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When I remove my hand from the books, I’m surprised there isn’t a speck of dust on my fingers. As old and worn as these books are, the space is well-cared for, just like the plants in the hall. I like this wing of the house. It’s homier, more inviting. Especially with the tattered, ornate rug beneath my feet and the sagging wingback chairs that sit around without rhyme or reason.
These shelves are filled with stories of all sorts, and the thought makes me giddy.
The deeper I get into the aisles, light from the oil lamps at the front of the room recedes, but I can still make out the titles in the dim light. As I turn the last corner, I’m too distracted by the books that I don’t see the dark figure ahead of me.
When I finally notice him, I’m so startled that I jump, knocking into the shelves.
Rainer’s hand flashes out to steady me before I lose my footing altogether. I gasp, staining the silence with the sharp noise.
“Gods!” I whisper, clutching my chest. “You scared me.”
“What are you doing in this wing?” he asks in a cold tone.
He’s in tight black slacks with his light-grey collared shirt untucked and unbuttoned. The sight of his skin peeking out does funny things to my body, and I quickly divert my eyes.
“I—” What do I tell him? That I was looking for tea and decided to roam instead, hoping I’d run into him? “Couldn’t sleep.”
As our eyes meet, his rigidness melts away. The fight leaves his face as his expression softens.
Rainer is a prince. A wealthy, magical prince with everything he needs at his fingertips. A prince surrounded by friends and abundance. Yet he wears his pain like a second skin.
He sighs, not giving me a response as he looks down at the indigo hardback in his hands. He gives it a thump, running his fingers over the broken spine. The letters on the cover are so worn I can’t make out the title, other than the word Gardens.
“This was my mother’s favorite book.”
“She’s gone?” The question slips out.
“She’s dead.” His voice is flat as he turns and puts the book back on the shelf.
I wonder if that’s what keeps him up at night—her death.
On instinct, I reach out, placing a hand on his shoulder in comfort. He turns to me slowly, and I swear I see a glimmer of unshed tears in his eyes. It’s too dark to be certain, but I’m almost positive.
His jaw clenches as he looks away.
This strong, arrogant prince standing before me, with tears glimmering in his beautiful eyes makes my heart ache. He’s so vulnerable in this moment that it makes me want to wrap my arms around him and tell him everything will be okay, even if it’s a lie. It’s what Char used to do for me when I was hurting.
“I never had a mother,” I tell him, opening up in return. “At least not one I remember. But I had Char. She was—all I had.”
Moisture accumulates in my eyes, and a fat tear breaks free, sliding down my cheek.
Rainer surprises me as he reaches out, swiping it away with his thumb. My heart picks up its pace at the comforting gesture.
We continue to stare at each other, the space between us heating up with the heaviness of the conversation. His thumb gently caresses my cheek, and I lean into his hand.
“She’s who you were calling for the other night,” he murmurs. Then quickly, he adds, “At the gate, I mean.”
I nod. “She was everything to me. If it weren’t for her, I’d be illiterate.” I point to the shelves, and a smile spreads on my lips at the memory.
“That’s what picture books are for.”
Did he just make a joke?
When I glimpse Rainer’s small smile, I laugh, my shoulders loosening up. His hand slowly lowers from my face. I ache to reach out, to grasp his hand and keep him in my grip.
“That wasn’t the only thing she taught me.” If it wasn’t for her nurturing me, loving me, it’s likely I’d have left this world behind long ago. “Not all of my memories are horrible,” I continue, opening up to him. “But almost every single one of my good memories is because of her.” I glance over my shoulder, in the direction of the hallway where the various plants sit. “Most of my favorite memories are of us baking together. Or gardening in the nicer weather.”
“You were allowed to keep a garden?”
