Chapter 13 - THE RECOVERY OF THE REALM
Two weeks passed.
The autumn air over the western valleys was crisp and clear, smelling of ripe apples, damp earth, and woodsmoke.
In the royal capital, Prince Theo was formally named Prince Regent, governing the realm with a new council made up not of old lords, but of honest scholars, honest soldiers, and men who had served the people rather than the crown.
Under Theo’s orders, the royal apothecary guild was completely restructured. The ancient texts were freed from secret vaults, and the knowledge of healing herbs was opened to every village physician across the kingdom.
On a bright Tuesday morning, a royal carriage escorted by six silver-armored riders pulled up to the front gate of a small stone cottage nestled at the foot of the western orchards.
The cottage was old, but sturdy. Its wooden roof had been freshly repaired with sweet-smelling cedar shingles. Beside the oak front door, two large wooden beds of purple lavender were already taking root in the rich brown soil.
Nell sat on the front porch, reading aloud from her pigskin primer book.
"M-A-E-V-E," Nell sounded out the letters, tracing them with her small finger. "Maeve."
"Very good, sweet girl," a soft voice came from inside the doorway.
Maeve stepped out onto the porch. She wore a comfortable dress of deep wool, her dark hair tied back with a simple linen ribbon, the silver streak shining like a badge of honor in the morning sunlight. Her hands were steady as she carried a tray with two earthenware mugs of warm mint tea.
The carriage door opened, and Prince Theo stepped down onto the grass. He carried no weapons, no royal guards of state—only a small wooden chest bound with iron bands.
"Good morning, Maeve," Theo said, smiling warmly as he walked up the gravel path.
"Good morning, My Prince," Maeve replied, placing the tea tray on the porch table. "What brings the Regent so far from the capital?"
"A final duty," Theo said.
May you like
He set the small wooden chest on the porch table and opened the lid.
Inside lay dozens of small, preserved glass jars, each labeled in the neat, careful hand of Thomas Harrow—her late husband’s missing apothecary collection, recovered from the deepest storage vaults of the Royal Keep.
