I stayed in the gazebo for a while. The bench had warmed from the sun, and the breeze passed through the open arches like quiet conversation. I let my fingers rest on the carved edge of the table, following the grooves worn smooth by time.
Whoever made this place had done so with care, not just to impress others, but to make it peaceful. I liked that. I traced the spirals once more with my thumb, then stood and looked back through the rose paths.
Gabel was waiting a little ways off. He wasn't close enough to interrupt. He hadn't spoken once since I entered the maze. But I saw him standing there—one hand resting on the low garden wall, eyes following the clouds more than me. He didn't watch me like he was keeping track. Just... making sure I wasn't alone.
I walked back toward him and stopped near his side. He looked down gently. He always waited for me to speak first.
I asked, "Can I meet... everyone?"
He tilted his head slightly, not confused but careful. "Everyone in the palace?"
I nodded my head. "The people who work here. Your family. The others."
His expression didn't shift too far, but I saw the corners of his mouth lift. "Of course," he said. "Would you like to meet them now?"
I nodded. He picked me up. He didn't ask first, but he moved slowly—his arms sliding around me in a way that wasn't forceful or clumsy. I didn't tense. My body had gotten used to being helped, at least by hands that didn't grab or pull.
Besides, walking everywhere would take too long. He explained we'd have to search for many of them while they were working. So I let him carry me. His steps were quiet, even on the marble floors.
He didn't bounce me or shift me constantly like some adults did. He just held me like I was something he didn't want to drop or jostle. Something small, but not breakable.
The first servant we came across was polishing the hallway glass. She had sleeves rolled to the elbow and a basket of clean cloths beside her. Her name was Yanne. She was tall, with a warm, moon-round face and hair pulled into a thick bun. When Gabel introduced me, she bowed—not stiffly, but with a hand over her heart.
"A pleasure, young master."
I didn't know how to answer that. So I just said, "Thank you for your work."
Her face changed. Not surprised—but something like soft pride flickered there. She smiled, nodded, and said nothing else.
Next, we passed by two older boys arranging linens in one of the guest hall storage rooms. Gabel introduced them as Sethrin and Miko, two of the linen keepers. They looked about fifteen or sixteen. Sethrin had wide shoulders and freckles. Miko was thin and quiet, only bowing instead of speaking.
"You can visit the guest wing whenever you like," Sethrin told me, "but if you ever want the big bed linens for a fort, ask me."
I blinked. "...For a fort?"
He winked. "The clean ones are better for tunnels."
Gabel cleared his throat, but not in a strict way. Sethrin saluted jokingly and went back to folding. After that, we stopped near the main stairwell where two women were dusting the banisters and flower sconces. They wore matching gray dresses with soft yellow belts and introduced themselves as Lin and Mara, twin sisters.
"Lovely to meet you, young lord," one said.
"I like your hair," the other added.
I whispered a quiet "thank you."
They nodded as if it had been louder. Then we entered the kitchen. It was a different world. The smell hit first—roasted vegetables, rising bread, something warm and spiced. It wasn't harsh, like the burnt butter back at the orphanage, but rich and full. Everything was moving—pots steaming, trays being slid into ovens, herbs being chopped. No one shouted. No one ran. But it was alive.
Gabel stepped carefully through the wide doors, still holding me. The floor here was tiled differently, darker stone with faint gold lines that formed squares. The kitchen staff didn't seem surprised to see us. A few looked up. Most kept working. The room was busy, but not chaotic.
"Elarion," Gabel said, "this is my father. Elloise De Orath."
The man standing at the large center counter turned. He had the same color eyes as Gabel. The same careful way of moving. His apron was clean, even though he held a knife in one hand and had herbs spread across the table in front of him. His hair was streaked at the edges with gray, tied back at the nape. He didn't look tired. Just precise.
He bowed slightly—not low, not dramatically. "Your Grace," he said softly, "welcome."
"I'm not a duke," I said without thinking.
He smiled. "Then I'll call you what you like."
I didn't know what I liked yet. But I nodded anyway.
"This is your first time in the kitchen, isn't it?"
I nodded again.
"You're welcome any time. As long as you don't touch the oven and you wash your hands before handling dough."
I let the smallest smile curl into the corner of my mouth. He winked. Then returned to his chopping, smooth and rhythmic. Behind him, I was introduced to the rest of the staff—three women and one man who prepared most of the daily meals.
One of them, Mistress Halea, had bright white hair even though she didn't look old. She pressed a warm bun into my hand before I left. I thanked her. She said she hoped I'd visit again when the afternoon bread was ready.
We passed by the laundry quarters, where two maids were boiling water and folding tunics. They smiled and nodded. We crossed the hallway into the storage wing, where a quiet man named Jonquil kept track of every box of dry goods, candles, ink, and thread.
We stopped by the servants' common room, where a few off-duty workers were playing cards and sipping tea. And then we reached the corridor near my own wing again. That was where I met her. Gabel turned a corner, still holding me, and slowed his pace as we passed a maid with deep green eyes and dark curls gathered in a net.
She was standing beside a flower cart, arranging white lilies into a silver vase. She looked up when she saw us. "Your Grace," she said gently.
Gabel stopped. "This is my mother," he said. "Marybell De Orath."
The head maid. She didn't look stern. Not like Matron Lynelle had. Marybell looked... exact. That was the word I thought of. Like everything about her had been smoothed into something just right—not too much, not too little.
She bowed her head with a hand over her chest. Then stepped closer. "You've already met my children," she said softly. "We're all grateful for the trust Lord Caelum has given us. And we're grateful for the chance to serve you."
I looked at her for a long moment. I didn't know how to reply to that. Not with words that didn't feel borrowed. So I just said, "Thank you for everything you do."
Her eyes softened—barely—but I noticed. She nodded once. And that was all.
We met Caelum on the way back. He was walking through the east corridor, unaccompanied, a book under one arm. When he saw us, he slowed, his expression warm but curious. "What are you two up to?" he asked—not sharply, not like someone trying to catch us doing something wrong. Just... curious.
"I asked to meet everyone," I said. "The servants. Gabel's family."
He blinked, surprised—but not at me. At himself, maybe. Then he smiled.
"That's very brave of you," he said.
I tilted my head. "Brave?"
He nodded. "It takes courage to talk to new people. Even more to ask. You did both."
He reached out, but stopped short of touching my hair. Then added, "It's also a very good thing to know the people you live with—the ones who help keep this place running. Trust is important. And so is kindness."
He didn't say it like a lecture. Just a fact. Like something I already knew, and he was only giving it a name. I nodded slowly. And he smiled again. Like it mattered. Like I'd done something worth noticing.
I didn't know how to thank him yet. So I just looked at him, let my hand rest against Gabel's shoulder, and said nothing. But I thought: I'm trying. And maybe that was enough.