Chapter 3
Ihadn’t come back to see her again—or rather, that was what I told myself—but as the sun dipped on the horizon, disappointment sank in my chest.
I’d brought supplies to paint something, anything, but nothing seemed to strike inspiration, not like I knew she would, even from a distance. It had been a full year since I’d seen her, but her memory was burned into mine: her flaming locks of auburn, eyes the color of the clear skies I so frequently clouded.
I had told myself she wouldn’t be here. I had told myself I was coming to paint the orchard as I had every year before I saw her. Her presence hadn’t changed anything. I still painted. I was still the King of Ravaryn, and she was just…a woman—a simple, human woman who liked apples and reading, who liked to take her shoes off and hum to herself as if she was the only person in the world.
She didn’t change anything, and yet, she changed everything.
I didn’t know anything else about her. I didn’t even know her name, but it was as if each passing moment led me back here to this damned orchard, one I frequented every year but was now tarnished by something much more important; I just wanted to see her. I wanted to know she wasn’t a tea-induced hallucination or a dream of temptation sent from the Goddess herself, because I was starting to think perhaps she was.
The sun set the great expanse aflame with its brilliant light, but it didn’t last. As the disappointment rolled in, so did the clouds, the ones that followed my sadness, an echo of the emotion inside me.
I slowly packed my supplies: the blank canvas, the paints, the untouched brushes. They all sat where I put them this morning when I arrived, waiting for the inspiration that never came. Once it was all packed neatly in the bag, I stood and glanced around with a deep sigh.
The clouds were a deep gray—a fitting setting, I supposed. When the sun disappeared entirely, the world was thrust into darkness as my storms blotted out the moon, leaving the self-lit torches sporadically placed along the orchard as the only light.
This is for the best.
Why would I need to speak to a woman, a human at that? My kingdom needed my full attention, and I didn’t need anything or anyone else. I had my small family, and that was enough. It had to be.
My kingdom, my father, Iaso, and Ewan.
They were all I needed. Anything or anyone else would be…a distraction. An alarming, inconvenient distraction.
So, why did it feel like I was leaving something overwhelmingly important behind as I strolled down the path, my feet moving as slowly as they possibly could like she would suddenly step from the shadows?
“Ridiculous,” I muttered under my breath.
I noticed him as soon as I arrived and hid before he could see me, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. He was…different—a Fae man, impeccably tall and lean.
It was his face that gave me pause, though.
He was ethereally handsome in a way that didn’t belong here, not in Auryna, not in this realm. While he looked to be in his mid-forties, the air about him seemed ancient and graceful—unlike any man I’d ever seen. There were no rough edges, no harshness or insecurity in his movements. He was gentle, a painter.
In a sea of men, he would undoubtedly stand out like lightning among clouds, utterly unmissable, mesmerizing. There was no other way to describe it.
He demanded my attention effortlessly, without intention, and he didn’t even know I existed. As I stared, studying every inch of his face, I realized his features, while stunning, were marred by something deeper—disappointment, maybe? Every few minutes, he would glance around, peeking over his blank canvas and through the trees before his chest would rise and fall in a sigh.
He was clearly waiting for someone, perhaps a lover. He was handsome enough to have one—to have anyone he wanted.
This mysterious person must be otherworldly to have such a man on the edge of his seat waiting for them.
As curiosity got the better of me, I plucked an apple from a tree and took a seat at its base, settling in my hiding spot. I had no other plans for the day, so I resolved to wait for his love to appear, if only to see who could enrapture such a man so thoroughly.
My heart ached for him when they never arrived, and as the storms rolled in, spitting a slow, miserable drizzle, he glanced around one final time before packing his things and strolling from the orchard.
I stared after him long after he disappeared over the hill, pouring over the possibilities that were him. Was he as kind as he was graceful? Was he as ancient as he seemed? Was he heartbroken by the absence of his awaited?
The questions carried me back to the estate alongside the image of his face, the disappointment on his features lingering in my gut.
A perfect stranger, and yet, I was captivated.