Daughter Of Lórien || Book 1||

Ch 49 ~ And Regret

I enter the palace, my eyes instantly adjusting to the dimness. A pair of shining, blue eyes watching me from across the hall is the first thing to catch my vision. Legolas is stationary by his father's side but when I meet his gaze, he starts.

I feel my stomach drop. Not now.

I quicken my pace, turning my back to the prince as I head toward one of the many staircases leading to the upper levels of the palace. It is not long before I feel the tremor of his steps through the stone pathways as he follows.

"Celé!"

My name echoes through the deserted hallway and I freeze. Every muscle in my body is taut, straining to continue walking. Despite this, I am somehow calm as I turn to face him.

He stands a length away, his brows knit and jaw set.

"We need to talk."

I shake my head, turning.

"There is nothing to talk about," I say quietly. "I'm leaving. Asfaloth awaits me in the stables."

His hand catches my wrist.

"Celé, please."

The strain in his voice tugs at my heart. I hesitate but turn back to face him, raising my gaze to his. I find a mix of emotions clouding his eyes, but one shines through more starkly than the others.

Fear.

I frown to myself. Fear of what?

He doesn't release my wrist, searching my gaze.

"The betrothal." He speaks softly. "You know."

I nod. "As did you. Long before I ever did."

Though I don't mean for it to, bitterness seeps into my words. Legolas catches it immediately, but no retaliation rises to his face. Guilt stains his eyes.

"Yes," he concedes. "I had my suspicions."

Surprise washes over me. I hadn't expected this.

"You suspected?"

He lets out a bitter chuckle, finally releasing my wrist, no longer expecting me to run. "It became more and more obvious the longer you stayed here." His eyes darken. "The longer you were forced to stay here."

"I knew who you were the minute I saw you. You are the spitting image of your grandmother."

He pauses, eyes roving over my face. "A true daughter of Lothlórien."

"And I knew my father saw it too." A knowing smile touches his lips. "You cannot possibly be mistaken for anything less. Your bearing demands it."

"So, when he asked me to duel you to confirm your bloodline, I was confused but obliged. It surprised me to learn how matched we were, not only in skill but in temperament, in wit-." He pauses, gaze darting up to mine. "And in heart."

Something twists in my chest, and I tear my eyes away.

"As time passed," he continues, "I couldn't help but begin to feel myself drawn to you. Everything about you felt right, like you filled a missing part of me."

His voice darkens. "We were almost too well-matched, as if something more than fate had guided us to each other. And as your visit continued to extend, keeping you here, beside me, I began to suspect. So, after the feast, I confronted my father. And he told be everything."

Silence follows his confession. I let it fill the space around us.

He had known. The whole time, he had suspected.