The morning sun filters through the heavy drapes of my chamber, casting a soft, golden light across the room. I wake with a sense of contentment, my thoughts immediately drifting back to the previous night. The memory of Lucien’s presence at the lake feels like a lingering whisper of something extraordinary, something I didn’t expect but have come to cherish. It almost felt like a dream.
I sit up, drawing my knees to my chest, wondering why I feel so different. It’s not just that I met someone; it’s that he’s from a world I’ve been taught to fear, yet he was everything I didn’t expect. The image of his horns, the light in his amber eyes, the way he towers over me and his laughter felt like something secret shared between us—it lingers.
It’s funny how a few stolen hours can make the world feel lighter. But predictably, reality comes crashing back, all prim and proper, as if it’s offended that I dared to forget it for even a moment.
Ah yes, royal responsibilities—my constant shadow. I sigh, already hearing the footsteps of my ladies-in-waiting approaching like a swarm of perfectly polite bees. I wonder if they’ll notice the rebellious smile still lingering on my face. Probably not. They’re too busy deciding which shade of “exquisite” I should wear today.
The door opens, and they enter in formation, armed with silk and satin. The ritual begins. They’re quick, efficient, and utterly suffocating.
"Good morning, Princess Evangeline," Lady Elara says as she begins arranging my hair, her hands weaving through it like I’m some grand tapestry. "I’ve chosen the lavender gown today. It will complement the gold in your crown."
Of course it will. I mean, who cares about comfort or, you know, breathing?
"Oh, excellent," I reply sweetly, "nothing like being color-coordinated with my own crown. What would I do without your insight, Elara?"
She misses the sarcasm entirely and beams, clearly proud of her contribution to the royal aesthetic. I glance at the lavender monstrosity laid out before me. It's stunning, truly, but I can already feel the weight of it just looking at it. A little like walking around in a painting—beautiful, but terribly impractical for things like, say, moving.
The court ladies bustle around me, their chatter a background hum. Lady Celia tightens my corset with far too much enthusiasm. "Tighter?" she asks innocently, pulling at the strings like she’s aiming for an award.
"Oh, sure, why not? Let’s see if we can get it so tight that I can only breathe in shallow, panicked gasps," I reply, flashing a smile.
She chuckles, clearly thinking I’m joking. I’m not.
Then there’s the hair. Gods above, the hair. Twisting, pinning, arranging. There are so many pins in my head I’m convinced if I move too quickly, I might impale myself. But no matter—I’m sure it’ll look “regal.” I resist the urge to ask if we can go for something a bit less ‘queen of an entire kingdom’ and more ‘woman just trying to make it through the day.’ Somehow, I doubt that’s on the agenda.
By the time they’re done with me, I feel like a walking masterpiece of courtly precision. A perfect princess primped and polished. How charming.
“Lovely as always, Your Highness,” Lady Celia remarks with a satisfied nod, clearly pleased with her handiwork.
“Oh, naturally,” I say with a grin. “I mean, why strive for anything less than utter perfection, right? Just another day in the life.”
They don’t catch the bite in my words, of course. No one ever does. I’ve become quite good at hiding myself behind all this polite banter and royal etiquette. It’s almost an art form at this point.
Then there’s Sir Rowan. Ah, Sir Rowan—my betrothed, the epitome of knightly gallantry. A man so proper that he probably polishes his armor in his sleep. We share polite conversations, exchange pleasantries, and dance around the fact that we have absolutely nothing in common.
"Princess Evangeline, I’m to escort you to court later today," he said the other day, as if his presence were a gift I should treasure.
"How thrilling," I replied, trying not to yawn. "Another chance to stand beside you while we exchange vaguely courteous nods with various lords and ladies. Truly, it’s what I live for."
He didn’t even blink. Honestly, I think he likes the formality. As for me, the idea of being tied to a man who can’t even recognize a sarcastic comment is almost too much to bear.
Sir Rowan is, by all accounts, exactly what the court would consider handsome. Sometimes, I notice how the court ladies act around him, their coy glances and the way they fidget with their hair or adjust their gowns when he’s nearby. It’s almost amusing, the way they suddenly become so flustered in his presence, their voices softening, their laughter coming a little too quickly, as if they can’t quite believe he’s even looking their way. Even when they flutter around him like moths to a flame, he remains unphased, blank-faced as ever, responding to their attentions with nothing more than a nod or a courteous smile. It’s all so proper. He’s always so composed, so focused on duty, that the subtle charms and flirtations thrown his way seem to bounce off him like arrows against armor.
He’s got the kind of face that belongs on a statue—a well-chiseled jawline, sharp features, and the scars near his upper lip and cheekbone only add to the aura of a seasoned knight. His short blond hair is always neatly trimmed, perfectly in place, as if he’s just stepped out of some portrait meant to impress generations to come. His blue eyes are striking too, the sort that would catch anyone’s attention. And yet, they don’t quite reach mine.
There’s a rigidity to his features, a sort of unyielding squareness to his face that leaves little room for warmth or softness. His lips are thin, pressed into a near-permanent line of stoic disinterest, nothing like the fullness of Lucien’s. Lucien, whose mouth carries hints of both wickedness and charm in equal measure, whose mere glance makes me wonder what he’s thinking, or what mischief might follow. Rowan, on the other hand, is as blank-faced as a marble statue—strong, sure, but completely devoid of life or charisma.
When I look at Rowan, I feel nothing. His presence doesn’t stir anything within me—no flutter in my chest, no pull of curiosity. His scars should make him intriguing, give him some depth, but instead, they just sit there, like decorations on a face that lacks real character. He’s always so composed, so rigid, as if every word he speaks has been measured and weighed, every action rehearsed. I suppose he’s everything a knight is supposed to be—brave, noble, silent. But that silence feels hollow, not mysterious.
Even his physicality, while having a solid build and undeniably attractive on the surface, is dulled by the lack of any real connection. There’s no spark. His presence doesn’t light up a room, doesn’t draw people in – besides the court ladies. He’s just... there. His features, though handsome, feel cold and distant. And when he speaks, there’s no hidden meaning, no humor, no edge. Just words, straightforward and dry.
Sometimes, I catch myself staring at the scar near his cheekbone, wondering what story it holds. But I never ask. It wouldn’t matter. The man behind those scars, behind that flawless knightly exterior, remains a stranger to me. And I can’t help but feel that if he were anyone else, I might find him captivating. But as he is—betrothed to me, but without any real connection—he’s just... unremarkable. Handsome, but forgettable. Strong, but distant. And utterly unlike Lucien, whose mere presence demands to be noticed.
It wasn’t always this way. When we were younger, Rowan and I spent far more time together, though it was never by my choice. Our families ensured we were often in each other’s company, but even back then, he was the same—so focused on duty, so determined to be proper, to mold himself into the perfect knight. I was always drawn to adventure, to exploring the gardens, climbing trees, scaling the bricked walls that surrounded the palace grounds. I’d imagine myself as a knight, wielding a sword - well, a stick, really - ready to defend the kingdom or embark on some daring quest. But Rowan, even as a boy, was the voice of reason. Or, as I saw it, the voice of everything boring.
“Evangeline, it’s not proper,” he’d say, all serious and stern, like he was already some miniature version of the dutiful knight he’s become. I remember him crossing his arms, watching me from below while I balanced precariously on the lowest branch of a tree, my skirts bunched at my knees. “A princess doesn’t climb trees. Or walls. Or pretend to be a knight.”
His words would always come out in that self-important tone, as if he were trying to save me from my own wild imagination. “Why not?” I’d call down from the tree, grinning at him. “Who says I can’t?”
He’d just shake his head in disapproval. “It’s not ladylike,” he’d insist, as if that was reason enough. “You’ll get your dress dirty. People will talk.”
Even then, he was obsessed with decorum, with the idea that we had to be exactly what everyone expected us to be. While I ran barefoot through the gardens, laughing and pretending to duel invisible enemies, Rowan stood rigid and watchful, like it was his responsibility to remind me of my place. He wouldn’t even indulge me when I begged him to play knights with me.
“A real knight protects a princess,” he’d say, frowning. “He doesn’t fight her.”
It frustrated me then, and it still does now. Looking back, I wonder how I ever tolerated it—him always putting me in my place, reminding me of what was “proper” for a princess. He’s still that boy, standing at the base of the tree, telling me to come down, to behave, to remember who I am. And I, well... I’ve spent too much of my life listening.
But after last night—after Lucien—I feel like something’s changed. Maybe I’ve finally outgrown Rowan’s well-intentioned but stifling grip on what it means to be a princess. Maybe I’ve outgrown him altogether.
As Lady Elara adjusts a final pin in my hair, I think back to last night—riding through the cool night air, feeling the wind in my hair, wearing a simple gown that didn’t feel like a second skin. I didn’t have to smile just right or nod at the right times. I was free.
"Do you think, Lady Elara, if I ran fast enough, this gown would rip in a glorious display of rebellion?" I ask lightly.
She laughs, assuming I’m being playful. Little does she know, the thought is far more tempting than it should be.
But as I step into the halls, once again the perfect image of a princess, I can’t shake that feeling from last night—the yearning for more. Something beyond courtly manners and suffocating silks. Something real, unscripted. Something that feels like me, not the version everyone expects me to be.
For now, though, the show goes on. After all, what would the kingdom do without its perfectly presented princess, ready to smile and wave at a moment's notice?
But maybe—just maybe—one day, I’ll find a way to rip this metaphorical gown apart and run.
The kingdom of Eldoria, with its sprawling castles and lush gardens, is both breathtaking and burdensome. It may be vast in high ceilings and a glory in all of its grandeur yet it often feels like a gilded cage, offering little room for personal freedom. I navigate through the castle halls, greeted by servants and advisors, their faces a blur of formality and protocol. The weight of my title as Princess Evangeline Esperious is a constant reminder of the expectations placed upon me.
As I make my way to the council chamber, my thoughts drift, as they often do these days, to the people around me—both familiar and distant. My father, King Alistair, rules with strength and wisdom, and commands respect with ease. He’s everything a king should be: powerful, strategic, untouchable. I’ve always admired him for it, but there’s always been a distance between us. I’ve spent my life in the shadow of his expectations, molded into the careful image of a future queen—graceful, obedient, diplomatic. But he’s never truly known me. Not the real me. Not the girl who climbs trees or sneaks out into the woods at night, desperate for moments when I don’t have to be perfect.
As I walk through the grand halls of the palace, the familiar faces of courtiers and servants greet me with the usual bow of the head and formal pleasantries. Today, it feels like a blur of empty words. I hear them speak of the kingdom’s prosperity and the upcoming festivities for my betrothal to Sir Rowan, but the words slip off me, barely registering. My mind keeps wandering back to the glen, back to Lucien. The way he laughed at my humor—really laughed—and how he didn’t flinch at my sharp tongue or politely brush off my bluntness like so many others do.
In court, wit is not a tool to be wielded. Here, every word is measured, calculated for the best outcome. There’s no room for sarcasm, no space for playful remarks or teasing. But with Lucien, I felt different. I felt free, as though I could say anything without fear of judgment. He didn’t hold himself back, didn’t play the part of a carefully crafted figure like Rowan does. His laugh—it was soft, genuine, unforced. He saw me, and for the first time in a long while, I liked being seen. I wonder what he’s doing right now, whether he’s wandering the edges of his world, thinking about me the way I can’t stop thinking about him. The thought tugs at me, a quiet yearning for something more than the confines of this palace and its empty pleasantries. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again, or if our brief encounter was just a fleeting moment in a life bound by expectation. But deep down, a part of me knows—once tasted, freedom is impossible to forget.
I move through the day like a puppet, going through the motions—meetings with advisors, discussions on charitable events, reviewing documents, nodding and smiling in all the right places. But it all feels like I’m drifting through a fog. My mind is elsewhere, my heart aching for something more than this endless routine of royal duty.
As I enter the last meeting of the late afternoon in the council chamber, my mind is still miles away and Rowan is with me for this final meeting. Our arms linked as we make our way to our seats. The air inside the chamber is thick with the bulk of duty and expectation, each breath feeling heavy against my chest.
The long table is surrounded by advisors, each face etched with the seriousness of their roles. They rise as I enter, a chorus of respectful nods and murmurs, but the formality feels suffocating.
“Beautiful!” Lord Stephens applauds, but he’s the only one. “Look at that, the unity of our beloved Princess Evangeline and her knight, Sir Rowan, arms linked ready to fulfill their rightful duties.” A grim smile spreads across his face enhancing the wrinkles at the ends of his eyes.
I want to roll my eyes to the back of my head. He is and has always been so utterly obnoxious. It’s as if he believes that his boisterous proclamations will somehow elevate the mood of the room, but all it does is amplify my irritation. I glance at Rowan, who maintains a composed smile, but I can sense the slight tension in his posture. It’s a reminder that in moments like these, we are meant to present a united front.
“Thank you, Lord Stephens,” I manage, forcing a smile as I take my seat at the head of the table. “Shall we begin?”
The room buzzes with the low murmur of discussions, yet I can hardly focus on their words. Instead, I find myself longing for the simplicity of the woods, where the laughter flowed freely, and I was unbound by titles or expectations.
Rowan settles beside me, his presence a mixture of comfort and restraint. I can sense his tension, the way he adjusts his posture.
“Your Highness,” begins Lord Bennett, he stands from his seat, his voice droning as he outlines the agenda. “We must discuss the upcoming festivities for your betrothal to Sir Rowan. The preparations are nearly complete, and we need your final approval on the guest list.”
I nod absently, my thoughts still lingering on Lucien, on the way he made me laugh, how he saw me beyond my royal duties. It’s hard to focus on the matters at hand when my heart is elsewhere, longing for something real amidst the hollow chatter of court politics.
Lord Bennett buzzes on about the arrangements, but the words blur together, a monotone hum that fails to engage me. I can feel the other advisors watching me, waiting for my input, my opinions. They expect me to be present, to be the dutiful princess who cares about the intricacies of royal events, but I’m stuck in my own head, dreaming of freedom.
“Perhaps we should consider inviting representatives from the other kingdoms,” suggests Rowan, his voice enlightening the mood for a moment. “It would be a splendid show of unity and goodwill.”
“Unity, yes,” I reply mechanically, my mind drifting back to Lucien. “But what’s the point of unity if I’m merely a figurehead in a gilded cage?”
The room falls silent, the advisors exchanging glances. I catch the surprise on their faces, a mix of confusion and concern. I can see from my peripheral Rowan’s jaw clenches. It’s not proper for a princess to voice such sentiments. My heart races as I realize I’ve spoken out of turn, my frustrations spilling over in a way I never intended.
“Your Highness, it’s essential to maintain the image of the crown,” Lord Bennett interjects, his tone authoritative but gentle, as if he’s trying to guide me back to safety. “The betrothal is a matter of great importance—”
“—For the kingdom,” I finish, my voice sharper than I meant it to be. “Yes, I know. But what about what I want? What about my happiness?”
A moment of silence stretches between us, thick and palpable. The advisors are clearly taken aback. It’s not just my words; it’s the emotion behind them. I can feel the tension crackle in the air, the unspoken rules of decorum hanging heavy.
“Your happiness is important, Your Highness,” Lord Stephens says carefully, his brow furrowed. “But your duty to the kingdom is paramount. We understand the devotion of your role.”
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I shake my head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “But isn’t there more to life than duty? More than this endless cycle of formalities? I want to be more than just a princess who smiles and nods while the kingdom makes its plans.”
I glance around the room, meeting the eyes of my advisors, and for a moment, I see a flicker of understanding in some of their gazes. They’re not just cogs in a machine; they’re people who’ve devoted their lives to the kingdom, too. But the walls of my royal cage feel thicker than ever.
“What if I told you that I want to experience the world beyond these walls?” I ask, my voice steadier now, even if a hint of defiance remains. “To know the people I’m meant to rule, to understand their struggles and joys. To see what it means to truly live.”
A murmur ripples through the room, and I can see that my words have resonated, if only slightly. They’re not used to hearing me speak this way—this raw, this real.
After a moment, Lord Bennett clears his throat. “Your Highness, it’s admirable to seek understanding, but we must balance that desire with the realities of your position. Perhaps we can discuss incorporating some of these ideas into the upcoming festivities.”
I nod, willing to consider that. Maybe I can find a way to weave a bit of my desires into the fabric of my duties.
As the meeting continues, I feel a slight shift within me. For the first time, I’m not just going through the motions; I’m asserting my voice, my wishes, my hopes. The thought of Lucien flickers through my mind again, a reminder that there’s more beyond the confines of the palace walls. Perhaps this meeting is a step toward that freedom I crave, a way to merge my royal obligations with my longing for genuine connection.
Maybe, just maybe, I can carve out a space for myself in this world without losing who I am. And the next time I see Lucien, I’ll have more to share than just the weight of my crown. I’ll have a piece of myself that’s alive and vibrant, a reflection of the girl who once climbed trees and explored the unknown.
Finally, the day drifts into dusk, and I find myself with a rare moment of solitude. The library calls to me—a refuge I’ve been too busy to indulge in. As I enter, I’m enveloped by the magnificence of the space. The library was a sprawling haven, with towering shelves crafted from dark mahogany, they filled with books of every shape and size, their spines adorned with gilded titles that glimmered in the soft candlelight. Rich tapestries lined the walls, depicting scenes from Eldoria’s history—epic battles, legendary heroes, and tales of old that seemed to whisper from the pages. A grand window arched overhead, filtering in the last golden rays of the setting sun, casting a warm glow over the wooden tables scattered throughout the room, inviting contemplation and wonder.
The scent of aged parchment fills the air, mingling with a hint of polished wood. I trace my fingers along the cool surface of a nearby table, its surface marbled and smooth, an invitation to create and discover. I felt a surge of nostalgia wash over me. I hadn’t pulled these books from the shelves since I was a child, when my mother would gather me close, cradling me in her arms as she read enchanting tales of brave knights and mischievous fairies. Her voice would dance through the air, wrapping around me like a spell, igniting my imagination and filling my heart with dreams of adventure. Those evenings were my haven, a respite from the weight of royal expectations.
I wandered through the aisles, my fingers grazing the spines of the books as I searched for something that called to me. A spiral staircase leads to a higher level, where even more treasures await—rare tomes that haven’t seen the light of day in centuries. But for now, my curiosity anchors me to the ground floor.
I pause before a shelf marked with gilded letters: Infernal Studies. My breath catches as I pull a book titled The Infernal King from its resting place. The cover is embossed with a vivid depiction of flames and a dark figure shrouded in shadow. I settle into a corner nook, the flicker of candlelight casting long shadows around me, creating an atmosphere that feels both sacred and secret.
As I flip through the pages, I’m met with illustrations of a devil far removed from the man I met in the woods. Horned, grotesque, malevolent. The text speaks of eternal torment, of fire and brimstone, of souls twisted by punishment. It paints Lucien as a tyrant of the damned, ruling with cruelty and cold detachment.
Yet, the more I read, the more a sense of conflict grows within me. I skim through other volumes—tales of demons and their deals, of kingdoms lost in shadows, and ancient folklore twisted into bedtime stories. Each description contrasts sharply with the Lucien I encountered—the one who spoke softly, who gazed at me not with malice but with something... deeper. Something I don’t yet understand.
My heart races as I immerse myself in the texts. The details of the stories captivate me—the intricate illustrations of ethereal landscapes, the vivid descriptions of struggles and conquests. My fingers graze the pages, absorbing every word, every nuance. Could the stories be wrong? Or is there more to Lucien than I could have ever imagined?
With each turn of the page, my intrigue deepens, and I feel the weight of my own questions pressing against my chest. What if the tales of his cruelty were mere fabrications, twisted by fear and misunderstanding? I close the book, my mind swirling with possibilities, each one more tantalizing than the last. In this moment, I realize I am no longer just a curious girl; I am a seeker of truths, ready to explore the shadows of a world that is both familiar and frightening.
The more I read, the more I felt a hypnotic pull towards this world I had been taught to fear—a world I had just begun to explore.
As the shadows deepened around me, I realized I had lost track of time. With a reluctant sigh, I marked my place in the book and carefully tucked it under my arm. The weight of the tome felt both thrilling and comforting, a tangible connection to the mystery I yearned to understand.
Determined to continue my exploration in the privacy of my chamber, I made my way back through the library, the echoes of my footsteps mingling with the whispers of the stories I had encountered. I felt a sense of purpose as I headed toward my room, my heart fluttering at the thought of what I might uncover about Lucien and his world.
Once inside my room, I carefully set the book on my nightstand, the volume of its pages a comforting reminder of the secrets waiting to be uncovered. The nightstand was adorned with delicate carvings of vines and flowers, a beautiful piece gifted by my mother. As I placed the book there, I glanced at the candle flickering beside it, casting warm shadows that danced across the walls.
I sit by the window, gazing out toward the distant woods. The glen feels like another world, one that’s waiting for me, calling me. My fingers brush against the glass as if reaching for something I know I can’t quite have—yet.
What was it about him that stirred something in me? His calm, despite his strange appearance, despite what he represented—a world I’d been told to fear. Maybe that was part of it. The danger, the unknown. But it wasn’t just that. It was how he listened, how he seemed genuinely interested in who I was, not what I represented. He hadn’t called me princess. He hadn’t flinched at the mention of my title. There was no reverence in his eyes, only curiosity and something... softer. Something real.
As I prepare for bed, the thought of Sir Rowan crosses my mind again. He’s the one I’m supposed to spend my life with. The knight of honor, the one the kingdom approves of. I respect him, but I don’t love him. Not the way stories say you should love the one you’re meant to marry. I’ve never seen him falter, never seen him vulnerable.
And yet, Lucien—who I barely know—made me feel more in one night than Rowan has in all the years I’ve known him. The realization is sobering.
I lie down, pulling the covers over me as I stare at the ceiling. The kingdom has always expected me to marry Sir Rowan. It’s a match that would secure alliances and strengthen the crown. But now, I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something more waiting for me, something beyond duty and expectation.
A soft knock interrupts my thoughts, pulling me out of the fog of daydreams. I sit up in bed, my heart sinking just a little at the sound. I know that knock—calm, measured, without urgency.
It’s Rowan.
“Come in,” I say, my voice steady, though inwardly I brace myself for the formal exchange that awaits me. The door creaks open, and Rowan steps inside, his polished armor glinting in the dim light of the room. Even in moments like these, he wears it, as if his identity is so tightly wound in his duty that he can’t shed it—even for me.
“Evangeline,” he greets me and it’s the first he’s informal about my title.
I manage a small smile, pulling the covers tighter around me as I sit up straighter. “Rowan,” I reply, my voice betraying none of the lingering thoughts of Lucien. “It’s late.”
“It is,” he says, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind him. “I apologize for disturbing you. I thought we should talk about the meeting earlier.”
My heart sinks a little at his tone. “What about it?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light, though I can feel the tension in the air.
He takes a seat in the chair beside my bed, his hands resting on his knees, fingers twitching as if unsure of where to put them. “You seemed... distracted today,”
Distracted. I almost laugh at the irony. If he only knew the truth—that I’ve spent the entire day thinking about a man from the underworld who made me feel more alive in one night than I ever have in all the years we’ve known each other. But instead, I keep my mouth shut, waiting for his lecture.
He begins, his voice careful, as if treading lightly. “Your behavior was impulsive.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand to stop me. “I care for you, Evangeline. I truly do,” he continues, his tone softening slightly. “But you must be careful. You’re a princess. The court is watching, waiting for any sign of weakness or misstep. You can’t let them see you in your entirety. It would undermine everything we’ve worked for.”
His words sting more than I expect. There’s a part of me that wants to defend my actions, to explain that I’m not just a princess who needs to be protected from the world, but rather someone who craves authenticity. But as I look into his eyes, I see genuine concern, not just for my image, but for our future together.
“Rowan, I—” I start, but he cuts me off again, his voice firm but gentle.
“Just hear me out. The kingdom needs a queen who embodies grace and strength. I understand you want to be more than a title, more than a role, but there are ways to express that without risking your reputation.” He pauses, searching my face for understanding. “We have a duty to fulfill, Evangeline. We’re engaged. This betrothal is a union of two powerful houses, not just a romantic notion.”
I feel my frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “And what about my happiness? What about my freedom?” I challenge, crossing my arms defiantly.
Rowan steps closer, his voice lowering. “I want you to be happy, I do. But happiness doesn’t come without sacrifice. There are expectations we must uphold. You can’t forget that.”
I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. “I just wish I didn’t have to feel so confined. I want to explore, to know more about the world beyond these walls. Why is that so wrong?”
“It’s not wrong,” he replies, his expression softening again. “But we must find a balance. You can still have those experiences, but it has to be within the framework of what’s acceptable.”
“Acceptable? Sounds like a delightful way to spend a life, doesn’t it?” I quip, rolling my eyes dramatically. “Next, you’ll tell me to decorate my prison cell to make it feel homier.”
Rowan raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Is that what you think this is? A prison? Because I assure you, Evangeline, you’re not the only one feeling confined here. We’re not children anymore. This is real life, with real duties.”
“Right, and who appointed you the king of ‘proper’?” I shoot back, crossing my arms defiantly. “You’re not my babysitter, Rowan.”
He lets out a small laugh, the tension easing slightly. “I’m not, but someone has to remind you of what’s at stake. I can’t just let you run wild because it suits your whims. We have responsibilities. It’s not like when we were children and the court can turn a blind eye.”
“Responsibilities? I thought you were just a glorified bodyguard,” I retort, a smirk forming on my lips. “What’s next? A lecture on table manners?”
He leans forward, his tone suddenly serious. “Evangeline, I’m not trying to be your keeper. I want you to understand that the stakes are high. You’re a princess with a future to protect—not just yours, but ours.”
There’s a flicker of understanding in his eyes, but it’s still cloaked in the rules of the court. I want to reach for the sense of camaraderie we once shared, the feeling of adventure we had as children. But it’s overshadowed by the reality of our roles.
“Just promise me you’ll think carefully about how you present yourself,” he adds, his voice earnest. “I’ll always be by your side, but you need to understand that the court will use any misstep against you. You must be deliberate about your choices.”
I nod, a mix of frustration and resignation swirling within me. “But what about you? Do you feel forced? Does this who betrothal not phase you? Not once have you treated me like the person you know I am. It’s like you choose to ignore the defiant nature I acquire.”
He seems taken aback by the question, as if he hadn’t considered his own feelings on the matter. Rowan shifts uncomfortably in his seat before answering.
“My duty is to the crown,” he says after a pause. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I’ve always cared.”
The words hang in the air between us, heavy and earnest. I believe him—I always have. But caring is not the same as love. Caring is safe, distant, and controlled. Love... love is something far more dangerous, far more unpredictable. Something I’m beginning to realize I may never find in this arrangement.
I want to argue, to challenge him further, but I also know he’s right in some ways. The stakes are high, and the world we inhabit is fraught with expectations. I can’t help but feel a sense of loss—not just for the carefree days of our youth, but for the connection I crave.
As Rowan rises to leave, he glances over at my nightstand, his eyes landing on the book resting there. A slight furrow appears on his brow, and he hesitates for a moment, his gaze lingering.
“What’s this?” he inquires, his tone casual but curious.
I sit up a little straighter, feeling a flicker of unease as I notice his focus on the book. “Just a collection of fairy tales,” I reply, trying to sound nonchalant. “I haven’t read them in years.”
Rowan steps closer, his polished armor making a soft clinking sound as he moves, his attention still fixed on the book. “Fairy tales?” he echoes, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Not exactly what I expected to find on your nightstand.”
I force a laugh, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and defensiveness. “We all need a bit of escape now and then,” I say lightly, keeping my voice steady. “Besides, they’re just stories. Nothing more.”
Rowan leans closer, his voice firm yet gentle. “You can’t get lost in those tales, thinking they’ll offer you an escape from your reality. Remember, you’re a princess with real responsibilities. We have a duty to our people.”
I cross my arms defiantly. “And what if I want to escape just a little? What’s wrong with wanting something more than duty and obligation?”
“Nothing, but there’s a time and place for everything,” he replies, his tone steady. “You want to explore the world beyond these walls, but you must also remember that this is real life. We must face the consequences of our choices.”
I don’t say anything further. Tired of our conversation just as if we were children again.
He nods, though the curiosity lingers in his eyes, “I won’t keep you any longer,” he says, his voice softening again as he rises from his seat. “Goodnight, Evangline…”
“Goodnight, Rowan,” I reply, waiting until the door clicks shut behind him before exhaling deeply.
The weight of the book on my nightstand feels heavier now, filled with secrets I dare not share. I sink back into my pillows, the thoughts of fairy tales swirling in my mind, mingling with the fleeting memory of Lucien and the promise of something more than just duty.
I let out a long breath as soon as he’s gone, sinking back into the pillows. The conversation left me feeling heavier, more conflicted than ever. I care about Rowan—I really do. But there’s no fire, no spark. No laughter that lingers in the air, no thrill of anticipation when I think about him.
My mind drifts back to Lucien, to the way he looked at me with such curiosity and warmth. How he didn’t see me as a princess, but simply as Evangeline.
I close my eyes, and all I can think of is that glen. The night air, the lake’s reflection, and the strange pull of a man who shouldn’t mean anything to me—but does.
I wonder when he’ll return.
Just as I begin to settle deeper into my thoughts, a gentle tapping sound startles me. I sit up, turning my gaze toward the balcony doors. A raven, its sleek feathers shimmering in the moonlight, taps its beak against the glass.
I frown, puzzled. It’s unusual for a raven to be here, and even more unusual for one to seek me out so deliberately. Slowly, I rise from the bed, crossing the room to the doors. As I unfasten the latch and swing them open, the raven hops onto the balcony, cocking its head at me with intelligent, gleaming eyes.
Tied to its leg is a small scroll of parchment.
I blink in surprise, reaching down to untie the delicate string. The raven watches me closely, as if waiting for my reaction. I unroll the scroll, my breath catching in my throat as I recognize the bold, elegant handwriting. Lucien.
I trust this bird doesn’t startle you as much as I did last night. I didn’t want to wait too long before sending word. There’s much left unsaid.
I let out a deep breath. My heart races as I read on.
The glen calls to me again. Tomorrow night, by the same lake, under the same stars. I’ll be waiting. But only if you’re still curious.
I smile at the subtle humor woven into his words. He’s teasing, in his own quiet way, and it makes me laugh softly despite myself.
The raven caws softly, nudging me out of my thoughts. I run my fingers gently over the parchment, rereading his note. There's something exhilarating in the fact that this man—this mysterious, strange, and unexpectedly kind man—wants to see me again. Despite all the chaos of our different worlds, he offers me something I’ve long craved: freedom. A connection that isn’t bound by duty or expectation.
I fold the note carefully and glance back at the raven. “Tell him... tell him I’ll be there,” I whisper.
The bird cocks its head again as if it understands, then takes off into the night, its wings carrying the message back to the one who sent it. I watch it disappear into the darkness, feeling my heart flutter in anticipation.
As soon as the raven disappears into the night, I close the balcony doors with a quiet click. The room is still, but my heart feels anything but calm. It's as if it’s racing ahead, skipping steps, ready for tomorrow night before it even arrives. I walk slowly back to my bed, the note from Lucien still crinkled in my hand.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I glance down at it again, rereading his words, memorizing the way his handwriting curls at the ends of each letter.
Tomorrow night... under the same stars.
I can't help but bite my lower lip, feeling a rush of excitement—an uncontainable giddiness. My head spins, thinking about our conversation, his sharp wit and the way he looked at me—not like a princess to be bowed to, but like someone who genuinely interested him. It’s refreshing. Dangerous, but refreshing.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I squeeze the pillow against my chest, burying my face in it. "Oh, gods," I mutter, laughing at myself. "This is ridiculous." I roll over onto my back, clutching the pillow like it could contain all the butterflies swarming inside me. My legs swing up in the air for a brief moment, and I kick them like a child with a secret, barely able to hold back my excitement.
I can't believe I'm acting like this—like one of the silly girls in the court who blushes over a simple glance from a suitor. I never thought I’d be that person, giggling at the thought of a man, and certainly not over him. The Devil, no less. But here I am, grinning like a fool and wanting to see him again, counting the hours until tomorrow night. The heavens would faint I can guarantee that definitely.
The idea of it makes me laugh at myself. How can I be so reckless? So... careless? I know better than this—I'm supposed to know better. I'm supposed to be poised, reserved, proper. And yet...
I hug the pillow tighter, my thoughts spinning out of control. Part of me is terrified—of what this means, of what might happen if anyone finds out. But the other part of me? That part is thrilling. The thrill of something forbidden, of stepping beyond my boundaries, of experiencing something—someone—entirely new.
I kick my legs up again, letting out a little squeal into the pillow. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way, or if I ever did at all. It’s like I’m suddenly alive in a way I’ve never been.
"Lucien," I whisper into the night, a smile tugging at my lips. I can’t stop thinking about him, his horns, his light amber eyes, the way he spoke to me as if I were just... me, not the princess locked in a cage of expectations.
I sigh dreamily, letting the excitement linger for just a little longer before I force myself to calm down. Tomorrow can’t come fast enough.