Chapter Five – The Morning After the Storm
1546 Words
The storm has passed, but its ghosts remain.
Rain clings to the windowpanes like fingerprints, and the air smells of wet wood and smoke.
I lie awake long after the first light creeps through the curtains. Every time I close my eyes, I feel it again — the warmth of his hands, the press of his lips, the way his breath had trembled against mine.
We shouldn’t have kissed.
We shouldn’t have ‘wanted’ to.
And yet, I’ve never wanted anything more.
When I finally rise, the couch is empty. Rowan’s already gone.
For a terrifying heartbeat, I think he’s left me. Then I spot his jacket by the door, damp with dew, and a note on the table — his handwriting, sharp and neat.
*Went to town. Don’t open the door for anyone.
– R.*
I stare at the note for a long time before folding it and pressing it to my chest.
It shouldn’t hurt this much to wake up alone.
By midmorning, I’ve changed into jeans and one of Rowan’s shirts. It hangs loose on me, smelling faintly of cedar and smoke. The sleeves swallow my hands. I light the fire, boil water, and manage to burn the toast so thoroughly it sets off the smoke alarm.
Perfect. The first princess to nearly burn down her own hideout.
When the door creaks open, I jump — half expecting guards, half expecting ghosts.
It’s Rowan, dripping with rain again, carrying a sack of groceries and a storm cloud of exhaustion over his head.
“You’re up early,” he says, closing the door behind him.
“You’re late,” I reply, trying for lightness. “I almost declared you missing in action.”
He gives me a look. “You were going to file a report? With whom?”
“Maybe the seagulls.”
That earns me the faintest smile.
Then he sees the burnt toast. His smile fades. “What happened here?”
“Experimentation,” I say, crossing my arms. “I was hungry.”
He sighs, takes the pan from me, and scrapes out the charred remains. “Next time, just wait for me.”
“Next time, maybe leave breakfast before you vanish at dawn.”
He freezes, halfway through rinsing the pan. The tension between us is back — thick and heavy and full of things neither of us dares to name.
Finally, he says, “I went to check for news. See if the palace has made a move.”
“And?”
He dries his hands, meets my eyes. “They’ve doubled the search parties. Officially, you’re still a ‘missing person.’ Unofficially…” His jaw tightens. “They think I took you by force.”
My stomach drops. “So I’m the kidn*pped princess now.”
“Better that than a traitor.”
“Better for me, maybe,” I snap. “Not for you.”
His expression doesn’t change, but something in his voice does. “I told you — I can live with what they think.”
“And I told you that you shouldn’t have to.”
He moves closer, quiet but firm. “Serena. I made my choice.”
I swallow. “And last night?”
That stops him cold.
For a moment, the only sound is the crackle of the fire. He looks at me — really looks — like he’s trying to find an answer that won’t break us.
“Last night was a mistake,” he says finally, voice rough.
My heart stutters. “Oh.”
He closes his eyes, like the words cost him something. “We can’t afford mistakes. Not now. Not when everything we have depends on staying invisible.”
“So you regret it,” I whisper.
He opens his eyes. “I didn’t say that.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“That I’d do it again if I could.” His voice drops to a whisper. “And that’s exactly why it can’t happen.”
I look away before he can see how much that hurts.
The rest of the day crawls by. Rowan busies himself with fixing the roof leak, chopping wood, making lists of supplies we don’t need but he pretends we do. Anything to keep his hands busy. Anything to keep his eyes off me.
I try to help, but he keeps finding excuses to move me somewhere else — out of reach, out of sight. Every time our fingers brush, he flinches like he’s touching a flame.
By afternoon, I’m ready to scream.
“Stop treating me like I’m made of glass,” I snap when he hands me a broom instead of a hammer.
“You don’t know how to use a hammer,” he says.
“Then teach me.”
He hesitates — and I see it, the moment he almost agrees. The moment he almost forgets why he’s supposed to stay away.
Then he shakes his head. “Not today.”
“Right,” I mutter. “Because God forbid I hold something dangerous.”
His gaze flicks to me, dark and unreadable. “You already do.”
The words hang there — sharp, electric, true. Neither of us moves.
And then, mercifully, there’s a knock at the door.
We both freeze.
Rowan’s hand goes instinctively to the knife on his belt. He motions for me to stay back. I don’t breathe. The knock comes again, lighter this time.
“It’s probably nothing,” I whisper. “A neighbor, maybe.”
“Or not.”
He opens the door just enough to see through the c***k.
A woman stands outside — middle-aged, with a basket of bread and a scarf tied around her gray hair. She smiles when she spots him. “Morning! Thought I’d bring a welcome gift for the new couple up the cliffs.”
Rowan’s whole body relaxes an inch. “That’s kind of you, ma’am.”
She peers past him and spots me. “Oh! And the missus. You poor thing, you must be freezing up here with all this weather.”
I step forward, forcing a smile. “It’s lovely, actually. Peaceful.”
“Peaceful,” she repeats, approvingly. “That’s what we all come here for. To start over.”
Her eyes are warm but curious, scanning my face like she’s trying to place it. I can feel Rowan’s tension beside me, coiled like a spring.
“Thank you for the bread,” I say quickly. “That’s very sweet.”
She hands it to me, then leans in a little. “You two make a handsome pair. What did you say your names were again?”
I freeze. I don’t know what name Rowan gave us.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Elias and Mara,” he says easily. “Elias and Mara Hale.”
The name feels strange but safe in my mouth. Mara Hale. The wife I’m pretending to be.
The woman nods, satisfied. “Well, Elias and Mara Hale, welcome to our little corner of the world. Supper at the tavern on Fridays if you’re ever feeling social.”
“Thank you,” Rowan says.
She turns to leave, but pauses. “You know,” she says, eyes glinting, “you remind me of someone, dear. A bit like that princess — what was her name?”
My stomach lurches.
Rowan laughs before I can answer, shaking his head. “Our Mara, a princess? She can’t even boil water.”
The woman laughs too, cheeks pink. “Fair enough. Too kind-looking anyway. Royals never have that softness about them.”
When she’s gone, Rowan shuts the door and exhales sharply. “That was close.”
I drop the bread on the table. My hands are shaking. “She recognized me.”
“She didn’t. You handled it fine.”
“I froze!”
“Which is normal for someone pretending to be normal,” he says gently.
It’s so absurd, I almost laugh.
He steps closer, lowering his voice. “You’re safe. I won’t let anyone get close enough to see more than they should.”
I look up at him, trying to steady my breathing. “You can’t protect me from everything.”
“I can try.”
“And who protects you?”
His smile fades. “No one has to.”
The quiet stretches again, full of things we won’t say.
Finally, I whisper, “You shouldn’t have kissed me.”
He nods slowly. “I know.”
“But I’m glad you did.”
He closes his eyes, like the admission hurts. “You make it very hard to be good, Serena.”
“Then stop trying,” I whisper.
He opens his eyes, and for a heartbeat, the mask slips. I see everything he’s fighting — the want, the guilt, the tenderness.
Then he steps back, voice rough. “We have to survive first. Everything else comes after.”
I nod, though my chest feels hollow. “And what if survival means never touching me again?”
He hesitates — just long enough for me to see the truth.
“Then,” he says quietly, “I’ll spend the rest of my life pretending I don’t want to.”
- Writer
