Page 62 of The Princess Knight
“When I was a kid, I loved it. I thought I would take it over from him one day. And then the raid happened... It wasn’t an option for me anymore. I knew my duty, and Kordislaen helped me step into my responsibilities.”
Ronan used to wonder what he would have done if that day had never happened. Maybe he would have followed in his father’s footsteps. But those questions only stirred up pain and guilt, while offering nothing in return.
“Do you miss it?”
Ronan looked back to the harebell. It was a common wildflower, but there was something eye-catching about the color.His father used to always keep a basket of them in the kitchen. “More than I should.”
“I still sew.” The comment seemed to come out of nowhere to Ronan, but she ignored his questioning glance, instead continuing. “As a princess, I was expected to know fashion, and while participating in the making of it wasn’t encouraged, it was forgiven. Here, I know I have other things to do. Things people might respect more. But sewing quiets my mind and makes me feel like I can breathe again. So I help Sárait with her mending any chance I get.”
Ronan knew what she was hinting at. “I don’t have the time to waste in gardens.”Or the energy, he thought. Yet the idea settled in the back of his mind, and there was something almost comforting about it.
“It was a just a thought,” she said, shifting to look away from the garden and back to him. “Which plant is your favorite? Do they have it here?”
The early morning sun bathed Clía in an almost divine glow. He couldn’t help but recall their moment in training the day before, when their eyes met as their bodies pressed together. How close they were, and how much closer he wished they could be.
“Firecress.” It was a whisper, barely audible. “For their resilience. And beauty.”
That moment in training yesterday, when the magnetism between them was all but impossible to resist, he had managed to pull back. At the time, Ronan thought it was the right thing to do. She was almost betrothed to Domhnall only months agoand was still hoping to win him back. He owed it to his friend, toher, to keep his distance, despite how much he yearned to do otherwise.
But alone with her in the garden, surrounded by flowers reminding him of home, he was too tired to deny it anymore.
She placed her hand over his. Turning his palm, he closed his fingers around hers. As his gaze traveled to her mouth, there was nothing he wanted more than to chase the electricity that ran between them.
She closed the distance, her lips meeting his in a soft embrace.
He froze. Before he could realize what was happening, she had leaned away, leaving an empty coldness in her place. There was a self-consciousness in the way she sat, a doubt that wasn’t there before.
He hated it.
Fingers still intertwined on the bench, he reached out with his other hand and rested it just above the nape of her neck before lowering his face to hers. There was no hesitation this time. He pressed against her, channeling everything into the kiss. Her mouth parted under his, and warmth coursed through him. He had been waiting for this for longer than he had realized; she had captivated him from the first moment he saw her and surprised him every moment since. He knew he should slow this down, take his time, but with all her passion focused on him, he couldn’t think.
His hand released hers. Gently, he slid it up and wrapped it around her forearm, holding her even nearer. She coiled her fingers in his hair in response, drawing a groan from his chest.
She stilled, and the rest of the world seeped into the gapsbetween them, pulling them apart. A pained look crossed her face, and he knew she was remembering Domhnall and her goals.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. With the shooting pain still flaring under his skin, he couldn’t stand and give her the distance he thought appropriate. Instead, he settled for releasing her from his arms and shifting away. The slight but sudden distance hurt almost as much as if he’d tried to stand.
The kiss was a foolish mistake. And now that he knew what she felt like against him, he wouldn’t be able to forget it.
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...” She trailed off.
She was still choosing Domhnall.
No, she was choosing her kingdom. He couldn’t fault her for it, no matter how much he wished she would be the irresponsible princess he originally believed her to be in just this.
He tried to offer her a smile, hoping it didn’t come across as pained as he felt. “We can share the blame, then. It’s all right, really. I know you’re here for Domhnall.”
She winced.
“I need to head back, I promised I’d meet Sárait.” It was a lie, but Ronan didn’t call her on it. Clía stood, turning to the castle and leaving Ronan alone on the bench.
Against his will and better interest, Ronan wondered what his life would look like if she did end up with the prince. He was the captain of Domhnall’s guard; he would have to attend their wedding, and every feast and ball. They would dance, and kiss, and one day Ronan might also be guarding their children.
If that was his lot, so be it. He would watch her live the life she’d fought for, and he would be happy for her.
His chest ached. It was odd. His pain had never manifested there before.
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