"Forgive me, that's not what I meant." I eye my cousin, regretting how calloused my words came across. "Of course, he will fight to return home and rule another thirty or forty years.But you are his heir. He has to prepare you. He might not come out and say it that way, but it's only logical."
Ronan opens and closes his mouth. His hesitation is brief. "So, you're saying I should shut up and just marry someone I don't know?"
"I'm not saying anything. I'm giving you a different perspective. Is marrying the worst fate?"
"What if I don't like her?" he asks, fearstricken. "Hell, what if she doesn't like me? This could end in disaster."
"It could."
"Damnit, Atlas. Is this how you give Shaye peptalks? If so, you suck."
I fill the duster with trash and toss it in the garbage can. "There's no one in the city who has captured your heart or at least your attention?" I ask as I place the broom back in the closet. "Your father isn't a tyrant. He might be putting his foot down about you getting married, especially seeing this as the perfect opportunity to force you down the aisle, but he would be open to you having say in who you take for a wife. He's asked you countless times to bring someone to him."
"I haven't met anyone suitable to be my partner." Ronan pushes up from his leaned position, crossing to look at the paintings my students completed tonight. There's a silence that stretches between us for half a minute before Ronan's shoulders hunch and he admits, "I'm scared. What if I mess everything up?" He forces himself to meet my gaze. "It's easy for you to say just get married and see what happens. You're not the one being forced into matrimony for king and country."
Righteous indignation flares in my chest. "I've given everything for my king and country. Marriage might not have been demanded of me, but my body has been scarred and broken for my king. My blood has spilled for my countrymen. And I suspect, before everything is said and done, I will sacrificemore. Our burdens are not the same, but I know the pain of serving."
"I'm sorry. I sounded callous." He retreats a step, hands up to quelch the tension. "Maybe I should allow my father to pick someone for me. I don't think I could do any better on my –"
"You're still here, Atlas?" Viella, Gustov's niece, bounds around the corner, hands full with supplies from the back room. "I thought you had a date with – " She stops in the threshold when she catches sight of Ronan.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she stammers, backpedaling. " I didn't realize you were still with a student. I can restock later."
Ronan steps toward her drawing her gaze. There's something in my cousin's stance that has my eyes bouncing between him and her.
"Don't go," I insist, motioning her to come closer. "This isn't a student. This is my cousin, Ronan. Ronan, this is Viella Fagan. She is one of the other art instructors. She specializes in watercolor." I point to a wall with a few of her mounted paintings. "I envy her skill with a brush."
She giggles. "Oh stop! You are far too kind and a boost to my ego. If I could pick up a piece of charcoal and sketch like you, I feel as if I would be unstoppable in the art community." Viella once again locks eyes with Ronan and smiles. Her eyes suddenly widen as if she's realizing who he is and places the supplies on a nearby desk. "Where are my manners?" She wipes her paint-stained hands on her smock, curtseys, and extends her hand." It's very nice to meet you, Prince Ronan."
Ronan doesn't move at first. He stares at Viella's wild brown curls and sea-blue eyes. From here, even I can appreciate the freckles smattered across the bridge of her nose and notice a glob of green paint smeared across her jawline.
It's become quiet. Too quiet. They are lost in one another. I could slip out undetected. Maybe it was Fate that persuadedRonan to come into the art studio. He hasn't visited before. Call it kismet, call it coincidence. But Ronan and Viella were meant to cross paths. I know my cousin won't be his typically smooth-talking self. This isn'tPrue's. I've only seen Ronan tongue-tied in front of a girl once before when we were younger. I won't abandon him to his own undoing.
I clear my throat, jarring Ronan into movement. My cousin crosses toward Viella and takes her hand in his and smiles.
"It's nice to meet you too, Viella. You have a little paint…" Ronan lifts his free hand to her face and tries to thumb the paint off her face but only makes matters worse by smearing it up her cheek and onto his finger.
Viella stares at his now green hand and gasps. "Oh, do I have paint on my face again? I'm so sorry. Let me get a towel to clean you up." She grabs a clean rag from the supplies she brought in with her and meticulously wipes his finger clean before tending to her face. "I swear I walk all around the city thinking I've cleaned up and when I get home look in the mirror, I realize I look insane. There. All clean." She smiles up at him, and he reaches for the rag.
"May I return the favor?" He folds the towel so it's unblemished and when she nods he gently strokes her cheek.
They maintain unwavering eye contact with one another, as if I'm not even in the room anymore. Once her cheek is clear of paint, Ronan reluctantly lowers his hand from her face.
"Atlas is right," his voice is low. "Your paintings are masterful."
Viella's eyes brighten. "That means a lot to me. Thank you, Your Highness."
"Ronan." He corrects. "Please, call me Ronan."
She smiles. "Thank you, Ronan. I will cherish your compliment." As if remembering I'm still here, she breaks eye contact to acknowledge me. "You bear witness, Atlas. So, when Itell the other instructors and they don't believe me, you can set them all straight."
I exchange a knowing look with my cousin, prepared to nudge him in the right direction. "Perhaps, if it's not an inconvenience, Viella, you could find time to give Ronan a private art lesson?"
Ronan's mouth drops but before he can dig up some excuse, Viella readily agrees.
"I would be delighted! I didn't realize you were interested in the arts."
Ronan narrows his gaze at me before smiling down at her. "I am a great admirer."
