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The events of that summer at Wilderwood - they would create a rift between the prince and the sorcerer that lasted years. But once, and for a short while, there was a golden braided bridge over that rift, and it might have fixed things, had it not decayed into flowers.
Lorelei was separate from the world. She was a low ranking noble - not part of the village, but not important enough to be bothered with politics and arranged marriages. She was a free spirit, truly. Wherever she went, luck and cheerfulness followed. She was blessed.
At a diner party celebrating recent trade deals, Roland and Lorelei met for the first time. Cedric happened to be there too - by virtue of Cordelia performing a magic show to represent Enchancia. They made her a new platinum blond wig for the occasion and everything.
‘Lady Lorelei’ (as she had been introduced) spilt strawberry compote on her dress within the first five minutes - as was typical of her, although they didn’t know that yet.
“No…!” she cursed herself under her breath (it was meant to be under her breath, but Cedric heard, as he was sitting next to her) “ Why didn’t I bring a spare…?”
“I have a spell for that, if you want,” Cedric said, then immediately regretted it, because Lorelei made a face like he just stabbed her in the foot. “Sorry.”
“No, no don’t apologise,” her face softened, but she glanced sideways, “just, I don’t normally come to events like this. I don’t want anyone to see that I made a mess.”
“That’s… surprisingly relatable,” Cedric laughed, removing his wand from the top pocket of his shirt, “I get it. Things like that can follow you for a long time.”
To his regret, this did not comfort Lorelei, and her face grew a shade paler, “it - making a mess can follow you? ”
“Urr,” Cedric glanced at his sister’s wig, “well, yes. But don’t worry. Spilling compote is not the sort of mess that will follow you.”
“Few,” she buried her head in her hands, “I would never have come if I knew being a proper noble was so stressful.”
“Prince Roland sometimes says it’s stressful being a royal, too,” Cedric pondered, “I think that’s why they keep sorcerer’s around. So things run smoothly.”
“I’d never seen a sorcerer until that Cordelia girl did her show,” Lorelei commented, “it was impressive. I hope I’ll get to see one again someday.”
Cedric cleared his throat.
“What?” Lorelei looked up at him, then blinked, “oh! Is that a magic wand? Sorry, I thought it was a, umm, stick thingy. I guess this means you’re a sorcerer too?”
“Cordelia is my sister,” Cedric tried to spin his wand around in his fingers, failed, dropped it in his food, and then tried to play that off as part of the trick. Lorelei giggled.
“I would not have guessed. I mean, Cordelia is blond, isn’t she?”
“She… she dyes her hair,” Cedric lied.
“About that spell…”
Right - Stainius Removieus, ” the stain lifted itself off the fabric and disappeared.
“Thank you.”
Later that evening, Roland and Lorelei shared a dance - cupid struck his bow. The rest is written in history books.
But there were other things too.
Things not written in history books.
Like how the prince and the sorcerer could put aside their differences if Lorelei wanted to go pick strawberries. Like how the same sunlight caught blond, brown, black and grey hair on said trips to pick strawberries. Like how her favourite trick was always the flower petals. Like who she chose to cry to after the doctor’s visits, and how he wanted to help, but knew dappling in such magic was dangerous.
Like how the flowers by her grave never seemed to fade, or wilt, or die.
And no one thought to question why.
And if they asked, he would just lie.
And say that he had never cried.
But later each night, and with a sigh, he knelt down with a basket of strawberries, and buried each one, in the hopes that they might grow, and she might be among the strawberry bushes once more.