Page 26 of Beacon

Prince Owen continued. “Damon would be useless, considering his only relationships are with books…though I suppose there’s a chance he might have read something that could be of use. Jaron would undoubtedly have several ideas, considering he seems well acquainted with the women of the court, but I refuse to gethisadvice on such a matter.” He grimaced at the thought.

Despite his bafflement on how to proceed, the prince still seemed determined. He gave a resolute nod. “Regardless of our inexperience, we have to start somewhere. We can begin with the essentials and go from there.” He opened the book and extended it towards me. “What’s your favorite color?”

My lips twitched at what he deemedthe essentials, even as I found his innocence endearing. I didn’t need his book to answer that. I gestured to the dress I was wearing.

“Blue?” He brightened at my nod. “That’s my favorite color too.” Judging by his enthusiasm he seemed to think this an essential compatibility; his excitement was contagious, causing me to smile.

Spurred on by his success, he immediately asked another question. “What’s your favorite pastime?”

That one also didn’t require the book. I gestured to the surrounding scenery, for the balcony overlooked everything important to me—the ocean caressed by the silvery moonlight and glistening stars, the beach, and the lighthouse whose beacon shone steadily in the fading light.

The prince’s responding smile was warm. “I also like the beach and everything associated with it—building sandcastles, collecting seashells, everything. When I’m not on the beach, I enjoy fencing, horseback riding…” He trailed off with a nervous laugh. “I’m talking too much again. I’d hate to dominate the conversation simply because my way of communication is easier, especially when we now have the perfect means for you to participate.”

He gave the picture dictionary a rather fond pat, bristling with pride for the idea he’d come up with. As considerate as his sentiment was, I had little else to share; there just wasn’t much to my life outside of the ocean. But the prince looked so earnest, I couldn’t resist attempting to humor him.

I flipped through the book in search of inspiration. It contained an impressive amount of words that were meaningless to me, considering my inability to read, but their accompanying illustrations were all bright and vibrant, and I took great delight in the variety they offered.

I paused at one and pointed. Prince Owen’s expression softened. “You enjoy spending time with your father?”

I nodded, even as memories of all the times we’d shared returned—working side by side as we tended the lighthouse together, the hours we’d spent sharing a meal or sitting near the hearth, the evenings spent either of him filling the silence or in allowing it to settle around us. His companionship was dear to me whether or not he spoke, especially his love that had remained constant despite all that had happened.

But sharing how dear my father was to me wasn’t enough to satisfy the prince’s curiosity. He gave the book an encouraging nod, inviting me to share more. I flipped through the pages again, pausing on each illustration that could convey a portion of my simple life: food and soap for my duties of cleaning and cooking, an illustration of a path to indicate the long walks I often took, a window to represent the hours I often spent staring outside.

Each picture illustrated how my life had come to lack any true meaning, and I realized just how much I’d stopped living after Mother had passed away. With her death came the loss not just of her but some of the hobbies I used to enjoy—swimming, singing, sailing, collecting seashells, and playing with my water magic. She likely wouldn’t have wanted that for me, but her loss had left such a void, I was uncertain how to move forward with the life I’d once lived.

Prince Owen asked additional questions, most far too trivial upon which to build a relationship, but meaningful to me all the same considering he was asking at all. He inquired about my favorite animal—an octopus, naturally—my favorite food—fish, specifically tuna—and several others before he ran out of questions for the time being.

I expected the conversation to end there, but he still seemed interested in talking, even after we’d consumed all the tea and sweets and darkness fully settled around us. He seemed to enjoy conversing with me and made it a point to pause every so often to evaluate my expressions as a means for me to respond in some way. Each one seemed to please him, as if he was genuinely happy with any way he could better come to know me, even at this superficial level.

His interest and thoughtfulness touched me, and I had to remind myself it was all part of our charade. Considering its true nature, it’d be dangerous for me to invest myself in this relationship more than necessary.

Yet despite my reminder to keep the prince at a distance, I found myself drawn to him. His conversation was not only entertaining but charming; light filled his eyes and an animated gesture accompanied every word, making the hour spent in his company melt away.

I couldn’t think of the last time I’d enjoyed such a lengthy conversation. Father had delighted in helping me create my own secret language that had resulted in many happy hours together over the years. Prince Owen was the first outside my family to exhibit the patience required to communicate with me.

Despite his attention and kindness, I feared he’d soon tire of struggling to learn his silent companion’s language, just like the other villagers who, despite several initial best efforts, had eventually deemed it too difficult an effort. I’d hate for these beautiful conversations between me and the prince to eventually become stiff and awkward, forced only when required by our charade.

But for now it felt real, offering me a glimpse of something I hadn’t realized I’d fiercely missed. No matter how fleeting my time with the prince was sure to be, in this moment his conversation felt like the most precious gift, a balm for my lonely heart I never wanted to lose.

CHAPTER10

Night had settled, yet I couldn’t sleep. My mind whirled not only with the events of the day but the sadness that always accompanied the darkness; my guilt from the haunting memory of Mother’s shipwreck danced an eerie waltz with my fear of Father being lost at sea. I squeezed my eyes shut, but it did little to stave off the images of storms and shipwrecks now eclipsing my mind.

The sounds of the waves rolling across the shore drifted through the open window, but rather than the soothing melody lulling me to sleep, it only made me think of Father lost somewhere on the ocean. I released a soundless sob and pressed my hand against my heart as if the gesture could stave off the pain of his absence, but it only continued to wrench my heart, a reminder that for the time being I was entirely alone.

Thankfully, the night wasn’t entirely dark. The beacon’s light shone from the lighthouse, a golden glow against the velvety blackness and a steady guide for ships out at sea. Beckoned by the light, I approached the window and settled in its seat to stare across the ocean. The fact that the light would be there to guide Father safely home was a semblance of comfort that helped dispel the tendrils of fear ensnaring my mind.

I’d tried to convince the prince to allow me to stay in the lighthouse overnight, but even after he understood my request he’d denied it, claiming that the distance would be inappropriate for our charade. After failing to convince him I could still be a convincing fake fiancée even while staying at the lighthouse overnight I finally relinquished the fight, reminding myself that cooperating with the prince’s scheme was the only way to keep my lighthouse in the end.

But though the beacon was lit, being so far from the lighthouse in such elegant but unfamiliar surroundings created its own anxiety. If I had any hope of Father ever coming home, I needed to check that the lighthouse remained in working order. The thought of the beacon faltering and causing any ship to wreck against the rocks…Terror of such an outcome caused my breaths to come up short and fast.

It was an effort to still my frantic thoughts.I have a plan, I reminded myself.I will pretend to be the prince’s fiancée and earn the money needed to purchase my lighthouse. Soon I’ll be able to tend the beacon…along with Father when he returns.

I silently repeated these words several times even as I fought to still my pounding heart. With each slow, steadying breath, my fears calmed enough for my racing thoughts to gradually still.

I left the curtains open so I could still see the lighthouse’s comforting glow when I returned to bed, but it was still another hour before I managed to drift into a restless sleep. But rather than my usual fears keeping me awake as they did every night, this time my thoughts worried over the charade that would begin with the dawn, one I had to do all in my power to ensure succeeded.

By morning I’d come up with the beginnings of a plan, filling me with apprehension for the next necessary stage. Nerves tightened my stomach as I put on a borrowed gown and shoes from Princess Seren that made me feel even more like an imposter playing a part, and my anxiety only escalated with every step towards the royal family’s private dining room. There I found Prince Owen taking breakfast with Prince Ronan and Princess Seren, the rest of the family still in bed or having already eaten.

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