The room felt smaller than before. 

I stood with my forehead pressed against the wood as if the chill might leach the heat from my thoughts. It did not. My pulse refused to settle, thrumming too loud in my ears. 

I straightened at last and crossed the chamber, shedding the careful composure I had worn all evening like a second skin. The candles flickered as I passed, their warm and steady light mockingly calm. 

This was foolishness, I told myself. A passing curiosity. Nothing more. 

As I unpinned my hair, I repeated the words, as if their mere repetition would make them true.

Loosening the stiff bodice of my gown, I took my first full breath, inhaling more freely since my arrival at Bedford. 

I closed my eyes, yet all I saw was him. Not his face, not fully, but the sense of him. The weight of his presence lingering behind me, measured and controlled, as if restraint were something he carried in his bones. 

I sank onto the edge of the bed and pressed my palms to my knees. It meant nothing. I was tired. Overstimulated. Far from home. Anyone would feel unsettled after such a day. Anyone might mistake vigilance for significance, discipline for depth.

And yet, my fingers curled into the fabric of my skirt as my mind betrayed me, replaying the sound of his voice—low, even, utterly composed. The way he had kept his distance, as though stepping closer would have been a transgression neither of us could afford.

I exhaled sharply and stood again.

This was dangerous ground. I knew it instinctively. These feelings, unnamed and unexamined, were indulgences I had never been allowed I had been raised for alliances, for duty, for sacrifice dressed as honor.

Tomorrow, I would wake and remember who I was meant to be. Princess Monroe of Bedford. Future queen. A woman with no room for foolishness.

I moved to the window and stared out into the darkened grounds, where torches burned low and the castle settled into an easy quiet. Somewhere beyond these walls, Aiden would be standing watch. 

And he certainly would not be thinking of me. At least, that is what I told myself.

I turned away at last and extinguished the candles one by one, leaving the room cloaked in shadow.

Still, long after I lay down, sleep would not come. No matter how firmly I closed my eyes, the space beside me felt anything but empty.

I opened my eyes to buttery light filtering through my bedroom window, its rays dancing along the floor. 

In those few, precious seconds between sleep and waking, it felt as though nothing had changed. I let myself savor them, relishing the stillness, the peace, the quiet of my own mind. 

As I bathed and dressed for breakfast, I moved with renewed confidence. The unease of my arrival had faded, and I was ready to settle into the rhythm of my new routine.

Alice escorted me to the dining hall, all the while issuing me a constant flurry of guidance and encouragement. “Remember, my lady…” she began once more. 

I stifled a chuckle and cast her a glance. “I’m quite surprised you have any advice left to give, dear Alice.”

“You joke, but one day you will thank me for it,” she smiled. 

Alice’s voice flowed beside me, soft and steady, punctuated by the occasional huff of breath as she straightened my sleeve or smoothed a wrinkle only she could see.

“Did you see the tapestries in the hall yesterday? The embroidery on the Bedford crest was exquisite—careful, don’t catch your hem.”

I smiled faintly at her words, the cadence and hum of her voice a comforting anchor as we moved through the castle.

Polished stone walls rose into high, vaulted ceilings, and the morning light streaming through long narrow windows painted streaks of gold across the floor. Knights passed at regular intervals, their boots echoing softly against the stone. 

I nodded absently as Alice continued, remarking about silverware and servants, horse stables and farms, manners and posture. She remained oblivious to my wandering gaze as she chattered on, her words blending into the steady rhythm of our steps. 

Alice’s steps slowed as we neared the tall dining hall doors. She paused outside them and adjusted my dress one last time. She smiled at me, leaning in to issue me a final piece of advice. “Mind your manners, and don’t forget to breathe.” 

I nodded, managing a small smile. 

She curtsied and stepped back.

Prince Alexander stood at the head of the long, narrow table, a pleasant smile already on his face. “Good morning, Princess Monroe,” he greeted. “I’m glad you could join me.”

“As am I, Your Majesty,” I replied. “Thank you for inviting me.”

He gestured to a seat. “Please,” he said, waiting until I had settled before taking his.

“I hope you slept well, Princess,” he said. “The first night in a new place can be unsettling.”

“I did, thank you.” 

He nodded courteously.

A brief silence followed—not awkward or uncomfortable, just still. “I hear the weather is beautiful this time of year,” I said.

“It is. You’ve come at just the right time, Princess. Spring suits Bedford. The mornings are mild, the evenings cool, and the gardens are soon to be full of bloom.”

“I’m looking forward to touring the gardens this afternoon,” I said. “I’m sure they’re lovely.”

“I’m certain you will,” Alexander replied, his smile faltered just slightly. “But I must apologize,” he continued. “An urgent matter has come up unexpectedly and I’m afraid I can no longer accompany you today.”

A small seed of disappointment took root, but I nodded, words of assurance and understanding already forming on my lips. “Of course, Your Majesty, I—”

The dining hall doors opened, and Sir Aiden stepped inside. The words caught in my throat. Just for a second. 

I swallowed and forced my eyes forward, focusing on Alexander’s face. “I understand,” I finished, fighting to keep my voice even. 

Alexander gave no indication that he had noticed my momentary falter. His gaze shifted to Aiden and his expression brightened, his blue eyes glinting as his smile widened.

“Perfect timing, Aiden,” Alexander said, rising from his seat. He stepped toward him then turned back to me, as if the solution had only just presented itself. “Since I cannot accompany Princess Monroe to the gardens today, you shall do so in my stead. I would not have her miss the opportunity.”

My stomach plummeted. It took every ounce of restraint to keep my face neutral.

I spared a quick glance at Aiden. Beyond the barest tick of his jaw, he remained a picture of control—unwavering, infuriatingly composed. 

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” Aiden answered, his tone as calm as his expression.

A bead of sweat slid down my spine as the realization sank in.

I was going to be alone. 

With Aiden. 

Chapter Five