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"Whoa there," comes an achingly familiar voice that spurs me to start trotting down the road.
"Juliet," the Prince calls out to me as I ride.
I ignore him.
"Juliet!" he calls again, his voice getting closer. I spur my horse to go faster, and luckily, she obeys. We begin to fly down the road.
Of course, the bastard is a much better rider than I am, unhampered by a corset and the unfortunate need to ride side saddle.
He pulls up beside me on his intimidating, all-black stallion, and grabs a hold of my reins.
"Give those back," I demand, trying to snatch them from him.
I promptly lose my balance and begin to topple off of my horse. He grabs me around my waist right before I actually fall to the ground, hoisting me onto his horse. We stare at each other, both breathing heavily.
Surprising myself, I reach out and slap him soundly across his face. I then gasp and cover my eyes. Now I've done it. If stealing the King's apples didn't get me thrown into the palace dungeon, then abusing the Crown Prince will certainly do it.
I peek through the fingers I have over my eyes, and see that he's staring at me, seemingly mesmerized by something. I slowly uncover my eyes, and I have just a second to take a breath before he's pulling me flush against him and his lips are crashing down against mine. He's actually kissing me. I immediately melt into his arms. It's my first kiss, but I can't imagine a better one. He slides the both of us off his horse and then his hands are framing my face as the kiss changes from the intensity of its beginning, to something sweet and undemanding. The change in pace doesn't lessen the fact that I can feel the impact of this kiss everywhere. I lean into him, wanting to be even closer, and I wrap my arms around his neck.
The fact that we're kissing in the middle of the road fades from my mind. The fact that he's the future ruler of England seems irrelevant. I forget that I was trying to run away from him, or that I've felt hurt and foolish for weeks now from his absence. I can only think of what it feels like to be surrounded by the warmth of his arms, to be enveloped in his glorious sandalwood scent that wraps around me. His lips work like magic to destroy all of my resistance.
He finally breaks the kiss and begins to slowly and agonizingly make his way down my neck.
"I was on my way to see you that very next day," he whispers into my ear. "I was waylaid by Father who needed me to immediately travel to France for negotiations to hopefully prevent another war. I wasn't able to send a letter with a messenger until a few days into the journey. I'm guessing by your anger that it never arrived."
I nod, but I'm unable to form words as his tongue is creating magic on my ear.
"If it helps, you're all I've thought about since that night."
I look at him and roll my eyes. "It helps a little," I reluctantly admit.
"I would like the opportunity to court you," he says, placing another soft kiss on my lips.
"I'll think about it," I respond, pushing away from the lovely warmth of his body, and starting to walk back to my horse.
"Where you are going?" he asks, sounding genuinely confused.
"To town," I reply.
"We aren't going to spend time together now that I'm here?"
"I waited for you for a month. You can wait for me for a day," I throw over my shoulder, primly getting back on my horse and starting to trot away.
I glance back at James and see that he looks flabbergasted. I chuckle. If he thinks that I'm going to be just another of his groupie subjects who waits on him hand and foot...he's got another thing coming. I need to have more self-respect than I've shown over the last few days.
Unless he gives me a Prince kind of order, then I guess I will obey that since I'm still terrified of those alleged dungeons in the castle.
I force myself not to peek back until I know he can't see me. I then finish riding into town as was my goal this morning, and I spend my day with friends, forgetting James Kensington for at least a moment.
The next day I'm roused awake when a servant flies into my room in a panic.
"Mistress, the Prince is here to see you. You need to get up."
"What time is it?" I ask.
"It's 7 am," she says, still wringing her hands in nervousness.
I flop back into bed. "Tell him to return at a more reasonable hour," I tell her.
