Page 73 of A Kingdom's Heart
“I swore an oath to the king,” he said, still watching the world beyond the glass. “My loyalty is to him.”
I searched his face, desperate for something that wasn’t duty. “And before that oath?” I asked.
He didn’t look at me. His next words came steady but hollow. “You’re to be married.”
That broke something inside me. “To a man I don’t even love!” The words came out sharper than I meant.
He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even turn. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t matter?” I said, my voice trembling. “You can lie all you want, but I know you still care about me. Even if I’m not Elara, the sweet healer you met, everything between us was real. Every moment, every word. Only my name wasn’t.”
The silence that followed was unbearable. The only sound was
the rhythm of the horses’ hooves and the faint creak of the wheels. He sat still, staring straight ahead, but I could see the tension in his hands, the way his fingers curled slightly where they rested on his knee.
When he still didn’t speak I felt my throat tighten. I pulled the book from my lap and held it toward him. “I’m sure you want this back, then.”
He looked at the book, then at me. For a moment, something in his eyes softened, but it vanished as quickly as it came.
“Keep it,” he said quietly. “It’s yours now.”
I blinked, lowering my hand slightly. “I don’t want to keep something that reminds you of me,” I whispered.
He looked away, his jaw tightening. “It’s not the book that reminds me.”
The words struck deeper than I expected. I couldn’t tell if they were meant to wound or to confess. My breath caught, and before I could find an answer, he turned back toward the window. His profile was calm, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the muscle in his jaw still tight.
I pressed the book to my chest, feeling the worn leather against my fingers. The small weight steadied me, even as the ache inside grew heavier.
Silence stretched between us. It wasn’t the quiet of peace. It was the quiet of two people holding everything they wanted to say andnot daring to say it. The sound of the carriage filled the space instead, the rhythmic creak of the wheels, the muffled thunder of hooves against the dirt road.
Outside, the forest blurred past, turning from gold to grey. The last traces of sunlight slipped through the trees, painting the glass in faint streaks before fading completely.
I stared down at the book again. My fingers traced the edges of the cover, the familiar cracks along its spine. It felt like holding a memory I was no longer allowed to keep.
Every now and then, I could feel his gaze flicker toward me, almost unintentional, but he never let it linger. Each time, he turned back to the window as if the world outside mattered more than what saw right in front of him. Maybe it did.
The air inside the carriage grew colder. I shifted slightly, tucking my hands beneath the folds of my dress. I wanted to speak, to say something that could soften what had hardened between us, but every word that came to mind felt useless. Nothing could undo what I had done.
Time slipped by in fragments. The rhythm of the wheels. The steady rise and fall of his breathing. The faint creak of leather when he moved his arm.
Then, at last, the carriage began to slow. The steady rocking faded to a crawl, and the sharp scent of salt and smoke reached my nose. Outside, voices shouted orders, the low crash of waves
rising behind them.
With a soft jolt, the carriage stopped.
The door swung open, letting in a wash of cold night air. A guard stood outside, torchlight flickering against his armor. “Your Highness,” he said. “We’ve reached the port. Get ready. We set sail now.”
I nodded, though my chest felt hollow. The world beyond the carriage was all shadow and sea, distant docks against the docks and waves churning beneath them. The reality of it settled like a stone in my stomach.
We were leaving.
I glanced once toward William. He didn’t look back. His face was turned toward the window, still and unreadable. For a heartbeat, I thought I saw something in his eyes, but it was gone before I could be sure.
So I said nothing. I held the book tighter to my chest, gathered my skirts, and stepped out into the night.
The wind off the water hit sharp, catching my hair. Behind me, the carriage door closed with a final, quiet thud.
