Page 39

A lex reached Vauxhall and found the tree with lanterns with the driver’s helpful directions.

The gardens stretched out before him, muted shadows and pale pathways dimly illuminated by scattered lanterns.

They should have been beautiful—peaceful, even—but instead they felt like the exact opposite, resembling a stage set for the ruin of something precious.

The revelry had faded. Only faint echoes of laughter lingered, as distant as the memories of the tryst at the beach—or could it be more?

Alex ran a hand through his hair.

Never had he expected that.

How could this have happened?

Now, in the summer heat and in the heart of London, in what was meant to be a romantic setting for even more romantic moments, Alex felt more alone than he ever had on the open sea.

Alex stood beneath the tree, his gloved hands pressed against the cold iron railing, as though the firm grip could still his restless thoughts.

He tugged at his cravat, his whole body feeling stifling.

Would she come?

He looked toward the path once more, hope still burning faintly, madly, that she might emerge from the shadows.

She was just late, he told himself. Only delayed.

But so was he. By each other. He shook his head trying to understand how this could have happened.

But even as the thought formed, he felt its hollowness.

The bells of St. Paul’s Cathedral had already rung when he was on the way.

How many minutes past midnight it was, he could not say.

I missed her.

His chest was so heavy, the air didn’t seem to fill his lungs as he breathed the hot night air.

And yet he lingered.

He could not bring himself to leave, foolish as it was to stand there like a fool for a woman who might not show. But this was still Sera. Each moment stretched the tension within him to an almost shattering point but leaving—leaving would mean admitting the truth. That she wasn’t coming.

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling a long breath.

Regret always came too late. Another man might have told her everything about himself.

But he had delayed, selfishly hoarding their stolen moments, leaning into the mystery of just being a girl and boy in Cornwall, treasuring the way her smile lifted the burden of his responsibilities.

But hadn’t she done that?

Yes, it wasn’t the same.

Now she must know he is the prince. An engaged one at that. If he had told her from the beginning, he could have won her heart the proper way.

His lips twisted into a grimace.

Just days ago, he had replayed all her different laughs in his mind.

Sera. She was summer’s glimmer of joy in a life shaped by duty, expectations, and sacrifices.

He had given so much, restrained so much.

But when it came to her… she was the only gift he had ever wanted for himself. And he just couldn’t let her go.

Yet, if she didn’t come tonight… he didn’t want to think it.

I lost her.

Couples laughing filled the spaces around him, mocking him. What had he expected? That she would come here, to honor a moment shared in innocence, when all her trust in him had surely been shattered? When his own trust should have been shattered? And yet it wasn’t. Not at all. He should have known.

He dragged his hands through his hair and turned toward the pavilion, glancing at the crowded benches as though they might offer an answer he hadn’t yet considered. But there was nothing. Just him. And the tree with lanterns.

A simmering frustration boiled under his skin as he started to pace. His booted steps scuffed against gravel and flagstone, sharp even amid the noise.

“ Fir-ar s? fie !” Blast it, he murmured under his breath. His brow furrowed. This wasn’t the life he was meant to lead. His life had rules, expectations, and outcomes laid like paving stones long before his birth. He knew how to follow paths and bear the weight of them.

But none of that had mattered when he was with her.

And yet here she was—absent.

Who could blame her? Her absence spoke as loudly as his regret for not revealing who he truly was.

He exhaled sharply, his back rigid with effort as he forced himself to glance at the path one last time.

A man in his position shouldn’t bend under emotion.

Yet he was chained by it. And the path was empty.

Just like last time. Just like every time.

She’s not coming.

He turned, fists curling. It took all the control he had to keep from punching his fist into the bark of the tree, from letting his emotions spill out unchecked.

What would his brother say? Princes didn’t act rashly.

And yet his heart snarled against the press of reason as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Please, Sera, come.

Come and demand answers!

More curses hissed from his lips in Romanian, the language of his ancestors heavy with frustration. Another twig met its fate under his heel. He would snap them all if he could!

His head tilted back briefly toward the faint shimmer of the stars above. They stared back, distant and unfeeling, indifferent to the torment of princes and commoners alike.

She wasn’t coming.

He should go.

He sighed and walked away, leaving the spot behind with one last sweep of the area.

It was over.

*

It was all a great mess! She had been Alex’s fiancée from the very beginning! The irony was almost enough to make her bang her head against the wall. Instead of leaving her, he should have come to London with her. They should have gone together.

Sera rushed through the hallway of Lady Ashford’s home. He’s not getting out of this. He’s not just slipping away.

Am I late?

She hoped she wasn’t too late. Would he still be there? Would he even go to Vauxhall? She had to tell him that it didn’t matter. Oh, why, oh, why had she thought to collect her breath first?

Perhaps he’ll forgive me?

The marble tiles gleamed beneath her silk slippers, her reflection fractured as if the world itself had splintered. She paused just long enough to drape her shawl over her bare shoulders—modesty preserved but barely, as her heart raced ahead of her.

Outside, the air was stifling hot. It felt suffocating compared to midsummer in Cornwall. There was no sign of her family’s carriage. She had sent her footman ahead with instructions to return promptly—yet the spot where it should have waited loomed empty.

A flicker of panic surged through her.

Not tonight.

Not when every unresolved emotion and unanswered question between her and Alex boiled within her like a kettle left on the fire too long.

A shadow emerged near the gate. Sera hadn’t noticed him at first, but there he was—a man standing beside another carriage, its glossy black paint reflecting the scattered light from the house’s torches.

The golden crest emblazoned on its door glowed unmistakably, regal and bold.

Her heart hitched, recognition dawning too late.

She recognized that crest. The carriage that left when Isabella spoke to my prince…

The prince.

Her prince.

The man stepped forward, silhouetted by the carriage lamps. “Miss Lyndon,” he addressed her with a small bow. His face entered the light as he straightened—a vaguely familiar one, though not enough to soothe the flutters in her belly.

“You,” she breathed, narrowing her eyes as memory clung to the edges of her thoughts. “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? You lingered in which scene?”

The man nodded once, his expression professional yet edged with something she couldn’t quite name. “Indeed, Miss Lyndon. My name is Charles Brown. I am Prince Alexander’s valet.”

“Oh,” she said, blinking, though her mind reeled to pin him down. “And his driver as well?”

“If he so desires, yes.”

She arched a brow, recalling the picnic with those maps. “And his secretary?”

“Exactly,” he replied without hesitation.

“Well, he must trust you quite a bit,” she murmured. “But you’ll have to excuse me, I’m a little pressed for time.”

Mr. Brown nodded slightly. “May I take you to him? Vauxhall, is it?”

Sera glanced at the door he held open for her. She didn’t need to ask. It was his carriage—the one with the crest of a prince. Alex’s crest.

“You know about Vauxhall?”

“I do,” he said simply. “Yet I only now pieced together another few things.”

Meaning her identity, but that wasn’t important. “So, he went? To Vauxhall? But with what? If you’re here with his carriage.”

“That, I cannot say. However, I had his entry token ready, Miss.” He offered her the token.

She nodded, and her breath trembled as she stepped up into the shadowed interior, sinking against the velvet cushions as the door shut with a crisp finality. The wheels began to turn, the faintest lurch as the coachman urged the horses onward.

The ride to Vauxhall was an agonizing half hour or perhaps half a century; she measured it in the unspoken weight filling the carriage.

Mr. Brown did not speak, nor did she. What could either of them say?

The silence suited her mood. Every moment, every breath brought her closer—and yet farther.

Her mind danced uneasily between the hope of mending what they had severed and the deepening dread that she might already be too late.

I should have told him.

She shouldn’t have leaned so heavily into the romance and mystique of spending time with someone without knowing who they were to the world. But this was also why she knew, having met Alex as a mystery sea man, she didn’t want to lose him.

It didn’t matter who he was to the world. It only mattered who he was to her.

The pavilion of Vauxhall came into view after what felt like hours, standing pale and still under the soft haze of moonlight. People were still roaming about despite the hour, and she hoped one of those people was Alex.

Sera stepped down before the carriage had even come to a complete stop.

Mr. Brown’s protest lingered wordlessly behind her as she smoothed her gown, her shawl clutched tightly to her chest, and dashed for the entry, her slippers whispering against the gravel.

Forward, she thought. Forward, always forward.

If she stopped now, she might shatter entirely.

But her steps faltered as she approached the spot they had agreed upon.

It was empty.

No shadow of a man waiting for her arrival, anticipating her like she had envisioned in her heart. No sign that he’d ever been there. Only absence.

I missed him.

Her hands formed into fists, her knuckles tightening with the force of it. The reality seeped into her all at once, sharp and bitter.

She was too late.

Her heart pounded with the violent tide of loss. Alex, her Alex, the man she loved beyond words. A laugh—tight and humorless—escaped her as tears blurred the edges of the tree. She was a fool, wasn’t she? Of course he wasn’t here.

Of course she had lost him.

He must think she wasn’t worthy of him. A liar. An imposter. He couldn’t know.

After all, they were engaged, and she’d given her chastity to another man, even if that man was him—did he know?

How much did he know?

Sera’s head was spinning with questions for she wasn’t clear about it herself any longer.

When had it all gone so terribly wrong? She turned slowly, the edges of her vision spinning, her throat tight with the hollow weight where desire had once lived.

She turned to walk back to where she had left Mr. Brown.

Each step she took away from the tree hanging with lanterns felt heavier than the last.

She had barely crossed the threshold from the gardens when a voice—low, rough, unmistakable—shattered the silence.

“Sera.”

Her name cut through the darkness. She whipped around as her breath stopped, frozen on her lips. And there he was.

Alex.

Her sea man.

Prince Alexander von Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen stood not even five feet away.

Her lips parted, but no words came. She could only look at him, tears burning her cheeks and his name resting in her heart like the faintest whisper of hope.

He came.