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  “I will make it a point to come back sooner,” Riffin said. He shook his head, resisting wiping at his eyes and showing them that his mother’s education had started to take its toll on him. “I’d like to make the journey more often.” In truth, it wasn’t the journey he wanted to make. He wanted to be able to see Malia more and to dull the ache of not seeing her, not knowing how she was doing, not partaking in her life and not having her there to partake in his.

  He sat there, conversing with them for a couple of hours. After that, it became clear that nothing was going to change and he decided to take his leave. Both Kara and Jared appeared disappointed at seeing him go, though no more disappointed than he felt at having to leave without seeing their daughter. He’d received the news that he’d be relieved from most duties only two days ago and, since then, all he could do was think about her, all for it to come to nothing.

  Taking the long way back to the fort, he could make out a group, just off the side of the road, sitting beside the river bank, not too far ahead. He couldn’t help the flit of jealousy. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been allowed out with others his own age, entirely unaccompanied, for something as trivial as a picnic.

  What had started as just a fleeting moment of jealousy soon turned to a flicker of happiness as he recognised some of the faces amongst them. They were locals, all about his age, and Malia’s friends.

  He dismounted, brows furrowing together, approaching them. They got to their feet, bowing and curtsying with respect suitable for a Prince—he had no care for it. “Has Malia returned home?” he asked. It wasn’t an impossibility, though his horse was recognisable in itself, he had kept the hood on his cape up, hiding much of his appearance from passersby as he sped through the streets. Perhaps he had missed her. Perhaps they had never crossed paths at all.

  The smiles growing on their faces were unmistakable, especially those of the boys. Nola stepped forward, glaring at the others out of the corner of her eye before speaking to him, “She’s not been out today,” she said, “not with us at least.”

  Riffin’s brows twitched, furrowing together for only a second. “Really?” he murmured. He blinked the confusion away, putting on a polite smile before bowing his head in her direction, “Thank you,” he said. He needn’t even think about it, mounting his horse and speeding off, back in the direction of the house.

  Kara and Jared would have no reason to lie about her whereabouts, nor would her friends, in spite of their strange behaviour. No, at best, Malia had snuck off on her own, spinning a lie to her parents. At worst, something may have happened to her along the way.

  If she’d left on her own then he knew where to find her. If she hadn’t, he’d have to turn to her parents next.

  The forest not far from their home was dense, though not so dense that neither she, nor him, were incapable of navigating their way through it. They’d spent most of their time there, going for long walks, enjoying picnics beneath the shade of the trees. It was there that he found her. Her pale blue dress cut through the brown and dark green of the forest, making her easy to spot, sat up against a tree with a book in her hands. She looked up at him as he approached, her breath hitching in her chest. When she saw it was him, her face lit up and a smile grew on her lips.

  As thrilled as he was the see that smile looking back at him, concern won out against any desire to show it. “What are you doing out here alone?” He dismounted his horse, brows furrowed in confusion as he approached her.

  She rose to her feet, leaning against the bark of the tree, “I didn’t know you were coming,” she said.

  “I sent word as I landed,” he said, stopping short of her. Her shoulders dropped and she played with her fingers against her dress, her gaze falling to stare at the space on the ground between them. “I was told you were out with friends.” He lowered himself onto the slope of the hill across from her, drawing a knee up to his chest as he did his best to control his breathing. His heart faltered in his chest for a moment, his mouth going dry, “Were you avoiding me?” he asked.

  Malia’s breath hitched in her throat, “No,” she replied quickly. “No, of course not.”

  He sat there, brows knitted together, his heart finding no relief in her words. It was the curse of a Prince, of an Heir, of a Lord; it was a curse that those around him felt compelled to tell him what he wanted to hear, denying him the truth from their own mouth. “There’s no need to lie,” he whispered, craning his neck so that he could look into her eyes.

  “I’m not lying,” she said, her voice rising into a whine. She dropped herself beside him, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with him, much like they often did. She kept her hands in her lap, picking at her cuticles, “That’s not it at all,” she said.

  He extended his hand to her slowly, tucking a strand of dark red hair behind her ear, “Then what’s the matter?” he asked. “Why are you sitting out here by yourself?”

  Malia shifted, sighing, “Mother and Father think I’ve been with friends,” she said, “but I haven’t.”

  “Why lie?” he asked, shrugging.

  Her shoulders dropped and she looked away—far, far away—unable to meet his gaze. “There are rumours,” she said, rising to her feet with a spring in her step. She turned on her heel with a swish of her dress, facing him but never looking right at him. “Word is going around that I’m your whore,” she said.

  Riffin recoiled, eyes widening before he blinked rapidly in surprise—of all the things he thought, that was certainly not amongst them.

  “Men won’t approach me—they won’t even approach my friends so long as I’m stood with them either,” she said.

  “So they abandoned you?” he asked, rising. He folded his arms across his chest before brushing his fingers across his troubled brow.

  “No,” she said. She bit the inside of her cheek, pausing, “I just...withdrew,” she said. As Riffin opened his mouth to speak, she took a step closer, “It would be for the best for them,” she went on. “We are all of age—I wouldn’t ruin their prospects of marriage just by standing too close.”

  He laughed, each chuckle filled with exasperation, “And you thought the solution would be to spend your days, sitting by yourself in the woods, doing nothing?” he asked.

  It was her turn to laugh, bringing a hand up to her hot cheek, “I couldn’t very well take my bow or sword for a day out with Ladies, could I? I brought a book instead!” she countered, throwing her hand up, gesticulating towards the cape and book beside the tree.

  His features settled and he smiled with content. He reached out to cup her cheek but her smile fell from her lips and she shifted, her shoulders tensing, all the while firmly rooted on the spot. “What else is the matter?” he asked.

  She bit the inside of her cheek, her sea green eyes dropping their gaze once again, “The rumours also say you’re to be married,” she whispered. “That the marriage will be announced soon—that your mother has already chosen your bride.”

  His heart faltered in his chest for a moment. Then, his lips lifted into a wide smile, “Really? This is the first I’ve heard of it!” he declared with surprise. He broke out into a chuckle, “Tell me,” he started, clearing his throat, “what is she like—this girl I’m to marry?”

  “Riffin,” Malia sighed.

  “No, please, tell me,” he pestered. “I know nothing of this girl I am to marry, though it’s apparently common enough knowledge for word to have gone around the entirety of Azura. You should tell me what it is you’ve heard.” Malia folded her arms over her chest, her hands tightening around her arms. Bowing her head, her dark red hair fell in front of her face and she went silent. He sighed, shoulders dropping, “Do you know how absurd this sounds?” he asked, speaking in a whisper. “Do you know how absurd it is to listen to these rumours?”

  “Of all the rumours I’ve ever heard, this one was the least absurd.”

  “Because it’s the one closest to you,” he said. Heaving a sigh, he placed his hands on her arms, sque
ezing with care, “Do you think I wouldn’t tell you if my mother and father had so much as breathed a thing about marriage?”

  “We haven’t seen each other for a month,” she said.

  “No, we haven’t,” he agreed, “but we’ve shared letters.” He cupped her face in his hand and brought her to look at him. Her marine-coloured eyes, so much like her mother’s, stared up at him, troubled beyond words. “If you had fears, you should’ve told me. You should’ve asked.”

  She nodded, dropping her gaze apologetically. “I suppose so,” she whispered.

  He sighed before breaking into a soft smile. “Let’s get you back home,” he said.

  Malia nodded and then turned to her belongings with a sigh. He reached over and grabbed her cape and book before she could, dusting off the cape as he draped it over her shoulders. Before he could walk past, leading her to his horse, Malia reached for his hand, her fingers tightening around his and he spun around to meet her. She leaned into him, into his chest, rising on the tips of her toes as she pressed her lips to his.

  The electrifying feeling that ran down his spine whenever they kissed came just as it always did—suddenly and without mercy. He placed his hands on her hips, leaning into her and allowing the world around him to fall away. Withdrawing against his will, he rested his forehead against hers. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered against her lips.

  “As have I,” she whispered back. He wrapped an arm around her waist, leading her back to his horse, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Are you staying the night?” she asked.

  He shook his head, lips pursed together in a straight line. “I cannot stay,” he whispered. “My mother wants me back. I leave tonight.”

  “How long did you wait for me?” she asked, pausing in taking her next step.

  “A few hours,” he replied, helping her mount the horse.

  “You should have tried to find me sooner if time was so precious,” she whispered, riddled with guilt.

  “Your life cannot stop for my sake every single time I step foot on this island,” he said. He felt her arms tighten around his waist, her fingers linked together against his stomach. “I thought you were with friends,” he added. “It would’ve been different had I known you were all alone.”

  The journey back was all too short and there was no helping it, no taking the long way round in order to spend more time together. The sun would begin to set soon; Malia would be expected back home and he would be expected at the port. He dismounted his horse just outside her house, extending his hands to her to help her down, though she needed no help. She paused in front of him, standing in his embrace. With luck, the only lingering gazes were those of her parents—those sensible about his intentions towards her.

  “I will try to be back soon,” he said, glancing elsewhere, unable to bring himself to look at her. “I will speak to my mother, tell her that business kept me from seeing you; I will ask her to allow me back sometime next week.”

  Her lips pulled into a gentle smile, “Do what you need to do,” she said. “I’ll still be here.”

  “Perhaps you can come back with me next time,” he said. He didn’t know what he was thinking. Jared was often busy with business, even if he was meant to be cutting back on duties, Kara didn’t like leaving him and Malia rarely made her way to Lionessa unattended.

  “It’s been a while since I’ve been to Lionessa,” Malia whispered, nodding. “I will speak to my parents.”

  Riffin shifted his weight from one foot to the other, averting his gaze as he came to the sinking conclusion that he would have to tell her what to do. “Don’t lie to them, Malia,” he whispered. “If you choose not to see your friends over this then you should tell your parents and you shouldn’t lie about your whereabouts.”

  Malia clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, lowering her gaze and folding her arms against her chest. He tucked his index finger beneath her chin, lifting her head so that she would look at him. “If you were hurt, if someone had hurt you, we wouldn’t have known where you were and where to find you.”

  “You found me, didn’t you?” she asked, a smile tugging at her lips.

  “And I would search for you until I died trying,” he said. He took a step closer, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear, “I would leave my home in Lionessa, I would leave my mother without an heir, I would leave a kingdom without their King, but I would do all it took to find you.”

  Malia hung her head, bashful as she was, as her fingers curled around the front of his shirt. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, her lips drawing into an understanding smile as she nodded. He leaned in, pressing his lips to hers with a feather-like touch. “Stay safe,” he said. “I will return as soon as possible.” He pressed one last kiss to the back of her hand, his own being the last thing to leave her, his fingers tangled within hers.

  Reluctant as he may have been, he mounted his horse and turned away, nudging his horse into a gallop. His mind, swimming with thoughts, was difficult to quell, though his arrival back to the fort was quick, leaving him with other pressing matters to deal with.

  Not far from the entrance, Thane stood beside the Lionessan merchant that had joined them on their journey. He left his horse, grabbing the reins and handing them to a guard as he approached the heated discussion.

  Francon Demur, an Azurian metalworker, stood there with his arms crossed resolutely over his chest. Beside him, having left the picnic with the other noble children, standing as tall as he could manage, was his son, Tomas. The elder Demur was skilled, that much was true, but the fact got to his head and, consequently, to that of his son also. He’d never cared before; being the heir to his mother’s throne meant he’d spent his entire life in the presence of less than savoury people.

  Now, though, now he felt something else—a deep-rooted anger growing within him in his presence. Biting his tongue between his molars, he approached, watching the polite—but nonetheless heated—exchange. He stepped in between Thane and the merchant, turning to his friend, “What seems to be the trouble?” he asked, a tinge of frustration in his tone.

  The merchant sighed, “Her Majesty’s commission,” he said. “The man asks for twice the amount stipulated in our agreement.”

  “That was for something smaller,” Francon said, defending himself. “This—this is closer to what Her Majesty has asked for,” he said.

  “Though not at the cost she initially asked for,” he rebutted.

  The pieces being bartered over sat on the back of the cart beside them, partially covered by a silk cloth that shielded the spectacular work from the scorching sun.

  A glance in Tomas’s direction and Riffin could feel his skin crawling, his unease growing in his presence, an anger bubbling within him that he knew would be difficult to quell if he stood there any longer. He scoffed, shaking his head, “Just pay the degenerate and be done with it,” he hissed, turning on his heel and walking away.

  Heavy boots stomped in the dirt, a shadow skipping across the floor, illuminated by the sun behind him, “What was that?” Thane asked.

  “What was what?” he countered, mumbling, unable to look at him.

  Thane’s brows furrowed with confusion. “Degenerate?” he asked, leaning in. He looked him up and down, recoiling, “What’s the matter?” he asked, softer this time.

  Riffin bit the inside of his cheek, a habit he had developed upon his mother’s advice, telling him that it allowed him to use his head, rather than unleash the first words that came to his mouth. “I need to speak to my uncle,” he declared, approaching his horse once more. “Stall the ship for me,” he said.

  “Shall I join you?” he asked.

  “No need,” he said. One glance in Tomas’s direction ignited something within him. He rode off before Thane could say another word, back on the roads again, making his way to his uncle’s modest estate further in land.

  With it’s high and imposing walls, the home was lavish, though not enough for the stone structure
to stick out too much when placed in front of the forest. There was a singular guard posted on the door. He was let into the house without much consideration, a servant directing him to the dining hall with a bow of her head. “Did you know?” he asked, taking long strides into the room.

  Gyles blinked in confusion, looking up from his meal, “Are you not meant to be on a ship back to Lionessa?” he asked.

  Undeterred by the abrupt discussion, Lukas got to his feet, bowing his head, “Your Royal Highness,” he greeted.

  Riffin bowed his head back as a reflex, though hardly taking his eyes off Gyles for even a second. Turning back to him, he asked again, “Did you know of the rumours in Azura?”

  “Azura is a small island—rumours are part of its culture,” Gyles said, scoffing. “What rumours are you talking about?”

  “The rumours that I’m to marry,” he said. “The rumours that Malia may be nothing more than a mistress, and that I’m to marry any day now.”

  “You are the heir to the throne of three kingdoms,” Gyles declared. “Heirs need more heirs and an early marriage gives them ample time for it. It’s understandable that they would suspect—”

  “I haven’t been told anything,” Riffin argued, shrugging, “and, yet, word goes around the streets that my bride has practically been decided.”

  “Your mother hasn’t decided anything,” he said, a smirk growing on his lips.

  “And she won’t decide anything without speaking to you first,” Lukas added, settling himself in his seat.

  Gyles sat back in his chair, “Although you may not yet have discussed it, you’ve surely known for some time that this was coming,” he said, a sense of caution in the way he spoke.

  “Yes,” Riffin said, somewhat winded, “but I didn’t expect it to be like this—for word to have gone around as though it were fact, long before anything were decided.”