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Chapter Three
The Full Moon and the Little Princess
Months passed after the special academy opened in Clare's hometown. The building that once stood quiet now echoed with laughter, hesitant reading, and teachers who spoke gently instead of strictly.
Clare no longer feared letters.
She walked through the school gates each morning with confidence, her books held properly against her chest. She was not just a student there — she was hope for many parents who once felt helpless.
Meanwhile, the palace was filled with celebration.
A princess had been born.
Ten years after Daniel's birth, Queen Margaret gave birth to a daughter. The entire kingdom rejoiced. Bells rang for three days. White and gold ribbons decorated the streets.
Her name was Elizabeth Wilson.
But within the palace walls, she was lovingly called Elza.
Daniel, now older and more composed, held his baby sister carefully the first time. She wrapped her tiny fingers around his thumb without hesitation.
"You must protect her," King Charles had said quietly.
Daniel nodded.
He did not know then how much those words would settle into him.
Clare heard the news from her father.
"A princess," he said, smiling as he folded a parchment letter. "The kingdom grows stronger."
Clare smiled too. She imagined a tiny child in silk blankets, unaware of the world waiting outside palace walls.
Life continued gently.
Every week, Clare visited the royal garden to check on the vanilla plant. It had grown stronger, its vines curling carefully around the wooden supports placed beside it.
Daniel would sometimes be there, though neither admitted they planned it.
And once a month, during church mass, they met properly.
They knelt side by side under stained-glass windows painted in blue and gold. The scent of candles and incense filled the air.
Clare prayed sincerely.
Daniel prayed quietly.
They spoke in whispers afterward, walking slowly outside the church doors.
She talked about school. He talked about palace lessons.
Clare did not understand love. To her, their meetings felt natural — like seasons changing. Nothing dramatic. Nothing confusing.
Daniel, however, had begun to notice something else.
When she laughed, he remembered it later. When she did not come one week, he wondered why. When she spoke to other boys from the academy, something unsettled him.
He did not name the feeling.
He simply let it exist.
Three years passed gently.
Elza grew from a quiet infant into a lively three-year-old with curious eyes and restless energy. She followed Daniel everywhere when allowed, her tiny shoes tapping across marble floors.
One night, during a full moon, Elza woke from sleep and wandered toward the balcony nursery doors.
The moonlight spilled silver across the palace corridors.
She stood quietly, staring toward the distant garden.
She did not fully understand what she felt.
But somewhere within her small heart, a strange dream lingered — of Daniel standing alone, older, quieter… distant.
The next morning, she clung to him more than usual.
Daniel laughed softly and lifted her into his arms.
He did not know the weight the future carried.
Spring returned once again.
Clare's birthday was two days away.
By now, the vanilla plant had grown tall and healthy. Small buds had begun forming along its vines.
She no longer needed to check it weekly.
It had survived.
It had strengthened.
Just like her.
Though she stopped visiting the garden regularly, she and Daniel still met during church mass.
After prayer one afternoon, her father remained behind to speak with the priest.
Daniel overheard part of their conversation.
"…a small event for the orphans," her father was saying. "On her birthday. She insisted."
Daniel's eyes shifted slightly.
For the orphans?
He hadn't known.
A quiet idea formed in his mind.
That evening at the palace, Daniel sat at his desk, staring at several possible gifts laid out before him.
A necklace? A book? A music instrument? Silk ribbons?
None felt right.
He leaned back, frustrated.
"What does one give," he murmured to himself, "to someone who asks nothing for herself?"
As he wandered restlessly through the palace garden later that evening, his eyes fell upon the vanilla vine.
It had bloomed.
Soft white flowers had opened gently beneath the fading light.
Daniel stood still.
Then he smiled slowly.
The next day, Clare walked to school as usual.
She laughed with her friends. She read aloud confidently in class. She helped a younger student sound out difficult words.
The world felt simple.
Until the sound of horses interrupted the street.
Hooves striking stone.
A royal carriage approached, guarded by uniformed men in polished armor.
Students gathered near the gate, whispering.
Clare turned toward the road.
The carriage door opened.
And stepping down carefully, holding a small gloved hand out for balance—
Was Princess Elza.
Three years old. Dressed in soft royal blue. Eyes wide with curiosity.
And looking directly toward the academy.
Clare blinked in surprise.
The guards stepped aside.
And the little princess began walking toward the school gates.