Page 71 of Once Upon an Enchanted Kiss

“Mother—”

“I won’t hear any objections from either youoryour father. Understood?”

“Adele—”

“I mean that,” she said cutting off his father.

If he hadn’t been so weary, he would have laughed. When his mother made up her mind to do something, there was no stopping her. She was like a battering ram and stronger willed than him or his father. Sheer determination sparkled in her eyes. He knew that look and saw it many times as a boy.

Though what she intended to do with the truth once she had it, he didn’t know.

It seemed both he and Rosamund got their wish—their wedding was called off. So, why, then did he have the stinging sensation of disappointment?

His mother was a patient woman. She waited while he stuffed himself with a late breakfast. His father had long retired to their bed chamber to nap or brood. She poured a cup of tea for herself, one for him, and then sat in the chair by the cold fireplace. She held the cup and saucer, giving him a pointed look over the top of it.

“Well?”

He heaved a sigh. “Where shall I begin, Mother?”

“At the beginning. How and where did you meet the princess?”

Reaching for his cup of tea, he took a sip of the strong brew. He wished it was something stronger. He wished he were anywhere else but here under the piercing gaze of his mother.

He began his story with the night he slipped out of the castle with a packed bag. Jeffrey had promised to escort him to meet the princess the following morning and he was going to do all within his power to avoid the girl and the marriage.

It took all night and the next day to reach the Mystwood Forest. When night had fallen, he searched for shelter and happened upon the cottage in the woods. Much to his surprise, someone else was already there.

“It was the princess,” he said. “At the time, I didn’t know who she was. She merely told me her name was Rose. She shared her bread with me. There was a loft where she slept that night while I took the floor beside the fire.”

He smiled, recalling how she had doted on him and made sure he was comfortable before darting back up the stairs. The way she gathered the cushions and created a makeshift bed for him endeared her to him.

“She didn’t know who you were, either, I gather,” his mother said.

“No. I gave her a false name. I assumed she was a peasant girl and if she knew I was a prince, then perhaps she would not treat me the same.”

“The same?” she asked.

“We were able to behave as ourselves without the stuffiness of court politics or formalities.”

His mother took a sip of her tea, hiding a knowing smile behind her cup. Though she tried to hide it, he saw. He knew she was forming her own assessment of the situation and making assumptions. It was exactly why he did not want to tell her the truth.

“Go on,” she urged.

He picked up the tale with their breakfast in the tavern and how Myst Hall soldiers questioned them. How he had lied to them because her face had paled when she saw them. He was aware they were after her yet something inside him kept him from handing her over to them. If he had, things would have ended right there.

“That was when I realized she was no more a peasant than me. She told me she was the Princess of Myst and that she refused to return home.” He lifted his gaze from his tea and looked at his mother. “Because she did not want to marry.”

“It seems you both had that in common, then.”

Nodding, he said, “I should have told her right then who I was.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.”

“Why?”

One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I feared what she would do when she found out.”

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