𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐀

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 16

Flora stood there, her heart racing as she felt the warmth of Prince Atlas's hand on her shoulder. She had been lost in her own world, the weight of her responsibilities and the secrets she carried pressing down on her. The prince's voice pulled her back to reality, and she turned to face him.

His eyes bore into hers, concern etched on his handsome features. "I was calling you for dinner," he said softly, his fingers brushing a strand of her hair away from her face. "But you were lost in your thoughts. What happened, my love?"

Flora's heart raced as she stood before Prince Atlas, her secret threatening to spill from her lips. The flickering candlelight in the dimly lit corridor cast shadows on the walls, mirroring the turmoil within her.

Atlas's eyes softened, and he gently lifted her chin, urging her to meet his gaze. "What is it, my love?" he asked, his voice a tender murmur. "You can tell me anything."

Flora's heart pounded in her chest, She looked down to hide her tears
"I...I don't want to marry you,"her voice barely audible. The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of their consequences. She had never imagined that love could lead to such pain.
her breaths shallow as she faced the man she loved—the man who was no longer the gentle prince she knew. His grip on her shoulder was like iron, and the warmth in his eyes had turned to ice."say it again" He said....coldly.

She trembled, her heart pounding like a trapped bird against her ribs. His voice, sharp and cutting, echoed through the dimly lit corridor. The flickering candlelight cast shadows on the stone walls, emphasizing the tension that hung heavy in the air.

"I SAID SAY IT AGAIN," he thundered, his eyes narrowing into icy slits. His regal attire, the crimson velvet and gold embroidery, seemed to mock her vulnerability. She was just a servant, a mere whisper in the grand tapestry of the palace.

"I DON'T LOVE YOU AND I DON'T WANNA MARRY YOU" Her words hung in the air, a fragile web spun between duty and desire. The prince's face remained impassive, but his eyes betrayed a storm of emotions—a tempest she had ignited. She knew she is lying but for her parents sake she have to do this.

Atlas's jaw clenched, and he released her abruptly, stepping back. His eyes, once filled with fire, now held a tempest of conflicting emotions. Flora watched as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, the strands catching the candlelight like spun gold.

"You lie," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "You must."

Flora's heart ached. She had torn open a wound, and now they both bled. "Atlas," she began, her voice barely audible, "I—"

"—don't," he interrupted, his voice raw. "Don't say it again. I can't bear it."

"But—" she tried, desperate to bridge the chasm between them.

He shook his head, his gaze haunted. "You're engaged to me," he said, each word a blade. She wanted to scream—to tell him that love was the very thing that could save them, that their hearts were not mere pawns in a political game. But the truth was a thorny vine, choking her.

Atlas turned away, his shoulders tense. "Victoria," he said, the name bitter on his tongue. "She's waiting for me. She'll be my queen."

Flora's chest tightened. Victoria—the woman who wore her envy like a crown, who had kissed Atlas in the moonlit garden. "And what of us?" she whispered. "What of the stolen moments, the promises we made?"

He faced her, his eyes stormy. "They were illusions," he said. "Dreams we dared not speak aloud and just go back from where you cane."

"But—" Flora began, her voice breaking.

"—no more," he declared. "We play our parts, Flora. We marry, we rule. And love? Love is a whisper lost in the wind."

He stepped closer, his breath warm against her cheek. "Remember this," he murmured, his lips brushing hers. "Lies have consequences."

And then he was gone, leaving her standing in the dim corridor—a princess who had forsaken her heart, a servant who had defied her destiny.

Outside, rain tapped against the stained glass windows, a mournful melody. Flora touched her lips, tasting salt and sorrow. She had chosen this path—the throne over her heart. But as the storm raged within her, she wondered if love could be a rebellion, if duty could ever be unshackled.

The morning sun painted the room in soft hues, casting shadows on the floor. Flora's eyes were swollen from tears, her heart a tangle of grief and defiance. She had dared to speak her truth, and now the consequences rippled through her like a storm.

Clara, the faithful maid, was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she had heard the whispers—the rumors that Flora was no longer the crown prince's betrothed. The palace walls held secrets, and Flora's was the most dangerous of all.

She stood by the window, the glass cool against her fingertips. The view had changed overnight—the gardens no longer whispered of stolen kisses and moonlit rendezvous. Instead, they mocked her—a girl who had dared to love beyond her station.

"I'm not the crown prince's fiancée now," Flora murmured to herself, the words both a relief and a wound. She had severed the ties that bound her heart, but the ache remained.

As she packed her clothed that she took with her when she came here and wore the dress when she first gotten into here, memories flooded her—the way Atlas's lips had tasted in the moonlight, the warmth of his hand against hers. But love was a treacherous path, lined with thorns. She had chosen duty over her heart, and now she must walk it alone.

The door creaked open, and Clara entered, her eyes wide with concern. "My lady," she began, then faltered. "Flora, I mean."

Flora smiled, the weight of her title slipping away. "Yes, Clara?"

"His Highness," Clara said, her voice hushed. "He awaits you in the courtyard."
Flora sighed, her heart fluttering with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. The grand corridor of the royal palace stretched before her, its marble floors echoing her footsteps. As she descended the ornate staircase,
There, at the foot of the stairs, stood Prince Atlas, his regal bearing softened by a hint of vulnerability. His eyes met hers, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of their shared destiny hung in the air. Flora wondered if he sensed the truth—the connection that transcended their roles as prince and commoner.

Beside him, A smirking Duchess Veronica, resplendent in silk and lace, exuded an air of calculated elegance. Her daughter, Victoria holding prince Atlas hand looking at her with a smirk on her face, trailed behind, a delicate shadow. Flora's gaze lingered on Victoria's face—the same face that had graced the cover of gossip scrolls, the one that had haunted her dreams. Jealousy and curiosity warred within Flora, for Victoria held secrets of her own.

"You betrayed me," Prince Atlas's words hung in the air, heavy with accusation. His eyes bore into Flora's, and she felt the weight of his disappointment. The grandeur of the palace seemed to shrink around them, walls closing in on secrets and shattered promises.

Flora's heart clenched. She had danced on the edge of deception, her love for Atlas warring with duty and destiny. The truth lay hidden beneath layers of pretense—the princess who wasn't, the commoner who could be queen. And now, Atlas stood before her, resolute and wounded.

"And I'm gonna marry Victoria," the continued, voice unwavering. Flora's gaze flickered to the delicate figure of the other woman—the enigmatic Victoria. Victoria, who had secrets of her own, whispered in the corridors and wore a mask of innocence.

"I don't love her," Atlas confessed, and Flora's breath caught. Was it a plea for understanding or a declaration of defeat? She wondered if Victoria knew—the truth that bound them all. The truth that Flora had hidden even from herself until the threatening letter arrived, unraveling her carefully constructed facade.

"But still I'll marry her." The finality in his tone echoed through Flora's soul. Duty, honor, and the fragile peace of their kingdoms demanded sacrifice. Flora's heart bled for Atlas, for the love they had dared to taste in stolen moments.