Sir Fredge had only been to the flower garden three times in his life. Once yesterday, once a year or so ago, and once that night.

He had come across it on his way back from a nearby cemetery, after he'd taken a detour and ended up in a strange glowing tunnel.

The tunnel wound left and right, dipping down into the ground, until eventually, it opened up into the most beautiful garden Fred had ever seen.

There were so many colours, so many wildflowers, and they were glowing! It seemed a scene born from a fairy tale.

Fred headed over to the flowers closest to his side of the garden. They were orange and cherry-pink chrysanthemums, not unlike the marigolds given to him by grateful townsfolk after the last battle Fred had partaken in.

Fred had sat on the ground, placed his scabbard on the soil beside him, and had watched as the flowers glowed with more and more strength, soaking up the ethereal light of the moon.

It was a lovely sight, a nice change from the emotions from the day. That day had marked the first anniversary of the death of Sir Fredge's battalion. They had been cornered in battle, whilst Fred headed on horseback around the back of a copse of trees, hoping to ensure there were no ambushes.

The plan had been for him to check back with them, and they would split up accordingly. Instead, Fred had returned to find them all killed, their horses scattered, their swords and flags taken as tokens of war.

They'd been buried side by side in the same cemetery, which was only a couple hours from Sir Fredge's house. He'd decided to visit them that day, on the anniversary of their death. It was a very melancholic period for Fred, and he hadn't felt like heading home.

That was how h had first ended up in the tunnel, with no idea where it would lead to.

Fred had sat in front of the chrysanthemums for the better part of an hour, with his scabbard and his helmet beside him. He let the soft noise of the water trickle over him, and relaxed in the intoxicating perfumes of the flowers. Then, he had taken his knife from his pocket, and cut the stem of a short orange chrysanthemum. It had gone nicely in his flower-press journal, just next to the two-headed sunflower he'd found days earlier. Fred had left after a quick look around, and aside from the chrysanthemum in his journal, he hadn't given the garden much thought since.

That was of course, until he'd returned a year later, visited the cemetery as he always did, and taken that same detour to the flower garden. It was only on the way back, upon seeing the cave entrance, that Fred had remembered the events of the previous year.

This time, he'd remained in the garden for a while, soaking in its scents, and seeing what else there was to see.

He'd collected a few flower samples; some roses, a chrysanthemum or two, and a sprig of dim-glowing heather. It wasn't until he'd woken the next morning to fill the flowers into his flower press journal that he'd realised he must've dropped the particularly orange chrysanthemum he'd collected.

It was to find this flower again that he had made his way back to the garden for the second time in as many days.

This time however, after searching the chrysanthemums for the flower he had dropped, Fred realised he wasn't alone.

At the other end of the garden, there was a girl – a princess, in fact.

She was over by the roses, with her back to Sir Fredge, and her arms folded over her chest. He hadn't realised other people knew about this garden. With the cracked ceiling, the wild growth of the flowers, and the water running freely through the unmoved soil, Fred had assumed he was alone in his knowledge.

As the mysterious girl turned to move to another patch of softly glowing roses, Fred had found himself amazed by her beauty. He also realised that she had his chrysanthemum behind her ear. Had she been here the day before? Did she like orange too?

Fred became aware of how weird his silent gawking would have seemed if she was to turn around and see him. A wave of awkwardness washed over the knight, and he felt suddenly as though he should leave. It wasn't right to intrude on this kind of peaceful paradise, particularly if this woman owned this garden. It was even less right to spy on someone while they appreciated roses. Then again, it was maybe even even less right to spy on someone and then leave without saying anything. There was a chance she would turn in time to catch him leaving, which would definitely have been a lot worse than speaking.

Before Fred could decide what the most ethical thing to do in this situation, the girl turned around.

Sir Fredge and Lady Lizzie locked eyes from opposite ends of the flower garden. They stared at each other for what felt like both a second and an hour.

Both of them felt the spark.