The landscape rolls past, the air heavy with tension. When I can’t bear it anymore, I cross the carriage and take a seat beside her. We don’t touch. I just want to show her that I’m here.
She glances at me briefly, and to my relief, she doesn’t move. She resumes staring out the window. I gaze up toward the ceiling, searching for the right words. I know I’m not good at comforting others.
“You’re beating yourself up about this,” I say.
“It’s my fault, isn’t it? For sneaking out?”
For a moment, this strong, stubborn woman sounds so uncharacteristically childlike that I have to suppress a completely inappropriate smile. “It’s not. Trust me, I would know. People have been trying to assassinate me for as long as I can remember. Blaming yourself for the collateral damage is never the answer.”
She remains unmoved, except for the fist in her lap, which tightens around the hem of the lovely coat I had made for her.
“I’m not like you,” she says, her voice hoarse. “I’m not really a princess. I don’t want to be the reason people get hurt.”
Her words sting. I didn’t ask for this life. But then, she didn’t, either. She’s not used to it like I am. The pressure, the expectation, the attention—good and bad.
“I agree. To tell you the truth, I’ve always hated the job,” I say. It’s such a relief to admit it aloud.
How much better to be like my fourth cousin once removed, a contented baronet in the countryside, whose only responsibilities are his sheep and keeping his wife and children happy—probably in that order. He was even allowed to choose his own bride: no treaties to consider, no kingdoms to unify.
More than ever, I’m glad I chose Aren. She’s been unflagging through this whole thing.
But I must let her go. It’s the only way to keep her safe.
She scoffs. “No way.”
“It’s true,” I add. “Being a prince is a burden.”
“Liar,” she says, but at least there’s a ghost of a smile on her face. “You? Give up your valet and your fancy clothes? Please.”
I frown. I can’t tell if she’s teasing. Is that all she thinks of me? I’d hoped I’d risen a little in her estimation. I forge on anyway. “I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true. I’d give it all up so I don’t have to live with the fact that there are so many people in the world who could die because of me or want me dead. And they haven’t even gotten to know me first.”
“You think getting to know you first would stop someone from wanting to kill you?” she asks with a straight face.
I hesitate to reply, and then Aren snort-laughs. “I was kidding.” She chuckles.
I laugh, too, relieved it’s a joke—relieved she’s in good enough spirits to make jokes at my expense. I feel a sliver of accomplishment. “You have a point there.”
But the moment of levity ends, and I gesture around us—at the carriage, at myself. “Being a prince means people want to hurt me and anyone I love.” I wince at my choice of words. I don’tloveher, right? I forge on. “That’s just how it goes. I’ve come to terms with it because I can’t change who I am.”
She looks at me, her eyes glassy again. My stomach clenches when I see the pain there, and I look away. “It never gets easier,” I say, “knowing that people can get hurt simply by being around me, simply because it’s their job to protect me. It never feels fair, and nothing I ever do can repay them for it.”
She sheds a solitary tear. I pretend I don’t notice and squirm in my seat, my mouth suddenly dry.
It’s a great comfort to share my heartbreak and guilt, but I can’t bear to talk about it further nor add to her distress. I want to share everything with her, but I can’t.
“I’m telling you, from firsthand experience, that you’re allowed to mourn—but you’re also allowed to live.”
My words hang in the air between us, our bodies swaying in tandem with the movement of the carriage.
For a long while, Aren doesn’t say anything, and I don’t expect her to. She gazes back out the window at the rolling fields. I don’t know if what I’ve said helped, but I hope I’ve invited her inside, into my confidence. It’s been too long since I’ve been honest with anyone, even myself. Just talking about it feels like a weight’s been lifted from my chest.
As the hours pass, to my surprise Aren leans against me and rests her head on my shoulder. She’s warm and soft, and I dare not move. I hardly take a breath as she settles against me and eventually falls asleep, her breathing softening around the edges. She’s exhausted. We’re both exhausted, but I don’t sleep.
Her hair smells like orange blossoms, and I’m reminded of that first time I tried to kiss her, that day in Elspeth, the first time I touched her skin, and it makes me smile because it’s a good memory.
…
Aren sleeps for most of the journey, her head heavy on my shoulder. Only when the carriage slows does she stir. She blinks her eyes open, stretches, and yawns as she wakes. I haven’t moved for hours. My shoulder aches a little, so I wriggle it softly to relieve the tenderness in the muscles. Aren looks around, as if confused about where she is, before glancing out the window again.
