Chapter 2 When Hearts Begin to Burn

Prince Alaric stood at the edge of the field camp, staring into the dying light of dusk. His men had pitched tents, servants prepared food, and his advisors bickered quietly over tomorrow's route.

But his mind was back at the stream.

On her.

Liora.

There was something about her. Not just her beauty which was undeniable but her stillness. Her clarity. She hadn't bowed. She hadn't fawned. She had spoken to him like he was simply a man, and he found he didn't mind it one bit.

"Your Highness," came a voice from behind him.

It was Captain Ronen, his most trusted guard.

"You wandered off earlier. Without escort."

Alaric didn't answer.

"Careful, my prince. Not everyone in these villages sees you as a savior."

"I'm not here to be a savior."

"Then what are you here for?"

Alaric's eyes drifted toward the line of trees that separated the field from Duskmere.

"...To remember what matters."

The next morning was quiet again too quiet.

Liora woke before dawn, as always, and went about her work. She fetched water, checked on her mother, sewed the tear in Bram's only warm shirt. But her hands moved without feeling. Her mind kept drifting back to the prince. To his voice, his gaze, the way he had spoken her name like it belonged to him.

She didn't want to admit how much she remembered.

And when she stepped outside to tend to the garden, she froze.

He was there.

Not Alaric himself but a messenger, standing beside a royal-bred mare tied to the tree outside her gate. The man wore the purple and silver colors of the palace and held a letter in his gloved hand.

"For Miss Liora Hale," he said crisply.

Her heart stuttered.

"I... What is this?"

"A private correspondence. From His Highness." He bowed, offered the letter, and turned to leave without another word.

Liora stared at the sealed parchment in her palm, her name written in elegant, slanted script.

Maeve is going to faint, she thought.

Her hands trembled as she broke the seal.

________________________________________

The Letter

Liora,

I do not wish to frighten or burden you, but I find myself thinking of our conversation more than I should admit.

If it would not be too bold, I would ask for a moment of your time again. Tomorrow, just past the grove near the stream bend you mentioned. I will come alone. You owe me nothing. I ask only for the chance to speak to you without the weight of a thousand eyes.

If you do not wish to see me again, I will respect your silence.

A.

She read it twice.

Then again.

The words were careful, but they carried something dangerous beneath them a longing. A sincerity she had never expected from a prince.

Her mind screamed caution. Her heart ached with something unfamiliar and wild.

________________________________________

That Evening in the Palace Camp

In the prince's tent, candlelight flickered across silk maps and unread scrolls. Alaric stood at the open flap, hands behind his back, watching the forest sway with the night breeze.

Ronen entered quietly.

"You sent a message to the girl."

Alaric didn't look at him. "I did."

"You realize if the court finds out "

"They won't."

Ronen studied him. "You've never done this before."

"She's not like the women at court," Alaric murmured. "They were raised to lie. She has no reason to pretend."

"She also has no protection."

Alaric turned now, sharp. "What are you saying?"

"That the world is cruelest to women who catch the eye of powerful men. If you intend to break her heart, do it now before someone else decides to ruin her for you."

Alaric's jaw tightened. "I don't intend to break anything."

Ronen nodded once and left.

But the words sat with Alaric long after he was gone.

________________________________________

Back in Duskmere

Liora hid the letter beneath her mattress, heart pounding. She hadn't yet decided whether she'd go. But all evening, her feet kept drifting toward the grove.

What would she say if she saw him again?

What could she possibly give a man like that except more trouble?

But something deep within her stirred. A whisper. A yearning.

A dangerous, forbidden dream.

The sun was just beginning to rise when Liora slipped out of the cottage with the letter tucked inside her apron. Her mother was asleep, and Bram snored softly in the next room, clutching his rag-stuffed pillow. She paused in the doorway, heart hammering, the air still cool and laced with dew.

She didn't leave a note.

She didn't tell Maeve.

Some things couldn't be explained.

The path to the grove was one she knew well. It wound through the woods like an old friend quiet, still, and knowing. Sunlight spilled in thin streaks through the canopy above, and with every step, her breath grew tighter in her chest.

This is foolish, she thought.

But still she walked.

When she reached the bend in the stream, the silence was almost too loud. She half-hoped he wouldn't be there.

And then he was.

Prince Alaric stood beside the water's edge in a dark cloak and simple tunic, no guards, no polished boots. Just him.

He looked up as she approached, his expression unreadable until he smiled.

"Thank you for coming," he said.

Liora remained a few paces away, eyes narrowed. "I shouldn't have."

"But you did."

She nodded once. "I don't know why."

He gestured to a mossy patch of grass. "May I sit?"

She gave a small, wary nod, and they settled across from one another, the stream babbling softly between them. For a moment, neither spoke. A bird called in the trees. Wind rustled the leaves.

Then Alaric said, "When I was a child, I used to sneak into the servant's quarters just to hear them talk."

Liora blinked. "Why?"

"Because they spoke the truth. My tutors lied to please. My mother spun silk from politics. But the staff they spoke plainly. They laughed without permission."

Liora's mouth twitched. "So you want honesty?"

"I crave it."

She tilted her head. "Even if it's ugly?"

"Especially then."

Her gaze met his. "You don't belong here."

"I know."

"You could ruin me."

His smile faded. "That is the last thing I want."

"Then why are you here?"

He paused. "Because when I look at you, I don't feel like a prince. I feel like a man. And I don't know what to do with that."

Silence stretched between them, thick with tension and longing.

Liora looked away. "What do you want from me?"

Alaric leaned closer, voice low and reverent. "Time. Conversation. A few hours in a world that doesn't demand I wear a mask."

She exhaled slowly. "I can't give you more than that."

"I'm not asking for more."

But she saw it in his eyes.

He already wanted more.

And worse so did she.

________________________________________

Far Beyond the Grove

Lord Thandrel Wexley had been watching the prince for days.

From the moment Alaric strayed from the royal path, the seasoned court noble knew something was amiss. The crown heir did not wander without purpose. And when a messenger was sent quietly from the prince's hand with a sealed letter to the village?

That had confirmed it.

He'd bribed the courier. He hadn't opened the letter yet but he had noted the name.

Liora Hale.

A common girl. Poor. Orphaned. Defenseless.

He smiled.

This was an opportunity.

If Prince Alaric's heart was so easily swayed, Lord Wexley would find a way to turn it into a scandal. Or a weapon.

And if he couldn't convince the Queen of the prince's dangerous interest in the commoner?

He would handle it himself.

No matter what it cost.

________________________________________

Back at the Stream

"You should go," Liora whispered, standing abruptly. "If someone sees us"

"I know."

Alaric stood too, reluctant.

She turned to leave, but he caught her wrist gently. "Liora."

She froze.

He let go immediately, but the warmth of his touch lingered.

"I'll come again. Only if you want me to."

She didn't answer.

But she didn't say no.

The days that followed passed with aching slowness, but they were no longer the same. Something had shifted in Liora's world softly, invisibly, but undeniably. The wind tasted different. The morning light lingered longer on her skin. She hummed to herself when no one was listening.

And each afternoon, just before the sun dipped behind the trees, she wandered to the grove.

Sometimes he was already waiting.

Other times, she arrived first and wondered whether he would come.

But he always did.

They sat beside the stream and talked of things that had nothing to do with royalty or hunger. Alaric asked questions no one had ever bothered to ask her before. About her favorite flower. Her childhood dreams. The stars.

She asked him what it felt like to be followed by shadows in silk.

He said he'd never felt more seen than when she looked at him.

And then, one evening, he brought her something wrapped in soft cloth. Her breath caught as he opened it inside was a delicate silver comb shaped like the crescent moon, the kind no villager could afford.

"I can't accept this," she said quickly, trying to hand it back.

"You can," he said. "Because it isn't a gift from a prince. It's a token from a man who thinks of you more than he should."

She hesitated then reached out, hands trembling, and took it.

When their fingers brushed, something in the air shifted. It was no longer simply conversation.

It was want.

Need.

Possibility.

Alaric's eyes flickered to her lips and in that moment, she swore the world stopped turning.

But then they heard it.

A snap of a branch.

A footfall too heavy for a rabbit.

They turned as one but saw nothing.

Alaric stood swiftly, his hand moving to the small dagger at his belt, body taut.

"We're not alone," he murmured.

Liora's heart pounded. "You should go."

He nodded once, jaw clenched. "Be careful."

And then he vanished into the trees.

________________________________________

Across the Ridge

Lord Wexley lowered the spyglass from his eye, a thin smile stretching his face.

So it was true.

The prince was entangled. And not just in flirtation. There had been a look in Alaric's eyes a softness Wexley had only ever seen once: when the prince had spoken of his late father.

Dangerous. Vulnerable. Ruinous.

He turned to his waiting squire. "Return to the Queen. Tell her I have news she will not like but that she must hear."

The squire bowed and disappeared into the woods.

Wexley remained.

He had one more thing to do.

He needed to see the girl up close.

________________________________________

Later That Night

Liora lay awake, staring at the wooden beams above her bed. Her fingers clutched the silver comb, hidden beneath her pillow.

She shouldn't feel this way.

She shouldn't let him keep coming.

But she couldn't stop.

She didn't want to stop.

Some loves were written in fire even if they ended in ash.

________________________________________

At the Palace Camp

"You're being watched," Ronen said grimly as Alaric stripped off his cloak.

"I know."

"Wexley?"

Alaric nodded. "He's already sent word to my mother."

"She'll act."

"I know that too."

Ronen exhaled. "Then why keep going back?"

Alaric met his eyes, calm and steady. "Because she's the only thing that feels real."