The snow crunches underfoot as Aster makes her way through the palace’s gardens. It had snowed the previous night, leaving behind a fresh blanket that she now takes great pleasure in ruining with her footprints. Seraphina sticks to Aster's side dutifully, another explanation rolling off her tongue as they venture further in.

It's been a week since Aster first arrived at the palace. A week since she’d bumped into Florian under the moonlight.

A week since she’s seen him since.

Florian’s first absence at breakfast that day had turned into another absence during lunch. Then dinner. Then again at breakfast the next day. Then lunch. Then— well, you get the point.

By now, it's clear as day to anyone that Florian isn't simply, 'unwell'. Just the sight of his empty seat during mealtimes is enough to take the edge off Aster’s appetite.

King Solomon hadn’t been pleased, expression turning stormy when Ren had informed him once more today that, His Highness is unable to attend breakfast this morning. Aster was sure the king would’ve lost his temper if it wasn’t for the gentle hand that Queen Annaliese placed on his arm, accompanied by a firm look laden with quiet meaning. Ren was then stiffly dismissed, before breakfast resumed as per usual.

Now, as she strolls through the gardens with Seraphina, Aster can't help but feel that something's amiss. She always looks forward to their walks, and never fails to enjoy them. But is it her imagination, or did the gardens today seem a bit more… dismal than usual? Not as vibrant, even with the smattering of icy diamonds decorating each and every flower on display.

"Maybe winter's beginning to get to me," Aster thinks to herself morosely. Pretty as the snow can be, she's never taken much of a liking to the season.

She tries to listen attentively as Seraphina points out the gardens' different sections, listing out each of their resepective specialties and attractions. But Aster’s mind seems intent on running away with her thoughts, scattering her focus like snow flurries in the wind.

“My lady?”

Aster startles a little as she turns to meet Seraphina’s even gaze. “Yes?”

“Are you alright?” A current of concern underlies her voice.

“I’m perfectly dandy,” Aster beams. “Why do you ask?”

“You just seem less… energetic, today.”

“Do I?” Aster hums. “Perhaps it was because we stayed up so late last night. I mean it was mostly my fault, since I insisted on you staying with me until late. But part of it’s your fault too Fina! You’re just too good a storyteller.” Aster wrinkles her nose accusingly at her.

“Perhaps.” Aster thinks she can hear a trace of amusement in Seraphina's voice. “It helps to have such an eager audience.”

If there was any good to come out of the previous week, it had to be Aster’s success at chipping away Seraphina’s formal exterior. With just the right kind of questions and a certain amount of prodding, Aster’s discovered that her maid knows way more than she lets on.

And best of all: that she isn't all that reluctant to let Aster in on her insider knowledge. Secret trysts between the servants, age old myths floating around the palace, gossip traded between the staff on affairs both royal and not; her maid seemed to have a handle on every word that was so much as breathed within the palace walls.

“People like to hear themselves talk,” her maid had said simply, as Aster marvelled over the extent of her information gathering. “I simply listen if they need an ear. And on the occasion where they do speak of private matters but don’t notice me in vicinity, well…”

And Aster had laughed, before urging her to continue her spiel on the stairway on the third floor of the west wing, and why Aster must never go anywhere near there especially in the early hours of the morning.

Now, Seraphina continues to pin her with that look of hers, like she knows there’s more to Aster’s fatigue than Aster will let on.

And it warms her, just a little; to know that she's managed to find an ally even in a place that feels so out of her depth.

Aster's breath comes out in a puff of white. “Say, Fina…”

Do you think Florian hates me?

She stretches an arm out to point at something in front of them, inlaid into the towering hedges they’ve been walking past since they stepped into this stretch of the gardens. “What’s that?” She asks instead.

They approach the arching gateway, which on closer inspection, is actually composed of twisting rose branches. Brilliant crimson blooms spring up from the arch, their petals seeming to glisten with an almost silvery hue that can’t be attributed to the morning dew or their faint dusting of snow.

“This is the entrance to the palace’s maze, my lady.”

Aster perks up, mood lifting temporarily. She’s heard of the maze before, during her first visit to the palace. Her parents – more than aware of their daughter’s penchant for wandering off on her own - had warned her extensively about avoiding the maze; her mother even joking that if Aster got lost, they’d simply leave her to fend for herself and only come for her in the morning.

(Her father’s aghast face had said otherwise, but even now, Aster’s unsure if her mother’s joking had been purely jest. She’d always had a strange sense of humor, her mother.)

“Is it true?” Aster turns eagerly towards Seraphina, all her former fatigue dissipating. “That the maze is alive?”

“Alive,” Seraphina echoes bemusedly. “That’s certainly one way to put it. Most people would simply call it magical.”