Astrid

Kieran visits my room again tonight, resuming the staccato routine we maintain every now and then. With every visit, I find that I mind our private, settled conversations by the alcove less and less.

He freezes when he finds me lying in bed. “Is this a bad time?”

I try to prop my body up, but the contracting muscles in my lower abdomen scream in protest. So, I let myself lie limp. Curse my monthly bleeding.

“‘Tis alright. This happens every now and then.”

His eyes squint in the dark. Then, they widen. His mouth drops into a silent, flustered ‘O’. “Can I get you anything?”

“Depends,” I fight to suppress a smile. “What are you holding in your hand?”

Kieran drags a chair up to sit beside my pillow. He hands me the hardcover book, but I cannot make out the title with the light from the fireplace blocked out from where I lay. I try to reach for the little lamp by my bedside.

“I will read it to you,” I offer.

“Nope.” He quickly snags the book out of my grip. “Today, I shall read.”

And so he does. It is fascinating, the way his voice drops to a quiet baritone when he reads – almost like a lullaby, but the way his tongue tastes the words can capture any child’s wandering attention.

The words of the book in itself, however… Perhaps those will lull me to sleep in an instant.

An involuntary snicker escapes me. I turn my head to one side and chide myself internally.

He pauses. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” I fight to maintain a straight face. “Is your book about...grapes?”

Frowning, he flips through the pages. I watch the fireplace until he closes it and sighs regretfully.

“Indeed it is,” he admits. “I did not realize this would be far from the entertainment you like to indulge in. Shall we find something a little more interesting to keep up with your easily dissatisfied tastes, my lady?”

His tone is blithe. He teases. Those words should not mean anything, but after my visit today, they wipe the smile off my face.

“You were right. I am vain. And selfish.”

The humor in his expression fades at the memory of his words in the library all those months ago. “Astrid, when we spoke that day…”

“No, I am,” I continue, cutting him off. “I used to look down on the way people modeled their lives upon security and routine. I used to think that just because they did not have the same ambitions I do, they were all fools. Now I have seen many things, and yet am void of the most important thing.”

“Freedom?” his voice is nearly pained. He stares hard at the fire.

“Assurance.”

He does not respond. How could he? None of us have any idea which turn our fates will take once our year is up.

“Sometimes I lie awake at night,” I close my eyes and the words come out in a breath. “Torn between making plans for two possible futures. In the end I do not make any plans at all.”

He asks quietly, “If we succeed, what will you do?”

I ponder on my answer. “I don’t know. Make my father’s final days comfortable, maybe. Find some work – I’ve been thinking of authoring a book or two.”

“An author,” he chuckles, more impressed than condescending. “Will you tell this story?”

“Of course. But nobody will ever believe it.”

“I will,” he vows. “I will memorize every word. What else will you do?”

I will memorize every word. My own words unscramble at the base of my throat.

“What of your fiancé at home?” he prompts.

“Maybe he will take me back, if I explain it to him. I do not know. It is not as if our promise to each other was set in stone.”

Kieran’s expression scrunches up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean...we made an indefinite promise. When I last saw him, he said he would propose to me after returning from a trip.”

“So you made a promise to make a promise?” he says skeptically. “What kind of a proposal is that? No sane man would make a woman like you wait for a second longer if he wished to make you his.”

I glare at him. Should I be flattered or irritated?

I decide to go with the latter.

“Oh, please. What would you know about marriage and love? Have you ever even come close?”

Even as the words leave my mouth, they feel unfair. He looks away. Just before I can formulate an apology in my head, however, he turns back to me.

“I was arranged to marry someone once when I was a prince. But I never loved her.” There is no anger or bitterness in his voice. This is just a statement of facts: a story. “During my final year after the curse, there was a girl who lived in a village by the outskirts of the kingdom. Aurelia, her name was.”

The blue seas in his eyes hold a faraway look, halfway between that of sorrow and numbness.

“She knew of my failures as the Prince. Of my stupidity. Yet she gave me the benefit of the doubt, and I…” his voice goes tight. “The very night before the year was up, she came to visit me. I’d warned her very precisely never to visit me past midnight, but I think she was in trouble, because she demanded to see me. Slipped right past Bayorn and followed the noise into the dungeons. And then…”

I look up to the diaphanous material draped above my bed. He does not need to finish the story. Out of the corner of my eye, he goes completely still.

My hand reaches over to find his over the book. He starts at my touch, but this time I do not remove it. And he, too, does not take his hand away.

“I won’t let anything happen this time,” I swear, turning over onto my side.

Though what could someone like me really do? Nonetheless, looking up at the shadows on Kieran’s face, I realize that I would lay down my own freedom just to give these people some relief. To give him some relief.

He shakes his head. Looks at me. His fingers move out of my reach. For a moment my heart sinks, but then they return to intertwine with mine more comfortably.

“And I will never let anything happen to you, Astrid. I promise.”