I found her in the gardens. Not on purpose. Not exactly. The outer gardens of Nexmorra palace are meant for nobles. For long silences and political strolls. The gravel Paths are lined with statues of long dead kings. And the trees are shaped into unnatural, perfect geometry. It’s all meant to remind people that Legacy and order are key to a functioning society. To remind grey-eyes Glassborns aren’t meant to be in control. She doesn’t belong here. Yet here she is. Elira. They're kneeling in the dirt by a flower bed invaded by weeds, hands covered in soil, sleeves rolled up past her elbows. She’s planting something–Small yellow buttercups; that don't match the carefully planned out color scheme. No gardener would allow this. Which means she didn’t ask. Cause why would she. I roll my eyes. I stay behind one of the pillars, half in shadow, watching. She should be scrubbing stone floors, serving wine, keeping her head down. But instead she hums as she works. Hums. A kitchen Maid passes by and trips on loose stone. Elira’s on her feet instantly, helping the girl up, brushing her off asking if she’s alright. The maid laughs nervously and says something I can’t hear. Elira laughs louder. As always. Too loud for a kingdom like this. Too disrespectful. When the girl leaves, Elira sits back down, brushing curls from her face; with a dirt covered hand only smearing it on her face–Though it’s kinda cute. “You planning on standing there all evening, or are you going to say something” I blink. She hasn’t looked in my direction, but she knows. I step out from behind the pillar slowly, careful not to let anything show on my face. I can’t. “You’re out of place,” I say cool and measured. She snorts. “And? I like it here.” “You’re in the royal gardens” I feel anger bubbling up in my chest.“And yer,” she says, stretching out lazily, “no one’s dragged me out yet. Either I’m very lucky or very charming” She finally turns to look at me spinning on her heel. She really looks. Not with fear, Nor calculation. Just those clear, sympathetic, green eyes that never shy away. I should despise her. She’s everything I’ve been taught to ignore. Glassborn. Servant. Unfiltered. Unapologetic. Instead I keep watching. I’ve seen her give bread to the stable boys. I’ve seen her sit on the steps outside the servants quarters and tell stories to the young girls. I’ve seen her laugh with guards as if they were her equals, like her being glassborn means nothing in this fortress of bloodlines and power. I don’t understand how. “Why do you do it?” I ask, before I can fully calculate what I’m saying–Unlike me. She raises an eyebrow, “Do what?” She says all innocent-like. “Act like bloodline doesn’t matter. Like any of this?” I gesture to the palace. “Means nothing to you.” She lays back on the grass; hands behind her head, Squinting up at the sky. “Because if I start pretending it matters” she giggles, “I’ll forget who I am. And I quite like who I am.” Arrogant. Naive. Free. I’ve never been free. “I could have you tortured, beheaded even” I say, voice soft, controlled. Testing. She shrugs. “I know” “And yet you still look me in the eyes?” She meets my gaze again, unflinching. “Someone has to.” The last drops of daylight fades into shades of violet and pink behind her, I gasp. For a moment I feel the world shift slightly. As if something cracked. Or something might. I turn before she can see it. Before I can feel it too much But she calls out as I leave. Hey Prince,” She yells. “Try smiling sometime. It might suit you.” I don’t answer. But I also don’t stop thinking about it either.

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