CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WILLIAM
I leaned against the old tree, the bark rough against my back. The same one that held the two swings, swaying gently in the wind.
The river moved slow beneath the morning light, quiet save for the soft pull of the current against the stones. I had been there for a while now, long enough for the sun to climb higher, long enough to start wondering if she would come at all.
Convincing Eric to go to Nestenwood without me had been harder than expected. He questioned me for half an hour before finally agreeing, but only after I promised him my Saturday sweets. That was no loss. I had never cared much for sugar.
What I did care about was whether she would show up.
Elara hadn’t sounded certain yesterday. Her voice had held that careful distance again, like she wanted to say no but didn’t know how. Still, I came. Just in case.
I leaned off the tree, scanning the edge of the woods again. The breeze rustled the leaves, carrying nothing but the sound of water and birds.
Part of me felt foolish for waiting. I was still in my armor, the metal warm under the sun, just in case anyone from the castle happened to see me. It was easier to pretend I was on patrol than
to admit I was standing here waiting for a girl.
I told myself I would leave soon. Another minute. Maybe two.
Then movement caught my eye.
A figure stepped through the trees, sunlight spilling around her like it was drawn to her. The same white dress. The same pale hair. The same white headband. She paused for a moment, as if she was still deciding whether to come closer.
Relief hit me harder than I expected. “You came,” I said. My voice came out softer than I meant it to.
She smiled faintly and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I almost didn’t.”
“I am glad you did.”
Her eyes flicked toward the swings, then back to me. “You waited?”
“Maybe,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Didn’t want to miss the chance.”
Color touched her cheeks as she turned away, pretending to look at the river. The sight made something tighten in my chest. It was a small thing that I didn’t quite know what to do with.
My eyes drifted to her hands, to the book she held close against her. My book. No, hers now. The one I had read so many times it felt like a part of me. Somehow, it looked right in her hands, as if it had always been meant to belong to her.
The wind lifted her hair, sending a few pale strands across her
bare shoulder. The sunlight caught them, turning them almost gold.
Her skin looked soft in the morning light, her eyes bright and alive, the kind of blue that made everything else fade for a moment.
She looked nothing like the healers I passed in the castle halls.
She looked like she belonged to another world entirely.
She turned back to me, her fingers brushing over the book’s worn cover. “Do you want it back?” she asked softly.
I shook my head. “No. I gave it to you.”
Her lips curved slightly, but her eyes stayed on the pages. “It doesn’t feel right keeping something that means so much to you.”
“Maybe it means more now,” I said, my voice low.
The words lingered between us longer than I meant them to.
I sat down beneath the tree. The grass was cool beneath my palms, and the air smelled of river water and sun-warmed leaves. The sound of the current filled the quiet, steady and calm.
“Sit,” I said, nodding to the space beside me.
She hesitated. Her hands tightened around the book, knuckles pale. For a moment, I thought she might refuse. But then she lowered herself beside me. The hem of her dress brushed my arm as she sat, soft against the metal of my armor. The faint scent of lavender clung to the air.
I tried not to look at her, but my eyes found her anyway. The light through the branches caught in her hair, turning each strand to gold. She seemed close enough to reach out and touch, though I
I didn’t dare.
Instead, my gaze fell to the book resting in her lap. “Well, Elara,” I said, keeping my tone light, “would you like to do the honors this time?”
Her lips parted slightly. “You want me to read it?”
I nodded. “I read it yesterday. Now it’s your turn.”
Her smile came small and uncertain. She opened the book, careful with the worn edges. The parchment crackled softly. “Alright then,” she said.
Her voice was gentle when she began, smooth and careful like
she’d told the story a hundred times before.
“Once there was a farmer who lived by the willow fields,” she
read.“His hands were rough from work, but his heart was kind. And every day, he looked toward the palace beyond the hills, wondering what it would be like to see its gardens up close.”
Her words filled the clearing, soft and clear.
I found myself listening, not to the story, but to the sound of her voice.
It was warm, light, carrying something I hadn’t known I was missing until that moment.
The distance between us felt smaller. I could almost feel the warmth of her bare shoulder against my armored.
She turned another page, her thumb tracing the edge as if she didn’t want to lose her place. “Then one morning, the queen came riding through the fields. She spoke to the farmer with kindness, asking about his crops, his home, his dreams. And without asking
he fell in love.”
Her tone softened. The wind caught a strand of her hair and lifted it across her face.
She tucked it back absently, never breaking from the page.
I watched the movement, the way her brow creased when she read something that struck her.
She seemed lost in the story, caught between what was written and what she felt.
When she reached the part where the king discovered the farmer’s secret, she hesitated. “The king sent the farmer away,” she said quietly. “Far from the palace, far from the queen. He told him that love was not for men who worked the soil.”
Her words faded, and for a long moment, only the river
answered.
She closed the book halfway, her fingers still holding the page. “That part always hurts,” she said softly.
I nodded slowly. “It’s the kind of pain that stays, even when the story ends.”
Her eyes lifted to mine, hesitant, searching. “You think it was foolish?” she asked. “The farmer, I mean. To love someone he could never have.”
I hesitated. The truth came quietly. “No. I think he was brave. Maybe the bravest kind of man there is.”
She studied me, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she closed the book. The sound of the cover meeting the pages was
small, but it filled the space between us.
The breeze moved through the grass, brushing against her dress. Her hand rested near mine, close enough that I could feel the warmth of it. I didn’t move. Neither did she.
For a moment, everything around us stilled: the river, the air, even the light itself.
She spoke again, barely above a whisper. “Do you think the queen ever forgot him?”
I turned my head, meeting her eyes. “No,” I said. “You don’t forget people who change the way you see the world.”
Her breath caught. Just slightly, but I heard it. Her eyes flicked away, as if she couldn’t bear to hold my gaze too long. A faint color rose to her cheeks, and she looked down at the book in her lap, tracing her thumb along the worn edge.
When she finally spoke again, her voice was softer, almost thoughtful. “It’s strange,” she said. “A story can hurt, but you still want to read it again.”
Her smile was small, delicate, the kind that faded too quickly.
The quiet around us thickened. The river moved slow behind her, its sound a low hum beneath the trees. She sat close enough that I could feel the warmth of her through the space between us. The curve of her shoulder brushed the edge of my gauntlet, and something in my chest tightened.
I wanted to reach for her. To rest a hand on her arm. To pull her
closer and tell her that I understood what she meant, that some things were worth hurting for. My fingers twitched at my side, caught between restraint and want.
She turned slightly toward me, her hair brushing against my hand. The sunlight fell through the branches, scattering gold across her dress. For a moment, I almost gave in. I could already feel the shape of her against my chest, and the weight of her leaning into me.
Then the sound of hooves cut through the stillness.
It came faint at first, then closer. Heavy. Real. The world snapped back into motion. She turned her head toward it, her body tensing. I forced my hand to drop, my jaw tightening as the
rhythm grew louder through the trees.
Eric rode into view with his usual grin and reins in hand. “Sir William,” he called, his tone brisk. “All knights to the yard. The captain’s making an announcement and wants a check.”
The words sank into the still air, and for a second, I didn’t move. I could have stayed there forever. The river behind her, the book still in her hands, the sunlight turning her hair pale as glass. It was the kind of moment you didn’t want to end, the kind that made everything else feel small.
But duty didn’t wait for anyone.
“I should go,” I said quietly.
Her eyes lifted, hesitant. “You should.”
Something in the way she said it made it harder to turn away. I wanted to tell her I’d come back. I wanted to promise it. Instead, I just nodded once and forced myself to move.
By the time I reached Corven, the calm of the river was gone. I swung into the saddle, the weight of my armor settling heavy on my shoulders again. Eric was already mounted, reins in hand.
“Took your time,” he said.
“Had a reason,” I replied, tightening my grip on the reins.
He smirked but didn’t ask. The two of us rode through the forest path. The wind was colder now and the sound of hooves echoed through the trees. The castle walls rose ahead, tall and gray, their flags snapping in the breeze.
The closer we got, the louder the noise became. Training calls, the clang of steel, men shouting orders. The world I belonged to. The one that didn’t wait for softness.
When we reached the yard, rows of knights were already forming. The captain stood at the center, his voice carrying above the rest.
Eric and I joined the line. I straightened and drew in a slow breath. My shoulder ached beneath the armor, as the wound had not yet healed, but I ignored it.
“Listen closely,” the captain began. “The king has received word of unrest beyond the southern borders. So far, the threats are harmless, but they may not stay that way.”
The men shifted, some glancing at each other. The tension in the yard grew heavier.
“To strengthen the peace,” the captain went on, “His Majesty has arranged a marriage between our princess and the prince of Valebran. It will secure an alliance between our kingdoms and ensure safety for our borders.
“The ceremony will take place within the month,” the captain continued. “A royal escort will be needed for the journey. Those who volunteer will receive additional pay, as it will be a long road and a dangerous one. The journey could last a week or a month depending on the weather and the route.”
He looked over us, his sharp eyes sweeping through the line.
“Anyone who wishes to volunteer, report your name before the end of the month. That is all. Dismissed.”
The yard filled again with noise. Armor rattled. Voices rose.
Eric turned toward me, his grin already forming. “You hear that? Extra coins. I'm volunteering.”
I barely heard him. My chest felt tight, heavier than before. A month away from the castle. A month without her.
Eric nudged me again. “You’re not signing up?”
I shook my head slowly. “No.”
He gave a low whistle. “You’re passing on extra gold? You must be losing your mind.”
“Maybe,” I said quietly.
Eric laughed, shaking his head as he walked off toward the captain, already calling out his name to volunteer.
I adjusted my gloves and turned toward the stables. If the others wanted extra gold, they could have it. I had no use for it.