Page 41 of A Kingdom's Heart
Then movement caught my eye.
A figure stepped through the trees, sunlight spilling around her like it was drawn to her. The same white dress. The same pale hair. The same white headband. She paused for a moment, as if she was still deciding whether to come closer.
Relief hit me harder than I expected. “You came,” I said. My voice came out softer than I meant it to.
She smiled faintly and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I almost didn’t.”
“I am glad you did.”
Her eyes flicked toward the swings, then back to me. “You waited?”
“Maybe,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Didn’t want to miss the chance.”
Color touched her cheeks as she turned away, pretending to look at the river. The sight made something tighten in my chest. It was a small thing that I didn’t quite know what to do with.
My eyes drifted to her hands, to the book she held close against her. My book. No, hers now. The one I had read so many times it felt like a part of me. Somehow, it looked right in her hands, as if it had always been meant to belong to her.
The wind lifted her hair, sending a few pale strands across her
bare shoulder. The sunlight caught them, turning them almost gold. Her skin looked soft in the morning light, her eyes bright and alive, the kind of blue that made everything else fade for a moment. She looked nothing like the healers I passed in the castle halls. She looked like she belonged to another world entirely.
She turned back to me, her fingers brushing over the book’s worn cover. “Do you want it back?” she asked softly.
I shook my head. “No. I gave it to you.”
Her lips curved slightly, but her eyes stayed on the pages. “It doesn’t feel right keeping something that means so much to you.”
“Maybe it means more now,” I said, my voice low.
The words lingered between us longer than I meant them to.
I sat down beneath the tree. The grass was cool beneath my palms, and the air smelled of river water and sun-warmed leaves. The sound of the current filled the quiet, steady and calm.
“Sit,” I said, nodding to the space beside me.
She hesitated. Her hands tightened around the book, knuckles pale. For a moment, I thought she might refuse. But then she lowered herself beside me. The hem of her dress brushed my arm as she sat, soft against the metal of my armor. The faint scent of lavender clung to the air.
I tried not to look at her, but my eyes found her anyway. The light through the branches caught in her hair, turning each strand to gold. She seemed close enough to reach out and touch, thoughI
I didn’t dare.
Instead, my gaze fell to the book resting in her lap. “Well, Elara,” I said, keeping my tone light, “would you like to do the honors this time?”
Her lips parted slightly. “You want me to read it?”
I nodded. “I read it yesterday. Now it’s your turn.”
Her smile came small and uncertain. She opened the book, careful with the worn edges. The parchment crackled softly. “Alright then,” she said.
Her voice was gentle when she began, smooth and careful like
she’d told the story a hundred times before.
“Once there was a farmer who lived by the willow fields,” she
read.“His hands were rough from work, but his heart was kind. And every day, he looked toward the palace beyond the hills, wondering what it would be like to see its gardens up close.”
Her words filled the clearing, soft and clear. I found myself listening, not to the story, but to the sound of her voice. It was warm, light, carrying something I hadn’t known I was missing until that moment. The distance between us felt smaller. I could almost feel the warmth of her bare shoulder against my armored.
