CHAPTER FORTY
WILLIAM
This moment felt precious in a way I could not describe. Her resting against my chest, her head just beneath my chin, and the faint scent of the roses lingering in her hair. The night was quiet save for the sea and her soft breathing.
I kept reading, though the words began to blur. My focus was on her, the way her fingers rested lightly on my arm, the way she leaned closer whenever the wind grew colder. I could feel her heartbeat through the fabric of her gown, soft and steady against me.
It struck me then how rare this was. Peace. After everything that had happened, this silence between us felt fragile, like something I
didn’t deserve but would never forget.
I looked down at her. Her eyes were half closed, her lips curved in the faintest smile. I wanted to reach out and touch her face, to trace the softness of her skin, but I didn’t. Some moments were meant to stay as they were.
I kept reading until the story came to an end. My voice grew quieter with each line until I finally closed the book and set it beside me on the grass. The night was still, the sea calm beneath the moonlight.
When I looked down at her, her eyes were half lidded, her lashes
heavy with sleep. She looked tired, but peaceful. I didn’t want the moment to end, though I knew I should tell her to go back before anyone noticed she was gone.
“You should probably head back,” I said quietly.
She shook her head against my chest. “Not yet,” she murmured. “Just a little longer.”
A warmth spread through me at her words. I smiled, unable to help it. “Then stay.”
She leaned closer, her head tilting up toward the open sky. For a while, we said nothing. Then she lifted a hand, pointing toward the distant peaks outlined in silver. “What do you think is up there?” she asked softly.
I followed her gaze. The mountains stood tall and dark, their tips lost in the mist. “Maybe nothing,” I said. “Or maybe something
worth finding.”
She hummed quietly, thoughtful. “Do you ever think about leaving? Going somewhere far?”
“Sometimes,” I said. “But not tonight.”
She smiled as her eyes drifted toward the stars. Their reflection shimmered across the water, soft and distant.
“What about them?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She pointed up at the sky. “What do you think they really are?”
I followed her gaze again. The stars scattered across the dark
like spilled silver dust, endless and unreachable. “I don’t know,” I said after a moment. “Maybe candles. Ones God lights so people don’t get lost in the dark.”
Her lips curved. “That’s a comforting thought,” she said. “Lights to guide us when the world feels too dim.”
Then her gaze deepened, her voice softer now. “But maybe they’re something else. Maybe they’re a piece of us. A mark of every soul that’s found peace in heaven. Each one a reminder that no one’s ever truly gone.”
I looked at her, unable to speak for a moment. The wind carried the scent of salt and earth, her words lingering like a faint hum of the sea.
“That’s beautiful,” I said finally. “I like your way better.”
She smiled again and leaned closer, her shoulder brushing mine.
“Then we’ll keep both,” she whispered.
The stars shimmered above us, like shards of light across the sky. She kept her gaze on them, blue eyes wide and full of wonder. But mine stayed on her.
Her hair glowed faintly beneath the moonlight, a soft halo against the silver sky. I drew her closer without thinking, my arms tightening around her. The quiet between us felt warm, steady.
“They’re beautiful,” she said softly.
“I know,” I murmured. But I wasn’t looking at the stars.
She tilted her head slightly, still watching the sky. “The stars are
the most beautiful things ever,” she said.
A faint smile tugged at my lips. “And yet, you outshine them.”
She turned her face toward me, her eyes catching the light, and for a moment I forgot to breathe. A soft color rose to her cheeks, warm and delicate against the cool air. She looked away quickly, but I saw the small smile forming on her lips.
We sat in silence after that. She was still watching the stars, her head resting lightly against my chest, and my heart beat faster than I wanted it to.
So this was love. Not the kind sung in taverns or written in stories, but something quiet. Real. It rooted itself deep, the way the tide clings to the shore.
I reached beside me and picked a small dandelion growing near the tree. Its petals trembled in the breeze as I twirled it between
my fingers.
She tilted her head, watching it spin. “Do you have a favorite flower?” she asked softly.
I froze. The question was simple, yet caught me off guard. I had never thought about it before. Flowers had just been things that grew and wilted without meaning.
But then I looked at her, really looked, and I realised I’ve never had a thing for flowers until the most beautiful one was sitting in my arms. She blossomed like a flower, just like how my love blossomed for her.
She hadn’t told me she loved me. Not yet. Maybe she never would. The thought made my chest sink, but it shouldn’t have mattered. What I felt for her was already too deep to fade, too rooted to be undone by silence.
She looked up at me again, her eyes curious. “So,” she said softly, “what is your favorite flower, then?”
I looked at her for a long moment, the repeated question hanging between us. Her eyes caught the moonlight, soft and clear, and something inside me gave way.
“You,” I said quietly
She blinked, surprise flickering across her face. “Me?”
I nodded, my voice steady now. “You asked what my favorite flower is. It’s you.”
Her lips parted, but no words came out. I could see the faint
color rise deeper into her cheeks as she looked away, her fingers tracing the fabric of her gown.
“I’m not a flower,” she whispered.
A faint smile curved my lips. “You are to me.”
Neither of us spoke after that. She simply leaned against me again, her head resting on my chest. The quiet surrounded us, soft and calm, and I could feel her breathing match mine. I didn’t move. I didn’t want to. I knew I had spoken the truth, and for the first time, it didn’t scare me.
Time passed, though I couldn’t tell how long. The stars above us
shimmered faintly, the waves whispered against the shore, and the night felt endless. Then her voice broke the stillness.
“We should head back,” she said softly.
I nodded, though every part of me wished we could stay. “Of course.”
Before she could stand, I looked at her. “May I have the honor of seeing you here again tomorrow?”
She hesitated, her eyes searching mine. Then she smiled, gentle and small. “Yes.”
My heart quickened, and I couldn’t stop the smile that formed on my face. “Thank you,” I said quietly.
We stood and began walking back toward the castle. The moonlight followed us through the trees. After a few steps, I slipped a hand behind her back and another beneath her knees.
She startled, her voice rising in protest. “William—what are you doing?”
“Carrying you,” I said simply.
“I can walk,” she murmured.
“You can,” I said, meeting her gaze as I held her closer. “But maybe I just like carrying you.”
She looked at me, caught between a frown and a smile. I felt her relax in my arms as the wind moved through the trees and the castle lights came into view.