I woke with a cautious sense of resolve. The flicker of hope I’d felt the night before lingered–not brighter, but steadier, as though I’d chosen to hold onto it rather than let it slip away.

I moved through my morning routine with practiced ease, a quiet anticipation setting in. It wasn’t excitement, exactly, but intention. 

Even as I sat in the small sitting room, a book propped on my lap, I found it difficult to focus on the words on the page. My thoughts kept returning to Alexander’s words, to the possibility that this—whatever this might become—could be enough.

When the knock at my door came, I still smiled, but it was the sort of smile I had learned to wear well.

I closed the book, set it on the table beside me, and folded my hands in my lap as Alice went to the door.

When she returned, she said, “Sir Aiden, Princess,” and he entered the sitting room.

My smile faltered—caught between what I had been expecting and what stood in front of me—before I gathered myself. 

“Sir Aiden,” I said, standing and dipping into a practiced curtsy. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Princess,” he greeted, inclining his head. “The prince sends his regards…” He paused. The subtle tug at his lips and quick tick of jaw betrayed his unease. “As well as his most sincere apologies. He has been called away from the court this morning.”

I forced my smile back into place and schooled my tone into aloofness. “That is most unfortunate. Thank you, Sir Aiden, for letting me know.”

I thought that would be the end of it, that he might turn to leave after delivering Alexander’s correspondence. 

He did not. 

“The prince asked that I remain at your disposal today,” he said. “Until his return.”

It was faint, but a tightness formed in my chest.

“I see,” I said. “And what does one do when one is…at a knight’s disposal?”

His gaze drifted past me to the book resting on the settee behind me, then back. “If it pleases you, the library is quiet at this hour.”

“Yes,” I said. “I would enjoy that.”

Aiden nodded and stepped to the side, letting me pass first before sliding into place beside me. 

As we walked the halls, I let myself imagine the rows of books and what kinds of stories lay behind their leather covers—anything to keep my thoughts from drifting to the man at my side.

The library was exquisite. The calm quiet settled deep into my bones, giving me almost the same sense of peace I felt in the garden. I wandered through towering shelves, running my fingertips over well-worn spines and smooth covers. My fingers itched to pull the books from their slots, peel back their covers, and lose myself in them. 

Aiden followed close behind, his broad frame crowding the narrow aisle, making his presence impossible to ignore. 

I stopped in the poetry section, my eyes catching on intricate gold lettering on a spine, just out of reach. I stretched upwards on the balls of my feet, my fingertips just barely brushing the books edge—only for it to be plucked free a heartbeat later. 

Aiden had stepped in behind me, leaving the barest breadth of space between us.

His arm brushed against mine as he reached overhead, the contact setting sparks dancing across my skin. I sucked in a sharp breath, warmth rushing to my cheeks at our sudden closeness—at the heat of his body, the pine and leather scent that enveloped me—and there was nowhere for my awareness to go but him. 

He handed me the book without a word. 

“Thank you,” I said, my voice coming out a shade too breathless. 

I swallowed and tucked the book under my arm. I turned too quickly and continued down the aisle, my steps a fraction faster than before.

Aiden matched my pace, closing the distance between us in a few effortless strides, leaving me little time to gather myself. 

As we browsed the next few aisles, I fought to keep my attention stubbornly fixed on the shelves. Still, despite myself, my gaze strayed toward Aiden more than once before I caught it and forced my focus back to the rows of books.

After we’d moved into a new section, I cast another subtle glance at him. His brow was faintly furrowed, his attention drifting over the shelves with polite detachment.

It dawned on me then that he was enduring this solely for my sake, and I found myself unexpectedly touched by his patience. 

I paused mid-aisle and turned to him. “You don’t actually like it here, do you?”

He smiled sheepishly. “I do not. But I would not stand in the way of your enjoyment nor let you remain alone in it.”

I knew his words were meant to comfort, not wound, but they landed with a quiet sting all the same. 

It was not Aiden’s place to guard my feelings. 

He did it anyway. 

Because the prince had chosen duty over me. 

I did not allow myself to linger in that ache. Instead, I turned my attention back to shelves, choosing to be grateful for Aiden’s presence. For the simple fact that he was here at all. 

I cleared my throat and pulled a book from the shelf. “For an esteemed knight such as yourself, Sir Aiden, I wouldn’t have expected libraries to be your downfall.”

“Nor I, Princess,” he said. “But it seems I have met my match—shelves and silence. I fear that my behavior would shame any of the knights you might find in these books.”

I smiled. “I don’t believe that. I think they would commend you for your bravery and sacrifice for daring to step foot inside.”

Aiden smiled then—truly smiled—and it softened the strong planes of his face. The sight of it struck me deeper than I was prepared for.

“Go on, Princess,” he urged softly. “Choose as many as you like.”

I wasted no time moving to shelf after shelf, piling my arms full of leather-bound books. When they began to tremble under their weight, Aiden scooped them easily into his. 

We made another turn through the library, I gathered a few more books, and then we headed back to the sitting room. 

“You have outdone yourself, Princess,” Aiden remarked as we stood back from the low table, surveying the trove we’d delivered. “The library didn’t stand a chance.”

“Thank you,” I said. “For this. For today. It was…perfect.” 

And truly, it had been everything.

I couldn’t stop myself—I beamed up at him.

Our eyes held and in the span of single fragile heartbeat, time stilled. 

The air between us crackled, charged with longing, restraint—everything we both felt but could not say. 

He took a single step. 

And then, as if he had only just realized it, his breath caught. 

Chapter Eight