just fall | ✓

39.

I wasn't exactly happy to be back in the Illéan palace and in a heavy gown, but I would've been lying if I had said that I wasn't looking forward to seeing Alexander. It had been a long time since we had seen each other.

Somehow, my friends had convinced me to wear a silk gown in – of all colors – a pale pink. It was pretty but not very me, and I felt weird wearing it, especially while trying to unpack my things before dinner. I was so used to trousers and simple shirts that wearing a gown felt excessive and unnecessary. But Illéa was so hellbent on sticking with tradition that I didn't have a choice, so I grudgingly accepted it.

Dinner with the other royals was...it was okay. Kind of weird. Very weird. I spent most of my time talking with the Prince Elect of Swendway, Bellissa's brother-in-law, about global politics and the state of the global economy. And also about the genocide that they had just stopped in Africa. Most people outside of Swendway's government didn't know much about it; it had been terrible, but Swendway didn't want credit for saving the people. Most of the royal family was there now, helping rebuild while the leaders of the rebellion worked with the people to determine what kind of government they wanted in place. It was probably the only example of a Western country barging into another country's politics and doing some good.

After dinner, I slipped past the crowd of chattering royals and made my way out to the gardens. Shockingly, the guards didn't so much as speak to me; they bowed and opened the doors. I half-wondered if they would've done the same if I were anyone else.

The day had been shockingly warm compared to most March days in Angeles, but the night air was cool. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, the scent of the gardens overwhelmingly familiar.  It made me miss the gardens in Italy; they felt more like home. This was no longer my place, and I knew it. A vaguely melancholic thing curled around my throat, and my chest felt hollow. I could still remember the alienness of Angeles when I had first arrived for the Selection, and I could remember the way it had gradually faded until it felt like home. Now, I couldn't imagine feeling at home in this gilded cage. Part of me mourned the loss of such happiness; I could still recall the high of being in love and at peace the way that one recalls a particularly fond childhood memory. The old wounds on my heart weren't reopened, but they began to ache a little. It had been a long time since I had missed being at home in Illéa.

I perched myself on a bench, tucked away in the butterfly bushes. The stone was still warm from the day. Part of me was glad that Alexander and I hadn't had the opportunity for our someday bit. Part of me wished that we could've had a chance. Hesitantly, my hand came up to rest over my stomach. If I had stayed during the Selection, I knew now that he couldn't have chosen me. Illéa needed an heir to the throne, and the likelyhood of me being able to provide one was slim. It was a relatively new revelation, one that had contented the past me. But now? Now I wasn't so sure. 

Thankfully, my solitude was interrupted before I could venture too far down that line of thinking. Returning to the palace with tearstained cheeks would've likely raised some eyebrows.

"I thought I'd find you here."

It was Alexander. He looked just as he had years ago, no new lines creasing his face. He looked better rested, and a little more like a king. His shoulders were just a tad straighter, and he seemed a little more comfortable with his new role. Still, he had the same boyish discomfort when I stood and curtsied. "You don't need to do that," he said, shifting a little. "I'm still Alexander."

"You're also a king," I reminded him. "I have to show some respect."

He grinned, another boyish act that reminded me of when I was seventeen and falling in love for the first time. "You never bothered before," he told me, "it's a little late to start now."