Entered into the Open Novella Contest 2022 | This version of the book was posted solely for the ONC. A final, even more, polished version will be coming soon to Amazon! All feedback on story pacing, character development, and the overall plot is mos...
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The hallway is narrow and dark. I am relying on his knowledge to guide us through. I am barefoot, but my socks should be enough to protect my feet from the cold.
"I would light a torch," he says, "but we are not far from where I hope to bring you."
"And where is it you are taking me?" I ask, clasping my free hand around his arm."To the courtyard with all the Ariabella flowers."
My heart flutters in my chest. This must be a dream. I will wake up in bed, in my own home, and my mother will remind me of our appointment to retrieve Clara's earrings.
"I wanted to show you the garden before you left," he goes on, bringing my hand close to his chest as we come to a sudden halt. "Of course, I know I will be seeing you again."
"You are confident in that statement," I say, searching the dark for his eyes.
"I am; I'm the prince, after all. I can make it happen."
"And you want to make this happen?"
"More than you know."Light streams in as the open wall to my right; the first thing to greet is us green ivy. I blink my eyes until they adjust to the sunlight.
"Before we frolic to our hearts' content."
The prince faces me, my hand still close to his chest.
"I need to know how you felt when the Lark did not return," he says, staring into my eyes.
"How do you know about that?" I whisper, frozen in place. "I've not told anyone, apart from my mother."
"Just tell me how you felt. I have things to say, but I need to know this first."
He moves his hair, revealing his tattoo. I look at our clasped hands, then back to his eyes. How do I muster the words to express the disappointment I felt, on my own birthday? Why does he want me to tell him how I felt? Why does it all matter?
"You've got your thinking face on," he whispers, narrowing his gaze.
"You've done nothing but confuse me more, Elias," I say, but I am cut off when he kisses me.
I don't know what to do. He pulls away and watches me.
"I waited a year to be able to do that," he whispers, "because how strange would it have been if a bird asked you for a kiss?"
I gasp, "Little friend."
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