Chapter Text
Olympus gleamed that night. Marble columns shimmered under enchanted torches, and the grand hall displayed a ceiling painted with constellations that moved slowly, as if the sky itself had descended for the feast. The tables overflowed with impossible fruits, wine in crystal goblets, braided breads, and meats seasoned with herbs that grew only in celestial gardens. Harps and flutes alternated to fill the air with music, while the perfume of freshly cut flowers mingled with the warm scent of honey and spices.
It was, without a doubt, a spectacle.
And Eloise could not have cared less.
Seated between Violet and Gregory, with Hyacinth chattering on her other side, she absentmindedly observed the parade of smiles, toasts, and furtive touches among the couples around her. Daphne and Simon whispered softly, hands joined over the table; Benedict and Sophie laughed at some private joke, their faces lit by torchlight; Anthony and Kate, even while discussing battle tactics with another guest, exchanged glances full of complicity. And, as if that weren’t enough, Colin and Penelope seemed determined to turn the banquet into an exercise of “who can tease the other the most without Violet noticing.”
Eloise sighed. There was no room for another romance in that hall, at least not for her. Her mother’s constant presence, her younger siblings’ chatter, and her involuntary role as the “official candle-holder” only reinforced her sense of being on the margins of everything.
Until it happened.
There was no decoy, no flash of light, no grand announcement, only a small shift in the air, subtle but undeniable, as if something had moved without anyone noticing. Eloise lifted her gaze and, between columns and curtains, found a man who did not belong to that scene.
He wore black — simple, without adornment — and yet he was impossible to ignore. His eyes, so dark they seemed to absorb the light around them, locked on hers with an intensity that made the music fade into the distance. It was not mere curiosity, nor simple courtesy. It was as though he had spent his whole life waiting to find her, and now was only confirming.
And, strangely, it made sense.
They didn’t know each other’s names, nor did they exchange words, but Eloise had the unsettling feeling they had met before. From a forgotten dream, perhaps, or a story told long ago.
He did not approach. He did not speak. He only held her gaze, as if willing her to remember this moment. And before she could decide whether to return it with a smile or a challenge, he turned and vanished into the crowd.
“You look pale, my dear,” Violet murmured, touching her arm. “Would you like some wine?”
“No, thank you,” Eloise replied, trying to catch her breath and pretend nothing had happened.
The celebration stretched on for hours, but the rest of the night blurred together. She answered questions automatically, laughed at jokes she didn’t hear, and pushed food around her plate without tasting it. The only thing she could truly recall was that gaze.
When she returned to her chambers, she found the door ajar. Inside, upon the table, rested a small box of black stone, polished so smooth it reflected the lamplight. On the lid, a dry branch carved in relief, which, as she drew near, slowly blossomed, as if sensing her presence.
Inside, Eloise discovered flowers unlike any she had ever seen: translucent petals glowing with a soft light, almost breathing. Their perfume was rich and sweet, like damp earth and summer nights. Nestled among them was a tiny parchment tied with a thread of gold.
“To make your night less tedious.”
She smiled, heart quickening. She did not know who they were, but one thing was certain: she wanted to find out.
Morning sunlight bathed the fields in gold as Eloise walked slowly between rows of blossoms, brushing petals with her fingertips. This was what she loved most in her domain: silent freedom, far from endless banquets and her mother’s constant watch. Here, she could breathe.
Now and then she stopped to pluck weeds, adjust the stem of a plant, or simply close her eyes and feel the warm breeze. And yet, the memory of the night before returned again and again. The gaze of that man had rooted itself within her.
“You’re distracted today,” Hyacinth remarked, passing by with a basket full of fruit. “I bet it’s because of Colin and Penelope. They were particularly insufferable last night.”
“Yes, of course,” Eloise answered, forcing a smile. There was no chance she would confess the true reason for her daydreams.
That was when she noticed something unusual.
At the center of the field, perched on a stone, stood a raven with feathers as black as obsidian. It was no ordinary bird: its talons glimmered faintly, like metal, and its eyes shone with a bluish light. Tied to its leg was a silver cylinder, delicately engraved.
Eloise approached, and instead of flying away, the raven tilted its head as if in greeting.
With a touch, the cylinder opened, revealing a slim parchment tied with a dark ribbon.
“My lady,
Forgive me for daring to cross your path last night. I do not often disturb the peace of others, but something in your presence held me fast before I could resist.
I hope you liked my flowers, though. I grown them myself in a garden few ever visit. They say they carry a touch of night within them, but also hold the promise of spring.
— Phillip”
Eloise read the letter more than once, a smile forming despite herself. Phillip. The name fit the image she had conjured of him, steady, certain, as though it had always existed.
Without thinking too much, she took a slip of paper and, balancing it on Hyacinth’s abandoned basket, wrote:
“My Lord,
There is no need to apologize. I did not mind in the least.
The flowers are extraordinary. I have never seen anything like them. Where exactly do they come from? And is it true that you grow them yourself?
— Eloise”
The raven waited patiently as she tied her reply to its leg. When it spread its wings, it sent a shower of golden sparks into the air, which vanished before they touched the ground.
Eloise watched until it disappeared into the horizon, caught between expectation and unease.
She wasn’t sure whether she wanted Phillip to answer at once or whether she needed more time to decipher what this exchange of messages truly meant.
With a sigh, she settled into the grass at the heart of the fields. The wind stirred the fabric of her gown and carried the fresh fragrance of blossoms. In her hands, she held one of the flowers Phillip had sent the night before.
She had never seen anything like it and she knew every species cultivated on Olympus. The gentle glow pulsing through its petals seemed to follow her breath, as if the bloom had a heartbeat of its own. Unique, even for a goddess, and that intrigued her as much as it delighted her.
A strange, new feeling. Not uncomfortable,but bright, restless, alive.
“I knew I’d find you here,” said Penelope, approaching with a smile and sitting beside her. “Whenever you need to think, you always escape to the flowers.”
Eloise glanced at her friend, considering. Penelope was one of the few people with whom she ever felt free to speak openly.
“I…” she began, hesitating.
But before she could continue, a shadow fell across them.
“Ah, here you are,” Colin said, appearing behind Penelope and resting his hands on her shoulders, with that satisfied air of someone who always believed himself in the right place. “You two looked like you were plotting something, so I thought I’d better check.”
Penelope rolled her eyes but smiled, leaning into her husband.
Eloise closed her mouth, her confession dying before it was born. Perhaps this was not the moment. Perhaps she wanted to keep it to herself, at least for another day.
Instead, she let the flower fall back into her lap, allowing the wind to cradle it, and changed the subject.