The language of peonies

🌸 ✿ ✾ Chapter 2 ✾ ✿ 🌸

If Ollie thought yesterday was chaotic, today was the grand sequel nobody asked for.

She woke up with her hair—a traitorous, frizzy mess most days—deciding, for the first time in ever, to cooperate. It was smooth, soft, and almost shiny, falling into perfect waves that (very unfortunately) made her look like she'd borrowed King George's wig and decided to own it.

"Great," she muttered, glaring at her reflection in the ornate mirror. "Love that for me."

The resemblance was uncanny, and honestly? Kind of embarrassing. But there wasn't time to do anything about it because she had a job to do. Don't get fired, don't get fired, she reminded herself for the millionth time as she adjusted her red silk jacket and marched off to face whatever disasters the day had in store.

Ollie entered the dining hall with a purpose: to survive the day. What she didn't expect was George already there, sitting at the head of the table, grinning like he'd won something.

"Ah, Olivia," he greeted, his tone so cheerful it was almost unsettling.

"Actually just call me Ollie," she corrected automatically, before realising correcting the king probably wasn't the best idea.

George just smirked, tilting his head slightly. "Right. My apologies, Ollie."

She was about to thank him when he added, "Although, with hair like that, are you sure you're not trying to pass as royalty?"

Ollie blinked. Then blinked again. What?

"My—my hair?" she stammered, reaching up to touch it self-consciously. "It's just... it's my hair. It does this sometimes. Like... I woke up like this. Not on purpose!" She sounded insane, but what else was new?

George, of course, was thoroughly enjoying this. "It's a good look," he said, his voice softening just a touch, and Ollie had no idea what to do with that information. "Very... regal."

Was that flirting? No. Definitely not. George wasn't flirting. He was probably just making fun of her. Right?

"Thank you?" she said, though it came out like a question, and she quickly changed the subject. "What's on the agenda for today?"

George leaned back in his chair, clearly amused by her obvious deflection. "Oh, you'll find out soon enough."

---

After a morning of being dragged around the palace, handling tasks that were mostly just George testing her patience (and possibly her sanity), Ollie finally returned to her quarters for a moment of peace.

Except there was no peace. Because sitting on her desk, right next to her neatly arranged stack of blank parchment, was another peony.

Ollie stared at it for a good minute, half expecting it to start talking. Why? Why is this happening? Who keeps leaving these?

She picked it up, turning it over in her hands, the soft petals brushing against her fingers. It was beautiful, of course. And thoughtful, in a way. But she didn't dwell on it. Because why would she? It was probably just... tradition or something. Right?

Ollie placed the peony in the vase with the first one, stepping back to admire how the two flowers looked together. "Well, at least they match," she muttered, before promptly moving on with her day.

From the far end of the hallway, George leaned casually against the wall, watching as Ollie closed her door. He hadn't meant to linger, but the expression on her face when she found the flower was priceless.

"She's hopeless," he muttered to himself, though the small smile tugging at his lips said otherwise.

---

The day wound down with Ollie sitting in the grand hall, warming her hands by the fire and feeling... strangely content. She didn't notice George approach until he was standing right beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.

"Long day?" he asked, his voice low and almost gentle.

Ollie nodded. "Very. But I didn't get fired, so that's a win."

George chuckled, the sound deep and surprisingly comforting. "You'll survive. I've decided you're far too interesting to lose just yet."

"Gee, thanks," Ollie said dryly, but there was a smile tugging at her lips. She glanced up at him, and for a moment, their eyes met.

And maybe it was the firelight, or the way his gaze softened just a fraction, but Ollie felt... something. Something she wasn't quite ready to name.

Not that she had time to dwell on it, because George broke the silence with a smirk. "Don't forget to check your desk tomorrow."

Ollie frowned. "Why? Did you leave me paperwork?"

"Something like that," George said, and before she could question him further, he was gone.

Leaving Ollie with far too many questions and absolutely no answers.