fiction

G+B Chapter 3: Safe

/ feralbookster / Leave a comment

Graham slid off his coat and hung it on the rack by the door, the sleeves of his dark shirt pulling taught around his forearms as he moved.

He moved easily, comfortably through the space, as he made his way toward the fireplace. He crouched in front of it, picked up a log from the low stack beside him, and added it to the fire. After brushing his hands against his jeans, he reached for the poker hanging on the wall.

“There’s a spare room at the back of the house,” he said. “It’s yours.”

I stared at his back, as he adjusted the logs. The wood crackled and popped, sending bright orange sparks swirling up the chimney.

“Mine?”

He looked at me from over his shoulder. “Yours.”

My brows knit together, my eyes narrowing slightly. I watched him a moment longer, unease twisting low in my stomach as I wondered what he wanted from me after all this time.

Four years had passed since he’d left, and not once had I heard a word from him. So why had he come back now?

The question sat on the tip of my tongue, the words barely held back before I realized getting an answer from him would be like trying to squeeze water from a rock—impossible.

I turned, leaving Graham tending to the fire, and went in search of the spare room. My room.

My steps slowed as I passed the open kitchen, my eyes catching on a bowl of red apples sitting in the center of the counter. My eyes shifted to the glass cabinets, each one neatly lined with food. I stilled, my stomach grumbling in response, and I pressed my palm against it.

“Something wrong?” Graham’s voice startled me back into reality. I hadn’t realized he had been watching me.

“Nope,” I answered quickly, moving away from the kitchen and down the short hall.

A door stood half open to the left. A small shaft of light from the living room stretched into the dark room. I peered inside, then quickly pulled back when I recognized the room as Graham’s.

I hurried down the hall, bypassing the bathroom to my right, and stopped at the room at the end. I nudged the door open, then felt along the wall for the light switch. Soft light filled the room instantly.

The spare room was nothing like the room I’d grown up in. It was at least twice as large. The walls were clean and painted a warm cream color and had no bare stucco in sight. Tall windows sat uncovered along the far wall. There were no boards nailed across them, no cardboard taped over them, no draft slipping through them.

I stepped up to the bed and ran my fingers along the solid wood bed frame, half expecting it to splinter under my touch. I skimmed my fingers across the duvet. The fabric was smooth and impossibly soft, nicer than anything I’d ever slept in.

I turned slowly, taking it all in.

Home.

It’s yours.

My throat tightened and I blinked hard against the tears burning behind my eyes.

It had been a long time since I’d had anything that wasn’t broken, worn down, or falling apart.

“You’ll need this,” Graham said.

I jumped and whirled around to face him. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, a folded shirt in his hand.

“Stop doing that,” I muttered, taking the shirt from him.

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze studying me in a way that made heat creep up my neck. It felt like Graham could see far more than I wanted him to.

“There’s no need for you to be so jumpy anymore, Bambi,” he finally said.

He said it as if it were that easy, like it was some simple choice. But it wasn’t. He hadn’t been around to see how quickly Caroline had deteriorated. He didn’t know what it was like to spend every day wondering which version of her I’d wake up to or how I’d had to learn to navigate her constant mood swings.

He pushed off the frame, his eyes still fixed on mine, and took two steps toward me. The space between us narrowed to almost nothing.

I held my breath, wanting nothing more than to back away and stay exactly where I was.

“You’re safe here,” he said as if he knew where my thoughts had gone.

Before I could say a word, he turned and walked away.

“Dinner in fifteen,” he called from the hallway.

My legs trembled beneath me as I crossed the room and eased myself down onto the edge of the bed.

I slowly unfolded the shirt and the scent—smoke and vanilla—hit me immediately. My body’s reaction was instant. Visceral. Goosebumps rippled along my arms and a warmth unfurled low in my stomach.

I froze, my fingers curling tightly around the shirt. It was just fabric, I told myself. Just cotton. Nothing more.

My body disagreed.

Embarrassment heated my cheeks. I swore under my breath and tossed the shirt aside as if that would undo my reaction.

I left the room without looking back.

When I entered the kitchen, the table was already set. Two white bowls sat across from each other, the spoons placed neatly beside them.

“Sit,” Graham said without looking up from the stove.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek and sat.

He placed a large pot of creamy potato soup in the center of the table. Then he took my bowl and ladled a generous portion into it before sliding it back in front of me again.

I stared at my bowl. I hadn’t had a meal like this in weeks.

“Eat.”

I opened my mouth to argue, to tell him he couldn’t keep ordering me around, but my stomach growled before I could say anything.

“Bambi,” he chided, nudging the bowl closer.

He pulled out the chair across from me, the legs scraping against wood, and sat.

I picked up my spoon, keeping my eyes fixed on my bowl as I took my first bite.

My mouth watered as the savory flavor bloomed across my tongue. It was tastier than I expected, better than I remembered.

I took another bite. Then another.

Just as I was bringing another spoonful to my mouth, I felt it.

My eyes slowly lifted to Graham, finding that his attention was already on me.

I lowered my spoon to my bowl. I hadn’t meant to eat that fast.

“You’re hungry,” he said, nodding once at my bowl. “Eat.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I’ve probably had too much anyway.”

Graham looked entirely unconvinced.

Only when I picked up my spoon again and took another bite, did he look away and take his own.

Throughout the rest of dinner, the only sounds were the clinking of our spoons against ceramic, the soft crackling of fire behind us, and our breathing.

Before long, the quiet began to press in. It was different than the stagnant silence of the apartment. This silence was loaded with things unsaid. And I couldn’t stand it.

I set my spoon down harder than necessary.

“Why did you come back, Graham? Where is Caroline?”

His hand stilled halfway to his mouth before lowering again.

Slowly, he finished chewing and set his spoon aside. When he looked up at me, his expression was unreadable.

“I told you,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “She’s gone.”

My fingers curled around the edge of the table. “Gone how, Graham?”

“Hospital. It was an overdose.”

My heart knocked hard against my ribs. “Well, is she okay?”

“She’s alive,” he said before sliding back from the table and collecting our bowls.

My relief was short-lived, quickly overshadowed by anger. “Why couldn’t you just tell me? Why all this… this… cryptic bullshit?” I waved my hand in the air. “It’s not like this hasn’t happened before, Graham. She would have been home in a few days.”

The dishes clattered in the sink. “Exactly,” he said more sharply, frustration slipping into his tone. “But you won’t be.”

I stood abruptly, the chair tipping on its hind legs. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He braced his hands against the edge of counter, his knuckles turning white. “You aren’t going back.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

Graham straightened, turning fully toward me. “This isn’t a discussion, Bambi. I do. And I did.”

He closed the distance between us, each step slow and deliberate. He crowded into me, so close I could feel the heavy rise and fall of his chest.

I tilted my head back, meeting his gaze. His eyes blazed like an emerald fire.

“You aren’t going back to that shitty apartment or her, ever again. My word is final.”

“You don’t own me,” I said forcing as much defiance into my voice as I could.

“No,” he said. “But I won’t let you waste away there either.”

“That didn’t stop you before.”

His hands clenched at his sides. He held my gaze for one more second, then stepped around me.

“Get some rest, Bambi.”

I turned on my heel and stomped to the spare room, slamming the door behind me.

I paced circles around the room, my attention snagging again and again on Graham’s shirt crumpled on the bed.

Despite all my efforts, my gaze snagged on the shirt one final time. I shouldn’t want it, but I was already moving toward it, the choice made. I pulled it on, then before I could think too hard about it, climbed into bed and dragged the covers up to my chin.

I stared at the ceiling fan as it spun in slow, steady circles, willing sleep to come. The house was still. The air warm. The bed soft. Everything I hadn’t had in months and should have savored.

Sleep should have come easier. But every breath carried Graham’s scent, stirring feelings I should forget but couldn’t let go of. His scent enveloped me and heat settled low, deeper than it had any right to go.

I groaned and turned on my side. I lasted five minutes. Maybe ten. Then I threw the covers back.

I told myself to stay, but my body wouldn’t listen. It carried me down the hall, the hardwood cool beneath my feet.

I stopped in front of Graham’s bedroom door.

My hands curled at my sides, my mind telling me to turn back. I ignored it and lifted my hand to the knob anyway. My hand closed around the cool metal, turning it halfway before I froze.

I shouldn’t be standing here. Worse, I shouldn’t want to. I shouldn’t want comfort from the man who left me. Who decided for me.

And still, I was here.

Floorboards creaked behind the door. As if he’d been standing there too.

I dropped my hand and retreated back to my room.

Chapter Four

G+B Chapter 1: Cold and Dark

/ feralbookster / Leave a comment

The winter wind slipped through the boards nailed over the windows and settled into my bones. I curled in on myself, dragging the threadbare blanket higher over my shoulders, trying to hold in what little warmth remained.

I closed my eyes and, just for a moment, let myself pretend I couldn’t feel the cold… or the hunger.

I imagined myself back in our old house, when my dad was still alive and Caroline wasn’t struggling with addiction, where a warm fire was always burning in the fireplace. Where a hot, home-cooked meal was always waiting. Where there was always laughter and love.

My stomach tightened, then twisted, and the illusion shattered. 

Back then, the constant cold and hunger hadn’t existed. Now, that was all that existed. 

There were no warm fires, no home-cooked meals. The heat in our apartment had been shut off a week ago and the fridge had been empty nearly as long. Laughter hadn’t been heard inside these walls for years. Not since… 

I shook my head. I couldn’t think about that now.

The boards against the window rattled again as another gust of icy wind swept through. My teeth clacked together as a shiver ran through me.

I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, willing sleep to take me, if only to give me a few hours of reprieve from the harsh reality I was living. 

I must have eventually drifted to sleep, because when I opened my eyes, soft morning light filtered through the cracks in the boards. 

I pushed myself up, blinking a few times. As my vision adjusted, I realized the light bleeding through the dark wasn’t sunlight at all, but the glow of the streetlamps from across the road. It was still night.

I sat quietly, listening for any sign that my stepmother had returned, but the apartment was silent. Something about it felt… off.

I wrapped my blanket tighter around me and slipped from the bed. 

 “Caroline?” I called out.

Only the howling wind answered. 

I crossed the hallway to her room, the floor ice-cold beneath my bare feet.

I leaned into the doorway. Her room looked the same as always: clothes scattered across the floor, shoes tipped onto their sides, cardboard taped over the window. Her mattress was shoved against the wall, the sheets twisted in the center, untouched. 

On the nights she went out looking to get high, she rarely made it back to her bedroom, anyway. The couch was closer. 

I made my way down the short hallway stopping just outside the bathroom to check for her there. I passed the second door beside it, avoiding looking in its direction No one went in that room. Not anymore. 

My fingers found the light switch at the end of the hall and flicked it on before I remembered the power had been cut due to nonpayment.

I peered into the living room, squinting through the darkness. The couch was empty.

She disappeared like this sometimes. It wasn’t unusual for her to be gone for hours at a time, but she should have been back by now. 

A familiar thought pressed in. What if this time… she didn’t come back?

I sank onto the couch and waited for the dread to set in. Except it didn’t. Instead, another thought formed. Would it really be so bad if Caroline didn’t come home? I wouldn’t have to clean up after her anymore or drag her to her bed when she couldn’t stand upright on her own. I wouldn’t have to work double shifts at the diner to pay the mountain of overdue bills or worry that she’d spend what little was left on drugs.

Maybe it would be better if— 

No. How could I even think like that? Despite all her flaws, Caroline was the only one who hadn’t left me.

A thud sounded at the front door. Keys scraped against the lock. The knob turned.

I exhaled. She was back.

I turned as the door opened. The knob struck the dent in the wall, sending drywall dust and flakes of plaster drifting onto the pile already scattered across the floor.

I expected to see Caroline’s thin frame to stumble through the door, but an imposing figure filled the doorway instead. He stood there, unmoving, his broad shoulders backlit by the fluorescent hallway lights. 

My pulse kicked hard and I pushed to my feet, my eyes fixed on the figure in the doorway.

He took a single, unhurried step forward. 

“Bambi,” he said, taking a single unhurried step forward.

My breath caught and a familiar flutter stirred in my chest. There was only one person who had ever called me that. 

But he had left in the middle of the night without a word. Four years ago.

I smothered the feeling before it could take hold. Anger was safer.

“What do you want, Graham?”

Chapter Two

M+A Chapter 18

/ feralbookster / 1 Comment

 He did not move. Not toward me. Not away.

And so I crossed the distance. One step. Then another until there was no space left between us.

Slowly, he lifted his hand to my cheek, fingers barely grazing my skin. His breath left him in a shaky exhale, as though he only just allowed himself to believe I was real.

His thumb trembled as he traced the curve of my lips.

“Monroe…” my name stumbled from his lips. “You shouldn’t have come.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment I saw it—the war inside him. Duty. Loyalty. Want.

“I couldn’t stay away,” I told him.

“Alexander is a great man,” he said hoarsely. “He can provide for you everything that I cannot.”

I covered his hand still resting gently on my cheek with my own. “All I want, Aiden… is you.”

His breath caught.

His eyes searched mine as if trying to find something he did not dare believe.  

For weeks I had tried to fulfill my duty as Princess, as future queen, but I knew that life was no longer mine.

My heart had long since made its choice, and I could not deny it what longed for.

Him. Aiden.

I let him see it.

His hand slid from my cheek to the back of my neck, not pulling me closer, just holding me there. Like I was his anchor as much as he was mine.

He pressed his forehead to mine. “My heart is yours, Monroe. Always.”

My fingers fisted in his tunic.

“And mine has only ever been yours.”

I rose onto my toes.

Aiden stilled.

For one suspended heartbeat, the world held its breath with us.

Then I kissed him.

It was not tentative. It was not careful. It was every stolen glance, every restrained touch, every word left unsaid set free all at once.

Whatever restraint he had left shattered.

Aiden’s mouth claimed mine. His hand tightened at the back of my neck as the other slid to my waist. He pulled me flush against him, and my hands threaded into his hair.

He nipped at my lower lip, drawing a soft sound from me, and a low approving grumble reverberated in his chest.

Aiden’s hands moved over my back, my shoulders, my arms, as if he were mapping out my body to commit the feel, the shape of me, to memory.

I clung to him, my fingertips digging into his biceps, only breaking away long enough to steal a breath.

Beneath the starlit sky, it was only Aiden and me—hands twisting in hair, fingers clutching fabric, breathless ravenous kisses.

Aiden broke our kiss with a groan, as if stopping was agony.

Our uneven breaths mingled in the space between us.

“Monroe,” he murmured, sending goosebumps across my skin.

He rested his head atop mine, his fingers still pressing into my skin.

“I can’t lose you,” he said, the words rough and uneven.

I looked up at him, my hand cupping his cheek. “You won’t. I choose you, Aiden.”

His lips curved before he leaned in and brushed a soft, delicate kiss to my mouth.

He took my hands and held them between us. “I have to tell Alexander,” he said, his voice steadying.

“We will tell him,” I said. “Together.”

Aiden and I paused at the edge of the forest path, looking up at the dark silhouette of Castle Bedford rising in the distance.

He squeezed my hand once before releasing it, and together we stepped onto the stone path.

We walked side by side, close enough that the heat of him brushed my skin, yet careful not to touch.

The night air was cool, but I barely felt it. Every nerve in my body thrummed, alive with the knowledge that everything was about to change.

We passed guards, their gazes following Aiden and me, but none made a move to stop us. No one suspected the fracture we were about to carve into the foundations of Bedford.

Aiden halted just before a long corridor, his fingers closing gently around my wrist. “Are you certain?” he asked quietly. “If he strips me of everything—”

I held his gaze, letting him see the unwavering truth in mine. “Then we shall have nothing. Together.”

He held my gaze a moment longer. Then he nodded once, slow and decisive, and he laced his fingers through mine.

At the end of the corridor, the parlor doors stood slightly ajar, a shaft of firelight spilling across the stone floor.

We shared one final look, a silent confirmation.

Aiden brought his hand up to the door, but before his knuckles even grazed the wood, Alexander’s voice drifted from within.

“Enter.”

Aiden pushed the door open.

A fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting warm light across the parlor. Prince Alexander sat in a high-backed chair, one ankle crossed over his knee, a glass untouched at his side.

Firelight traced the sharp line of his profile as his gaze lifted slowly from the flames, settling first on our joined hands.

“I wondered when this moment would come,” he said.

His attention returned to the hearth, the quiet snap of burning logs stretching between us.

“I admit,” he continued evenly, “I had hoped you would choose me.”

He rose then, unhurried, setting the glass aside without looking at it.

When his gaze met mine fully, there was no accusation there, only clarity.

“But I see now, you would only have resented me.”

Something in my chest tightened. Not with fear, but with understanding. For the first time, I saw him not as a prince, not as an obligation, but simply as a man who had misjudged love… and knew it.

“I tried,” I said softly.

“The fault is mine, Your Majesty,” Aiden said.

Alexander lifted a hand, not sharply, not in reprimand, but in quiet refusal. “No,” he said. “No, the truth is no one’s fault.”

His gaze moved between us, not as a ruler assessing subjects, but as someone finally seeing what had always been there. “You love each other.”

We did not deny it.

A faint curve touched his mouth. It was not quite a smile, but something like acceptance.

“You are released from this arrangement,” he said, his attention returning to me. “I will dissolve the engagement. The rest, I will manage.”

Silence settled in the parlor again, only broken up by the soft crackle of the fire.

Then, softer, Alexander said, “Go.”

I released Aiden’s hand and stepped forward. “Thank you,” I said.

Behind me, Aiden bowed. “Your Majesty.”

Alexander inclined his head once, then turned away, his hands clasping behind his back.

Aiden and I left the parlor, hand in hand, moving silently through the corridor.

Perhaps we did not trust the moment to hold. Or perhaps we could not yet believe we had walked away without consequence.

When the carriage waiting in the drive came into view, something inside me began to ease.

There were no gloved attendants, no line of guards standing at attention as there had been the day I arrived. No banners. No procession.

There was only Aiden and me in the hush of dawn, stepping into something entirely our own.

I did not allow myself to look back at first. But as the carriage wheels began their steady rhythm over stone, carrying us through the outer gates, I could not help myself.

I turned.

High above, framed by stone and morning light, Prince Alexander stood at the balcony.

He did not wave. He did not call out. He simply watched.

Our eyes met across the distance. He inclined his head. Not as a prince to a subject. Not as a man to a possession. But as an equal.

The gates closed, and Bedford receded behind us.

Aiden took my hand in his, and brought it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss to my knuckles.

I leaned my head against his shoulder and closed my eyes.

I did not know where the road ahead would take us, but as Aiden’s thumb traced slow, lazy circles over my hand, I knew one thing with absolute certainty—wherever it led, we would meet it together.

***

Pinpricks of sunlight filtered through the broad canopy overhead, dappling the meadow below.

I wandered along the bank where wildflowers grew in abundance, their petals brushing my ankles.

Aiden was stretched out comfortably on the blanket, boots discarded, one arm propped behind his head. He watched me with an expression so open, so unguarded, it made my chest tighten. As though I were not merely his wife, but a miracle he still could not quite believe was his.

I returned to the blanket and settled beside him. He gathered me close, his strong arms wrapping around me without hesitation, as though some part of him still feared I might vanish if he did not hold me there.

His fingers curled beneath my chin, tilting my head back until our gazes met. “Are you happy?” he asked.

“Better than happy,” I said, smiling. “With you, I am whole.”

“Always so poetic, Princess.”

I smiled wider, brushing my fingers over his jaw. “I am no princess.”

“You are whatever you chose to be, and you have always been more than a crown.”

He kissed me slowly, reverently, like he had all the time in the world.

“I love you, Monroe.”

“I love you, Aiden.”

He kissed me again, then tucked me close against him and held me there.

I gazed across the meadow at our cottage tucked amongst the trees. The light struck it just so, and I thought of the painting in Bedford’s gallery.

I had once believed it beautiful in theory. I had not known it could be lived.

Here, there were no nooses disguised as duty. No crowns masquerading as destiny. Only the steady rush of water, wildflowers at my feet, and the man who had chosen me as fiercely as I had chosen him.

 

The End

M+A Chapter 17

/ feralbookster / 1 Comment

A few days later, Alexander and I met in the courtyard to review the decorations for the final time.

It was alive with activity. Servants strategically wrapped vibrant floral garland around banisters and balconies, their bright colors standing out starkly against the gray stone. Others had arranged additional blooms along the walkways and adjusted their petals and ribbons with meticulous care. The lush green lawn was perfectly trimmed, statues were meticulously polished, and the fountains were cleaned and sparkled in the sunlight.

Every detail was arranged to Alexander’s exacting standards.

“Marvelous, isn’t it?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over the courtyard. “It promises to be the event of the season.”

“Indeed,” I replied, smiling faintly.

My attention drifted across the courtyard, over the servants and the gardeners, and fluttering ribbons until it reached the guards stationed along the perimeter. Out of habit, I searched for the familiar build I could recognize without hesitation.

But he was not there.

Before I could dwell on the tightness in my chest, Alexander took my arm and steered us away.

As we continued across the grounds, we were stopped by nobles, offering compliments and extending congratulations.

I smiled warmly, inclined my head at the proper moments, and accepted their well-wishes, my voice carrying calm assurance.

No one would have guessed the effort it required to hold myself together.

We rounded the garden and a quiet awareness pressed at the back of my thoughts. It was the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

I turned, my gaze sweeping past garlands and polished stone, over the rigid line of guards. At the far edge of the courtyard, a figure stood concealed in shadow beneath an archway. Though I could not make out his face, something in me wanted to believe it was him.

 I wondered if he would notice the tightness in my shoulders. The way my smile held a second too long. The absence of light where it should have been.

A servant passed between us, carrying a cascade of ivory roses.

When I looked again, the shadow beneath the archway was empty.

I exhaled slowly.

Foolish Monroe.

“Princess.” Alexander’s voice cut gently through my thoughts. “Are you with me?”

My smile widened. “Of course,” I replied. “Just admiring the decorations.”

He inclined his head toward a waiting cluster of nobles, his hand settling at the small of my back. “We mustn’t keep them.”

By the time we left the nobles and Sir William had arrived to escort me back to my chambers, every part of me ached. My cheeks throbbed from holding my smile in place. My spine had been kept so straight for so many hours it felt as though it might splinter if I allowed it to bend. Each breath pressed against the rigid boning of my corset, my ribs protesting beneath the silk and laces. Even my slippers felt heavier than they should, dragging against the stone as though I were wading through water.

“Thank you, Sir William,” I said once we’d reached my chambers.

“Good day, Your Highness.” He bowed and withdrew, retreating down the hall to his post.

The door eased shut behind him and I sagged against it, the strength draining from my limbs now that no one was there to witness it.

I had only taken a few steps into the sitting room when I stopped short.

A leather-bound book sat at the center of the low table.

I hadn’t seen that book in days. Not since I had left it behind in the solarium.

I took a few tentative steps forward, a quiet unease stirring in my chest as I tried to understand how it had found its way here after all this time.

A sliver of pale blue peeked out from between the pages.

My heart thundered against my ribs, my fingers trembling as I opened it.

A forget-me-not lay pressed inside.

All at once, my breath left me, and tears slipped free before I could stop them.

These have always been my favorite.

A wise choice.

The walls of the sitting room melted away.

I was standing in the garden again with sunlight on my skin, the scent of lilac and honeysuckle carried on a gentle breeze.

I was with him. With Aiden.

The forget-me-not trembled in my grasp, pressed against my chest as something new threaded through my limbs.

Not longing. Not ache.

Resolve.

I could not continue this way. I could not pretend any longer

I would not.

I was already moving before my mind caught up with what I was doing.

“Monroe?” Alice called after me, but her voice barely reached me.

The door shut behind me, and she became nothing more than a fading echo.

My feet urged me to run. To gather my skirts and fly down the corridor like a reckless girl in a storybook romance.

I did not.

Anyone who passed would see only a princess making her way through the castle halls. They would not see the way my pulse thundered. The way each step felt like stepping off the edge of something I could never return from.

I walked.

And I did not stop.

Behind me, Castle Bedford dissolved into shadow, its towering spires swallowed by the night as the forest path unfurled before me.

Only once the trees closed in around me did I let urgency carry me forward.

Near the end of the path, amber light flickered against the trees.

My pulse quickened, each breath drawing in shorter than the last.

I stepped into the clearing. It was empty.

A small fire burned at its center, the embers glowing low as though it had been left untended for some time.

My breath faltered.

He had been here. I had waited too long. I had lost him.

My fingers curled tightly around the forget-me-not, my heart splintering beneath the weight of his absence.

Then… a soft rustle of branches. The deliberate crunch of leaves underfoot.

I turned slowly, my pulse roaring in my ears. Every nerve in my body trembled with hope.

Aiden stood at the edge of the clearing, half-shadow, half-firelight, and utterly still.

“Monroe.”

Chapter Eighteen

M+A Chapter 16

/ feralbookster / 1 Comment

Hollow.

That was all I was capable of feeling. 

And yet, to look at me, none would have been the wiser. 

Not even Sir William, who had stood beside me for the last several days and noticed nothing at all. 

He was not unkind. He was attentive, efficient, ever-present at my side. But he did not notice when my steps slowed or when my smile wavered before I caught it. He never asked me about my books or if I cared to walk the gardens.

Being escorted by him felt like moving through the world unseen. Observed, perhaps, but never truly noticed. With him, I felt myself recede, little by little, until only the role remained.

And so I did what was required of me. 

I fulfilled my duties with flawless precision, attending fittings and meetings, reviewing guest lists and ceremonial details, standing still as jewels were held against my skin and gowns were pinned in place. I accepted courtesies, listened when spoken to. I smiled when expected, nodded at the appropriate moment. My posture was perfect. My composure unassailable. 

I wore the role as though it fit. As though the hollowness wasn’t spreading, widening into a chasm vast and vacant. 

Each day that passed brought me closer to the engagement celebration and farther from myself.

I hadn’t realized just how much Aiden had shaped my time here at Bedford, and just how much his presence had anchored me.

I had come to long for the glimpses of him in the corridor as Sir William escorted me to appointments, for the brief glances I’d sneak of him when he was stationed near Alexander in meetings, for catching sight of his familiar posture at the edge of the room.

But even those fleeting moments didn’t last. 

As the celebration grew nearer, the glimpses I once caught of Aiden grew fewer.

It had taken me two days to stop searching for him—in the corridors, the grounds, even the training yard. It had taken another two days for the realization to hold. And one more still, for me to accept it.

He was gone. 

He was not coming back. 

And he had taken a part of me with him.

Every smile, every polite remark, further chipped away at what little remained. 

Still, the world required me to keep moving.

“Her Highness Princess Monroe,” Sir William announced as I stepped into the great hall.

Alexander was waiting near the tall windows overlooking the forecourt where carriages were already beginning to arrive through Bedford’s gates. 

He turned away from the window.

“Appearances matter now more than ever, Princess,” Alexander said, adjusting his cuffs. “The kingdom will be watching closely.”

I inclined my head. “I will fulfill my responsibilities, Your Majesty.”

“I’m quite certain you will,” he said, offering me his arm.

I linked my arm through his and we strode through the double doors and out onto the palace steps.

Nobles approached one by one, offering bows and warm congratulations.

Alexander moved through the greetings with effortless confidence, his voice warm, his smile steady. 

I stood beside him, my body remembering its role, even as my heart refused to. 

A familiar figure stepped from his carriage and made his way toward Alexander and me with a self-important air.

I recognized Lord Dupont at once. He had visited Celermare when I was a child, often bringing my father rare volumes for my father’s library. 

He flicked his coattails back and bowed. “Your Majesty.”

Alexander inclined his head and smiled. “Lord Dupont. It is an honor to have you at Bedford. It’s been too long.”

“I would never dream to miss such an auspicious event,” he replied. 

I curtsied. “Lord Dupont,” I began politely. “It is—” 

Alexander’s hand settled at the small of my back, and my words died on my tongue. To anyone else, the gesture was affectionate. I knew it for what it was–a quiet instruction.

“Lord Dupont oversees trade negotiations along the eastern coast,” Alexander supplied smoothly, as though I had never spoken.

Lord Dupont smiled and continued speaking with Alexander, his attention never once shifting toward me. 

I stood beside them, still and silent. 

A familiar voice surfaced in my mind. 

Good princesses are seen, not heard.

Only this time, the voice was Alexander’s.

The next carriage rolled into the forecourt. I lifted my chin and fixed my smile into place, ready once more to play my part. 

Carriage after carriage arrived through the gates, and noble after noble offered their well wishes and polite courtesies. 

When the forecourt had emptied at last and the evening air had grown cool against my skin, Alexander extended his arm to me. 

“Shall we?” 

I nodded, taking his arm as we turned back toward the palace. 

We settled in a private sitting room for the evening. A fire flickered quietly in the hearth, it’s glow soft against the otherwise austere lines of the room. 

A servant brought us tea and other light refreshments and then swiftly departed. 

Alexander lifted his teacup, taking an unhurried sip before setting it aside. 

“You’ve handled this well. You’ll make an excellent queen, Monroe.”

My fingers closed more firmly around my cup, the porcelain warm against my skin. 

The sound of my name, spoken so easily, so confidently, sat foreign and strange in the air. 

It did not sound like reassurance. 

It felt like a claim.

Without thinking, my fingers lifted to my throat, rubbing absently at the pressure there, as though something invisible had drawn tight. 

I swallowed, then brought it to my lips, and took a sip, if only to give myself a moment to compose.

“You are most kind, Your Majesty,” I answered. “Thank you.”

“Kindness has nothing to do with it,” he said simply. “You are well suited for the life you are stepping into.” His gaze held mine. 

“I will serve you and all of Bedford faithfully.”

Alexanders lips curved faintly, the expression controlled. “Good.”

“It is getting late. I should retire,” I said, rising from the settee. “Goodnight, Your Majesty.”

He rose from his seat, smoothing his hands down the front of his coat. “Goodnight Princess.”

I left the parlor, the door closing behind me with a quiet finality that echoed far too loudly in my chest. 

As Sir William escorted me back to my chambers, I searched for him. 

As I rounded every corner and passed every hall, I expected to see the familiar knight with emerald green eyes. Yet every corridor and hall remained painfully empty.

The hollowness crested inside me. Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

When I stepped through my chamber doors, the realization struck sharp and unforgiving. The noose had never been removed…

It had only learned to disguise itself better. 

Chapter Seventeen

M+A Chapter 15

/ feralbookster / 1 Comment

Rain pattered against the glass windows of the solarium, its steady rhythm a soothing backdrop to the quiet I had been craving all morning.

I had tucked myself into one of the cushioned window seats, an unopened book resting in my lap. My fingers traced idly over the lettering on its cover as I gazed out at the rain.

I drew in a deep breath and then peeled back the book’s cover, ready to lose myself in the story unfolding inside its pages.

My fingers had just brushed the edge of the first page when I heard the quiet swish of the solarium door opening.

I looked up, already knowing who it was by the familiar cadence of his footsteps.

“Good morning, Sir Aiden,” I said.

“Your Highness,” Aiden replied, inclining his head.

My brows drew together faintly at the formality.

I was beginning to despise that title.

Aiden’s expression tightened for the briefest moment before he gestured to the book in my lap. “What are you reading today?”

“Something you’d find dreadfully boring, most likely,” I said lightly, a smile tugging at my lips.

I turned the book toward him, revealing the cover.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, before he seemed to remember himself, and it faded entirely.

I studied him a moment longer. The tension in him was unmistakable—shoulders too tight, spine too straight, jaw set too hard. He looked almost statuesque. More like carved stone than the man I knew.

I sat a little straighter.

“Aiden,” I said quietly. “What is it?”

His chin lifted as he clasped his hands behind his back.

“The Prince has requested our presence.”

“Our?” Dread coiled tight in my stomach. “May I ask why?”

“I do not know. The Prince has not shared his reasons with me.”

My throat tightened as I swallowed. “Alright, then.”

I set my book aside without another thought and rose to my feet.

We walked side by side through the silent corridors. We did not spare each other a glance. We did not speak. The only sound was the rain lashing the castle walls, muted by the thick stone, and the hollow resonance of our footsteps.

A heaviness hung in the air, thick as the rain clouds outside.

And none but Aiden and I would know it.

My posture mirrored his—the image of perfect discipline. Our steps were precise, controlled. Our expressions neutral, unremarkable. The distance between us was painfully appropriate. We were everything a princess and a knight should be.

And yet the act, once second nature, felt profoundly wrong—like wearing a skin that no longer belonged to me.

The air turned colder. The corridors narrowed, dimmed. More Bedford guards stood along the way. Though we were only in a different part of the castle, there was nothing warm or familiar about it.

And when the tall, dark wood doors to Alexander’s study came into view, I felt the full weight of how easily everything could unravel.

Lightning struck, illuminating the stone walls for an instant.

Aiden reached for the latch.

 I could no longer bear it.

So quietly I wasn’t even sure I had spoken at all, I said, “Wait.”

His hand froze, suspended an inch above the brass latch. With the subtlest turn of his head, his gaze shifted down the corridor behind us, then back to me. For just a blink, his mask cracked.

“We must,” he said.

And then he opened the door.

The scent of parchment and leather, struck me immediately, followed by old ink and something faintly metallic beneath it.

Alexander was seated at his desk, quill in hand, scrawling something across a document.

“Sir Aiden. Princess Monroe,” he said without looking up

He completed the line he was writing as though unwilling to leave a thought unfinished, then set the quill aside and lifted his gaze.

“Thank you both for coming. I won’t take up much of your time.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Aiden said, bowing.

“Please,” Alexander said, gesturing to the two chairs positioned before his desk.

I smiled politely and nodded, moving to the chair closest to him.

Aiden remained where he stood.

Alexander’s gaze flicked briefly to Aiden, then back to me.

“How are you settling into Bedford, Princess?”

“Well, Your Majesty.”

“The transition has been… smooth for you, I hope.” His gaze lingered. “You appear more comfortable lately.”

“Though it has taken some time,” I said carefully, “I am beginning to understand Bedford’s rhythms.”

“That’s wonderful,” he said. “It matters to me that Bedford feels like home to you, especially as you step fully into your role.”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers steepled. “You and I will soon be shaping this kingdom together, Princess Monroe.”

He paused then, his gaze holding mine—steady, assessing.

“It is important that you are prepared for what that asks of you in the coming weeks.”

Another beat of silence.

“Your presence. Your attention. Your focus.”

The knot in my stomach tightened.

“Of course, Your Majesty. I understand what is expected of me.”

“Good.” Alexander smiled, though it did not quite reach his eyes.

“In light of the upcoming engagement celebration,” he continued, “certain adjustments must be made.”

“Adjustments, Your Majesty?”

“Yes. Which is why I’ve asked you both here. With your position soon changing, Princess, and with the increased visibility that comes with it, your safety is of the utmost importance.”

Alexander turned to Aiden.

“Sir Aiden,” he said. “You will be relieved from your escort duties effective immediately.”

Blood rushed to my ears, the rest of Alexander’s words coming through muffled as though I were hearing him from underwater.

 “Your skill set will be of greater use at my side. Sir William will assume your post henceforth.”

Every instinct in me urged me to look toward Aiden, to see if he felt the blow of Alexander’s decision as sharply as I did.

I did not. Could not.

Alexander’s gaze lingered on me, his eyes watching. Assessing.

Training took over. I forced my fingers to uncurl from my skirts and folded my hands neatly in my lap.

Aiden inclined his head. “Of course, Your Majesty. Sir William is a wise choice. He will serve you and Her Highness well.”

My chest cracked open, his acceptance striking harder than Alexander’s decree.

My mind screamed at him. Refuse him. Fight this. Fight for me.

Yet I knew he could not.

For the same reasons I sat silent and obedient.

Duty. Honor. Loyalty.

They demanded these thoughts be silenced.

Just then, a knock sounded on the door.

“Ah. That will be Sir William now,” Alexander said. “Enter.”

The door opened and Sir William stepped inside.

It felt as though I was watching everything unfold in slow motion.

Aiden nodded once to Sir William, then stepped aside and moved to Alexander’s side, his hands clasped behind his back.

He did not spare me a glance. His gaze remained fixed somewhere beyond me.

“The next matter,” Alexander said, reaching for a stack of documents on his desk, “is the matter of our engagement preparations.”

He laid the papers before me. Among them were invitations, seating charts, and schedules.

I smiled, and despite the tightening of my throat, kept my voice even. “Of course. I’m happy to go over anything you like.”

Alexander slid a piece of parchment toward me—the schedule for the coming days, already outlined precisely. “I’d like us to be seen together more often,” he said, “especially now that we’re so close to the day. It’s important that people see we are aligned.”

My eyes skimmed the paper, noting how full it was. Public appearances, luncheons, dinners, outings. It left little room to breathe.

“Everything looks satisfactory,” I said.

“I’m glad you think so.”

Alexander continued speaking, reviewing seating arrangements and plans, offering details I should have been absorbing, but his words dulled, blending into a low, indistinct murmur.

I followed along as though my world hadn’t just tilted, even as my mind fled the room.

I barely remembered Alexander concluding the meeting. Barely remembered Sir William leading me from the study.

All I could focus on were the stark gray walls of the corridor.  

Behind me, footsteps followed—heavier, their rhythm out of step with mine. They were… wrong.

I do not remember the walk back to my chambers. Only that somehow I arrived and found myself standing in the center of the room, unsure what to do with myself.

I was empty in a way I had never felt before.

Hollow.

Chapter Sixteen

M+A Chapter 14

/ feralbookster / 1 Comment

Sunlight filtered through the gallery’s tall stained-glass windows, casting soft bands of color across the stone floor. The long walls stretched upward to soaring ceilings and were lined with rows of artwork—lush landscapes, vibrant seascapes, and regal portrait. Throughout the gallery, glass displays held a diverse array of historical artifacts and precious jewels. 

After the noise and spectacle of the tournament, the quiet here was a reprieve. 

I moved slowly down a wide aisle. On one side, glass cases held exquisite jewels worn during coronations and royal ceremonies, their gemstones catching the colored light from the windows. On the other side stood a neat row of armor and weapons showcasing gilded suits of armor worn by past kings and longswords with adorned hilts.

I drifted further along the gallery toward a row of formal oil paintings of rulers and their families. I slowed as I neared a portrait of a woman. She stood tall in a gown of deep sapphire, a jeweled crown resting lightly against dark hair, the masterful brushstrokes capturing her grace and beauty.

It wasn’t just her beauty that had captured my attention. It was the sadness in her eyes. It was barely a passing shadow, yet I saw it nonetheless. It stirred something deep within me. 

My chest tightened as my gaze dropped to the nameplate beneath the portrait.

Alexander’s late mother.

“Queen Giselle.” 

Aiden’s voice carried softly through the gallery behind me. 

I felt him draw closer, the warmth of his presence settling close at my back. 

 “Did you know her well?” I asked.

“I did,” he replied. “She was kind. Gentle. Strong. Resilient.”

Tears burned behind my eyes. “She looks… lonely.”

Aiden stepped beside me, his gaze shifting from the portrait to me.  

Quietly, he said, “Power often is.”

My heart ached for her.

For myself. 

We began moving together without quite realizing it, drifting from one piece to the next, pausing only briefly to examine each. 

With every step, the space between us narrowed until his scent overtook the faint traces of oil and polish lingering in the gallery. 

Aiden’s knuckles grazed mine. His arm brushed my shoulder. Each unintended touch sparked along my nerves, sharp and electric. 

This was the closest we had been in days. The sudden nearness of him was dizzying.

It became harder to focus on the artwork around me.

I forced my attention back to the walls, willing them to steady me. 

My gaze landed on a landscape unlike the others. It wasn’t grandeur or craftsmanship that caught me, but the simplicity of it. Rolling hills beneath a summer sky, wildflowers bending in the wind, a small stone cottage nestled at the edge of a distant tree line. 

It was the kind of life I would never have. A life untouched by titles and expectations.

My vision blurred before I realized tears had gathered. One slipped free, trailing down my cheek. 

“Monroe?” Aiden murmured. 

I turned to him, something in my chest fracturing at the sound of my name on his lips.

His hand lifted instinctively. Not with thought. Not with caution. Only care. 

My eyes fluttered closed beneath his touch, the pad of his thumb sweeping delicately across my cheek. I leaned into his palm, his warmth seeping into my skin.

My breath stuttered, but it was the hitch in Aiden’s that made me open my eyes. 

Aiden’s green eyes reflected my own emotion back to me, raw and unguarded.

Footsteps rebounded against stone. 

Close. Too close. 

Aidens hand fell away from my cheek and dropped to his side. His expression shuttered in the span of a single breath and the disciplined knight returned like armor snapping into place. 

I turned.

Prince Alexander stood in the open doorway

His gaze moved slowly between us, a flicker of caution crossing his face.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked mildly. 

Alexander stepped fully into the room, the door closing softly behind him. His movements were controlled, purposeful, each step exuding the ease of a future king within his own halls.

My pulse skidded. I lifted my hand without thinking, brushing my fingertips lightly across my cheek, as if I could erase the lingering warmth of Aiden’s touch.

“No, Your Majesty,” I said quickly, forcing steadiness into my voice. “Not at all.”

I took a small step away, just enough to break the closeness between Aiden and me. 

Aiden inclined his head in a crisp bow. “Of course not, Your Majesty.”

Alexander’s gaze lingered on us a fraction longer, and for a dreadful heartbeat, I feared the worst. Then Alexander’s lips curved into an easy smile. 

“Good,” he said lightly. “I would hate to interrupt something so terribly fascinating.”

He stepped closer, his gaze settling on the painting behind us. His eyes traced the quiet landscape before turning to me. “You seem taken with this one.”

“I am,” I replied. “There is something… comforting about it’s simplicity. It’s peaceful.”

Alexander considered the cottage a moment longer. 

“Peaceful, perhaps,” he said thoughtfully. “But also rather lonely.”

He turned away from the painting, already moving further down the gallery.

I remained where I was. 

For a moment, I imagined myself standing among the wildflowers, a soft breeze stirring their petals as warm sunlight spilled over the hills.  

The realization settled deeply over me.

Where I saw peace in its solitude, a freedom from expectation, Alexander saw only loneliness. 

Chapter Fifteen

M+A Chapter 13

/ feralbookster / 1 Comment

The following afternoon, Alice stood behind me at the vanity, pulling my waves into a neat braided crown atop my head. 

I studied my reflection in the mirror. On the surface, I appeared calm and composed–ready for an afternoon of tea with the ladies. Beneath the surface, my nerves were anything but.

“There,” she said as she set the last pin in my hair. “Sir Aiden should be arriving shortly.”

My chest tightened at the sound of his name.

I gave myself one last glance in the mirror before rising and moving into the adjoining sitting room.

The knock at the door came then, and heat rushed to my cheeks before I could stop it. 

Each of Aiden’s footsteps matched the drumming of my heartbeat, and when he stopped before me, the rhythm stuttered.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. 

“Your Highness,” he said, inclining his head in a careful bow.

“Sir Aiden.”

I curtsied, but when I looked up, Aiden was already moving toward the door. 

“If you are ready, Princess.” He held open the door.

My mouth opened, then closed. My brows creased faintly.

“I am,” I finally managed. 

As I moved past him, he did not meet my eyes. 

We walked in silence through the long corridors, the space between us wider than it had been before, the echo of our footsteps the only sound.

“Thank you for escorting me,” I said, glancing at him, waiting for something.

The silence stretched between us. 

His jaw tightened before he finally said, “As is my duty, Your Highness.”

My steps nearly faltered. 

Your Highness?

“Aiden.” 

He did not stop. He continued walking ahead, his hand resting atop the round pommel of his sword, his fingers tightening around it.

I quickened my pace, just slightly. “Sir Aiden,” I tried again. 

“Your High—”

“Stop that,” I said. “Since when have you begun addressing me so formally?”

He straightened, his posture tightening. 

“I…” his voice was strained. 

His shoulders loosened just slightly, something in him giving way.

“Princess, I—”

Laughter filled the corridor.

His shoulders snapped back, his posture going rigid once more.

“Come, Your Highness,” he said. “The ladies are expecting you.” 

I stared at his back a moment too long before my feet finally moved. 

Aiden stopped just outside the parlor and opened the door for me. 

I cast him one last glance before stepping inside, but he did not meet my gaze.

Something in my chest tightened painfully. 

I tried to give the ladies before me my full attention, but despite my best efforts, my focus kept slipping to Aiden standing guard just inside the doors.

My responses came a beat too late. I had to work too hard to say the right thing, to smile and laugh at the right moments. 

If any of the ladies noticed, they did not remark on it. 

When the tea concluded, I was the last to leave. 

The walk back to the sitting room was painfully long. Quiet.

With every step, my nerves grated. 

When we neared the door, I stopped abruptly in front of Aiden, lifting my chin up to meet his eyes. 

“Aiden.”

His gaze slid to mine. “Your Highness.” 

“What is this?” 

He held my gaze, but neither his eyes nor his expression offered me anything. 

I curled my fingers into my palms, my nails leaving half-moons in my skin.

“Good day, Sir Aiden.” 

Without another word, I turned on my heel and entered the sitting room. 

The next few days were the same. 

Titles. Formalities. 

Distance.

By the day of the jousting tournament, I had come to expect it. So when the knock came at my door, I braced myself for more of the same. 

But when I opened the door and found Sir William in Aiden’s place, something in me faltered.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” Sir William greeted.

It took me a moment too long to find my tongue. 

“Sir William.” I curtsied before stepping into the corridor. “Where is Sir Aiden?”

“He has already departed for the arena, Your Highness,” he said.

My chest tightened. 

“I see.” I turned forward. “Very well.”

We met Alexander in the courtyard, where he waited beside the carriage that would take us to the tournament just outside of Bedford.

Alexander helped me up and then settled across from me.

After a few polite exchanges, silence fell over the carriage. Yet it felt nothing like the silence that had stretched between Aiden and me. 

Alexander’s gaze moved over me, slow and deliberate. “You seem distracted.”

“Merely thoughtful, Your Majesty,” I said.

“Mm.” He turned to the window. 

By the time we arrived, the grounds were already alive. The hum of the crowd was thick with anticipation. The scent of roasted meats and fresh ale wafted from the stalls. Music drifted through the air. 

Alexander stepped from the carriage and offered me his hand. I took it, and he guided me down. 

We were escorted through the gathering crowd and into the raised stands. Our seats were positioned high above the arena, providing a commanding view of the field below. 

Shortly after we settled, a herald stepped forward to address the crowd, his voice carrying across the arena as he spoke of honor, sportsmanship, and chivalry. 

As he continued, a procession of armored knights on horseback was led onto the field, each bearing their kingdom’s banner.

My gaze caught on Bedford’s banner, its vibrant red, white, and yellow snapping boldly in the wind. 

“I wasn’t aware Bedford had entered a knight,” I said, my attention sharpening.

“We enter one each year,” Alexander answered proudly. “Bedford has long held a distinguished reputation in the tournaments.”

My gaze drifted to the field below, settling on the Bedford knight. He turned, lifting his head to the stands.

The knight raised his visor. 

Vivid green eyes met mine. 

My breath caught. 

“Aiden.”

“You recognized him rather quickly,” Alexander said beside me.

 “He is difficult to miss.” 

The words came too easily. I smoothed my expression, willing my composure back into place before turning to him. 

Alexander studied me for a moment. “Indeed,” was all he said before he returned his attention to the field below. 

The remaining knights cleared the field, leaving only Aiden and his opponent in the arena. 

As the herald announced their names, they rode to opposite ends of the field, turning their horses neatly into position. 

The crowd swelled with cheers. 

My gaze remained on Aiden.

His squire retrieved the banner and placed a lance in his hand. 

A marshal stepped into the center of the field and raised his trumpet. The call rang out and both knights spurred their horses into a full gallop toward one another. 

My pulse quickened as Aiden made his first pass. 

Both lances missed their mark.

They returned to their starting positions. 

Aiden adjusted his grip on his lance, his movements unhurried. He sat tall in the saddle, composed, as if the first pass had been nothing at all.

Down the field, his opponent’s hand tightened around the reins. Through the narrow slits of his visor, his gaze fixed on Aiden—sharp, intent, and edged with something less controlled. 

At the marshal’s signal, they urged their horses onward. As they closed the distance, they tucked their lances beneath their arms, angling them across the tilt. 

I held my breath, my eyes fixed on the opponent’s coronel—the metal five-point crown at the tip of the lance.

Metal screeched against steel.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my hand finding Alexander’s wrist and tightening. 

A lance struck the ground, its coronel mangled—Aiden’s opponent’s. 

I dragged in a breath.

I glanced up at Alexander. His eyes dipped briefly to his wrist, then returned to my face. “You seem invested,” he said. 

I withdrew my hand, clearing my throat. “I did not attend many jousts in Celermare. I am not used to this level of… intensity.” 

“I see,” he said, his gaze settling on Aiden.

I resettled in my seat, fixing my attention below, where Aiden and his opponent prepared for the final pass.

Aiden remained composed atop his horse, his grip firm on the lance. A faint score marked his armor where he’d taken the blow, the metal there slightly bent. 

At the other end, his opponent’s squire readied a fresh lance. The knight shouted something at him before yanking the lance from his grip and tucking it beneath his arm.

Once more, the marshal stepped into the center of the field. 

The trumpet had barely finished sounding when his opponent dug his heels into his horse and surged forward. 

Gasps rippled through the crowd. 

“He can’t—” The words died in my throat. 

Aiden charged forward.

Steel rang. Wood splintered.

A helmet tore free.

I was on my feet before I had realized I moved. 

A body hit the ground.

The world went quiet. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

It felt like ages before the dust began to settle.

A knight lay motionless on the ground, his head turned away.

Please… it can’t be.

My eyes lifted to the knight still astride his horse. 

He lifted his visor.

Aiden’s eyes locked on mine.

Air rushed back into my lungs.

My mind went fuzzy, my knees threatening to give out beneath me. I gripped the railing, steadying myself.

His eyes softened, just for a moment, before he dropped his visor and steered his horse off the field.

“Princess.” Alexander’s voice came quietly, but no less commanding for it.

His hand was a firm weight at my back, and I straightened, smoothing my skirts.

“I do not think I shall ever grow accustomed to such a spectacle,” I said, forcing my breath to steady. 

“No,” he said after a moment. “I imagine not.”

His watched me as I settled back into my seat. 

Another moment passed before he took his own seat. “Sir Aiden will be joining us shortly,” he said.

“Of course,” I replied lightly, keeping my gaze trained on the next competitors entering the field.

It wasn’t until after the first pass that I felt the shift in the air beside me. 

I dared not tear my gaze away from the field, but from the corner of my vision, I caught sight of two steel boots beside my chair.

“Sir Aiden,” Alexander said, rising. 

“Your Majesty.” Aiden bowed.

“That was a decisive pass. You’ve done Bedford proud.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” 

I might have been able to ignore Aiden’s presence if not for the scent of pine and leather that curled around me. It was a scent I had become far too familiar with—one I had not been able to wash from my skin since the balcony.

I looked up.

His dark hair was slick with sweat, his armor dusted with dirt—the mark from the earlier hit standing stark against the metal. He cradled his helmet in one arm.

“Your Highness,” Aiden said.

“Sir Aiden,” I said, inclining my head. 

“Have a seat, Sir Aiden,” Alexander said, gesturing to the chair behind me. “The matches have been… eventful.”

My fingers tensed against the arm of the chair.

For a fraction of a second, Aiden’s gaze held mine. Then he looked away. 

“Your Majesty,” he said, inclining his head before taking the seat.

I kept my attention anchored on the field below, though I scarcely registered the movement of horses or the ring of steel. 

I was acutely aware of Aiden behind me—of his nearness, of the faint shift of steel as he moved, of the quiet, steady sound of his breath. 

Beside me, Alexander’s presence pressed just as close, the air around me tightening and leaving little room to breathe. Every subtle movement he made felt rather than seen.

The world below blurred, but I missed nothing of them. 

Midway through the next round, I felt Alexander’s gaze on me.

I straightened, forcing myself to follow the next pass—the charge, the strike, the outcome—and adjusted my reactions. As I should have from the beginning.

Every breath I drew was controlled, every movement deliberate. I folded my hands in my lap, more mindful of the movement than ever before. 

I could not afford another misstep. 

Relief was not a strong enough word to describe what I felt when the final match was called and the crowd began to thin.

The carriage ride back to Bedford had passed in relative quiet, the sound of hooves and the grind of gravel beneath the wheels forming a steady, grounding rhythm. 

I was grateful Aiden had not ridden with us, yet his absence did little to ease the tension that coiled tight in my chest. 

Riding alone with Alexander felt… worse.   

Every breath, every glance, every word felt measured in a way it had never been before. 

It had never been this difficult to keep myself in check, and by the time the palace gates came into view, a bone-deep exhaustion had settled into me. 

Chapter Fourteen

M+A Chapter 12

/ feralbookster / 1 Comment

I stood rooted to my spot on the balcony, staring at the door Aiden had left through, my pulse still hammering a relentless rhythm.

I softly traced the curve of my bottom lip, my mouth curving into a small smile.

He kissed me.

An incredulous laugh bubbled out of me and echoed across the stone. The sound startled even me. I quickly pressed a hand over my mouth, quieting myself.

I wavered on my feet, suddenly unsteady. My knees felt weak as I stumbled to the curved stone bench beside the balcony railing and sank onto it.

Aiden’s face flashed through my mind—the hint of desire in his eyes—and then his voice followed, low and husky, sending a shiver racing down my spine.

I could still feel him, as though his touches had branded themselves into my skin—the imprint of his fingers on my wrist, the warmth of his palms on my cheeks, the firm press of his lips against mine.

Aiden had kissed me.

I closed my eyes, clinging to the feeling while it still lingered.

Cool midnight air brushed against my skin. Slowly, the warmth of the moment began to fade, and the quiet of the balcony settled around me.

I rose from the bench, drawing my robe tighter around me before slipping quietly from the balcony and back toward my chambers.

The corridors felt darker now, the air thicker around me.

The walk felt endless, each step heavier than the one before.

Candlelight glimmered along the golden threads of a great tapestry.

My steps faltered.

The Bedford crest loomed before me. It sat at the heart of a golden crown, framed by glittering jewels.

A symbol of duty.

A symbol of honor.

Alexander.

A cold unease seeped into my bones.

I turned away and hurried back to my chambers.

My trembling fingers fumbled with the latch. When it finally gave way, I stumbled inside.

I slammed the door harder than necessary. The wood reverberated like my pounding heart.

I turned the lock and backed away from the door, as if it could keep the inevitable at bay.

Only it didn’t.

Guilt settled heavy in my stomach, sinking like a stone.

Foolish, Monroe.

But the familiar words rang hollow, offering no comfort. No matter how many times I repeated them, the guilt refused to ease.

I was betrothed to another man, our wedding barely a month away. It was not simply a union between two people, but a promise between two nations—one meant to secure the future of my kingdom.

These feelings I harbored were not only a betrayal of my own kingdom, but of Alexander as well.

I had not stopped Aiden.

Worse still, I had wanted it.

I dropped onto the edge of my bed and drew in deep, steadying breaths willing my mind and body to calm.

When my body finally began to loosen, I slipped under the covers and waited for sleep to come.

But every time I closed my eyes, Aiden appeared unbidden in my mind, followed by phantom impressions of him—his breath, his hands, the heat of him.

“Oh, God, Monroe.” I shook my head, forcing the thoughts away.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the high-vaulted ceiling, trying again to focus on my breathing.

That did not work either.

All I could think about was how irrevocably things had changed.

Aiden had kissed me. Not by accident. Not by impulse alone. He chose it.

And I had chosen him in return, surrendering myself to the moment.

This was not a passing spark—it was something deeper.

I squeezed my eyes shut, refusing to follow that thought any further.

But when sleep finally came, it carried the memory of Aiden with it.

Chapter Thirteen

M+A Chapter 11

/ feralbookster / 1 Comment

I retired to my sitting room for the evening and settled into the chair before the fireplace.

Alice returned a few moments later with a steaming cup of tea, handed it to me, and then tended the fire.

“Did you enjoy yourself today?” she asked. “I have yet to see Bedford Park, but I hear it’s wonderful.”

“Yes,” I said. “It’s lovely. You would like it very much.”

Alice smiled. “Well, I shall leave you to your evening. Good night, Monroe.”

“Goodnight, Alice.”

She gathered the tray and slipped quietly from the room.

The soft crackle of the fire filled the silence, and I was left alone with my thoughts.

I thought of the lawn trimmed to perfection. The gravel walkways raked smooth. Not a bloom out of place.

Alexander suited it. He was immaculate, composed. Every thread in order. He maintained himself as carefully as he maintained the park and his kingdom.

And yet my thoughts drifted. To moss-covered rocks. To wildflowers shifting in the breeze. To a quiet stream cutting through untouched earth. To Aiden standing there, unguarded.

A familiar warmth bloomed behind my ribs.

I caught myself imagining a life beyond duty and structure and composure. A life unmapped by others. And I was struck by how fiercely some hidden part of me wanted it.

I shook my head and set my teacup aside.

I was not meant to want such things. That was not the life I had been shaped for.

Duty first, I reminded myself.

I tried to rebuild the walls of expectation around me, but no matter how hard I tried, they felt too thin.

The room closed in. The air grew heavy in my lungs.

I needed air.

I pulled my robe from the back of the chair and shrugged it on.

I quietly turned the latch and stepped into the darkened hallway, the door whispering shut behind me.

The stone was cool against my bare feet as I moved silently down the corridors. Silver moonlight spilled through the narrow windows, lighting my way.

My footsteps barely echoed as I turned the first corner heading toward the balcony I knew lay ahead.

The double doors appeared just as a sound echoed behind me. My steps quickened instinctively.

I risked a glance behind me, catching the orange flicker of candlelight dancing along the wall just beyond the corner I’d come from.

Just as I turned back around, I collided with a solid wall of muscle.

I gasped and staggered backwards, but two strong hands caught my waist, steadying me.

“Princess?”

My eyes snapped upward, meeting bright green irises.

“Aiden?” I breathed.

Before I could fully register that Aiden’s hands were on my waist—and that my own fingers were clutching the strong lines of his arms—a sharp voice rang through the corridor.

Aiden’s head turned instantly toward the voice, his posture going rigid, his gaze sharpening.

Keeping one hand secured around my waist, he used the other to swing open the balcony door and drew me inside with him.

He quickly shut the door behind us and braced his back against the wall, holding me securely against his chest.

“Aiden…”

“Not yet, Princess,” he whispered. “Wait till they pass.”

I nodded and bit down on my bottom lip. Aiden’s gaze dipped there for just a second before snapping back to the door.

The orange candlelight grew brighter.

The footsteps grew louder.

They halted just outside the door.

Aiden’s grip tightened on my waist, his fingers bunching the fabric of my robe. My fingers dug into his skin in return.

For endless seconds we clung to one another, breaths held, eyes fixed on the door and the shadow behind them.

The latch jiggled the slightest fraction. I squeezed my eyes shut and hid my face in Aiden’s chest.

A muffled voice rose outside the door.

The footsteps retreated.

Aiden’s body relaxed against mine, his breath warm against the side of my cheek as he slowly exhaled.

I lifted my head and found Aiden’s gaze already on me.

My breath caught in my throat. 

Moonlight brushed across his skin, tracing the strong line of his jaw and the curve of his lips.

A cool breeze stirred the night air, but I barely felt it. Our bodies were pressed flush together, the heat of him seeping through the thin barrier of fabric and settling low in my core.

Each nerve in my body felt like a live wire, sparking at each point we touched.

He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. My skin tingled where his palm brushed my cheek.

His hand did not fall away. His palm remained at my cheek, cradling my face as though he could not bear to let me go.

And I did not want him to.

His gaze dipped to my lips once more, lingering there, before slowly returning to my eyes.

Our gazes held. 

His head dropped a fraction lower. His nose brushed mine, his breath ghosting across my mouth.

His mouth hovered above mine, so close I could almost feel the warmth of his lips.

My eyes fluttered shut, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic.

I rose onto my toes, my chin tipping upward.

Aiden’s fingers pressed deeper into my waist.

Then, his forehead dropped to mine. 

“We can’t.” His voice was rough, as if the words themselves pained him. 

“I know,” I whispered, my own voice cracking.

Aiden’s jaw tightened. His grip loosened—reluctantly, almost painfully so—before his hands slid away from me.

I took a single step back, creating space that felt far too wide, far too cold. The loss of his warmth was jarring.

My arms fell back to my sides, fingers clutching my robe to keep them from trembling.

His gaze lingered on me—conflicted, aching with everything left unsaid—before he finally forced his eyes away.

He pushed off the wall, hands balled into fists, knuckles white.

“I should…” he started, then cut himself off. His voice was more strained than before. He cleared his throat. “We shouldn’t be here.”

I forced myself to nod, even though every part of me wanted to close the distance again. Wanted to pretend the world outside that door didn’t exist.

But it did.

I searched for the familiar steadiness, the polished calm I had been taught to wear like armor, but it was gone. I looked away and started for the door.

My fingers had just grazed the latch when movement flickered at the edges of my vision.

Aiden caught my wrist.

“Monroe…” his voice low and strained caught on my name.

I turned just enough to see the conflict on his face—the tight line of his jaw and the flare of his nostrils.

He drew in a sharp breath.

His fingers flexed instinctively against my skin, but he did not let go.

My pulse hammered beneath his fingertips.

“Don’t.”

His fingers tightened.

Then I was moving—pulled toward him.

His hands rose and cupped my face.

His mouth claimed mine.

For a single, breathless moment my mind went blank.

My lips softened beneath his. But before my body could fully follow, he broke the kiss.

My body swayed, dizzy.

My eyes fluttered open.

His breath came ragged in the narrow space between us.

“Aiden,” I breathed.

Realization flickered across his face.

His hands pulled away.

By the time the haze lifted, Aiden was at the door.

His hand closed around the latch. He paused and looked back at me.

Then the door opened, and he was gone.

Chapter Twelve