Page 72 of A Kingdom's Heart
When I looked back, Raven was standing by the table, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her satchel. Her face was pale, her jaw tight.
“Are you alright?” I asked.
She forced a small smile. “I’ll be fine.”
But I knew better. She wasn’t fine. She never was when Valebran was mentioned. It had been three years since she’d left
that place, three years since the man she loved had left her in pieces. I could still remember the way she looked that night; like someone who had forgotten what it meant to breathe.
“Don’t worry,” I said softly. “Everything will be alright.”
Raven looked up at me then, her eyes tired and sad. “I’m not so sure,” she murmured. “Come on. Your father is waiting.”
“Hold on.”
I crossed the room and reached for the book on my bedside table.The Song of the Willow Bride.The cover was still worn, the corners soft from my hands. I brushed the dust from it and held it close to my chest. “I’m ready now.”
Raven gave a small nod, gripping her satchel tighter. The servants followed behind us, carrying my trunks down the stairs.
When we stepped outside, the morning light was bright, almost cruel. My father was already seated inside his carriage, two of his guards standing close by. The rest of the servants and soldiers were loading supplies into the others.
Raven walked toward the servant’ carriage, her shoulders stiff as she climbed in. I turn to mine, a black one trimmed with silver.
I hesitated at the door of the carriage, my hand resting against the polished frame. The steps creaked softly beneath me as I climbed inside.
When I looked up, he was already there.
William sat across from where I was meant to sit, his posture
straight, his armor gleaming faintly beneath his black cloak. For a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe. His presence filled the space like it always did. Impossible to ignore.
Our eyes met. Something akin to relief flickered through me, before he looked away.
“Your father,” he said, his tone flat, “told me to ride with you. I’m to stay in your carriage.”
The words sank like stones in my stomach. Whatever light had risen in me vanished just as quickly. Of course my father would do that. He never did anything without reason.
I managed a small nod, though it felt like my throat had closed. “I see.”
The carriage jolted forward, the wheels creaking against the cobblestone. Neither of us spoke. The sound of hooves and wind filled the space between us, sharp and endless.
I kept my hands folded over the book in my lap, staring at the worn cover though my mind was far away. Every few seconds, I could feel his gaze flicker toward me, only to turn away again. The distance between us felt larger than the width of the carriage.
I thought of yesterday. The way his arms had felt around me. The warmth of his voice when he told me to let it out. For one brief moment, I had believed there was still something left between us. Maybe there still was.
“William,” I said quietly.
He didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened, his eyes fixed on the passing trees beyond the window.
“Are you still angry with me?”
He turned his head slowly, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know.”
The honesty cut deeper than anger would have. I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”
He looked out the window again. “We shouldn’t be talking in the first place.” His voice came low, even. “Not anymore.”
My chest tightened. “Why not?”
