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Chapter Text

As the sun beats down on Sophie's face, relief washes over her like the cool mist of dawn. She’s begun the journey to a new place of employment, where she’s been graced with the opportunity to sew for the royal family.

Sophie begins to worry that she won’t be able to hold her needle straight in the presence of such elegance. She laughs at the thought.

When she steps into the palace it takes a grand amount of self-restraint to keep herself from gasping out loud. The floors were a rich red and the walls were decorated with glistening gold. It was like walking into a painting and feeling the presence of the artist.

The extravagance of the room begins to make her feel uneasy. Sophie starts to wonder if she can truly do her best here.

She spots an old lady pushing a tea cart by the huge archway.

“Good morning Miss, would you be able to help me find Her Highness? I’m the new seamstress.”

“Oh yes, she’s about to have her breakfast. I’ll lead you to her.” The old woman replies.

Sophie gingerly follows the woman as she leads her into an ornate room. The huge windows allow the sunlight to shine through, in almost a blinding way.

Somehow the sun shines brighter in here than outside, Sophie thought.

At the end of a long table sits the beauty of Her Highness, Roselyn Vera. Her dark hair resembles the ocean waves at night, and her bronzed skin like the saving grace of a lighthouse.

“You must be the new seamstress, it’s lovely to meet you.” The Queen waves Sophie over.

“Yes my lady, a pleasure.” Sophie dips into a curtsy and approaches the table.

“I am so glad you’re here! As I’m sure you’re aware, the upcoming ceremony is very important. I need you to make sure all eyes are on me. But with your talents I should have no worries, correct?” The Queen questions.

“Yes of course, Your Majesty” She answers, slightly taken aback by her overly cheery attitude.

“Perfect! I will fetch Laurent to show you to the sewing room. I will be joining you later to take my measurements.” The queen rings a bell and a slim older man with white speckled black hair enters through the huge double doors at the back.

“Please follow me.” He directs.

Sophie obliges.

Perhaps they made the palace maze-like to deter people intending to do harm. Or perhaps Sophie was just unable to fathom the expanse that this place covers. Sophie makes a mental note to never walk alone here.

Arriving at the sewing room, Laurent bids his goodbye, leaving Sophie alone to take in her new working quarters.

Observing the luxurious fabrics, Sophie runs her hand over a particularly glossy blue one, resembling a sapphire. Looking around the room, the gold-plated scissors, the perfectly ordered push pins, and the sewing machine worth a year's salary—all of it emphasizes what she lacks, and how plain she was.

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Sophie Chaplier loves many things. Like the smell of freshly baked bread, the colors of a blossoming field of flowers, and the feeling of dawn right before the sun breaks the horizon. Although she shows her appreciation in abundance, she has never really felt what it means to be loved.

Growing up, it was as if she didn't exist. Never a thought in anyone’s mind, not even her own parents.

Sophie grew up in the countryside of France. In a small town, there's supposed to be an interwoven community where everyone knows everyone. This might be true for others, but for Sophie it was quite the opposite. The closer others became around her, the more she felt pushed out of the social circle.

Sophie was not a planned child. In fact, she was the bitter end of a glorious young romance, as she was always reminded. She was the antithesis of love itself, the adversary of happiness. Her parents were not meant to be parents…at least when she was a child. Sophie always wondered if it was a sin to be born. Maybe that would explain the heavy feeling of guilt that weighed on her and never subsided.

Sophie knew she could never be a blessing when they stopped feeding her at the age of six—right as her younger sister was born. She was truly surprised there was enough love left in their relationship to procreate once more. All attention went to her. As it should Sophie thought. As it should, as it should, as it should was all that kept her from breaking. These three words kept the balance within her mind. Before her sister, she only knew cold, unhappy parents, so she believed this to be a normal occurrence among households. Through her little sister Marie she could see her parents’ radiant loving energy–but only from the corner of a room. She could never resent Marie though, for how could it be her fault? She could never resent anyone actually. Perhaps that was her problem.

Since she could walk, Marie constantly tried to shift that radiance onto Sophie. It was a fruitless endeavor, Sophie’s parents treated her like their first and only child. Sophie would put an end to her attempts with a quick nod or a small smile. A burden like that should never fall on the younger sibling. So she would merely observe the warmth of love and cover herself with it in her dreams.

When her mother died, Sophie cried for weeks on end. She felt guilty as the hot tears spilled down her face, because they were selfish in nature. Not only was she grieving her mother, she was grieving the loss of a vital opportunity. She was grieving because she never got to prove her worth to her mother. She never got to show her own mother that there was a reason for her birth.

Sophie’s father later remarried when she was seventeen. Her stepmother was always kind and fair, but Sophie felt that it was out of pity–not love. She didn't blame her. Her stepmother was beautiful in all sorts of ways: her smile, her voice, even her name. Ms. Alizee Elea was the epitome of beauty. Instead of lingering on her insecurities that arose, Sophie devoted her time into creating gorgeous articles of clothing. With every turn of her needle, Sophie forgot about her hair which was far from silky, her bland face that failed to capture the attention of any man, and a body that lacked the curves of femininity.

What started as a simple diversion was all thanks to her childhood friend, Kaskashi Kabu. His family had moved from Japan when she was eight, as the relations with France had drastically strengthened at the turn of the century. Most of his extended family resided in Paris, but he said that his mother preferred the quiet of the countryside. Sophie never understood the appeal because the stretches of farmland seemed to confine her in mundanity. While his other family worked as diplomats, Kakashi’s mother spent her time sewing at her shop at the edge of town.

They bonded over being socially isolated, not like all the others. They both gravitated to the lonely corners and quiet alcoves. He would visit the river that flowed through the town and sift for the most interesting looking coins. Since the river mouth began to the north of Paris, coins from foreigners thrown in as wishes would make their way down to the countryside. Sophie would argue with Kakashi that he’s “stealing wishes”, but he would always have a reason as to why that wasn’t the case. "I wished for their wish to come true already" he said, waving off her worry. Sophie wasn't certain that was how wishes really worked, but despite that she began to join him on his coin expeditions. She remembered the very first coin they caught together, it was gold with Arabic writing. Sophie let Kakashi keep it, to add to his collection.

One spring afternoon, Kakashi brought Sophie over to see his current coin collection. The first thing Sophie noticed upon entering was that their home was connected to his mom’s shop. Home and work seem to blend together in the Kabu residence. The beautiful chaos captured inside made her heart swell. Gorgeous gowns, down to the floor. Headpieces filled with gems, stacked high to the ceiling. The pieces seemed to make the mannequins come to life. An image of a ballroom appeared in front of Sophie as she imagined the elegant flow of each piece in a regal dance. Coming to life with each step. Ms. Kabu sat at a desk, bent over her work as her loose curls fell over her shoulder. When she looked up to greet Sophie, she noticed the young lady staring in awe at the mess before her. Noticing her curiosity, Kakashi’s mother offered her materials she was no longer using to feed her new interest.

During the following summer their once unwavering friendship would come to an end. Kakashi visited the Chaplier residence early one morning to tell her that his mother was summoned to the city for diplomatic matters. They were only supposed to be gone for one week, two at most.

When one week passed, Sophie’s trust in Kakashi’s words began to falter. When two weeks passed her faith had fully diminished. They never came back. Sophie never saw Kakashi again.

Chapter Text

Every summer, Sophie would lie in the strawberry fields where she used to name the shapes of clouds with Kakashi. She still held onto the unreasonable hope that they would meet again. She would often find herself at the river making double wishes, sometimes even triple for Kakashi’s return.

This may be the reason she was drawn to Paris. The mere possibility that they could be reunited once more. Sophie would hear a multitude of news from the farmers who had gone to the city market. Once she caught wind of a designer showcase happening in the Centre des Artes, she knew she had to enter immediately.

Sophie was in a fervor when creating her pieces, the outside world had blurred and muted—becoming an unimportant background. For one month, Sophie poured her heart into her designs. She created seven pieces in total: three gowns, three skirts, and one headpiece. Tulle, organza, and silk. That was the language Sophie spoke.

After the completion of her pieces, Sophie made her way to Paris. Walking several miles to the train station with nothing on her person but her seven pieces. By the time she reached the station she was drenched in sweat and her arms had gone numb. However, she couldn't spare her aching body a thought because of her overwhelming excitement.

Entering the Centre des artes was a truly surreal experience. Hundreds of gorgeous artworks hung on the wall and displayed in glass cases. Paintings that told stories of sorrow, sculptures that had life breathed into them, and dresses rich with culture and history.

When Sophie was informed that the Queen of England had taken a liking to her pieces, she almost died of joy. Her majesty had requested that she work at the palace as her personal seamstress. Sophie happily accepted the proposition.

She packed her life into one suitcase, said farewell to her sister, and alerted her father and stepmother of her departure.

She looked at the fields one last time, and set off to see new skies.

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“Did I keep you waiting too long?” The queen inquired as she walked into the sewing room followed by two servants.

Sophie had been broken from her daze of the past. “Of course not, my lady. I am ready to start your fitting.”

“Perfect! Anna, Mae.” The queen called to the servants and they immediately began to remove her gown. Stripping her down to only her chemise.

Sophie pulled out her measuring tape and held it against the Queen's body, starting with the shoulders. As she made her way down, they made small conservation.

“Why Sophie, your English is absolutely marvelous for a Frenchwoman!” She brightly declared.

“Thank you, in my town we grow up learning English in school from a young age.”
Sophie wrote down each measurement in her little blue notebook, subsequently informing the queen that she had completed her work.

“Prince Howl and Prince Markl should be coming soon to have their fittings done as well so be expecting them. Well I’m off.” Once fully dressed again, the Queen left the room with her servants. Leaving Sophie alone once again.

She wasn't for long however, because as soon as she sat down a little boy with auburn hair came bustling through. He looked around six years but walked as if he was a full adult. A few moments later a servant arrived, slightly out of breath.

“Why hello, you must be Prince Markl?” Sophie greeted him.

Markl said nothing but walked to the center of the room and lifted his arms, all with a pout on his face. She could tell he wasn’t pleased to be here. She tried to make small conversation, but all her attempts were futile and ignored by the young prince. Sophie silently completed the fitting and Markl went on his way, seeming happy now that it was done.

That just leaves Prince Howl. Sophie has heard of Howl due to his recent popularity stemming from the trouble he’s caused. Caught with women in compromising places, messing with government officials, and his notorious pranks. Because of this, Sophie was a tad bit nervous to meet the rumored mischief maker.

Sophie’s eyes widened as the prince walked in, unaccompanied. He was beautiful, with his golden hair reminding her of sun rays and soft blue eyes like the sky she would stare at for hours as a child. Perhaps the scandalous gossip was true, Sophie instantly became more insecure under his gaze.

“Hello…” Howl started.

“Sophie, Sophie Chaplier.” She stuttered out.

“Well it’s quite nice to meet you Sophie Chaplier, shall we begin?” He transitioned smoothly.

“Yes of course.” Sophie shot up from her chair and scrambled for her measuring tape. Her heart began to race and her palms started sweating. While Sophie wasn’t the most comfortable with talking to new people, she rarely got flustered. Maybe the royalty really was getting to her head.

Her hands began to shake as she held the measuring tape up to his body. Silently cursing herself as she tried to remain as composed as possible. Noticing her unsteadiness, Howl reached out and took one of Sophie's hands.

“Is England too cold for your liking?” Howl asked with a genuine concern on his face.

“Oh…yes, I’m not used to the autumn of England, central France is much warmer.” She went along with his misinterpretation. Sophie’s face was burning up as if she had just stepped back into France in the middle of July.

“I’ll ask one of the servants to fetch you a coat” He replied, letting go of her hand.

“Oh no you're too kind, I’ll just need to adjust to the new environment.” Sophie reassured him.

“If you insist.” He looked up and said nothing else, cueing Sophie to continue her duties.

Once they had finished, he offered a polite goodbye and a small wave. Sophie let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Sophie brushed off her current flustered state due to being in the presence of royalty. That’s all it was. He was…quite nice, she thought. Some rumors are just that.
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Sophie drew up rough sketches of the ball attire. The theme of the event was fantasy creatures so she had to execute it perfectly. For Her Highness, she planned to create the dress in a fashion similar to a mermaid. Markl would be a griffin and Howl would be a dragon. Once she finished up her work for the day she tidied up and left the sewing room. Plenty of progress was made today, Sophie happily thought to herself.

It dawned on her suddenly that she would have to traverse the palace alone to find the servant’s quarters. Stepping out of the room she spotted a middle aged woman. The woman appeared to be from the kitchen based on the spots of flour on her clothes. As she passed by, Sophie called out to her.

“Uh miss, would you mind showing me where the servants quarters are?” Sophie asked politely.

“Oh you're the new seamstress correct, well right this way.”

“Yes, my name is Sophie and yours?”

“Mrs. Kentle.” She replied.

Mrs. Kentle began to give Sophie a rundown of the palace as they walked. Showing her the hidden servant passageways throughout the structure.

“Oh yes, many things have changed since King Richard passed. A kind man he was for certain. This ball will be the first time Queen Roselyn will be out of mourning attire in public, so I’m sure she’s excited. Have you met the boys yet?” She asked.

“Yes, it seemed that Markl may not have taken a liking to me. Howl was quite nice though. “ Sophie told her.

“Markl is a sweet boy, he’s just a bit shy so please give him grace. As for Howl, it would serve you well to stay away from him, young lady.”

“Oh really, but why?” Sophie feigned confusion.

“Since his father's death he has become quite the trouble maker. His acts are a disgrace to the crown and his disobedience is deplorable. I implore you to be careful.”

“Noted.” Sophie sighed knowing that the gossip was true within the walls of the palace as well.

“Well the queen has been very nice to me” She started.

“Ah the queen is a wonderful…ruler” Mrs. Kentle said as she glanced around quickly.

The pair had finally reached Sophie’s room and Mrs. Kentle was still rambling on.
“Oh you got one of the nicer rooms!” Mrs. Kentle noticed as she opened the door.

Sophie had tuned out Mrs. Kentle’s words as she looked at the red wool coat that sat atop her bed, neatly folded. When she left, Sophie held the coat up and admired the fine material. The inside was made of a smooth silk and the outside a soft wool. I have to thank the prince tomorrow for the gift, she thought. This was partially to be polite and partially an excuse to see him again.

She had bathed, changed into her night attire, and sat herself in front of the small window by her bed. She quietly opened it and felt the brisk air on her cheeks. She breathed it all in: the new city, the new people, the new…everything. She didn’t feel homesick, although she missed her sister. As she sat there she noticed that the stars did not shine as brightly in London as they did back home in Giverny. Sophie hoped that Kakashi could still count them, wherever he was.

Chapter Text

At the start of the following week, preparations for the ball were in full swing. Servants rushing back and forth. Decorations being hung, vases polished, artworks dusted. It was like a beehive with all the dedicated workers fully focused on their objective. For the most part, Sophie would stay in the sewing room creating her masterpieces. When Sophie wasn’t totally engrossed in her work she was quickly hit with the reality of how lonely she was in an unfamiliar country (Mrs. Kentle had been very busy in the kitchen lately) . When she would step out of her sewing room, she was easily overwhelmed .

Sophie had gotten her lunch and started walking to her room to eat when she was stopped by a girl around her age with curly copper hair.

“Where ya going with your food?” The girl questioned with a heavy Scottish accent.

“Oh…uh, to my room?” Sophie stated blankly.

“But why?” She looked at Sophie with a puzzled expression.

“Well I don’t have anyone to sit with in the dining hall and I’m a bit shy to be honest.” She admitted.

“That’s nonsense, how're you gonna meet anyone that way?” The girl retorted frankly.

She tugged at Sophie’s sleeves imploring her to go back to the servant’s dining hall. If I must, Sophie thought following behind.

“My name’s Blair by the way, what’s yours?” The girl asked.

“It’s Sophie, nice to meet you Blair,” Sophie replied.
Blair answered with a wide smile.

While Sophie was a bit annoyed at the change in plans, she appreciated someone pushing her to be more social just like Marie would. When she stepped into the hall it was full of people chatting away with others.

A group of girls sitting together at a table waved when they walked in. Approaching the table, Sophie was immediately enveloped with welcoming energy. Their friendly nature made it seem like she was already part of the group.

“Everyone, this is Sophie, she recently started working here.” Blair announced.

“I’m Eira.”

“I’m Lynette.”

“I’m Liviana.”

“And, I’m Adeline.”

“It’s nice to meet you all.” Sophie said to them.

“Are you from another area, I hear a slight accent.” Eira inquired.

“Yes, I’m from France.” Sophie confirmed.

“France!” Adeline exclaimed, her hands shot up.

“Oh that must explain your effortless poise Sophie.” Liviana cooed.

“Please tell us about France.” Blair begged.

“Well, what do you want to know?” Sophie welcomed the incoming questions.

“Is it really as romantic as they say?” Livinana started.

“Well not in my little town, but in Paris there is more ‘love in the air’ I suppose.”

“Have you been to the Eiffel tower?” Lynette followed suit.

“Not yet I want to go with someone, but I've seen it.”

“Oo see it with who?” Adeline cooed.

“Well anyone really, just a bit sad to go on alone.” Sophie replied.

“What’s your favorite french food?” Eira questioned.

“Hmm, I never thought of that. Maybe Coq au Vin. It’s a type of stew.”

“What about eclairs?” Blair added.

“Yes, those too. French pastries are quite tasty!” Sophie laughed.

Sophie talked about France with the girls all of lunch. Every single one of them seemed entranced with her speech. She didn’t think what she was saying was particularly interesting, but she was glad to have someone to listen to her.

“Oh, does anyone know where I can find Prince Howl, I have to thank him for the gift he sent.” Sophie asked, as everyone was getting up to leave.

“A gift you say?” Liviana teased.

“Just a coat because I’m… not used to the weather in England.” Sophie shyly responded.

“Mm well I figure he’d be in the library around this time.” Eira reasoned.

“Could anyone show me the way?” Sophie asked the girls around her.

“I’d be happy too, I have business to attend to down that hall anyways.” Lynette offered.

“Thank you!” Sophie replied happily.

Sophie said by to the group and followed Lynette to the library. As she walked down the halls, she began to adjust. Straightening her skirt, smoothing her hair, fixing her collar.

Lynette stopped in front of a door and motioned towards it.

“Well here we are. Make sure to announce yourself before going in. See you later!” Lynette advised as she walked away.

Sophie stood in front of the oak door and knocked three times. It was covered with intricate carvings, and a curved brass handle.

“Hello, it’s Sophie, is anyone in right now?” She called out.

“Oh, Sophie Chaplier? Come in.” A strong, familiar voice replied.

Sophie pushed open the doors and was once again astonished at the luxuries the palace contained.The library was so large and bookshelves were stacked high. Golden accents everywhere, detailed paintings on the walls of storybook characters, stained glass windows that created a warm ambiance. And in the middle of it all stood the Prince Howl. His hair was slightly tousled and his trousers rumpled.

“What brings you here?” Howl asked inquisitively.

Sophie immediately snapped out of her trance of amazement and remembered why she was here.

“I just wanted to thank you for the coat, it was very thoughtful.” Sophie expressed, giving a deep curtsy.

“I’m so glad you liked it. I was actually contemplating giving it to you that day, even though you told me not to. It was really a struggle to pick between red or blue , you know?” Howl

“Well I’m quite fond of both colors, but that shade of red is so gorgeous. Where did you get the fabric from?”

“I got it when we visited Italy, so I apologize if it's a bit long on you.” Howl

He gave me his coat, Sophie noted

“Oh don’t worry, I’m already content.” Sophie insisted.

“No, I wanted to give it to you, it's truly a pleasure.” Howl replied.

“If that's all then. ” He picked his book back up. It was A Tale of Two Cities.

“Y-yes, your highness.” Sophie quickly bowed and turned to leave, suddenly aware of their proximity.
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Sophie had gone back to the sewing room and started adding the finishing touches to her pieces. When it was time for the fittings, the queen came in and spotted her dress hung on the wall.

“Sophie. Darling. You are a genius.” The queen declared as soon as she laid eyes on the dress.

“Thank you very much, your highness.”

“Oh I must try it on immediately!” The queen exclaimed.
Sophie and the queen’s servants helped her majesty put on the delicate gown..

“It really is wonderful ladies.” the queen gushed.
The servants agreed with silent but enthusiastic nods

Scanning the dress, Sophie wrote down anything she needed to fix in her notebook.
A bit loose on the waist and tight on the bust, Sophie scrawled quickly.

“I just have to make a few alterations and it will be ready in time for the ball.” She assured.

“I am ecstatic Sophie really, you are loads better than that last seamstress. Your vision...it's remarkable really–on par with Claude Monet.”

“Monet! You flatter me too much, your majesty.” Sophie exclaims, trying to contain her growing smile.

“Nonsense. I’ll let you do your work, let’s go ladies” She declared, exiting the room

Sophie was overjoyed that the Queen was genuinely satisfied. She gazed upon her completed artwork and admired the attention to detail. The corset bodice had been made of sheer skin-like mesh to mimic the bareness of a mermaid's top. The silhouette was fitted towards the waist and flared out as it reached the feet. Sophie added a train at the back to maintain the regalness of the queen. She mimicked the scales of a mermaid with iridescent sequins. The pieces shifted from a royal purple to an emerald green. The bodice was decorated with pearls in a swirly pattern.

She hoped that Prince Howl and Prince Markl would appreciate their ensembles just as much.

Later in the afternoon Prince Markl came running through, once again. I wonder what urgent appointments he always has to attend to.

“Hello Prince Markl, are you excited to see your outfit.”

“As long as I look cool.” Markl struck a pose as he stated his request.

“I promise you will look very cool.” Sophie was pleasantly surprised Markl was being so open with her.

She went and pulled his griffin attire out of the large wardrobe. The components of the outfit included a shirt, a tailcoat, and pants.The shirt under the tailcoat was a silky white button up. The tailcoat itself was detailed with tan and white feathers speckled with gold. As you look farther down the tailcoat, you can see the feathers transition into a tan fur, representing the hind legs of a griffin. While the pants have a striped pattern that resembles the front legs of the beast.

“I’m a…bird.” A look of confusion displayed upon Markl’s face.

“No no no, a griffin.” Sophie

“So, a big bird.” Markl mumbled.

Sophie grabbed her design sketches from her desk and showed the young prince.

“Take a look at this magical beast. It can fly, fight, and is very mighty.” Sophie pointed out the features in detail.

“Well I am very strong…” He started.

“Just like a griffin!” Sophie affirmed excitedly.

Sophie swelled with pride after convincing the stubborn prince to be pleased with his outfit.
She marked the places she would need to tweak and sent him on his way, just like she had done with his mother. Unlike his mother, he raised his hand to his head and saluted as he strutted out like the general of a fearsome army. Sophie couldn’t help but laugh at his farewell.

The hours began to pass as Sophie anxiously waited for Howl to come in for his session. She wondered if she had offended him in any way. Maybe I rudely intruded on him or maybe my curtsy wasn't deep enough, she mulled over the possibilities. As the sun started to set, exhaustion began to weigh down her eyes and she fought to keep them open.

Sophie was faced with the fact that she had fallen asleep when she opened her eyes and Howl was sitting next to her. She immediately straightened up and realized a pillow had been placed under her head.

“Prince Howl! I sincerely apologize. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.” Sophie frantically blurted as she scrambled for her tools.

“No no, I should be the one saying that.” Howl laughed and stood up, walking up to the platform in the middle of the room.

“Here it is.” Sophie announced pulling out the scaly suit.

Similar to Queen Roselyn’s, there were sequins on his coat that transitioned in color–but they had a sharper shape. Howl's colors were darker, going from a blazing red to a raven black. They covered the entire top and lined the edges of the trousers. His shirt was detailed with gold: on the top of the pocket, edge of the collar, and edge of the buttons. The pant pockets were decorated similarly and a line of golden thread went down each side of the suit pants.

“I hope you like it. You and your mother will match a bit too!” Sophie added excitedly.

“Oh that’s…great. Thank you.” Howl said dryly.

“Are you not satisfied?” She questioned worriedly.

“No that’s not it, you’ve done a great job Sophie.” He reassured her.

“Was it a busy day for you?” Sophie asked curiously, shifting the mood.

“Yes, I've been stuck in a stuffy room all day studying military strategy.” Howl admitted.

“Seems like both of us might benefit from some fresh air.” Sophie remarked.

“Would you like to walk in the garden with me, to apologize for keeping you waiting here.” Howl offered.

“I would love that.” She responded.

Sophie wrote the needed alterations in her notebook and decided to revisit them tomorrow. Howl watched as she quickly packed up her station and tidied things. She locked up the room behind her and followed him outside.

When he opened the glass doors, she was amazed at the sheer amount of flowers before her. Chrysanthemums, lilies, roses. Trying to keep her composure, Sophie resisted going up to smell them.

“You seem to be enjoying the garden quite a bit.” Howl acknowledged, noticing her unbroken focus.

“I love flowers so much. I cherished walking through the fields at home, studying and admiring them. I even kept a botany journal! The œillets here are so beautiful.” Sophie effused.

“Oeillets?” Howl inquired, stopping to face her.

“I believe they're called carnations here.” Sophie pointed at the pink and white flowers with red trims.

“I wish I had that much enthusiasm for something.” Howl laughed and continued to walk.

“What about books?” She proposed, recalling him reading in the library earlier today.

“I think of books more like a necessary evil than a meaningful pastime.” He explained.

“I never would have guessed.” Sophie softly giggled at the revelation.

“Perhaps I will find my own special interest soon.” Howl hoped.

“I’m sure you will.” Sophie encouraged.

“Me too.” Howl beamed at her.

They talked about the most random things. From food, to people, to how they grew up–comparing the differences between rural France and urban England. They didn’t even notice the several hours that had passed.

The night felt so sweet, walking by Howl’s side, surrounded by nature.

Chapter Text

                                             ------------------------------Sophie's POV----------------------------------------
Sophie’s thoughts were flooded with Howl as she added the finishing touches to the royal family’s ball attire. She still couldn’t believe the stark contrast between the lonely fields of Giverny and the palace gardens with the prince. Blair seemed to pick up on Sophie’s overly cheery mood whenever she would pop into the sewing room on her breaks.

“What’s got you so upbeat this morning?” Blair inquired knowingly, head poking into the room.

“Oh, nothing.” Sophie cooed while arranging her bobbins and needles.

“Does it have to do with a certain prince…” She questioned with a fake innocence.

Sophie said nothing as she flashed her a bright smile and turned back to her station.

How the simplest things in life can bring the most joy, Sophie thought. Sophie’s been simple her whole life, but only now has she begun to appreciate life’s simplicity. How girlish she thought, but she didn’t really mind.

With all her work and preparations for the ball completed, she began to wander the castle, looking for anyone who required her help. Sophie did not lay idle while all the other servants rushed around, looking for work in the kitchen.

“Hello, Mrs. Kentle,” She said in greeting as she walked through the bustling doorway. “I would like to help the cooks prepare tonight’s food if that’s alright”

“Oh, Sophie, how kind of you, are you certain? Although I don’t know how much experience you have with British dishes.” She mused.

“I’m sure I can handle it. I’ve been cooking for quite some time and I have dabbled with different cuisines.

“Okay then, let's try putting you at the chopping station for now.” Mrs. Kentle concluded.

Mrs. Kentle reviewed the kitchen layout with Sophie before she led her to a line of knives and cutting boards occupied by several other servants.

Sophie assumed her position towards the end of the line and assured Mrs. Kentle once again before she began cutting vegetables for the feast. By the layout of ingredients, veal, herbs, and sweet vegetables, it looked like they were preparing a veal roast.

Two hours before the ball was set to begin, all the royal family members began to get dressed, donning the finest powder makeup and jewels in preparation for their formal entrance.

“Sophie, you are to stay in the sewing room in case any clothing mishaps are to happen. I’ll ask Lawrence to send you up a meal, don't you worry.” The Queen cooed, passing Sophie and admiring her gown with awe.

As the music started, Sophie hoped that Howl would pay her a visit in the sewing room. Her hopes died a little as the ball seemed to be nearing its end, and the music came to an abrupt halt. Even Markl paid her a visit during his extreme game of hide-and-seek with another little boy. In her solitude, her mind began to wander to Kakashi. She had always relied on him for companionship and without him it felt like a piece of her still remained in Giverny—waiting for him to return.
                                                  --------------------------- Howl's POV-----------------------------------------------

Royal balls are unnecessary, Howl thought with a pressed expression. The faked smiles, the masquerade of opulence, and the careful teetering of respect and dignity. What’s the point of it all really.

The Duchess of the Netherlands approached and greeted Howl, a stark white fur coat swaying as she walked towards him resembling a rabbit.

“Howl, so nice to see you again,” She said in fake jollity “Glad to see you’re looking better.”

“Good to see you too my lady” Howl responded. He hoped to end this encounter quickly so he could continue standing on the edge of the dance floor, longing to be anywhere else.

“It is difficult to lose someone so important, but you can always find solace within our court.” She insisted.

That is the last thing I want to remember right now, Howl mentally sighed. A resurgence of memories began to flood his mind, but he quickly pushed it down—locking them away in the furthest corner of his mind.

“If I ever need help I will be sure to call on you all.” He relayed disingenuously. He couldn’t care less what advice or comfort she could offer, he thought bitterly.

“Oh and Fenna has been looking for you, I’m sure you’ll want to catch up. She’s by the refreshments.” She mentioned with a wave towards the long table.

“I’ll go join her.” Howl felt her gaze on his back as he turned and walked to the other side of the room.

The duke and duchess have been emphasizing a courtship between the two, especially after the King’s death. The pressure was not surprising since England had become the economic powerhouse of Europe, and Howl would soon succeed and inherit the country's wealth.

Howl has always understood the duties and responsibilities that came with the crown. This has intensified since his father’s passing and the need for marriage that has been seared into his mind since he was a child remains a constant blinding reminder, now more than ever.

Howl cannot disgrace his family, the crown, or his country, but he is afraid of not upholding his father’s legacy. But if being forced into a mold is what his people needed, then he'll do it no questions asked.

He won't scorn his father's memory.

He won't.

Even if it kills him.

Howl walked slowly towards the table, trying to bide his time before he had to deal with more unnecessary small talk. He didn’t dislike Fenna, although she was a little snooty at times. Marriage was the last thing on his mind and she was far down the line for the list of potential suitors.

“Howl, you kept me waiting.” Fenna started alluringly, dressed as a nymph.

“Fenna, how is the court?” Howl said, ignoring her statement.

“Howl, how are you? How have you taken the loss?” She replied, matching his disregard.

“Accordingly.” Howl cut short grabbing a drink. I’m going to need it to get through this conversation, he thought tiredly.

Again, Again, Again

They all seemed to ask

“Alright, well father’s been fine. He’s busy discussing land agreements with Germany.”

“And Lotte, Coen, and Hauke?”

“They have so much energy it's concerning.” She exhaled with a roll of her eyes.

Howl gave a dry laugh as the smell of sharp wine began to cloud his senses. He politely excused himself as he reached for another glass. He quickly downed the dark red liquid and placed his empty glass at a random table. The alcohol’s effect quickly set in and began to numb his senses.

The whole night kings, queens, dukes, and duchesses came up to him and pressed the scar deeper into his mind.

Again, Again, Again

He felt his head burning. And as the questions increased so did the glasses he emptied. After he grew tired of wine, he found some rum in the kitchen’s back stockroom and emptied a bottle before sneaking back to the ball.

He drank and drank. Eventually, he could not even control his words as he slurred when the prince of Monaco attempted to greet him

“Howl?” Someone asked concerned
It felt like the words were coming from inside his head
In an attempt to escape the oncoming questions–

Again, Again, Again

–Howl began to push away whoever was trying to speak to him—knocking over drinks and eliciting shocked gasps. He turned around, making his way to the center of the room. He finally released himself from the crowd and began walking toward the center, where the pretentious glass sculptures his mother made in commemoration of his father lay. The king’s crown, each jewel incredibly detailed, but held no meaning to his father’s character. His kindness, dedication, and tenacity, were completely disregarded and summed into a stupid display of power.

A strange sense of rage overcame Howl as he knocked over the sculpture, and its beautiful form shattered into several indistinguishable pieces. The descent of each piece mirrored Howl’s current state, always falling, always sinking deeper into a pit of uncertainty. Looking down at his arm, he noticed a shard had created a tear in the sleeve of his costume. He continued to hear gasps all around him as he met his mother’s stern eyes, a silent banishment. He found it amusing, the attire made the crowd look like a pack of wild animals sent into a frenzy—no mind of their own, just pure conditioned instincts.

He sulked off into the halls and began to wander. After what felt like hours, he stood outside the seamstress room where he knew Sophie would be waiting. Without a thought, Howl burst in and Sophie jolted out of her chair. Howl stumbled and fell into the sewing room where Sophie sat, eyes wide. That was the last thing he saw before he plopped down on the couch as his vision began to fade.

                                                -----------------------------------Sophie’s POV————————----------------------
“Howl?” Sophie asked, face full of concern.

Howl didn’t say a word as he sat on the green sofa in the sewing room. His head was thrown back as he lay slouched against the velvet upholstery, eyes glued to the ceiling.

Roaming her eyes over his splayed figure, Sophie noticed a tear on his sleeve.
“Oh, your shirt! I’ll fix it at once.” She started, not knowing how else to approach the situation.

“An-And you’re drenched! Are you alright?” Sophie became frantic as she fumbled over her words watching Howl’s glazed-over eyes and far-away expression.

Sophie hesitated as her fingers hovered over his shirt buttons. She quickly glanced up and saw the look of pure discomfort written all over his face. Taking a deep breath, Sophie began to remove his alcohol-soaked shirt that was plastered to his body. She tried to keep her eyes from wandering, focusing solely on his shirt. When she caught a glimpse of his body, she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and thought I am just here to help him.

“Okay, I’ll fix this sleeve up. Let me find something for you to wear in the meantime” Sophie stood up and began perusing through the wardrobe. She happened upon a plain dark blue shirt, comfortable but still presentable. She tossed the shirt into Howl’s lap, still withholding her gaze from his bare torso—preventing any distractions. She turned to the sewing machine in the corner of the room and began mending. The only sound in the room was the whirring of her machine and the occasional stir from Howl.

“Thank you.” A meek voice finally let out.

“Of course,” Sophie replied lightly without looking up from the stitch.
The delicate nature of the shirt’s material made it difficult to repair. After a few tough stitches, Sophie cut the thread and inspected the garment. She turned around only to find Howl asleep, sprawled out on the sofa. The threads of anguish had fallen from his face as he lay there peacefully. All Sophie could do was admire his beauty, with sharp angles that effused such delicate softness. Her eyes followed his strong jawline and sharp nose up to where his tousled golden hair spread across his forehead. She felt a sudden pang in her heart. She longed to touch him, smooth his hair, and ease his pain, if only just once.

After what felt like hours, but must have only been seconds, Sophie snapped out of her daze and began to debate the best course of action. Sophie begins to worry,
Should I wake him, or is that rude? I don’t know if this room is fit for a prince to sleep in. Although he looks at peace…

Ultimately, Sophie decided to leave Howl in his current state, asleep on the velvet couch in her sewing room—safe from the outside world. She gently laid a blanket over him, took one last glance, and turned off the light before exiting the room. A small smile danced across her lips.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Howl awoke to light streaming through the windows. He looked around and noticed he’d fallen asleep while Sophie had mended his top. He sat up, pushing off the red blanket laid upon him. When he rose, his blinding headache became abundantly clear. Howl began to regret last night’s drinks as his consciousness set in.

While rubbing his temples in a show of discomfort, Sophie walked in with a tray full of food in her hands.

“Oh Howl, you’re awake! I hope your night was pleasant. I asked the kitchen what you liked for breakfast, and brought some things for you.” Sophie said with a smile.

Before him was a plate containing raspberry jam & scones, a bacon omelette, and a banana muffin. On the side was an empty cup and a teapot full of fresh hibiscus tea.

“I’ll admit I'd never heard of this kind of drink before.” Sophie stammered on as she poured the tea into the cup.

“Yes, yes the leaves are imported from the Caribbean.” Howl explained dazedly, waving his hand as if he was not in control of his own body.

Howl took the tray from her with a tired nod of thanks.
“You can try if you’d like.” He offered, holding the cup out to her.

Drink from his cup? Sophie thought quizzically.

“You need it more than me.” Sophie replied, shrugging him off.

Howl nodded lightly, setting the cup down.

“Here, drink this.” Sophie said, holding out a small bowl. “It’ll help with the…after effects”.

“Thank you, Sophie.” Howl responded politely. Taking the bowl in his hands.

Sophie began to excuse herself from the room, leaving Howl to finish his breakfast alone.

-------------------------------------------------------------————-Howl’s pov—————————————--------------------
“Fuck.” Howl murmured to himself, head in his hands.

Wracking his brain, he tried to recall last night's events.

He vaguely remembered his rash actions at the ball, from his excessive drinking to dishonoring his father’s memory. The last thing he remembered before blacking out was stumbling into the sewing room and the look of surprise on Sophie’s face.

But no matter how hard he tried to remember what happened after, his mind remained blank.

Panic slowly set in as he became more coherent. His mind raced with several scenarios of how he interacted with Sophie as he began to overthink.

What could have possibly happened? His thoughts started to collide.

What did I say, what did I do? Howl worried.

Is that why she seemed so tense this morning? Howl concluded.

While pacing the room, Howl’s eyes settled upon the tray Sophie left. All was empty except the cup of tea waiting for Sophie to drink.

Still worrying, he fully processed his inappropriate lingering presence. He scanned the room and noticed his ball attire neatly folded and freshly mended. He quickly grabbed the shirt and hurried out of the room.

Howl quietly snuck into his room but his attendants were already there—waiting with anxious faces.
“Prince Howl!” Analise exclaimed with relief.

“Where have you been Sire?” Henry questioned with deep worry on his face.

“Sleeping.” Howl tried to wave them off.

“With all due respect sire-“ Henry started.

“Can someone draw me a bath?” Howl interrupted curtly.

“Right away your highness.” They said in unison and scurried off to the washroom.

Howl stripped off his clothes and sunk to the floor as his actions weighed on his mind. His punishment would come soon.

He sat in the bathtub until the skin of his fingers shriveled up, biding his time. When the water turned unbearably cold, Howl exited from the tub and dried himself off with a towel. Slowly he put on the clothes Analise and Henry had laid out for him, a thin linen shirt and pants. He could not stall forever though—his time was running out.

“Sire, the Queen requests your presence in her room at once.” Henry came in to say.

Howl silently got up from his bed and left the room. While walking down the corridor he kept lacing and unlacing his fingers together.

He stood outside the huge red doors leading to her room. Howl could see his face in the polished lines of gold, his face was pressed in a tight expression. With one deep breath Howl pulled open the doors and walked in.

“Oh Howl, my little troublemaker.” Queen Roselyn started with a sad smile.

“What will we do with you…” She continued in theatrical exasperation.

With a somber face, the Queen pulled out a wooden cane mixed with jade and adorned with emeralds. At the bottom of the cane read the initials of the King, R. W. P.

Richard. William. Pendragon.

“How would your dear father react to your blatant disrespect?” The Queen began with the cane laid in her hands, staring right at the initials.

Oh father… Howl thought solemnly.
------------------------————————————————————————Sophie's pov-----------------------------------------
The next morning, Sophie woke up with a groan. She had been conditioned to wake up early after years of living in the countryside, but it didn’t help when she had no duties to fulfill. She stretched her arms and slid out of bed.

After the ball, Sophie had the day off. She decided to spend it exploring town. She smoothed her coarse hair and neatly braided it in two pigtails.

After getting dressed, Sophie grabbed her coin purse and took a final glance in the mirror before leaving her quarters. On her way out, she stopped by the kitchen, gave quick greetings, and grabbed a honey biscuit.

She reached the back gate, where a guard opened the side door for her. Upon stepping out, the paved pathway had turned into uneven cobblestone.

As she drew closer to the town square, the cacophony of voices grew louder. Farmers selling fresh produce, bakers displaying their finest pastries, and a shop overflowing with beautiful flowers. The possibility of viewing fresh flowers overcame her, and she scurried over to Blomma. The front of the shop was covered in glass windows which were delicately decorated with a scalloped black trim, resembling flower petals.

Upon walking in, she saw a tall middle-aged man with slicked black hair, crouched while tending to the flowers.

The building was almost bursting with plants. Peonies lined the walls, hanging from golden hooks. Tulips sat tall on the display tables in intricate vases. Along the floor were baskets of sunflowers and lavender. Some of these she recognized from France, including soucis. Others were completely foreign to her, like the star-shaped flower with purple coloring and a small white flower in its center.

“Hello, young lady.” The shopkeeper greeted, interrupting her train of thought. As he straightened up, his spectacles slid down his long and narrow nose.

“Hello.” Sophie replied politely while scanning the place.

“Have you come for anything specific?” He inquired.

“Just looking for now. I really like your soucis, I didn't know they grew in England.” She stated while pointing to the orange and yellow flowers.

“Ah, you mean the marigolds? Yes, we just recently started cultivating them here. He informed her.

“And your arrangements are beautiful.” Sophia gushed looking at a bouquet of lilies fit for a bride.

“Why, thank you!” He replied, pushing his glasses up.

“You know...I just received a bushel of roses this morning. I’ve been meaning to create a bouquet, would you like to see?” He offered suddenly 

“Of course!” Sophie exclaimed cheerfully.

The shopkeeper led her towards the back of the store where he recieved new shipments.

“Ah, here they are.” He inhaled as he grabbed a bunch of roses bound together by twine.
“They’re very fresh, so their scent is still quite strong.” He added proudly, holding out the red flowers for Sophie to judge.

She leaned in and a beautiful mix of a sweet floral with a hint of spicy aroma filled her nose.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding!” Sophie exclaimed.
He laughed and began to converse with Sophie about his love for flowers. They shared their deep knowledge about plants and where their passion began. Sophie learned his name was Emil and his love for flowers came from walking on the hills of Sweden, dotted with several flower species.

“Look, how about you take a rose, on me.” Emil proposed as she was beginning to leave.

“Oh, no I can’t.” Sophie started, waving her hands in front of her face.

“I insist!” Emil continued as he wrapped a single rose in cream paper and tied it with a white ribbon.

“Thank you so much!” Sophie beamed as he placed the rose in her hand.

While walking to the front and preparing to make her leave, she quickly glanced behind her to see if Emil was close behind. After confirming he was still working in the back, she quietly slipped out her coin purse and slid a few pounds on the counter .

Where to next, Sophie thought while looking around the area. Sniffing the rose while she contemplated her next stop.

After walking for a bit, she ended up at a large bookstore named Hatchards Books. It looked like the oldest building in the square and its timber shingles had not stood the test of time.

The front door creaked as she pulled it open, and Sophie had to close the door behind her after it got stuck. But the inside of the store did not match the dilapidated exterior. There was a dark elegance that exuded from the place, with a spiral staircase to the historical statues above the shelves.

A young woman, around Sophie’s age, was sitting at the front desk. She had a bored expression on her face and she silently acknowledged Sophie’s entrance with a slight nod.

Nodding back in response, Sophie was content to quietly roam the book shelves without the task of small talk. She skipped right past mundane history books, glanced at the science fiction, and perused the comic strips. After looking around for a bit, she found her favorite section, romance. Tracing the bookshelves with her eyes, Sophie spotted books she’s read before in French, but the titles carried a different weight in English.

I ought to choose well…these are a bit pricey. Sophie thought, increasing her scrutiny on the covers before her.

A wonderfully bound cover caught her eye. The hardcover was red with tendrils of blue flowing throughout. The title read “Jane Eyre” by Charlotte Bronte. Sophie quickly read the description on the back to justify her purchase. She placed the book under her arm and walked to the front. The girl was still inattentive and she didn’t react when Sophie placed the book on the counter. After a few moments, the girl slowly put her compact mirror down and turned towards Sophie with a glare. For a second, Sophie debated putting the book back to avoid causing any hassle.

Snatching the book up and looking at the price on the tag, the girl rang Sophie up for 6 pounds sterling.

“Will this be all for you?” She asked dryly while beginning to wrap the book in paper.

“This is all…thank you.” Sophie said as the girl handed her the book. She turned to walk out but hesitated when she remembered her receipt. She had a habit of documenting all her purchases to prevent overspending. However, she figured it would be better to end the interaction now and kept moving out of the shop.

She was breezily flipping through the pages as she walked, when a delightful smell filled the street corner. Upon looking up she noticed a bakery.

She followed the scent to a quaint brick building. A crooked sign was haphazardly sitting on top.
When Sophie pushed open the door, a little bell rang, and the old man at the counter perked up immediately.

“Well, good evening, miss. Welcome to Wilson’s Bakery. The destination of London’s finest treats!” He started theatrically. “Unfortunately the shop closes at 8:00, so we’re nearly out of baked goods.”

“Oh, no worries at all, I was just following the delightful smell.” Sophie admitted.

The owner bellowed a hearty laugh and got up, putting on his thin-wire glasses.

“I can recommend one of the cheese danishes, it’s the last one.” He sang with a grin.

She had a feuillete au fromage in France, but they weren’t that popular in bakeries yet. The ones she's tried in the past were lackluster, but the one before her looked heavenly. The crust looked light and flaky, while the french one was dense and hard. There was a glossy pale yellow drizzle that perfectly adorned the dessert in uniform lines.

“Looks lovely.” Sophie voiced excitedly as she sat down at one of the empty tables. The woven chair had a slight wobble, but that somehow added to the charm of the cozy interior.

“Perfect! I’ll even heat it up for ya.” He clapped and grabbed a pair of wire tongs and placed the feuillete au fromage on a small plate. He took it to the back and when he reappeared it was golden and crispy.
“Here ya go.” He dramatically placed the plate in front of her.

She rubbed her hands together in a show of eagerness, promptly picked up the danish, and bit halfway into it—getting a perfect ratio of crust and sweet filling. Three flavors coalesced in perfect harmony. The buttery crust, the sweet cream filling, and a hint of tarteness came from the lemon glaze.

“Oh wow.” Sophie muttered while chewing. “You are a genius.” She continued as she went to take another bite.

“Thank you. Thank you.” The owner responded while taking little bows.

As the pastry sunk deeper into Sophie’s stomach, they delved into a myriad of topics.
Through their talk she found out George had never been married. Choosing to concern himself with his business instead of endeavors of love.

“I’ve never been too worried about a woman and my nieces and nephews provide me great joy.” He chuckled as he reminisced on fond memories of birthdays and fun celebrations.

Then he went onto the story of how his business began and where his baking passion stemmed from. His dad was a chef but had a sweet tooth, so he began baking to put a smile on his father’s face.

“His favorite was a raspberry tart…I made a whole lot for his funeral. Hopefully he’s eating them everyday in heaven.” He sighed with a twinge of sadness.

They even continued the conversation as he began to close up. Sophie naturally opted in to help so she could hear more of his stories. She stacked the chairs and wiped the counters as he mopped and took out the trash. The place was practically sparkling as their conversation came to a close.

“It was lovely to meet you Sophie, stop by anytime for a danish.” He locked the door behind them and waved Sophie off.

It was late now, so the town square was basically deserted. Halfway through the center, she felt a wave of uneasiness. She turned her head and spotted a strange silhouette of a man with a cloak and a top hat in a dark alley. Her pace quickened as she realized the danger she was in as a woman walking alone. She didn’t stop her haste until she saw the gleaming of gates of the castle, finally allowing herself to stop and take a few deep breaths.

The guard let her in and she made her way into the palace. Her feet became heavy as tiredness set in. She slowly made her way to the servant’s quarters to retire for the night.

Outside her door stood Howl, with a vase full of flowers in his hands.

Chapter Text

—--------------—---------- Sophie’s POV—--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rounding the corner, Sophie paused, seeing Howl outside her door. Their eyes met as Sophie approached him.

“Howl…” She started, turning to face him.

“May I ask what you’re doing here?” Sophie finished, giving him a quick once-over.

Howl was not his usual self, appearing shaken and restless with unfocused eyes that darted around the empty corridor--looking for something to latch onto.

“Sophie, I wanted to apologize for last night…” His voice trailed off as he glanced towards the door handle.

“Oh, you didn’t have to, but thank you! Do you want to set them down inside?” Sophie motioned, noticing his hesitancy.

He nodded, prompting Sophie to unlock her door.

—-------------------------------------------------------Howl’s POV—-------------------------------------------------

Upon entering Sophie’s room, Howl noticed how small it was compared to his.
The light blue wallpaper contrasted with the dark stone floors and the single window cast a spotlight on her bed. Her room was very neat, from her smoothly made bed, to her empty nightstand, to a meticulously organized bookshelf where she stored miscellaneous items she had collected since arrival. Howl noticed some coins, fabric swatches, and other little trinkets.

He turned around just as Sophie shut the door and faced him.

“So…what did you want to apologize for?” Sophie stared at him, dumbfounded, gesturing to the flowers still in his hands.

He set the flowers down on her wooden nightstand and took a seat on her bed, patting the space beside him.

Sophie crossed the room and gently set her things down, his eyes landing on the single rose carefully held between her fingers. She examined the vase and found a place to put her rose, sliding it in between the carnations.

Oh, she already has a flower… Howl got lost in thought before quickly snapping back into reality as Sophie took a seat next to him. The fabric of his pants slightly brushed against her due to the small size of the bed, causing him to become more self-conscious.

“I’m sorry for how I acted last night.” Howl said, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“It was wrong of me to barge in drunk. And I- I don’t even remember what I said or did.” He continued, failing to hide his worry.

“Nothing happened, don’t worry. Though, your thoughtfulness is admirable.” She assured him with a soft smile, gently touching his arm as a show of comfort. He responded with a slight flinch as pain washed over his face.

Sophie immediately pulled back her hand and searched Howl’s face for any answers, not knowing if she should pry.

Shit.

“Are you alright?” Sophie finally filled the silence.

“To be honest, it's been a rough couple of weeks. It’s all really starting to weigh on me.” Howl’s voice broke as he admitted.

“What’s weighing on you?” Sophie’s voice had lowered to barely above a whisper.

“My father’s death.” He answered solemnly, pushing back the feelings rising in his throat.

“I admired him so much. His kindness and compassion, he treated all his subjects as if they were his own children. And he always strove to further this nation.”

“Markl and I were so lucky to have him.” Howl shook his head with a sad smile.

“I feel like I’m still a child and I need to know so much more if I’m going to lead as he did. I’m the crown prince and I'm not ready to take on that responsibility, but when my father was my age, he was already leading the country into prosperity. By taking over as king, will I tarnish his memory? Will I lead my people to ruin?” Howl divulged his fears.

Sophie sat for a second, carefully considering what to say. As the seconds passed by, Howl began to regret revealing his feelings to her.

“Howl, I know I never met your father, nor did I serve under him. But everything I hear about him makes me think of you. His good deeds, his witty nature, and his genuine care for everyone around him. You’re more like your father than you know and I’m sure he’s proud of you.” Sophie reassured him.

“You will make a great ruler one day, and your people know that.” Sophie continued.

“I know, I know, but on the inside I'm just a disaster. I can’t focus on my studies and I always mess up during sparring practice. I can’t even sit through a goddamn ball, for goodness sake.” Howl confessed with frustration.

“I miss my dad so much and it’s killing me, Sophie.” Howl admitted solemnly.

“But that’s normal. Grief is such a difficult thing. What matters is how you handle it.” Sophie started.

“I see how you act and how much you do behind the scenes. It's okay to sometimes have slip-ups, like the ball. You’re a prince, but that doesn’t mean you have to be perfect all the time.” Sophie insisted.

“My mother wouldn’t agree.” He laughed sadly.

“I really think you should confide in your mother and tell her how you’re feeling. I’ve seen how she cares for you and Markl and I think she would understand.” Sophie urged.

“Thanks, Sophie.” He said, giving Sophie the most sincere smile he could muster.

“Of course.” Sophie responded.

They stayed late through the night, talking about all their inner fears and feelings. It felt just like the night they walked through the gardens, but this time they connected on a deeper level.

Howl laid his heart out to Sophie with no hesitation, her presence provided such a soft solace.

When sleep started to pull at their eyelids, Howl took it as his cue to leave her room. He wished her goodnight and shut the door quietly behind him.
——————————————-Sophie’s POV————

I wish he could’ve stayed Sophie thought wistfully as she drifted to sleep.

She longed to admire his features up close once again.

Howl’s gentle laugh replayed through her head as she finally shut her eyes.

In the following weeks, Howl and Sophie grew closer, brought together by grief and fears of isolation. During the day, Howl would visit Sophie in the sewing room. At night, they would rendezvous in her room to talk and mull over the latest palace gossip.

On one such occasion, Howl had spotted the book Sophie recently purchased.

“Jane Eyre? We have that in the library, why don’t you just get your books from there?” Howl asked.

“I don’t know…it just feels nice to own it, I guess.” Sophie twirled the fabric of her skirt, thinking to herself how she was never able to own anything back home.

“Well, feel free to take any books you’d like from the library. What’s mine is yours.” He stated charmingly

A blush bloomed across her face.

A few days later, Sophie worked up the courage to go to the library on her own. She was hoping to find some more books by Charlotte Brontë. She gingerly pushed open the huge oak doors and slipped into the massive room. She was still in awe of how many books lined each shelf and how many genres they contained.

After a while of exploring the library, she realized no progress had been made in her search. She found herself in the history section and decided to grab a book on the History of Textiles, hoping to gain some new design ideas. Rounding the corner, Sophie heard two voices, what sounded like a man and a woman. She figured it must be Howl and made her way to the back of the library.

Howl was leaning against a bookcase, with his arm resting on the shelf above his head. As Sophie approached from behind, another figure came into view under him. A tall woman with pale skin and tight ringlet curls a bright shade of blonde. Howl took his other hand and slowly slid it into the folds of her skirt.

Sophie’s heart dropped and Mrs. Kentle’s warnings came flooding back to her.

“You ought to stay away from him.” She always nagged.

“That troublemaker.” She would chide.

She gasped silently, neither of them seemed to notice her presence. Not knowing what to do, she slowly stepped back until she was out of view of the couple. Once she was in the clear, she turned and ran.

He wouldn’t notice anyway. Sophie’s thoughts taunted her as tears welled in her eyes. But she still kept her footsteps light, the balls of her feet barely touching the floor.

A girl like you? And a prince? The voice in her head had morphed into her mother’s. A voice she hadn’t heard since she set foot in London.

In her haste to leave, she dropped the book, but didn't have the heart to stop and pick it up. She carelessly threw the library doors open with a resounding crack.

Sophie ran straight to her room and slammed the door behind her, throwing herself on the bed. She curled up against her pillow and started to sob.

Just a stupid crush is all. These pathetic feelings will pass. She thought as her eyes began to burn and her throat turned hoarse. She tried to soothe herself to sleep in the darkness, not bothering to turn on her lamp. She struggled to think of something to put her at ease. Her mind naturally went back to her childhood. The rolling grass fields, pale yellow flowers, and lazy flowing streams.

I miss Giverny. I miss Kakashi. So, so much. She thought.

And for the first time, Sophie felt homesick.

—-----------------------------------------------Howl’s Pov-------------------------------------------------------

The sound of the doors closing loudly rang through the room. Howl immediately looked over his shoulder to scan the room.

“Someone was here, Howl.” Lillian started to panic.

“Someone saw us.” She whispered. Her chest started to rise and fall faster.

Howl said nothing as he turned and walked to the center of the room. There was a book lying on the floor, pages splayed out wildly.

The History of Textiles? Howl thought and instantly knew who had been here.

After staring at the book for a minute, Lillian finally interjected.

“So? Do you know who it was?” She pestered.

“It was nobody.” Howl answered calmly

“But Howl—“ Lillain protested, red rising in her cheeks, tan freckles on full display.

“Nobody.” Howl snapped with a harsh tone.

Lillian promptly shut her mouth and stared at the floor.

Was this meeting even worth it? Howl questioned internally.

“Well, shall we continue?” He broke the silence.

Lilian took his outstretched hand in hers as he led her to the back of the library once again.

—————————-Sophie’s POV—————------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blinking awake, Sophie saw the flowers Howl had given her weeks earlier.

There was one night Sophie lamented at the thought of watching the beautiful carnations die. Howl assured her that the palace had a practically endless supply of flowers. However, Sophie still took time to preserve the memory, drying and sealing each flower carefully.

Looking at them now, she realized one flower had not been sealed properly, its petals and leaves brittle and brown. Instead of throwing them away, she shoved them deep into a corner, hoping to forget they existed.

Sophie entered the kitchen, eyes downcast and expression sour. Her bad mood was evident in her appearance that morning. Her skirt still had wrinkles and her bun had pieces sticking out everywhere. She moved around slowly, silently aiding anyone who needed help.

Sophie had been working beside Mrs. Kentle for a while when her curiosity got the best of her.

“Mrs. Kentle?” Sophie started

“Yes, dear.” Mrs. Kentle replied

“Has there been any more rumors of Howl courting any girls lately?”

“Well, he keeps bothering the florist for carnations and has been seen with a blonde woman recently.”

Sophie felt a stab of betrayal.
I guess he gives flowers to every woman he meets.

“What’s wrong Sophie, gossip usually gets you excited.” Mrs. Kentle fretted.

“It’s nothing, really. Don’t worry about me.” Sophie mumbled.

“I just can’t stand to see you moping around.” Mrs. Kentle declared, turning around to roll out some dough.

“When I’m finished, let’s go to town and cheer you up.” Mrs. Kentle decided, facing Sophie with a warm smile.

“Okay, I’ll be waiting by the main door.” Sophie agreed amicably.

A few hours later, when Mrs. Kentle emerged, it was evident she had changed outfits. The flour spots and sauce stains had disappeared from her clothing. Upon seeing her, Sophie realized she hadn’t seen Mrs. Kentle out of uniform before. Her soft beauty with rose-tinted cheeks was accentuated by her light pink dress that flowed with simple elegance.

“Shall we?” Mrs. Kentle asked as she approached, motioning towards the door.

“Yes.” Sophie followed her lead out the door.

“So this bakery you were telling me about, what are they most known for?" Mrs. Kentle questioned on the way there.

“Tarts, freshly-baked bread, and danishes.” Sophie practically drooled just thinking about it.

Sophie had frequented the bakery over the past few weeks and had become very familiar with the array of baked goods at the shop.

“I do enjoy a good tart.” Mrs. Kentle commented.

They reached the Wilson’s Bakery and entered eagerly.

Despite being busy with customers, Mr. Wilson acknowledged Sophie with a cheerful grin.

After a few minutes of waiting in line, they reached the front to order.

“Sophie, my dear! So great to see you again.” Mr. Wilson effused.

“Likewise!” Sophie grinned.

“So what can I get you and this lovely friend of yours?” He asked, gesturing towards Mrs. Kentle.

“I’ll have a Danish, of course, and Mrs. Kentle…” Sophie waited for Mrs. Kentle’s response.

“I’ll have a raspberry tart.” She answered, looking up from the pastries on the display counter.

“A fine choice.” He smiled sweetly, eyes lingering on Mrs. Kentle.

He quickly prepared their orders and placed each pastry in a pretty pale pink box.

“Sophie, I snuck in a blackberry and strawberry flavor as well as the lemon, so tell me what you think.” He asked, handing the small box to her.

“And, for you…” He paused, trying to recall her name.
“Mrs. Kentle.” She answered, formally introducing herself.

“Well, Mrs. Kentle, it's very nice to meet you.” He offered his hand and Mrs. Kentle lightly shook it.

Eagerly, Sophie took a bite of each danish. The blackberry was easily her favorite with a rich sweet flavor and a bit of tartness. The strawberry was just as good with a fresh sweetness that coated her tongue. And to no surprise, the lemon was absolutely delicious.

Mrs. Kentle was silent, seemingly entranced with the flavor of her tart.

“So what do you think?” He asked Sophie while she was on the last bite of the blackberry danish.

“ It’s wonderful Mr. Wilson. The blackberry is the best!” She exclaimed, words slightly muffled with her mouth full.

“I quite enjoy mine as well.” Mrs. Kentle politely offered, but her smile had grown since she started eating.

“Music to my ears.” He jested.

They chatted a bit when the rush had slowed down and Mr. Wilson and Mrs. Kentle shared baking tips before finally saying their goodbyes after grabbing a few more treats.

When they exited Mrs. Kentle let out a surprising comment.

“He’s a charming one, isn’t he?” She announced coyly.

Sophie gasped in faux surprise.

“Mrs. Kentle, remember your husband!” She giggled as she reprimanded her.

“Oh dear, I haven’t told you.” Mrs. Kentle sighed.

“Told me what?” Sophie inquired, her smile slowly dropping.

“Well, Mr. Kentle died about 10 years ago. I went by Mrs for so many years that I just naturally introduce myself as such.” Ms. Kentle explained.

“Oh, I am so sorry—” Sophie started.

“No need, dear. Today is all about cheering you up.” She chuckled.

“But I will definitely be coming back to Mr. Wilson’s.” Ms. Kentle continued.

“For the tarts?” Sophie raised an accusatory eyebrow.

“More or less.” Ms. Kentle slyly responded.

Sophie laughed, and for a second, she forgot all about Howl.
—------------------------------------------------------—-----------------------------------------------------

The group of girls had congregated in the sewing room after Sophie finally gained the courage to confide in them.

“What a prick.” Blair loudly scoffed.

“I second that…” Adeleine added.

“Third.” Sophie joined with a sigh

“Fourth.” Lynette quietly followed

“Okay, we get it.” Liviana interrupted with pure annoyance in her tone.

“But what did we really expect, he’s a whore.” Liviana continued.

“Liviana! Please lower your tone.” Eira urged, panicked hands flailing.

“Well, am I lying?” She raised her eyebrow in confidence and looked around the room.

The room went silent for a bit, no one responded, but the answer was clear

Sophie appreciated the girls, but recognized the ridiculousness of the situation. Why would a servant girl deserve undivided attention from a crown prince? Still, it felt good to have people on her side.

Sophie had begun to work on the outfits for the upcoming trip to France. The royal family of Britain had been invited to attend the succession ceremony. King Auguste had fallen ill and willingly relinquished the crown to his younger brother Léon, second in line. The prince lived a private life, certainly not expecting to rise in rank so soon. Sophie knew of his marriage years ago, but his wife’s identity was never officially revealed, and the rumors didn’t travel all the way to the countryside.

However, it was not the mystery that excited her so, but the opportunity to set foot in Giverny once again.

Maybe I could finally see Kakashi again. Sophie thought foolishly, knowing that it would never be. Her contract allowed for two visits back home per year, but she hoped she could make a stop during the trip.

Sophie wanted to stick to the French trends as much as possible for the succession ceremony. French fashion typically favored dresses with high-waists, low circular necklines, and lace lining. For the men, embroidered floral designs and long waistcoats were a must.

Sophie would be creating two outfits for each royal member. The first night of the ceremony was very solemn and serious, focusing on the rituals and oaths vital to French culture. The second night was a more relaxed celebration of prosperity, food, drinks, and entertainment would be overflowing.

“Let’s not forget that we are still subjects of the Queen and anyone could be listening. ” Eira reminded the girls.

“I guess we’ll just have to set you up on a date.” Blair teased sarcastically.

“I mean, I have a brother.” Adeleine raised her hand.

“Now’s not the time.” Liviana shot her a look.

Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door and a familiar voice followed.

“Sophie? I want to talk to you.” Howl’s voice travelled through the room.

All the girls went silent and stared at Sophie, waiting for her to react.

Instead of responding, Sophie just continued to sew, and all that could be heard through the door was the whirring of the machine.

“Sophie, I know you’re in there.” Howl blurted desperately.

Her hands stalled a little. She was tempted to go to him and hear his side of the story. But she knew better.

She knew she could not get close to him again. So she placed her hands down, pressed her foot on the pedal, and continued working.

After a few moments, she heard him walk away.

“Sophie?” Lynette asked with concern.

“Please, can we just talk about something else?” Sophie pleaded. Her face was burning from all the attention.

Lynette nodded with understanding.

———————————————————————--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Even though Sophie completed every outfit for the celebration ahead of schedule, she was still stalling the final fittings.

The Queen was satisfied with her gowns as usual.

Admiring Sophie’s hard work, she exclaimed, “We are so glad to have an expert like you. French patterns are so exquisite!”

“Thank you, your highness.” Sophie beamed with pride.

Her first gown was a pale lavender color with a low circular neckline, outlined in white lace. The sleeves were long and also had lace detailing at the ends. Her second gown was a deep blue color with cream pins lining the bust, the hem, and the waistline.

Markl, being as young as he was, couldn’t care less about what he was wearing, he was just excited to show off his new toys.

“So this one is a train, look the wheels move.” He demonstrated, dragging the train across the carpet.

“This is a spinny top.” Markl showed a sculpted wooden piece with many colors. When he spun the top, the colors blended into a rainbow.

“Oh, I also got marbles, do you want to play?” Markl inquired, holding out the bag of marbles eagerly.

“Of course!” Sophie giggled and joined him on the floor.

The pair played for several minutes before Markl was called to have his lunch.

Sophie anxiously waited all day for Howl to show up for his fitting, but he never came.

By the time the sun set, Sophie decided to lock up the room and retire for the night.

Walking down the halls, she noticed she hadn’t eaten since that morning and decided to grab a quick meal from the kitchen.

Sophie bid Ms. Kentle goodnight as she walked back to her room.

She reached her room, tray in hand, not focusing on anything but the food. She was quickly brought out of her thoughts, startled when she saw Howl sitting outside her door.

He looked up as her footsteps approached.

“Sophie…” He started, standing up and reaching out to her.

But she paid him no mind, unlocking her door and pushing it open as if he didn’t exist.
—————————Howls POV—————————------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Howl heard the click of her door lock, he felt his heart sink deep in his chest.

He stood in front of the door, head down.

“Sophie, please.” He pleaded, forgetting to whisper.

No response came.