Page 22

T he air is crisp with the tidings of fall. And as the sun begins its descent below the earth, a golden aura casts over the bridge and glistens atop the water’s surface like dancing water flies. The young couple walking across the stony slope spies me and releases their entwined hands to wave. I don’t recognize them, but my hand naturally lifts to return the gesture.

From this spot on the balcony, it’s easy to attract attention. That’s why we chose to live here. It’s at the very center of the city’s core, right along the river. We are surrounded by the people, and we are one with them. How can one know their will or understand their needs while hidden away in the towers of a distant home?

Though I may be used to being seen, noticed, acknowledged, still my heart lacks the familiarity of being known. Only one person in this realm may ever truly know me, my heart, my soul.

Perhaps it’s better that way.

I pull the shawl draped over my shoulders in closer, readjusting the broach that holds it together, and then take a sip of wine from the ivory goblet.

“Ahem,” a man clears his throat behind me. His arms wrap around my waist and squeeze into a tight hug. The warmth of his body presses against my backside as his lips graze my neck, sending a shiver of lightning to dance on my skin, tickling and tantalizing. Our bodies meld together like two pieces of a puzzle cut solely to fit each other. “I didn’t want to interrupt, but I couldn’t resist,” he whispers before nipping at my ear.

I smile so hard that my cheeks hurt, but still, I manage to say, “By all means, please interrupt.”

He places his hands on my hips and uses just enough force to turn me to face him. The silver crown on his head tips askew as he bends down to kiss me. He’s hungry, desperate even. He’s searching my lips like they’re the only thing tethering him to this world. And for every bit of carnal desire he shoves my way, I return it tenfold. We tangle together, taking each other in with every strained breath, until he finds the strap of my dress and delicately slides one side over the tip of my shoulder. There’s a knock on the door, but he ignores it in search of the other strap.

Louder now, the knocks continue.

He presses his forehead into the top of my head, inhaling the lavender scent of the oils I bathed in earlier.

The door flies open and, peeking over his shoulder, I see a young man marching through the doorway, halting before the crackling hearth. He’s young, scrawny, and masquerading as someone confident.

Neither of us moves.

His pale blue eyes wither as he sputters, “My king, they’re here.”

Light seeps into the room as I slowly wake. In a decision that I now deeply regret, I slept with curtains open to allow the light to wake me in time to meet Olly. Moose groans before nuzzling his face underneath the pillow, clearly resenting my choice. First light came too soon.

What was that dream, and why can I still feel the touch of his hands on my body like a phantom embrace? It was lovely and familiar, so unlike my usual nightly terrors. And this isn’t the first time that face appeared in my dreams, yet I can’t recall who he is.

I shake it off, leaving the memory to fade away into the place where all dreams go to rest.

* * *

When I reach the top of the spiral staircase, I see Olly sparring with an invisible enemy. His sword slashes through the air with such sharp movements that the air whooshes against each slice. I wonder how many lives he ended with these carefully choreographed movements. How many have met the tip of his blade?

“You’re late,” he says without so much as looking in my direction, continuing to cut the air in half.

“How could I be late when the sun is barely over the horizon?”

He stops to place his sword back into its sheath. As he turns to face me, I notice that hardly a hair is out of place. The only evidence of exertion is the single bead of sweat gliding down his brow. Is that the sign of a warrior or of a man who only started moving when he heard footsteps? “The enemy won’t wait for the sun to rise to attack.” He moves to stand at attention.

“If that’s the case, then you should have been more specific. First light implies that the sun has already risen, not sooner.” I wasn’t aware that irritating me this early in the morning was on the agenda, but shame on me for not expecting it.

“Agreeing to meet at first light means that both parties are present when the sun first breaches the horizon.”

“I wasn’t aware that this was going to be a lesson in semantics.” Rolling my eyes hardly seems like a strong enough gesture. There are a few choice words I’d rather hurl at him instead – prick, asshole, arrogant bastard…

“See to it that you’re on time, or else your only lessons will be in semantics.” His crinkled eyes and closed-lip grin are making his face look very punchable right now.

“Fine, where is my sword?” I see only the one held behind his back, and I don’t see how we can share a sword while sparring.

“Slow down, Princess. We’re just getting started. Why don’t we see where you are physically? Drop and give me fifty push-ups.”

I only have myself to blame for this. I do want to learn to fight, honestly, but attempting to do push-ups in front of the cockiest man on earth can only end with me cowering in a heaping pile of embarrassment. And yet, if I don’t do them, I would have to admit how weak I am. Neither option seems particularly appealing, especially as I look up at that smug face of his. At least giving the push-ups a shot might preserve some inkling of my pride.

“You can do a push-ups, can’t you?” His critical stare squashes me like a bug.

“Of course, I can do a push-up, just give me a second.” Why did I lie? He’ll see through it the second I try – and fail – to do a single rep. I drop down to my knees and get into position, calling upon the power of my fragile pride to help me.

“On your toes, Princess.”

“If you call me Princess one more time, I might just shove you off of this rooftop.”

“Fine, on your toes, my strong and gifted warrior.”

“I’m not yours,” I say, shooting him a look of displeasure before lifting my knees into a plank position, pulling my shoulders back, squeezing my core, and then bending my elbows… a little… a little more… I come nowhere close to ninety degrees before collapsing onto my belly. I grumble, “It’s been a while. Give me a minute.”

“Take all the time you need to admit that you need to start with the basics. We’ll scale it back and work from there.” I don’t need to turn around to know that he’s mocking me. Why did I agree to this? I could be back in bed, dozing away, but instead, I am here with the most insufferable prince in history. Not that I’ve known any other princes.

Come on, Radya . I lift into a plank and try to lower the rest of my body, but once again I fail, slamming onto the ground with a thud.

Olly claps derisively slow. “Radya, you’ve given it a shot and failed, so why don’t you suck up your pride and admit that this is difficult for you?”

If only my magic would allow me to shoot daggers with my eyes, then I could avoid this absolute embarrassment. Out of sheer stubbornness, I raise up again, tighten my core, and lift out of my shoulders before bending my elbows and… “Gods!” I yell before collapsing again.

He squats beside me, lowering himself to meet my gaze. “Alright, how about this? Either you admit defeat now, or we can talk about what happened on this rooftop after the banquet.”

“You don’t make the rules here,” I snap at him.

We can’t have that conversation, not now. Not when I already look weak.

“Actually, I do. Besides the fact that I am the prince and soon-to-be ruler of this kingdom, I am also your teacher, which you so forcefully demanded of me. So, you do have to follow my rules. What’s your choice?”

Damn this man. I can give it one more shot. What could go wrong?

Well, besides an embarrassment that cuts so deep, I can never look him in the eyes again. If that happens, I might as well march down to the king and refuse the marriage once and for all. And if I admit defeat, then my pride will be too wounded to keep training. Either way, I lose.

So, here goes nothing. I get in position and mentally beg the gods for the strength of a thousand warriors. I bend my elbows a little… a little more… and don’t fall. Once I reach nearly ninety degrees, I slowly push back up… up… up. And, miraculously, I complete the movement.

Rather than compliment me or acknowledge the feat, he says, “again.”

“Oh, come on. I did one push-up! That’s enough for today! Let’s move on to some actual fighting.” Why can’t he let me have even one victory?

“Fighting requires strength. Strength which you just proved to lack. If you’re not willing to put in the work, then we may as well end our lessons here.” The earnestness conveyed in his eyes makes me think that he may not be taunting me just for the hell of it. He may actually want me to succeed.

And, gods damn it, he may be right.

I push past my pride, shoving it down as far as it will go, to say, “Okay, tell me what to do.”

* * *

My muscles feel like jelly by the time we’re done. Olly had me doing circuits of push-ups on my knees, lunges, squats, sit-ups, and sprints until I nearly collapsed from fatigue.

Now, in the dining room, the feast laid out before us seems like the only bright spot of this day, even though my sweaty thighs are sticking to the seat. As I scarf down a hot biscuit slathered in jam, I abandon all efforts to maintain manners. He sits across from me, wordlessly conveying some sense of personal triumph and amusement, but I refuse to acknowledge it. Instead, I focus my attention on the buttery biscuit.

“Based on your reaction earlier, I assume you’ll do just about anything to avoid talking about what happened on the roof last week?” He says, stopping me mid-bite. “Come on, are you embarrassed or regretful? I can’t tell.”

Well, at least I didn’t imagine the whole situation. He’s acknowledging that something happened that night.

When I don’t respond, he leans his elbows on the table and whispers, “I walked away because you had been drinking, and I didn’t want to take advantage, not because I didn’t want you.” The lines of his jaw tighten, making my heart race faster than a band of galloping horses.

“You could have spoken to me before escaping to the border,” I say.

“That wasn’t my choice.” He pauses, clenching his hands into fists. “No, that’s a lie. I could have come to you first, but I chose not to. I was embarrassed.”

“Why would you be embarrassed?” If anyone deserves to be embarrassed, it’s me. I misread the situation. I leaned in. I wanted more.

“You’ve made it clear that you want nothing to do with me. Again and again, you shoot down my advances. But in that moment, you seemed to want me. And it made me feel… I don’t know, hopeful. Then I smelled the alcohol on your breath, and I feared that your decisions were not your own. And if it wasn’t your sober-minded will to be with me,” he stops to choke back a breath. “I don’t want you to hate me, Radya. I want you to want me, to want this.”

There it is.

The gods-honest truth.

The full weight of his words washes over me as I contemplate how to respond. In situations like this, where emotions are laid bare, my mind turns into a black hole. I don’t know how to convey the depth of what I’m feeling. Words slip away until all I can feel is the racing of my heart.

Say something, Radya. Anything.

The seconds creep by in heavy silence as his eyes bear into me, pleading. I take a deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth.

Finally, I whisper, “You’re afraid? But you’re always so confident.”

His head falls into his hands for a moment before he looks back up at me. “There’s a difference between acting confident and being confident.”

“Everything seems to come so naturally to you.” When I look at him, I don’t see inner turmoil. I see confidence and strength. Does he get nervous like I do?

“Benefit of being raised as a prince,” he shrugs and tries to lift a smile to his lips, but a hint of something sad and darkened by shadows prevents it.

We sit there for a moment, staring into each other’s souls, neither of us daring to speak. In the past, I might have walked away from this conversation, too afraid to press deeper, but I’m tired of being alone. It may be a mistake, and it may hurt, but I want to keep the door open. “Why don’t we forget about that night and choose to move forward? We can get to know each other not as a prince and his chosen bride, but as friends. We’ll see where it goes from there.”

“Friends that kiss?” He jests playfully, the arrogant smirk returning to his face.

“Olly!” I exclaim, trying to conceal my laughter. As much as I push against his ruthless flirtation, I can’t deny that I also relish it.

“Sorry, it’s a habit.” He shrugs like a child caught stealing a treat, and we both burst into a fit of laughter. His head cocks back in the thralls of it. And when he finally regains composure, he says, “We can take as much time as you need, Radya.”

The way that he says my name sends a delicious shiver down my spine. Maybe we could be more than friends, after all.