34. Princess Davina
Chapter 34
Princess Davina
“She knew she loved him when “home”
went from being a place to being a person.”
— Eric Leventhal
R afe lights up a cigarette, taking a long drag before exhaling a cloud of smoke. “I’ve seen how you look at him when you think he isn’t looking at you.”
I frown. “What are you talking about?”
“The sweet little angel can’t keep her eyes off the devil,” he says, amused, his voice cutting through the haze of alcohol that clouds my thoughts.
“Ugh, stop. The powerful prince, and the helpless princess,” I mutter. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” He chuckles before taking another drag of his cigarette. “You might be able to fool him, but you can’t fool me. You care about him more than you want to admit.”
I do care about him.
More than I should, more than I even want to admit to myself.
The thought unsettles me, and I push it aside, but it lingers at the edges of my mind, refusing to be ignored.
“I’m pretty sure the dude pissing you off every day is your soulmate.”
“Soulmate?” I snort. “Every time he smirks at me, I feel the urge to strangle him.”
He shrugs, exhaling smoke. “I believe there are people who are meant to be in your life, for better or for worse. And not always romantically. It can be a friend. But I do believe souls don’t meet by accident. It’s like you just connect with one person more than you ever have with someone else before. Souls don’t have common sense. They just long for each other. All they know is it feels right to be with the significant other. This is the reason why you miss someone when they aren’t in the same room with you. Your soul only feels their absence. You don’t even realize the separation isn’t permanent. It hurts, but it’s a bittersweet kind of pain.”
“Wow,” Juliet laughs, “you really are deep and poetic today, aren’t you?”
He chuckles, a wry smile playing on his lips. “I guess I am.”
As he snuffs out the cigarette, I let his words sink in. “I never really thought about it,” I tell him. “I’ve never been in love. Never had the chance to.”
Juliet looks at me with a mix of sympathy and curiosity. “Is that because you were stuck in that castle all your life?”
“Well, I was locked inside, cut off from the world. Love was a fairy tale, something that happened to other people.”
Juliet nods, her gaze thoughtful.
Rafe’s gaze softens as he studies me. “That’s a lonely way to live, Princess.”
“It was,” I admit.
“To be honest, I’m surprised you didn’t go crazy in there.”
“I almost did,” I confess. “It was like living in a gilded cage. I was safe, but I was also stifled.”
“And now?”
“Now…” I sigh as I rub my temples. “Now I’m here, still locked in, trying to figure out who I am and what I want.”
Rafe nods, a small, almost imperceptible smile on his lips.
“So, Cole,” Juliet says, breaking the silence. “He’s a complicated guy, huh?” A laugh escapes her.
“Complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Rafe replies. “It’s like he’s constantly at war with himself.”
Juliet tilts her head thoughtfully, her gaze shifting between Rafe and me. “I think you should look for him.”
“Look for him?” I echo. “Why?”
“He seemed pretty frustrated when he left.”
Rafe gives a knowing look, as if he’s been thinking the same thing. “Juliet’s right.”
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose before I stand up from my seat. “Fine.”
Making my way through the dimly lit corridor, each step echoes softly in the silence of the night. The palace’s stone walls seem to press in on me, but I push forward, my mind racing with thoughts.
Arriving at Cole’s door, I raise my hand to knock but hesitate, my nerves getting the best of me. I take a deep breath, summon my courage, and knock gently.
There’s a moment of silence on the other side before I hear the shuffling of footsteps. “Give me a second.”
The door creaks open, revealing Cole standing in nothing but a white towel.
I blink. For a moment, I’m caught off guard by how disarming he looks—his brown hair damp, clinging to his forehead, water droplets tracing paths down his tanned chest.
The towel is barely held in place, hanging low around his hips, revealing scattered scars and marks across his torso.
I clear my throat, forcing my mind back to the reason I came.
What am I even doing here?
He’s staring at me, but he probably thinks I’m staring at him, and you’d think green eyes are just green eyes?—
“Are you alright?” he asks, but I almost don’t hear him over how shirtless he is.
He’s… perfect , every inch of him sculpted as if by divine hands.
I blink rapidly, trying to focus on his face instead of the distracting reality of his bare chest. I realize the space around me is starting to tilt slightly, and my vision blurs. The question lingers in the air, but I barely register it through the haze that starts to settle over my thoughts.
“Talk to me,” he says. “What’s wrong?”
The whiskey’s warmth is spreading, making everything feel fuzzy around the edges. “Just didn’t realize how... how drunk I was.”
What strikes me is the lack of genuine concern in his voice. Instead of empathy, there’s a hint of irritation, as if my inebriation is a nuisance.
I huff out a nervous laugh. “I’m afraid I’m going to say the wrong thing.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing there’s nothing you could say that would change how I think about you.”
“And what do you think about me?” I ask, the question slipping out before I can second-guess it.
“I don’t think even the entire English language could explain what I feel.”
The weight of his words lingers, and I struggle to decipher their meaning through the haze of alcohol. The room sways slightly, and I brace myself against the doorframe, trying to steady my racing thoughts.
“Do you want to hear something real?” I ask, not waiting for his response before continuing, “Life is better with you because you’re finally someone I want escape to, not someone I want to escape from.”
I don’t know if I’m losing my mind or if Cole just blushed.
The dim light makes it hard to tell whether I’m imagining it or if there’s actually a hint of color on his cheeks.
His silence stretches, his gaze fixed on me with an inscrutable expression, and the lack of a response makes my stomach twist with unease.
“I’m probably way too drunk to be saying this.” I laugh, the sound shaky.
Now he watches me with a mixture of concern and something else I can’t quite read. “I appreciate you telling me, even if it’s through a fog of whiskey.”
“Aren’t you going to tell me something real in return?” I challenge, needing to know what he’s feeling.
He runs a hand over his face and sighs. “I am so completely and utterly mesmerized by you that I’m starting to think someone put a spell on me, too.”
“Is that a good or a bad thing?” I ask, my voice a little breathless.
He doesn’t answer, and his expression shifts back to being unreadable, leaving me dizzy from both the alcohol and his behavior.
I take a step closer, murmuring, “How are you so incredibly handsome?” I close the distance between us until he grabs my arm, his touch soft.
Until it isn’t.
“It’s neither,” he says, his voice cold and distant. “It’s a curse. It’s the worst feeling imaginable. Because every time I look at you, I think about doing things I really shouldn’t.”
The chill in his voice cuts through me, grating like a knife against my skin.
The way he’s looking at me right now leaves me questioning whether he’s talking about kissing me, or killing me.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he adds, and something inside me breaks. “You’re drunk, and whatever you’re feeling right now is just the influence of the alcohol.”
“But—”
“Just go to sleep.”
“Cole,” I breathe, shaking my head.
He closes the door, shutting me out.