Priscila told Máximo everything that had happened with Amadeo, omitting no details. He listened in silence, his brow furrowed and his gaze fixed on her, every word increasing his concern. He knew Priscila was strong, but he also knew how much all of this could wear her down. Determined not to leave her alone with that burden, he made a firm resolution: he would stay at the palace until Amadeo departed back to his country. It would only be a week, but enough to ensure that nothing else would disturb her.

  The Queen had resumed her duties, which gave Priscila a bit of breathing room, though Máximo saw in her eyes the weight of what had occurred. He didn't want that anguish to consume her. Therefore, at dawn on Monday, he devised a simple but necessary plan: to make her disconnect.

  He called for Coral as soon as the sun began to illuminate the palace windows. —Coral, I need you to do something for me —he said in a low, almost conspiratorial voice.

  —Whatever you need, young master —she replied, curious.

  —Take Priscila to the garden. Have her dress in something comfortable, no heavy gowns or anything that reminds her of the court. Today will not be a day of obligations… I want her to clear her head.

  Coral looked at him for a moment and smiled warmly, immediately understanding his intention. —Understood. I will see to it.

  With that, Coral headed to Priscila’s quarters, while Máximo waited in the garden, certain that while he couldn't free her from all her problems, he could give her moments of peace.

  Priscila appeared a few minutes later, accompanied by Coral, dressed in an outfit she would never have worn in the throne rooms: a light ivory linen blouse and wide, loose trousers that revealed a glimpse of her ankles. Her hair was pulled back simply, with just a ribbon.

  Máximo was already waiting for her among the rosebushes, standing beside a low table he had ordered to be prepared: on it was a tablecloth embroidered with flowers, a basket of freshly baked rolls, sliced fruit, and a pitcher of cold lemonade. It wasn't a royal banquet, but there was beauty in its simplicity.

  Priscila stopped, surprised. —What is all this? —she asked, raising her eyebrows with a mixture of curiosity and tenderness.

  Máximo gave a lopsided smile. —A breather. No crowns, no arguments, no Amadeo. Just you, me… and the garden. She let out a small laugh, the kind that made her eyes light up as they did when she was a child.

  —It’s the first time I’ve been invited to a banquet in slippers.

  —Believe me, they are the best kind —Máximo replied, offering her a seat.

  Coral, standing a bit apart, watched them with a full heart. It was like seeing two souls find each other in a space where the weight of the world had no entry. She allowed herself a smile before discreetly disappearing to another part of the garden, giving them privacy.

  Priscila took a roll and broke it in two, offering half to Máximo. —I don't know how you do it, but you always find a way to make everything feel… lighter.

  —It’s not me, Priscila. It’s you. I’m just reminding you that you can still breathe —he answered softly.

  For a moment, the silence was filled only by birdsong and the murmur of the wind through the leaves. Priscila stared at him, and something inside her loosened, as if the world truly couldn't reach her in that instant.

  —Máximo… —she whispered, with a gratitude that needed no explanation. He didn't answer with words; instead, he poured her a glass of lemonade and raised it before her.

  —To a week of peace. She smiled and toasted with him, feeling that, at least for now, the garden was a refuge.

  The carriage moved slowly, with the rhythmic sound of horse hooves on the cobblestones. Outside, the streetlamps cast orange glints that mixed with the silvery moonlight, drawing long shadows on the deserted streets. Priscila, leaning against the window, watched as the palace walls fell behind and gave way to humble houses with low roofs and smoking chimneys. At some doors, neighbors were still chatting, laughing, and saying goodbye before bed. That simple life had something that always piqued her curiosity.

  —Máximo… —she said at last, turning toward him with an arched eyebrow and a hint of suspicion in her voice—. Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet, or do you enjoy the idea of making me lose my patience? He smiled, with that calm that managed to irritate and appease her at the same time.

  —If I told you, it would ruin the surprise. Have a little faith, you’re going to like it.

  Priscila sighed dramatically, crossing her arms.

  —Always so enigmatic. It better not be something absurd, like a troupe of drunken jugglers singing out-of-tune songs.

  —Depends —he replied, with a mischievous glint in his eyes. — If they sing well, maybe it’s worth it. She let out a brief laugh, shaking her head. Despite herself, her intrigue grew.

  The carriage stopped, and Máximo stepped down first. He extended his hand toward her with a gentlemanly gesture, and Priscila, careful not to be recognized, took it. Even so, she felt her heart race, not just from the curiosity of their destination, but from the contact with him.

  When she stepped onto the ground, she looked up and found a large bar with a robust facade, illuminated by lanterns hanging at the entrance. From inside escaped music, laughter, and the unmistakable murmur of a lively tavern.

  —What exactly are you planning? —Priscila asked, smiling with a certain disbelief and curiosity.

  —Taking you somewhere out of your comfort zone —he replied simply, but a challenge shone in his gaze.

  They entered the establishment, and as they crossed the threshold, a brief silence swept through the room. Those present looked at them with surprise, though not with hostility. A robust peasant woman, her hands still covered in flour, was the first to approach.

  —Princess… what brings you to this corner? —she asked with a voice mixed with wonder and respect.

  Priscila smiled serenely, lifting her chin slightly.

  —Curiosity, and the desire to have a good time. But don't worry —she added with a wink—, tonight I am not the princess. I am just Priscila.

  At first, a murmur spread through the tables like a fearful rumor: the princess, in a village bar, dressed like any of them. Some didn't know whether to bow or carry on. But when Priscila smiled, the atmosphere began to relax.

  A couple of children ran up to her with marbles in their hands.

  —Do you want to play, miss? — they asked with the innocence only they possessed. Máximo looked at her with a knowing smile, as if encouraging her to accept. Priscila leaned down, picked up a marble, and, with an amused clumsiness, tossed it. The children roared with laughter seeing her miss, and that laughter proved contagious to the rest.

  —I was never good at these things —she admitted, laughing at herself.

  Soon an older woman offered her a seat at her table.

  —Come, try some of our stew, I’m sure there’s nothing like it in the palace. Priscila tasted it with pleasure, giving thanks like just another guest. Around her, the peasants began to speak to her without reservation: about harvests, the dances in the square, and small daily troubles.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  A group of youths started some improvised music with drums and invited her to dance. Priscila, laughing, accepted, moving naturally even though she didn't know the steps. Her cheeks flushed, not with embarrassment, but with genuine joy. For the first time in a long while, she felt free, as if the weight of the crown had vanished for one night.

  At dawn, Priscila opened her eyes and found a familiar figure sitting beside her.

  —Bri! —she exclaimed, bolting upright to hug her tightly—. It’s been ages!

  —Months, but far too long —Brionne replied with a warm laugh, squeezing her even tighter—. We returned a few days ago from the honeymoon, and I thought I’d stay for a week before we head to our new residence.

  At that moment, the door creaked open and Máximo appeared, surprised.

  —Well… now that is a good welcome. Brionne looked him up and down and then turned back to Priscila, arching her eyebrows playfully. —You owe me many explanations. Priscila laughed nervously, hiding her face against her friend.

  —Yes, Mother —she joked, causing all three to fill the room with laughter.

  Priscila pulled back slightly from Brionne’s hug, though she still held her hands, unable to let go yet. Her eyes shone with the excitement of seeing her again.

  —You have so much to tell me! —Priscila said, almost tripping over her own words

  —. How was the trip? How was the sea, the cities, the music?

  —All wonderful, but I’m not talking about myself yet —Brionne replied mischievously, turning toward Máximo with an inquiring smile

  —I’m much more interested in what’s happening here.

  Máximo, leaning calmly against the doorframe, arched an eyebrow.

  —Are you looking to interrogate me already?

  —Not interrogate. But listen —Brionne replied with a suspicious sweetness, before turning her gaze back to Priscila

  —And you, don't think you’re going to get away. Priscila laughed nervously, like a child caught in a lie, and hid her face on her friend's shoulder.

  —That’s why I called you “Mother.” I knew you’d come with a thousand questions.

  —And I don't intend to leave without answers —Brionne declared, though the warmth in her voice disarmed any seriousness.

  Máximo finally entered the room, taking a seat on the edge of the bed next to both of them.

  —Then it’s going to be a long morning. — The air filled with laughter and confidences, as if the months of distance had dissolved in an instant.

  The day was full of talk and laughter, with Brionne asking about everything, not letting Priscila rest for a single moment from her curiosity. As evening fell, an elegant carriage stopped in front of the palace and Lord Erik of Himt stepped out, with his distinguished bearing and the serenity of someone who seemed to enjoy every detail of life.

  —How would you like to go to the lake? —he said with a warm smile—. I’ve ordered something special to be prepared for dinner there.

  Priscila and Brionne looked at each other, sharing their usual complicity, and nodded almost at the same time. Máximo appeared shortly after, surprised to hear the proposal, but he didn't take long to accept with an amused smile.

  Thus, the four of them climbed into the carriage: Brionne and Erik facing Priscila and Máximo. Conversation flowed lightly during the journey, between sibling jokes, childhood memories, and Erik’s first gestures toward his wife, which drew knowing smiles from everyone.

  The carriage stopped by the lake just as the sun began to descend, tinting the water with golden and orange reflections. Several rustic tables had been prepared with simple cloths, pitchers of wine, and fresh bread. The air smelled of damp wood and wildflowers.

  Lord Erik, always attentive, helped Brionne down, while Máximo did the same for Priscila. The atmosphere was charged with a special warmth, as if the entire day had conspired to give them that moment.

  They ate amidst laughter, sharing travel anecdotes, childhood stories, and little jibes between siblings. Brionne, always expressive, told with amusing exaggerations how Erik had tried to learn to dance during the honeymoon, causing everyone to burst into laughter, including Erik himself, who feigned indignation.

  After dinner, Erik proposed a game: skipping flat stones across the water. Brionne accepted delightedly and dragged her husband toward the shore, leaving Priscila and Máximo behind.

  The princess sat on the edge of the dock, letting the breeze tousle her hair. Máximo, at her side, rested his elbows on his knees, looking at the horizon tinged with red. The bustle of Brionne and Erik, laughing and arguing in the distance over who could skip the stone more times, blended with the song of the cicadas.

  —It’s strange… —Priscila murmured, looking at the water—. I haven't felt this light in a long time. No worries, no… weight.

  Máximo turned his face toward her, observing her in silence for a moment. —Then, this outing was already worth it. Priscila smiled, looking down, and for a few seconds the world was reduced to the quiet sound of the water and his close presence.

  Priscila swung her feet over the water, her eyes fixed on the horizon. The silence between the two was not awkward; rather, it had an expectant air, as if words were unnecessary.

  —You know? —she said after a while—. When I was a girl, I thought I could never be… normal. Always surrounded by duties, looks, demands. And now, here… I feel like I can just be me.

  Máximo watched her with tenderness. —To me, you’ve always been just you. I don't need crowns or titles to know who you are. Priscila turned her face toward him with a slight smile. —

  You say those things as if they were easy… as if they didn't have a massive weight.

  —They aren't easy, but they are the truth. —His voice dropped lower, softer, as if fearing to break the moment—. And if I could… take that weight from you, I would carry it for you.

  She swallowed hard, surprised by the sincerity in his eyes. A breeze moved a lock of her hair, and Máximo, without thinking too much, tucked it behind her ear. His hand remained a breath away from her face, and the closeness made them both hold their breath.

  —Máximo… —she whispered, hesitating, but unable to look away.

  —Priscila… —he replied, barely audible, as if her name were the only thing necessary.

  The seconds stretched, and then it was she who leaned her face slightly forward, reducing the distance. The kiss came softly, trembling at first, but soon it became more certain, charged with everything they had kept silent until then. The world around them disappeared: neither Brionne’s laughter nor the stones Erik threw into the water existed anymore. It was just the two of them, united in an instant that seemed eternal.

  When they pulled apart, Priscila rested her forehead against his, with a shy smile. —I suppose there’s no turning back now. Máximo laughed low, gently stroking her hand.

  —No, and I don't want there to be.

  Priscila and Máximo still had their foreheads together, still catching their breath from that kiss. She smiled, her cheeks flushed, and he stroked her hand as if fearing to let go. —If someone had told me this day would end like this… —she murmured.

  —I knew it since I saw you in that carriage the first time —he replied, smiling sideways.

  Before they could say anything more, an exaggerated whistle made them turn.

  —Finally! —Brionne exclaimed from a few meters back, standing with her hands on her hips—. I thought I’d have to blow on the candles myself to get them to light.

  Erik, at her side, feigned a solemn applause. —A toast to the infinite patience of all those present —he said, bowing as if delivering a speech. Priscila put a hand to her face, dying of embarrassment.

  —How long have you been there?

  —Long enough —Brionne replied, amused—. Though, if you want, I can give more details: the lock of hair behind the ear, the fixed gaze, the held breath… very romantic, all of it.

  Máximo let out a laugh and shook his head. —I knew we weren't going to get out of this unscathed. Erik raised an eyebrow and gave a mischievous smile.

  —At least you did it before night fell. Believe me, kissing the princess in the dark by the lake would have been much more suspicious.

  Brionne laughed loudly, taking Priscila by the arm and pulling her to return with them. —Come on, future queen, come with me. I promise not to tell… too much. Priscila shot a warning look at her friend, but she couldn't contain her smile. Máximo, meanwhile, exchanged a knowing gesture with Erik, as if the secret they shared was now safe, though subject to many jokes ahead.

  Upon returning to the palace, Brionne left for her parents' residence, where she would stay for the week. The following morning, Priscila calmly descended the stairs toward the library, where she had arranged to meet Máximo. But instead of her friend, she ran into Amadeo waiting for her in the hallway.

  —My favorite person —he said with a tone dripping with sarcasm, leaning casually against one of the columns, his naval uniform perfectly aligned as if he wanted to underscore his importance.

  Priscila stopped a few steps away, crossing her arms, and scanned him from top to bottom with a half-smile that did not hide her contempt. —So, you’re finally leaving?

  —To your good fortune, yes —he replied with a soft, almost mocking laugh—. But that doesn't mean you won't remember me.

  —Excuse me? —Priscila took a step toward him, her voice low but firm, cutting the air with coldness

  —. You already know I hate your damned riddles. Speak clearly… or I’ll make you speak.

  The silence that followed was heavy, as if the entire hallway held its breath. Amadeo arched an eyebrow, amused by the threat, but his dark eyes exuded something more dangerous: a secret kept too carefully.

  The silence of the hallway stretched until it became unbearable. Amadeo tilted his head slightly, as if enjoying having her attentive to every word. —You have character… —he said with a crooked smile—. That’s always been fascinating to me about you, Priscila. But make no mistake: your strength won't change what is written.

  Priscila’s eyes narrowed. —What the hell do you know about what is written?

  Amadeo laughed low, a hollow, dangerous laugh. —More than you imagine. The prophecy is not as well-kept a secret as you think… And believe me, there are already those eager to see it fulfilled.

  Priscila’s heart skipped a beat. She took another step forward, getting so close she could smell the salt on his freshly pressed uniform. —If you play with my fears, Amadeo, you’ll end up begging for your tongue.

  He looked her straight in the eye, without a blink, and whispered as if sharing an intimate confidence: —I don't need to play. The number is already marked… and you are first on the list.

  Priscila felt a shiver run down her spine, but she did not back down. —Get out of my sight before I forget you are a guest of this kingdom —she spat, her voice sharp as a knife.

  Amadeo let out a slight chuckle, bowed in a mocking reverence, and stepped away calmly, leaving her alone in the middle of the hallway, with the shadow of his words sinking like poison into her mind.