Page 113 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
I’ve been standing by the window, crying, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to suffer through a second ceremony and planning an ungraceful escape. I hurriedly dry the salt trails on my face and turn to the door in time to see Aidan barrel into the room.
There he is—the groom, looking as though he’s about to head off to war.
“Aidan,” I croak. “Is your mother alright?”
He slows down, his gaze riveted to my packed suitcase, my Shadow mask tucked on top of the rose gold leather. “You’re leaving,” he replies, his voice filled with an uncertainty I’ve rarely heard from him.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The silence thickens and expands, heavy with all the things I haven’t said and the memories he can’t reach. His gaze drifts past me, out the window, to the gardens below.
To the place where our love flourished.
“The queen is resting,” he begins, his voice tight and formal. “But she wants the wedding to go along without her.” He runs a hand through his hair, leaving it even more disheveled than it was when he entered, before his gaze snaps back to me. “She recognized you. I saw it.”
“Yes,” I say.
His brows pull together. “I can’t remember.”
“I know,” I reply softly, the pain of it anchored deep in my chest.
“We were together, yes?” he asks quickly.
I answer with a nod.
“Did you truly love me?”
“Yes!”
For a moment, I’m back there with him, young and in love, the world full of possibilities.
“And I loved you?” he holds his breath, like my answer could shift his world on its axis.
I swallow hard. “Yes. Even though you ended it.”
“Are you alright, my prince?” A male voice asks from the corridor, popping our bubble.
Aidan’s gaze never leaves me as he doubles back to close the door. “Stand down, Peter. Just wait for me to come out.”
“At your command, Your Highness.”
My eyes narrow. “You brought guards with you?”
Aidan rubs the back of his skull, the gesture betraying his frustration. “I came in here to interrogate you.”
“Interrogate me?” I inch backward, but he stalks closer, as if my subtle retreat taunts him.
Dark embers flicker in his amber eyes. “My mother told Heather that you’d cursed me.”
The accusation tingles across my cheeks like a physical blow, and my arms fall at my sides. Thera believes this, or she wouldn’t have been able to say it. I bump against the wall, and my back hunches, my heart in tatters.
A hundred years haven’t eroded the royals’ distrust toward my kin. The hatred that follows them—and me—wherever we go.
“Why did you come to the wedding?” Aidan breathes.
I play with my fingers, eyes cast down. “I had to see you. It was incredibly selfish, but I couldn’t help myself.”
“I’m not in love with Heather, and as far as I know, I’ve never loved anyone else.” He raises my chin with his index finger. “Is that because you cursed me?”
My heart booms so hard, I fear it might leap out of my chest. “No. I swear it.”
