As the sun shone brightly above, Freya sat alone in the palace garden, the golden light casting gentle patterns on the stone path and blooming roses. The scene was peaceful almost enough to ease the weight in her chest.
But before she could fully take in the view, a guard approached and bowed slightly.
"Your Majesty, Sir Gaven requests an audience."
Freya nodded silently, watching as the man in question made his way toward her. She had noticed him among the court officials quiet, often overshadowed by the louder voices, yet never lacking in presence.
He appeared to be in his mid-thirties. If he had existed in her modern world, she thought, he could've easily been a model. His ginger curls danced gently in the breeze, framing a freckled face that carried both strength and youth. A subtle blush bloomed on his cheeks the moment her gaze met his.
Freya patted the stone bench beside her, her gaze drifting toward the garden's edge. "Come, Sir Gaven," she said with a gentle smile. "There's no need to stand like a statue."
Gaven hesitated for a moment, then sat slowly, his posture still stiff with respect. "Thank you, Your Majesty," he said, his voice slightly unsure. "I'm… not used to being this close to royalty."
She glanced at him sideways, the corners of her lips curling. "Neither am I. Some days, I still feel like a stranger wearing a borrowed crown."
He looked at her thoughtfully. "You wear it well, even if you don't feel it. People are starting to notice something's changed in the palace. Something good."
Her smile faded, replaced by a far-off look as her eyes traced the outline of the distant mountains. "But how can I help people I barely know? How can I fix anything if I don't even understand what they suffer through?"
He was quiet at first, then said, "I've heard whispers from the outer towns. Starvation, fear, injustice... But what you hear inside the palace walls, it's always filtered. If you truly want to understand them, you'll have to see it for yourself."
Freya turned to him, her expression steady. "Then that's what I'll do. I'll go to them not as their queen, but as one of them. I want to see with my own eyes, feel what they feel."
A flicker of worry passed through Gaven's eyes. "But it's dangerous. If someone were to recognize you…"
"They won't," she interrupted softly. "The curse left only vague memories. Most people wouldn't know me even if I stood in front of them in daylight. I'll wear plain clothes. I'll leave quietly. No guards, no carriage."
There was a silence between them, heavy and thoughtful. Then Gaven bowed his head slightly. "If that's your decision… allow me to train you in how to blend in. And let me follow from a distance. I won't interfere unless it's needed but I'll make sure you return safe."
She turned to him, touched by the quiet loyalty in his voice. "Thank you, Gaven. You see me not the title. That's rare."
He met her gaze, a faint blush rising on his freckled cheeks. "It's not the crown that earned my loyalty, Your Majesty. It's you."
By evening, Freya began her journey with the help of Sir Gaven and Lady Virelle each disguised as commoners. Lady Virelle had opposed the plan at first, but in the end, she had no choice but to accompany them. Their departure had been kept secret; even the palace servants had no idea. If word got out, it could cause unwanted suspicion or worse, chaos.
The first hour passed smoothly. The cool breeze, the fading sunlight, and the scent of wildflowers gave a false sense of adventure. But by the third hour, all three were panting. Lady Virelle, her hair clinging to her face from sweat, suddenly grabbed Sir Gaven by the ear and yanked.
"This is your fault!" she snapped. "Your ridiculous idea led us into this agony!"
Sir Gaven winced, trying to free himself. "Ow…ow! Let go, woman! You agreed to this!"
"I was cornered! That's not the same as agreeing!" she huffed, wiping her forehead and glaring at the narrow, darkening path ahead. "At this rate, I'll lose ten pounds before we even reach the village. Do you know how much I've worked to maintain my curves?"
Though she tried to sound outraged, her voice was more exhausted than anything.
Freya walked beside them, silent but visibly amused. She cast a sideways glance at the two and sighed. "You two bicker like five-year-olds."
But her amusement was brief. Her body, though seemingly recovered, still bore traces of the long curse. Pain sometimes shot through her bones without warning, and her limbs ached in a way that herbs could only soften, never erase.
This journey would be far from easy but necessary.