Chapter 29 Aug 18, 2025 Celeste "Mama, why don't you wear a crown like the ladies in my picture books?" Arielle's question drifted up from where she sat among the rose bushes, her dark hair catching the afternoon sunlight as she arranged fallen petals into elaborate patterns. At two years old, she had already mastered the art of asking questions that could topple kingdoms. I set down my embroidery and watched my daughter's small hands work with determined precision. She had Alexandre's intensity and my stubborn streak-a combination that promised either greatness or chaos, possibly both. "Crowns are heavy things, little love," I said carefully. "Sometimes it's better to choose what you carry." "But you're important. Hannah says so. The cook says so. Even the scary man with the big hat says so." I smiled at her description of Duke Laurent. "Do they now?" "Yes. They bow when you walk by. Just like they bow to Father." Father. The word that carried so much weight, so much unspoken truth. Alexandre visited every few days, officially to check on the heir presumptive, unofficially to sit in this very garden and watch his daughter discover the world. "Your Highness," came a voice from behind me. Lady Catherine approached with a silver tray, her expression carrying the careful neutrality she'd perfected over two years of navigating our unusual situation. "Lord Beaumont requests an audience regarding the grain distribution." "Of course. Tell him I'll see him in the Blue Salon in an hour." It was always like this-requests for my opinion, my approval, my guidance on matters that officially fell outside my authority. I held no title beyond Princess, had declined every offer to become Queen Consort with the same quiet firmness I'd once used to refuse exile. "Will there be anything else, Your Highness?" "No, thank you, Catherine." She curtsied and retreated, but not before her eyes lingered on Arielle with the fond expression the entire palace staff had adopted toward our fierce little princess. "Mama, look!" Arielle held up a rose petal crown she'd woven together, her face bright with accomplishment. "I made my own crown!" "It's beautiful, darling." "Will you wear it?" Before I could answer, familiar footsteps approached on the gravel path. Alexandre rounded the corner from the main palace, still wearing his formal jacket from the morning's council session, though he'd removed his ceremonial chain of office. "Father!" Arielle scrambled to her feet and ran toward him, rose petals scattering in her wake. He caught her up in his arms with the easy grace of a man who'd done this countless times, spinning her once before settling her against his chest. The sight never failed to move me-this powerful king reduced to putty by a toddler's smile. "Have you been good for your mother today?" he asked seriously. "Very good. I made her a crown, but she won't wear it." "Won't she?" His eyes found mine over Arielle's head, carrying that familiar mix of amusement and something deeper. "Perhaps she knows something about crowns that we don't." "May I stay for tea?" he asked, the question directed at me though his tone suggested he already knew the answer. "Of course." We'd developed this rhythm over two years-careful distance maintained in public, natural intimacy allowed in private moments like these. He never asked me to be more than I was. I never asked him to be less than what his crown demanded. As we settled at the small table Hannah had set in the garden's shade, Arielle chattered about her morning adventures while Alexandre listened with the patient attention he reserved for matters of state. Watching them together, I saw my daughter's future taking shape-not in the formal lessons that would come later, but in these quiet moments where she learned what it meant to lead with both strength and compassion. "The ministers are pleased with the harvest reports," Alexandre said to me as Arielle became absorbed in feeding jam to her cloth doll. "Good. The southern provinces were concerning me." "Your suggestion about the grain reserves proved wise. Again." It was how we spoke now-in careful phrases that acknowledged my influence without naming it directly. The court knew I held sway over policy, that my opinions carried weight in the King's decisions. But the fiction of separation was maintained for everyone's comfort. "Mama, tell the story about the princess who wouldn't wear shoes," Arielle demanded, climbing onto my lap with the confidence of a child who had never known anything but absolute love. "Again? You've heard it a dozen times." "I like it. She was brave." As I began the familiar tale of a fictional princess who chose her own path rather than following tradition, I caught Alexandre watching us with an expression I'd learned to read over these two years-love, pride, and a carefully contained longing for something that could never quite be spoken aloud. When Arielle finally fell asleep against my shoulder, Alexandre rose to leave as he always did. No lingering goodbyes, no promises about tomorrow. Just the understanding that this was enough-these stolen hours, this careful dance around the truth that everyone knew but no one dared voice. "She looks like you when she sleeps," he said quietly. "She has your determination when she's awake." "A dangerous combination." "The kingdom will need dangerous women." He nodded once, then bent to kiss the top of Arielle's head with infinite gentleness. For just a moment, his hand brushed mine where it rested on our daughter's back. "Until tomorrow," he said simply. "Until tomorrow."