A shuffling of boots ripped her from petal seventeen.
“Apologies,” Arcas offered, holding his palms up before backing toward a marble arch separating the palace from the small paradise.
“Don’t apologize! I should be going, anyway,” Lunelle said, rising from her perch.
His eyes fell over the cobblestone between them, a softness to his gaze when he wasn’t in a dead panic. “I didn’t mean to frighten you off,” he mumbled, running his fingers through his hair.
Lunelle rolled her eyes as he stepped closer beneath the rose canopy.
“Very little could frighten me off.”
Arcas snorted, shrugging his shoulders as he focused his attention on the intricacies of a particularly large bloom near his face.
“I believe it,” he said quietly into the petals.
“You avoided my question earlier.”
“What question?”
Lunelle wrapped her arms across her body, rocking side to side as she ventured closer.
“I asked if you were okay.”
“Ah,” he hummed, the pale column of his throat tightening against a response.
“Well,” she sighed. Lunelle turned to leave him to his sulking, void of any patience for it. Before she crossed through the arch, she turned, resting her hand on the alabaster marble. “I will not bother asking a third time, if that eases your mind.”
Back in her room, she pulled the curtain away from her window to find he was still standing in the same spot, overlooking the swaying roses.
“What is he doing out there?” Lura asked, craning her neck between Lunelle and the glass.
“What all men do when they cannot express a feeling,” she scoffed. “He’s plotting.”
Her tea was cold.
Lunelle had stared at the same page in her novel for far too long, fixated on a turn of phrase she hadn’t been able to untangle as her mind swirled with thoughts.
“What do you think?” her mother asked, appearing in her evening wear. Several maidens trailed her, fussing with the buttons on the high neck.
“I think it’s a bit overwrought,” Lunelle whispered, laying the book on the table before her. “The love interest isn’t very believable. He falls for the princess far too quickly.”
Oestera paused beside her daughter, laying a hand on her shoulder. As she stopped, so did everything in the room, the chaotic flitting about of maidens pausing for a moment.
“I meant about the prince.”
“Arcas?”
Oestera laughed. “Is there another?”
“No,” Lunelle breathed. “He’s… fine? I suppose? I can’t say I’m impressed with how he handled things last night, and he was only slightly more tolerable today.”
Oestera sighed. “It wasn’t exactly a show of strength, was it? But perhaps with the right leader by his side, he might make better decisions.” Oestera’s delicate brow curved upward, her thinning skin lifting with plenty of implication.
“I believe Mirquios is spoken for,” Lunelle whispered to herself, snorting at her joke. Oestera did not return the amusement, her eyes locked on her daughter’s flippant face.
“Oh,” Lunelle said before she could stop herself, sitting at attention. Her movement was so sudden it shook Oestera’s hand from her shoulder. “Mother, I?—”
“Breathe, darling. We have plenty of time to get to know him. There’s still so much to understand about their potential allyship. I did not mean to panic you.”
