The days in the forest turned brighter, even when the sky was gray.
The prince arrived every morning now, sometimes before sunrise, eager to see his silent companion—who, though still nameless, was no longer just a shadow in the woods. They sat beneath the same ancient tree, where leaves fell like gentle whispers. There, their world began to bloom.
Today, the prince brought something new.
"A book," he announced proudly, lifting a leather-bound volume from his satchel. "I thought… maybe you'd want to learn to read."
The child tilted their head, eyes wide with interest. Hesitation lingered, but the prince noticed the way those eyes scanned the pages like they already knew this was something powerful.
"I'll teach you," he said, patting the grass beside him.
The child sat. Closer than before.
The prince opened the book. "This," he said, pointing, "is the letter 'A'. It sounds like—ah. Like in 'apple.'"
He didn't expect much. Maybe boredom. But what he saw surprised him—pure focus.
The child watched his mouth move. Repeated the sounds softly. Mimicked the prince's handwriting in the dirt with delicate, precise fingers.
It was like watching a candle catch fire.
Within days, the child knew more than just letters. Words came next. Then sentences. Then names. The prince began writing small stories for them, laughing when the child corrected his spelling with a smug little glance.
"You're smart," the prince said one afternoon, not hiding his admiration.
The child looked away, bashful. But something glowed in their eyes—pride.
That pride burned even brighter the first day the prince introduced a wooden sword.
"I thought you might like to try this too," he said, holding it out. "It's fun. I'll show you."
He demonstrated a few basic moves, slicing the air with ease. "Like this—feet strong, hands steady. Imagine the sword is part of your arm."
The child took it gently, mimicking the stance, copying every move like water reflecting the sky. Clumsy at first, but only for moments.
Then the movements turned smooth. Natural. Almost… familiar.
The prince raised a brow. "You've never held a sword before?"
The child shook their head.
"Then how are you this good?"
He didn't get a reply. But he noticed something again—something that had been poking at him for a while.fu
Delicate wrists. Slender neck. The way the child moved—not like a boy, but not quite like a girl either. Something in between. Or… something hidden.
He said nothing.
But he wondered.
One evening, as the sun dipped behind the trees, he looked at the child—now reading aloud from a book while twirling the wooden sword in one hand—and felt his chest twist in the strangest way.
"Do you… like being here?" he asked quietly.
The child looked at him.
And nodded.
Not a quick nod. A slow, certain one.
The prince smiled. "Then I'll make sure this forest stays ours. Just yours and mine."
That night, when he returned to the palace, he scribbled in his journal.
He isn't like anyone else. But maybe… he isn't "he" at all?
What are you really? And why do I feel this way when I see you smile?