Chapter 20
20
H er heart thundered against her ribs, each frantic beat a desperate plea to run, to hide, to protect the secret she’d guarded for so long. But her legs refused to move, rooted to the spot by a force stronger than fear—desire. Raw, unrelenting feelings surged through her akin to molten silver, precious and searing.
Arye stood before her, disheveled and beautiful. His white shirt, soaked through by the earlier downpour, clung to his body as if it were a second skin. The fabric had turned nearly transparent, revealing the lean muscles beneath—muscles Skylar had admired from afar for years, never daring to imagine she’d see them this close. Wet strands of raven hair framed his face, raindrops adorning his eyelashes like delicate crystals.
The soft drizzle continued, creating a misty veil between them. It was as if the world itself was trying to shield them from reality, to create a bubble where only they existed. Skylar’s breath caught in her throat, her lungs burning with the need for air she’d forgotten to take.
She was exposed, vulnerable—everything she’d fought so hard to hide now on full display. Her long silver-white hair, usually concealed beneath a short wig, cascaded down her back in wet tangles. The silk nightgown her mother had sent clung to her curves, leaving little to the imagination. She’d never felt more naked, more terrified, more alive.
As Arye lifted his head, his storm-gray eyes locking onto hers, Skylar knew it was too late. There was no going back now. The pale moonlight barely illuminated his face, casting deep shadows that accentuated his sharp cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw. His gaze, usually so guarded, burned with an intensity that made her knees weak.
The wine bottle slipped from his fingers, landing with a dull thud on the wet grass. The sound echoed in the stillness of the night. Arye blinked slowly, as if trying to clear his vision, his eyes never leaving her face.
Skylar’s mind raced. She should run, flee before he recognized her. But she couldn’t. She watched, breath held, as Arye took an unsteady step forward.
He moved with a deliberate care that puzzled Skylar, his movements slow and measured in a way that seemed at odds with the situation. Her heart leapt into her throat as he reached for his coat, which lay carelessly over the nearby bench.
With surprising gentleness, he shook it out and draped it over her shoulders. The warmth of the fabric enveloped her, a stark contrast to the cool night air. His unique scent filled her senses, making her head spin.
Arye’s fingers brushed her damp strands from her face, tucking them behind her ear. It was the first time he’d ever touched her hair—her real hair. The gentle caress sent shivers down her spine, goosebumps erupting across her skin despite the coat’s warmth.
It was clear as day. He must have mistaken her for someone else.
That noble lady, perhaps—the one he had his sights set on.
The realization shot a sharp pain lancing through her chest, bitter as gall. Of course, he couldn’t recognize her. She had spent her life hiding, always concealed behind her title, and now here he was, so close, but not truly seeing her.
The hurt burned deep, but before she could dwell on it, as if sensing her distress, Arye’s arms encircled her waist, pulling her flush against him.
His body was warm, solid, real against hers. Skylar could feel the rapid beat of his heart, matching the frantic rhythm of her own. His firm chest pressed against her softer curves, separated only by the thin layers of wet fabric between them. For a second, they stood there, breaths mingling in the chilly air, teetering on the edge of something profound and irreversible.
Then, without warning, his lips claimed hers.
The kiss was passionate, demanding, filled with a desperation that took Skylar’s breath away. For a heartbeat, she was too shocked to respond, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it all. This was Arye—the Crown Prince, her friend, the man she’d loved in secret for so long—kissing her as if his life depended on it, as if he wanted to devour her whole.
Then, the dam broke. Years of longing and suppressed desire exploded within her. She kissed him back with a hunger she didn’t know she possessed, her fingers tangling in his rain-slicked hair. She poured everything she felt into that kiss—her love, her frustration, her fear of losing him.
Arye groaned, the sound vibrating through her body and settling low in her belly. His tongue swept past her lips, tasting of sweet wine and something uniquely Arye—rich and intoxicating. Skylar’s head spun, overwhelmed by sensation. She tasted his mouth, heard his ragged groans, and felt the vibration of his hunger through her entire being.
She nibbled, sucked, and nipped at his lower lip, drawing a suppressed moan from him, his hands tightening on her back as if she could disappear any second. The nightgown’s fabric bunched under his fingers, the silk cool against her heated skin.
“Don’t go,” he murmured against her lips.
Skylar froze, her heart skipping a beat. Did he come to his senses? Would he recognize her? But then his lips were on hers again, hungry and insistent, and she lost herself in the sensation once more.
His hands roamed her back, fingers digging into the silk of her nightgown, pulling her impossibly closer. Skylar arched into him, reveling in the feel of his body against hers.
They stumbled backward, absorbed in their passionate embrace, until Skylar felt the rough bark of the willow tree against her spine. The sensation grounded her, a stark reminder of reality in this dreamlike moment. But she didn’t want reality. She wanted this—wanted Arye—with every fiber of her being.
Arye’s lips left hers, trailing a path of fire down her neck. He licked and sucked at the sensitive skin, teeth grazing her pulse point. Skylar gasped, tilting her head to give him better access. Her fingers clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his wet shirt.
One of his hands slid along the silky fabric of her nightgown, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. When his fingers slipped under the hem, skimming up her thigh, Skylar thought she might combust. His touch was electric, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through every part of her.
He cupped her bottom possessively, pulling her against him, and she felt his arousal, hard and insistent, through the thin fabric of his trousers. It was a delicious pressure against her core, and Skylar couldn’t help but roll her hips, seeking more friction.
Their moans mingled in the night air, and she melted into the haze of lust, wanting to feel him, skin on skin.
Skylar’s mind was a whirlwind of sensation and emotion. This was everything she’d ever wanted, everything she’d dreamed of. But not like this. Not with him thinking she was someone else. Guilt gnawed at her, even as desire coursed through her veins.
But this might be her only chance.
Her last opportunity to know what it felt like to be loved by Arye, no matter if it was under false pretenses. The thought sent a fresh wave of pain through her heart, but she pushed it aside. She would allow herself this one moment of selfishness.
With a sudden burst of courage, Skylar tugged sharply at Arye’s hair, pulling him away from where he’d been lavishing attention on her collarbone. His eyes, dark with desire, met hers. In a split second, she saw confusion in their depths. But then it was gone, replaced by a heat that made her core throb with need.
She pulled him back to her lips, kissing him with renewed fervor. Their kisses grew more frantic, more desperate. Teeth clashed, tongues dueled, hands roamed with increasing urgency. Skylar felt as if she were burning from the inside out, consumed by a fire only Arye could ignite.
His hand found her breast, kneading gently through the thin silk. His thumb teased her peaked nipple, drawing a breathy moan from her. Skylar arched into his touch, wanting—needing—more. Her own hands grew bolder, slipping beneath his shirt to trace the hard planes of his abdomen.
“Please,” she whispered against his lips, though she wasn’t sure what exactly she was begging for. More? Less? For this moment to never end?
Arye responded by pressing her harder against the tree, his hips grinding against hers, ignoring the fabric that was between them. The friction was exquisite agony, sending shocks of pleasure through her. She moved with him, matching his pace, her hands clutching at his shoulders as she surrendered herself to the sensation.
“I want you,” Arye growled against her ear, his voice rough with need.
The words sent a thrill through Skylar, even as a part of her ached knowing they weren’t meant for her—not really. But in this moment, she could pretend. She could be the woman Arye desired, if only for tonight.
She wanted him inside her, filling her, completing the circuit that had always existed between them. Her fingers fumbled with his belt, urgency making her usually deft fingers clumsy. Arye’s hands pushed up her nightgown, calloused palms sliding along her bare thighs.
But something was off.
Even through the haze of her desire, Skylar noticed a sudden shift. Arye’s kisses became less sure, his body swaying against hers as if he were losing his balance. When they broke apart, gasping for air, she saw his eyes struggling to focus on her face. Her heart sank.
Reality came crashing back, cold and unforgiving as the rain that still fell around them. The wine was finally taking its toll, and Arye was moments away from passing out. With gentle hands, she guided him to the tree, easing him down onto the ground. Her body screamed at the loss of contact so close before reaching the peak, but she ignored it. She slipped his coat from her shoulders and settled it over him like a blanket.
“Wha…?” Arye mumbled, his eyes losing focus. “Don’t go…”
“Shh,” Skylar soothed, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead. “It’s alright. Just rest.”
“Stay,” he pleaded, his hand searching for hers. “Please.”
The raw vulnerability in his voice made Skylar’s heart clench. Who was he seeing? Who did he think she was? She wanted to ask, to understand, but she knew she couldn’t. It wasn’t her place.
“Rest easy,” she whispered instead, stroking his head gently. “It’s just a dream, I’m not going anywhere.”
It was a lie, but a kind one. Arye’s eyes fluttered closed, his breathing evening out as he succumbed to sleep. Skylar remained kneeling next to him, memorizing every detail of his face—the curve of his lips, the arch of his brows, the faint scar on his chin from a childhood accident.
She wanted to kiss him just one last time, to curl up beside him and pretend, just for a few minutes, that this could be real. But she couldn’t be that selfish.
This stolen moment would have to be enough. It was all she could ever have.
With trembling legs, she forced herself to stand. Her body still thrummed with unfulfilled desire, but her heart ached with a pain far deeper than physical longing. She took one last look at Arye, committing the sight to memory, before turning and running back to the palace.
Night air, sharp and refreshing, whipped against her flushed skin, reminding her of what she was leaving behind. Wet grass and gravel alternated beneath her bare feet as she ran, each step sending small shocks up her legs. Her nightgown clung to her body, heavy with rain and the lingering heat of Arye’s touch.
She found Melody pacing anxiously near the guest annex’s entrance, a thick cloak clutched in her hands. The older woman’s face was etched with worry, her eyes darting nervously between Skylar and the gardens she’d emerged from.
“Your Grace!” Melody exclaimed, relief evident in her voice. “I’ve managed to send the guards away, but I’ve been worried sick! What happened?”
Skylar opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. How could she possibly explain what had transpired? How could she put into words the exquisite joy and crushing despair?
Melody’s eyes widened as she took in Skylar’s appearance—her disheveled hair, the obvious red spots on her neck. To her credit, she didn’t comment. Instead, she quickly draped the cloak over Skylar’s shoulders, ensuring it covered her tresses and body. The heavy fabric settled around her like a shield, hiding the evidence of her indiscretion from the world.
“Melody,” Skylar managed, her voice hoarse. “Please inform Anthony that the Crown Prince needs assistance in the garden. He’s… indisposed.”
Understanding dawned in Melody’s eyes. “Of course, Your Grace. I’ll see to it immediately.” She hesitated, concern etched on her face. “Will you be alright?”
Skylar nodded, not trusting herself to speak. As soon as Melody left to carry out her request, she fled to her chambers, locking the door behind her with trembling hands.
Her reflection stared back at her from the ornate mirror—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and tangled hair. Droplets of water still adorned her fair skin, catching the candlelight and making her shimmer. The woman that stared back was a stranger, someone Skylar barely recognized. She looked wild, alive in a way she’d never allowed herself to be before.
Was that her real self?
Her fingers traced the angry red marks on her neck where Arye had marked the noblewoman he thought her to be. Each one sent a jolt through her being, a bittersweet reminder of what had transpired. What could never happen again.
The reality of what she’d done crashed over her like a tidal wave. A sob tore from her throat, then another. She sank to the floor, her legs no longer able to support her weight. The plush carpet cushioned her fall, soft against her rain-chilled skin.
For the first time in years, Skylar allowed herself to cry without restraint. She wept for the love she could never have, for the lie she was forced to live, and for the future that seemed to slip further from her grasp with each passing day. She cried for the little girl who had to become someone she wasn’t, for the woman she could never be, and for the man who would never truly know her.
But the memory of his kiss, of his touch, would stay with her forever—a secret treasure to hold close in the lonely days to come.