Episode Two: The Boy From Six Years Ago

Aurelia

"Aurelia…" My name slid off Arthur's tongue in a voice so smooth and deep that its rich rumble slid down my spine against my will.

He extended his hand, bowing slightly. "It's a pleasure to be of service to you again, Princess."

Princess.

My blood boiled with rage. It was my title, so I didn't mind when other people used it. But Arthur never called me Princess unless he was mocking me.

I didn't care about the teasing, not even when he used it to poke fun at me for killing every flower I touched.

Because I was sixteen then, infatuated with a boy two years older, my head lost somewhere in the clouds. Nothing anyone said mattered. I spent nights writing about him in my journal, doodling our names along the margins, as though I were already planning our future together.

I was sixteen. And stupid.

I stared at his hand as if it were the most insulting thing I'd ever seen, brushing only the tips of his fingers before yanking my hand back. "Arthur," I said briskly, then turned back to Papa. "You want him to be my bodyguard?"

Papa nodded. "Yes."

I took a deep breath, my chest tightening with fury, reminding myself I wasn't angry at my father. I simply detested his choice of company.

No—I loathed it. That was all.

"Someone with no experience guarding a noble?" I scoffed, disdain dripping from every word. "I'm sure there's someone else. Maybe one of the castle guards? Fredrick?" I leaned in, pressing harder. "If you're worried enough to send me off with him, then I beg you to reconsider, Papa."

I reached for his hand, brushing his fingers with mine. "Won't you grant me this one request? For me?"

His expression softened, and hope flared in my chest. I couldn't wait to be rid of Arthur. No matter how many years had passed since he vanished from my life, I could wait another hundred without ever wanting to see his face again.

Then Papa's phone rang.

He pulled his hand away, and my hope guttered out like a flame in a violent wind. He answered the call, his brows knitting within seconds.

He rose abruptly, nodding and murmuring words I couldn't catch to whoever waited on the other end.

When the call ended, he was no longer Papa—he was Christopher Castleworth, King of Castleworth and every trace of warmth vanished from his face. "I need to be off now, Princess," he said. "Arthur will brief you on the details of your trip tomorrow."

Tomorrow?

I opened my mouth to protest, but he was already striding toward the door. He didn't glance back once as he crossed the threshold, and I flinched when the door slammed shut behind him, the sound cracking through the room like a whip.

The silence that pooled in his wake was thick and suffocating.

From the corner of my eye, I could still see Arthur standing near Papa's empty chair. He smelled of wild berries and musk, a scent that coiled around my throat and slid into places it had no right to reach.

I said nothing, my lips pressed into a hard line. I owed him no words, and I refused to give him any excuse to speak to me.

I just wanted him gone.

But when seconds bled into minutes, and my jaw ached from clenching, I finally snapped. "What are you doing here?" I demanded, whirling to face him. "Didn't you have grand plans of traveling the world? I doubt our little end-of-the-map kingdom fits into that dream, does it?"

Arthur said nothing at first, his expression maddeningly composed and calm, his hands tucked into his pockets even when I was seething inside.

"Well?" I pressed.

His gaze flicked to the door, then back to me. "Your father sent for me."

I scoffed, crossing my arms tight against my chest. "That's bullshit. Papa wouldn't drag you from halfway across the world just to babysit his daughter."

Silence again.

"I wasn't halfway across the world," he said evenly. "I've been in the city for three years."

My head snapped up, and I did a double-take. Three years? He'd been that close, and he'd chosen to stay away? A thin, humorless smile curled my lips. "How convenient. I suppose some things just come easily to you."

Like breaking a promise without so much as an explanation. Or an apology.

"I don't need you," I said flatly. "You're the last person I'd want protecting me. I don't trust you to put my needs above your own feelings."

His brows pulled together—just slightly, but enough to tell me my words had landed. My smile stretched, brittle as glass. "I know Papa's always gone soft where you're concerned," I added, "but I'm the one in charge now. So you might as well pack your bags and crawl back to wherever you came from."

Arthur tilted his head slowly, his gaze darkening as he stepped closer. I flinched, my pulse leaping into my throat.

His blue eyes pinned me in place. "In charge?" He mutinied with amusement in his tone. "Your father hired me. If you want me gone, take it up with him, Princess." He drew out the title again, slow and mocking.

I hated it.

It had been fine when I was sixteen, naive and foolish—but not anymore. "Really?" I shot back, rising to my feet, my arms still locked across my chest. I closed the distance between us, my gaze never wavering.

I stopped a single step away. "You think I'm not in charge?" I challenged. "You must've forgotten, Thorne, that I'm a royal. Not a child. I hold an office, which means I make my own decisions."

I shrugged, barely lifting my shoulders. "And I know I don't want someone incompetent guarding me. No offense—" my gaze raked over him, cool and dismissive, "—but I don't think you're good enough."

I bit back a triumphant smile, pride blooming in my chest.

Arthur nodded curtly. "Alright, then," he said without hesitation. "If you don't need me, I'll be on my way."

My irritation flared as he stepped past me toward the door. He was really leaving? Just like that—without so much as a fight?

That was what I wanted, I reminded myself as my fists curled at my sides. I wanted him gone. But watching him take the easy way out lit something fierce in my chest.

After everything, he didn't deserve to walk away as though he'd done nothing wrong.

"Stop!" I yelled.

He took one more step before halting. I stormed up to him, stopping just in front, hands planted on my hips, glaring hard enough to burn. "Don't you have something to say?"

He frowned, shaking his head slowly. "Something to say?"

I arched a brow. "Yes. To me."

"I don't think so."

A sharp, bitter laugh escaped me. "You must have a very short memory, then. Let me remind you. You left." My voice cracked sharp as a whip through the air. "You left. And now you think you can just waltz back in here and pretend everything's fine?"

His eyes flashed with something too fast and too intense to name as corner of his mouth twitched with something that wasn't a smile, before his expression smoothed out again.

"That was six years ago, Princess," he said coolly. "Six years is far too long to hold on to a childish promise, isn't it?"

Childish.

It didn't feel that way when he grew a white rose for me, then pressed it between the pages of a book that had poems written on either side.

But of course—

"Right," I nodded stiffly. Of course he thought it was childish. Because he had dreams back then, and I was the daydreaming princess locked up in a castle.

I swallowed my hurt as I stepped back, giving him a wide berth. "You should go," I said quietly. "Don't bother to tell my father. He's too busy doing more important things."

I turned away, refusing to look at him, refusing to acknowledge the lump in my throat as the door opened and shut behind Arthur.

I took a deep shaky breath, wiping my hands down on my sweatpants. It was for the best. I needed him to crush what was left of my stupid infatuation.

At least now I knew the truth.

That I was just a phase to Arthur. A phase that passed a long time ago.

I walked back to Papa's desk, and the envelope lying there caught my eye again. It was sealed, but I opened it all the same, annoyed at him for dredging up old feelings.

Inside was a handwritten letter, in his cursive script.

I raised it up to better light.

It read:

*Dear Evelyn,

I know we haven't spoken in a long time. But I must impress on you this favor, because it is beyond important. I'm sending my daughter, Aurelia, to live with you for the next six months.*

I paused reading as my eyes widened in surprise. Six months?

He lied to me, then. He said it was going to be three months.

I huffed under my breath and continued reading.

*…I know you've expressed that you want nothing to do with our family, but I have every cause to believe that Aurelia's life might be in danger, as your brother—my wife’s brother—has returned.

I implore you to keep her safe, until I can make sure there is no more danger here awaiting her.

Yours, Christopher.*

The letter fell from my shaking hands as the door burst open.

"Aurelia?"

I raised my gaze to meet Papa's face from across the room, his expression stricken, drained of all color the moment his eyes found the letter on the floor.

"You weren't supposed to see that," he said, his voice low and almost frantic.

"Papa." My heart slammed against my ribs. "Mama’s only brother. The one they said died twenty years ago—" I searched his face, desperate for him to tell me I'd misread it, that none of it was real. "He's alive?"

Papa said nothing. He didn't have to.

Arthur appeared out of nowhere, his hand already moving toward his holster tucked against his belt. “Theres’s something going on,” he said, his voice strict with urgency.

I started to ask what, but in that instant, the lights went out.