▸ Column · Enchanted medieval kingdom — the era of castle courts, Thursday hunts, and fairy-cursed lineages; the same world that hid a princess in a forest cottage and called it love
AURORA replies.
Replied to by Aurora, with a rebuttal from King Stefan.
The letter
This midsummer marks a full year of my courtship with a knight I'll call Sir H., and in all that time I have not met a single person from his life outside our hours together. He has a standing Thursday hunt with companions he calls the brotherhood, a court attendant named Sylvara whom he mentions constantly, and a younger brother stationed at the same castle — and I have been introduced to none of them. When I ask to join the hunt, he says it is sacred to the order, or that he will present me once things at court settle, but they never settle. I learned last week — not from him, but from a palace page who assumed I already knew — that he held a midsummer feast at his estate for twelve guests on the very evening he told me he was calling on his mother. I am not asking to be queen of his world. But a year in, I would like some proof I live in it. Am I being kept hidden, or am I simply being impatient?
Aurora replies
The first thing anyone ever told me about being hidden was that it was love. Sixteen years in a forest cottage — no court, no crown, no kingdom I belonged to — and the women who raised me called it protection. They weren't lying. But they weren't telling me the whole truth either.
So I understand why you've been patient. Being told "soon" by someone who seems to care for you is almost an answer. The almost is what brought you here.
But the feast. He told you he was with his mother, and he hosted twelve people without you. I won't call him wicked for it — I've learned that people who hold us at the edges of their lives are almost always frightened, not cruel. But frightened of what? That is what you don't know, and what you need to find out.
Not by asking to join the next hunt. Not by waiting for court to quiet. Say one thing, plainly and once, face to face: I know about the feast. What is it you haven't been able to tell me?
Then be still, and watch what answers. If it's fear — something he hasn't found the words for yet — you'll know you are loved and someone is working up to you. If it's another excuse, you'll know that too. But this question, asked honestly, will tell you more than another year of patience ever could.
The truth lives just past what feels safe to ask. It always has. That is exactly where the magic is.
— Aurora
King Stefan weighs in
You are not being impatient. You are being managed.
A man who hosts twelve guests and tells you he was at his mother's is not afraid to introduce you. He is administering information — choosing what you see, sustaining an arrangement until you notice its shape.
My daughter will tell you to ask him directly. She is not wrong that this will tell you something. She is wrong about what: you will receive the next excuse, delivered with genuine remorse, and he will become more careful.
Learn who Sylvara is. Learn why his brotherhood has never once heard your name linked to his after a full year. Understand what he is protecting before you decide whether it is worth protecting yourself.
I built walls around something I valued, and I lost it anyway. Whatever is behind his walls — it is not you.
— King Stefan
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