Princess Cyra is recovering from a failed engagement, a lack of friends, and possibly inheriting a kingdom when she meets High Prince Halewijn, who is set on making her his bride. When it is revealed to her that he is actually her assailant's son, t...
The folds of Cyra's dress concealed her shaking hands as she briskly walked out of the throne room, letting her mother and father speak about the proposal alone. Halewijn followed behind her, rushing to her side when the doors to the room closed.
"Your Highness," He began, but she wouldn't turn to meet him. "Your Highness." He repeated earnestly. Cyra took the opportunity to stop, fix her face, and turn about. She had to know.
"You came here to make a fool of yourself, didn't you?" The Princess questioned, recalling their previous conversation.
"What do you mean?"
"In the garden, I spoke to you of engagements and marriage. Did you not hear what I said?" Halewijn looked in her eyes, the intensity returning.
"I heard every word." His voice dropped an octave, almost a low growl.
"Did you not believe me, then?" Cyra placed her hands on her hips to steady the shaking in her fingers, hoping he wouldn't mistake the gesture for playfulness.
"I believed you. That's why I am here." A realization dawned on her, revealing something she could not ignore. But Halewijn spoke it before she could. "You want to run your country well, and I admire that about you. You are unattached; so am I. I have a kingdom I will run soon enough. Cyra, this is purely for political purposes." His statements were correct. Two very powerful and unattached royals with similar goals, united under one crown... Political paradise.
"You concealed your identity from me." She hissed back, furious. "Had you told me that you were the son of Omar, I would've -"
"I am not in any way like that man." That man... Cyra shrunk back at the words, examining his face for any sign of falsehood. "Whatever affliction he bestowed upon you and your family... I had no part in." The forcefulness of his speech convinced her of his innocence. He drew closer, holding a hand out as if to touch her arm. "I do not hold any ill will against you. You could say that by proposing this merging, I am looking out for you in ways you could not imagine."
No doubt her parents were coming to the same conclusions inside the throne room. Slowly, he took her shaking hand and smiled at her warmly. "Who knows," he began, bringing her fingers up to his lips and kissing them. "You might even fall in love with me."
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"He said that?!" The brush Mirabel held in her hand dropped to the carpet, her mouth agape.
"He did." The lady slowly stooped down to pick it up, then murmured,
"What did you say?"
"I snatched my hand away and walked off to find you." The lady-in-waiting tossed her head back and laughed, hands at her chest.
"His shock must've been visible!" Mirabel cackled, wiping tears from her eyes. "My gods, he might not be so charming at dinner..." Cyra turned from her desk to face the woman.
