19. Jakob
CHAPTER 19
JAKOB
O utside Courtney’s hotel, I linger beside her, not yet ready to part ways, my mind a whirlwind of emotions. The stories I grew up with, painting her family in monstrous strokes, now seem like little more than cruel caricatures. Her resilience, her grace — how could such qualities stem from the villainous roots I was taught to believe were true?
“Jakob?” Courtney’s voice, tentative and soft, pulls me out of my thoughts.
“Sorry, I was just…” I struggle for the right words. “I’ve been thinking a lot about… our families. About history.” I look into her eyes, trying to convey the depth of my newfound understanding. “No one should be exiled for standing up for what they believe in. I want to — no, I need to — start making amends.”
She watches me, clearly surprised by the intensity of my confession. A small smile touches her lips, but it doesn’t reach her guarded eyes. “That’s very noble of you,” she says quietly.
“Would you join me for dinner tonight?” The question escapes before I can weigh its implications. It’s an innocent enough invitation, but behind it lies a hope for something more, something deeper between us.
Today has changed things for me. First showing her the history of her family. Then having the photos taken outside the café. She was in some of them, I know, and the internet is probably already abuzz, people wondering who the beautiful woman seen with Prince Jakob is.
It makes me realize how short life is, how much I’ve been overthinking things. So what if Courtney and I were to become an item? The world would not come crashing down; the days of such a courtship causing political instability are long over.
And my father…
Well, I would need to explain it to him. Explain it and cross my fingers, hoping that this turn of events would not impact my running for the crown.
Courtney hesitates, glancing away. “Jakob, I don’t think— that is, we can’t get personally involved.” Her words are careful, measured, but they don’t soften the blow.
The pang hits me harder than expected, a sharp ache right through my chest. But pride won’t let me show the true extent of my disappointment.
“It’s not a date,” I manage to say, even though that’s exactly what I was asking her on. “Just two people sharing a meal, trying to bridge a decades-old divide.”
“Okay,” she finally concedes, offering a cautious nod. “Dinner, then. As friends.”
“Friends,” I repeat, the word bittersweet on my tongue.
As she turns to enter the hotel, I force a smile, pretending that my heart isn’t yearning for so much more.
With the front door closing behind her, I stride away from the hotel, my mind a whirlwind of plans and emotions. If she doesn’t want a date with me, I will respect that.
And I will still do everything I can to make the evening wonderful. She was dealt a bit of a blow today, and if I can soften that in any way, then I will. I want tonight to be perfect — something she won’t forget.
“Somewhere with a view,” I murmur to myself as I walk.
The mountains here are an artist’s dream, their peaks like strokes of white against the sky. That’s where I’ll take her. A place where the beauty of Bergovia can soften the past, even if only for the evening.
Back in the quiet haven of my office, I spread out maps and brochures across my desk, searching for the ideal location. There’s an abrupt knock on the door, and Oliver saunters in, the ever-present grin on his face doing little to lift my focused mood.
“Brother,” he greets, flopping down onto one of the leather chairs, “Christina has been on a mission, you know? She’s convinced you’re harboring some state secret.”
“Is she now?” I say, barely glancing up from the colorful pamphlets.
“Indeed,” Oliver continues, stretching out his legs. “But I told her I’m as clueless as she is — which is the truth. Whatever you’re hiding, you’ve kept it well.”
“Nothing to hide,” I reply, trying to sound nonchalant. “Just… busy with things.”
“Things,” Oliver echoes with a teasing lilt. “Very mysterious. But there’s something, isn’t there? A woman?”
“What makes you think that?”
He grins at me. “I know how a man acts when his attention is on a beautiful girl.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. “She is… a friend.”
He nods, then pauses, as if waiting for more. I think I won’t give it to him, and then suddenly I find myself spilling.
“A friend,” I repeat. “But I wish her to be more.”
“I thought so.” He straightens up. “And do you have a chance with her?”
I drop my gaze to my desk. “The chances are most likely close to zero.”
“What did you do wrong?”
“I…” My hands curl into fists. “It’s a situation that is out of my control.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “I assume you are saying it has something to do with your royal title.”
I glance up at him. “Yes.”
And more than that.
“Hmm.” He nods, watching me.
I lick my lips, considering. I had been prepared to take what happened between Courtney and myself to the grave, but suddenly I can’t do it any longer. I crack.
“What if,” I venture, carefully watching his face, “there was someone — a woman — that our parents wouldn’t approve of? What would you do?”
Oliver leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “If she was the one for me, I’d climb mountains, cross oceans, defy gravity itself. Why let anyone else decide who you love?”
I don’t know how to respond. The words shake me. “I…”
He’s right. What have I been doing?
I hope to be king one day, and that means my choices carry weight far beyond my personal happiness. But if I am not happy, then how can I properly lead?
“Thank you, Oliver.” I straighten up and nod at him. “I appreciate your insight.”
The rest of the afternoon passes in a haze. I’m stuck in my head, thinking about Courtney and where to go from here.
Does she hate me for everything that’s happened? It’s hard to believe that. Despite some moments of coldness, there has also been a lot of warmth between us. Secret looks, shared smiles.
If I’m correct, then that connection we made on the first day is still there, bubbling just below the surface, waiting for an opportunity to be allowed to boil over.
I can’t return to Courtney’s hotel fast enough. Seeing her step outside, her hair pinned back, her skirt billowing around her legs, does something to me. Blows me apart into a million little pieces and puts me back together, a fresh man.
The sun dips low, casting a warm, golden hue over the hills as I drive along the winding country road. Courtney sits beside me, her profile serene against the backdrop of the picturesque mountains. I can’t help but steal glances at her, wondering how I got so lucky as to be here with her this evening.
As we pull up to the secluded restaurant, its lights twinkling like earthbound stars, Courtney’s gasp is music to my ears. I’ve rented the whole establishment, ensuring privacy and an intimate atmosphere. She looks at me, eyes wide with wonder, and I feel a surge of satisfaction knowing I’ve managed to surprise her.
“Jakob, this is incredible,” she breathes out as we step inside.
The ma?tre d’ greets us with a bow, ushering us to a table with panoramic views.
Throughout dinner, we talk about everything and nothing — art, history, the quirks of Bergovian culture. With each shared laugh and lingering look, I can feel the walls around my heart crumbling. Courtney is intelligent, passionate, and her laughter is a sound I want to capture and keep forever.
I can no longer tell myself our time together is just about righting wrongs, about keeping an eye on her for my father. It’s become so much more than that. Or perhaps it always has been, from the very moment I set my gaze on her.
I’m falling for her. Harder than I have ever fallen in my life.
The realization hits me gently, like the first snowflake of winter; unique, unexpected, and changing the landscape of my emotions in silent flurries. It’s dangerous, this path I find myself on, yet I can’t bring myself to turn back. I know that she told me we cannot become personally involved, and I will respect that. I will not make a move on her unless she wants me to.
But I cannot shutter my heart. It beats for her now, whether I intend for it to or not.
“Thank you for this, Jakob,” Courtney says as dessert arrives. “It’s more than I ever expected. You said you would show me around the country… but this. Everything you’ve done…”
“Only the best,” I reply, the unspoken words hanging between us: for you.
As the night wears on, I know this is only the beginning. There are challenges ahead, mountains to climb, but for now, the only thing that matters is the way she looks at me, like I’ve hung the moon.
And that is as it should be, because she has done the same for me.