Page 5

It was colder than the frozen ponds at home, a salty and biting emptiness that gnawed at his bones.

He kicked furiously, but the currents dragged him deeper.

He couldn’t discern which way was up—not with the gray sky and the gray sea merging into one another.

His limbs felt heavy, burdened by unseen forces.

There. A flash of blond hair in the shadows.

“Anton!” His voice emerged garbled, the water pressing in on him. Alex dove blindly, arms outstretched. He clawed at the void, fingers grazing something soft. A sleeve. A shoulder. No, it slipped away again.

Shapes twisted in the water. Faces emerged from the darkness—Anton’s pale eyes wide and staring. Alex kicked harder, faster, his lungs burning. He reached for the vanishing figure as the sea seemed to scream around him.

And then—

Anton was gone.

The weight of failure crushed Alex deeper into a pitiless silence.

He surfaced into blinding light, gasping.

But he wasn’t in the sea anymore; he was in his cabin, tangled in damp sheets, his skin slick with cold sweat.

His chest heaved as he blinked the dim room into focus.

Moonlight filtered through the narrow window, painting faint patterns along the floor.

The roar of the waves remained in his head, deafening, even though the sea outside the ship was calm. Alex sat up, running a trembling hand through his hair, which clung to his forehead, soaked. His throat ached as if he’d screamed himself raw.

He couldn’t shake the weight pressing down on his chest—or the phantom chill of the water. The dream wasn’t just a dream; it was Anton. Always Anton.

And he hadn’t saved him.

When the valet gently stirred Alex awake, he had already fought to steady his breath and collect himself.

It wasn’t Anton this time—it was the imprint of her hand, the glimmer of white fabric pulling him back into the dream’s clutches just before waking.

The cold sweat still clung to him, refusing to ease, even as the morning light filtered in, and he sought refuge in a bath.

But nothing—neither the cleansing water nor the day’s bright promise—could banish the heaviness on his chest. Remarkably, she had crept past his defenses, weaving herself into the very seams of his thoughts.

And now, she haunted him as potently as any memory of Anton.

Once again, Alex found himself adrift, held captive by ghosts he could not outrun.

At three o’clock in the afternoon, his stomach growled, and Alex needed to escape the loneliness of his nightmares.

Light danced through the curtains of the dining room windows at the Royal Duchy Hotel as he walked through the double doors into the garden.

The salty sea air blew comfortingly across the flowers in the garden, so he’d given the valet instructions for a quiet meal outdoors.

But the image of her face beneath the water haunted him still—those wide, terrified eyes, the way her arms had flailed before they went limp. He could still feel the strain in his shoulders from pulling her through the waves, the icy sting of the water cutting through his flesh like knives.

Almost.

She’d almost lost her life.

His breath caught at the mere possibility of it.

No one, not on his watch, would meet such a fate.

He clenched his jaw at the thought. It was his duty—no, more than that.

It was who he was. To act, to protect, to ensure the cruelty of this world didn’t swallow the weak.

That was his responsibility, whether on a battlefield, aboard a ship, or even here in the quiet destruction of his mind.

For what good was a prince who could not guard even one solitary life?

Alex steadied his breathing, gripping tightly to the ideals that had governed his every decision—principles carved into him by blood, loss, and expectation.

He told himself it was this alone that drove him.

It had to be. Anything else would unsettle the fragile balance he so carefully upheld. Anything else—no, it could not be.

He strolled to the small, round table draped in pristine white linen awaiting him, set for afternoon tea under the shade of a flowering cherry tree, whose branches fluttered gracefully in the summer breeze.

His gaze flicked over the table, the three-tiered cake stand displaying an assortment of delicate sandwiches, scones, and pastries.

Lord, he could just about eat it all.

Alex settled into a wrought-iron chair while the footman, clad in a well-fitted tailcoat, bowed slightly as he served the tea, pouring a rich stream of black tea into his cup, and the aroma of bergamot immediately enveloped his senses.

He reached for one of the round puff pastries, which resembled an éclair but was filled with yellow cream.

He popped it in his mouth. Hmm, lemony delight. Delicious.

“Sir, we recommend starting from the bottom tier and working your way to the top,” the waiter announced with a decorous air, gesturing to the three-tiered stand.

“Are you both the footman and the waiter here?” Alex asked, unsure what to think about the same man being assigned as his footman and valet. It might be an English thing.

“I’m whatever Your Royal Highness requires,” the man replied humbly, lifting his chin as if he were immensely pleased with himself. “I’m always at your service.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “I am at ease.”

The man inclined his head and left him to his lunch.

Alex reached for a cucumber sandwich, its soft bread yielding to the cool, crisp filling on the first bite.

Each sandwich was a work of art, cut into dainty triangles and arranged with geometric precision.

While he typically preferred heartier fare, he appreciated the craftsmanship and subtle flavor of these miniature creations, despite being able to fit a whole sandwich in his mouth at once, watercress decoration or not.

He wolfed down the food while his gaze drifted over the garden.

Peaceful.

Especially when roses were in full bloom, their petals splashing against the hedges in red, pink, and white.

Butterflies flitted among the blossoms, and the air buzzed with life—the lively song of robins and the chirping of chaffinches filled the space.

It was a scene as if drawn from a painting. Almost too perfect to believe.

And it was indeed too good because Alex knew he was running out of this… whatever it was called: freedom? Time? He wouldn’t linger much longer in Cornwall, perhaps just a few days while he confirmed that the lead on his brother was false, then he would return to London to meet his bride.

He swallowed hard, his chest tightening.

He didn’t know her.

They may have been betrothed as small children, but how could he be sure she was the one?

This silly romantic notion he’d harbored since…

since he realized a woman was waiting for him, someone fated for him, kept growing in his mind.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about the siren he’d rescued from the waves.

Could there be more to fate than a mere transactional match?

He’d always felt it was his duty to liaise with the most powerful tradesman in Europe, who happened to be Marcus Lyndon. However, his own heart seemed to possess a rather romantic nature—a secret he kept hidden from his family lest he be laughed out of court.

Green eyes filled the spaces of his mind.

The girl again.

He wondered what it was about her that refused to leave him.

What was it about her that lingered and haunted him?

She wasn’t just a girl so much as a woman in his arms, haunting him since this morning.

Even when her long brown hair, tangled and damp, framed her face and life had nearly faded from her, she’d been…

He couldn’t quite put it into words that made sense.

She had looked like a vision from one of his mother’s old stories, where the prince kissed a princess back to life.

I need to take a stroll.

Get his mind off her. He rose and made his way through the garden, slipping past a hedge of rose bushes onto a secluded path.

The lawn soon opened to a meadow beyond the hotel’s gardens, sprinkled with summer flowers and clover.

He turned toward a tree-shaded area and heard the gentle sound of a little river—a creek, he realized as he approached.

But his heart began to race with anticipation as he drew nearer.

No, surely it couldn’t…

It was her .

He would recognize her profile anywhere. She lay on her back, her chest rising and falling, a book open on her stomach. His gaze drifted to the swell of her breasts before he quickly looked away. He should turn and walk away.

He should let her be.

But his feet were frozen to the ground.

And then, they slowly inched forward.

She seemed lost in thought, unaware of his approach. As he drew closer, he noticed her eyes were closed, a blade of grass held between her lips, swaying gently from side to side. She appeared to be part of this untouched world on a warm day.

Turn around and go.

The blade of grass in her mouth seemed to tickle her nose, causing her to twitch and blink. Her eyes fluttered open, widening slightly at the sight of him.

Alex bent down instinctively to smile at her, casting a large shadow over her. “Forgive me for startling you,” he said softly. The proximity allowed him to catch the subtle scent of wildflowers and sunshine clinging to her.

So beautiful.

Against the blur of green, she stood out with a breathtaking and intelligent gaze that set her apart from any woman he had ever known.

“Ah, my savior.”

His smile widened. “I suppose you could say that. My apologies for the intrusion.”

A smile played at the corners of her lips as she regarded him with curiosity. “It’s quite all right. The view is quite delightful.”

You mean me?

He couldn’t help but chuckle. Turn around and leave, Alex. This is nothing but trouble.

“I’m Sera.”

And now trouble had a name.

Sera. A pretty name, too. “I’m—” He paused, thinking whether he should give his full title—Prince Alexander Friedrich Wilhelm Leopold of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen—but discarded it. In this setting, with this woman, he simply wanted to be himself. “Alex.”