Echoes of the Past

When I closed my eyes that night, the present slipped away. The hum of my electric fan, the faint glow of my alarm clock, the distant barking of dogs in the neighborhood—all of it dissolved like mist.

In its place, I felt the weight of velvet curtains, the chill of marble floors beneath my slippers, the faint scent of roses carried by the wind through a balcony.

When I opened my eyes again, I was no longer Ailene Perez.

I was Eleanor.

---

The palace had always been both my home and my prison. Tall walls of stone surrounded me, painted with the finest tapestries from foreign lands. Every morning began the same way: the handmaidens would enter my chamber before dawn, pulling back the curtains to let the pale light of sunrise wash over me.

“Your Highness,” one of them would murmur, bowing low before adjusting the blankets around me.

I would force a smile, though I longed to tell them not to bow, not to treat me as something fragile and untouchable. But those were the rules of the kingdom. I was the eldest daughter of the king and queen—the symbol of purity and obedience.

What they didn’t know was that behind the silks and jewels, my heart longed for something else.

Freedom.

And perhaps… love.

---

My days as a princess were carefully orchestrated. Morning prayers in the palace chapel. Breakfast with my family, where silence was expected unless spoken to. Hours of lessons in history, literature, and etiquette, taught by tutors who looked at me like I was both precious and fragile glass. Afternoons filled with embroidery or music, always indoors, away from the common folk.

“Princesses do not mingle with peasants,” my mother would say sternly whenever I gazed too long from my balcony at the bustling market outside the palace walls.

But my heart rebelled against those words.

I wanted to laugh freely, to run in the gardens without someone correcting my posture, to speak with people who didn’t bow before every word.

It was on one of those stolen afternoons in the garden that I first saw him.

---

I had dismissed my attendants with the excuse of wanting to read in solitude. In truth, I wanted to escape. I slipped through the rose garden, my slippers brushing against the grass, the heavy gown of pale blue silk making me move slower than I wished.

And there he was.

A young knight in training, sparring with another soldier near the edge of the courtyard. His movements were swift yet precise, every strike of his blade followed by a graceful defense. Sunlight glinted off his dark hair and the steel of his sword. His laughter—low, genuine, unguarded—carried across the garden.

I froze, hidden behind a cluster of roses, watching.

When their sparring ended, he removed his helmet, wiping sweat from his brow. That was the first time I saw his eyes. Deep, steady, like the earth itself. And when those eyes, by chance, lifted and met mine… my breath caught.

He had seen me.

---

I should have turned away. I should have fled back to my chambers. That was what a princess was supposed to do—stay untouched, unseen, protected behind walls.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I stepped forward, clutching my book tightly to my chest.

“You fight well,” I said softly.

He looked startled for a moment, then bowed low, pressing his fist to his chest in salute. “Your Highness,” he said. His voice was steady, though I could see the flicker of nerves in his eyes. “Forgive me. I did not know you were here.”

“You need not apologize,” I replied, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I enjoy watching the knights train. It feels… real. Unlike the lessons I endure every day.”

His brows rose slightly at my honesty, but he said nothing. He only nodded respectfully.

“What is your name?” I asked.

“Elian, Your Highness,” he said.

The name settled into my heart like it had always belonged there.

---

After that day, I found myself returning to the gardens more often. At first, I told myself it was mere coincidence, but deep down I knew I was drawn to him.

Sometimes I would bring my embroidery and sit beneath the shade of the oak tree while he trained with the other knights. Other times, I would catch him glancing toward me when he thought I wasn’t looking.

One afternoon, I gathered the courage to speak again.

“You train harder than the others,” I observed, as he paused to drink water from the fountain.

He bowed. “A knight’s duty is to serve the crown. I must be prepared.”

“But what of your own dreams?” I asked, tilting my head.

He hesitated, as though no one had ever asked him that before. “Dreams are for those who can afford them. I am but a knight. My purpose is to protect.”

Something inside me ached at his words. “And if your heart wished for more?”

His gaze lifted to mine then, unguarded. For the briefest moment, I thought I saw the same longing that haunted me. But he only lowered his eyes again and murmured, “Then I would keep it buried.”

---

The more we spoke, the more I realized Elian was unlike anyone I had ever known. He was not blinded by my title. He did not flatter me with empty praises like the noblemen who visited court. He spoke honestly, with quiet strength, and when he smiled—rare and fleeting—it felt like a secret gift meant only for me.

Days turned into weeks, and my stolen moments in the garden became the brightest part of my life.

One evening, as the sun dipped low, I dared to ask him, “Do you believe in destiny, Elian?”

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “I believe in duty, Princess.”

“That is not what I asked,” I pressed gently.

He hesitated, then allowed a small smile. “Perhaps. Sometimes I feel… that paths cross for reasons beyond our understanding.”

My heart fluttered.

So did mine.

---

Of course, we were careful. No one could know of our conversations, not even Diana, my closest friend. A princess consorting with a knight was scandalous—dangerous, even.

But stolen glances became lingering touches. Words became whispers. And one fateful night, under the silver glow of the moon, we confessed the truth we had both been holding back.

“I should not speak this,” Elian murmured, his hand trembling slightly as it brushed mine, “but my heart no longer obeys reason. It belongs to you, your majesty Eleanor.”

Tears stung my eyes. “And mine to you, Elian. Whatever comes, whatever they say—we belong to each other.”

And then he kissed me under the moonlight

From that night forward, our fates were entwined.

Even if the world tried to tear us apart.

---

That dream-memory faded as dawn light crept through my modern bedroom curtains. My alarm blared, dragging me back into the present.

But my heart still raced. My lips still burned with the memory of his whispered words.

Elian.

He had been mine once. And somewhere in this world, he was mine still.

I only had to find him.

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