There had always been rumors about Manon Bannerman.
In a palace filled with servants, nobles, guards, tutors, advisers, and members of the royal family, rumors were practically another form of currency.
Some said Manon had earned the princess's favor because of her loyalty.
Others believed it was because of her mother, who had served the royal family faithfully for years.
A few of the older servants whispered that Manon simply knew how to handle Princess Lara better than anyone else.
They were all partially right.
But none of them knew the real reason.
The truth was much simpler.
Princess Lara Rajagopalan was in love with her.
She simply hadn't realized it yet.
At nineteen, Lara had spent twelve years believing that Manon belonged beside her in the same effortless way that the gardens belonged to the palace or the sun belonged above the kingdom.
Manon had always been there.
So, to Lara, she had never really been something she could lose.
She was simply Manon.
Her Manon.
Her favorite person.
Her best friend.
Her private servant.
Her safe place.
And, although Lara would have laughed if anyone had suggested otherwise, perhaps the only person in the entire kingdom who could tell her to stop being an idiot and actually make her listen.
⸻
The palace gardens were particularly beautiful in the late afternoon.
Golden sunlight slipped between the leaves of the trees, painting the stone paths with shifting shadows. The fountains whispered softly in the distance, and somewhere beyond the rose garden, birds sang from the branches of the old mango trees.
Lara had always preferred the gardens to the palace.
The palace was beautiful, certainly.
It was grand, imposing, filled with polished marble, enormous chandeliers, painted ceilings, and endless corridors.
But it was also filled with people.
People who watched.
People who judged.
People who expected.
People who constantly reminded her that she was a princess.
The garden did none of those things.
The garden simply existed.
And underneath one of the large gulmohar trees sat the princess herself.
She was leaning against the trunk, one leg stretched comfortably over the grass while the other was bent.
Her dark, wavy hair fell loosely around her shoulders, occasionally moving with the gentle breeze.
Beside her sat Manon.
As usual.
Manon was wearing the modest uniform expected of a royal servant, although Lara had spent the better part of the last year complaining that the palace's seamstresses made her clothes far too plain.
Manon had told her repeatedly that she didn't mind.
Lara had never believed her.
She was currently resting her head against Manon's shoulder.
