He exhaled slowly, feeling the familiar exhaustion settle over him like a heavy cloak. He was always tired these days, dragging himself through the hours of his life as if he carried an invisible burden. The only time the exhaustion lifted was when he actually slept.
Because in his dreams, she was waiting for him.
He closed his eyes, and there she was. Her skin was the color of rich earth, warm and grounding. Her lips, full and deep red, needed no beauty paint to draw his attention. Her dark eyes, rimmed in kohl, held the secrets of the forests, endless and knowing, as if they saw straight through him. And those horns—twisting and spiraling upward like an ancient crown—had fascinated him since childhood.
He remembered the first time she had let him touch them. He’d been a boy then, filled with curiosity and reverence, even though he was the one with the royal title. She had leaned her head toward him with a mischievous smile. His fingers had brushed the smooth curve of her horns. The sound she made—a low, contented sigh—had sent a strange warmth curling through his chest. He had spent the rest of that day grinning like a fool, though he’d never quite understood why.
Years later, she'd let him touch them again. This time the sigh had been a deep moan of pleasure. That night, he'd not only touched her horns, he'd tasted them. Then he'd tasted every part of her, leaving her gasping in ecstasy.
Phillip’s hand tightened on the brick of the balcony as the memory washed over him. Dreams were all he had of her now. The woman he could no longer hold. She had vanished from his life, like smoke slipping through his fingers.
"Phillip?" A voice cut through the quiet. "Phillip, darling, are you sleeping?"
"No, I'm up, Rory. I'll be out in a?—"
She didn't wait for permission to enter. Aurora stepped inside, her golden hair catching the low light like spun silk, her gown trailing behind her in delicate waves.
Aurora moved with the grace of someone who believed she belonged wherever she stood, including Phillip’s most private spaces. She did belong, of course—she was his bride-to-be. The wedding arrangements had been made long ago when they werechildren, a union for the good of the kingdom, a duty Phillip never questioned. At least not as a child. It was simply what was expected of him: learn to fight, take the crown, marry the princess, rule the lands.
That was the agenda of his life. What was not on the agenda was admitting Aurora into his heart. She had been promised his hand, but someone else had stolen that organ.
Aurora was a great friend and an excellent monarchial partner. She'd managed the day-to-day minutia of the kingdom while he'd been out fighting. Her beauty should have stirred him. Her kindness should have softened him. Phillip had never felt the pull to invite her into his bed.
“Good, you’re awake.” She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and perched lightly on the edge of a nearby chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap. “You're needed at court. Something to do with the expansion.”
The great expansion had been his father's vision, along with the last Forest Guardian. Before he and Morwyn could bring their vision to life, the trolls had attacked. His father had been taken at the start of the troll wars. Morwyn had fought at the old king's side.
Now the war was won and Phillip was the only one left with the vision. Though he supposed that wasn't true. Someone had to have replaced Mal in the years he'd been gone. He'd likely be meeting that person today, as the Forest Guardian had a chair on the council. Once again, that spot on his finger prickled.
“I’ve been gone for three years, Aurora. You’ve done an excellent job leading the council. I’m certain you don’t need me stepping in.”
His words were true. He'd seen the improvements within the castle walls when he'd arrived last night—the levy system, the water control measures. It was impressive work. He couldn’t wait to see what had been done in the forests.
“The forest folk are not honoring your father’s original vision for unity and growth. They’re... resistant to progress.”
“Resistant?”
In his mind, he saw the forest—not as a wilderness to be tamed but as a home. A place alive with magic, the place where Mal had once belonged. He saw her as she had been, fierce and vibrant, her horns spiraling upward like crowns of twisted wood, her smile unguarded while rare. That smile had always made him feel like he belonged, like the forest itself accepted him because she did.
He rubbed the scar again. The ache in his chest was sharper than the one in his hand. Maybe it was foolish, but he wanted to believe that what he was doing now, what he was building with Aurora, could honor Mal's memory.
Phillip hadn't considered that his absence might cause tension or delay after the expansion. When he'd gone to fight, it was because—well, yes, because of his anger over the loss of the woman he loved. But it was also because he believed in the union of Folkind and Humankind. It pained him to know that divisions were once again coming between the two people.
"I'll be right down."
Aurora rose as though gliding on a soft cloud. She smiled up at him as though he’d hung the moon and gave his forearm a squeeze. And then she was gone.
Her scent lingered—warm lavender. It mingled with the hint of jasmine coming through the windows. The two scents clashed, just as Aurora and Mal had often clashed.
Phillip had hoped that the two women in his life would eventually become friends. That one day they might find common ground in their duty to their people. That, perhaps, they might set aside their differences for his sake. Being caught in the middle of two fierce women might be a fantasy for weaker men. It had been a harsh reality for Prince Phillip.
Mal had his heart, always had, from the first moment he’d seen her walking barefoot through the woods, her black horns catching the sunlight. She was the girl he had fallen in love with, the one who had shown him the beauty of the forests and the magic within them.
Aurora had his hand. She was the one he was bound to by duty and expectation. The one his mother had chosen for him to wed. He had been raised to believe that duty was the cornerstone of his life.
His father's voice echoed in his mind, stern and unwavering: "A king does what is required of him, even at the cost of his own happiness."
It had never once occurred to Phillip that anything intimate would ever happen between him and Aurora. His heart would not allow it. It belonged wholly to Mal in a way he could never have given to anyone else. He also never seriously considered not marrying Aurora. The idea of abandoning the expectations of his crown, his people, had always seemed... impossible.
