"My lady, please don't go too far—it could be dangerous."
"Nothing's going to happen! Let's go!!"
Esma was nervous. They were already too far from the safety of the palace. She would have gladly done this another day, but now—during a time of war—it was far too dangerous, especially for two young women. One of them was Princess Samira, after all. If she were captured, she could become a valuable asset to the enemy.
Esma was more than just Samira's servant. After years of growing up together, they had become best friends—inseparable, as many would say.
Samira missed the feeling of sunlight on her skin, the smell of fresh air, the sound of birds rather than soldiers.
They had reached the valley. The grass shimmered in the sunlight, and not a single cloud marred the sky. It was the perfect day.
Samira embraced the beauty of the moment and began spinning, arms stretched wide, her head tilted back toward the warm sun. Her white chiffon dress flowed around her like mist, her laughter carried on the breeze—light, joyful, free.
"My lady, your veil—"
Esma's voice was tight with worry. In Kalonese culture, the princess's face could only be seen by her husband. Only after her wedding would the people of the kingdom be allowed to look upon her fully. Until then, the only part of Samira visible to the public were her striking green eyes. The chiffon veil always covered the rest of her face.
"Don't be silly," Samira said, still laughing. "Who's going to come all the way out here? Besides, you know how long I've been locked up."
Her dress twirled with her, her long dark hair flying freely behind her. In that moment, she glowed.
Then the wind shifted—stronger now—and her veil, which had slipped to her shoulders, lifted and flew off.
"Oh, for all the gods!" Esma shouted, panic rising in her chest. She rushed after it, her heart pounding.
She bent to retrieve the veil—but froze. A pair of worn leather boots stood inches from it. Slowly, Esma looked up. A man was standing there—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in the garments of a warrior.
He wasn't looking at her.
His eyes were fixed on Samira.
And Samira—now motionless in the grass—was staring back at him, her emerald eyes locked on his.
Esma ran to her lady, trembling. Terrified didn't begin to describe how she felt. She grabbed the veil and quickly wrapped it around Samira's face, then pulled her toward the woods.
Still, Samira didn't look away. The stranger's gaze held hers like a secret being spoken in silence, and hers met it with something unspoken, something neither of them could yet name—until the trees finally swallowed them from sight.
"My lady," Esma panted, still walking them away from the clearing, "we've gone too far. That man—he was clearly a warrior, and I didn't recognize him. We need to get back to the palace right now. If he tells his army you're here—if they kidnap you—our kingdom could fall into chaos."
"He doesn't know who I am," Samira said softly. "My name was never mentioned." She paused, then added, "But yes, we should go. If Father finds out about this..."
Prince Philip wanted the war to be over. If it were up to him, only ashes would remain of the Kingdom of Kalon. He missed home—and he missed Alice, the woman he once promised to marry.
His father, King James, was wise. He knew that burning Kalon to the ground would only bring long-term consequences. What they truly sought were Kalon's precious textiles and spices—resources that wouldn't survive the flames of vengeance.
"War demands courage and military skill, son," his father often said. "But more than that, it demands patience. Always remember—a patient king is a wise king."
Philip had heard that line countless times. It was always King James's answer whenever Philip suggested a swift, violent end to the conflict.
That evening, needing to clear his head, he wandered away from the encampment. His thoughts drifted to Alice. He had promised her he wouldn't be gone long—yet it had already been over a month.
Crossing into Kalonese land alone was nearly suicidal, but Philip trusted his instincts and his sword. He was confident in his abilities—no soldier who had crossed him in battle had lived to tell the tale.
Beyond the thick of the forest, he found himself in a valley. The view before him took his breath away: a sparkling lake with crystalline waters, sunlight pouring across the open grass. But what truly stopped him in his tracks was not the beauty of the land—it was her.
A dark-haired woman danced in the sunlight, spinning with her arms wide open and her face tilted to the sky. She moved with such freedom, such joy, it made him smile without realizing it.
Then her eyes—bright, striking green—met his. Time slowed. For a moment, he couldn't breathe. Her gaze held him captive, made the rest of the world vanish.
And then—just as quickly—a second woman appeared, wrapping a white veil around her face and neck, concealing her beauty. Only her eyes remained visible. And even then, he couldn't look away.
She was pulled into the trees, disappearing into the shadows of the forest.
On the walk back to camp, Prince Philip found himself wondering if what he'd seen was even real. A mirage, perhaps, born from exhaustion and longing?
But no—his gut told him she was real. And it also told him to keep it a secret.
He didn't speak a word of it to anyone.
He couldn't.
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The Queen
Storie d'AmoreCOMPLETE She was never meant to be queen. She was never meant to fall in love with the king. And she was never meant to survive the price of both. In a kingdom where loyalty is dangerous and love is a liability, Queen Samira finds herself tangled in...
