Chapter 15: Misinformation and Misinterpreted
1560 Words
Longing
The kiss ruined everything.
Or perhaps,
it ruined them.
Queen Elowen sat frozen on the edge of her bed long after returning from King Demitri’s chambers, fingers pressed lightly against her lips.
As though she could still feel him there.
Warm.
Gentle.
Real.
God.
Her heart had not calmed since.
The palace outside had long fallen quiet beneath midnight skies, yet Elowen remained entirely awake, replaying the moment over and over until she thought she might lose her mind from it.
The way he looked at her.
The way his hand touched her cheek so carefully, as though she were something precious.
The way he kissed her like he truly wanted to.
Not obligation.
Not duty.
Want.
Her face burned instantly.
Elowen buried herself deeper beneath the blankets with a mortified sound.
What was wrong with her?
No matter how many times she tried to think about something else, her thoughts betrayed her completely.
She remembered the warmth of his breath.
The roughness of his fingertips.
The dark look in his eyes before he kissed her.
And worst of all,
the terrifying realization that she kissed him back.
Not accidentally.
Not hesitantly.
She wanted it.
God.
She wanted it again.
Elowen immediately covered her face with a pillow.
This was terrible.
Absolutely terrible.
Because now every single romance story she had once dismissed as ridiculous suddenly made horrifying amounts of sense.
The dramatic sighing.
The yearning.
The unbearable awareness whenever the other person entered a room.
How did people survive this?
By morning, Elowen had slept perhaps two hours total.
And unfortunately,
nothing improved afterward.
She attempted reading economic records.
Failed.
Tried reviewing trade agreements.
Failed worse.
Because every paragraph somehow transformed into thoughts of Demitri.
His eyes.
His voice.
His hands.
Hopeless.
Entirely hopeless.
By afternoon, Edna found the queen sitting motionless beside a window while staring blankly at a political strategy book upside down.
The servant blinked slowly.
“Your Majesty.”
No response.
“Your Majesty?”
Elowen startled visibly.
“What?”
Edna looked deeply concerned.
“You are holding the book upside down.”
Elowen looked down.
Indeed she was.
She closed the book immediately with all the dignity of someone caught committing a crime.
Edna narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
Then slowly,
a dangerous smile appeared.
“Oh.”
Elowen stiffened instantly.
“Oh?”
“You look lovesick.”
“I do not.”
“Your face is red.”
“It is warm today.”
“It is snowing outside.”
Elowen failed to answer.
Edna gasped dramatically.
“Oh my god.”
“Edna.”
“You kissed him.”
Elowen nearly died.
The servant looked one second away from fainting from excitement while Elowen looked one second away from jumping out the nearest window.
“I did not say that.”
“You did not need to.”
Elowen covered her face immediately.
Edna began pacing the room excitedly.
“The king kissed you.”
“Elowen kissed the king,” the queen muttered weakly into her hands.
Edna froze.
Then screamed silently into a pillow.
This only worsened Elowen’s humiliation.
And somehow,
perhaps because her entire world had shifted overnight,
Elowen found herself asking something she never thought she would.
“Edna.”
“Yes?”
“…Do we own romance novels?”
Silence.
Then Edna turned toward her slowly with the expression of someone witnessing divine intervention.
“You.”
Elowen regretted everything instantly.
“You want romance novels.”
“It was simply curiosity.”
“You mocked them two weeks ago.”
“I was uninformed.”
Edna burst into delighted laughter.
And by evening, Elowen’s chambers had become infested with romance books.
Dozens of them.
Ridiculous titles.
Ridiculous covers.
Ridiculous stories involving yearning dukes and forbidden kisses beside lakes.
Elowen should have hated them.
Instead,
she devoured them obsessively.
Because suddenly she understood every unbearable emotion written across those pages.
Every stolen glance.
Every accidental touch.
Every painful moment of waiting for someone.
God.
Waiting.
The realization hurt more than expected.
Because after the kiss,
Demitri never came.
---
On the other side of the palace, Demitri was suffering equally.
Perhaps worse.
Because unlike Elowen,
he understood exactly what this was.
Desire.
Obsession.
Attachment.
Dangerous dangerous dangerous.
Demitri stood alone inside his chambers staring at the exact spot where he kissed her.
His library.
God.
He could still remember how softly she melted against him.
How her breath caught when he touched her.
How perfectly she fit against him.
The memory nearly destroyed his self-control all over again.
Demitri dragged a hand through his hair with visible frustration.
This was becoming a problem.
A serious one.
Because now every thought of her spiraled somewhere dangerous.
He wanted her constantly.
Not only physically.
Though that desire alone was maddening enough.
No,
he wanted her presence.
Wanted to fetch her from her chambers immediately and bring her back to his.
Where she belonged.
The thought startled him deeply.
Belonged.
God.
He sounded deranged.
Still,
the urge remained.
He imagined her inside his rooms permanently now.
Reading on the balcony while waiting for him.
Sleeping in his bed.
Wearing his clothes.
Looking at him with those soft blue eyes while half asleep,
Demitri exhaled sharply.
Absolutely not.
If he approached her tonight, he feared he would frighten her.
Because after that kiss, restraint had become painfully difficult.
He needed distance.
Just briefly.
Time to think clearly again.
Unfortunately,
fate decided otherwise.
Near sunset, urgent reports arrived from the northern borders.
The kingdom of Sloviches was reportedly mobilizing troops near Delmatia’s territory.
Potential attack.
Possible invasion.
Immediate response required.
Within hours, Demitri prepared to leave.
And in his frustration and distraction,
he made one mistake.
He forgot to tell Elowen.
---
The journey north took three exhausting days.
Cold winds battered the royal convoy relentlessly while snowstorms slowed movement through mountain passes.
Demitri’s mood worsened steadily throughout the journey.
Not because of the border threat.
Because of her.
Because despite every attempt at focusing on military strategy, his thoughts returned endlessly toward Elowen.
He wondered whether she was reading.
Whether she returned to the gardens.
Whether she thought about the kiss too.
God.
He hoped she did.
By the third night, Caion finally sighed heavily beside the campfire.
“You look miserable.”
“I am tired.”
“You are in love.”
Demitri looked ready to commit murder.
Caion looked delighted.
Before Demitri could threaten him properly, however, scouts returned with infuriating news.
The border reports were false.
Entirely fabricated.
No invading troops.
No military movement.
Nothing.
Someone deliberately spread false information to draw the king away from the capital.
Demitri immediately thought of Elowen.
A terrible feeling settled sharply in his chest.
Because he left without telling her.
And suddenly,
he regretted it deeply.
The return journey felt endless.
---
Meanwhile, back in the palace,
Elowen slowly convinced herself the kiss meant nothing.
At first, she waited.
The next evening she lingered in the gardens longer than usual, heart racing every time footsteps echoed nearby.
But Demitri never came.
The second night hurt worse.
By the third,
humiliation began settling heavily inside her chest.
Of course.
Of course she misunderstood.
Perhaps he regretted kissing her.
Perhaps it was momentary weakness.
Perhaps he realized afterward how foolish it was to desire the unwanted princess of Norwasia.
Elowen stopped going outside after that.
Not because she wanted to.
Because disappointment felt unbearable.
And worse,
she had no right feeling disappointed at all.
He owed her nothing.
Still…
the palace suddenly felt cold again.
Empty.
She spent entire days confined quietly inside her chambers reading romance novels she increasingly regretted touching.
Every story only worsened her longing.
Edna noticed immediately.
“You should go outside.”
“I am comfortable here.”
“You have not left this room in days.”
Elowen only turned another page quietly.
But the truth was simple.
She missed him.
Terribly.
And she hated herself for it.
---
When Demitri finally returned to the palace after nearly a week away, exhaustion clung heavily to him.
Snow dusted his dark coat while irritation simmered beneath every movement.
The first thing he asked after entering the palace was,
“Where is the queen?”
The servants looked startled.
“In her chambers, Your Majesty.”
“She has remained there all week.”
Demitri stopped walking.
“What?”
One servant hesitated nervously.
“Her Majesty rarely leaves lately.”
Cold anger settled instantly beneath his ribs.
Not at her.
At himself.
God.
She thought he abandoned her.
Without another word, Demitri headed directly toward her chambers.
When the doors opened quietly,
he stopped.
Elowen slept curled near the window seat beneath soft candlelight, one blanket loosely wrapped around her legs.
A book rested open in her hands.
Her face looked peaceful in sleep, though faint sadness lingered even there somehow.
Demitri approached slowly.
Carefully.
Then his eyes drifted toward the book title.
And froze.
It was not economics.
Not politics.
Not history.
No.
The cover depicted a scandalously handsome duke holding a woman against a rose garden wall.
Demitri stared at it.
Then slowly looked back toward sleeping Elowen.
Romance novels?
A dangerous smile tugged faintly at his mouth.
God.
That was adorable.
And suddenly
every exhausting mile back to Delmatia felt worth it.
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