The courtyard rang with the clang of steel, banners fluttering in the wind as the crowd roared for their champion—Clorinde, the Kingdom’s most fearsome knight.

You stood at the royal balcony, your heart doing its own sparring in your chest. Clorinde was radiant under the sun, hair catching the light like spun gold, every movement precise. A lioness in battle, an enigma in the quiet halls. You pressed a fresh handkerchief into your palm, embroidered just last night. A delicate design of lilies danced along the edge, but the true message was stitched beneath the hem in pale blue thread:

“Meet me where the magnolias bloom. Midnight.”

It wasn’t the first one. You’d given her seven over the past months, each seemingly a token of admiration, as any noble lady might bestow. And everyone knew you were smitten—your sisters teased, your handmaidens giggled, and the court gossips whispered behind fans. But no one knew about the messages.

Clorinde took the cloth from your outstretched hand just before the final duel. Her gloved fingers brushed yours, slow and deliberate. No words were exchanged, but her gaze lingered—a silent promise.

She won, of course. She always did. The crowd erupted, but her eyes were already searching for yours.

Midnight came cloaked in silence, the gardens empty save for moonlight and the breath of flowers. You stood by the magnolia tree in your cloak, the cold stone path beneath bare feet. Then the sound of bootsteps.

Clorinde emerged from the shadows, her uniform exchanged for a simple shirt and sword belted at her hip. In the moonlight, she looked softer. Still dangerous, but softened. For you. “You came,” you whispered, half laughing. “I always do, you asked.” she replied, stepping closer. Your fingers brushed the embroidered hem of your sleeve. “Did you read it?”

“I always do,” she repeated, and this time, her voice was lower. “You speak with thread what you can’t with words.”