With the donut box tucked under my arm, I practically sprint through the palace corridors toward the gardens. My mind races with what I’ll say to Benedict, how I’ll explain everything. But mostly, I just can’t wait to see his face, to reassure him that everything’s going to be okay.
As I burst into the gardens, the sweet scent of flowers mingling with the sugary aroma of the donuts, I feel a surge of determination. Whatever happens next, I know one thing for sure—I’m not letting Benedict go without a fight.
I’m at the garden wall before I know it, the same one I scaled in nothing but my shoes and a box of donuts just weeks ago. This time, I’m fully clothed—thank god—but the box of donuts makes the climb familiar. I wedge it under my chin, praying I don’t drop it as I haul myself up and over.
My feet hit the grass on the other side with a soft thud, and I’m moving again, heart pounding. Benedict’s cottage comes into view, its quaint stone exterior bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. It’s beautiful, just like him, and the sight of it only fuels my urgency.
I’m out of breath by the time I reach his door, partly from the sprint and partly from the nerves coursing through me. What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if I’m too late?
No. I can’t think like that. I raise my hand and knock, three sharp raps that echo in the quiet garden.
Seconds tick by, feeling like hours. I shift from foot to foot, clutching the donut box like a lifeline. Just as I’m considering knocking again, the door swings open.
And there he is.
Benedict stands in the doorway, his expressive brown eyes widening in surprise. He’s wearing one of those endearing granddad sweaters I love so much, the soft beige making him look cozy and huggable. But there’s tension in his shoulders, uncertainty in his gaze.
“Zeke,” he says, his voice a mix of confusion and something else I can’t quite place. “What are you doing here?”
I swallow hard, suddenly aware of how dry my mouth is. “I, uh…I brought donuts?” I hold up the box lamely, feeling like an idiot. Smooth, Zeke. Real smooth.
Benedict’s eyes flick from my face to the box and back again. A small furrow appears between his brows, and I resist the urge to smooth it away with my thumb.
“Apple cinnamon,” I add, as if that explains everything. “Your favorite.”
For a moment, we just stand there, the air between us thick with unspoken words. I can practically feel the war going on behind Benedict’s eyes—caution battling with the same longing I feel deep in my bones.
Finally, he steps back, opening the door wider. “You’d better come in,” he says softly.
As I cross the threshold, the scent of earth and flowers envelops me—Benedict’s scent. It feels like coming home, and I clench my fists to keep from reaching for him.
Instead, I offer what I hope is a reassuring smile. “We need to talk,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “And not just about pastries.”
Benedict nods, his lips quirking into a small, wry smile. “I figured as much. Unless you’ve developed a habit of scaling palace walls with baked goods.”
I chuckle, grateful for the momentary break in tension. But as we move into his cozy living room, the weight of what I need to say settles on my shoulders again.
“Benedict,” I start, setting the donut box on a nearby table. “I know things have been…complicated. But I can’t keep pretending that what happened between us was nothing.”
I run a hand through my hair, feeling exposed under his intense gaze. “The truth is, you’ve gotten under my skin in a way I never expected. These past few days, not knowing if you’d want to talk to or see me again…it’s been driving me crazy.”
Benedict’s eyes widen slightly, but he remains silent, waiting for me to continue. I take a deep breath, steeling myself.
“I know it’s fast, and maybe I’m crazy for feeling this way, but I can’t deny it anymore. I want to explore this—us—further. Whatever this is between us, it feels…important.”
The words hang in the air, and for a moment, I’m terrified I’ve said too much. But then Benedict’s expression softens, a mix of wonder and hesitation crossing his features.
“Zeke, I…” he starts, then pauses, seeming to gather his thoughts. “I feel it too. This connection. But…”
He turns away, moving to the window that overlooks his garden. The late afternoon sun casts a golden glow on his profile, highlighting the conflict etched on his face.
“I was planning to leave Lydovia,” he says quietly, and my heart drops. “The media attention, the loss of privacy… It’s all becoming too much.”
I want to interrupt, to tell him we can figure it out, but I force myself to let him finish.
“This place was supposed to be my sanctuary,” Benedict continues, his voice tinged with sadness. “A place where I could just be myself, away from the spotlight. But now…”
He turns back to me, and the vulnerability in his eyes makes my chest ache. “I don’t know if I can handle being in the public eye again, Zeke. The thought of reporters digging into my past, scrutinizing my every move…it terrifies me.”
