Despite the fact that he loves me and I him—we will never marry.

Can’t marry.

He’s been betrothed to another since he was a boy.

One whose family boasts far more wealth than mine.

One who happens to be my cousin, Esme.

“Adelina,” he whispers, my name like a prayer on his lips. “Oh, Adelina, tell me you have missed me as much as I have missed you.”

“Yes, m’lord.” I pull away quickly, the bliss of a few moments before rudely smothered by the reality we find ourselves in. Reminding me of who I am—a poor relation to the distant cousin he’ll marry; who he is—the future king of our tiny city state; and where we both stand—in an empty, darkened stall in his stable, the air thick with the smell of horse flesh and hay, a pile of freshly laid straw at our feet.

“M’lord?” He quirks his brow, allowing his dark eyes to graze over me until meeting my blue ones, leaving me to wonder if he sees the same things in mine as I see in his: disappointment, doubt, and a fervent but futile desire to change the status quo. “What is this? Is that how you see me now, as lord?”

“Well, aren’t you? In principle anyway?”

It’s cheeky, I know, but it’s also the truth. I happen to know he likes that about me, the fact that I don’t play the usual games, especially where courtship is concerned. I’m neither silly, nor flirty, and sometimes, I tend to veer far more toward tomboy than girly. But I’m forthright, direct, and I try my best to tell it like it is.

I try my best to live without regrets.

He cups my face in his hands, traces his finger from my temple to my chin, where he presses his finger and lifts, forcing my eyes to meet his. “What is the reason for all this formality? You act as though we’ve just met. And even then, if memory serves, you were hardly formal that day—you pushed me right into the mud, face-first no less. Your manners were certainly lacking, though you managed to make quite an impression. I’m certain I have loved you from that very moment. Covered head to toe in muck—I knew right then my life would never be the same.”

A smile sneaks onto my face, remembering the moment as clearly as he. Me at ten, he thirteen, I’d been staying with much wealthier relatives and paid him a visit with my spoiled cousin Esme, who so enjoyed lauding her wealth over me, always comparing her fancy dresses to my more drab ones; she was becoming a chore to tolerate. And so, annoyed with her constant preening and prancing and bragging with no end in sight about how handsome her future husband was, how wealthy, and how wonderful it would be when she was made queen and I’d be forced to bow down and kiss her feet, well, I just couldn’t take it anymore, so I marched right up to him, caught him off guard, and pushed him straight into the pond, then I turned to her and said, “Still think he’s handsome?” and watched her cry and scream and run off to tell someone what I’d done.

“It was a pond,” I say, looking right at him.

“A very muddy pond.” He nods. “It never quite came out of my clothing. I still have the shirt that bears the stain.”

“And, if I remember correctly, I paid a grand price for that. I was sent home immediately, and Esme never invited me to visit again.

Which, come to think of it, really wasn’t much of a punishment at all, was it?”

“And yet, you found your way back. Or at least back to me anyway.” His arms circle my waist, as his fingers traipse up and down my spine. The feel of it so calm and soothing, it’s all I can do to stay focused, on point, to not succumb to his spell.

“Yes,” I say, my voice barely a murmur. “Are you glad of that?” Knowing that he is, but it’s always nice to hear the words spoken aloud.

“Am I glad?” He throws his head back and laughs in a way that exposes a glorious column of neck it takes all of my will not to kiss.

“Shall I show you the level of my gratitude?”

He kisses me again, at first playful, a series of light pecks and nips, but then it grows deeper, much deeper. But even though I try to respond with the usual fervor, something is off. And he senses it too.

“What has happened since we last met? You are different. Has something occurred to change your feelings for me?”

I force my gaze away. Force myself to breathe, to speak. But the speech I rehearsed as I made my way over suddenly escapes me.

“Adelina, please tell me—do you no longer love me?”

“No! Of course not! It’s nothing of the sort! How can you even say such a thing?”

“Then what? What terrible event has you refusing me?”

I gather the words, struggle to move them from my head to my lips, but I can’t do it. Can’t say what needs to be said. So, like a coward—a word that has never been used to describe me—I gaze down instead.

“Is it Rhys? Is my brother bothering you again?” His jaw tightens as his eyes begin to blaze.

But before it can go any further, I’m quick to shake my head.

His brother Rhys is fair of hair and even fairer of face—his obvious outer attractions going a long way to belie a much darker inside—the fact that he’s ruled by a long string of jealousies he can never overcome.

Second in line not just for the crown—the chance to rule his father’s small Iberian kingdom—but also for his father’s attentions, only to learn that the girl whom he loves, my spoiled cousin Esme, is destined for his brother—the one who, in Rhys’s opinion was born into everything, yet deserves nothing.