Chapter Twenty-One

I had not gone to the small sitting room since the night of the dinner, nor had I found within myself any true inclination to test whether time might soften what had been altered there.The thought came to me as I fastened the final hook at Princess Elanor’s collar, my hands steady from long habit though my mind wandered where it ought not. I had taken care these past days to choose other passages, other stairwells — routes I had known since girlhood and yet now walked with new deliberation, as though the walls themselves might recall too much if pressed.Elanor stood patiently before the glass, her gown of pale blue falling in gentle lines, the morning light touching her hair so softly it seemed almost a kindness. I tied the ribbon at her nape and stepped back.“You are very exacting today,” she observed, not unkindly.“It is only proper, Your Highness.”“Perhaps,” she said, after a moment. “Yet I have noticed you grow particularly careful when your thoughts are occupied.”I lowered

Chapter Twenty-Two

I did not sleep.The castle had gone quiet in the way only great places do—too large to ever truly rest, yet hushed enough that every sound felt magnified. Somewhere far below my window a door closed. A guard’s boots echoed once along the stone and then faded. The wind stirred the drapery, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth and old roses from the lower gardens.Roman would be awake too. I knew this with an intimacy that hurt.The knowledge of him—of where he might be standing, what thoughts might be pressing behind that composed brow—had settled into me like a second heartbeat. I could no more ignore it than I could will my own pulse to stop. And yet tonight, for the first time since the Princess’s arrival, I did not seek him out. I remained where I was, seated at the narrow writing table beneath the window, hands folded so tightly together my fingers ached.Princess Elanor had not dismissed me early.She had not dismissed me at all.Instead, she had asked me to remain whi

Chapter Twenty-Three

It began with laughter — light and unrestrained, carrying easily across the lower garden as though it belonged there.I stood just beyond the gravel path beneath the shelter of the stone archway, my hands folded neatly before me, posture schooled into something invisible. The late afternoon sun bathed the grounds in a soft, honeyed glow, catching in the clipped hedges and pale marble bench, gilding the folds of Princess Eleanor’s walking gown as she gestured animatedly toward the orchard walls and spoke with a brightness that felt unforced, almost private.Roman listened.That was what unsettled me most.He was not merely attentive in the manner of a prince fulfilling obligation. He leaned toward her as she spoke, his expression relaxed, curiosity genuine as he asked questions and laughed softly in response to her stories. When she teased him — gently, playfully — he met it without stiffness or reserve. There was no blaze between them, no sudden spark that scorched the air the way it

Chapter Twenty-Four

The sound reached me before the sight did—the steady clop of hooves upon the outer stones, a rhythm both familiar and foreign after so many weeks spent within the castle’s walls. It carried through the morning air with a liveliness that felt almost indecent for a place so governed by protocol, and I had only just finished straightening the fall of Princess Elanor’s riding cloak when she turned toward me, practically glowing.“I feel as though I can finally breathe,” she said, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. “I have missed riding more than I care to admit. These walls are beautiful, but they do not move.”Her smile was unguarded, bright in a way that made her seem younger than her title, younger even than her years. It struck me, then, how little of the world she had yet touched since coming to Hawthorne—how the stone halls and watchful eyes had pressed her into stillness when she was clearly made for motion.“I am glad, Your Highness,” I said, though my voice betrayed no

Chapter Twenty-Five

Time had a cruel way of softening what ought to remain sharp, sanding down even the most jagged moments until they could be remembered without drawing blood. A full week had passed since the stables, yet the memory lingered beneath my skin, warm and unsettled, refusing to fade into something harmless.Seven days since Roman’s temper had flared at the sight of Thomas standing too close, speaking too easily, smiling with a familiarity that had set Roman’s gaze to ice. Seven days since I had witnessed something dark and unmistakably possessive flash beneath his composure — not the irritation of a crown prince guarding decorum, but the instinct of a man who did not care to see another lay claim, even in admiration, to what he believed was his.I told myself again and again that it had not been devotion.It had been ownership.The castle, indifferent as ever, carried on in its well-worn rhythm. Floors were scrubbed until they gleamed, silver polished until it reflected faces none of us ful

All Chapters of What Was Never Mine: Chapter 21 - Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

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