The crown prince and I decided to meet outside the royal gardens.


    As I walk to meet him, I see he is once again accompanied by his ensemble of guards. Spies; one from each ducal house. After I dismiss them, we make our way jointly through the flower fields and up toward the garden centre, where a large domed greenhouse awaits.


    Enclosed by thick glass, the greenhouse’s interior is bright and vibrant. Fruit trees line the outermost row of this covered garden. Concentric semi-circles of differently coloured flowers are laid out in a walkable pattern that leads inward. In the centre of the greenhouse is an open area, its floor paved with geometrically patterned marble tiles. This is where we will rendezvous with the second prince.


    The crown prince and I discussed a few different potential meeting places, but ultimately we decided upon here. The greenhouse is large enough that any conversation inside would not be overheard from outside, and it offers a convenient number of secret escape routes for the Prince Isidore to use when he makes his egress.


    At a small tea table set up in the middle of the space sits Prince Florian.


    The second prince is a young man with a youthful, somewhat androgynous appearance. His skin is smooth and fair, save for his nose bridge, which is dotted by faint, barely-there freckles. He has his brother’s high cheekbones and defined jaw, but the apples of his cheeks are rounder—soft and rosy. An open-hearted smile presses dimples into his face.


    Prince Florian wears a light-coloured tunic with wide sleeves that taper below the elbow, adorned with gold-embroidered flounces at the wrists, shoulders, and half-sleeves. Over it, he has a plush velvet vest with a pale pink silk lining, white trim, and a stiff gold lapel. A heavy, fur-lined coat in a soft sage green, trimmed with pale pink silk and detailed with gold embroidery, is folded gracefully on the chair next to him. Around his neck is a patterned silk cravat, also in pastel tones.


    The pink and gold accents in his outfit bring out the warmth in his medium-length, wavy hair, which fades from light bronze at the roots to strawberry blonde at the tips. His overall appearance radiates softness. His large, round eyes, framed by long lashes, gleam with the same intense sapphire hue as his brother''s—but instead of smouldering, they sparkle.


    Prince Florian is handsome, but I believe the word ‘beautiful’ suits him better.


    Seeing him for the first time, after only reading about him, has me instantly giddy. He''s just as lovely as the novel described. Even his posture is perfect and proper, straight-backed with hands folded.


    It''s just... he''s so cute.


    The sound of the crown prince pointedly clearing his throat pulls me back to my senses and I take a deep, gathering breath. This isn’t a dream. This is real. If all goes to plan, I’ll have many opportunities in the coming future to win Florian over, but I’ll never get another shot at a good first impression.


    “This is Lady Linnea,” Prince Isidor says, with a lazy gesture. “Lady Linnea, this is my younger brother, Prince Florian.”


    “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Your Highness,” I greet, tipping my head forward slightly but refraining from a full curtsy. In a regular monarchic hierarchy, a duke’s daughter would be expected to show deference to a son of the King. It would be too far outside Linnea’s character to do that, so a nod will have to suffice.


    As if he’s been waiting for this cue, Florian jumps to his feet and bows his head to me. “L-Likewise, My Lady.” He blushes. “It is an honour to meet you also.”


    “An honour?” Prince Isidor scoffs under his breath. Florian wilts, clutching his hands tightly together.


    “The honour is all mine,” I step in, smiling as gently as this face can manage. It feels like I’m approaching a frightened bunny. “No need to be nervous. I’m glad we finally have the chance to meet in person.”


    “O-Oh.” Florian’s gaze flits between his brother and me. He bites down on his lip and looks down, like he has something he wants to say but isn’t sure how. “Isi—I mean, the crown prince told me that you asked about me?”


    “Yes, that’s true.” I nod enthusiastically. “I’ve always wanted to meet you.” You were even my favourite character.


    “But…” Florian fidgets, a blush colouring his cheeks. “A-Aren’t the two of you engaged?”


    Ah, Prince Isidore didn’t explain it yet. What was Florian told then? What does he think he is here to do? Unease souring in my stomach, I open my mouth to explain, but Prince Isidore is faster.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    “I told you before, Florian,” he scowls. “The engagement means nothing to me. I will never marry her.”


    I can’t help but bristle. Can’t he be a bit kinder with his words? The blatant disgust in his voice at the mere thought of marriage to me is difficult to not take personally. He’s not talking about me, not really, I try to comfort myself. He doesn’t know the real me.


    “The crown prince is correct,” I affirm. “I do not intend on marrying him either.”


    Like a flower unfurling, Florian’s shoulders relax their tension and his face turns back to me. There is a silent question in his glittery blue eyes: What do you want with me?


    If I were in possession of Linnea’s boundless self-confidence, it would be easy to speak the correct words and tell him that I am here because I like him. The entitled duke’s daughter that she was, she would have been honest and declared her intentions with pride. My own confidence proves elusive now I’m facing the second prince himself.


    Beyond the simpler concerns of my one-sided affection for him, I am also inescapably aware that Prince Florian must be my lifeboat. The original Linnea did not survive this narrative, but I must. I need allies. I need to make a good impression.


    I need to say something.


    "If it were my choice, I would have chosen you over your brother."


    The words that leave my mouth come out smoother than I expect. They betray none of my nervousness. Often, when I hear myself speak, I still feel that I’m listening to the voice of a stranger. Today, I am glad for it. I shrug on Linnea Corydalis’ pride like a suit of armour, costume that it might be.


    Prince Florian’s face flushes bright red, his eyes wide with shock. For a moment, his lips move soundlessly, as if searching for words that will not come. His hands shift, then pause, hovering awkwardly before him. As he fumbles, his foot catches on a table leg and the crockery clinks together in place. It seems I am not the only one feeling nervous.


    Prince Isidore groans, shaking his head as if dismissing this whole affair. “Alright, I’ve done my part,” he announces, stepping away. “I trust you will remember our deal, Lady Linnea. Don’t leave this room until I return. Three hours–that is what we both agreed on.” His gaze locks solemnly onto mine as he speaks, an unspoken warning.


    “I remember,” I reply. “Three hours. And then you will meet us back here.”


    Prince Isidore gives a short nod. After a beat, he adds, in a voice pitched low enough for only me to hear it, “Do not do anything to hurt Florian.”


    With that, he turns on his heel and walks away.


    Unsettled, I glance back at Prince Florian. His shoulders flinch slightly. He hasn’t sat down yet. I suppose he is waiting for me to join him at the table. The silence between us feels heavier now that it is only the two of us.


    Self-consciously, I move to take the seat opposite him. I wonder who arranged the table–surely Prince Isidore would have preferred as few servants as possible to be involved in this charade. The spread is appropriately lavish. A crystal jug filled with fruit tea sits beside a pair of delicate bone China teacups, and a multi-tiered tower overflows with tea fare: cookies, sliced fruit, sweet mochi, cheese and crackers, and mini sandwiches.


    I clear my throat. “Please sit down?”


    He drops back into his seat, the movement jerky. With effort, he straightens his back and meets my gaze head on, resuming the perfect posture he had on my arrival. The brightness of his smile has dimmed since then, nervousness keeping it from properly reaching his eyes. Looking closely, I notice the faintest tremor in his hands.


    A cold knot tightens in my chest. The sight of him so uneasy around me makes me feel sick to my stomach. So much for a good impression. Whatever rumours Prince Florian has heard about me in the Palace, they must be worse than I imagined.


    He looks at me expectantly, tilting his head in silent curiosity. Heat prickles the back of my neck. I liked his character so much, but now he''s sitting here, right in front of me, I don’t know how to talk to him like a person. I can’t let on that I know too much about him already, so I need to choose my words carefully.


    "Um, Prince Florian," I say, scrambling for a good conversation starter. Do I start with small talk? Or should I get straight to the point? My head starts to spin. "How are you?"


    "I''m well. Thank you, My Lady. Are you… also well?"


    "Yes, thank you."


    I suppress a wince. Maybe straightforwardness is the best approach, after all? Small talk feels excruciatingly awkward. Besides, we can''t both be a mess. Someone has to take control of this conversation.


    "Did your brother explain to you what this is?"


    "You…" he pauses, looking down. "Well, you said you l-like me, right?"


    Honest. Just be honest. I can do this.


    "I know this is our first time meeting, but I''ve heard so much about you. I know that you''re smart, kind, and earnest. I know you love to read, and I know how much you love your family. Please do not feel pressured by my confession. I asked to meet with you because I wanted a chance to talk. I don''t expect anything more."


    He looks even more baffled now. "I thought—" he mumbles. Chewing his lip, he glances back up. Sapphire eyes, full of trembling warmth, curtained by doll-like eyelashes. "You really just want to talk to me?"


    "Yes," I say in a breath. "That is all I ask. Will you be my friend?"


    When I look at him, a part of me still sees a cute, timid bunny. Yet, as his composure settles and a fraction of that timidness ebbs away, it is replaced by a quiet strength. The image I hold of him—half fictional character, half fragile creature—fractures and shifts. For a fleeting moment, it feels as if I am glimpsing the man he will one day become. Still warm, still kind, but with a virtuous resilience about him—a strength that is unlike his brother''s fiery passion, but rather like the deep, unyielding roots of an ancient tree that has weathered countless storms and survived.


    "Your actions confuse me," he admits. "I cannot claim to understand your reasoning. But if it is a friend you want, I think… I can be that."


    My heart lightens, relief filling me. "Thank you."


    After that, conversation comes more naturally. Prince Florian tries to be as deferential and polite as possible, letting me steer the conversation. But I did not come here to hear myself talk. I ask him about himself and watch fondly as he speaks.