Unchosen Crown | Original Version

ARE WE STANDING ON A CLIFF?

The silence was deafening, punctuated only by the muffled sounds of Ian's labored breathing. The moonlight cast trembling, dancing shadows upon the walls, creating an atmosphere heavy with tension and uncertainty.

Ian swallowed hard, his throat tight, the words tangling on his tongue as if they were made of lead.

"You... you..." He paused, his eyes searching desperately for the answer that refused to emerge. "Have you met someone?"

"Come on, Ian," I sighed, rolling my eyes and shaking my head. Ian's eyes were wide, reflecting a mix of surprise, disbelief, and a touch of fear. His clenched jaw and white-knuckled fists betrayed the intensity of his internal struggle to process the situation. "You're smarter than this."

He barely managed to articulate, the fragments of syllables escaping and dissolving before forming a complete sentence. Stepping back, Ian paced the room like a disoriented clock.

"You must be kidding." His voice sounded constricted, almost strangled.

His incredulity bothered me. Though the moment was obviously unexpected, the idea of someone falling in love with him shouldn't be so inconceivable.

"Ian," I exclaimed, trying to draw his attention and bring him back from that spiral of denial. Yet, he turned abruptly in my direction, interrupting me vehemently.

"Henry... I... you..." His voice faltered again, and there I was again, rolling my eyes impatiently. Ian's heart pounded almost audibly, anxiety ensnaring his lungs like spider webs. Nervously, he ran his hand through his hair and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes tightly closed. "This isn't... you can't."

The words died in his throat, leaving only the tense silence to linger in the air.

"Say something I don't know, Ian," I shot back, my words tinged with sarcasm. Seating myself at the edge of the bed, I ran my hands over my face, massaging my temples with less-than-gentle motions. When I dropped my hands, there was Ian, looming in front of me, his silhouette having my total attention.

"Henry, do you have any idea where this puts us?" He furrowed his brow, one hand perched on his hip, the tension radiating off him mirroring the turmoil within me. "I'm here to advise you in choosing a bride, not to make you fall in love with me."

"Well, that's an unfortunate turn of events, then," I tossed him a bitter smile, a mere curve of lips devoid of any genuine emotion.

Turning away from me, I heard the long, weary sigh that escaped his lips, the heavy silence punctuated only by that sound. His arms fell limp at his sides, and in the dim light, I saw his shoulders sag with the weight of this revelation. When his face came back into view, the surprise and fear had been replaced by a look of profound sadness.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, closing the short distance between us until he knelt at my feet. Ian held my gaze, his eyes searching mine with a newfound vulnerability. I blinked a few times, taken aback, and he continued, "for my lack of tact. Never, not once, did I think I'd hear this from you."

"Is it that bad?" I asked, genuinely concerned.

"No, it's not," he assured without hesitation, his hands gently caressing my knees, warming my soul. "It's just that... never in a million years did I imagine this scenario," he admitted. "It was supposed to be something casual, and suddenly..."

"I have no idea how we got here," I said, leaning in until our foreheads touched.

I closed my eyes before the intensity of his gaze.

"For me, it seems like you don't know how to keep your distance," I felt the warmth of his palm against my cheek, a tender touch that cut me in half, and as I opened my eyes, I found a glimpse of determination. "You're too sensitive, Henry," Ian observed, and that hint of a smile turned into a complete one, albeit subtle, "and I expected you to be many things, but I never thought you'd be so..." his sentence remained unfinished, and I ventured, with self-deprecating humor.