A Line Crossed
2110 Words
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Chapter Four – The Prince Who Didn’t Keep His Distance
For two days, Lina managed to avoid him. She kept to the nursery, slipped down servant passages instead of the main corridors, and refused to linger anywhere he might appear. She thought she had won a small victory.
Until the third evening.
The children had fallen asleep early, worn out from a day of running in the gardens. The nursery was quiet, filled only with the soft crackle of the fire. Lina sat curled on the cushioned bench by the window, letting her mind wander as she stitched a rip in Casian’s tunic.
A knock startled her. She rose, smoothing her apron, and opened the door—then froze.
Ethan.
Every instinct screamed at her to slam the door, but that would have been treason. Instead, she dipped into a clumsy bow. “Your Highness. The children are asleep. If you—”
“I’m not here for them.”
The words stole the air from her lungs.
He stepped inside before she could protest, closing the door behind him. The room suddenly felt too small, the firelight casting sharp shadows across his face. He looked… different. Less composed, less untouchable.
Lina’s fingers tightened on her apron. “Your Highness, this isn’t proper. You shouldn’t be here.”
“Perhaps not,” Ethan admitted, his eyes never leaving hers. “But propriety has never interested me.”
Her pulse quickened. “Then what does?”
“You,” he said simply.
The single word landed like a blow. Lina’s breath hitched, her heart hammering wildly. She should have laughed, told him he was joking, begged him to leave before someone saw. Instead, she whispered, “You’re a prince. I’m a nanny. You can’t mean that.”
“I can mean whatever I choose,” Ethan said softly, stepping closer. “And I have never meant anything more.”
Lina stumbled back until the bench caught her legs, forcing her to sit. He stopped just short of her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. His gaze swept over her face, searching, lingering—not with the cold detachment of a royal, but with the hunger of a man.
“This is madness,” she whispered.
“Perhaps.” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “But tell me you feel nothing, and I’ll walk away.”
Lina’s throat tightened. She wanted to deny it, to protect herself, to protect her job, her heart, her very life. But the words refused to come. Because when she looked into his eyes, she felt it—the pull, the danger, the fire.
She swallowed hard. “You should walk away, Your Highness.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
His persistence made her chest ache. She wanted to push him, to snap back with the sharp wit she always used. But for the first time, her bold tongue failed her. All she could do was sit there, trembling under the weight of his gaze.
Then Casian stirred in his bed, rolling over with a loud sigh. The sound broke the moment like shattered glass.
Ethan drew back slightly, exhaling through his nose as though reining himself in. His eyes flicked to the children, then back to her.
“You’re right,” he said, voice cool again. “This isn’t proper.”
Relief and disappointment tangled inside Lina, leaving her breathless.
He stepped back, heading toward the door. But before he left, he glanced at her once more, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
“This isn’t over, Nanny.”
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Lina clutching her apron, her heart pounding like a war drum.
---
She didn’t sleep that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face in the firelight, heard his voice saying you. By morning, she was bleary-eyed and snapping at Casian when he tried to climb onto her shoulders.
Maren noticed.
“What’s got you twisted up like a laundry rope?” the maid teased as she delivered fresh linens.
“Nothing,” Lina muttered, yanking the blankets tighter around Alira’s bed.
“Nothing looks an awful lot like a sleepless night,” Maren said slyly. “Did a certain prince happen to stroll by again?”
Lina’s head whipped around so fast she nearly sprained her neck. “Keep your voice down!”
“So it’s true.” Maren grinned wickedly. “Lina, you’re playing with fire.”
“I’m not playing with anything,” Lina snapped, but her flushed cheeks betrayed her.
Maren shook her head. “Just remember—the palace eats girls like us alive. Don’t let your heart hand you to the wolves.”
---
Later that day, as Lina led the children to the courtyard for fresh air, she spotted Ethan watching from a balcony above. His arms were crossed, his expression carefully neutral, but when their eyes met, heat flooded through her chest.
He didn’t look away.
Neither did she.
And for one dangerous heartbeat, it felt as though the entire palace had fallen away, leaving only the two of them bound by something neither could deny
---
Chapter Five – A Line Crossed
The days after Ethan’s late-night visit stretched like taut strings across Lina’s nerves. She tried to ignore him, truly she did. She timed her errands to avoid the main corridors, used the narrow servant passages whenever possible, and never once lifted her gaze when she sensed him in a room.
But princes did not need permission to invade a life.
He appeared everywhere. At breakfast, when she was coaxing Casian to eat porridge. In the gardens, where he leaned against the marble balustrade watching the children chase butterflies. Once, when she thought she was perfectly safe in the library with Alira perched on her lap, she glanced up to find him standing in the doorway, a book in hand, pretending to browse the shelves.
Every time their eyes met, heat flushed her cheeks, and her heart gave a foolish leap.
It was infuriating.
By the third day, Lina could hardly think straight. Her duties began to blur. She poured honey instead of milk into the nursery’s tea. She dressed Casian in Alira’s shoes by mistake. The children noticed her distraction, of course.
“Auntie Lina,” Casian whispered as they built a tower of wooden blocks, “why do you always look like you’re thinking of secrets?”
Lina pinched his nose gently to hide her fluster. “Because I’m surrounded by little rascals who think they can read my mind.”
But her mind was elsewhere. Always elsewhere.
---
That evening, the palace held a formal banquet for visiting dignitaries. The great hall glittered with chandeliers, silver candelabras, and servants carrying trays piled with delicacies. Lina had no business there, but the children were expected to make a brief appearance, and so she shepherded them into the chaos, smoothing their hair and tugging their collars straight.
The nobles cooed and praised. Casian scowled and clung to her hand. Alira whispered that her shoes pinched. Lina was just trying to guide them back toward the exit when the air shifted.
He was there.
Ethan stood at the far end of the hall, dressed in deep blue velvet trimmed with gold. The light caught his dark hair, his sharp profile. He was speaking to a visiting ambassador, but his gaze slid across the room and locked on hers.
Lina froze.
She should have looked away. Instead, something bold and reckless rooted her feet. For one breathless moment, it felt as if the glittering hall, the nobles, the music — all of it faded.
Just him. Just her.
Casian tugged her sleeve, breaking the spell. She dropped her gaze and hurried the children out, her heart pounding like a war drum.
---
Later, when the children were finally asleep, Lina crept into the corridor with a basket of linens. The hall was quiet, lit only by flickering wall torches. She kept her head down, praying she wouldn’t meet anyone.
Of course, fate had other plans.
“Still hiding from me?”
His voice was smooth, teasing, and far too close. Lina startled, the basket nearly slipping from her arms. She turned—and there he was, leaning lazily against the wall, still dressed in that velvet tunic.
“Your Highness,” she said stiffly, adjusting the basket. “I’m working.”
“You’re always working.” His eyes gleamed. “But you never spare me a word, Nanny.”
“I’ve no reason to.” She forced her tone to be sharp. “I’m here to care for the children, not… not to—”
“Not to what?” he pressed, stepping closer.
Her throat tightened. “Not to entertain your whims.”
The words sounded braver than she felt. He stopped barely a pace from her, close enough that she could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the way the torchlight traced the curve of his cheekbone.
“Is that truly all you believe this is?” he asked quietly.
Lina clutched the basket like a shield. “Yes.”
His hand lifted—not to touch her, not quite, but hovering as though he ached to. His eyes locked on hers, dark and searching. “You lie poorly.”
Her breath caught. “And you presume too much.”
The air between them throbbed, thick with something unspeakable. She needed to leave. She needed to run. But her legs wouldn’t move.
“Tell me to go,” Ethan murmured, his voice husky now. “And I will. Tell me you feel nothing, and I’ll never trouble you again.”
Her lips parted, but no words came. Because she couldn’t lie. Not when her chest ached like this, not when her hands trembled and her heart begged for something reckless.
The basket slipped from her grasp, linens tumbling across the marble floor. The sound startled her, but Ethan didn’t move back. Instead, his hand brushed hers, gently, deliberately.
Lina’s breath shuddered.
“Ethan…” She whispered his name like a sin.
And then his arms wrapped around her. Firm, steady, pulling her against him as though he had been waiting years for this. She gasped softly, her palms pressed against his chest, the warmth of him burning through her skin.
For a heartbeat, she resisted. For a heartbeat, she thought of duty, rules, danger.
But only for a heartbeat.
Because when his lips found hers—soft, tentative, yet devastating—every wall she had built came crashing down.
It was not a hungry kiss. Not yet. It was careful, almost reverent, as if he were afraid she might vanish if he pressed too hard. A whisper of a kiss. A promise.
Lina melted before she could stop herself, her fingers curling into the velvet at his chest. The world spun away.
When he pulled back, their foreheads rested together, both breathing too fast.
“This is madness,” she whispered, trembling.
“Then let us be mad,” Ethan murmured, his hand brushing her cheek.
Her eyes fluttered shut, tears prickling at the corners. “You don’t understand what this will cost me.”
“I do.” His thumb stroked lightly against her skin. “But I’m willing to pay it.”
For one suspended moment, the world felt as if it belonged only to them.
Then footsteps echoed at the far end of the hall.
Lina jolted back, stooping to snatch up the fallen linens. Her hands shook so badly she could hardly hold them. Ethan straightened, his face slipping back into cool, princely composure.
The steward rounded the corner, frowning. “Your Highness. I didn’t realize you were here.”
Ethan’s voice was calm, measured. “I was ensuring the corridors remain safe. Carry on.”
The steward bowed and shuffled away.
Lina dared not look up. She clutched the basket, muttered something about laundry, and fled down the corridor, her heart hammering like thunder.
Behind her, Ethan’s gaze followed. Silent. Steady. Burning.
---
That night, Lina lay awake staring at the ceiling beams above her cot in the servant’s quarters. Her lips still tingled, her body still trembled. She pressed her hands to her face, fighting back tears and laughter all at once.
She had crossed a line.
Worse—she wanted to cross it again.
And somewhere in his grand chamber, the crown prince of Alveria sat in silence, fingers resting on his lips, remembering the taste of a kiss he knew he would never let go.
- Writer
