Chapter 10
“Curtis, you amaze me,” I said sincerely that afternoon.
We had wandered beyond the palace grounds and found ourselves on a deserted strip of beach, the tide rhythmically rolling in and out with an unhurried, soothing sound.
The sunset’s light slanted over the water, catching in the sea’s foam so it almost looked molten.
I dug my bare toes into the warm sand where I sat, wishing I could bottle the moment of tranquility before tomorrow’s schedule swept us into back-to-back meetings and obligations.
Curtis tipped his head toward me, a strand of hair falling over his forehead. “Why do I amaze you?”
I smiled. “You make everyone feel so comfortable. You remember everyone’s names and details about their lives and when you talk to someone, you always make them feel like the most important person in the world. Like they really matter.”
His eyebrows creased faintly, as though the compliment puzzled him. “Everyone does matter. The world needs everyone—farmers, butchers, soldiers, blacksmiths… Everyone has to do their part for a society to succeed.”
“I know that,” I said, fiddling with a seashell half-buried in the sand. How could I explain what I meant? “It’s just that…you’re a prince. People expect you to be untouchable and distant, like your brother. But you treat commoners the same as you treat royalty.”
Curtis grinned, his eyes sparking. “We all put on our trousers one leg at a time.”
I laughed. “Well, not many people understand that and I admire that about you. Look at Hubert. He acts like he’s more important than everyone, and no one likes him. But you? Everyone likes you within five seconds of meeting you.” I let out a sigh. “I wish I were more like you.”
“You shouldn’t,” he said, voice softer. “I’m nothing special.”
That surprised me. Curtis was always overflowing with confidence and charisma. Everyone adored him. The idea of him thinking otherwise didn’t fit. “Why would you say that?”
He pushed one foot into the sand until it vanished, grains cascading over his toes.
“Put it this way. I’m expected to give one hundred percent every moment of every day.
From the time I wake up to when I go to bed, I am expected to give everything my fullest attention.
It’s exhausting. There’s never a day when I can just…
be. Don’t get me wrong; I do love talking to people, and I honestly care about them.
But every conversation comes with a problem to solve. No one asks about me or how I’m doing.”
Then he glanced sideways at me, a flicker of warmth returning. “Except you.”
I glowed.
“But everywhere I go, there’s someone who needs something. Tutors are never satisfied with what I do. Villagers always have more troubles than I have time to solve them. The work is never done.” His voice trailed into the sound of the surf.
It was the first time I’d heard him admit anything like exhaustion or dissatisfaction in his role. On impulse, I reached for his hand, my fingers brushing over the calluses on his palm. “Then any time you need someone to be there for you, you can come find me.”
His grip tightened in answer. “I know I can. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I blushed. “So,” I said lightly, “how are you doing?”
Curtis chuckled. “Just fine, thanks for asking.”
We stayed like that for a long while, watching the sun dip down under the horizon.
The seagulls wheeled overhead, their cries distant and thin.
The sea breeze curled through my hair. Here, everything was so peaceful.
Many of our meetings lately circulated around the skirmishes and land disputes that were popping up more and more.
How could anyone be angry in a place that was as peaceful as this?
“They’ll be looking for us soon,” Curtis murmured as twilight deepened.
“We can stay a few more minutes,” I said. “The stars aren’t out yet. Besides, you need to relax sometimes, remember? Otherwise, people will need you all the time and you’ll get even more exhausted.”
He leaned back on his elbows, gaze tipped to the deepening sky. “If you insist.”
One by one, the stars blinked into being, the breeze carrying the soft hiss of palm fronds swaying behind us. It amazed me that even when the sun went down, the nights stayed warm here.
“Truly?”
“Yes?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you plan on staying?”
I turned my head. “Here on the beach? Or in Avivia?”
“At the castle. In Islandria. As a linguist.”
“Of course. Why would I do anything else?”
Curtis shrugged, watching a ship’s lantern bob faintly on the dark horizon. “People come and go all the time.”
“My father works as an official court linguist. That’s not the kind of post you abandon.”
“And you’re set up to be appointed as one in a few years, too. You won’t always be an apprentice.”
“That settles it then. We’ll probably be there my whole life.” I bumped my shoulder lightly against his. “You can’t get rid of me easily.”
He smiled then, a softer one than the crowd ever saw. “Good. I like having you around.”
“Oh? Is that so?”
“Yep. I couldn’t make it without you.”
And in the darkness between us, with the stars reflected in his eyes, I believed him.
On the final morning of our trip, Curtis was dragged off to watch the Avivian troops drill, leaving me stranded in a suffocating council meeting about the evolution of cultural customs, how they shaped society’s wellbeing, and why we must cling to them like barnacles on a ship.
Aria told me to take a break from translating and that she understood just fine, so I sat behind the only commoner on the Avivian Council, a stooped old villager with kind eyes but no appetite for speaking.
Mostly, he nodded at the other council members’ droning monologues.
The air shimmered with the heat from the sunlight spilling through the arched windows, and my eyelids grew heavy.
I was nearly nodding off under the bright sun pouring in from the window when I was suddenly jolted to full attention by the conversation.
“What do you mean, re-negotiate your betrothal?” a nasal voice wheezed from the far end of the table.
“Exactly what I said,” came Aria’s voice, cool and deliberate.
I glanced toward her. The princess sat with perfect posture, one hand resting on the table, the other trailing fingers along the carved armrest of her chair.
“The crown prince of Islandria has no interest in me, nor I in him,” she continued.
“I propose postponing our wedding by a minimum of three years. In any case, there’s no sense rushing into a merger between countries with such wildly different governing philosophies. It would be a political disaster.”
The old man with the wheezy voice leaned forward. He was an ancient man with powder white hair and skin that looked as though his wrinkles had wrinkles. “Perhaps Your Highness would prefer an engagement to the other prince instead?”
My heart tripped. I hardly dared to breathe as I waited for Aria’s answer.
“It’s an option, I suppose,” Aria said at last, drumming her manicured nails in an idle rhythm. Then her gaze flicked toward me. “Lady Truly, please deliver a message to Prince Curtis. Tell him to meet me in the entrance hall at sunset. I will see if he’s a viable possibility.”
A viable possibility? She was talking about Curtis like he was a possession to be examined before purchasing at an auction. She didn’t know or care about him at all.
I left the meeting in a fog, Aria’s words swirling in my mind like smoke that couldn’t be waved away. How was I supposed to tell Curtis? Half of me searched for him, but the other half prayed I wouldn’t find him.
When I finally spotted him, he was mid-performance, telling one of his favorite jokes about a three-thumbed bard to a knot of guards.
He threw his head back at his own punchline, his laugh tumbling out warm and contagious.
I hovered just around the corner, waiting for the right moment to interject, but also procrastinating the task that was so repellant to me.
When the guards dispersed, I approached.
“Curtis?”
He turned, still smiling, until his eyes focused on my face. “Truly? What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t meet his gaze. The words stuck in my throat to form a lump that couldn’t be swallowed away. When the last guard’s footsteps faded, I finally forced the words out. “I’m delivering a message. From Aria.” I couldn’t bring myself to give her the title.
“What is it?”
I loathed each syllable as they formed on my tongue. “She wants to meet you tonight at sunset. In the entrance hall.” My stomach tightened.
“Did she say why?”
“She’s thinking about changing her betrothal. To you.” At this, I risked a peek up at him.
Curtis didn’t answer. He didn’t even blink.
The warmth in the corridor drained away, replaced by a prickling cold that made goosebumps race along my arms. Why wasn’t he reacting?
I pushed on, the confession tumbling out as I watched for some reaction from him.
“She suggested delaying her wedding to Hubert, but someone proposed you as a substitute instead.”
He remained silent, eyes thoughtful, mouth unreadable.
I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
The silence between us, heavier than any insult, wrapped around my chest and squeezed the air from my lungs.
Just days ago, I’d bared my feelings to him.
Why? Why was it that someone else was making a bid for Curtis right after I’d confessed my feelings for him?
I was a lowly apprentice. I couldn’t compete with a beautiful crown princess from an exotic, tropical land.
I looked at Curtis, hoping to see his lip curled in disgust at the suggestion, but was disappointed.
He didn’t seem disturbed by the news at all, merely contemplative.
Finally, Curtis shrugged and said, “Well, I suppose I’ll be entertaining Her Highness this evening. I’d best prepare.” He strolled away as though I’d merely told him the weather forecast.