The Prince’s Heart

4. Chapter 4

Chapter four

L ater that night, when dinner is over and I’m safely back in my rooms, I let out a quiet breath and sink onto a couch. My heart is still pounding madly, as though I’ve just run to the city walls and back. I stare at the ceiling, my mind racing just as fast as my heart. The thoughts that flit through it like butterflies are simultaneously hopeful and pessimistic, because underneath everything is that little voice that tells me this is all good to be true.

Riella wouldn’t try to set the two of us up if she didn’t think he’d be interested, too, would she ? She’s mentioned him a few times over the years and told me a little about him—mostly that he’s kind but shy and dislikes traveling almost as much as their father—but I never got the sense that she saw him as a potential romantic interest for me up until today. Am I building castles in the sky ?

I go back and forth, back and forth, until I’ve got myself so twisted around that I don’t know which way is up. The doubt won’t leave no matter how much I tell it to shut up.

Some part of me is surprised at the strength of my response. I’ve never reacted this way to any other man, especially one whom I’ve just met. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent so long trying to find someone, with so many false starts and failed attempts—like last night, for instance. If anything, Petris was better than most; usually it takes far less time for me to realize they’re after my title.

But with Tag, I didn’t get that sense at all. Besides, this just feels … different , somehow, even if I can’t explain why. Maybe I’m wrong, trying to convince myself that this is the time when it’ll finally work out for me because I want to believe it. If I am wrong about Tag, though, I’m not sure I could do anything about it right now, other than try to keep myself far away from the extremes of unwarranted hope and disabling despondency.

Yet, doing that takes quite a bit of energy, which is why I spend the rest of the night and a good portion of the next few days in a bit of a haze. My thoughts turn to Tag more often than I’d care to admit. When I close my eyes, I see him sitting across from me at the dinner table, smiling that perfect smile at me, and my heart races like a thoroughbred’s.

Once my mind clears up enough that I feel reasonably rational—a few days after the dinner—I decide it’s time to actually see him again. I suppose I could keep waiting and hope that he makes the first move, but I think I might actually go crazy if I wait any longer, so I write him a brief message: Tag, I hope you’re adjusting to life at the palace well. I’m looking forward to fulfilling my promise to show you around the court. If you’re available, I’d love to have lunch with you—tomorrow, perhaps? If not then, I’m happy to find another time. Sincerely, Darien

After reading it over a few times to make sure I haven’t accidentally said something stupid, I hand it off to Joram, my steward. Meanwhile, I sit back and pretend to review a petition while my mind is completely elsewhere.

After one of the most anxiety-filled half-hours of my entire life, Joram returns to my study with a bow and presents me with Tag’s reply. My hands are shaking as I take the message; fortunately, Joram is much too discreet to comment on it. Opening the message takes longer than it should, and my trepidation increases with every additional second.

Once I’ve finally managed to get it open, I read it quickly. Darien, I would love to join you for lunch tomorrow. Just let me know where and when, and I’ll be there. Looking forward to it, Tag

It’s a short message, but I read it again, just in case I completely misread it the first time. Once I’ve finally managed to convince myself I’m not missing anything, I breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

“Joram, please tell my kitchen staff that I’ll be taking lunch tomorrow in my rooms,” I say without looking up. Unlike my hands, my voice is even and steady. “And tell them to send enough food for two.”

The next day, the hour or so before lunch is torture. What if I’m overthinking this whole thing? Maybe Samis is right, and the viscount and viscountess brought him here so he can find some rich Soerian to marry. Maybe I angered Riella somehow when she was here before, and this is her way of getting back at me. Maybe this is all some sort of fantasy, and all four of them are still at the Leara estate, far away from here. No remote possibility seems too outrageous right now.

Fortunately, one of those fears—that this is all a hallucination induced by my desperation to find a good man to court—is dispelled when Joram lets Tag into my antechamber at the agreed-upon time, announcing him with a bow before leaving the two of us alone.

I get up to greet Tag, my heart pounding, and I wonder why it’s so difficult to just act normal. He looks even better than he did a few days ago, if that’s possible. A simple but well-cut brown coat that matches his eyes and hair covers a white linen shirt, while his deep-blue pants provide some contrast and remind me of the ocean. The shirt and coat seem almost perfectly designed to show off his arms and chest, which both look like works of art. I make a mental note to send a thank-you gift to the Learas’ tailor, whoever they are.

I start when I realize I’ve been staring at him for an amount of time that is rapidly approaching impropriety. “Please, come in.” My voice is slightly higher than normal—although, it may not matter, since he may not be able to hear it over the sound of my thrumming heart. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

If I didn’t know better, I’d say that he starts at the sound of my voice too, as though he’s been checking me out.

“Of course, Darien.” A small smile plays on his face as his eyes meet mine, an involuntary grin that I doubt he even knows is there. “Thank you for inviting me. Riella’s told me so much about you, and I’ve been looking forward to getting to know you better.”

“Really, it’s my pleasure.” In more ways than one . “I hope you don’t mind, but I asked my steward to set up a small table for lunch. I figured there’s no reason to sit at a full dining table when it’s just the two of us. It’ll be more intimate.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I cringe. Damn, I didn’t mean to say it like that .

His eyebrows rise, but I plow on, doing my best to immediately forget my gaffe. “Plus, the view from the window is quite nice. I think you’ll like it.”

“That sounds wonderful,” he replies, still giving me that soft smile. “Please, lead the way.”

I show him to my dining area, and we take our seats at the table while I speculate on whether I’ll be able to make it through the next few hours without going completely insane. “So,” I ask, “now that you’ve had a chance to look around, what do you think of the palace?”

“It’s beautiful. At least, what I’ve seen so far is. It’s definitely bigger than I was expecting.” He lowers his voice and leans forward slightly. “Don’t tell anyone, but I got lost on the way to your rooms. I had to ask a servant for directions.”

I smile, despite myself. “If it makes you feel any better, I still get lost occasionally.”

He looks at me as though he’s not sure whether I’m being serious or joking.

“It’s true! I swear whoever designed this place was secretly trying to make it a maze instead of a palace.”

“Okay, okay, I believe you,” he says, chuckling. “I’m glad I’m in good company, at least.”

Try as I might, I can’t help but wonder if there’s a deeper meaning to his words. If only …

There’s a pause in the conversation while servants place the first course, a chilled potato-and-leek soup with cheese and bacon mixed in, before us. After a bit of silence, I resume our conversation by saying, “I have to confess, Riella has told me a little bit about you.”

“Oh, really?” He looks up from his soup, his eyebrows slightly raised. “What did she say?”

“Not that much, if I’m honest.” She definitely didn’t mention how attractive you are . “Mostly that you’re more introverted than she is and that you didn’t mind living in the country.”

“That sounds about right. Riella was always more excited about the prospect of living in a city than me. She was so excited when our parents agreed to let her study here a few years ago. But me, on the other hand … I guess I got used to living out in the country, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for the hustle and bustle of court.” He glances down, and his voice softens. “Hopefully you won’t be offended, but I’m willing to admit I wasn’t really looking forward to leaving home. Like I said the other day, there’s just so much I don’t know.”

“I’m not offended,” I reassure him. “Life at court can be confusing at times, and not just because the palace is a maze. I can understand why you might prefer to be away from all the chaos. If you don’t mind my asking, though, what brings you to court? Not that I’m upset you’re here or anything like that, you understand.”

He looks at me, that when that small smile grows back on his face, all I can think about is how beautiful he is. “Back when Riella and I came of age, my parents started talking about moving to Osella so we could be introduced to the Zeteyoni court,” he continues. “I guess they thought we could start networking with other people our age, maybe get positions of influence in the government, or whatever. But they didn’t follow through—my mother never said it outright, but I think she hated growing up there. Obviously, Riella ended up coming to study here instead, and that turned out well, so when Her Majesty offered to have the rest of us join Riella, my parents jumped at the chance. I didn’t really want to come, but Riella convinced me it’s for the best.” His eyes catch mine, just for a second, and I’m not sure whether it’s intentional. “So far, I think she’s right.”

Be still my beating heart . “I’m glad to hear that,” I say, meaning it. “And if there’s anything I can do to make your time here any better, please let me know, and I’ll do my best to help you.”

“Thank you, Darien,” he says, a hint of that sweet smile still on his face. “I really appreciate it.”

For a long moment, we sit silently, looking at each other, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s as nervous as I am. Just thinking about the prospect makes me even more anxious, which isn’t helpful. I open my mouth to say something—I’m not quite sure what—to break the silence, but I’m interrupted by the arrival of the main course: roasted duck in plum sauce with a side of mushrooms and yellow squash. It smells wonderful, and we both dig in immediately.

“This is delicious,” Tag says between mouthfuls. “I’m sure there are things I won’t like about living at court, but something tells me the food won’t be one of them.”

I can’t help but snort at that. “Just try to avoid having breakfast—or any meal, really—with Samis. He prefers to dine family style, and if you’re not careful, he’ll finish everything before you can blink.”

Tag laughs wholeheartedly, and the sound warms my heart. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Of course,” I say, and he gives me a wide smile in return. Seeing it gives me confidence, and, before I realize what I’m doing, I gently reach out and touch his hand with mine.

But just as I brush his skin, he pulls his hand back so we’re no longer touching. He only moves a bit, and not rapidly, like he’d touched a flame, but it’s enough. My confidence dissipates, leaving me short of breath, like I’ve just climbed the tallest mountain in Soeria. I do my best to console myself, to convince myself that I haven’t just made a huge mistake. It could have just been bad timing on my part. Or maybe I completely misread the situation, and I’m wrong about everything.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine. I just …wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.” He flashes a grin at me. “Now then, you were saying something about Samis?”

We continue chatting for a little while longer as I silently question everything I’ve ever done in my entire life. Once we’ve finished eating and the conversation has run its course, I guide him to the entrance to my suite and bid him farewell. “I really enjoyed eating lunch with you,” I tell him. Granted, I say that nearly every time I have a meal with someone important, even if it was a disaster, but this time I really mean it. “We should do it again sometime.”

He bows ever so slightly. “I enjoyed it too,” he says. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”

He stands here for a moment longer, and, for just the briefest millisecond, I think I see a glint in his eyes. It’s not quite like the one I saw in his eyes at dinner a few days ago, but it’s not that different either.

Yet just as soon as it was there, it’s gone, making me question whether I even saw it in the first place. With a final wave goodbye, he turns and walks away, leaving me to replay and analyze every second of the last hour or so, and wonder if I’m going to lose my mind before the week is out.