Page 83 of A Kingdom's Heart
The fig was sweet. Too sweet. The kind of sweetness that made it hard to swallow.
I smiled through it anyway. “It’s lovely,” I murmured.
He laughed softly, satisfied. “Good.”
I glanced over my shoulder, trying to catch his eyes. William, still standing among the guards, didn’t move his gaze. Not once did he look at me. That brought a flicker of irritation through me.
The feast carried on long after the announcement. The clinking of goblets, the rustle of silk, and the constant hum of conversation filled the air. Every sound pressed against my skull until it all began to blur.
Lorenzo spoke easily beside me; confident, composed, perfectly trained in charm. He asked if the journey had been long, if I liked the palace, if I preferred the gardens of Elarion to those of Valebran. I answered each question softly, careful not to reveal how hollow the words felt leaving my lips.
He laughed often. I did not.
When the final plates were cleared and the guests began to rise, King Phelipe called the attendants forward to escort us to our chambers. Lorenzo offered his arm again, his smile unfaltering.
“Come, my lady,” he said. “You must be tired. The night’s grown long.”
I placed a hand lightly on his sleeve. “A little.”
As we walked through the corridor, the sound of our footsteps echoed faintly against the stone. The hall was lit by tall, golden sconces that threw long shadows across the floor. William followed several paces behind, quiet as ever, the faint jingle of his scabbard the only sign of his presence.
Lorenzo glanced sideways at me, his voice smooth and low. “My chamber is only a door away from yours,” he said. “Perhaps we should go there first. There’s something I’d like to show you.”
The words caught in my throat. I managed a small, careful smile. “Of course.”
Lorenzo’s chamber was grand yet quiet. The walls were paneled in deep blue silk, trimmed with silver embroidery that shimmered faintly in the candlelight. A tall window overlooked the sea, its glass reflecting the pale moonlight that bled through the curtains. The scent of salt and burning wax filled the air.
A wide bed stood near the center of the room, its frame carved from dark wood. The sheets were soft and dark, the kind that seemed almost too fine to touch.
He closed the door behind us. The faint click of the latch made my chest tighten.
“Please,” he said gently, motioning to the bed. “Sit.”
I hesitated for a moment before obeying. The mattress sank slightly beneath my weight, cool and smooth beneath my palms.
He sat beside me. Not close, but near enough that I could feel the warmth of him. For a long moment, he said nothing. The silence between us was calm but uncertain, and I could hear the distant hum of the sea outside.
When I finally looked at him, he was already watching me. His green eyes caught the candlelight, soft and curious rather than commanding.
Days ago, I wanted nothing to do with him. I still didn’t. Not truly.
But he was kind. Gentle, even. There was no cruelty in his gaze, no arrogance in his smile. Only patience.
I could not change what was coming. The marriage would happen whether I wanted it or not. The least I could do was try to find something to hold on to.
He was handsome. That much was easy to see. His features were sharp, but not harsh. His voice was smooth, his posture relaxed, as though nothing in the world could unsettle him.
Perhaps I could learn to like him.
I drew in a quiet breath and forced myself to speak. “Your
chambers are beautiful,” I said softly. “The colors suit you.”
His lips curved into a small smile. “You think so?”
I nodded. “Blue and silver. Calm, but strong. Like the night sky.”
He studied me for a moment before speaking again. “I am glad you like it. I had them prepared for when you arrived. I wanted you to feel at home.”
