Page 7
Story: His Forbidden Princess
My mouth goes dry. Has he been watching me that closely all these years? And more disturbingly, why does the thought send heat pooling low in my stomach instead of frightening me?
"So what now?" I force myself to meet his gaze. "Are you going to drag me back to my gilded cage?"
"If I wanted to do that, we wouldn't be having this conversation." He takes a drink, throat working in a way that draws my eye. "You have until dawn. Then I return you to the palace."
I blink, not having expected any compromise. "Why?"
"Because you'll go willingly at dawn, or I'll carry you back over my shoulder like a sack of grain." His voice is matter-of-fact. "And because I'd rather you experienced the city with protection than sneak out again without it."
"You're not in uniform," I observe. "Won't you be punished if we're discovered?"
Something dark crosses his face. "Let me worry about consequences."
I should be outraged at his presumption, at the way he's infiltrated my one night of freedom. Instead, I find myself studying him with new interest. Without his guard's uniform, with the beard shadowing his jaw, he looks different—more human, less the impassive sentinel who's shadowed me for years.
The scar along his jaw—my scar, as I've always thought of it—seems more pronounced in this light. I have a sudden, inappropriate urge to trace it with my finger.
"You changed your appearance," I say instead. “Your beard..."
"Easier to blend in. Harder for anyone to recognize me as your guard."
"You planned this."
A slight shrug. "I suspected you might try something foolish eventually."
"Freedom isn't foolish." My fingers tighten around my mug. "It's necessary. Especially when—" I stop myself.
"When what?" His eyes narrow.
I shake my head. He doesn't need to know about the marriage negotiations, though if he's as observant as he claims, he probably already suspects.
"Nothing." I drain the last of my mead, making a decision. "Fine. You can accompany me, but don't hover. And don't speak to me as if I'm a child needing supervision."
"As you wish, Princess." There's a hint of mockery in the title.
"Don't call me that. Not tonight." I stand, steadier this time. "Tonight, I'm just Lirien."
"Lirien," he repeats, and something about the way my name sounds in his deep voice makes my skin prickle with awareness.
Our fingers brush as he rises to follow me, and I feel a spark—static from the dry air, but it jolts me nonetheless. For a moment, we're frozen, connected by that small point of contact, by something electric and dangerous passing between us.
Then he steps back, gesturing toward the door. "After you."
I move past him, feeling his presence at my back like a physical touch. My night of freedom has become something else entirely—a dance with my shadow, a game with rules I don't fully understand.
But as we step back into the night air, with the city spread before us and Dain a solid presence beside me, I can't bring myself to regret it.
four
. . .
Dain
I staytwo steps behind her as we wind through the crowded streets, close enough to intervene if needed, far enough to maintain the illusion of her independence. My blood still simmers from our encounter in the tavern. She recognized me—not immediately, but faster than I expected. Those green eyes widened with shock, then narrowed with anger, but beneath both, I caught something else. Something that makes keeping my distance a special kind of torture.
She moves through the night market with undisguised wonder, stopping to examine trinkets and taste exotic foods. The copper-gold strands of her hair escape her hood as she leans over a jewelry display, and I have to clench my fists against the urge to tuck them back, to feel their softness between my fingers.
"Look at these," she calls over her shoulder, forgetting momentarily that she's supposed to be angry with me. She holds up a pair of simple wooden earrings, carved with delicate leaves.Nothing like the priceless gems that adorn her at court, yet she looks at them as if they're treasures.
"So what now?" I force myself to meet his gaze. "Are you going to drag me back to my gilded cage?"
"If I wanted to do that, we wouldn't be having this conversation." He takes a drink, throat working in a way that draws my eye. "You have until dawn. Then I return you to the palace."
I blink, not having expected any compromise. "Why?"
"Because you'll go willingly at dawn, or I'll carry you back over my shoulder like a sack of grain." His voice is matter-of-fact. "And because I'd rather you experienced the city with protection than sneak out again without it."
"You're not in uniform," I observe. "Won't you be punished if we're discovered?"
Something dark crosses his face. "Let me worry about consequences."
I should be outraged at his presumption, at the way he's infiltrated my one night of freedom. Instead, I find myself studying him with new interest. Without his guard's uniform, with the beard shadowing his jaw, he looks different—more human, less the impassive sentinel who's shadowed me for years.
The scar along his jaw—my scar, as I've always thought of it—seems more pronounced in this light. I have a sudden, inappropriate urge to trace it with my finger.
"You changed your appearance," I say instead. “Your beard..."
"Easier to blend in. Harder for anyone to recognize me as your guard."
"You planned this."
A slight shrug. "I suspected you might try something foolish eventually."
"Freedom isn't foolish." My fingers tighten around my mug. "It's necessary. Especially when—" I stop myself.
"When what?" His eyes narrow.
I shake my head. He doesn't need to know about the marriage negotiations, though if he's as observant as he claims, he probably already suspects.
"Nothing." I drain the last of my mead, making a decision. "Fine. You can accompany me, but don't hover. And don't speak to me as if I'm a child needing supervision."
"As you wish, Princess." There's a hint of mockery in the title.
"Don't call me that. Not tonight." I stand, steadier this time. "Tonight, I'm just Lirien."
"Lirien," he repeats, and something about the way my name sounds in his deep voice makes my skin prickle with awareness.
Our fingers brush as he rises to follow me, and I feel a spark—static from the dry air, but it jolts me nonetheless. For a moment, we're frozen, connected by that small point of contact, by something electric and dangerous passing between us.
Then he steps back, gesturing toward the door. "After you."
I move past him, feeling his presence at my back like a physical touch. My night of freedom has become something else entirely—a dance with my shadow, a game with rules I don't fully understand.
But as we step back into the night air, with the city spread before us and Dain a solid presence beside me, I can't bring myself to regret it.
four
. . .
Dain
I staytwo steps behind her as we wind through the crowded streets, close enough to intervene if needed, far enough to maintain the illusion of her independence. My blood still simmers from our encounter in the tavern. She recognized me—not immediately, but faster than I expected. Those green eyes widened with shock, then narrowed with anger, but beneath both, I caught something else. Something that makes keeping my distance a special kind of torture.
She moves through the night market with undisguised wonder, stopping to examine trinkets and taste exotic foods. The copper-gold strands of her hair escape her hood as she leans over a jewelry display, and I have to clench my fists against the urge to tuck them back, to feel their softness between my fingers.
"Look at these," she calls over her shoulder, forgetting momentarily that she's supposed to be angry with me. She holds up a pair of simple wooden earrings, carved with delicate leaves.Nothing like the priceless gems that adorn her at court, yet she looks at them as if they're treasures.