CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
KNOX
I kneel there in the moonlit clearing, holding the ring that cost more than most nobles see in a lifetime, watching Aubrey's face cycle through shock, disbelief, and something that might be panic.
The emerald catches the starlight, sending green fire dancing across the moss-covered ground between us, but her expression remains frozen in that same stunned silence.
I didn't expect her disdain for me to be even more intense than the public indifference she's shown these past weeks.
Every interaction we've had has been laced with barely concealed hostility, every conversation ending with her fleeing from my presence like I'm some sort of plague carrier.
But tonight, when I found her talking to a crow—a fucking crow—declaring her hatred for me, the words hit like a physical blow.
The whole scene was bizarre. Who has conversations with birds? And why was she clutching that strange vial? But it was her venomous tone as she proclaimed her despise for me that cut deepest, regardless of how odd the circumstances were.
I know my chances of a successful proposal are slim—hell, they're practically nonexistent.
But the Awakening Ceremony looms just days away, and without a bonded Luna by my side, the entire kingdom could suffer.
So I swallow what's left of my pride, ignore the voice in my head screaming that this is a mistake, and ask the question that could save us all.
"Will you marry me?"
Her blank stare is all the response I get at first, the silence stretching painfully between us like a chasm I can't cross.
The night sounds of the forest—crickets chirping, leaves rustling in the breeze, the gentle babble of the nearby stream—seem impossibly loud in the absence of her voice.
My knees are starting to ache against the hard ground, and the roses in my other hand tremble slightly as my grip tightens.
"Say something to her," Liam growls in my mind, his frustration bleeding into my consciousness. "Sweet-talk her. Charm her. Tell her she's beautiful, that you can't live without her. Anything but this awkward silence."
But I'm not good with emotions, especially when they're this raw and desperate.
I've never had to court a woman before—they've always come to me, drawn by my title and status like moths to flame.
I don't know how to be vulnerable, how to lay my heart bare and beg for acceptance from someone who clearly wants nothing to do with me.
Then, to my absolute horror, Aubrey bursts into laughter.
The sound echoes through the clearing, bright and sharp and completely inappropriate for the moment. My blood turns to ice in my veins as panic twists in my chest. Is this some sort of cruel joke to her? Does she find my desperation so amusing that she can't help but mock it?
"Oh my god," she gasps between peals of laughter, one hand pressed to her stomach as if she can't breathe. "Is this some new type of prank? Did someone put you up to this?"
The words hit me like a slap across the face. My jaw clenches so tight I'm surprised my teeth don't crack, and it takes every ounce of royal training to keep from snarling at her.
"I'm completely serious," I say, my voice steady despite the rage building in my chest. The roses shake more violently in my grip now, petals beginning to fall like drops of blood onto the moss-covered ground. "This isn't a joke, Aubrey. Will you marry me?"
The laughter dies on her lips as she stares at me, apparently realizing I'm not playing some elaborate game. Her face hardens, all traces of amusement vanishing like smoke in the wind.
"No," she says without hesitation, her voice flat and emotionless. "Absolutely not."
The rejection hits me like a physical blow, driving the air from my lungs. But it's what comes next that truly stuns me.
"You lack sincerity," she continues, her tone matter-of-fact as if she's commenting on the weather. "And I hate roses. They're cliché and overdone."
I stare at her, my mind struggling to process what I'm hearing. She's rejecting a proposal from the Crown Prince—a proposal that comes with wealth, power, and a crown—because she doesn't like flowers?
"You hate roses," I repeat slowly, testing the words on my tongue. They taste like lies and evasion.
"Despise them," she confirms with a sharp nod. "Terrible choice, really."
I realize immediately that her excuse about the roses isn't the real reason.
There's something deeper she's hiding from me, some truth buried beneath this flimsy pretext.
The way her eyes won't quite meet mine, the tension in her shoulders, the slight tremor in her voice—all tell-tale signs of deception.
Never before has a female dared to treat me this way.
A single word from me usually sends countless women scrambling to gain my attention, hoping for even a fraction of the honor I'm offering Aubrey.
Noble daughters have spent fortunes on gowns just to catch my eye at court functions.
I've received love letters written in perfumed ink, marriage proposals from foreign princesses, and offers that would make a sailor blush.
But here she sits, rejecting everything I am and everything I can offer, using the weakest excuse I've ever heard.
The rejection pushes me beyond my usual emotional control, into territory where my confidence and authority mean nothing. Where I'm just a man on his knees, begging for something that can't be commanded or demanded.
Frustration and desperation surge through me like wildfire. I surge to my feet, the roses scattering across the ground as I grab her arm with perhaps more force than necessary.
"That's your reason?" I demand, struggling to mask the frustration bleeding into my voice. "You don't like roses?"
She tries to pull away from my grip, but I hold firm. "Knox, you're hurting me."
I immediately loosen my hold, but don't let go entirely. "I apologize for my hasty preparation," I say, forcing my voice back to something resembling calm. "If you'd prefer different flowers—"
"It's not about the flowers," she snaps, and there it is—a crack in her facade, a glimpse of whatever truth she's been hiding.
"Then what is it about?" I press, stepping closer until I can see the gold flecks in her eyes. "Tell me the real reason, Aubrey. Don't insult my intelligence with lies about roses."
She opens her mouth, then closes it again, clearly struggling with whatever internal battle is raging inside her. The moonlight catches on her face, highlighting the conflict written across every feature.
Internally, I wrestle with whether to tell her about the Awakening Ceremony—the real reason for my urgency. Would knowing about the kingdom's needs change her mind? Or would she see it as just another manipulation, another way I'm trying to control her?
"Tell her the truth," Liam urges. "She deserves to know what's at stake."
But something holds me back. Maybe it's pride, or maybe it's the fear that even the fate of the kingdom won't be enough to sway her. Either way, I find myself clinging to the hope that this could still be about us, about the connection I know exists between us despite her denials.
"I can't," she finally whispers, and the pain in her voice nearly breaks me. "I just... I can't."
"You can't, or you won't?" I challenge, my patience finally snapping. "Because there's a difference, Aubrey. One suggests impossibility, the other suggests choice."
"Does it matter?" she fires back, jerking her arm free from my grasp. "The answer is still no."
Something dark and desperate unfurls in my chest, a beast I've kept leashed for too long. The careful control I've maintained, the diplomatic restraint that's been drilled into me since childhood—it all crumbles in the face of her continued rejection.
"If you refuse me," I say, my voice dropping to something dangerously low, "you lose any reason to stay in this castle. I'll make sure of it."
The threat hangs in the air between us like a blade, marking how far I've fallen from the composed prince I usually present to the world. Aubrey's eyes widen in shock, and I see something I've never seen there before—fear.
Not the respectful wariness she shows my title, but genuine fear of me as a man. As someone who's just revealed himself capable of petty cruelty when backed into a corner.