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“Oh?” He frowns. “Swans and herons, you said they make you think of spring and the return of good weather, that they remind you of… never mind.”
That I would have remembered. And I don’t. How strange.
We walk to the maze and I’m about to turn around when he takes my hand and pulls me into its spiral.
“Iason—”
“Selina.” Turning, he pushes me against the hedge of the maze and leans in—to kiss me, I realize belatedly as his lips brush over mine.
I shove at him. “No!”
A flash goes through his eyes, and his mouth twists. “No? What do you mean?”
“I… We’re not engaged yet.”
He sighs and rubs a hand over his eyes. “I know, but we will be, soon. It’s just… You are very beautiful. And I thought now that I promised to propose…”
He makes me feel bad for refusing. And it’s true, he promised. But… I clench the delicate bracelet in my fist. “Are you in love with me, Iason? Am I the only woman in your life?”
“In love?” His eyes go wide. “I barely know you. Don’t you think it’s a bit too soon to tell?”
“Is it?”
“We’ll have time to get to know each other,” he says softly.
“After we are engaged. With no way out if we end up disliking each other.”
“Why do you think we will dislike each other? Isn’t this like starting a race with one of your feet tied up? I like you. I think we’ll like each other just fine.”
“Isn’t love… like a stroke of lightning?” I whisper. “Striking you right in the heart, setting it on fire?”
“Stopping your heart, you mean?” He chuckles, rubs the back of his neck. “Lightning is dangerous. And I’m sure there are various kinds of love. Some are fast and some are slow.”
He’s right. And it’s not like I was struck by the lightning of love when I met Adar but… but maybe I was? It’s so confusing, what I feel for him…
“Kiss me, then,” I say, determined to get past this hurdle.
Because that’s what Adar did. Kissed me. Hooked me. Caught me.
Iason smiles. Steps again closer. Puts his mouth over mine, his hand on my face.
And… it feels wrong. All wrong, bitter and sour and awful. It’s not like Adar’s kiss. It doesn’t grip me, doesn’t melt me, doesn’t set me on fire.
I turn my face away with a gasp.
“You’re shy,” he says, still so close. Too close. He smells bitter like his scent. Bitter oranges, bitter almonds. “Or is it that you don’t like me? What you said before…”
“No. I like you.” I put a hand on his chest and make myself look at him. “But I think we should wait.”
“Fine.” He steps back, straightens his frock, then the tiara on his head. “Are you playing hard to get? Is this what this is? Is it about the other princess?”
“I don’t know, is it?” I stare back at him because that hadn’t crossed my mind. “Do I need to play hard to get?”
He shakes his head and turns toward the palace. “Of course not. It’s you I want. I told you. You should trust me.”
I want to. In the light of the wintry sun, he looks handsome. Tall and slender, elegant in his formal starched shirt and velvet frock, his tall boots and brocade breeches. He looks every inch the young prince he is, his blond hair turning to silver, shining brighter than the gold of his tiara.
I want to trust him, believe him, love him. I want it to be that easy.
