Despite knowing what a sham this arranged marriage was, I stood obediently as he bent to lift my hand towards his lips. A small yet romantic gesture meant to lull me. If only a kiss retained half the power it did in fairytales, maybe I could better appreciate the expression. I could feel the gaze of several unwed noble women shooting daggers at me, but I saved face and pretended not to notice. Perhaps if they knew, they wouldn’t feel so envious witnessing the spectacle that he had forced on me. 

Despite knowing what a sham this arranged marriage was, I stood obediently as he bent to lift my hand towards his lips. A small yet romantic gesture meant to lull me. If only a kiss retained half the power it did in fairytales, maybe I could better appreciate the expression. I could feel the gaze of several unwed noble women shooting daggers at me, but I saved face and pretended not to notice. Perhaps if they knew, they wouldn’t feel so envious witnessing the spectacle that he had forced on me. 

Although we would make our debut appearance as a couple tonight, I made plans to meet before the event formally began. I remember the warm light of the lanterns overhead, hung decidedly throughout the gilded ornate hall. Swift was my stride as I made my way towards the courtyard, a growing tension entangling my heart the farther I treaded. I had received word earlier that day of our upcoming engagement and requested a private audience with His Grace. When I was inquired of what business I had with my betrothed, I refused to elaborate. While his attendants warned me it was unlikely that the future duke would even consider my appeal without necessary cause, I retained my cool. If this was to work, absolute secrecy would be a must. 

I was grateful he granted my request, albeit with little time to prepare. As the end of the hallway neared, the sudden sight of the outdoor entrance gave way to quick breaths. My nerves were attempting to overwhelm me, again. I anxiously patted down my golden gown for wrinkles, still frantic from my rush over here. A slow breath in and out, I forced myself to regain my composure. If I were to negotiate with the young duke, I couldn’t let on just how desperate I was. My heartbeat hastened as I approached the courtyard. Once there, I noticed a tall figure with dark hair standing beside a railing with his back to me. His Grace. 

In his hand was a single rose, its stem pinched between his fingertips. Beside him lies a bed of deep red flowers akin to it, likely from which he plucked. At his feet were several petals, appearing to have been torn off by his own hand. I stood idly in fascination, lingering near the doorway as another floated down below him. I wonder how long he had been waiting here. 

I soon recognized my habit of stalling and pledged to reassert my will. Whether he had been here for minutes or mere seconds, I would be making my presence known. I proudly make my way towards His Grace, deliberate as the click of my heels became increasingly audible. I keep an eye out for his movements, certain a flick of his head would occur upon my intrusion. Strangely, though, I receive no such reaction. Strange. Either he was truly oblivious, or was already aware. 

“Your Grace, I–” I’m startled by him as he abruptly turns to face me. His pearl white suit, embellished with small medals, swung in his stride towards me. To my unease, he creates an uncomfortably short distance between us. Peering up at him, I realize that this was the first time I had ever seen his face so up close before. 

The faint glow of the night sky seems to impart a certain light to his eyes that I can’t quite place, but there’s no mistaking it–they’re shades of hazel that pierce my heart. 

Badumn… Badumn… 

His gaze studying mine, I can’t help but feel drawn to him. Maybe it was simply the way the light illuminated his face that begged me to reconsider. Perhaps it was the way the gold in his eyes began to appear as honey. Sweet to me. But in that moment, a stare that once felt foreign became kindred, and although I didn’t know him… a strange pang of guilt rings out for him. Perhaps I was mistaking lust for love, or perhaps my soul truly knew him in another life, but for some reason, I almost wish I didn’t have to tell him. Perhaps this didn’t have to end before it could even begin. And, perhaps in spite of my prejudices against marriage, if given the chance, he could prove me wrong. 

Regardless, being this near to him, I felt my resolve begin to crumble. 

“Here, Ava, this is for you…” he says softly, brushing the loose strands of my crimson hair past my ear. Ava? I feel the warmth of his thumb glide past my temple as he perches the rose alongside my head. “There,” he smiles as though satisfied with his work, caressing my cheek before sliding his hand down my neck. “You requested an audience with me?” 

“Ah, y-yes,” I stutter, still taken aback by both his choice of words and the gesture. Did I hear him correctly? Surely, His Grace wouldn’t speak to me so informally… but, to call me that? Perhaps, I did mishear him, indeed. “Um,” I mumble, taking several flustered steps back from him. Why did he call me that? “As I’m sure you’re aware, we are to be wed–” I’m cut off by the slip of my heel, causing me to lose control of my balance. “Shii–” I feel his hands catch me by my side, steadying me. I peer up at him, still uncertain of the familiarity behind his smile.

“Here,” he says, offering his hand to me.

“T-Thanks,” I stutter, taking it. Able to stand on my own and in no longer need of his assistance, I let him go. “But um–as I was saying,” I affirm, “This in itself is not negotiable. However, I am requesting that we postpone our marital obligations.” 

“Do you not wish to marry me?” he asks curiously, with the slightest tilt of his head. His question wasn’t romantic in the slightest, but the nectar of his words beg me to reconsider. Might I be being too hasty in declining his offer? He’s rather cute. Maybe I should get to know him better first. 

Ugh. Now I know I'm mistaking lust for love. I’ll just try to let him down easy.

“I’m sorry, but no,” I declare, flustered by my inner dialogue, “I misspoke Your Grace, I am merely suggesting it may be within your benefit to consider another lady–”

“My Lady,” he interjects, the tone of his voice somber, “you spoke clearly the first time.” “But my interest is none of your concern,” he says assuringly, shaking his head. “However, if I may be so blunt with you,” he leans in with a sly whisper, “I have no intention of considering another lady.” He pulls away from me with narrow eyes, seemingly perturbed by me. “So if you mean what you say, I will ask that you not elude your purpose–I insist you speak freely with me.”

“Your Grace,” I curtsey, afraid I’ve offended him this early on into our conversation, “It is within my best interest to marry you, lest the future of my household suffers.” As the sole daughter to House Laine, all that I am is nothing more than a means to an end; a simple tool praised for advancing a fortune meant for someone else. “Politically speaking,” I insist, steady as his gaze lingers, “my life alone remains insignificant apart from my marriage to you and my ability to bear sons.” As a woman, nothing was more widely respected than the number of sons she could conceive for her husband. “However,” I hold onto my breath, knowing there is no reconciling this, “I couldn't care less about my status nor my House. I have no family to feel pride for, nor do I wish to succumb to customs that consider me worthless outside of my use to you.” “I humbly plead with Your Grace that you postpone our marital duties long enough for me to abandon my place in this,” I assert before shutting my eyes. “Consider my insolence for the crown treacherous,” I breathe, certain of his disapproval, “but be aware that I am merely asking to be excused from the injustice that is this kingdom.”

With the anger of my heart pounding, I expect him to call such a request outright blasphemous, or to call out my gall. I dare not open my eyes, fearful of his reaction, but a matter of seconds pass and I receive no such response from him. I reluctantly pry them open, only to reveal that though his lips have parted, no words pass. The only trace of a reaction is in his narrowed eyes, appearing duller than when I first approached him, and seemingly dejected.

“Well?” I beg, defensive of his reply, “Is His Grace so appalled I have left him speechless?” Cruelly, he remains composed in his silence. I search his face for answers, though I can’t decide if it’s an expression of contempt or pity that he wears. 

But I surmise this wasn’t a conversation he imagined he’d have with his betrothed.  

Desperate, my fixed gaze lingers, reluctant to accept his apathy. I furrow my brows at him with pursed lips, daring to wait out this stalemate. However, at the peak of my fury, I feel my eyes begin to swell. Years of pent up frustration, now threatening to boil over. I turn to excuse myself, growing suffocated by the tightness in my heart. Tears I had been holding onto began pooling around my eyes. I regrettably wipe them away past my cheek, furious at my own fragility. But while I try to collect myself, the warmth of a hand latches onto my wrist. My eyes dart towards the unwelcome touch, quickly realizing it’s His Grace. I meet those same shades of hazel, and evident in his expression is conviction, devoid of any uncertainty I may have succeeded in impressing on him. 

“My Lady, while I sympathize with your cause, I cannot in good faith honor your request.” 

“In good faith?” My eyes brows furrow in detest, “Are you so concerned for my safety?” His grip remains firm as I motion for him to let go.

“Your rhetoric is misplaced,” he says gently, placing a hand on my shoulder to my disgust, “You have neglected to mend fatal holes in your logic, and I truly fear their impact.” I give him a stern look. Is he so blatant as to call me dull? My pride is enraged by his condescension, and I jerk away from his touch.

“Are you so blatant as to call me dull?” I press, shooting daggers at him. “Is it so obvious that I’m helpless? No, I dare not trouble you with my woes, Your Grace,” I retort bitterly.

“What? No, Ava, I didn’t mean–!” he asserts, the restraint in his voice now apparent. I flinch upon hearing my name pass his lips so casually. 

“No, Your Grace,” I mock, “I shall make haste to leave, lest I inconvenience you further.” 

“But you can’t just go, Ava!” he stresses, “Y-You cannot simply flee!”

“Yes, I can!” I assert, struggling to wrestle my wrist out of his grasp. I then motion to jerk my arm away, but soon notice his stance unshaken by my attempts. Peering up at him, I notice his height looming over mine. I shudder, realizing how easily I’ve been overpowered. Frantically, I glance at my surroundings, and catch the faint glow of party lights. “Let me GO!” I shriek, loudly enough in hopes some passerby might hear me. As if triggered by this, he quickly reaches his other hand over my head, ushering me towards him. My knees hit his lap as he pulls me towards his chest. I try pushing myself away from his embrace before he shushes me. 

“Do you want the whole world to hear of your treachery?” His tone is now a terse whisper. My face devolves into a scowl of contempt.

“No, I hope they hear this!” I shout, wanting to yell so loudly his eardrums burst. However, he’s no longer looking at me, his eyes following some matter past the courtyard. Seemingly distracted, I take my chance. I vehemently jerk my knee towards his abdomen and lurch out of his clutches, clashing with the hedges in front of me. The sound of his wince in pain assures me as I push through the thick brush.

Breaking through to the other side, I find myself in the midst of a maze, surrounded by hedges twice my height. To my right the corridor stretches down to a dead end, but to my left, it seems the labyrinth continues. Hmm, but for me to be here, that must mean that the center is…

My gaze is caught by the sound of rustles behind me. Shit.

With only seconds to spare, I kick off my heels and dart down the left path.