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Archie shook his head, finally turning around to face the princess. “Healing?”
“There is a cure,” Ainsley said, looking down at her skirts. “A start of one. The healers and matrons at the castle have been working on it these past few years, and it seems to be helping. A few of the people bitten at the festival have died, but some of the younger, stronger victims are starting to pull through.”
“Good. That’s good.” Or at least, Archie wanted it to be “good,” but he couldn’t make the words sound sincere. His mother had died. So many others.
Of course it would be Declan who lived.
“It is good,” Ainsley said, and now he could finally see the dried tears and the curls sticking to the sides of her face. She hadn’t been keeping her composure as well as he had assumed. “Archie, when you never came to the castle to see me . . . When I couldn’t find you . . . Was it really just Declan? Because I told you I never cared for him the same way I cared for you. I never cared for him at all.”
She had told Archie that. And Archie had believed her at the time, but despite all his faults, Declan carried himself like a member of the court and a peer of the princess.
Everything Archie wasn’t. The original masterpiece compared to a counterfeit copy.
Hating a wounded man—whether he was actually dying or not—should have been beneath Archie, but the mix of conflicting emotions inside him morphed into something feral, a part of him ready for the princess to finally see him at his worst and turn away from him.
Even sinking low enough to raise a challenge that sounded petty even in his own ears.
“Well, I’m sorry to have disappointed you, Princess. But perhaps it is for the best. I was never much of a huntsman, and there is no better place for me than this. I won’t bother you anymore.”
“Bother me? Archie, you told me from the moment I met you who you were. Why do you expect me to be surprised by it now?” She bent down on her knees with a flourish. “Did you not know that it wasn’t the height of your stature that won me over but the tenderness of your soul?” Anderdolf again, though the words had lost their allure.
There should be something romantic about surrendering everything about one’s self for love—even your name—but it still didn’t feel pleasant.
Archie was ready to use his own words at last. He still couldn’t stand to see tears from the princess, but it seemed this conclusion should have been inevitable from the start, and all that was left was to make the break as quick and final as possible. “You say that, Princess, but from the moment we met, I felt like you were trying to craft me into someone else. And part of me didn’t care. I still don’t. I wanted to learn and have my life be more like a faerie story. So you can dress me up, help me shoot or dance or anything else you want, and I will be nothing but grateful. I just don’t like lying to your father or anyone else. I don’t want to feel like my life is built on a house of cards that might someday collapse. That I’m taking a risk too great. I’m not like your brother, and I might never be. I’m Archie Miller. Just Archie. Do you understand?”
“My brother?” Ainsley scowled, and even the cat backed away from her. “I can tell you about my brother. He was a prince and fancied himself a huntsman. He liked fashion and archery and was clever enough to keep everyone on their toes. He was also arrogant, but I don’t know if I noticed that so much when I was younger. He felt he had a responsibility and duty to the kingdom that made him risk more than perhaps he should have.”
Then the princess pulled for the bow that she always seemed to keep close—a bow that was too large and hadn’t been made for her at all. “He didn’t die in the plague, you know. So many people died then that it’s not always clearly said, but he disappeared after our mother died, hoping to find us a cure by questing amongst the forest faerie. Father would never have let him go alone, but I covered for him, the same way that we always covered for each other. And then . . .”
Ainsley shook her head and stowed the bow. “Well, we found his bow abandoned in the Darkwood. He never returned home. And sometimes I still wonder what might have happened if my brother had someone who cautioned him more, idolized and encouraged him less.”
Ainsley was still on her knees. Archie never wanted that—even in show. She looked so sad, so broken, that he couldn’t help but take a step toward her as the words continued. “I love my brother, and I miss him. I won’t deny that at one time, I wanted to be exactly like him, but that doesn’t mean I also wanted to marry him or someone I made in his image—even if it would please my father.”
Archie wasn’t sure who made the final move to close the distance between them, but he was holding her hand as a tear rolled down her cheek.
“And you’re sweet, Archie. I noticed that right away. But you could barely speak to me. I worried that you might never get to the point where you would speak your mind and tell me what you really wanted. And now that you have—and I know for certain how truly kind, steady, and honest you are. That you can join me on an adventure without becoming lost to it. Well, I can’t imagine any sort of man I might want more. And if you ever decided you wanted me too, if you were bold enough to show me . . .”
Archie had no words. Ainsley actually cared for him. She wasn’t just bored or overly impressed by something only the cat had done. She had seen beyond all the masks he tried to wear and saw something of his own soul to cherish, even if it was small. And for once, Archie found he didn’t care about the guards or the cat or anyone else. He bent down and kissed her.
And her startled lips were as sweet as he always thought they would be. She matched him touch for touch, breath for breath. Everything narrowed into focus.
“Yes! That was a real one!” Sophie cheered from somewhere behind them before the matrons could shoo her away. Her voice faded with distance, but her excitement was undeterred. “I’m telling the twins. They said it was all pretend and real princesses never kiss anyone like us.”
Ainsley giggled, her face still pressed against his. “You know, they’re right; I’ve never kissed anyone like you before. I’ve never kissed anyone.”
“Good,” Archie said, something primal inside him more than thrilled to be the first and only one to kiss his princess and find yet another area where they were more evenly matched.
But perhaps that shouldn’t matter anymore.
He had been intimidated by the princess’s title. There was no use denying that. He had seen her as a “perfect princess” and admired her like something you might put on a wall. Like the princess in Anderdolf’s tale that never even had her own name. But Ainsley wasn’t her title, and he might have judged her more harshly than she had ever judged him.
She had wanted him to talk frankly to her from the beginning, and he was certain now that if he had simply told her “no” at any point earlier, she would have listened.
He backed up and helped the girl to stand beside him. “Princess,” he said, but only out of habit, and it seemed he might have gotten it wrong. Because she had never asked for him to call her “princess.” Perhaps she had never wanted him to.
Perhaps, just as often as he wished he could treat her as a normal girl, she was wishing it too.
She had been lonely after her brother’s death. She had already told Archie that. But he had elevated the princess far too much inside his head, leading him to isolate and abandon her again for no better reason than his own insecurities. Now he would speak directly to her heart.
