedding draws near, and I can no longer silence the ache in my heart. I long to be with you, to be free, but I am bound by my father's will. Please understand, my feelings for you are real. You are the only one who sees me, who knows me as I am. If only we could have the life we dream of, but I fear that such a thing is impossible. Please, do not hate me for what must be. You are in my heart, always.

Yours,

Eliza

His heart pounded in his chest as he reread the letter. She was in pain, just as he was. The thought of her bound to a life she did not want, to a man she did not love, made his chest tighten.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and Clara, his younger sister, entered, her face flushed with concern.

"Alden," she said in a whisper, her voice tight with anxiety. "There's word of soldiers in the market. They're looking for you."

The mention of soldiers sent a cold chill down his spine. He had known the risks of their secret relationship, but now it seemed those risks were catching up with him. The court would never allow someone of his status to be involved with the princess. If they found out, it would mean more than disgrace—it could mean his life.

"They're looking for me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why?"

"I don't know," Clara said, her hands shaking. "But they've been asking around... about you."

Alden's mind raced. There was no time to waste. "Help me pack, Clara. We need to leave—now."

But even as he spoke, his heart clenched. Would he ever see her again?