Chapter 11
We traveled all of the next day, the road stretching out like an endless ribbon of dust beneath the early autumn sun.
By the time we reached the village we were stopping at for the night, lanterns were already glowing in windows, and the air was thick with the scent of roasting meat and fresh bread.
That night, the local inn transformed into a glittering celebration for Curtis’s birthday with him as the center of attention.
Long tables groaned under the weight of roasted pheasant with skin crackling, bowls of jewel-bright vegetables, silver platters of seared fish still steaming, and towers of cakes, pies, and puddings so rich they perfumed the air with sugar.
Children darted up to Curtis all evening, pressing small gifts into his hands—a perfect round pebble or a wilted cluster of wildflowers.
He accepted each with a gasp of delight, declaring this flower to be the sunniest yellow he had ever seen, or saying that this rock was the exact same shape as the king’s nose and that he would treasure it forever.
The children would squeal and scatter, only to return with more treasures.
The adults from the village came to pose questions to Curtis, with worry lines furrowing their brows.
“Where are our taxes going?”
“My cousin was injured in a skirmish not far from here. Are we in danger?”
“How can I make my older brother split our inheritance?”
Curtis met each question with a steady gaze, a warm handshake and smile, and never got annoyed that he had just answered the same question a few minutes before.
His plate of food was barely touched because of the number of people clamoring for his attention, all eager to discuss their struggles and concerns, and then to wish him a hurried happy birthday as they left.
As the night wore on, the crowd thinned and several members from our traveling party presented Curtis with gifts. Father gave him a thick riding cloak, the chancellor of the exchequer gave him a polished lute, and several people gifted him books.
“Which present do you like best?” piped a small voice. I spotted a tiny girl, no older than four, watching Curtis as though the sun rose and set with him.
Curtis studied all of the gifts, some laden with precious gems, others richly embroidered, or finely crafted, and then snapped his fingers. “Ah, easy!” He patted his pockets, glanced under the table, then knelt beside the girl. “But…where did it go?”
The girl looked on the floor, lifting the dirty hem of her skirt to check to see if anything had rolled underneath.
“Here!” Curtis plucked a limp flower from behind her ear with a flourish before standing and bowing slightly as he showed it to her. “This is the prettiest yellow dandelion I have ever seen. I love it.”
Her mouth fell open and she felt all around her ear, unable to figure out how he had magically made it appear. “That’s the one I gave you!” she gasped, then threw her arms around his knees before dashing away, calling, “Mama! Mama! Guess what?”
Curtis watched her go, a smile playing at his lips. His eyes met mine and he winked before turning back to the dwindling line of well-wishers. When the last villager had gone to bed and the hall had quieted to the occasional clink of dishes being cleared away, Curtis caught my hand.
“C’mon, Truly. I’m going to hang up this riding cloak in Pooter’s stall. You can come check on Storm while I’m out there, to keep me company.”
Outside, the air was crisp enough to raise goosebumps on my arms. Crickets chirped in the shadows, and each step sent a whisper of leaves crunching beneath our boots. Only a day of travel and already, the warm salt of the tropics was gone from the wind; here, autumn was creeping in.
“I can see why all the villagers love you,” I told Curtis as we walked. “I can see it in their eyes. You’re a hero to them.”
Curtis’s fingers tightened around mine. “Royalty should serve their people, not the other way around.”
The stables smelled of hay and woodsmoke, warm and comforting against the evening’s descending chill. Storm nickered when she saw us, her velvet muzzle pressing into my palm. I brushed her sleek black coat over the stall door, feeling the heat of her muscles under the bristles.
“You know,” Curtis said from a few stalls down, his voice casual but his eyes intent, “you never gave me a birthday present.”
“You told me not to,” I said, looking over at him. “Remember?”
“I changed my mind.”
“Oh, really?” I asked. “And did you have something particular in mind?”
“Actually, yes. I do,” he answered, still looking steadily at me.
I waited for him to go on. When the silence stretched between us, I asked, “And what is that?”
He took a step closer, shadows stretching over his face from the lantern light.
“I want to kiss you.” The statement was so bold that my mouth fell open.
I had wondered when he would try again, but I had expected something less brash.
I assumed he would try to be subtle and sneaky like he had the previous time.
“Okay,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
I turned to face him more fully, hoping I didn’t smell like horse.
Having never kissed anyone before, I wasn’t sure what to do.
I then wondered if Curtis knew what to do.
Had he kissed anyone before? Where should I put my hands? Where would he put his hands?
He crossed the space between us and reached for me, one hand sliding to the small of my back, the other cradling the back of my head as though I were made of glass. My heart skipped a beat.
“Happy birthday, Curtis,” I murmured before his lips met mine.
The kiss was warm and certain, sending a rush of heat through me that chased away the night’s chill. When he pulled back just enough to breathe, his smile was boyish and bright. “Best birthday ever.”
He kissed me again, deeper this time, and my arms wrapped instinctively around his neck. My fingers threaded into his curls, trying to memorize the exact feel of them. The whole world seemed to shrink to the space between us.
An awkward cough shattered the moment.
“Excuse me, Your Highness?” A stable boy stood at the door, face the color of a ripe tomato. “Um, someone was looking for you, uh, Your Highness.” He bowed awkwardly toward Curtis. Embarrassed, I looked down at my feet and tried to turn inconspicuously so that the stable boy wouldn’t see my face.
“I’ll be there in a moment,” Curtis stated with all the princely dignity he could muster. The stable boy nodded and exited quickly, clearly eager to leave, his face still scarlet.
When we were alone again, he sighed. “Well, that didn’t quite turn out the way I planned.”
“Oh, did you plan this out?” I teased.
“With military precision,” he said solemnly, then grinned. “Though I had to improvise the location.”
“Hold on, of all the places you could have picked, you chose a stable?” I teased, “Not the beach, or a forest picnic, or somewhere a little more romantic?”
“Hmmm, I think you need a lesson on what is romantic,” Curtis said, mocking Hubert’s voice. “You own a horse, and horses live in stables. Therefore, you like stables. Thus, stables are romantic to you.”
I laughed and Curtis smiled. Not his usual boyish, mischievous smile, but a more mature smile, one that felt like it was only for me. “Besides,” he murmured, “if I tell you the plan, I’ll have to devise a new plan for next time.”
“Next time?”
“The next of many,” he promised, and kissed me again, longer, surer than before.
I couldn’t stop myself; I grabbed his tunic and pulled him closer, and he responded enthusiastically, picking me up and twirling me around, our lips still pressed together.