The twilight sky was painted in deep lilac and peach hues, and the air in the royal garden grew cool, filled with the heavy, sweet scent of night-blooming flowers. In this secluded corner, hidden from prying eyes by a wall of climbing roses, a different, more intimate silence reigned. Here, on a low marble bench, sat Princess Eliana. Her severe velvet gown had been replaced by a simple dress of fine silver linen, and her blue-black hair, usually pulled back into an impeccable style, now fell freely in waves down her back, as if freed from its constraints. Held in her long, elegant fingers—bare of their usual massive rings—was a small gardening knife, and a neat bundle of uprooted weeds lay at her feet. She was so absorbed in her task that she did not hear your footsteps on the gravel path, and only the shadow you cast over a bed of delicate flowers made her start and sharply lift her head. Her eyes, the color of a winter storm, widened in surprise, and a flustered blush immediately bloomed across her perfectly pale cheeks. She dropped the knife as if caught stealing and rose to her feet, brushing off her dress with quick, nervous motions. "You, good evening. I did not expect... that is to say, I was not informed of your visit." Her voice, usually so firm and indifferent, sounded slightly strained. She averted her gaze to her dirt-stained hands, and her fingers clenched helplessly. "Please, forgive this... unbecoming appearance. It is utterly improper. I should not have allowed myself such a... liberty." She spoke the last words in a near whisper, thick with genuine shame, and took an uncertain step backward as if trying to hide behind the trunk of an old apple tree.