The Fallen Princess

Thirty Six & One Half

“You and Fay have been together for a while now…” Zaria prodded as she stepped down from the servants’ cart with her brother. She handed off the heavy wicker basket filled with fish to him before continuing, “… just a little after we arrived here.”

Zakai didn’t answer. Not a word. Not even a huff. Zaria narrowed her eyes. “Are you seriously not going to talk to me at all about it?” He kept walking toward the estate doors, jaw set with the kind of stubborn silence he used when he knew she’d pester him.

She pushed again. “Zakai.” Finally, he sighed long and deep, like she had physically dragged the truth out of him. “What do you want to know? I don’t need you getting involved and making a mess of things.” Her mouth fell open. “I don’t make a mess of things.” The immediate wince on his face revealed how quickly he regretted the jab.

Zaria fell quiet. Too quiet. Zakai knew that silence... the kind that meant she was trying not to crumble. She was dealing with Callen’s absence, River’s growing presence in her heart, the pressure of being torn between two lives, two men… and the added weight of Callen’s wedding, a wound still fresh in her heart.

They reached the front hall. Zakai passed the fish to a waiting doorman and finally relented. “I like her,” he admitted quietly as they climbed the stairs. “Maybe even love her...” Zaria’s expression softened. She didn’t push further. For once.

They parted ways at the landing; Zakai toward the west wing, Zaria toward her room. She moved slower than before, her growing stomach had begun altering her balance, her stride, the amount of effort it took simply to ascend a flight of stairs. By the time she reached her doorway, she was slightly out of breath.

She opened the door and froze. River lay stretched across her bed, reading, one ankle crossed casually over the other. He looked up and smiled warmly.

“I was wondering when you’d return,” he said, closing his book and rising to his feet. He moved toward her with that effortless elven grace she was slowly learning to recognize. “What took you so long?”

“It was a good day, we caught plenty of fish and didn’t hurry back,” she replied with a shrug. Then, with a curious tilt of her head, “Why are you here so early?” “It’s our night together,” he reminded her gently. “I just couldn’t wait.”

He knelt before her, his hands settling warmly over the gentle curve of her belly, his quiet greeting to her child every time he saw her.“ And how is our baby today?” The child kicked against his palm.

River’s face lit with pure delight. “Did you feel that?” Zaria nodded, but her smile faltered. The ache inside her tightened because in her heart, she wanted Callen’s hand there. She wanted Callen to feel their child. She wanted him to see her growing. But Callen had not been there for months.

River’s joy gentled into concern; he could read her moods now with disarming accuracy. Before she could stop it, tears welled. The wedding she wasn’t allowed to witness. The man she loved who hadn’t come. The slow, creeping fear that perhaps she wasn’t reason enough for him to break the rules of their world.

River rose without hesitation and gathered her into his arms. And Zaria broke. Her tears spilled freely, exhausted sobs muffled into his chest. River held her with steady patience, stroking her back, running comforting fingers through her hair. He didn’t ask what was wrong. He didn’t force her to speak. He simply stayed. Present. Warm. Unshakably gentle.

He lifted her easily into his arms and carried her to the bed. Zaria let herself fold into him, her body growing heavier as the sobs slowed. At some point, she drifted into sleep against his chest.

Only once she was completely at rest did River lower her onto the mattress, brushing a kiss to her forehead, and quietly summoned a maid to wash her face and hands. He left for dinner only after she was tucked in safely.

When Zaria woke, the candles had burned out, leaving the room dim and quiet. “Callen?” she whispered into the darkness. “No,” came a much softer reply. “It’s me, my love.” River rolled toward her, brushing away the dried tear streaks on her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “You have nothing to apologize for.” His voice was warm as he rested a hand over her stomach. “I know his wedding was a difficult day for you. I know you still love him. I only hope that one day… you might love me too.”

Her breath faltered. She placed her hand over his heart. “How?” she asked, the word small and aching. He covered her hand with his. “First,” he said gently, “you have to love yourself.” “You take a day for yourself every week,” she whispered. “Is that why?”

“It is,” he said. “We cannot pour from an empty cup.” She shifted closer, drawn by his steadiness. “What comes next?” “You speak openly,” he murmured. “You cherish what is unique in each other. And you grow together.”

Silence settled between them, soft, but heavy with truth. “If you love someone new,” she whispered, “will you love the first one less?” River lifted a hand and cupped her cheek, his touch steady and impossibly gentle.

“No,” he murmured. “You won’t love him less. No one will ever take his place in your heart.” His thumb brushed along her skin with aching tenderness. “You’ll simply… make room for me, too.” Her eyes glimmered, tears pooling along the lower lashes. “Are you sure?” “I’m sure,” he said, the words shaped like a promise. And she kissed him.

It was slow, cautious and tender. Something shifted in the space between them, a small spark of something neither had dared name before. Not passion exactly, not comfort alone, but a budding warmth she hadn’t felt until now. A beginning.

“Zaria…” he breathed against her mouth, her name rare and intimate on his lips. She laughed softly at the sound of it. “You never call me Zaria,” she murmured, searching his face. “And you never kiss me first,” he returned softly. They held each other’s gaze for a long, weighted moment, something unspoken passing between them, something neither of them dared name, but both of them felt.

“I want to touch you,” she breathed. He nodded, slow, deliberate, quietly granting her the permission she sought. Her fingers brushed over his skin, featherlight, tracing the lean muscles beneath his shirt.

She followed the line of him downward, past his ribs, over his abdomen, pausing just below his navel. His breath faltered. Before she could venture further, River’s hand closed gently around her wrist, his grip warm but trembling. “My love… wait...”

“We’ve done this plenty of times,” she whispered, leaning in. Not like this, he wanted to say. Not when you want me. Not when I can feel you choosing me. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked quietly.

“We can simply lie together if you’d rather-” He didn’t finish. Her fingers brushed over the part of him straining against the fabric of his pants. “I’d rather do this,” she said, her voice low and certain.

His restraint cracked. A shaky breath escaped him, his self-control unraveling in a single exhale. Zaria caught the hem of her blouse and pulled it over her head. Her skin glowed softly in the moonlit room smooth, and mist-pale, everywhere except the bridge of her nose, where a soft blush of sun-kissed pink warmed her features.

River’s eyes, warm as autumn earth, followed every inch she revealed, reverent and disbelieving. With a quiet rustle, her bottoms slid away, and he loosened his own, setting himself free from the constraint that held him.

“You’re indescribably perfect,” he whispered. Zaria smiled, small, shy, and radiant. She straddled him. His hips lifted instinctively toward her, a betraying motion he couldn’t control. “Not yet,” she whispered, and the words alone made his eyes darken.

Her hands skimmed over him, slow and reverent, rediscovering him like pages of a familiar book she had never truly read before. His hands slid up her body. Slow, worshipful, shaping her waist, her back, her shoulders, as though afraid she might vanish.

“You’re always careful,” she murmured. “It’s something unique about you that... I like.” “Already using my own words against me,” he teased softly. Zaria’s heart trembled but she steadied it, breath by breath. “I want this,” she said more to herself than to him.

And gently, guiding him, she took him into her. The air thickened with heat and quiet sounds. No sweet whispering. No poetic confessions. Just a slow, consuming burn shared between two people who needed something. Comfort, distraction, belonging. Maybe all three.