Page 6 of The Beautiful Blade

Charlotte gave me that smile, the one that had made my heart come to a full stop three years ago when we first met. The one that had given notice that I was no longer the owner of the organ inside my chest.

“Do you know what everyone else gave me today? Things befitting a future queen. Things they think the Beast Prince would like. None of those gifts were for me. They were for the princess they think I’m supposed to be. But you… you gave me something I wanted. Something my heart desired.”

My throat felt tight, and I looked away, focusing on the dagger. “It’s just a blade.”

“It’s from you. You always think about me."

She had no idea how right she was about that. Ithought about Charlotte every waking moment. She was in my dreams, too.

“You’re my best friend, Jorge.”

“You’re my only friend, Charlotte.”

“I don’t have any real friends either. Everyone wants something from me. My favor. My power—not that I have any. They all want me to pretend to be someone I’m not.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

She looked at me for a long moment, her blue eyes searching mine as though trying to find something. Then she smiled again—smaller this time, but no less genuine. “I know. That's why you're my favorite person in the entire world.”

The forge glowed faintly, the last of the fire crackling low in its stone belly, like an animal reluctant to sleep. I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my sleeve. I needed a moment without the full force of her. The fire in her would eat me alive, and I would happily add more kindling to my funeral pyre.

“I managed to get away just in time for Drakos and Rip Vander's match." Charlotte clutched a crystal viewer in her hands. Its glowing surface pulsed with the promise of the Games. "I can't believe he succumbed and got a mech hand."

"You don't approve of mechanical enhancements?"

"I'm a fairy. Metal isn't my thing."

"It could make him stronger."

"I like my fighters natural." She grinned. "Let's head to the stables to watch."

“I’ll be right there,” I said, gesturing toward the fire. “Just let me put this out.”

Her hand moved toward the dagger. Her fingers brushed the hilt. The metal hummed beneath her touch, as though it recognized her, as though it knew it had always belonged to her. She ran her thumb over the flowery engravings, a small, private smile pulling at her lips.

Then, without warning, she turned and leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to my cheek. Her lips were warm, just the barest brush of skin against mine. It sent a jolt straight to my chest like I’d touched pure starlight.

She pulled back, and her blue eyes met mine—wide and startled, as though she hadn’t quite thought it through. The space between us felt different now, tighter, charged. Neither of us moved.

Charlotte blinked, her face blanking into a serene mask, as though the moment hadn’t happened at all. “Hurry up, or you’re going to miss it,” she said, backing toward the door. “I want to see who makes it to the next round, and I’m not recapping anything you miss.”

Then she was gone, her laughter floating back toward me as she sprinted for the stables. I stood there,staring at the empty doorway, the echo of her kiss still burning on my cheek.

My heart beat hard and uneven. I pressed my palm to my chest to steady it. It was hopeless. The word rolled through my head like a stone.

It was hopeless to dream. I was human—weak, breakable, and unremarkable in the eyes of a world where fairies lived like royalty and I belonged in the dirt. Charlotte would marry the Beast Prince. She would become the queen of Solmane.

That didn’t change what I felt.

My heart had belonged to her since the first day I saw her, wild and defiant, standing in the shadow of the stables, practicing a kick like her favorite warrior, Kael Drakos. I’d spent the last three years learning how to be of use to her—how to make her smile when no one else could, how to fix the little things no one else noticed.

I’d go with her when she left for the palace, somehow. I’d find a way to stay at her side, to be the one who asked what she wanted, what she needed. I’d make sure someone saw her—not the princess, but Charlotte.

I turned back to the forge, my hands moving automatically as I doused the flames. The recognition of the sound of boots behind me came too late. A rough hand shoved me forward, slamming me into the workbench. My ribs hit the edge of the table. Pain bloomed through my side.

“Playing with fire again, little crackling?”

“Is that a weapon? What’s a twiglet like you doing with something like that?”

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