Sunlight streamed through the library windows in fractured golden shafts, spilling across the shelves and warming the spines of a hundred unread stories. It was the kind of light that made the world feel paused—as though time itself waited patiently for someone to finish the next sentence. Isabella had found refuge in this room more times than she could count, but today the stillness felt different. Rare. Fragile. Like something beautiful that might disappear the moment it was disturbed. Dust drifted lazily through the beams of sunlight, turning the air almost magical. Curled on the velvet chaise with her knees drawn beneath her, Isabella was completely lost in the final pages of The Field of Foes. Her fingers tightened around the book as she reached the moment she had been waiting for. Sir John had returned to the castle. Everything was set. If he opened that door—if he spoke the wrong name— The library door burst open. “Eric!” Isabella groaned, clutching the book against her chest. She already knew the look on his face meant trouble. “Don’t you dare—” “He betrays them,” Eric declared, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Sir John. He gives away the entire plan. The ending is tragic, honestly.” Her mouth fell open. “You vile, insufferable little—” The slipper left her hand before she even thought about it. Eric ducked easily, laughing as he caught it midair with the reflexes of someone who had survived years of Isabella’s dramatic reactions. “It’s a war book, Izzy,” he said, tossing the slipper back toward her. “Everyone dies.” “Not Sir John!” She grabbed the second slipper and threw it. This one struck the edge of the fireplace with a disappointing thud. Eric collapsed onto the chaise across from her, still grinning. “You get too attached. That’s your problem.” “And yours,” she replied, crossing her arms, “is that you ruin everything you touch.” “Next time I throw my shoe at you,” she warned, “I promise I won’t miss.”

“You two are going to bring the entire palace down with your noise.” The calm voice from the doorway made them both turn. Queen Elara stood there, graceful and composed, her hands folded neatly before her. Amusement danced in her eyes, though she tried to hide it behind the dignity expected of a queen. “Eric,” she said evenly, “your father wishes to speak with you after dinner. And your tutors are still waiting in the study.” Eric’s entire expression fell. “Tell them I died heroically in the Battle of the Library.” “You’ll die in earnest if you continue avoiding your studies,” Queen Elara replied. Her gaze softened when it moved to Isabella. “And for goodness’ sake, stop throwing things.” Isabella immediately arranged her face into her most innocent expression. “Yes, Aunt Elara.” The queen raised a brow but said nothing more. Eric stuck out his tongue as he passed Isabella on his way out. She answered with an exaggerated bow, and only after the door closed did the library return to its peaceful silence. At least, for a moment. “Tragic ending, is it?” The familiar voice came from the doorway. Isabella looked up. Mason stood there, the sunlight catching in his wind-tousled dark hair. His eyes brightened when they met hers, and despite herself, she felt a smile tug at her lips. “Sir John dies,” she said mournfully. Mason stepped farther into the room and lowered himself into the chair Eric had abandoned. “He was always going to.” “That is not the point.” “Heroic deaths are the only kind that last.” She tilted her head. “You only say that because you think you’ll have one.” “And what makes you think I won’t?” he asked with a wink. Isabella opened her mouth to answer, but no clever response came quickly enough. He had an annoying habit of doing that. Before she could recover, he reached for the chessboard between them. “Rematch?” Her smirk returned. “Only if you are prepared to lose gracefully this time.” “I never lose gracefully.” He admitted with a smirk. The game began. The quiet clicking of chess pieces filled the library as their familiar rhythm returned—small insults, laughter, and accusations of cheating that neither of them ever truly believed. When Isabella captured his bishop with her knight, she leaned back with a victorious grin. “I need to get back at Eric.” Mason glanced up from the board. “For ruining your book?” “For existing,” she said. “But yes, the book too.” His brow lifted. “And what does the great schemer have planned?” Her eyes brightened. She knew exactly how to catch his interest. “We go riding after supper. I challenge him to a race. I win dramatically.” “You mean you could try to win.” “Yes,” she said, lifting her chin. “But this time I intend to make sure he eats dirt.” Mason leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. “Remind me never to cross you.” Isabella looked up at him. For a moment, neither of them spoke. “I won’t make any promises,” she said lightly.

The saddle straps looked secure. Most of them, anyway. Eric’s, however, had received a small adjustment—just enough to humble, not enough to harm. Or so Isabella told herself. The wind tore through her hair as laughter echoed across the palace grounds. Her mare surged beneath her, hooves pounding against the worn garden path as they raced beneath the fading afternoon sun. “You’re cheating!” Eric shouted behind her. “You’re just slow!” she called back. Mason rode ahead by a length, a grin stretched across his face. “First to the west fountain!” Isabella shouted. “That wasn’t the original finish line!” Mason yelled Eric urged his horse forward, drawing even with her. And then his saddle slipped. His eyes widened and a startled yelp escaped him before he tumbled from the saddle and landed face-first in the dirt. For one terrible second, Isabella froze. Then she burst into laughter. Mason wheeled his horse around, trying—and failing—to hide his amusement. “Goodness, Eric. Hurt yourself?” “Nothing permanent, I’m sure,” Isabella managed through her laughter. Eric pushed himself upright, spitting out blades of grass. “This was my best vest!” “You’ll survive,” she said, smiling down at him from her horse. “Someday,” Eric muttered, brushing dirt from his cheek, “I will have vengeance.” They helped him back onto his horse, and soon they were riding again—though slower this time. “Your horse nearly landed on you,” Mason teased. “Would’ve been a mercy,” Eric replied. “We are needing to be more careful,” Mason said. “Izzy’s schemes are improving. Next time she’ll rig your boots to catch fire.” “You would both be far less interesting if I didn’t keep you on your toes,” Isabella said. Eric feigned offense. “You hear that? We are merely characters in her theater of chaos.” Isabella rolled her eyes and guided her mare closer to Mason’s stallion. “Ride too close,” he murmured, a teasing edge in his voice. “and I might think you like me.” Warmth crept into her cheeks, and she immediately looked away. “You would think that if I breathed near you.” “Oh, I think plenty of things when you’re near.” “Like how to cheat at chess?” “Like how to let you win gracefully for the sake of your ego.” “My ego is perfectly intact.” Eric groaned behind them. “Do I have to listen to this every ride?” “Listen to what?” Isabella asked innocently. “This flirtation spiral.” She gasped. “This is arguing.” “Exactly,” Mason said. “Far too clever to be flirting.” “You two deserve each other,” Eric muttered. Mason glanced toward Isabella, a quiet smile touching his lips. “Maybe we do.” The words lingered longer than she wanted them to. She turned her gaze toward the hedgerows, pretending the fading sunlight had suddenly become fascinating. The palace rose ahead of them, its tall windows glowing with evening warmth. Jasmine sweetened the breeze as they approached. “You really did look like a court jester eating dirt,” Mason said. Eric sighed. “You are doing wonders for my confidence.” “He’s preparing you to meet the king,” Isabella teased. But Eric’s smile faded. His gaze shifted toward the eastern tower, where shadows climbed the stone walls. His fingers tightened slightly around the reins. “I’m sure Father will find our adventures hilarious.” He said it lightly. Too lightly.Isabella noticed the change immediately. “You okay?” “Of course,” Eric answered quickly. “Just preparing my explanation. Perhaps I was ambushed by squirrels.” Mason laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Excellent. Very believable.” Eric smiled but Isabella saw what the others might have missed. It never quite reached his eyes. Everyone knew the king was not someone to disappoint. She glanced away from Eric and together they watched the sun sink lower, covering the palace towers in amber light. When they reached the stables, Eric rode ahead and looked back at them with a grin. “Just wait. When I’m king, I’ll catch all my conniving friends and deliver the justice they deserve.” Mason laughed. “You? King? Won’t that be a day to see.” Isabella laughed with them. Nothing could ruin this moment.

The palace was quiet, but Eric could feel the tension beneath the silence. Tomorrow. He would not simply be Prince Eric. Tomorrow the crown would pass to him, and the kingdom would look to him for answers he was not certain he had. The morning light barely reached his chambers, slipping through the tall windows in thin golden lines. The room remained dim, shadows stretching across the stone floor like they were reluctant to leave. On the chair across from his bed lay the ceremonial robes he would wear for his coronation. Black. Heavy. Waiting. They looked less like clothing and more like a shadow preparing to settle over his shoulders. Eric sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. Every moment felt different today. Every breath carried the knowledge that nothing would be the same. He crossed the room and stopped before the tall mirror near the window. The person staring back at him looked familiar. But not entirely. A young man stood there, nearly grown, yet the weight in his eyes belonged to someone much older. Someone who had spent years carrying things he was never meant to hold alone. His fingers brushed the edge of the black robes. Then the crown resting nearby. The gold caught the morning light, gleaming sharply from its velvet cushion. Beautiful, Cold, Unforgiving. Exactly how his father had worn it. Eric looked away as a knock sounded at the door. Before he could answer, it opened, and Isabella stood in the doorway. “Eric I have been yelling out here waiting for you to open the door-” She stared quietly, as she always did when she sensed something was wrong, but her presence filled the room immediately. She wore a simple noble dress, her hair neatly arranged, though he knew her well enough to know she had probably complained about the process. Her eyes swept over him. “-You look like you’re about to be executed, not crowned.” Eric’s mouth twitched despite himself. “Might be the same thing in the end.” The teasing in her expression faded slightly. “Don’t say that.” She stepped closer and reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. “You’ll be brilliant.” He wanted to believe her. More than anything, he wanted to believe her. But the crown on the table seemed heavier every time he looked at it. Isabella took his hand. “You don’t have to be anyone but yourself.” The words should have comforted him; Instead, they touched the fear he had been carrying for years. Kindness was weakness. That was what his father had always believed. And what if his father had been right? Or worse, what if the crown changed him? What if one day he looked into a mirror and saw the same coldness staring back? Eric pushed the thoughts away and forced a grin. “You’re right. I’ll simply remain my handsome old self. You agree, don’t you?” Isabella immediately rolled her eyes. “Oh, brother. Didn’t you receive enough humbling as a child?” Eric placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “I think you humbled me quite often.” “Well, it clearly didn’t stick.” “It stuck directly to my heart, dear cousin,” he declared dramatically. “All the battles and squabbles, the tricks and embarrassments. Right. To. The. Heart.” She laughed, shaking her head. “I’m going to breakfast and then the library,” she said. “And don’t you dare spoil another book for me.” A small smile tugged at Eric’s mouth. Those were the good days. The days when their greatest problems were thrown slippers, ruined endings, and losing at chess. Isabella left, and the quiet returned. Eric remained there for a moment longer before finally leaving his chambers. He did not have a destination. Not really. He simply needed to move. The palace halls were nearly empty. Servants passed like shadows, their footsteps soft against the stone floors, their voices lowered out of respect for the weight of the day. Eric walked until he reached the study. The boy he had been seemed far away. Somewhere between his father’s funeral and tomorrow’s coronation, he had become someone else. And he wasn’t sure he liked him. “You should be eating breakfast.” Eric turned. Queen Elara stood several steps behind him, the silver of her gown catching the morning light. She looked exactly as a queen should—graceful, composed, untouchable. But her eyes softened when they met his. “I don’t have the stomach for it,” he admitted. She approached quietly. “The night before your father’s coronation,” she said, “he snuck out of the palace and went riding.” Eric looked at her. “He did?” She nodded, a faint smile touching her lips. “I found him hours later. Drenched from the rain and furious at the storm.” A quiet laugh escaped Eric. “What did you say to him?” “I told him, ‘Next time, bring a cloak.’” Eric smiled faintly. “He probably hated that.” “He thought I didn’t understand the weight of what was being handed to him,” she continued. “He thought none of us did.” “Did you?” Her expression softened. “I understood the fear. But I also knew the man he could become if he allowed himself to try.” Eric lowered his gaze. “It seemed he didn’t try.” Something tightened in her expression. “He changed when his sister died.” Her voice was gentle, but there was a firmness beneath it. “And now he can rest.” Eric swallowed. “What if I’m not ready?” Queen Elara looked at him. “No one is.” He studied her face. She had changed since his father’s death. The years had left their mark. The lines around her eyes were deeper. The weight she carried was visible but she had not broken. Not completely. “Do you miss him?” Eric asked quietly. The question hung between them. Finally, she answered. “Every day.” “How?” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Some silences could only exist between people who understood grief. She touched his shoulder. “Come. The council waits.” Eric let out a quiet breath and followed her.

The grand hall held its breath. From the royal box, Isabella watched as the High Priest lifted the crown into the air. The golden circlet caught the firelight from the braziers, gleaming above the gathered nobles as though it carried the weight of every king who had worn it before. Mason’s hand was warm in hers, their fingers gently intertwined, and though she did not look at him, she did not need to. His quiet presence beside her steadied her in a way few things could. The High Priest opened the ancient book resting upon the velvet cushion and began to read. Isabella tried to listen, but the words were difficult to make out from where she stood. Her attention drifted to the book itself—the Bible. There was only one copy in the entire castle, kept safely in the library, and no one had been permitted to touch it while King Aldric lived. He had claimed the words inside could not be true, not after the injustice he believed had been done to his family. Not after Isabella’s mother had died. Isabella had never understood how someone could reject God's word because the world had shown him cruelty. She only wish she could know them. The High Priest’s voice faded beneath the pounding of Isabella’s own heart as the crown was lowered. Slowly and deliberately, it settled upon Eric’s bowed head. For one moment, the hall was silent. Then the cheers erupted. The sound crashed against the marble walls like a wave, spilling through the open doors and out into the city beyond. Bells rang from every tower and spire, their voices joining together in celebration as the kingdom welcomed its new king. Isabella felt her breath catch as she looked down at him. “He looks like a king,” she whispered. Mason leaned slightly closer, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “He looks like he needs a friend.” A small smile touched her lips. Of course he would notice that. Everyone else saw the crown. The ceremony. The power. Mason saw beyond the frivolous. Before the cheers had even fully faded, the great doors to the left opened, spilling golden light and the sound of music into the hall. Guests began making their way toward the ballroom, eager to celebrate the new reign. Isabella let go of Mason’s hand and followed the crowd. The ballroom shimmered like a dream. Chandeliers hung overhead like captured constellations, their crystals reflecting candlelight across the polished floors. The scent of lilies, warm wine, and stone filled the air as nobles moved gracefully around one another, their silks brushing together with every turn of the dance. Isabella slipped through the crowd with two crystal glasses balanced in her hands, having taken them from a passing tray without a second thought. The laughter and conversation surrounding her faded as her attention settled on the thrones at the far end of the room. Eric sat there, the crown resting upon his head. He looked every bit like a king. His posture was straight, his expression composed, and his presence carried the authority everyone expected from him. Yet Isabella knew him better than most. His eyes were distant as though some part of him remained somewhere far away. She approached him with a smile. “Eric, the new King,” she said brightly. “I thought this day would never come.” He looked up, startled, and whatever emotion had crossed his face vanished behind a familiar grin. He rose quickly, took the glasses from her, and set them aside before pulling her into a tight embrace. “Come on, Izzy. Isn’t this wonderful?” he said, gesturing toward the ballroom around them. “A glorious ball, exactly as I planned.” She laughed. “You planned the entire thing?” “Obviously.” His expression turned dramatically serious. “Now I only have one important task left. Finding a future bride.” Isabella raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” “Absolutely. Perhaps you will get lucky too.” He motioned toward the crowd. “A ballroom full of charming gentlemen. Surely one of them will catch your attention.” She scoffed and nudged him. “That is the last thing on my mind.” She lifted her glass to hide the warmth rising in her cheeks. The truth was, there was only one person who occupied her thoughts, and Eric knew it. His smile turned knowing. “Ah.” Isabella narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?” “Nothing.” “It never means nothing when you say it like that.” She followed his gaze. “And speak of the devil.” Mason was making his way through the crowd, greeting guests with his usual ease. He had always been like that. He could enter a room full of strangers and leave with a dozen new friends. He joked with servants, teased nobles, and somehow managed to make even the most serious people laugh. It was one of the things she loved about him. It was also one of the things that made him impossible to understand. As if he could feel her watching him, Mason's green eyes found hers. Then, because he was Mason and apparently incapable of behaving normally, he winked. Eric noticed immediately. “Hm. I do not think that wink was meant for me.” Isabella rolled her eyes. “We have been friends a long time. He likes teasing me, that is all.” Eric gave her a completely serious look. “We have been friends just as long, and he has never winked at me.” She groaned and took another sip from her glass just as Mason reached them. “Would you care to dance?” The question surprised her enough that she nearly dropped her drink. Thankfully, Mason’s hand moved quickly, catching the glass before it fell and then steadying her afterward. “You all right?” “Yes,” she answered far too quickly. Then she cleared her throat. “Perfectly fine.” His lips twitched with amusement. “And yes,” she added, trying to recover her composure, “I would enjoy a dance.” Eric’s grin widened. She immediately grabbed Mason’s arm before Eric could say anything that would make her regret the decision and pulled Mason toward the dance floor. The music carried them beneath the glow of the chandeliers, and for a while Isabella forgot every reason she had told herself not to hope. That was the dangerous thing about Mason. He made impossible things feel ordinary. He could turn a quiet evening into an adventure. He could make a room full of strangers feel familiar. He could find humor in moments when everyone else saw only seriousness. And somehow, without ever trying, he had always made her feel as though she was the only person in the room. His hand rested lightly against hers as they moved across the floor. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just there. “You are thinking too loudly again.” Isabella glanced up. “I am not.” “You are.” “How could you possibly know that?” “Because you do the same thing every time.” She narrowed her eyes. “And what exactly do I do?” “You disappear.” The answer was quieter than she expected. Her teasing response faded. Mason looked at her, his expression no longer playful. “You get this look,” he continued. “Like you have wandered somewhere no one else can follow.” For a moment, she forgot they were dancing. The words sounded too much like something he had noticed. Something he had cared enough to remember. “Maybe I have.” His thumb brushed lightly against her hand as they turned. “Then I hope you will let me follow..” Her breath caught. “Mason...” He looked almost startled by his own honesty. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the moment vanished. “You know,” he said, glancing around the ballroom, “ You look beautiful.” The shift was small. Someone else might not have noticed. The words should have made her smile. Instead, she waited. Because she knew Mason. She knew the pause before a joke. She knew the grin that meant he was about to turn something meaningful into something harmless. And there it was. “I suppose I should tell you before some desperate lord tries to steal my opportunity.” Her fingers stilled in his. “Is this entertaining to you?” He laughed softly. “It’s a joke Izzy.” The hurt came before she could stop it. Not anger. Not even disappointment. Something worse. The feeling of reaching for something only to realize it had never been offered. “You were joking.” Mason's smile faltered. “Isabella—” “No.” The music continued around them, but she barely heard it. “You cannot do that.” His brows drew together. “Do what?” She swallowed. “Make me believe you.” The words hung between them. For once, Mason had no quick response. She looked down at their hands. “You do this all the time. You say things that sound like they matter, and then when I believe you, you laugh.” “I am not laughing at you.” “But you are laughing.” That silenced him. Her voice lowered. “And I hate that I never know when you mean something.” The truth was out now. Too late to pull it back. Mason stared at her. The playful confidence he carried so easily was gone. “Is that really what you think?” She looked away. “I do not know what to think.” And that was the worst part. She wanted him to tell her she was wrong. She wanted him to say he had meant every word. But she was afraid he wouldn't. So she stepped away. “I need some air.” “Isabella—” She didn't stop. The ballroom doors closed behind Isabella, muting the music into a distant melody. She had not gone far. The terrace outside the ballroom remained within sight of the celebration, where guests still wandered beneath the moonlight and servants carried trays between the gardens and the hall. It was not a place where anyone would question her presence, but it was far enough away that she could finally breathe. That was all she wanted. Just a moment where she did not have to pretend. Her fingers brushed beneath her eyes, and she froze. When had she started crying? Isabella quickly wiped the tears away, annoyed at herself. She was not a child. She had survived things far worse than a careless joke so why did Mason’s words feel as though they had found the one place in her heart she had tried so hard to protect? Because they sounded real. That was the part she could not forgive. Not Mason but herself for believing him. The sound of footsteps on the stone path made her turn. A gentleman stood a few steps away, holding himself with the uncertainty of someone who was not entirely sure he belonged there. He immediately stopped when he saw her. “My apologies.” Isabella straightened. “For what?” “I did not mean to intrude.” His answer surprised her. Most people at court did not apologize for entering a room. They simply assumed they had every right to be there. “You are not intruding.” He nodded, though he still remained where he was. For some reason, that small act of respect caught her attention. “You are not from Lynfair.” The gentleman glanced toward the ballroom. “Is it that obvious?” She almost smiled. “A little.” He looked down at himself as though searching for the evidence. “Then I suppose I have failed at appearing as though I belong.” There was something about the way he said it. Something closer to amusement. “You were trying to?” “Not exactly.” That answer made her look at him. He hesitated. “I only arrived moments ago. I thought I would look around before joining everyone inside.” “Why?” His eyes moved toward the ballroom. “Because walking into a room where everyone already knows one another is easier when you have had a moment to breathe first.” The honesty of the answer surprised her. She understood that more than she wanted to admit. “Where are you from?” “Caldor.” She nodded slowly. That explained why she did not recognize him. “I have never met you before.” “No.” A small smile touched his face. “I imagine there are many people here who could say the same.” Isabella looked back toward the gardens. For a moment, neither spoke. The quiet was strange. Not uncomfortable. Just quiet. “You are not joining the others?” “I will but I thought air would be best for me right now.” She knew the gentlemen noticed her tears or at least her puffy face after she cried although he did not point that out. Instead, he looked toward the fountain. “It is a nice place to pause.” “Pause?” “Before returning to whatever waits inside.” Something about that word made her look at him. Pause. Not escape. Not hide. Just pause. She lowered her gaze. “Sometimes it feels like everyone expects you to go along with the flow and it's too much to bear sometimes.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. The gentleman remained quiet. So she continued. “Even when they do not mean anything by it.” A breeze moved through the garden, stirring the leaves around them. “I think that is the hardest part.” “What is?” She looked at him. “When someone hurts you, but they never meant to.” The gentleman’s expression softened. He did not immediately answer. “Because then you feel wrong for being hurt.” “You know they were not trying to cause pain. But somehow, it still stays with you.” The gentleman looked toward the fountain. “I think people often forget that a person can have a good heart and still leave someone with a wound.” Isabella went still. She had expected him to tell her she was overthinking. Instead, he understood. “My sister once told me something similar.” She glanced at him. “Your sister?” He smiled slightly. “Older.” There was warmth in his voice. Not the kind people used when speaking of someone important. The kind people used when speaking of someone loved. “She showed me a verse once.” He hesitated. “I do not know if it will help, but I thought of it when you spoke.” Isabella waited. “The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit.” The words were unfamiliar. Yet something about them made her grow still. “The Lord is... nigh?” He nodded. “Near.” She looked at him. “Near to those who are broken?” “Yes.” His voice remained quiet. “Not disappointed in them. Not waiting for them to become stronger before He comes close. Near.” Something tightened in Isabella’s chest. She had spent so long trying to hide the places where she was hurting. Trying to appear as though everything was fine because there were always people depending on her. But this verse spoke of a God who already knew. “You believe He knows?” The gentleman looked at her. “Yes.” “That sounds difficult to believe.” A small, understanding smile crossed his face. “I think many things about God are difficult to understand.” “Then how do you believe them?” He looked toward the garden. “Because I have found that He understands me even when I do not understand myself.” The words settled quietly between them. “He does not wait for us to have everything figured out before He cares for us,” he continued. “He sees the hurt before anyone else does. He sees the battles no one knows we are fighting.” Isabella swallowed. The tears she had wiped away earlier suddenly felt heavier. “Even when it seems too small?” His expression softened. “Especially then.” She looked at him. “Why?” “Because if something hurts your heart, it matters to Him.” The answer was simple. But it was the simplicity that made it difficult to dismiss. Isabella looked back toward the ballroom doors. She thought of Mason. Of all the times she had convinced herself she should not be hurt because he had not meant to cause pain. She thought of all the times she had carried things quietly because she believed they were not important enough for anyone else to notice. But perhaps God noticed. Perhaps He always had. “I have never read the Bible.” The words came before she could stop them. The gentleman looked at her. “Oh.” She nodded. “I was not allowed to.” That was all she offered. No explanation. No excuses. Just the truth. His expression changed slightly, but not with judgment. “I think you would enjoy and learn lots from it.” The gentleness surprised her. He did not ask why. He did not ask who had stopped her. He simply accepted the weight of what she had said. “Thank you,” Isabella whispered. “For what?” She looked at him. “For reminding me that perhaps I am not as alone as I thought.” A small smile touched his face. “You’re welcome.” A moment passed before she realized they had not introduced themselves. “I do not even know your name.” He smiled. “Neither do I know yours.” She hesitated. Not because she did not want to say it. Because she realized she liked that, for a few minutes, she had not been treated as anyone important. Just someone standing in a garden. “Isabella.” “Chandler.” The names rested between them. No titles. No expectations. Just names. The ballroom doors opened behind them. “Chandler.” The gentleman turned. A man stood inside the doorway, his expression somewhere between annoyed and relieved. “There are people waiting for you.” Chandler sighed quietly. “Of course there are.” Isabella smiled. The man at the door shook his head. “You cannot hide out here all evening.” “I was not hiding Anthony.” The look he received suggested otherwise. Chandler glanced back at Isabella. “It was a pleasure meeting you.” “It was a pleasure meeting you as well.” He gave a respectful bow before returning inside. Isabella stayed where she was for another moment. Then she turned back toward the ballroom. She felt different. Not fixed. Not suddenly healed. But lighter. Like she had been carrying something heavy and, for just a moment, someone else had helped hold the weight. When she stepped inside, the warmth and noise surrounded her again. Then she saw him. Mason. His eyes found hers immediately. The moment he saw her, he began moving toward her. Her heart pulled painfully in two directions. She wanted to hear him explain. She wanted to believe him. But she was not ready. Not yet. She shook her head gently. He stopped. The disappointment in his expression lasted only a moment before she looked away. She wanted time.

The ballroom had never felt so loud. Laughter echoed beneath the vaulted ceiling. Crystal glasses clinked together. The orchestra swept into another lively tune as couples stepped effortlessly into the next dance. Mason stood perfectly still. Across the room, the garden doors had already closed behind Isabella. She hadn't looked back. His hand curled into a fist at his side. "It hurts." The words refused to leave him. He hadn't meant— No. That was the problem. He never meant to. A servant carrying a tray nearly brushed his shoulder before apologizing and slipping around him. Mason hardly noticed. For years he'd been able to laugh his way out of almost anything. An awkward silence. An argument. A mistake. A joke here, a grin there, and somehow the world always seemed lighter. Tonight the smile had failed him. "Mason." He didn't turn immediately. Eric stepped beside him, following his gaze toward the garden doors. "Come join me at the top of the stairs so you don't get run over by dancers." Mason forced a crooked smile. “How kind of you to save my toes from uncoordinated dancers." Eric didn't smile back. The silence stretched between them until Mason let out a quiet breath through his nose. "I've made quite a mess of things." "I saw." The agreement caught him off guard. He looked over. "I was expecting encouragement." "You'll get honesty first." A reluctant laugh escaped Mason. "There he is." "There who is?" "The king." Eric's mouth twitched. "I was hoping for the friend." For the first time that evening, the corner of Mason's mouth lifted for real. Only for a moment. It vanished as quickly as it came. "I don't know why I keep doing it." Eric folded his arms. "Doing what?" Mason watched another couple pass across the dance floor. "Saying everything except what I actually mean." He rubbed the back of his neck. "The moment gets too serious and..." He shrugged. "...I ruin it." "You joke." "I joke." "And why?" Mason opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He'd asked himself the same question more times than he cared to admit. Finally, he leaned both hands against the carved stone railing that overlooked the ballroom. "I don't know." Eric stepped beside him. "You do." Mason stared down at the dancers below. Their lives looked so uncomplicated from up here. A dance. A laugh. A future. "I can make her laugh." Eric waited. "But laughter isn't enough." His reflection shimmered in one of the ballroom windows. He barely recognized the man looking back. "I look at her..." His voice caught before he continued. "...and then I look at me." His fingers tightened against the stone. "My father left behind debts I'll be paying for years." He swallowed. "If I don't, they'll become my sister's." The words tasted bitter. "She deserves better than walking into society carrying his failures, she’ll never get a good future that way." Eric said nothing and Mason was grateful. "My mother..." He let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. "I couldn't tell you where she is tonight." He already knew though; or at least could guess. Some banquet. Some noble gathering. Somewhere that wasn't home. "She's always loved society more than she ever loved staying home." He stared across the ballroom. "I don't remember the last time the house felt... full." The music swelled again. "I kept thinking if I worked hard enough..." He shook his head. "If I fixed enough... paid enough... smiled enough..." His voice faded. "...maybe everything would finally be enough." Eric looked at him for a long moment. "And has it?" Mason laughed quietly. The sound held no joy. "No." Another silence settled between them. Comfortable. Familiar. The kind that only existed between people who had known one another most of their lives. "I love her Eric." The confession slipped out so quietly he wasn't certain he'd spoken aloud. Eric didn't react. "Believe me, I know." Mason closed his eyes. "If she knew everything..." His throat tightened. "The debts, The family; The mess I'm still trying to clean up." He looked down at his hands. "I keep thinking...she deserves someone who doesn't come with broken pieces." Eric rested his forearms on the railing beside him. "You've decided that for her." Mason frowned. "What?" "You've decided who Isabella should marry." "I've done no such thing." "Haven't you?" Eric turned to face him fully. "You've decided it shouldn't be you." Mason looked away. "I don't want her carrying my burdens." "You mean you don't want to risk her saying no." The words landed like a blow. "That's not—" "It is." Mason fell silent. Eric's voice softened. "We aren't children anymore." He glanced toward the ballroom where dancers turned beneath the chandeliers. "You can't keep hiding behind jokes and call it protecting her." Mason swallowed hard. "If she knew..." "Then let her know." "And if she doesn’t want me?" Eric smiled sadly. "Then she'll walk away but you've never even given her the chance to choose." The words settled over Mason like a weight. He thought of Isabella standing in front of him. "You cannot keep saying things like that when I know it is only a joke." "It hurts." All this time he'd convinced himself he was protecting her. But maybe... Maybe he'd only been protecting himself from hearing the answer he feared most. Eric clapped a hand against his shoulder. "If you love her..." Mason looked up. "...then respect her enough to let her decide. I wouldn’t give my now ward to someone I believe would be unsuitable now would I?" Mason breathed a laugh as Eric strode away. The orchestra began another waltz. Guests applauded. Conversation filled the hall once more. Yet none of it reached Mason. For the first time in years, the thought of telling the truth frightened him more than any battle ever could.

The words would not leave her alone. Not the whole verse. Only the part that mattered most. The Lord is nigh… Near. The thought followed her through the morning. It followed her as she dressed, as she walked the halls, as she listened to conversations around her without truly hearing them. Near. She had heard the words from the stranger in the garden. She remembered the way he had spoken them. Not like someone trying to convince her. Like someone who believed them. And somehow that made her want to know more. Which was why she found herself standing outside the library doors. She told herself she was only curious. Nothing more. Her hand rested against the door for several moments before she finally pushed it open. The library was quiet. Too quiet. Rows of books stretched along the walls, reaching higher than she could easily see. Some were bound in leather. Others were worn and faded with age. She stepped inside slowly. Her eyes moved over the shelves. Somewhere in here was what she was looking for. The Bible. The thought made her pause. It sounded so simple when the man had spoken of it. But now that she stood among thousands of books, she realized she had no idea what she was doing. Where did one even begin? Did the castle still have one? She moved along the shelves, searching the spines. History. Letters. Records. Books about kings long forgotten. Nothing. Her confidence faded with every passing moment. Perhaps this had been foolish. Perhaps she should have asked someone. But who? She could hardly walk into the library and ask a servant where the Bible was, as though she had been searching for one her entire life. Her fingers brushed over another shelf. Then she stopped. A worn leather cover rested between two larger books. She pulled it free carefully. The book was heavier than she expected. For a moment, she simply stared at it. Then she opened it. And immediately felt lost. Her eyes moved over the page. Words. So many words. Names she did not recognize. Places she had never heard of. Her heart sank slightly. Of course. How was she supposed to find one verse when she did not even know where the book began? She flipped through a few pages. Then stopped. No. That was not right. She turned back. Then forward again. The frustration was almost enough to make her stop. She knew how to study maps. She knew how to read reports. She knew how to memorize the histories of kingdoms. But here she was, staring at a book everyone else seemed to understand, feeling like she was a child who had never learned the first lesson. She lowered her gaze. "Where are you?" she whispered. Not to anyone in particular. Just to the words. Just to the promise she was trying to find. Her fingers moved carefully across the page. Then she saw it. A word she recognized. A name. Psalm. She glanced back toward the verse in her memory. The Lord is nigh unto them… She searched. Slowly. Page by page. Until finally… There it was. Her breath caught. The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit. She stared. The same words. Exactly as he had spoken them. Her fingers rested lightly against the page. She had expected to feel something grand. Something certain. Instead, she felt peace. Like a door had opened only a small amount. Enough to see there was something beyond it. A sound in the hallway made her head lift. Footsteps. Her heart jumped. The Bible suddenly felt far too visible in her hands. She closed it quickly. Too quickly. The cover slipped beneath her fingers as panic rose in her chest. She looked toward the door. And before she could think, she pushed the Bible back onto the shelf. Just as the door opened. Mason stepped inside. Isabella's fingers froze against the shelf. For a moment, all she could think about was the book she had just hidden. Her hand moved quickly, pushing the Bible back into place before she turned toward him. She hoped he had not seen. Judging by the way his eyes rested on her, she was not certain. "What are you doing here?" The question came out more guarded than she intended. Mason stopped a few steps inside the library. "I was looking for you." Usually, that would have been followed by something else. A grin. A teasing remark. Something about how difficult she was to find or how he had searched the entire kingdom just to bother her. Nothing came. Instead, he glanced toward the empty chairs near the window. "Can we talk?" The request surprised her. Not because he wanted to speak. Because he asked. Mason rarely asked for anything. She looked at him carefully. The man standing before her was familiar. And yet… Not entirely. "About last night?" "Yes." Her fingers brushed against the spine of a nearby book. She should have said no. Part of her wanted to. But there was something in his expression that stopped her. Not confidence. Not charm. Something quieter. "All right." Mason released a breath she did not realize he had been holding. They moved toward the chairs near the window, though neither of them sat at first. For a moment, he simply stood there. The silence stretched. Isabella waited for him to fill it. He always did. But this time, he did not. "I do not know if you believe me," he began, "but I never meant to make you feel as though I was mocking you." She looked down. "I know you were joking." The words were honest. "And that was part of the problem." His brow furrowed slightly. "What do you mean?" She looked back at him. "Because you always joke." The truth hung between them. "When something matters, you make it sound as though it does not." Mason went still. For once, he did not argue. "I suppose I do." He lowered himself into the chair across from her. "I think I learned a long time ago that if people are laughing, they do not look too closely." The words were quiet. Isabella said nothing. She let him continue. "When I was younger, I thought if I could make everyone happy enough, they would forget everything else." His fingers folded together. "The problems, The things my family was dealing with. The things I could not fix." There was no bitterness in his voice. Only exhaustion. Mason gave a small, humorless laugh. "So I became useful." Her heart tightened. "I became the person who could make people smile." His eyes lifted. "And after a while, it became easier to be that person than admit when I was struggling." Isabella watched him. The realization settled slowly. She had always thought Mason was the person who needed no comfort. She had never considered that perhaps he was the person who gave it because he knew what it felt like to need it. "I am sorry," he said. The words were simple. But there was no smile attached to them. No attempt to soften them. "I am sorry that I made you question whether I meant anything I said." Her breath caught slightly. Because that was the part that hurt. Not the teasing. Not the joke itself. The thought that perhaps none of it had been real. "I should have told you the truth instead of hiding behind something easier." His eyes met hers. "And the truth is you are one of the kindest people I know. You see things other people miss. You care when no one notices. You forgive people when you have every reason not to. You walk into a room and somehow make people feel as though they matter." His voice softened. "I have watched you do that for years even when you were hurting. You always think everyone else needs protecting but you never seem to realize you deserve the same." The room suddenly felt too warm. The words touched something deep inside her. Isabella looked at him. For once, Mason was not trying to make her laugh. He was not trying to win. He was simply telling her what he saw. "I should have been more careful with your heart." The honesty of the words made it difficult to look away. "I am sorry, Isabella." A long silence followed. She did not know what to say. Part of her wanted to tell him that she had missed this. Not the jokes. Not the teasing. The person beneath them. "I believe you," she finally whispered. Something eased in his expression. "I should give you time." She looked up. The old Mason would have found some reason to stay. The old Mason would have teased until she smiled. This Mason only bowed his head slightly. "Thank you for listening." Then he walked toward the door. "Mason." He turned. She hesitated. "Thank you for telling me." His expression softened. “You’re welcome.” Isabella remained in the quiet library, staring at the shelf where the Bible waited. She thought about the words she had read. The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart. Perhaps broken hearts were not always as obvious as she had believed. Perhaps some people carried them behind smiles.