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“Yes, but it changed,” she cried. “The more I got to know you—”
“You lied to me.”
“I fell inlovewith you!”
Tristan pressed his lips to a tight line, then he looked away, as though the mere sight of her was unbearable.
“I never lied about my feelings.”
Shaking his head, he began pacing. “Everything we have was built on a lie, Aurora.” He stopped and bore his eyes into her. “How could you possibly think that it could weather a storm?”
Aurora’s lips trembled as she suppressed the torrent of emotions that were threatening to burst out of her.
“Millie was right,” Tristan’s voice cut through the heavy silence, his words a frigid accusation that pierced her like a dagger. “You did use me like a pawn.”
As he moved toward the door, she reached for him. “Tristan, please…” she cried.
But he pulled his arm away so as to avoid her touch. “I’ve granted your freedom,” he said, barely glancing back at her. “Do with it as you wish.”
Aurora’s emotions surged, a maelstrom of regret, fear, and the searing agony of her past choices. The room around her seemed to close in, the walls a suffocating reminder of her secrets and their consequences.
As Tristan’s footsteps receded down the hall, it echoed like the beat of a funeral drum. With a heavy heart, Aurora sank to her knees among the ruins of the shattered fragments of her heart.
TRISTAN
The musty scent of the council chamber permeated the room. It was a scent that had clung to Tristan’s memory since his early childhood, a mixture of old wood, ink, and the presence of countless rulers who had convened before him. As he sat at the head of the table, absorbing the atmosphere, the voices of his advisors reverberated like echoes of history.
Sir Harwick, a stout man with a graying beard, was the first to speak. “Your Highness, the reports from the borders are promising. King Midas has indeed withdrawn his forces. Our towns and villages, once desolated, are now buzzing with renewed vitality. The reconstruction is well underway.”
Tristan nodded, acknowledging the positive development. The turmoil of war had given way to the industrious hum of progress, a testament to the resilience of his people. But he knew that this was just the beginning, a single brushstroke on the canvas of his reign.
Sir Cedric, a younger advisor with sharp features, chimed in, “Furthermore, sire, King Nathaniel of the White Rose Kingdom has sent a ship laden with provisions. It’s a tangible symbol of the alliances we’re forging.”
“And Queen Snow White of the Chanted Kingdom has made an offer that extends beyond mere words,” Harwick continued. “She’s pledged troops and resources to safeguard our kingdom’s future.”
Tristan nodded, taking in all the reports. The kingdom was healing, and hope was no longer a distant dream. “This unity, this collaboration, it’s what our kingdom has needed for so long. My father believed in self-reliance, and while I respect his views, I believe in the strength of unity. We are stronger together.”
A wistful smile tugged at the corners of Tristan’s lips as he looked around the room. It was a smile tinged with acceptance, a sign that he was growing into the role fate had thrust onto him. He would never be the ruler his father had been, but that was not a mark of failure. It was a testament to his adaptability, his willingness to learn, and his capacity to evolve.
As the council members filed out of the chamber, their discussions concluded, Tristan lingered for a moment. He moved to stand by the window, allowing the warm sunlight to wash over him. The grandeur of the day ahead—his coronation day—cast a shadow over his thoughts.
A breeze rustled the ornate curtains, bringing with it the scent of blooming flowers from the castle gardens. He found himself lost in the view, as the castle bustled with activity. His coronation was soon to take place. He knew that he needed to stand tall, to wear the crown with confidence, but his heart remained a battleground of scars.
Tristan’s thoughts inevitably turned to Aurora. The memories of Midas’ words stirred within him like embers fanned to life. The revelation of Aurora’s marriage to Prince Hendrick had been a blow that had struck at the core of his emotions. The sacrifices she had made, her willingness to endure for the sake of love for someone else, had left him utterly broken.
But despite the pain that gnawed at his chest, despite the turmoil that raged within him, Tristan’s heart still yearned for her. Her absence, the hollow void that she left behind, was a pain that cut deeper than any wound he had ever known. It was a pain that defied reason, a pain that made him question everything he thought he knew about himself.
He pondered the true depths of Aurora’s feelings. The true love’s kiss they had shared was a testament to her love for him, an undeniable proof that their connection ran deeper than circumstance. Yet, the specter of Prince Hendrick’s existence loomed like a shadow over their relationship. If Hendrick were truly alive and returned, where did that leave Tristan in Aurora’s heart? The question plagued him, a constant whisper in the back of his mind that he couldn’t escape.
He had questioned his own emotions countless times, grappling with the complexity of his feelings. The tangle of his heartstrings, the longing that pulled him toward Aurora, was undeniable. Yet, uncertainty clawed at him, a persistent shadow that refused to be dispelled. He had been raised to believe in duty and honor, but love was a wild and unruly thing that defied logic.
“Tristan.”
A deep voice sliced through the silence, pulling Tristan from his reverie. He turned to find Killian entering the room. A smile tugged at Tristan’s lips as he met the eyes of the man who had fought at the front lines for his kingdom.
“Killian,” Tristan greeted him, the warmth in his voice mirroring the camaraderie that had formed between them. “What can I do for you?”
“Ella sends her love,” Killian began, his voice a deep rumble that resonated with sincerity. “She believes you’ll make a great king.”
