Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
ALLETTE
THEN
Senan will be back today, and I can hardly contain my excitement.
Wynn drags a comb through my unruly waves, yanking my head in the process. This is my punishment for going flying earlier without tying it back. I had planned on sleeping in so I would look well rested for when the prince arrives but instead woke at the crack of bloody dawn.
Her black mask slides down from where it rests on her forehead, but she shoves it back into place. Her gaze catches mine in the mirror’s reflection. “What’s gotten into you? You can barely sit still.”
How I wish I could tell my closest friend about Senan. I almost did after that realm-shattering kiss last week but ultimately decided against it. This beautiful secret is one I want to keep for myself. For now, at least. I grab the pot of rouge, smearing my finger into the coral paste. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” With a few careful swipes, my cheekbones appear dewy and flushed.
From her suspicious hum, it’s clear she doesn’t believe me. What I need is a suitable distraction. “How is your mother?”
“She is mending quickly, thank the stars.”
Wynn’s mother works in our kitchens and makes the most glorious cheesecakes. A few weeks back, she slipped on a wet patch and caught herself on the edge of the hot stove. Burned her poor hand right up. Wynn has been so worried about her.
“That is wonderful news. Please tell her I was asking for her.”
Wynn bobs her head. “I will of course.” She trades the comb for a sapphire hair clip that used to belong to my mother. A few careful twists later, the front of my hair has been pulled back from my face, held in place by the shimmering clip.
Smiling, Wynn braces her hands on the shoulders of my teal gown. When I asked her to help me change into this after lunch, I thought she’d lose her life. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t need someone to tie the laces at the back of the bodice. The stiff boning makes it almost impossible to breathe, but my waist has never looked as small.
Dresses aren’t practical for flying, so I rarely wear them. The fact that I have chosen this outfit today has already drawn far too much suspicion from my friend.
“You look like a princess,” she whispers.
If only that were true. If I had been born a princess, then perhaps there would be some hope of this crush going somewhere besides down in flames. Alas, my lot in life has been set. This time with Senan is only a reprieve from what is sure to be a very long and unhappy life with some terrible man who isn’t him.
“Thank you, Wynn.”
She takes one last look at her handywork, drags her mask back in place, and leaves me to my own nerves. I press a hand down my fluttering stomach and take a handful of deep breaths before getting up to lock the door behind her.
When I hear movement on the balcony, I slowly turn toward the white curtains swaying back and forth in the breeze. My heavy heartbeats mark the seconds until Senan steps through my doors. Should I greet him with a kiss? No, that would be delusional. A hug, then? No, that would be strange because I’ve never hugged the man before and to do so now might make things between us awkward.
Why isn’t he coming inside? Perhaps it isn’t him at all but someone else. Except, a caller would arrive at the main doors a few levels down, not at my private balcony.
The shadow on the other side of the curtain finally moves. Long fingers sweep the curtains back, and my prince steps inside.
Not my prince.
The prince. A man I barely know. A man who is only here to keep himself occupied on Tuesdays. A man who is… crying ?
He looks at me through glistening, red-rimmed eyes. His typically windswept hair is matted to one side of his head and sticking straight out on the other.
I take a halting step forward, unsure whether to go to him or keep my distance. “Senan? What’s wrong?” It must be something terrible for him to have shown up like this.
His face crushes up, and those proud, strong shoulders seem to crumble. I cannot believe my own ears when he quietly whispers, “The king is dead.”
The king…his father.
“Oh, Senan…”
Death doesn’t care if you’re a revered king or a lowly commoner. When he wants to take you, there is no amount of money or power in the world that will stop him.
I might not know what to do, but my body does. My feet carry me to where he waits, one foot in my chambers and one foot outside, as if he himself cannot decide whether to stay or go. My arms do not hesitate to slip around his form and draw him close.
His strong hands capture my waist, sliding to the small of my back, clinging to me as a broken sob wrenches from his chest. Holding him as tightly as I can, I whisper words of reassurance that I’m not even sure he hears.
In this moment, I make a silent vow to be the person to help him pick up the pieces of his broken heart.
To be the one to help him mend it.
And to be happy for him when the time comes for him to give it to someone else.