Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 72146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Then I meet my father at the top of the grand staircase and walk down on his arm to…
A prince who turned eighteen just last week and seems to be far more terrified of me than I could ever be of him. His hands shake when he bows to me, and he rushes through his formal greeting before he pinches his lips shut. He has to be prodded by his mother to make conversation over tea.
There is nothing wrong with him. Truly! It is only that he’s…young. He seems far younger than eighteen, and though he is the eldest son in his kingdom, he has clearly not gotten used to the idea that he will one day need to marry. I get the impression that he has not even gotten used to the idea that he will be king one day.
I am nineteen. I know I should not judge him for the fact that he is not much younger than me. But those are not the hands that touched me and made me come. That is not the man who gave me so much of what I wanted. I do not even see how this young prince could become that man.
He is polite though, and we share a few laughs, but there is no banter or chemistry between us and when I point that out, he seems relieved.
It doesn’t go as my father had hoped. The prince and his mother, the queen, make excuses and do not stay the night.
* * *
More princes arrive, one after the other. Where the hell have they come from?
I don’t know why they have all chosen this moment to descend on me when there was not even a whisper of interest. It’s more irritating than anything, although I do feel…complimented in a way. There is interest in my hand and surely that is something to be proud of.
I lie in bed at night, unable to make sense of it. I should be overjoyed. I should be happier than I have ever been. Not terrified of what is to come.
But the only man I can think about is the man from the shadows. The man who came to me and did exactly what I told him to do.
Where is he in all of this? He can’t possibly be one of the princes who comes to ask for my hand in marriage, because he is already here.
Somewhere.
Unless…
I pull the pillow over my head to try to drown out my thoughts. I have not felt him watching me since the guard rode up with the news. I’ve not heard footsteps on my balcony. It’s as if he was never here. My throat closes tightly at the thought. Perhaps he fears discovery as well.
Fear is a foolish emotion. I intend to live with the boldness I had when I made my confession and plea for my stranger to take me.
I don’t want to talk to these potential marriage candidates. I don’t even want to look them in the eye. My father is frustrated with me. I’m frustrated with myself.
I sit at meals with them anyway. I walk in the garden while my father watches. I drink tea and find that I can’t force myself to make conversation. I’m worse than the poor eighteen-year-old prince who had the bad luck of going first.
I wish there was a polite way to say that it’s not their fault. It isn’t, truly. The fault is mine, or else it’s no one’s fault.
The fifth meeting I have with a prince who hopes to marry me—or is it the sixth?—does not end well.
He has come with both his parents, the king and queen of a neighboring kingdom, and I swore to myself I would behave as a princess should. I greet all of them according to protocol and lead them to the sunroom where we would have tea together. I tell them how I love to ride horses and love to dance even more. I ask about the size of their stables. I even ask about the prince’s favorite place to hunt.
And I listen to the answer.
I, of course, plan to listen to every word he says and ask a fitting questions afterward, but I stir sugar into my tea and add milk…and then a bright flower in the garden catches my attention. Or was it a shadow? My heart strums in my chest and my attentions are stolen. There’s enough sun that there should be no shadows in the garden, but I see one.
Is it my stranger? Has he come to save me?
I look harder, in case my eyes are playing tricks on me.
There are no shadows. I do not feel his eyes on me.
All I feel is the awkward silence.
“I’ve had enough.” The prince tosses his napkin down to the table and stands. He is in his thirties, with auburn hair that I thought was a lovely color, and he has had enough of me. “I will not carry on a conversation with a partner who is only here to pass the time. It was a pleasure to meet you, Princess Cora,” he says, though he is clearly lying. “I will take my leave.”