Chapter 3: Promises in the Garden

Sinking into the bedding, my mind drifted back to a gentler summer. The memory was warm, a little patch of sunlight in all the dark.

Back then, I was just a kid. Lady Julia liked how clever I looked and kept me close to care for her little white dog. The dog was spoiled rotten—always begging for treats, always curling up in my lap.

Those good days didn’t last. The old king died, and overnight the manor changed. Nothing was ever the same.

The new king’s mother had been framed by Lady Julia and was executed by the Regent on the new king’s first day. The air in the manor got heavy, thick with suspicion and fear.

Everyone in Lady Julia’s wing was either killed or punished. I watched friends vanish, one after another, and wondered if I’d be next.

I carried the little white dog and my sad bundle to the Abandoned Wing. The rooms were freezing, the halls silent, but the dog curled up with me, and that helped.

One day after my shift, I realized the dog was missing. Panic hit me hard. I searched everywhere, terrified it might run into a noble and get us both killed.

In the garden, I heard it whining. I followed the sound, heart in my throat.

I found it rolling around under someone. The boy laughed, eyes crinkling with joy.

Panting, I ran over. My shoes slipped on the wet grass. I almost fell.

The boy looked up. “Your dog?” His voice was gentle, open.

“Yeah, mine.” I scooped up the dog, holding it tight.

“You take good care of it.” He smiled. My nerves eased a little.

Of course I did—the dog ate better than me before, now it ate the same as me. I scratched its ears, grinning despite myself.

He was dressed in silk, neat and polished, every move careful. He had to be important. Even his shoes shone.

I dropped to my knees. “Your servant greets you.” I kept my eyes down, hoping not to screw up.

“No need,” he said. “I’m just the King’s page.” His smile was easy. I looked up, surprised.

“A page? So you see the King every day?” I tried to sound casual, but I was dying to know.

He nodded. “And you? Which wing are you from?” His eyes sparkled, genuinely interested.

I hated being called a eunuch. He looked just a year or two older than me. I wanted him to think I was somebody.

So I puffed up. “I’m not a servant—I’m Mr. Carter the chef’s apprentice.” The lie slid out. I hoped he’d buy it.

“No wonder your dog’s so fat.” He laughed, and I felt my cheeks heat up.

I snatched the dog back. Its tail wagged, clueless.

He patted its head, slow to let go. “Did you just arrive?”

“Yeah, three months ago.” I tried to sound confident, but I still felt like the new kid.

“Me too—just one month. How do you like manor life?”

“Great. White bread, flour, sometimes meat, and loads of clothes.” I listed it off, trying to sound grateful.

“Where are you from?”

“Maple Heights, down South.” The name felt weird in my mouth, and suddenly I missed home so much it hurt.

“A prosperous place.” He sounded impressed. I shook my head.

“Not really. There was a flood this year—no crops at all. A lot of people starved. Otherwise, my parents wouldn’t have—” I caught myself. “Wouldn’t have sent me to Mr. Carter.”

“Didn’t the King send relief?” he asked, eyes wide. He looked so hopeful, and for a second, I felt hope too.

“No. The county clerk said the manor had no money.” Then I had an idea. “You’re the King’s page, right? Could you pass on a message—ask him to send some grain to Maple Heights?”

He looked sorry. “Okay, I’ll tell him.” His sincerity caught me off guard.

He asked, “What’s your name?”

“Just call me Jimmy. And you, little page?”

He smiled. “Eli.” It suited him—soft but strong.

Such a good name. I suddenly wished I’d told him my manor name. I wanted him to remember me.

I cleared my throat, trying to sound like him. “What do you think of the manor?”

His eyes dimmed. “Not much. My mother hanged herself so I could come here. Once I arrived, I realized it’s just another cage.” His words landed heavy. I felt a lump in my throat.

I patted his shoulder, awkward but trying. “She must have loved you a lot to send you to what she thought was best.” The words felt thin, but I meant them.

“Maybe.” He looked away, lost in his own thoughts.

“Eli, do you eat well as a page?” I tried to lighten things up.

He smirked. “Yeah. Big table of food every day.”

“That’s what your mom wanted—for you to eat well.” I tried to sound wise, but I was just guessing.

“But did I come here just to eat well?” His question hung there. I had no answer.

“The people in Maple Heights are starving, and here I am, eating my fill. Is that all there is?”

“Yes and no. Feeding yourself matters, but once you’re full, you want your family to be full too. So I send money home—they buy bread, seeds, even tools. One twenty can feed my parents, the tool seller, and others. I think that’s why I came.” I just blurted it out, hoping he’d get it.

“When you’re barely getting by, take care of yourself; when you’ve got enough, help others.”

“I never went to school. I don’t get it.” I shrugged, embarrassed.

He patted my head. “Same idea. If I’m in a high place, I should do what I can for others.”

I patted his head back, giving him a goofy grin. “That’s right.”

Suddenly, footsteps thundered behind us. The spell broke. We both tensed.

Mr. Nash burst in, grabbing Eli’s arm. “Kid, what are you doing here? The Regent’s waiting for you!”

I quickly hid my hand, knelt with the dog, and blurted out a plea for mercy. My heart hammered. Please, don’t punish me.

Eli got dragged away, but turned back after a few steps. He crouched, looking right at me. “Jimmy, I’ll be a good king someday. You be a good chef. When peace comes, I’ll take you to tour the South.”

Mr. Nash yanked him off, but Eli kept looking back. “I’m waiting to eat your cooking.”

Kneeling in the flowerbeds, clutching the dog, I felt the breeze and watched the sky lighten. That promise stuck with me, a little hope in a world that didn’t have much.

At twelve, Eli and I both believed in the future. We thought he could change the world. We were just kids, dreaming big.

After that, I went to the garden after every shift, but never saw him again. Days blurred together. Did he even remember me?

A month later, I got a letter from my brother—the manor had opened the granaries, sent workers to clear the fields. I clung to that news, hoping, just maybe, Eli had kept his word.

Later, people called him a useless tyrant, but I never believed it. I remembered the boy who cared about hungry families and little dogs.

I knew him before the rumors. I tried to remember that, even when everything else changed.

But Eli now—how did you turn into a tyrant? The question gnawed at me. I kept it to myself.