The Reigning Star (The Orien Trilogy, Book 3) Page 2

  “It seems we’ve become a bad influence on you.” Vivi raises her chin, tapping a finger on her lips. “I like it.”

  “As I was saying,” Sireen continues, content to leave Vivi’s musings be, “it’s not my place to share opinions about your potential suitors, Princess Brave. Prince Ian is a wonderful, upstanding young man, and any woman would be lucky to have him.”

  “Any woman but me,” I finish, hearing the unspoken meaning of her words.

  “Not when you have this.” She steps closer, placing the smooth letter into my palms. “I only opened it long enough to see who it was from. And I meant what I said—it better be a love letter. If anyone in this grief-stricken land deserves one, it’s you.”

  “Go on,” Vivi encourages when I make no effort to move. “I’ll wash up first, but I expect a full report when I’m done. And no leaving out the good parts, even if they are embarrassing.”

  I smile, if only to cover the unsightly feel of my throat closing in on itself. Unsure if I’m ready to leave them behind, I slowly back out of the washroom and into the semi-breathable air. The air that contains nothing but me, a bed, and a few low-lit flames.

  And a boy hidden away through a secret pocket door, waiting for me to find his letter and read the thoughts I’ve so wanted, but have been so afraid to hear.

  Taking a deep breath, I unfold the letter.

  My Bravest Penelope,

  I’m not sure where to begin, but I will say I’ve started this conversation with you a thousand times in my head. There’s not a second of the day when I do not wish to reach out to you. To hold you close and whisper annoying teases against your ear. But much has changed, hasn’t it? Your lost love is back from the dead, but your true prince awaits in the wings, ready to take you in his arms and fly you off to a land of peace and happiness—a future I’m not sure you shouldn’t take. And although there are many places for me to start, I guess I’ll start with the part I know best.

  I’ll start with me.

  Do you know what feels even stranger than losing your memory? Gaining it back again. And that’s just the easy part. Now I’m left with nothing but a mess full of events, some life-changing, while others are not so much so. But in the end, the only memories that truly matter to me are the ones I share with you.

  So it is with the humblest of hearts I ask, dear Bravest, please forgive me.

  Forgive every horrible, sorry thing I’ve said and done. Forgive me for leaving you. Forgive me for calling you by your first name. Forgive me for allowing Bates to be hurt. Forgive me for being mean to Vivi, even when she deserved it. Forgive me for encouraging a marriage you didn’t want to pursue. Forgive me for treating you as unworthy, when you are the very center of my world. Forgive me for not being there when you first met your mother. Forgive me for promising myself to your father. Forgive me for meddling in your future, when I should have let you go. But most of all, forgive me for burning your letters.

  If there is one memory that haunts me the most, it’s the sight of your face when those two simple notes were engulfed in my flames. I can still see the raw hurt and anguish that colored your expression, as if you had lost something so dear to you, a living piece that you knew you’d never get back. And with one thoughtless action, I destroyed it.

  I’m deeply sorry, Bravest, yet I know it’s not enough. And because I know this, it is my promise to write you one new letter for every day we grace this earth. One letter to remind you of how sorry I am, until you have hundreds upon hundreds of worthless notes and you finally beg for me to stop. Yet, even then, I will write. Because there will never be enough words to express how much you mean to me.

  For now, I’ll leave you with the very message that won your heart over to mine forever, as it applies almost as much now as it did way back then:

  You’re welcome. Looking back on our time together with the utmost fondness.

  Your Handsome Prince

  Three

  It’s well past midnight, and several failed attempts, before my fingers finally slip into the slight notch of the secret door in my wall. The wood creaks open easily under my touch, and I want to curse it for being so difficult not moments ago when my nerves desperately needed something to go right. But now, as the low light of my candle washes across the dark room, illuminating the still form wound up tight in the bed’s covers, I want to curse it again for another matter altogether.

  Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.

  On feet as light as a feather, I tiptoe across the cool floors, bringing myself closer to the one boy my heart couldn’t let go. The one boy who can still make me love him when he boils with hate from within. And even though he hurt me—devastatingly so—I can’t fight the pull of this creature who has always held me in his grip.

  The light of my dark.

  I’m nearly to his side when a warm, silky voice fills the air, a soothing balm to my blistering skin. “Do you still make a habit of stalking people while they sleep? I’m beginning to find that even after being promised to a madman, some things never change.”

  My pounding heart comes to a stop, and what’s left of my resolve to rush into this room and demand an explanation for his absence fizzles into the humid night air. Instead, a funny weakness tugs at my limbs, pulling me forward to his bed where he lies propped up on one elbow, raven curls falling in a lovely mess across his forehead. Without even asking for permission, my heart leaps back into its old ways.

  “Are you referring to your arrogance? Because as much as I hate to inform you, I think it may be an irreversible trait.”

  His lips pull down at the edges, sky-blue eyes losing their teasing flare. “Forgive me, Bravest.”

  “I already have.”

  And then he is upon me, strong arms wrapped around my waist and pulling me into his solid chest. My hands snake their way up his neck, fingers itching to feel those messy strands that have always made unkempt look like a stunning feat. Together we breathe, our lungs in tune to a song only meant for us. A song that’s never-ending. One that will hold us together when even the greatest force tries to rip us apart.

  “I don’t deserve it,” he whispers against my ear, sending a rush of tingles skipping across my skin.

  “I know,” I say, relishing the feel of his stubble along my cheek. “Especially after my little sister freed you from your promise, and you fled from my presence as if I may very well bring about your second death.”

  For a moment, his breathing stills, his steady chest nothing but an anchor against my own. But then he lets out a low whoosh of air, teasing my ear with his regret, before pulling back to an arm’s length. The warmth immediately fades with his retreat, and I fight the urge to tug him forward and steal it again. I look up into his eyes, unsurprised by the blatant sorrow I find reflected in their depths, but wounded all the same.

  My Aras hurts and so do I.

  “Bravest,” he starts, furrowing his brow when I refuse to look away. “I meant what I said—I want your forgiveness, need it even. But that’s only because I’m selfish, not because I deserve it. When I promised myself to your father, I traded our tomorrow for yesterday. Deep down, I knew it was pointless. No matter what happened between us in those woods, the future would never change. One way or another, you were going to come to Theron. Don’t you see? I hold your past, yes, but Ian will always hold your future. I wish I could hate him for it, but the truth is, I actually kind of like him. I like him because I know he’s what’s best for you. You’re a princess, and no matter how much I may wish it, there will never come a day when it will be acceptable for you to settle down with an outcast guard from Orien.”

  And there they are, the words I knew he would say. The very ones that have been brewing on his lips for years, only to bubble over when we finally met. Aras traded our future because he truly believed we never had one, and according to everyone else, maybe we never did.

  But not according to me.

  “What if I don’t want to be a princess, Aras? Wh
at if after all this is over, I can walk away, free to live and love however I see fit?”

  “Then I’d say you live in a dream, a magnificent one I wish I could be a part of.” He reaches out, finally bridging the space between us, allowing his fingers to run along the edge of my jaw. He frowns as he steps forward, gently curling his hand around the back of my neck and forcing me to look up. “He won’t let you go. He’d be a fool if he did.”

  A sharp pang cuts into my heart, and visions of Ian replay in my mind. The look on his face when I clambered from his room, knocking our dishes to the floor in my haste to leave him behind. The firelights bursting in the sky. The wish he felt I needed to hear. And even though it doesn’t make me happy, I say it because it’s true. “Ian will do what’s best for all of us, even if that means cutting me loose.”

  “Maybe you’re right, but his mother won’t.”

  His harsh words land like a slap across my cheek, scalding me red and leaving tears brimming in my eyes. I start to pull away, angry not only with our situation, but also with myself. I had put so much hope into getting him back, but I was foolish not to remember what got us here to begin with.

  A betrothal to a kind prince whom I wish I could love.

  Aras catches my hands before I can escape. His thumbs run lightly across my knuckles, calming me in a way that only he can. “I’m sorry, Bravest. I wish our lives were different. I wish we had both grown up in Ashen, oblivious to the world and everything in it except for ourselves. But I can’t make the truth go away. Theron agreed to a marriage between their prince and Orien’s princess not once, but twice. I hardly think Queen Rosaline will go back on her word now. Trust me—I’ve had many late-night conversations with your mother about this, and it always ends the same way. Some things are just meant to be.”

  Like you and me, I want to say. But the sorrow blanketing his eyes holds my tongue. If Aras is afraid of unsettling Theron’s future, then for now, he can think what he will. However, I’m done with letting the stars control my fate. Today, I choose my way.

  I choose Aras, whether he believes I can or not.

  “Then I suppose you’ll have to get busy on those letters while you can,” I say, changing tactics in hopes of improving his downright discouraging mood. “If you’re so sure I’m going to marry Ian, there are only a few days left for you to woo your way into my heart. I’m not sure Ian will appreciate your romantic gestures once we’re wed.”

  Aras’ face lights up at my words, his entire being changing with the hint of my tease. “Is that so?” He leans forward until his nose brushes lightly against my own. “There is more than one way to woo, you know. Perhaps I should enlighten you.”

  My lips curve up at the edges, nearly embarrassed by the red blooms that crawl up my neck and across my cheeks, but not quite. Because this heat, this intoxicating force that makes me want to fall out in the floor… it’s what I’ve been missing.

  It’s Aras.

  “Yes,” I whisper, pulling back to meet his shining eyes. “Perhaps you should.”

  Aras grins, wild and unabashed, and it takes all of my strength to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest. He reaches out, cupping his palms against my cheeks while his thumb grazes softly across my bottom lip.

  Skies above, his wooing has improved.

  “Hey,” a groggy voice calls from the doorway. Aras drops his hands and steps away as if he’s been burned, and I spin on my heels to face the loveable mess with impeccable timing. Or, just plain terrible timing, to be exact. “What did I say about getting too handsy with my sister?”

  Aras laughs, covering his unease the best way he knows how. “Now, Vivi. One can’t possibly remember everything while under the promise of a crazed king. You’re lucky I can recall how utterly cute you are when you stick your nose in someone else’s business.”

  A fuzzy, half-delirious smile crawls across her face, and she holds out her hand. “Come on, Brave. The bed is getting cold, and we have a long day tomorrow.”

  I fight the urge to shrivel under her sage advice—we do have a long day tomorrow. One filled with fire-wielding fathers, heart-wrenchingly nice princes, and proposals that might not be undone. I’m as anxious to learn what the Theron king and queen have to say about the future as I am about leaving Aras alone in this room. Without me.

  Vivi lets out a long sigh, dropping her hand and trudging to my side. My lips twitch, and I reach out, tugging lightly on her lopsided braid. “I know, little sister, we should get some sleep. The king and queen won’t be won over by our arguments if our words are jumbled and make no sense. I’m coming; I only wanted to say goodnight to Aras first.” My head turns to find him, arms crossed and lips pressed as if he’s trying hard to keep his amusement from breaking the mood.

  The mood in which I lovingly, albeit a little begrudgingly, bow down to my sister’s every need. She is my rock after all.

  Vivi’s serious expression lightens, her brows arching as she grabs my elbow and pulls me toward the door. “Good,” she says, risking one last look at Aras to make sure he behaves. “Because you know what they say…”

  “No, but I’m sure you’ll fill me in.”

  “Sisters before misters,” she spouts with a raise of her chin.

  Aras’ laughter spills into the night, and I cherish the sound, stealing it from the air and wrapping it tight within my heart. It’s a sound I could listen to forever. One I promise myself I’ll never have to go without.

  Four

  “Are you going to eat that?”

  Vivi sags forward on her elbows, the prime example of a rogue princess from backward lands. I look down at my fancy plate, one filled with swirls of blues and dainty flowers that line the edges. A single cream puff lies in its center, calling shame to me for one, putting it on my plate, and two, neglecting to eat it when my stomach began to wring itself into knots.

  “I only ask because it looks lonely there, staring up at you like it has somehow done something wrong. I would tell it to stop looking, but I don’t think it has control over its eyes.” She dips her head, leaning in until I can smell her peach-flavored breath. “And I’m beginning to worry about you, my sister. You’re whiter than vanilla cream, which would normally be an amazing feat, if we weren’t discussing your irreversible future with Theron’s prince. Are you all right?”

  My gaze settles on Queen Rosaline and King Liam, not more than a few paces across the queen’s sitting room. They stand huddled by the windows, looking out into the massive gardens while Mother continues her thoughts on the grand debate—otherwise known as my irreversible future with the Theron prince. Every now and then, Papa’s tail curls with a wild flick in the air. It’s the only way I know the conversation may not be headed in the best direction.

  My stomach sours at the thought. I slide the plate toward Vivi, hoping she can avoid crawling atop the table on all fours to come and get it. “You should take the cream puff.”

  Her sharp eyes cut from the plate to my face and back again, somehow disappointed in my less-than-ravenous appetite. Finally sure I’m not going to take my words back, she reaches out, snags the treat, and plops it into her mouth with one effortless swoop.

  I’d clap if I didn’t feel so terrified.

  “Penelope,” Ian’s voice calls, and I look up to find him reclining across his mother’s chairs, with a slump-shouldered Aras not far from his side. Ian jerks his head to the empty spot along the cushions. I push back from my place at the table, envious of the boys’ seemingly carefree ways.

  When we began our meeting at dawn’s new light, the king and queen had asked for a detailed account of Aras’ promised—or now unpromised—position. Considering neither one of them knew how closely his fate was tied to Knox, they took the news quite well. Even though Aras was a literal spy sent to follow me under Knox’s command, it helped that he is now back to his original state. Honestly, I’m thankful he hasn’t been thrown out of the kingdom.

  Yet.

  Aras had started his explana
tion from the beginning, speeding through our time together in the woods and focusing more on what happened after. Maybe in his mind, the after is still what matters the most. But I could feel the way the Theron queen’s eyes would roam over my face, searching my schooled expression for the slightest crack or flaw. Then her gaze would land on Ian’s hand where it sat by my side, gripping my fingers in an attempt to soothe as well as to keep my nervous energy from releasing some ill-timed magic into the air. I haven’t been to many life-altering meetings with royal families, but I’m quite positive the use of accidental fire would have been rather off-putting.

  Oh, these rules. How I long for days past when all I had to worry about was angering Darcy. At least that felt less life-threatening.

  Taking my steps much faster than I should, I pause in front of the long chaise before deciding to plop down beside Aras. Amazingly, he has his plate filled to its max. Seconds, from the looks of the fresh cinnamon glaze dripping from the warm breads. He catches my stare. Without another thought, he holds his plate out in a silent offering that speaks of a thousand sins.

  I care for you, it says. But I’m also going to need you to marry that prince.

  I wait for his gaze to find my face, and then I roll my eyes, crossing my arms as my back falls against the cushions. A wide smirk awakens the dimple on his cheek, and he shrugs, choosing to take a lavish bite of his own. Apparently, his hunger isn’t swayed by the fuzzy path of my future.

  But then his blue eyes soften—long, dark lashes lowering as he looks at his plate and up again. The smirk fades away, and a subtle wave of grief fills its place. His fingers twitch along the side of the plate, and it takes all I have to stay pinned to my cushion and not wrap him up in a tight hug like I know we both long to do.

  I’m sorry.

  “Are you not hungry, Penelope?” Ian leans forward until his elbows press against his knees, and I look away from Aras before he can catch the hollowing ache that lingers like a cloak across my back. “You haven’t touched your breakfast, and now more than ever, it’s important to keep your strength.”