CHAPTER TWELVE
IRIS
I stared at him, uncertain if I’d heard him right. Raven frowned, her arms folding across her chest.
Before either of us could ask again, William stepped down from his horse. The movement was easy, practiced. He looked up at me, sunlight catching the metal on his armor as he straightened.
“Let’s stay here for a bit,” he said.
I blinked, the words caught me off guard. “But I have work to do. We should head back before—”
“I’m sure our friends wouldn’t mind covering for us,” he said, his voice calm, almost teasing.
Eric’s eyebrows shot up. “Now hold on. I never said that.”
Raven scoffed, folding her arms tighter. “Neither did I. If the captain finds out, we’ll all get scolded.”
Eric turned to her with a grin. “Then don’t tell him.”
“Easy for you to say,” she replied. “You won’t be the one explaining it to the king’s advisor.”
Her words hit me like a cold drop of rain. I looked away quickly, my pulse quickening . Your father, her eyes seemed to say.
The air shifted again when I felt William’s gaze return to me. It was steady, quiet, almost searching. “You’ve worked hard enough today,” he said softly. “A moment of rest won’t hurt.”
My heart started pounding faster. I wasn’t sure if it was from the way he looked at me or from the thought of what my father would do if he ever found out I’d stayed here with a knight.
“I… I don’t think we should,” I said, my voice barely steady.
He offered his hand anyway. “You can trust me.”
Something in the way he said it made the world go still. The river, the breeze, even the birds seemed quieter. I hesitated, then placed my hand in his. His grip was warm and careful, yet my pulse raced through my fingers all the same.
Raven sighed behind me. “Fine. A few minutes. But you both owe us for this.”
Eric smirked. “Fair enough.”
I didn’t look back. My eyes followed the river, the water bright as glass in the light. The swings swayed gently in the wind, the ropes creaking with a sound I remembered from childhood. I used to come here to escape my father’s voice, back when this place still felt like freedom.
Raven’s sigh came again, sharper this time. “Come on, Eric. Let’s give them their moment before the sun sets.”
Eric grinned but didn’t argue. “Fine, but if the captain asks, I’m blaming you.”
“Sure you will, ” she said. Her eyes found mine once more before she turned away. It was the kind of look that said: don’t you dare get caught.
I understood. I could already picture Father’s anger and disappointment if he found out I went against him again.
The sound of hooves faded, leaving only the hush of the river and the soft creak of the swings. My heart beat hard against my ribs. I told myself it was only nerves, only the stillness, but the air felt too close, too heavy.
William turned to me. His eyes caught the light, soft but searching. “You look nervous,” he said quietly.
I tried to steady my voice. “Do I?”
He nodded once. “You do.”
“Must be from today’s work,” I said, forcing a small smile. “It’s been a long day.”
He studied me for a moment. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, only that his gaze lingered longer than it should have. Then he nodded slowly. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
Before I could ask where he was going, he turned toward the narrow path along the forest’s edge. His boots pressed softly against the earth. The sound of his steps faded, and I was left alone with the rush of water and the faint rustle of leaves.
I took a breath and tried to calm my nerves. The air felt thick, and every sound seemed louder.
My thoughts kept drifting to the castle. To Father. To what he would do if he learned I’d lingered here with a knight. His punishments were never light. The thought made my stomach
twist, but some part of me stayed rooted anyway.
Just a little longer, I told myself. Just a little longer to breathe.
I sat down on one of the swings, the old rope cool beneath my fingers. The wood seat creaked softly as I pushed off, letting the wind brush against my face. The water glittered below, sunlight rippling across its surface. For a few seconds, the world felt gentle again, almost like it used to be.
Then I heard footsteps behind me. Slow. Steady. Certain.
I turned, my pulse quickening.
William was walking toward me. The light slid across his armor, catching at the edges of something small in his hands. When he came closer, I saw the worn leather cover, and my breath caught.
“The Song of the Willow Bride,” I said, unable to hide the warmth in my voice. “My favorite story.”
He smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn’t rush. “I know. You told me.”
He stopped beside me and brushed the dust from the second swing before sitting down. The ropes creaked softly beneath his weight. The two swings swayed lightly together, the rhythm, slow and even.
I looked at the book again, at the curled pages and worn edges. “The ending always makes me cry,” I said quietly.
He turned toward me, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Then maybe I should skip it.”
The sound that left me was half a laugh, half a breath. “Are you going to read it?”
“If you’d like,” he said simply.
The space between us felt smaller suddenly, filled only by the sound of the water and the faint rustle of the pages. My hands were clasped in my lap, but my fingers wouldn’t stay still. I could feel my pulse in them.
I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’d like that.”
He turned the pages slowly, his thumb tracing the worn edges as
if they were something delicate. The breeze tugged gently at the paper, and the sunlight shifted across the book.
Then his voice filled the quiet.
“Once there was a farmer’s son named Mike, who loved the queen of his land more than the sun loved the day.”
The words were simple, but the way he read them made them sound like something more. His tone was steady, almost reverent, as if the story meant as much to him as it did to me.
My breath caught, though I tried not to show it. “Mike was a fool,” I said softly. “He knew loving her would cost him everything.”
William looked up at me then. His brown eyes caught the light, turning them amber. “Maybe. Or maybe he just did not care what it cost.”
Something inside me shifted. My chest tightened, and I turned
my gaze back to the river before he could see the color rising in my face. The water moved slow and silver beneath the sun.
“He should have cared,” I said softly. “Love like that never ends well.”
He didn’t speak at once. The sound of the river filled the pause, quiet but constant. Then gently he said, “Maybe it’s not about how it ends. Maybe it’s about having it at all.”
The words sank deep, stirring something I didn’t want to name. My throat felt tight, my fingers curling against the edge of the
swing. For a moment, neither of us looked away.
Then he turned another page.
“The queen, whose name was Elara, wept beneath the willow, for she loved him too, though her crown forbade it.”
Hearing my false name spoken like that made something twist inside me. It was only a story, yet it felt too close, too raw.
I looked down at my hands, tracing the lines of my fingers as if that could steady me. “That part always hurts the most,” I said quietly.
William’s gaze lingered on me for a moment before he closed the book gently. “Then maybe we’ll stop there.”
The silence that followed was fragile, like a thread pulled tight between us. The water whispered over the stones, and a bird called from somewhere deep in the trees. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, quick and uneven.
I didn’t know what to do with the quiet, so I filled it. “Why didn’t you go to Branhollow with Eric?” My voice came softer than I meant it to. “Won’t the captain be angry?”
He leaned back slightly, one hand resting on the book in his lap. “He’ll only be angry if he finds out,” he said, calm and certain. “And he won’t.”
I frowned, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at my lips. “You sound too sure of that.”
He looked at me then, eyes warm, almost playful. “Because it’s
worth the risk.”
The words hung there, quiet but heavy.
My chest tightened and suddenly breathing became difficult. “Worth it?” I asked, barely above a whisper.
He nodded. “I wanted to get to know you better.”
For a heartbeat, the air seemed to stop moving. My fingers curled around the edge of the swing, the rope rough against my palms. I didn’t know where to look. The ground. The river. Anywhere but at him.
No one had ever said something like that to me before. No one had ever risked anything for me. Not the captain’s anger, not even a word of defiance against my father.
But would he risk that too? Would he still look at me this way if he knew who I really was? The king’s daughter. The girl locked behind stone walls. The one who lied about her name and title.
The thought made my chest ache. I looked at the river, its surface bright and shifting, and spoke before I could stop myself. “You shouldn’t risk your captain’s anger for me. No one has ever done that before.”
He turned his head, studying me in silence. Then the corner of his mouth lifted. “Then I’ll be the first.”
Something in my chest sank at his words, heavy and sharp with guilt. He didn’t know the truth. He didn’t know what he was risking, or who for.
“Maybe you shouldn’t,” I said quietly.
He watched me for a moment, the smile fading into something softer. “Maybe I should.”
Before I could respond, he rose from the swing. The wood creaked beneath the sudden stillness. He stepped behind me, his boots brushing through the grass. I turned slightly, unsure what he meant to do, but he only rested one hand against the back of the swing.
“Hold on,” he said.
The ropes tightened. Then the swing began to move.
Slow at first. The air brushed against my skin, cool and light. My hair lifted with the wind and brushed across my face. I gripped the ropes tighter, my pulse quickening as the motion grew. The rhythm carried me forward, weightless for a heartbeat before gravity pulled me back again.
The river shimmered below, sunlight glinting over the surface. I laughed once, softly. The sound barely left my lips.
He pushed again, gentler this time. “You like this place,” he said behind me.
I nodded, still catching my breath. “I used to come here all the time. Before…” I stopped.
He didn’t ask me to finish the sentence. Thank God he didn’t.
Instead, his voice came quiet behind me. “I remember when you were at my house, you said it’s been years since you held a copy
of this book.”
I looked down at the ground moving slowly beneath my feet. “Yes. I first found it in the library. I must have read it a hundred times before I lost it. But I still remember every line.”
The swing slowed. He caught the ropes and steadied them until I stopped. Then he stepped around to face me. The book was still in his hands.
“Then keep this one,” he said.
I blinked. “What?”
He smiled, soft and certain. “You might as well. My parents read it to me more times than I can count. I know it by heart too.”
The sunlight slipped through the trees, touching his hair and the edge of his armor. For a moment I could not find words. My throat felt tight. My pulse still hadn’t settled.
“I can’t take that,” I said finally. “It’s yours.”
He met my eyes. The smile faded into something gentler. “Please,” he said. “I want you to have it.”
I hesitated, my fingers brushing the cover. The leather was warm from his hands. “Are you sure?”
“I am,” he said, his tone steady, certain in a way that made my chest ache.
I looked at the river to steady myself. “Then how will you read it?” I asked quietly.
He thought for a moment, eyes on the water as if the answer
waited there. Then he looked back at me. “Maybe you could bring it here,” he said. “Same place. Tomorrow.”
I stared at him, unsure whether I’d heard him right. “You’re asking me to come here tomorrow?”
He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “If you’d like.”
The words caught somewhere between my chest and throat. Tomorrow. It sounded so simple, yet my father’s voice echoed in my head, sharp and cold. He would never allow it. He had barely allowed today.
“I have work tomorrow,” I said, clutching the book a little tighter. “There’s always more to do in the healer’s wing.”
He tilted his head slightly. “And I’m supposed to ride to Nestenwood for inspection.”
“Then you’ll be gone,” I said.
“Maybe not,” he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I’m
sure our friends wouldn’t mind covering for us again.”
I shook my head, though I couldn’t keep the small laugh from slipping out. “You’ll get yourself in trouble.”
He smiled wider, and the sunlight caught the edge of it. “Maybe. But some things are worth the trouble.”
Something in his tone made my heart sink. It wasn’t what he said, but how easily he said it. As if trouble meant nothing at all. As if he didn’t understand how dangerous this was for me.
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” I murmured, lowering my
gaze to the book in my hands.
He studied me for a moment, his smile fading into something quieter. “Maybe I shouldn’t,” he said softly. “But I meant it.”
I didn’t know what to do with that. The weight of it sat in the space between us, heavy and unspoken. My throat felt tight, and the air seemed thicker now, as if it had learned how fragile this moment really was.
“We should head back,” I said finally. “It’s getting late.”
He nodded once. “Alright.”
We started walking. The path wound along the river before curving toward the castle, the light fading through the trees. Neither of us spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, just careful, as if a single word might break something we couldn’t name.
I told myself I wouldn’t come back tomorrow. That I shouldn’t.
It would be reckless, foolish. But even as I said it in my head, a part of me already wanted to.
When the castle walls came into view, he didn’t ask. And I was grateful for that.