CHAPTER EIGHT: Threads and Thorns
Morning in the palace was a symphony of bells, voices, and distant horns. Esterphania stretched beneath her silken covers, blinking against the sunlight that filtered through her balcony curtains. Something was missing—no, someone.
She sat up quickly.
Alexander was gone.
Blanket folded, chair empty, no trace of blood or arrogant smirks left behind. Just the faint echo of a presence that had shared her room, her space… her silence.
She scowled, brushing the strange thought aside.
Good. One less nuisance.
Meanwhile, beyond the castle walls, Alexander was galloping across the trail that led back to the main road, his uniform dusted with dried blood and adrenaline. He didn't stop until he spotted familiar silhouettes in the distance—his soldiers, camped near a half-dead tree, their fire smoldering and their captain scanning the woods anxiously.
"Captain!" he called.
The men scrambled to their feet.
"Your Highness!" the captain shouted, stunned and relieved.
"I told you I'd be fine," Alexander said, dismounting.
"You disappeared without a word—!"
"Because I had a cursed wound that needed immediate healing. Do you see me dead? No. So let's move."
"Yes, Your Highness."
He dusted off his coat and turned to them. "No word of this to anyone. I was with you the entire time. We left together. We arrived together."
They exchanged glances, unsure—but his glare silenced all doubt.
"Understood?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
By the time they reached the palace gates, the sun was sinking in the sky, setting the horizon ablaze with orange and rose-gold. A grand welcoming ceremony awaited them—soldiers in formation, banners raised high, and the king himself standing atop the marble steps of the palace, his silver crown catching the light.
Alexander dismounted, straightening his posture as trumpets sounded.
The king's proud eyes found his son instantly, but they flicked momentarily to Esterphania—who stood to the right, arms crossed, her face unreadable.
Melody stood beside the king, her expression radiant.
As Alexander ascended the steps, the king swept him into a firm hug. "You've returned with honor."
"I always do," Alexander replied, a glint of his usual charm returning.
Melody embraced him too. "Welcome back, Alex."
And then his gaze turned to the one he really sought.
Esterphania.
Standing motionless, her crimpson red hair swaying slightly in the breeze, her crimson eyes locked with his. There was something in them—recognition, perhaps… or quiet resentment.
He grinned. "I hoped you'd come back with only a leg," he said loudly, almost gleefully.
Gasps rang out across the court. Whispers surged.
But Alexander wasn't done.
"I'd have taken two of your legs as replacements for it," he fired back.
Silence.
And then—
Laughter.
From both of them.
"I'd like to see you try," Esterphania said with a smirk. She paused, just for a second. "I'm glad you're alive."
He chuckled. "So am I."
Without another word, she turned and strode back inside the castle, leaving behind murmurs and wide-eyed speculation.
Alexander turned back to Melody, as if nothing had happened. "Well, that went better than expected."
The evening fell, and with it came the grand dinner. The royal dining hall shimmered with crystal chandeliers, golden cutlery, and a ten-course feast spread across a long mahogany table.
They were halfway through roasted pheasant and honey-glazed vegetables when the king finally asked the question.
Out of nowhere.
"So. What exactly happened between you two?"
Alexander nearly choked on his drink. "Excuse me?"
"You and Esterphania," the king said plainly, waving his fork between them. "You clearly can't stand each other, yet today, you were… civil. Almost companionable. It's strange. And Alexander, you're not always staring daggers at her anymore."
Alexander chuckled. "Probably because I left for a while. I think she missed me."
Esterphania snorted. "Don't flatter yourself, dear brother. Why would I miss a pain in the ass like you?"
"Be careful with your words, kid. I'm older than you by centuries."
"Physically, you are. But mentally? We're the same age."
Alexander narrowed his eyes. "Are you calling me retarded?"
"You know," she said, sipping her wine delicately, "I could've been calling myself mentally older. But those were your words, not mine."
His jaw clenched. "Do you enjoy pushing my buttons?"
She smiled lightly. "Very much."
The king groaned. "Enough, you two. Stop it. I can't keep both of you in the same castle. You're both driving me mad."
Alexander sighed, "Too bad neither of us are going anywhere."
Melody decided then to change the subject. "Oh, Esterphania, what are you wearing for the ball tomorrow?"
Esterphania raised an unimpressed brow. "Last time I checked, tomorrow isn't here yet."
"No, no, that won't do. We're going shopping."
"I'm not going."
"Fine," Melody said with a wicked grin. "Then shopping will come to us."
"…What?"
---
The next morning, the palace was in chaos—but not the kind caused by war or politics.
This was the chaos of silk, sequins, and fashion.
The grand hall was being decorated for the prince's return ball—gilded chandeliers, enchanted lights, fresh flower garlands draped across towering columns. But the rest of the castle?
A battlefield of ballgowns.
Literally.
Dresses were draped across bannisters, shoes lined the hallways, and mannequins were stationed near nearly every open room, dressed in the finest garments Melody could summon from the kingdom's best tailors and designers.
And in the middle of it all, sat Esterphania—arms folded, lips curled in annoyance—as Melody forced yet another corseted gown into her arms.
"This one has moonlight-thread embroidery! It's woven with stardust!"
"I'd rather wear armor."
"But it's so elegant! Just try it—please."
Esterphania sighed. Just when she thought she was beginning to tolerate her.
Melody beamed. "If you don't choose by noon, I swear I'll make Alexander pick your dress."
Esterphania froze.
"…You wouldn't dare."
"Watch me."
She groaned, grabbing the next dress with a dramatic sigh. "I liked you better when you were just the annoying sweetheart who brought me books."
"I'm multi-talented."
"And incredibly dangerous."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
As the castle filled with the scent of perfume, the rustle of skirts, and the bustle of preparations, one thing was certain:
The ball was coming.
And so was something else—something neither Alexander nor Esterphania was ready to name yet.
But it was there.
Lingering.
Growing.
Just beneath the silk and the banter… a spark.