The days that followed the Duke's formal proposal settled into a rhythm of courtly rituals and carefully orchestrated interactions. Annelise found herself increasingly confined to the company of Duchess Elara and the ladies-in-waiting, their conversations revolving around embroidery patterns, suitable bridal attire, and the intricacies of Baillon's noble lineage. Duke Armand remained a constant presence at Valois, engaging in discussions of statecraft with King Theron and occasionally joining Annelise for formal walks in the gardens or stilted conversations in the solar.
He was unfailingly polite, his manners impeccable. He spoke of the responsibilities of a Duchess, the management of estates, and the importance of producing heirs. Annelise listened attentively, offering demure responses, but her heart remained untouched by his pronouncements. There was a cold efficiency in his gaze, a lack of the spark she had glimpsed in the eyes of a certain knight.
Those stolen glances with Sir Kaelen became her lifeline, a secret language spoken across crowded rooms. A slight inclination of his head as she entered the hall, the briefest brush of his hand against hers as he offered her assistance mounting her palfrey, the lingering warmth in his gaze as he stood guard during the evening musicales – these fleeting moments were the only solace in her increasingly constrained world.
One crisp afternoon, as Annelise strolled through the outer bailey with Mathilde, observing the knights engaged in their training exercises, her eyes inevitably found Kaelen. He was sparring with another knight, their movements a blur of steel and muscle. The sunlight glinted off his dark hair and the polished surface of his sword. There was a fierce grace in his movements, a raw power that both intimidated and intrigued her.
As their eyes met across the training grounds, a flicker of something more than mere acknowledgement passed between them. It was a shared understanding of their predicament, a silent lament for what could not be. For a fleeting moment, the distance between their stations seemed to dissolve, replaced by a profound connection that transcended rank and duty.
Later that day, Queen Elara summoned Annelise to her private chambers. The Queen's expression was serious, her usual fretful demeanor replaced by a stern resolve.
"Annelise," she began, her voice brooking no argument, "the Duke has spoken highly of your composure and grace. He is pleased with the progress of the arrangements."
Annelise offered a curtsey. "I am glad to hear it, Mother."
"However," the Queen continued, her gaze sharp, "I have noticed your… interactions with Sir Kaelen."
Annelise's heart leaped into her throat. Had their secret language been deciphered? Had someone seen more than they should have?
"Sir Kaelen is a loyal member of the guard, Mother," Annelise replied, her voice carefully neutral. "His duties often bring him into my vicinity."
"Loyalty is commendable, Annelise, but discretion is paramount, especially now. The Duke is a powerful man, and any hint of… undue familiarity… could be misconstrued. It is vital that you maintain a distance appropriate to your station."
The Queen's words were a clear warning, a stark reminder of the precariousness of Annelise's situation. Any suspicion of impropriety could jeopardize the alliance, bringing shame upon her family and her kingdom.
That evening, the weight of her mother's words pressed heavily upon Annelise. During the evening meal, she deliberately avoided looking in Kaelen's direction, focusing instead on the polite conversation with the Duke. The silence between her and Kaelen felt heavy, a tangible absence of their usual unspoken communication.
After the meal, as Annelise made her way to her chambers, a small, folded parchment was pressed into her hand as she passed a shadowed alcove. Her heart pounded. It was Mathilde, her face a mask of nervous urgency.
"A stable boy brought this, my lady. He said it was for your eyes only."
Annelise retreated to the privacy of her room, her fingers trembling as she unfolded the parchment. The handwriting was strong and elegant, undeniably Kaelen's.
My Lady, it read,
The silence between us is a heavier burden than any I have ever borne. I understand the Queen's caution, but know this: my loyalty to Valois is absolute, second only to a devotion I dare not speak aloud within these stone walls. Tonight, the moon will be full. If you find yourself drawn to the sanctuary of the west garden, look towards the old fountain. I will be there, if only to see you from a distance, to know that you are well.
K.
A wave of conflicting emotions washed over Annelise – fear at the risk he was taking, longing to see him, and a surge of hope that their connection had not been entirely extinguished. The Queen's warning echoed in her mind, but the yearning in her heart was a stronger pull.
As the moon climbed high in the inky sky, casting an ethereal glow over the castle grounds, Annelise found herself drawn, as if by an invisible thread, towards the west garden. The cool night air kissed her face as she moved silently through the shadows, her sapphire gown a dark whisper against the moonlit stone.
Near the old fountain, partially obscured by the weeping willow, stood a solitary figure. The moonlight illuminated the familiar silhouette of Sir Kaelen. He did not approach, did not speak, but his presence was a silent reassurance, a beacon in the growing darkness of her arranged future.
They stood there for a long moment, separated by distance yet connected by an unspoken language of shared glances and yearning hearts. The full moon hung above them, a silent witness to a love that bloomed in the shadows, a fragile whisper against the imposing stone walls of duty and destiny. The risks were immense, the future uncertain, but in that shared silence, under the watchful eye of the moon, their connection endured.