“So see? I have a feeling we’re the kind of men who simply do what must be done, which is why I’m hoping you’ll change the Eastern Territories for the better.” I pause and add, “From what part of the territories do you descend?”
He stares ahead into the night, a dark lock of hair falling over his forehead. “Everywhere, really.” He goes quiet then, as though debating whether or not to continue giving me such personal information, though he does. “Would you believe me if I told you I was a vagabond before this?”
“Not in the fucking least.”
He laughs. “Why not?”
“Because! Look at you. My gods, you’re too damned handsome and charming to be a vagrant, roaming around andunattached.”
He smiles again, softer this time, and his eyes glitter as we pass a lantern, the look on his face one of remembrance. “I was a man of the land for many years. Very much alone. One with nature and my prayers. They were eventually heard, I suppose, because I simply wanted tomatterin this life. Todosomething orbesomeone who would leave a lasting impact. Being here—being the Prince of the East—it feels like a calling. What I was born for.”
My eyebrows dart up at that. “So noble. I could probably learn a lesson or two on accepting duty with such grace.” A moment passes. “How oldareyou?” I inquire. “You said you were aman of the landfor many years. You don’t look like you’ve had many years to begin with.”
A sudden discomfort comes over him, a noticeable tension in his tightening spine. “I’ve had more than you’d think. Wasn’t it you who said looks can be deceiving?”
I study him, feeling like I should be seeing more than I am right now.
“I’m…twenty-six,” he goes on.
“Forgive me,” I say, pausing and waiting for him to face me. When he does, I continue. “I didn’t mean to make light of your years alone because of your youth. Your story just fascinates me. A young man—a vagabond, no less—becoming the prince of a powerful kingdom. It’s the perfect beggar to riches tale, though I imagine it must be surreal to be where you are now.”
He nods. “Most days, I wake up and can hardly believe this new and amazing life is really mine. Though I can’t imagine it’s any more surreal than being immortal. You seem to live a rather…excitinglife.”
I give a small laugh at that. “It probably does seem that way. Then again, what’s the point in living forever if you’re boring?” My quip doesn’t receive the smile or laugh I was hoping for, so I take one more sip of my wine. Liquid courage. “Tell me, does the perfect prince have a perfect princess to share this new and amazing life with?”
Nowhe tames a threatening smirk, keeping his sparkling eyes on mine. “No, he doesn’t.”
“Perhaps a prince of his own, then?”
The corner of his mouth lifts in a dashing, crooked half-smile that makes my heart skip a beat.
“No,” he answers. “Not yet, anyway.”
I wink. “Just checking.”
With that revelation hanging between us, we keep walking. The prince shows me through the fragrant rose garden, insisting I smell several blooms, and takes me to see his favorite statue, one of two men facing one another, their foreheads touching, their hands entwined.
“Why this one?” I ask as we stare up at the sculpture, its white stone illuminated under the moonlight. We’d passed another statue of two men in the throes of passion. I rather liked that one.
“They seem so close,” he answers. “The connection between them is captured so well.” He steps forward and points to their hands. “Look at their fingers, the way they seem to be caressing and holding to one another at the same time.” He then points toward their heads. “And if you look closely, you can see they’re staring at each other’s mouths. There’s such longing on their faces. Such tense need.”
I swallow hard, seeing what he means. The physicality is there, but when I look closer,deeper, it’s impossible not to feel their yearning, their sweet sorrow, their…love.
“I should head back,” I say, my words tumbling forth without any warning from my godsdamn brain. “I’m suddenly quite tired. Perhaps these last several weeks of travel are finally wearing on me.”
Once again, disappointment crosses his face, and I’m stunned by how much it bothers me.
“But of course,” he replies. “If you can find your way back, I might stay out here for a while. I often miss the outdoors, and rain season will arrive soon enough.”
“Certainly.” I fidget with my wine glass. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
“Absolutely. I have plans for us.”
“Splendid! Can’t wait!” Without asking him to elaborate, I turn to leave. But then…
“Colden?”
I stop and, after a deep breath, turn around, my heart beating wildly. How I want him to ask me to stay, though a part of me desperately needs to go.
