The sky was brighter than usual, the gardens full of color, and palace life once again moved with a lighter rhythm.
Yet within that seasonal change, there was another shift—one that was not immediately visible… except to those close enough to notice.
George did not feel as though he had changed. He still lived his days as before.
Still spoke in the same tone, still walked with the same measured steps, still maintained the same disciplined composure.
But to others… the difference was clear.
Especially when Mary was near.
During a family gathering in the garden, the air was warm and the breeze moved gently. The atmosphere felt far more relaxed than in previous months.
Mary sat with Alexandra and other members of the family, speaking quietly.
At a distance, George stood with several relatives.
Yet his attention… was not fully with them. His eyes occasionally drifted toward Mary without him realizing it—simply to confirm she was there, that she was well.
And someone noticed.
Princess Maud.
Maud approached slowly, standing beside her brother.
She smiled mischievously, not speaking at first—only following the direction of his gaze… before finally beginning her little game.
"Interesting," she said casually.
George turned.
"What is?"
Maud lifted a shoulder lightly.
"Nothing. It's just… you seem to find something far more interesting than the conversation here."
George frowned slightly.
"I don't know what you mean."
Maud nearly laughed.
"Of course you don't."
George tried to return his attention to the ongoing conversation, but Maud was not finished.
"Do you realize," she continued softly, "that you keep looking in the same direction every few minutes?"
George fell silent.
It felt as if he had been caught in the act of a crime—and for once, he had no immediate answer.
"I'm just… observing," he said at last.
Maud's smile widened.
"Yes. That's usually how it starts."
George exhaled quietly.
"Maud…"
"I didn't say anything," she cut in quickly, still light in tone.
"Besides," she added, "I like it."
George looked at her now.
"You do?"
Maud nodded toward Mary.
"She makes everything feel… calmer."
For a moment, George did not respond.
Because for the first time, someone had said aloud what he had only ever kept silent within himself.
Elsewhere, Mary remained unaware of the exchange. Yet she began to feel something different—the way the family looked at her, the way she was included more often, and especially… the way George behaved.
Nothing obvious. Nothing improper.
But enough to feel more present. More attentive. More near—without crossing any line.
One afternoon, as they walked together in the garden, Mary said softly,
"You've been quieter than usual lately."
George turned slightly.
"Is that a bad thing?"
Mary shook her head.
"No. Just different."
A faint smile appeared on George's lips.
"I am trying to understand many things."
Mary did not ask further. But she understood.
Inside the household, small conversations began to appear.
Never direct, never open—but noticeable.
Alexandra, ever perceptive as a mother, observed it. Edward, more flamboyant and outspoken, also noticed the change in his son's behavior. And George's sisters spoke of it in light, teasing tones.
At Windsor, Queen Victoria received the news with her usual calm.
Nothing was rushed—but nothing was being stopped either.
The day ended with quiet laughter in the garden.
Yet for George, something had become too clear to ignore. Not only his own feelings—but the fact that others were beginning to see them too.
And for the first time, he realized… that what he felt was no longer entirely hidden.