Chapter 26
The carriage outside the estate was not hers.
Dara noticed it the moment she stepped down, her gaze lingering just long enough to recognize the crest before she looked away again.
Prince Valerius.
That was… unexpected.
She adjusted her gloves as she moved toward the entrance, her pace unhurried, posture composed. There was no reason to assume anything unusual. He had remained in Ambervale. He had visited before. It was not—unusual.
Still.
She had not expected him today.
A servant opened the door before she reached it, bowing as she passed. There was a slight difference in the air inside—subtle, but present. Not disorder. Not tension exactly.
Awareness.
Dara continued inward.
“His Highness is in the main receiving room, my lady,” the servant said carefully.
Of course he was.
Dara inclined her head once and proceeded without hesitation.
If he had come to call, then she would receive him properly.
The doors to the receiving room were already open.
She stepped through.
Her father was seated.
That, in itself, was not unusual.
Valerius was standing.
That—
That was.
He turned as she entered, his attention settling on her immediately, steady and unreadable in the way that had become entirely too familiar.
Dara paused just inside the room, then dipped into a careful curtsey. “Your Highness.”
“Lady Lynara.”
His tone was even.
Familiar.
Not formal enough to be distant.
Not casual enough to be improper, either.
Exactly as it had been in the garden.
Dara felt a small, quiet flicker of something she chose not to examine too closely. “You’ve returned to the estate,” she said.
“Yes.”
That was not particularly informative.
Still.
He had come.
That was… something.
Dara took a step further into the room. “You might have sent word,” she added lightly.
“I did not wish to inconvenience you.”
That was—
Unexpectedly considerate.
Dara allowed herself a small nod. “That was unnecessary.”
Valerius moved then.
Not abruptly.
Not slowly.
Just enough to close the space between them with quiet intention.
And in his hand—
Flowers.
Dara stilled.
They were not excessive. Not ostentatious. Arranged with care rather than display—soft color, layered bloom, elegant without being overwhelming.
Beautiful.
Her gaze lingered on them for a fraction longer than it should have.
Then she looked at him.
“For you,” he said.
Simple.
Direct.
Dara blinked once.
Oh.
Of course.
Her destination garden.
She accepted them without hesitation.
“They’re lovely,” she said, tone warming just slightly despite herself. “Thank you.”
Thoughtful.
That was the word for it.
He had come to congratulate her on the grand opening of Everbloom Garden.
That made sense.
More than anything else would have.
Dara adjusted her hold on the bouquet, already noting the quality of the flowers, the way they had been arranged, the subtle balance of color—
Movement at the edge of her vision.
Servants entered.
Not one.
Several.
Each carrying something.
Dara’s attention shifted.
Tea. Refined containers, carefully boxed.
Sweets—beautifully arranged, far more elaborate than a casual visit required.
And—
Her gaze paused.
A smaller box. Polished. Deliberate.
Set apart from the others in a way that suggested it was not incidental.
Dara’s brows drew together slightly.
That was…
More.
Considerably more.
Her grip on the flowers shifted by a fraction.
“That’s—” she began.
Valerius cleared his throat.
The sound was quiet.
Measured.
And something in the room changed.
Dara felt it before she understood it.
The servants stilled.
Her father said nothing.
Valerius’s gaze remained on her.
Steady. Intent.
“I’ve come today,” he said, “with the intention of formally courting you.”
The world—
Stopped.
Not dramatically.
Not with any outward display.
Simply—
Paused.
Dara stood very still.
Flowers in her hands.
The words settled.
Refused to make sense.
Attempted to reorganize themselves into something more reasonable.
Failed.
Courting.
No.
That was not—
Correct.
That was not what this was.
He had come to congratulate her.
That was the explanation.
That was the—
No.
Dara’s mind caught up all at once.
The flowers.
The gifts.
The tone.
Her grip tightened on the bouquet.
Then—
“No.”
The word came out clean.
Flat.
Certain.
Silence followed.
Valerius regarded her for a moment.
“Yes?”
Dara stared at him.
No.
No, that was not—
“No,” she said again. “It is the only response.”
Valerius tilted his head slightly. “I don’t believe that is the correct response.”
“It is the correct response.”
“It will require reconsideration.”
“It will not.”
“It will.”
Dara felt something dangerously close to panic attempt to surface.
She suppressed it immediately.
This was not happening.
This was not—
Her father was still in the room.
Sitting there.
Saying nothing.
That—
That was deeply suspicious.
Dara did not look at him.
She did not want confirmation of whatever expression he was currently failing to conceal.
Valerius, infuriatingly, had not moved.
He stood exactly as he had before, entirely composed, as though this were a reasonable conversation with a predictable outcome.
“I am serious,” he said.
“That is the problem.”
A pause.
Then he added, as if clarifying something minor, “I intend to proceed properly.”
That made it worse.
Much worse.
Dara inhaled slowly, because this required distance. Immediate distance. Possibly several walls, a locked door, and the absence of a Crown Prince saying things in that calm, ruinous voice.
She straightened and adjusted her posture with all the dignity she could gather.
Still holding the flowers.
Of course she was still holding the flowers.
“Excuse me,” she said.
Her tone was perfectly composed, and she did not wait for a response. She turned and left, not quickly, not in any way that could be called improper, but with enough decisiveness that no one could reasonably interrupt her.
The corridor beyond felt longer than it should have.
Her steps remained measured. Even. Controlled. She did not look back, did not slow, did not allow herself to think.
Not yet.
The flowers were still in her hands, which was absurd. She looked down at them for half a second, as if they might explain the last several minutes, then immediately decided they could not be trusted either.
No. Absolutely not.
Her pace increased by a fraction. Just enough to carry her down the staircase, through the hall, and to her door without technically running from a conversation with the Crown Prince.
She reached her room, opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind her with precise control.
Silence fell.
Dara stood in the center of the room, still holding the bouquet. For one long moment, she did not move.
Then she lifted the flowers slightly, stared at them as if they had personally betrayed her, and said, very clearly—
“WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!”