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Tristan frowned, but he wasn’t entirely surprised. “I figured the day would come sooner or later,” he admitted. “This kingdom is my responsibility. It wouldn’t be right to keep you from living your life, to carry a load I must bear alone.”
Ryke touched his cousin’s shoulder. “No matter the distance between us, our bond remains unbreakable. Besides, I trust you to make the right decisions. You’ll find your path, just as I have found mine. For now, I want to be here to support you in your pursuit of finding our next queen.”
Tristan’s heart swelled with gratitude. He cherished the loyalty and love Ryke had always shown him. With a nod, he acknowledged the strength of their bond. “Your presence at the ball means the world to me.”
The tailor stepped back, surveying his work with a critical eye. The suit, now perfectly tailored, seemed to embody the weight of Tristan’s responsibilities and the choices that lay before him.
* * *
Later that night, Tristan stood in the grand ballroom, his eyes scanning the elegant crowd that filled the space. The air buzzed with excitement and the murmur of hushed conversations. Chandeliers bathed the room in a warm glow, casting flickering lights on the marble floor. Velvet drapes adorned the walls, their deep blue color a stark contrast to the shimmering gowns and polished suits of the guests.
But because Tristan was still angry with Aurora for lying to him, the notion of finding a wife at the ball didn’t seem as burdensome as it once had. Perhaps, he mused, he could bury himself in the pursuit of love and forget about the Dreamworld forever. Maybe he should let Aurora keep her lies, her world, and the shattered remnants of his heart.
The thought lingered as he found himself needing fresh air. He made his way outside and walked toward the castle’s gardens. Stepping onto the cobblestone path, his footsteps were barely audible beneath the soft whispers of the evening breeze. As he wandered, his gaze fell on a patch of vibrant flowers. Among them bloomed the sundrop flower, its golden petals dancing in the fading sunlight. Wendy must’ve brought the flower’s root with her and planted them in the garden to keep them alive.
Tristan’s mind shifted back to Aurora, recalling their fleeting moments together on top of the castle’s roof. She had spoken of the weight of a father’s control, of the suffocating grip that Midas had held over her life. Tristan couldn’t fathom what it would be like to have someone like Midas as a father, a ruler whose legacy was shrouded in darkness.
Questions brewed within Tristan’s mind, intertwining like vines. How long had he left his own daughter trapped in that desolate realm alone? Was she merely a pawn in Midas’ cruel game? Was she, too, a victim of his insidious machinations?
A flicker of doubt tugged at Tristan’s heart, but he clung to the hope that not everything Aurora had shared with him was a lie. Her words had resonated with a raw honesty, a passion that seemed to bleed from her very soul. When she’d spoken of freedom, her eyes ignited with a hopeful fire, as if she had glimpsed a realm beyond the confines of her prison. And when she’d spoken of rescuing the girls stolen by Midas, her voice held an unwavering determination that could not have been merely to manipulate him.
Tristan knew that there was only one way to uncover the truth. He had to return to the Dreamworld, to face Aurora and peel back the layers of deception that she’d laid between them. But most importantly, he needed to find out what was inside that tower. That was the only way he would be able to defeat Midas, and that plan hadn’t changed.
War still loomed over his kingdom like a dark cloud. Time was slipping through Tristan’s fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass, each passing moment amplifying the weight of his choices. The future of his people depended on him finding a solution, but deep within, he knew that unraveling Aurora’s truth was an integral part of that puzzle.
AURORA
Aurora’s gaze fixated on the crackling flames, her wounded hand held close to her chest. The sting of Tristan’s reaction lingered in her mind, etching itself into her very being. The shock that flickered in his eyes, the revulsion that twisted his features—it was as if a dagger had been thrust into her heart. But what troubled her most was the uncertainty of his emotions. Was he angry at her for withholding the truth, or did his animosity stem from her connection to the very man who was burning down his kingdom? Would he think that she was in cahoots with her father? That she had kept him distracted and away from his kingdom so her father could keep conquering more of Tristan’s land?
A knock came from the door, its sound echoing through the cottage. With cautious curiosity, Aurora rose from her seat and approached the door. As she swung it open, her breath caught in her throat.
Tristan stood before her, attired in regal garments. The sight of him ignited a whirlwind of emotions within her, stealing the very air from her lungs. Relief, longing, and a torrent of unspoken words hung between them. He looked every bit the prince he was, his presence commanding attention and igniting a flicker inside her heart.
Inviting him in, Aurora stepped aside, her gaze unable to leave Tristan’s striking figure as he crossed the threshold. The subtle scent of his cologne mingled with the comforting warmth of the crackling fire flooding her senses. Silence settled between them, heavy with the weight of unanswered questions.
Tristan’s eyes roamed the room, taking in the modest furnishings and the flickering flames dancing against the walls. Aurora watched him, wondering what was going through his mind. Did he expect a castle, a dwelling befitting the daughter of a king? She knew all too well that she was far from a princess.
That fact had never troubled her before, but in that moment, as she observed Tristan’s royal attire and perfectly coiffed hair, a pang of sadness tugged at her heart. He seemed out of place in that humble setting, a bitter reminder of the contrasting worlds they inhabited.
She waited, her gaze yearning for Tristan’s eyes to meet hers, to bridge the invisible chasm that had grown between them.
“I... I don’t know what to say,” Tristan confessed, his eyes searching hers.
Aurora nodded, her heart resonating with the shared sentiment. The weight of their unspoken words echoed louder than any conversation. She held up her injured hand. “I could use some help with wrapping this bandage,” she said softly.
Tristan’s features softened. He moved closer, his presence bringing a sense of comfort.
Aurora guided him to a seat beside her, then with her other hand, she brought a basin of water with yellow flower petals floating on the surface. She settled it on the small wooden table in front of them. Dipping the bandage into the water, she allowed the petals to infuse their healing essence into the fabric.
Tristan’s touch was gentle as he wrapped the bandage around her wound. Each movement carried a tenderness that mirrored the blossoming feelings within her.
As he worked, Aurora’s attention turned to a jar of honey resting on the table nearby. She reached for it, dipping into its golden richness before bringing a spoonful to her lips. The sweetness coated her tongue, and she savored the taste.
With a soft sigh, she turned to Tristan. “Honey hastens the healing process,” she revealed. “For both my father and for me.”
“How come?” Tristan asked.
Aurora shook her head. “I’m not entirely sure. He never explained.”
