Page 14
Story: His Forbidden Princess
"Allow me." His fingers brush my skin as he works the laces, each touch sending shivers down my spine.
"You seem practiced at this," I observe, unable to resist the jab.
His hands pause momentarily. "I told you, I don't bring women here."
"But you've undressed women before." It's not a question.
"I'm thirty-eight years old, Lirien. Yes, there have been women. None that mattered." He finishes the laces with a decisive tug. "None that were you."
The simple statement knocks the breath from my lungs. I turn to face him, finding his expression more open than I've ever seen it.
"Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because dawn is coming." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering longer than necessary. "Because after today, we return to our roles, and I need you to understand why."
"I don't want to return to that." I catch his hand before he can pull away. "I don't want to marry some foreign prince I've never met. I don't want to pretend this night never happened."
"What we want rarely matters in the grand scheme." His voice is gentle, almost tender. "You have a duty to your kingdom, as do I."
"And if I refuse that duty?" I search his face, looking for some sign that he would support such rebellion.
"Then you would not be the woman I—" He stops, jaw clenching.
"The woman you what?" I press, heart hammering.
"The woman I have served faithfully for seven years." He withdraws his hand from mine. "It's time to go, Your Highness."
The return to formality feels like a slap. I step back, wrapping dignity around me like armor. "Of course, Captain Vorex. Heaven forbid we keep duty waiting."
If my words hurt him, he doesn't show it. He simply opens the door, checks the street, and gestures for me to precede him.
As we make our way back toward the palace, taking a more direct route now, I can't help but feel that something precious is slipping away with each step. For a few hours, I glimpsed a different life—one where I wasn't just the crown princess, whereDain wasn't just my guard. One where we could act on the current that runs between us without fear of consequences.
But that life exists only in the space between midnight and dawn, in safehouses and shadowed alleys. With the rising sun comes reality, duty, the weight of a crown I never asked to bear.
Still, I can't bring myself to regret this night—not the escape, not the city, not the kiss, not even the rejection. Because now I know what freedom tastes like. I know what desire feels like.
And I know, with absolute certainty, that I can never go back to being the princess who didn't.
six
. . .
Dain
I returnher to the palace the way a thief returns stolen goods—furtively, with constant vigilance, my nerves stretched taut as bowstrings. We slip through the servants' entrance as the kitchen staff begins their day, her once-immaculate disguise now replaced with the modest dress from the safehouse. To anyone who notices, she could be a lady's maid returning from an assignation, head bowed appropriately. Not the crown princess. Certainly not my princess, though my treacherous mind persists in thinking of her that way after last night.
"This way," I murmur, guiding her through back corridors I've memorized over years of service. My hand hovers near the small of her back, not quite touching. Even this close to safety, I can't risk anyone seeing such familiarity.
We haven't spoken since leaving the safehouse. The silence between us pulses with unresolved tension, with words unsaid, with the ghost of that kiss still haunting us both. I tell myselfit's better this way. Silence can't be used against us. Silence can't become evidence of treason.
Because that's what this is—what I've done, what I've allowed, what I've wanted. Treason against the crown. Against my oath. Against every principle that has defined my existence for the past fifteen years.
We reach the servants' staircase that leads directly to the royal apartments. No guards are posted here—a security oversight I've reported multiple times without result, but one I'm grateful for now. Lirien pauses at the foot of the stairs, turning to face me.
"Thank you," she says quietly, "for my night of freedom."
The formal words feel like a wall erected between us, but I recognize the necessity. We are returning to our roles now, inch by painful inch.
"You seem practiced at this," I observe, unable to resist the jab.
His hands pause momentarily. "I told you, I don't bring women here."
"But you've undressed women before." It's not a question.
"I'm thirty-eight years old, Lirien. Yes, there have been women. None that mattered." He finishes the laces with a decisive tug. "None that were you."
The simple statement knocks the breath from my lungs. I turn to face him, finding his expression more open than I've ever seen it.
"Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because dawn is coming." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering longer than necessary. "Because after today, we return to our roles, and I need you to understand why."
"I don't want to return to that." I catch his hand before he can pull away. "I don't want to marry some foreign prince I've never met. I don't want to pretend this night never happened."
"What we want rarely matters in the grand scheme." His voice is gentle, almost tender. "You have a duty to your kingdom, as do I."
"And if I refuse that duty?" I search his face, looking for some sign that he would support such rebellion.
"Then you would not be the woman I—" He stops, jaw clenching.
"The woman you what?" I press, heart hammering.
"The woman I have served faithfully for seven years." He withdraws his hand from mine. "It's time to go, Your Highness."
The return to formality feels like a slap. I step back, wrapping dignity around me like armor. "Of course, Captain Vorex. Heaven forbid we keep duty waiting."
If my words hurt him, he doesn't show it. He simply opens the door, checks the street, and gestures for me to precede him.
As we make our way back toward the palace, taking a more direct route now, I can't help but feel that something precious is slipping away with each step. For a few hours, I glimpsed a different life—one where I wasn't just the crown princess, whereDain wasn't just my guard. One where we could act on the current that runs between us without fear of consequences.
But that life exists only in the space between midnight and dawn, in safehouses and shadowed alleys. With the rising sun comes reality, duty, the weight of a crown I never asked to bear.
Still, I can't bring myself to regret this night—not the escape, not the city, not the kiss, not even the rejection. Because now I know what freedom tastes like. I know what desire feels like.
And I know, with absolute certainty, that I can never go back to being the princess who didn't.
six
. . .
Dain
I returnher to the palace the way a thief returns stolen goods—furtively, with constant vigilance, my nerves stretched taut as bowstrings. We slip through the servants' entrance as the kitchen staff begins their day, her once-immaculate disguise now replaced with the modest dress from the safehouse. To anyone who notices, she could be a lady's maid returning from an assignation, head bowed appropriately. Not the crown princess. Certainly not my princess, though my treacherous mind persists in thinking of her that way after last night.
"This way," I murmur, guiding her through back corridors I've memorized over years of service. My hand hovers near the small of her back, not quite touching. Even this close to safety, I can't risk anyone seeing such familiarity.
We haven't spoken since leaving the safehouse. The silence between us pulses with unresolved tension, with words unsaid, with the ghost of that kiss still haunting us both. I tell myselfit's better this way. Silence can't be used against us. Silence can't become evidence of treason.
Because that's what this is—what I've done, what I've allowed, what I've wanted. Treason against the crown. Against my oath. Against every principle that has defined my existence for the past fifteen years.
We reach the servants' staircase that leads directly to the royal apartments. No guards are posted here—a security oversight I've reported multiple times without result, but one I'm grateful for now. Lirien pauses at the foot of the stairs, turning to face me.
"Thank you," she says quietly, "for my night of freedom."
The formal words feel like a wall erected between us, but I recognize the necessity. We are returning to our roles now, inch by painful inch.