Chapter 2 The Gardener's Secret

Alistair stood motionless in the garden, his stone form a stark contrast against the vibrant colors of the roses. The curse had been placed on him years ago, and it had never loosened its grip. By day, he was stone, frozen in place, unable to speak, move, or interact with the world around him. But by night, when the moonlight bathed the castle grounds, he was free-if only for a few precious hours.

Every day, as the sun rose higher in the sky, Alistair's body stiffened and began its transformation. His legs, once capable of running across the castle grounds, turned to stone, the cold creeping up his body like the hands of some ancient being reaching to claim him. He had long since learned to ignore the ache, to endure it, as he waited for the night to return and grant him his fleeting moments of humanity.

But today was different.

Today, something caught his attention-someone.

Elara.

She was the gardener, though it seemed there was much more to her than the simple title implied. Alistair had watched her from the stone bench for weeks now, marveling at her grace as she tended to the magical roses that bloomed only in this garden. There was something ethereal about her, something that made him wonder if she, too, had a connection to the magic that bound him.

Her hands moved with care and precision as she pruned the roses, the petals glimmering faintly under her touch. She spoke softly to them, her voice lilting with a melody that seemed to echo through the garden. Alistair had heard the stories-how the roses were imbued with ancient magic, capable of healing, of protecting, and even of cursing. But what was their connection to Elara? He couldn't help but wonder.

Alistair knew the curse had its origins in a betrayal, an event that had occurred long before his time. It was said that a royal ancestor had angered a powerful sorcerer, and in revenge, the sorcerer had cursed the royal line to be bound to stone, trapped between life and death. The roses, the legend said, were both the source of the curse and the key to breaking it. But how did Elara fit into all of this? Did she know more than she let on?

For a long while, he watched her, his gaze fixed on her movements, the way she seemed so at home among the roses. There was a peacefulness to her, a tranquility that Alistair envied. It was as if the garden itself had woven its magic around her, creating a barrier between her and the world outside. She didn't belong to the castle in the traditional sense. There was a mystery about her, a quiet knowing in her eyes that made Alistair wonder if she could see through his stone facade.

When the sun reached its peak, he felt the curse tightening its grip, the stone creeping up his legs, inch by inch, freezing him in place. His heart ached, a dull throb, not from pain, but from the deep longing to be free. Free to speak, free to move, free to act on the thoughts swirling in his mind.

He had grown accustomed to the solitude, to the stillness of the garden. But as the days turned into weeks, the loneliness had begun to wear on him. There was something deeply isolating about being trapped in stone for so long, unable to communicate, unable to feel anything except the passing of time. But Elara-her presence-was a welcome distraction. A mystery that called to him in ways he couldn't explain.

Just as the first stone began to form around his knees, Elara's voice broke the silence. She wasn't speaking to anyone, just humming softly to herself as she moved among the flowers, but the sound was enough to stir something within him.

The sound of her voice. It was gentle, soothing, like the wind rustling through the trees or the trickle of water over smooth stones. It was as if the garden itself came alive whenever she spoke. Alistair's mind drifted, and for a brief moment, he imagined what it would be like to speak to her, to hear her laugh, to share his thoughts with her. But that, of course, was impossible. His voice was trapped behind the stone, his words lost in time.

Suddenly, Elara stopped. Her eyes seemed to scan the garden, and for a heartbeat, Alistair could have sworn she was looking directly at him. But how could she? He was stone, a lifeless figure among the roses. There was no way she could know he was aware of her presence.

Yet, her gaze lingered, as though she sensed something-or someone-watching her. A chill ran down Alistair's spine, though it wasn't from the stone. Could she feel his gaze, even without seeing him move?

She stepped closer, her bare feet brushing the earth with each careful step. She knelt beside the nearest rosebush, her hands brushing against the petals with a tenderness that made Alistair's heart ache. His mind raced. Was she the key? Did she know the secret of the roses? Of the curse? Was she aware of what had happened to him? Or was she simply lost in the garden, as he was?

Elara took a deep breath, and for a fleeting moment, she turned her head toward him, her eyes meeting his. She didn't flinch or look away, as most would have if they saw a prince turned to stone. Instead, her gaze softened, her brow furrowing slightly as if in deep thought.

Alistair's heart pounded in his chest, even though it was nothing more than a stone shell. Her eyes held something-something that made him feel as though she saw through his curse, as if she knew there was more to him than just a statue. The connection, however brief, left him breathless.

And then, without a word, she turned back to the roses, her fingers gently caressing the petals, lost in her work once again. But for Alistair, the moment lingered. It was a simple exchange, a glance, but it felt like the world had shifted. The truth was, he didn't know if she could feel the magic that tied him to the stones, or if she simply sensed his presence as he watched her from afar. But something told him that Elara knew more than she let on.

As the sun continued its climb, Alistair felt the stone creep higher, but he was no longer consumed by the curse. His thoughts were with Elara, with the mysterious bond that seemed to connect them. He had no answers, only questions-about her, about the roses, about the curse that held him in its grasp.

Would she be the one to help him? Would she be the one to break the curse?

The day dragged on, the stone overtaking him piece by piece, but his mind remained sharp, focused on the gardener who had unknowingly stolen his attention and his heart.

And as the sun began to set, and the evening approached, Alistair could feel the first stirrings of hope. For the first time in years, he dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as alone as he had once thought.