slow-burn romance

M+A Chapter 11

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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

M+A Chapter 10

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The curtains in my chambers were drawn back, and morning light flooded the room.

I sat up and stretched my arms over my head. “Morning, Alice,” I said through a yawn.

“Good morning, Monroe,” Alice answered, already sorting through gowns, muttering something about the prince and the picnic planned for the day.

I slipped off the bed and came to stand behind Alice. I rested my hands on her shoulders and gave a light squeeze. “You worry too much, dear Alice.”

“It is my job to worry,” she replied.

 “Well, if one of us must, I am grateful you do it so diligently,” I said, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before moving toward the bathing chamber.

“You are in quite an agreeable mood, this morning,” she observed. “Excited for the picnic with the prince?”

I lifted a shoulder, but I could not suppress the faint curve of my lips. “Something like that,” I said.

After I bathed and dressed, I settled in the parlor.

Boot steps echoed in the corridor.

My pulse thrummed beneath my skin, my lips faintly curving into a smile.

I turned as the parlor doors opened.

Alexander stepped into view.

Disappointment flickered through my chest. My smile faltered, just barely, before I composed myself. The mask felt suddenly foreign.

 I rose from the settee and smoothed my hand down the front of my bodice.

“Good morning, Prince.”

“Princess Monroe,” Alexander said, “I’m glad you could join me.”

“As am I,” I said, but the words felt flat.

He held out his arm and led us to the waiting carriage.

“I know this outing comes later than intended,” Alexander said. “The past days have demanded more of me than I had anticipated.”

“I understand,” I said. “You have obligations to the crown that must be fulfilled. Duty comes first.”

Alexander smiled at that.

As he spoke of duty and obligations, I was struck with a sobering clarity. I, too, belonged first to duty. In recent weeks, I had allowed myself to forget that, had almost convinced myself otherwise.

The carriage stopped in front of a vast green expanse that stretched as far as I could see. Stone benches nestled under pink and white flowering trees, floral vines climbed up trellises and arbors, and at its center a sprawling hedge maze.

Alexander helped me from the carriage and offered me his arm. He guided us toward a towering magnolia tree. A white wrought iron picnic table and two chairs were tucked beneath its canopy of pale blossoms.

The table had already been set. Crisp linens laid neatly, covered dishes arranged with care, polished silver cutlery glinting in the sunlight—clear evidence of thoughtful preparation. Yet it felt less like a picnic and more like a carefully curated scene.

And I knew, without thinking, exactly how I should behave within it.

Alexander pulled out the chair for me. I smiled and inclined my head before taking my seat. A servant uncovered the dishes, revealing fresh bread and soft cheeses, cold meats, small tarts and pastries. I remarked how lovely everything looked. Another servant filled our glasses with wine. I thanked them.

I wore the mask as if it had never slipped at all.

“I’m glad the weather held for us,” Alexander said, lifting his glass. “The park rarely looks this inviting after the spring rains.”

“Yes, it’s beautiful,” I agreed. “I didn’t realize Bedford had anything like this.”

 “My grandfather created it,” he said. “He loved the outdoors nearly as much as he loved ruling. He believed a kingdom should offer people, and its rulers, space to breathe.”

I smiled faintly. “That sounds like a wise way to live.”

Alexander inclined his head. “Perhaps. I never quite inherited his fondness for lingering in places like this. But I understand the value of maintaining what he built.”

I understood what he meant, even respected it. Though I admired his sense of responsibility, a quiet part of me longed for the kind of life his grandfather had embraced—one that allowed room for stillness and wonder and finding joy alongside responsibility.

It was a quiet distinction, but one that felt larger than it should have.

As Alexander spoke, my eyes strayed beyond the flowering trees, catching a familiar glimpse of silver. Aiden stood watch, still and composed.

His eyes met mine.

My traitorous heart stuttered.

For a fraction, the practiced rhythm of the afternoon wavered.

I tore my gaze away and returned my attention to Alexander, schooling my expression into a relaxed smile.

We spoke easily after that—about the estate, the changing seasons, the pace of court life. The conversation was pleasant, thoughtful, and polite. Exactly what it ought to have been. And yet, beneath the civility, something remained just out of reach. A warmth I could not quite summon, no matter how I tried.

“Allow me to show you the maze,” Alexander said after the servants had cleared the table. “It was another of my grandfather’s creations.”

“Of course,” I said, rising from my seat.

The maze was formed of low, neatly trimmed hedges that curved and looped across the lawn, no higher than my waist, revealing the full shape of the winding paths. Sunlight danced across their glossy leaves and spilled across the open corridors.

We had just maneuvered through the first section when a faint buzzing brushed past my ear.

I halted abruptly on the gravel path. I sucked in a sharp breath, rooting myself to the spot.

My eyes tracked the bee as it cut jagged lines through the air, unable to look away. The bee zipped past my face and I flinched, biting down on my lip to hold back a shaky whimper.

Only then did Alexander turn. “Princess Monroe?”

His voice barely reached me over the blood rushing in my ears and the relentless, panicked beating of my heart.

A chill raced through my body as the bee zig-zagged closer, the buzz of its wings as loud as the chaos inside my head.

A small, breathless plea tumbled from my lips before I could stop it.

Alexander’s brows furrowed in confusion, his mouth parting as if to speak. Aiden stepped in his path before he could.

“Monroe.” His voice was barely a whisper, yet it was impossibly steady. Unshakable. It cut clean through the panic.

“It cannot hurt you,” he said, calm and steady. He stepped closer, gently wrapping both his hands around my forearms. 

“Look at me, Monroe.”  He lowered his face to meet my gaze. 

My eyes locked on to Aiden’s bright green irises. 

The maze dissolved. The noise, the buzzing, the world beyond him—gone.

There was only Aiden.

“Breathe,” he said.

His voice, his grip, were my anchors. I could do nothing but obey. 

I drew in a shaky breath.

“That’s good,” he murmured as I released it. “Again.”

Another breath. The panic loosened its grip.

Aiden nodded. “You’re doing well, Monroe. Take one more big breath for me.”

Aiden’s hands slid to my elbows as he gently guided me a step to the left. Over his shoulder, I caught the bee’s quick movement as it darted away.

A long breath left from me as the world slid back into place.

“Are you alright?” Aiden asked, voice low.

“Yes, I—” I swallowed thickly, acutely aware of how close Aiden still was.

The warmth of his hands seeped through my skin. Pine and leather filled my lungs. I caught the faintest hitch in his breath before he spoke. “Princess?”

Boots crunched over the gravel, the sound dragging me fully back to the present.

“Sir Aiden?” Alexander’s voice came more clearly.

Aiden did not move. His fingers tightened slightly against my arms, his gaze searching mine.

“I’m alright,” I breathed, dipping my head once.

Only then did he release me and step back.

Before Alexander reached me, I caught Aiden’s eyes for a fleeting second. I shaped the words silently. Thank you.

His expression softened before duty reclaimed him.

Alexander glanced between us, his brows drawing together faintly. “Are you quite alright, Princess?”

“I am,” I said. “I’m afraid I have never fared well with bees. I’m allergic.”

“Allergic?” His brows rose. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware.”

Aiden’s reaction was quick, nearly imperceptible, but I caught it all the same. His gaze flicked to Alexander, his jaw tightening.

“No need to apologize, Your Majesty. I don’t often like to make my vulnerabilities known.”

Alexander’s expression shifted, as though filing the information away. He nodded once.

“Well then, I believe we have had sufficient excitement for one afternoon,” Alexander said. “We should return.”

His arm settled lightly at my back as he guided us toward the carriage.

Aiden’s gaze rested between my shoulder blades.

And somehow, it comforted me more than the prince’s hand at my back.

Chapter Eleven

M+A Chapter 7

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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

M+A Chapter 6

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I didn’t have long to sit with the thought of what I noticed of Aiden in the garden, nor the way it lingered long after I thought it should have faded. The following days were busy with appointments–dress fittings, royal wardrober consultations, etiquette trainings. I barely had time to catch my breath, let alone examine my own feelings–or the way Aiden’s presence had unsettled something I hadn’t known was so fragile.

And today would be no exception. Prince Alexander was hosting a formal luncheon. 

It would be the first time since my introduction to the court that Prince Alexander and I would be seen together in public. There would be no room for missteps. 

After Alice checked—and checked twice more—that every silken strand of my hair was in place, my gown was wrinkle free and flowing just right, she finally gave me her nod of approval. 

“Ready, Your Highness?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. I raised my chin and straightened my shoulders, a faint smile touching my lips when I caught Alice’s proud look from the corner of my eye. 

The great hall had completely transformed for the luncheon. It radiated elegance and finery, every gilded piece of furniture and décor gleaming brilliantly. 

Alexander was speaking with a small group of men, and I couldn’t help but be in awe of him for how he commanded the attention of those around him. Even as he left them to come to my side, the men’s gazes followed him, reluctant to let him go.

“Good afternoon, Your Highness,” Alexander said, taking my hand and bringing it to his lips. 

His gesture was polite, proper, expected, yet it stirred nothing like the restless spark that Aiden’s touch had set loose beneath my skin—sharp, electric, and impossible to ignore.

“Your Majesty,” I replied, curtsying regally.

Leaning slightly, his voice low and steady, he said, “You look magnificent, Princess.”

“And you,” I replied.

“Shall we?” 

I nodded and let him lead the way to the long dining table in the center of the room. 

The luncheon unfolded with practiced precision. Plates were exchanged, wine glasses filled, voices rose and fell in easy rhythm. I answered when spoken to, smiled when expected, laughed softly at the right moments. 

The conversation rarely lingered on me. It moved around me—trade, border disputes, the coming winter—matters I had been trained to understand but not invited to weigh in on.

More than once, my gaze drifted toward the edges of the hall before I caught myself—an instinctive, foolish search for a familiar presence that had no reason to be there. 

Alexander would occasionally glance my way, but his gaze never stayed, already pulled into new conversations. 

It was easy to understand why he was so admired. He spoke with confidence, each word laced with conviction, but there was a lightness to him too, a warmth beneath the authority. He was charming in a way that felt effortless—the embodiment of a true leader. A prince. A king. 

I should have been grateful that I was to marry him. He was everything he should be, everything a princess should want. But as one course blurred into the next, I found it harder to convince myself of it. 

It wasn’t long until I faded into the background completely. Alexander’s quick glances ceased, and whatever small exchanges I had been a part of dissolved as conversation moved on without me. 

It’s all part of the role, I chastised myself, knowing that my place here was to be more decorative than essential. I had known this. Expected it. Still, I hadn’t anticipated the loneliness that settled over me in a room full of people. It was a loneliness I hadn’t felt in the garden, standing beside a knight whose solid, unspoken steadiness had made me feel less alone without ever trying to.

Relief washed over me when Alexander rose from his seat, signaling the end of the luncheon. “Guests, if you would please,” he said smoothly. One by one, the nobles and courtiers gathered their belongings and filed out of the hall. 

I exhaled, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease as the room emptied. 

“Princess Monroe,” Alexander said. “May I escort you to your chambers?” 

“Of course,” I answered, and Alexander fell into step beside me as we walked through the hall. 

“I know these last few days have been…busy,” he began. “It hasn’t left much room for anything else.” Soft blue eyes met mine, warm and attentive. “I hoped we might take a walk through the castle grounds once things settle.”

A faint flicker of hope stirred in me, imagining something beyond protocol and expectation.

“I would like that,” I said, feeling my lips curve into a genuine smile. 

Perhaps, finally, there would be a moment that felt like it belonged only to us–one that might quiet the thoughts of a man I had no right to carry.

Chapter Seven