Page 39 of Cursed By Gold

His honest words touch something deep within me. In him, I see reflected an echo of my own loneliness—two souls longing for connection in a world that does not truly see them.

I meet King Remme's gaze, tears still wet on my cheeks. "To have one who truly listens is a gift rarely given," I say, my voice thick with emotion. "And for that listening heart, I too am grateful beyond measure."

King Remme smiles, a beautiful and rare sight. "Some gifts are meant to be shared."

Our eyes meet again and this time, something unspoken passes between us—an acknowledgment of souls recognized. Though we do not touch, two kindred spirits have found each other at last.

***

The castle halls are still quiet as I make my way to breakfast, my footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Most of the court has not yet risen, taking full advantage of the lazy morning. My rumbling stomach urges me onward, thoughts of warm bread and sweetjam propelling my steps. The scent of freshly baked goods wafts through the air, and my mouth waters in anticipation.

As I turn a corner, Darius comes bounding up beside me. His presence is a welcome distraction from my thoughts. "Late start today?" he asks with a grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

I yawn, feeling the weight of the previous night's events. "A bit," I reply. My late night with King Remme has caught up to me, and the exhaustion is evident in my voice.

Darius nudges me playfully, his shoulder brushing against mine. "Plotting my demise?"

I chuckle, the sound mingling with the echoes in the hallway. "Saving that for the next trial."

We walk together, our laughter bouncing off the stone walls, creating a melody of camaraderie that temporarily eases the tension in my chest. Just as I start to relax, a figure up ahead catches my eye. King Remme strides into the hall, his presence commanding the space around him. He speaks in hushed tones with an advisor, their voices a soft murmur that blends into the background. My heart skips a beat, my breath catching in my throat as his eyes find mine from across the room. For a moment, the world seems to narrow to just the two of us.

Remme’s lips curve into a small, almost imperceptible smile, and a rush of warmth spreads through me, rising to my cheeks. Butterflies flutter wildly in my stomach, their wings a chaotic dance of excitement and nervousness. I manage a hesitant smile in return, my mind racing with memories of our last encounter. The intensity of his gaze, the unexpected tenderness of his touch—these thoughts swirl in my head, making it hard to think clearly.

"Scarlet?" Darius's voice pulls me back to the present, grounding me. "You okay?"

I nod, though my eyes remain locked on the king. "Yes, just... lost in thought."

The advisor’s animated gestures draw my attention. He waves his hands emphatically, stepping closer to Remme with each insistent word. But Remme, with a deliberate grace, shifts away, maintaining a clear distance between them. His face remains a composed mask, betraying nothing of his inner thoughts or emotions. This controlled avoidance strikes me as odd, and my curiosity sharpens.

Why is he so intent on keeping his distance? Remme’s movements are always precise, intentional. This reaction feels almost... instinctual, something ingrained from past experiences.

I glance at Darius, who has also noticed the interaction. "Interesting," he muses, his brow furrowed in thought.

"Very," I murmur, my mind racing with possibilities. What could have prompted such behavior? Our kiss flashes through my mind, the memory vivid and electric. He's not always so standoffish. In fact, there have been moments when he’s shown a surprising vulnerability, a glimpse of the man behind the crown.

As I watch, Remme’s gaze shifts, his eyes locking with mine once more. There’s something in his expression, a flicker of... concern? Suspicion? The butterflies in my stomach twist into knots, a mix of excitement and unease. What is he hiding? Why does it feel like he’s looking right through me, seeing more than I want him to?

I notice a figure standing a few steps behind Remme—a female guard. Recognition dawns on me like a bolt of lightning. It's the same guard who conducted my first interview when I was trying to get into the trials. Her stern yet fair demeanor had left an impression on me.

She stands at attention, her eyes scanning the room with a sharpness that suggests she misses nothing. As the advisor steps closer to Remme with each emphatic gesture, shesubtly positions herself between them, her movements almost imperceptible to anyone not looking closely. This subtle act of interposition stands out to me as odd. Why would she feel the need to create a barrier? Her presence here, so close to the king, intrigues me. What role does she play in all of this? Is she simply a guard, or does she hold more significance?

The advisor's frustration is palpable as he steps back, clearly unsettled by the guard's silent assertion of space. Remme remains unyielding, his posture a study in controlled distance. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat a reminder of the growing connection between us and the many questions that remain unanswered.

"Scarlet, we should keep moving," Darius says gently, his hand on my arm. "Breakfast won't wait forever."

I tear my gaze away from the king, nodding. "You're right," I say, though my mind remains fixed on Remme and his enigmatic behavior. As we continue down the hallway, I can't shake the feeling that the king's actions are more than just a matter of personal space. They speak of a deeper story.

Lost in my thoughts, I crash into a courtier coming from the opposite direction. We both topple to the ground in a flurry of limbs and papers. I scramble to help gather his scattered documents, mortified by my clumsiness.

"For goodness' sake!" the man grumbles, his voice laced with irritation. I look up to see that the courtier is none other than Lord Greystone, my forced fiancé. His face is a mask of annoyance, his sharp features twisted in a scowl.

"Watch where you're going!" he snaps, not yet realizing who I am. His tone is harsh, cutting through the air like a knife. My heart pounds, a mix of fear and anger bubbling up inside me.

"I-I'm sorry," I stammer, scrambling to gather the scattered papers. My hands tremble as I try to collect myself.

As he bends down to help, his eyes finally meet mine. Recognition dawns, and his scowl shifts into a smirk. "Ah, Scarlet. My dear fiancée. We must work on paying attention to every detail to avoid such accidents. It won't be acceptable when you're my wife," he says, his voice dripping with condescension. His proximity makes my skin crawl, a sickening mix of charm and dominance radiating from him.

Lord Greystone is tall and imposing, with a chiseled jawline and piercing blue eyes that seem to look right through me. His dark hair is slicked back meticulously, not a strand out of place, a testament to his vanity. He always dresses in the finest clothes, the fabric rich and adorned with subtle yet expensive details. It's as if he's trying to buy his way into respectability, but all I see is a man trying too hard to mask his insecurities. He exudes an air of overconfidence that borders on arrogance, believing everyone is enamored with him, and under his control. The faint scent of expensive cologne clings to him, almost as if he's trying to mask something unsavory beneath.

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