Summon the Modern Lady!

====================

The sun, nestled against the horizon, painted the sky in hues of amber, gold, and dusky purple—a breathtaking scene that no bustling city could ever replicate. Here, in the quieter stretches of the world, where buildings gave way to fields and gardens, the view was a gift.

And one such view graced the far east of Rudenheischt Palace Gardens, where a lone shed stood, tucked away from the elegance of the royal estate.

"Ugh…"

A groan broke through the serene atmosphere.

"Tsk," came the sharp click of a tongue. "What, you young ones don't move your bodies in that world of yours or something? Even the princess can carry more piles than you."

The head gardener, Rupert, watched with a mix of exasperation and amusement as Amaranthe struggled to balance another basket of weeds and pruned stems.

Amaranthe chuckled awkwardly, her lips quirking up into a sheepish smile. "I'll do my best!" she declared with newfound determination, hauling the basket toward the shed.

In truth, she had no excuse.

Back in the previous world, while her full-time writing job kept her fingers busy, her physical activity was limited to grocery runs, book signing events and occasional food marathons— a habit that started or resulted in crying over deadlines while eating whatever comfort food she found.

Rupert sighed, shaking his head.

He'd meant to discourage her, but somehow the stubborn young woman had taken his words as encouragement.

Well, at least she's not staring off into the distance today, he thought. Amaranthe's faraway looks had become a common sight over the past weeks, her thoughts clearly preoccupied with the idea of home.

The old gardener's movements were slower now, his age catching up to him, though he wasn't one to admit it. Last year, he could manage the gardens alone if needed, but now… now his bones ached, and his hands trembled when he pushed too hard.

It didn't help that Pete, the boy who often assisted him, was out of commission for the day.

His daughter, Nasuri, had gone to her husband's family estate to invite them for the upcoming thanksgiving, leaving Rupert short-handed.

Still, he had an important task to oversee: preparing for the Winter Solstice's flower to bloom, a rare event where a treasured flower would finally reveal itself within a month before the Winter Solstice. But now, thought resting should have been his priority, seeing Amaranthe lugging basket after basket unsettled him.

"This can't be," Rupert grumbled, pushing himself up from his chair. "I'll help you."

Amaranthe's green eyes widened as she quickly waved him off. "Sir Rupert, please! It's okay, really. Pete told me about your condition, and while you're not as frail as they claim, there are more important things for you to focus on."

"More important things, hm?" Rupert muttered under his breath, annoyed how she saw the heart of his situation immediately. He didn't argue further.

Only watched as the young woman chuckled, her shoulders relaxing slightly under her messy ponytail.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the open door.

Amaranthe turned instinctively, only to freeze mid-movement. Her gaze met the visitor's, and her green eyes widened ever so slightly.

Standing there, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, was Prince Kayer himself.

"Um… I was sent here by Pete," Kayer said, his gaze shifting between Amaranthe and Rupert. "To help Lady Amaranthe. If that's… okay with you."

"Your godchild really doesn't see you as a prince. It's a sign to do well, boy."

Rupert scoffed, crossing his arms.

Then noticed the awkwardness between the two, it was almost palpable.

Young ones these days… he thought. They'd seen each other plenty of times already, yet they still acted as though introductions hadn't ended.

"Oy, boy," Rupert barked, earning a startled look from the prince. "You think you can carry messy weeds in that princely attire of yours? Change into this first." He tossed a simple black shirt toward Kayer, who caught it with a faint frown.

"Sir Rupert," Kayer began with an air of wounded dignity, "I'm a decent prince already. Please refrain from treating me like I'm a pest."

The old gardener sneered, a teasing chuckle escaping his lips. "Worms are still pests, even when they turn into butterflies. Change."

Defeated, Kayer sighed and retreated to a small room at the back to change.

Rupert turned his attention toward Amaranthe, whose gaze had been fixed on the window ever since the prince arrived. "And what about you, lady? If you hate the princ—"

"…I don't hate him."

Her voice was quiet, yet firm, the words slipping from her lips with a strange serenity. Her green eyes, clear and steady, held no trace of malice— only something Rupert couldn't quite place.

The old gardener paused, confusion flickering across his face. If she doesn't hate him, then what's with the silence?

Before he could press further, Kayer returned, now dressed in the plain black shirt Rupert had given him. The fabric clung to his frame, doing little to hide the strength beneath his otherwise refined exterior.

"Do it fast now," Rupert barked, waving them off. "Make use of that swordmaster strength of yours, boy."

Kayer rolled his eyes but nodded, leading the way as Amaranthe trailed behind him. 

The walk to retrieve the remaining baskets was quiet— uncomfortably so. The air between Amaranthe and Kayer crackled with something unspoken, though neither dared to break the silence.

Amaranthe stole a glance at him from the corner of her eye. Kayer's expression was unreadable as he walked beside her, his strides steady and purposeful.

Why does he even want to help? she wondered, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeves. Pete must have sent him, sure, but Kayer was the crown prince. He didn't belong out here, who was in the middle of preparing for the Winter Solstice thanksgiving.

A shadow of urgency clouded Amaranthe's senses as the silence consumed her, "Um..." she started, internally slapping herself for starting the conversation.

Now that he looked over, she can't just not say anything. She observed him, trying to find a reason for conversation.

"Where's..." she cleared her throat, "Nan and Kaya?"

Her gaze trailed his empty shoulders, or reminisced about the continuous chirps around him.

"They're sleeping," Kayer answered just as awkwardly, "In the birdhouse? I left them there."

"I see..."

The two became quiet again. Walking through the garden path with a dewy orange glow poking through from the hedges.

"...Are you okay with this?"

Kayer's voice broke through the silence this time.

Amaranthe blinked, surprised. "With what?"

He gestured to the baskets ahead of them. "All this work. You don't have to push yourself so hard, you know."

She paused, briefly considering his words before shaking her head. "It's not a big deal. Besides…" Her voice softened. "It's better than being stuck in my own head all day."

Kayer glanced at her then, his gaze lingering for just a second longer than necessary. He didn't press further, but something in his expression shifted— an understanding, perhaps.

"Maybe that's why Pete sent me here," he said after a beat. "To do anything else besides drowning in my own misery."

Amaranthe watched him, her brows knitting together. "Grieving isn't easy…"

Kayer let out a reluctant, rueful grumble. "Well, it sure as hell isn't a reason to be sensitive and rude." His lips twitched into a small, awkward smile as he met her gaze. "Um. I would like to apologize. For always snapping at you, Lady Amara… I believe the apology had been overdue..."

Amaranthe's green eyes flickered away, unable to hold the weight of his sincerity.

"I promised my family and friends that I would be better," Kayer continued, his voice quieter now. "But I seem to have been… insensitive to the summoned ones' feelings. I should have realized that the simple summoning ceremony they performed for me was detrimental to you— and to Lady Cheska."

Finally, Amaranthe looked back at him with a sigh. "It's okay. You took responsibility."

"After being scolded by you…" he muttered with a hint of amusement.

Amaranthe snickered. "Cheska said the same thing…" She gave him a light pat on the back. "Well, anyway, you promised to do better, right? I will too. Um, like apologizing for what I said…"

Both of their thoughts drifted to that moment during the tour in the Town of Iya— a memory that still lingered between them, her opinion.

Kayer shook his head. "It's okay. You wouldn't have known. And there are… things that weren't shared with the public. It's easy to make assumptions."

"And I should've been more careful," she said, her voice softening. "I'm sorry."

Kayer's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he nodded and stepped ahead, hoisting three baskets with ease. His purple eyes glimmered faintly under the fading light as he smiled. "Sure. I accept your apology if you accept mine. Now, I'll head over fast for the next batch."

Amaranthe watched him go, her eyes trailing his retreating form. His shoulders seemed lighter now, as though some unseen burden had lifted.

"There is…" she whispered into the cold air, her words barely audible, "...nothing to apologize for."

Thud!

The final basket dropped onto the pile with a satisfying thud, signaling the end of their long day's work. Amaranthe let out a small, triumphant breath, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Rupert, who had been sorting tools and grumbling about "slow youths," glanced up as they entered. "Hmph. About time."

"That's the last of them," she announced, her voice tinged with pride.

Kayer set his load down beside hers, straightening with a faint sigh. Despite his royal upbringing, he carried himself without complaint, though his pristine attire now bore smudges of dirt and sweat.

The old man gave a grunt of acknowledgment. "...Not bad for a prince and a dainty little miss."

Amaranthe chuckled lightly, though her shoulders sagged with exhaustion. "I'll take that as praise, Sir Rupert."

Kayer shot the old man a wry look. "I'd say we're deserving of a little more than 'not bad.'"

"It's merely carrying a basket full of weeds through the royal gardens, what's wrong with that?"

The prince shrugged, "The gardens known to be deep and sometimes confusing?"

Rupert merely waved them off with a dismissive grumble, "How can you be confused? You live he—" he paused. Finally the faintest hint of approval touched his weathered face. "Fine, fine. This old age made me forget you lived with me in your youth. Bah, whatever! Off with you both. You're cluttering up my shed."

Amaranthe chuckled, sharing a glance with Kayer. 

They turned to leave, the weight of the day finally starting to settle. But as the faint chirping of crickets filled the air, a sudden, frantic voice tore through the peaceful quiet.

"Prince Kayer! Prince Kayer!"

The cry came from the gardens, sharp and urgent. Both Kayer and Amaranthe froze mid-step, their heads snapping toward the sound.

"That's Emette," Kayer muttered, his brow furrowing. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode out of the shed, Amaranthe hurrying close behind.

"Thank you, Sir Rupert!" she called quickly, though her voice barely reached the gardener before the young ones disappeared into the growing twilight.

~

Emette came barreling through the hedged path, his chest heaving as if he'd sprinted the entire way. The young man's uniform was disheveled, his green eyes wide with a mix of fear and urgency. When he caught sight of Kayer, relief flickered across his face— but it was short-lived.

His gaze then landed on Amaranthe trailing behind, and a shadow of unease settled over him.

"Emette!" Kayer called out, his voice taut. "What's happened?"

The aide skidded to a halt, trying to catch his breath. "Y-Your Highness…"

"Calm down," Kayer ordered, though the tightness in his tone betrayed his own growing nerves. "What is it?"

Emette hesitated, his expression conflicted as his eyes darted between Kayer and Amaranthe. There was something personal in the way he looked at her— almost protective —but he quickly shook it off. Now was not the time.

Clearing his throat, Emette finally straightened his posture, though his voice still trembled.

"L-Lady Cheska…" He swallowed hard.

"The lady has gone missing!"

The words landed like a thunderclap.