After having her dinner – brought up to her room by Seraphina as Aster sorted through her collection of tangled necklaces - Aster finds herself on the edge of her bed, gaze fixed on the fire crackling merrily away in her room’s hearth. Yellow and orange and red dance across the floor, jumping between colourful hues against the backs of her hands, the hem of her nightgown. The shadows twist and sway with the flickering firelight, embers sparking upon their elaborate dance.

Aster stifles a yawn behind her hand. She should probably call it a night and go to sleep. As if to prove her point, another yawn pushes past her lips, wide enough to bring tears to the corners of her eyes.

She needed her rest. Especially with what was waiting for her tomorrow. Tomorrow, she’ll be introduced to the rest of the royal family. Tomorrow, she’ll come face to face with her fiancé once more.

Tomorrow, she’ll see Florian again.

Six years. How much has he changed since they’d first met?

Her stomach flips at the thought. Not helpful. If her stomach continues to be adamant on performing circus tricks in her gut, trying to get any sleep tonight would be a pipe dream. Yet her mind keeps circling back to thoughts of tomorrow, so much that Aster doesn’t even know if she wants tomorrow to take its sweet time or to come even faster.

She slides off her bed, nervous jitters getting the best of her. She makes for her closet, not even bothering to look at the first cloak she reaches for.

She remembers spotting a garden nearby, while she’d been escorted to her room. Would wandering around at this time be appropriate? Probably not. But the longer she stays in her room, the more she feels like she just might tear out of her skin from anxiety.

Aster slips the hood of her cloak over her head, before stepping outside her room. Thankfully, blissfully, the hallway beyond is empty. She makes her way down the corridor, trying to recall the way she’d entered this part of the palace.

It takes a few turns and detours, and the occasional crouch and duck to avoid the palace’s patrolling guards. But at last, she makes it to a familiar entryway, wide steps leading out to a cobbled stone path.

Aster spares a wary glance at her surroundings.

No one calls out to her to ask her where she is going. No one raises their voice to demand that she return inside.

She alights onto the first step. Then the next. And the next. When she finally makes it onto the cobblestone, she jolts a little at the sensation of the cold stone beneath her slippers.

All is quiet.

For once, there are no guards. No escorts.

She is no longer a prisoner within her own home.

An electric thrill races up her spine, freedom granting her feet wings as she hurries down the path. She follows white stone paths and limestone roads lit by glowing lamps, the royal palace of her memories unveiling itself in the moonlight. Fountains and statues continue to slumber as she slips past them, Aster making sure to remain vigilant lest anyone should catch her out at this hour. Even if she’s a guest of the royal family, she isn’t sure of how they’ll take to her skulking around in the shadows unsupervised.

Somehow, by some miraculous stroke of luck, she makes it to the garden she’d spotted earlier.

It’s a lovely garden, perhaps more so in the moonlight. But it isn’t the same garden she’d visited as a younger girl.

This isn’t the garden where she’d first met Florian.

Aster shakes her head with a small smile. A silly, futile hope really. After all, what were the chances of her ending up in the garden where they’d first bumped into each other?

Regardless, she ventures further in. Even if this wasn’t the garden that she’d hoped to find, it would be a shame for her midnight adventures to end here. Winter blossoms spring from their flower beds in neat orderly rows, their arrangement only interrupted by what seems to be the garden’s main attraction. Aster marvels at the topiary figures that spring up from amongst the flowers like centrepieces; rosebush tigers and rabbits chase each other around the grass while leafy knights stand at attention. A cluster of dancing girls twirl and pirouette, showing off their leafy tutus.

The moonlight keeps her companion as Aster gives out salutes and shakes hands with giant teddy bears, giddy with wonder. She stops by another topiary shaped like a young man, figure permanently stuck in a half-bow. He has a hand proffered out, an invitation to an invisible dance partner.

“A dance?” Aster asks, a hand fluttering over her mouth. If anyone could see her, they would think she was a right ditz. But what did she care? No one else was around to judge.

She drops into a curtsy, giggling a little to herself as she rises. What was it about the moonlight, that made things seem more magical?

She steps back to take in the topiary man from a distance. Had he been modelled after someone? A passing servant? A visiting gentleman? Perhaps… even one of the princes?

She mulls over the possibilities, her feet pacing backwards mindlessly.

“Oh sorry,” Aster mutters on reflex, feeling her back brush up against something. Probably another topiary. She hopes it doesn’t mind.

“Who are you?”

Aster freezes. Either the topiary she’d bumped into really did mind, or someone else was in the garden with her.

“How long have you been here?” The voice demands again. Aster’s hands fly up to the hem of her hood, tugging it further down her face. “State your business.”

“S-Sightseeing?” Aster says, still refusing to turn around.

“Sightseeing?” The voice says in utter disbelief. “What do you take the royal palace for? A tourist attraction?”

It’s not like Aster had lied. She really had been sightseeing. What’s so wrong about that? Still, her feet remain glued in place, unable to find the nerve to turn and show her face.

“You haven’t answered my first question,” the voice continues. A man, Aster thinks. No, a boy. “Who are you? Reveal your face immediately.”

It’s a tone that brooks no argument. Not unless Aster’s willing to hotfoot it all the way to her room just to escape his ceaseless questioning.

Hale, what if he chases after her if she decides to run?

Resigning herself to her fate, Aster turns slowly as she faces her questioner, hood still concealing her face. It obscures her vision, making her unable to catch the mystery boy’s face. All she can glimpse is his attire: a dark dress shirt, matching pressed slacks, and a pair of dress shoes so shiny that she’s almost certain she’d be able to catch her reflection in them if she dared to try.

“Why are you hiding your face?” He demands.

“I’m not hiding my face! It’s just… cold.”

A small part of her shrivels up and dies the second the words leave her mouth. Hale, she’s so rusty. She just knows that Damien would’ve laughed right in her face if he could’ve heard her sorry attempt for an excuse.

“Show me your face,” Mystery Boy says.

“Um-“

“Are you guilty of something?” She can practically hear the disdain dripping from his voice.

“Wha- of course not!”

“Then show me your face. Unless you feel you’ve done something wrong, you should have no problem showing me your face.”

Aster’s hands tighten around the hem of her cloak.

What a cocky little jerk! Could this guy get any more pretentious?

“Well? What are you waiting for?”

Gritting her teeth, Aster lifts the hood from her face slowly, inch by shaky inch. When it reaches her eyes, she takes a small breath, before pushing it completely off her head.

Free of her hood, she’s finally able to see the face of her interrogator.

Oh, her bewildered mind supplies to her.

Oh no.

Because she recognises the face of the nuisance who’d interrupted her first night of freedom, of the boy who stares back at her like he’s looking at a ghost.

Aster’s breath rattles in her chest, every anger word she'd thought of spitting disappearing into smoke.

Somehow, she manages to find her voice again. “Oh,” she all but breathes. “It’s you.”