Love TRR/TRH. Drake is my LI, but I ❤️ 2 read all

Max’s head jerked forward to find Drake Walker standing next to him, whiskey in hand, gaze piercing through him to his very soul. “Oh… I… ah…” he fumbled over his words. “I just needed a break… um… from all…. That.”

“Huh.” Drake lifted his glass to his lips as he turned his gaze out toward the dance floor. His eyes scanned the room until they fell on the source of Max’s discomfort. Understanding washed over him as he watched Riley glow under Liam’s attention.

His best friend did tend to have that affect on women.

Lowering his drink, he turned back toward Max. The younger Lord Beaumont was known for his gregariousness, extroversion and love of a good party. The fact that he was moping at the back of the room told Drake all he needed to know about the answer to the question he decided to ask anyway. “So, how’s the Cordonian Agreement going?”

Max shrugged. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Drake lifted an eyebrow in amusement. “Have there been a lot of takers?”

“She’s had a few.” None of the others had gotten under his skin the way Liam did though.

“I meant for you.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Drake watched him intently over the rim of his tumbler as he lifted it for another drink.

“Oh…uh… I’ve…had a couple,” he confessed with a shrug.

“Just a couple?”

His gaze dropped down to focus on the toe of his well polished shoe. “I’m just really not interested in other women to be honest.”

“Other women?” Drake snorted. “What about men?”

“I…what?” Max’s head jerked up to find the other man standing closer than he had been a few moments ago. “I mean I haven’t….I’ve never….uh….what?”

Drake leaned closer, “I was under the impression that you liked both. Am I wrong?”

“N…no,” Max stammered as his heart thudded in his chest and his palms were suddenly inexplicably sweaty. “I mean… I just haven’t… er, I mean, I haven’t really pursued…. Where did you hear that?”

It was Drake’s turn to shrug. “Things get around.”

Max and Riley may have started dating at fifteen, but before Riley, there had been a boy. A boy that Drake had briefly dated a year later.

Max wanted to fall through the floor. Not because he was embarrassed to be bisexual, but because he was mortified at how flustered he was.

Drake Walker was a dream. Tall, athletic, handsome, and confident in a way that Max just wasn’t. There was no way a man like that was into him…. Was there?

“So…” Drake propped an arm on the wall and leaned in, putting his mouth close enough to Max’s ear for his breath to send goosebumps cascading down the other man’s back. “Do you wanna keep staring at them, or do you wanna get out of here and have some fun of your own?”

“I…” Max gulped as he slowly lifted his cobalt blue eyes to meet Drake’s gold flecked copper ones. He wasn’t sure he trusted his voice or his knees at that moment, but he managed to croak out, “I want to get out of here.”

He’d heard about their arrangement from Leo, who had found out from Bertrand, who had learned about it directly from Maxwell himself. Riley and Max were experimenting with other people.  Liam was other people.

He saw a chance, and he was taking it. The small matter of being married wasn’t going to stop him. He was in possession of his own Cordonian Agreement. It had been a non-negotiable for him during the marriage contract discussions.

He hadn’t married for love, he’d married for duty and he had done his duty admirably if you asked him.

His father wanted heirs? He’d given him plenty. His wife was carrying his fifth legitimate heir, and the official royal mistress had three.

But Madeleine was cold and calculated where Riley was warm and spontaneous. Penelope was beautiful but shallow and a little dim where Riley was deep and sharp as a tack. She was the total package and he was determined to unwrap that package, to peel back the layers and find out what made her tick.

She leaned in toward him, hand on his arm as she laughed. “Liam, you’re so funny!”

She was definitely flirting with him and there was no way in hell he was letting this opportunity go to waste despite the daggers Madeleine was shooting him from across the room.

He covered her hand with his own as he leaned in even closer. “Could I interest you in a dance?”

Her smile lit up the ballroom. “Why yes, I’d love that!”

“I mean,” Riley sat up, drawing her knees to her chest as she continued, “I love you and I would never leave you, that’s not it. I just…. remember we talked about an open marriage before?”

Max was now sitting upright as well, his eyes glued to her face with a stark intensity. “Yes… but we were sixteen then and not even engaged.”

“Right. I know. But… don’t all the reasons still apply?”

He scrubbed a hand down his face in frustration. It had been his stupid idea to bring up an open relationship. Mostly because they had started dating when they were fifteen and everyone kept putting it into his head that neither of them had ever experienced anything, or anyone, else.

They had agreed that if they were still together after university, and still in love, they would get married, but in order to stave off the possibility of one or both of them ever feeling cheated out of the sowing their wild oats phase, they would have an open marriage.

It had made perfect sense at the time.

“We have a Cordonian Agreement,” she reminded him.

His jaw clenched. “We do.”  Bertrand had insisted on it, convinced that his brother would eventually tire of his high school sweetheart.

He hadn’t. He wouldn’t.

“So, let’s try it. We can always go back to the way things are now if it doesn’t work out.”

He studied her face. “Are you unhappy with the way things are now?”

“What?” Surprise flashed across her face. “Of course not. I love you and I love our life together. I just… don’t you ever wonder what else is out there?”

“Not really.”

“Oh! So…. You don’t want to—”

“I’m not saying that.”

He wasn’t saying it, but he was sure feeling it. His mind spun through the possible scenarios and what it landed on was the one that he could not live with.

He could not, he would not, risk losing her by stifling her. It was better to let her explore within their marriage than to risk losing her because she felt constrained or trapped in it.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” he drew in a fortifying  breath, “let’s do it.”

“Really?” The delight in her voice was evident.

Emilia lay on her side, her knees pulled tightly to her chest, the fine silk of her chemise bunched around her. She was the Princess of Cordonia, a woman who had been groomed since birth to remain composed under the scrutiny of the entire court, and one day she would do the same in front of the entire nation, yet here she was, reduced to a trembling mess of salt and sorrow.

A single, hot tear tracked slowly down the bridge of her nose, soaking into the pillowcase. Then another followed.

Her mind was a traitor, dragging her back to the image of him in the moonlight. He had looked at her like she was something poisonous. That was the thought that broke her over and over again. She had seen him look at her with fire, with laughter, and with a raw, protective tenderness that made her feel more alive than she had in her entire life. But last night... last night he had looked at her as if she were a monster from a fairy tale.

I love him, she thought, the reality hitting her with the force of a physical blow.

It felt absurd, even to her. She had known him for such a short amount of time. And yet, as she thought of the parade of suitors her parents had marched before her—the dukes with their practiced smiles, the Lords with their stale jokes and inherited arrogance—they all blurred into a grey, indistinguishable fog. They were hollow men, obsessed with lineage and decorum.

Drake was the opposite of hollow. He was raw. He was feral in the most beautiful sense of the word—untamed, honest, and fierce. He was the smell of cedarwood and tobacco; he was the callus on a thumb brushing her cheek; he was the low, gravelly laugh that made her skin prickle. He was powerful enough to break things, yet he had been so impossibly gentle with her.

A sob wrenched itself from her chest, a jagged, ugly sound that she stifled against the back of her hand. The guilt was a suffocating weight. She had lied to the only person who had ever truly seen her, not the crown she wore. She had walked into his world, worked her way into his heart, and then shattered it with a secret she had been too cowardly to share.

"I’m so sorry," she whispered into the empty, opulent room. Her voice was thin and cracked. "Drake, please..."

She would give it all up. She knew it with a clarity that frightened her. She would walk away from the Palace, the jewels, the balls, and the expectations. She would scrub floors, live in the stables, and sleep on straw if it meant he would look at her with that warmth again. But the memory of his cold, shuttered eyes told her that the bridge wasn't just burned—it was gone.

She rolled onto her back, staring up at the ornate carvings on the bed’s canopy, her chest aching with a pressure so intense she thought her ribs might actually snap. She wasn't a Princess today. She was just a girl who had found everything she ever wanted, only to realize she was the villain in her own story.

Just then, the heavy oak door creaked on its hinges, a sound that felt like a thunderclap in the oppressive silence of the room. Soft, rhythmic footsteps, muffled by the thick Persian rugs, approached the bed.

"Your Highness?" Rose’s voice was a tentative whisper, carrying the familiar scent of lavender and laundry starch. "You haven’t touched your breakfast."

Emilia didn’t answer. She remained a motionless statue under the silk sheets; her eyes fixed on a singular loose thread in the velvet hangings of her canopy. Rose moved closer, the soft rustle of her apron the only sound in the room. As the shadow of her maid fell across the bed, Emilia finally shifted, rolling onto her side to face away, pulling the duvet tighter around her shoulders.

"I want to be alone, Rose," she croaked, her voice raw and jagged from a night spent weeping.

A soft sigh escaped Rose. Instead of retreating as protocol demanded, she did something that would have horrified the Head Housekeeper. She walked around to the side of the bed Emilia was facing and sank onto the edge of the mattress. The bed dipped under her weight, the springs groaning softly. Slowly, Rose reached out and placed her hand over Emilia’s trembling fingers.

It was a bold breach of protocol, a blurring of the lines between servant and sovereign, but they had known each other since they were children—since the days when Rose’s own mother was a servant in the royal household and they had shared secrets in the corridors. To Rose, the woman in the bed wasn't a crown or a title; she was a friend.

Emilia didn't pull away. Instead, she turned her palm upward, gripping Rose’s hand with a desperate, white-knuckled intensity. The warmth of Rose’s skin was the first thing that hadn't felt like ice to Emilia in hours.

"Lady Olivia told me what happened, Emilia," Rose said softly, her thumb tracing comforting circles over Emilia's knuckles. "I'm so sorry."

Emilia offered a weak, ghost of a smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Thanks."

"Is there anything I can do?" Rose asked, her brow furrowed with genuine concern.

Emilia shook her head, a stray lock of golden hair falling over her tear-stained face. "Not unless you can turn back time and have me tell him the truth from the start."

"I can’t do that," Rose admitted, her voice steady and grounding. "But... I can give you some advice? If you would like to hear it."

Emilia gave a small shrug, the silk of her chemise whispering against the sheets. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

"You need to talk to him, Emilia," Rose said firmly.

"He doesn't want to see me," Emilia countered, her voice rising with a fresh wave of panic. "He told me not to talk to him again. He looked at me with such... such hate, Rose. I've never seen him like that."

"He’s angry," Rose said, undeterred by the princess's protest. "But if you go to him, if you explain—"

"I tried! He wouldn't listen," Emilia cried out, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. "He thinks I used him. He thinks I see him as nothing more than a cheap thrill I can gossip about with my friends at court."

Rose leaned in closer, her eyes bright with conviction. "Then you need to find a way to make him see that you don't think of him like that. You need to show him what you see when you look at him. You need to fight for him, Emilia."

Emilia looked up at Rose, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen, her face blotchy from the salt of her tears. "How? He won’t see me. If I go to the stables, he’ll just walk away. And I can’t bear it... I can’t bear to see him look at me again the way he did last night. It feels like my ribs are snapping."

She began to sob again, a small, broken sound that seemed to fill the vast room. Rose reached out, gently smoothing Emilia’s hair back from her forehead. "Shh. It’s okay, Emilia. If you don’t feel up to going in person, you could write him a letter? I would happily take it to him for you."

Emilia blinked, her lashes spiked with tears as she looked at her friend. "You would?"

"Of course," Rose smiled, her voice softening with affection. "I was being truthful when I told you both that it’s clear you make each other happy. I can’t believe that a title can change that."

"But I lied, he’s lost his trust in me," Emilia whispered, the guilt visible in her gaze.

"You lied so he could get to know the real you, and he did, didn't he? He will come to realize that, I'm sure of it. You’re still you, Emilia." Rose reached out and gently pressed her fingertips to the centre of Emilia’s chest, over her heart. "A royal title doesn’t change who you are in here. And I happen to know that you are an amazing person. You’re not like the others at court. You’re kind, you’re caring... you don't see people for their status, you see them for their hearts. Drake will see that again. Trust me."

Emilia let out a long, shaky breath, the suffocating pressure in her chest easing just a fraction. "I hope so."

"He will," Rose insisted. She stood up, the mattress rising as she moved, and crossed over to the ornate writing desk in the corner. The morning sun was just beginning to hit the polished wood. She pulled out a sheet of heavy, cream parchment and a pen. "Now come on. Write to him. I'll take it to him the moment the ink is dry."

Emilia sat up, pushing the heavy blankets aside and letting her feet hit the cold floor. For the first time since the moon had set, she felt a spark of something other than despair. "Okay."

*****

The air in the stables was thick with the scent of damp straw, horse sweat, and the sharp, ammonia tang of manure. It was a grounding smell, usually, but today it felt suffocating, like the walls were leaning in. Drake swung the pitchfork with a rhythmic, violent intensity, the muscles in his back bunching and straining against his damp shirt. He hadn't slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the flickering light of the fireflies reflecting in Emilia’s wide, tear-filled eyes. He saw a girl he thought he knew, and the ghost of a lie that had shattered everything.

He felt a hot prickle of shame behind his eyelids. He shouldn't have blown up like that—the memory of his own voice thundering in that small, quiet space made him wince. But then the hurt would return, sharp and cold, slicing through the guilt. She lied. Every touch, every whispered word in the moonlight, was now tainted by the shadow of her crown.

Why the hell would a princess be interested in me? he thought, stabbing the pitchfork into a pile of soiled bedding with enough force to jar his shoulders. She could have anyone—a Duke with a thousand acres, a Prince with a silken tongue and a bloodline that stretched back to the dawn of a kingdom. Why would she ever choose a man who smelled of horses and worked for his bread? He was a novelty. A "cheap thrill," just like he’d said. A story for her to tell her high-born friends over tea once she’d grown bored of playing commoner. It was the only explanation that made sense.

The heavy thud of boots on the dirt floor announced company. He didn't look up, afraid that if he stopped moving, the weight in his chest would finally crush him.

"Drake, mate," Max said softly. Leo was beside him, both of them leaning against the wooden post of the stall. "How are you holding up?"

"How the hell do you think?" Drake’s voice was a low growl. He didn't break his rhythm, tossing a heavy heap of straw into the wheelbarrow with a grunt of effort.

Leo stepped closer, his expression guarded. "Drake, listen. You need to talk to her."

"What for?" Drake snapped, finally stopping to lean against the pitchfork. His face was slick with sweat; his hair plastered to his forehead. "So she can make a fool out of me again? I think once was enough, don't you?"

"I don't think she was trying to make a fool out of you," Max offered gently.

"Yeah, well, she managed it anyway," Drake spat. He turned back to the stall, his movements jerky and agitated.

"Did she, though?" Leo challenged, his voice steady. "Because from where I’m standing, all she did was try to get to know you without that title hanging over her head. She wanted you to know her—not the Princess, not her status. Just the girl."

Drake let out a harsh, jagged laugh that sounded more like a bark. "She is her status! She’s the Princess of this whole goddamn country, Leo! She’s going to be fucking Queen one day." He pointed a shaking finger toward the main estate visible through the stable doors. "Girls like that do not end up with guys like me. They don't marry the help. Trust me, I know how this story ends. I've read the script."

"I think you’re wrong," Max said, stepping forward. "You should’ve seen her last night after you left. She was devastated, Drake. She even mentioned abdication. She was ready to throw it all away."

"Yeah, right. Of course she did.” Drake scoffed, though the word 'abdication' sent a strange, painful jolt through his chest—a spark of hope he immediately tried to smother. "It's easy to say things like that when you're caught. It’s a performance."

"She meant it, Drake," Leo insisted.

"I don't believe it!" Drake roared, the sound echoing off the rafters and making a nearby stallion shift uneasily in its stall. "She didn't mean it. It’s just another lie. Girls like her... they make promises and then go back on them the minute things get hard. The minute they realize what they’re actually giving up—the silk, the gold, the power—they realize a stable hand isn't worth the sacrifice. We’re nothing to them. Just servants who wait on them hand and foot. Dirty little secrets they keep until they’re ready to marry a 'real' man. That’s all we’ll ever be."

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic chewing of the horses. Drake’s chest heaved, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. Tears welled in his eyes, born of a mixture of fury and a bone-deep, ancient sadness. He wasn't just fighting with Emilia; he was fighting a war against a destiny he was certain was already written in his blood.

Leo watched him for a long moment, his eyes softening with a realization that made his heart ache for his friend. "This is about what happened with your dad, isn't it? You're seeing him every time you think about who she really is."

Drake stiffened as if he’d been struck, his knuckles white as he gripped the pitchfork. "No. It has nothing to do with that."

"What happened with your dad?" Max asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Nothing!" Drake shouted, his voice cracking. He dropped the pitchfork; it clattered loudly against the stone, a sound like a gunshot in the quiet stable. "Just leave it, okay? Both of you! Just leave me the hell alone!"

He stormed away, his boots heavy and desperate on the floor, and disappeared into the back office, slamming the door so hard the glass pane rattled in its frame.

Max and Leo stood in the dusty light of the stable, the silence pressing in on them. Max finally turned to Leo. "What happened with Jackson? I thought he and Bianca were... I thought they were happy."

"They were,” Leo sighed, leaning his back against the stall door and looking up at the rafters where the swallows nested. "But before Drake was born... before Jackson and Bianca ever met... Jackson worked security for a noble family in Valtoria. He was young, new to the role, and he was assigned to guard the daughter of the house. A lady of high standing."

Max listened, rapt, as Leo continued.

"They got close. At first, it was just talking, then walks in the garden, but eventually it became more than that. They fell in love, Max. Properly in love. This woman... she told Jackson she wanted to be with him forever. She promised him the world. But she said they had to keep their relationship a secret to avoid a scandal. She told him that when the time was right, she’d tell her family. She even talked about marriage. She made him believe he was enough."

"And?" Max whispered.

"And when the time came... when a 'proper' suitor appeared... she chose the status. She chose a man of wealth, a man of power. Someone with the right connections and the right breeding. She cast Jackson aside like he was yesterday's trash. It broke him, Max. It nearly destroyed him. He spent a long time wondering what was wrong with him, why he wasn't worth the sacrifice. Until he met Bianca, at least."

"How do you know all this?"

"Drake told me. When he turned eighteen, Bianca gave him some of Jackson’s belongings—some clothes, a watch, and some old journals. He read it all, Max. Every word of the agony his father went through. The betrayal. He saw the way his father’s handwriting trailed off into nothing when he wrote about her leaving. He saw the man Jackson became because of that heartbreak." Leo looked toward the closed office door, where the sound of a muffled chair scraping against the floor could be heard. "He’s not just angry at Emilia. He’s terrified. He thinks he's staring down the barrel of the same gun that killed his father’s spirit. He’s building these walls to protect himself from the same ghost that haunted Jackson."

"Oh god," Max murmured, looking at the door with new eyes. "Poor Drake... he thinks it’s inevitable."

"Yeah," Leo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "He already had so much distrust of the nobility, after what happened with Bianca when Jackson died. Not to mention the way some of them have treated him over recent years. But after he found out that Jackson was thrown away like he was worthless, by someone who proclaimed to be in love with him no less, well it only made Drakes distrust more pronounced. And now this with Em… he’s waiting for the floor to fall out from under him because that’s the only story he knows."

"But... what if Emilia isn't like that woman?" Max asked. "What if she was telling the truth last night? She said she loves him. I don't know about you, but when she said she would give it all up to be with him… I believed her."

Leo looked out toward the manor, the sun glinting off the high windows. "So did I, Max. So did I."

*****

The office door hadn't been closed for more than ten minutes when the silhouette of a woman appeared in the sprawling, dust-moted light of the stable entrance. Rose stood there, her simple servant's dress a sharp contrast to the grand manor looming behind her in the distance. She looked small against the vastness of the timber beams, but her expression was resolute.

"I'm looking for Drake," she said, her voice clear despite the nervous way she twisted her apron.

Leo straightened up from the stall, wiping his hands on a rag. He shared a look with Max—a silent communication of shared dread—before nodding toward the back office. "I'll get him. But Rose... be careful. He's in a bad way."

A moment later, the office door creaked open. Drake stepped out, and even Rose flinched slightly at the sight of him. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, the whites mapped with broken veins from lack of sleep and salt. He looked like hell—exhausted, vibrating with a high-strung tension, his hair a wild mess of sweat and straw.

Rose offered a small, sympathetic smile, her heart aching for the raw pain written across his face. "Drake—"

"What?" Drake snapped, the word landing like a lash. He didn't move toward her, staying rooted by the office door. "Come to tell me more lies about your friend 'Em' from the city? Come to help her keep the charade going?"

Rose didn't flinch this time. She took a step into the stable, the smell of the horses and the rhythmic sound of their breathing filling the silence. "No. And for the record, that wasn’t a lie. She is my friend. And she is from the city."

"Your friend?" Drake let out a hollow, mocking sound. "Yeah, right. Since when do servants become friends with royalty? Since when does the crown have tea with the help?"

"Maybe not ordinarily," Rose countered, her voice gaining strength. "But I think we both know that Emilia is far from ordinary. She’s nothing like the rest of the court, Drake. I’ve known her a long time—longer than I’ve known anyone else in the palace—and she is the only person in that entire place who treats me and the rest of the staff like actual people. She treats us like equals. She doesn’t look at us and see 'the help'; she sees us for who we are as human beings. She sees our souls, not our uniforms."

Drake scoffed, turning his head away, but his jaw was tight.

"I’m serious, Drake," Rose insisted, stepping closer until she was just a few feet away. "She’s one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. She asks for my opinion while others don’t even notice I’m in the room. She helps me when I’m overwhelmed. She’s kind. She listens. Hell, she treats me more like a member of her own family than she does a servant. And I hate seeing her like this."

The bravado in Drake’s shoulders flickered. "Like what?"

"Heartbroken," Rose said softly.

The word hung in the heavy, ammonia-scented air like a physical weight. Drake’s throat worked as he swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the dirt floor. "Right... sure. Heartbroken. I'm sure it's a tragedy in her opulent suite."

Rose stepped right into his space, her presence demanding he look at her. "She asked me to bring you something." From the pocket of her dress, she pulled out a folded piece of thick, cream-colored parchment. "She’s sorry, Drake. She wishes she could go back and change how it happened. But she can’t. She just wants you to forgive her. She wants you to see her for her. The girl you know? The one who laughed at your jokes and rode on the back of your motorcycle? That’s really her, Drake. I promise you that on my life. Don’t punish her—and don’t punish yourself—because of a title she’s stuck with and never truly wanted."

Drake remained silent, his breath hitching in his chest. Rose could see the armour cracking; his eyes were shimmering with a fresh layer of moisture, his hands trembling slightly at his sides. He took the paper from her, his fingers brushing the expensive grain of the parchment.

"Is that all?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Rose nodded. "Just promise me you won’t throw away what you two have. I wasn’t lying when I told you I’ve never seen her look so happy as she has since she met you. You mean everything to her. It’s written all over her face every time your name is mentioned."

Drake gave a stiff, jerky nod. He didn't say another word as he turned back into the office. The click of the door latch felt final.

Inside the small, cramped room, the only light came from a single grime-streaked window. Drake sat heavily in the wooden chair, the parchment feeling like a hot coal in his hand. With trembling fingers, he unfolded it.

Dear Drake, the elegant script began, though the ink was slightly smudged in places, as if a drop of water—or a tear—had fallen on it.

I am so sorry for not telling you the truth. I just wanted you to see me—the real me—not the title I was born into. The girl you met and got to know, that is the real me. The princess part... that is the performance. I only hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, because I don't want to lose you. You were never just a chance for me to "rough it." You are everything. Like I said at the lake, I see you, Drake. Every wonderful part of you.

As he reached the bottom of the note, something else slid out from the fold. It was a sketch.

He recognized it instantly. It was the drawing Emilia had done of him down by the lake. She had captured him in a moment of quiet thought, his eyes focused on the water, the rugged lines of his face softened by the evening light. He remembered how he had felt in that moment—more seen, more understood, than he had ever felt in his life.

A sob broke from his throat, jagged and painful. He slumped forward, burying his face in his hands as the tears finally came in a flood. He missed her. He missed the girl he had grown to love with a ferocity that terrified him.

But as he sobbed, the image of his father’s journal flashed behind his eyelids. He saw the faded ink where Jackson had written about his own "Lady of the House." He remembered the passage about the promises she had made—promises to tell her family, promises of a life together. Promises that had vanished the moment a "real" man appeared. 

If we were together, she would never admit to it openly, a voice whispered in the back of his mind, cold and cynical. She would keep you her dirty little secret until she found someone better. Just like what happened with dad.

She’s destined for a crown, the voice continued. And you’re just the man who shovels the waste of the horses she rides. He looked at the sketch again, the beautiful, delicate lines representing a hope he wasn't sure he was allowed to keep. Could he even trust that she existed? Or was he just another Jackson, waiting for the day the silk and gold called her back home, leaving him alone and heartbroken in the dirt?

Chapter 11 - A Visitor

A few yards away, under the shadow of a large oak, Max and Hana were still swaying slightly, even though the music had stopped. Hana’s head was tucked firmly under Max’s chin, her eyes closed, while Max held her with a protective, reverent stillness.

Drake caught Max’s eye over the top of Hana’s dark hair. Max didn't look away; instead, he let out a wide, triumphant grin that made him look like he’d just won a championship.

Drake chuckled, the sound vibrating against Emilia's shoulder. "Look at those two," he whispered, nodding toward them. "I think Max has been desperate to hold her that close since the moment we all met. He looks like he’s forgotten how to breathe."

Emilia laughed softly, her gaze lingering on Hana’s peaceful expression. "Hana has always been a little more reserved than me and Liv. She’s naturally shy, but it’s more than that—her parents are incredibly demanding. They’re desperate for her to marry someone who will bring their family 'honour and status.' It’s put a mountain of pressure on her to be perfect at everything—the best grades, the best manners, the best connections."

She sighed, a small, sad sound. "But really, she just wants to meet someone she actually likes. Not someone who can just elevate her family, but someone who likes her. She’s just terrified of what her parents will think when she finally finds him."

Drake’s expression shifted, his brow furrowing as he watched the young couple. "That’s a heavy weight for someone so young to carry. To feel like your own heart is a disappointment to your family."

"It is," Emilia agreed, looking back at Max, who was currently whispering something that made Hana let out a tiny, genuine giggle. "But she seems to really like Max. I’m just glad she got to meet someone who makes her smile like that. Even if it's just for the summer."

The words hit Drake like a physical blow. Even if it’s just for the summer.

A sudden, sharp surge of panic flared in his chest, making his breath hitch. The reality he had been trying to ignore—that she was a visitor to this county, a temporary fixture in his world—suddenly felt suffocating. He thought of her going back to the city, back to a life he couldn't see, leaving him behind in the silence of the valley. He didn't want the summer to end. He didn't want her to leave.

He didn't say anything; the words felt too dangerous, too heavy to voice. Instead, he simply tightened his grip on her, pulling her a fraction closer as if he could physically anchor her to the spot. He cleared his throat, forcing his voice to remain steady.

"Speaking of people liking each other..." He squeezed her hand, his thumb stroking her knuckles as he jerked his chin toward the stone steps of the church.

Emilia followed his gaze and immediately dissolved into a fit of giggles. Leo and Olivia were currently occupied in a kiss so passionate and uncoordinated that it looked like they were trying to merge into a single person. They were completely oblivious to the world around them—including the elderly woman in a floral apron who was currently smacking Leo on the shoulder with a wooden spoon.

"Young man! This is a parish square, not a bedroom!" the woman barked, her voice carrying over the crowd. "Break it up! The dance is over!"

Neither of them moved. Olivia’s arms were wound tightly around Leo’s neck, and Leo’s hands were buried in her fiery hair, pulling her closer as if they were worried the ground might swallow them up if they let go.

"Leonardo!" the woman tried again, louder this time.

Drake laughed, a bright, booming sound that helped mask the lingering ache in his chest. "I don't think a bucket of ice water would stop them right now. Leo’s been a goner since the moment he saw her. He’s always had a thing for redheads, especially bossy ones."

"She does have a way of making an impression," Emilia laughed, leaning her head against Drake’s arm.

Drake turned back to her, his laughter fading into that intense, soul-searching look that always made her breath hitch. He reached out, tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and let his hand linger there, cupping her cheek.

"Let’s get out of here, Em," he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur. "Before Leo gets arrested or the lights go out. I want to get some time alone with you before we have to call it a night."

Emilia looked up at him, the golden light of the square reflecting in her eyes. The fear of her secret was still there, a cold stone at the bottom of her stomach, but the heat of his palm against her face was stronger.

"That sounds perfect," she whispered.

They turned away from the chaos of the square, slipping through the thinning crowd. They didn't wait for the others; they didn't need to. As they crossed the threshold back toward the darkness of the woodland road, the noise of the village began to fade, replaced by the deep, velvet silence of the countryside and the promise of the walk ahead.

*****

The transition from the vibrant chaos of the village square to the deep, velvet hush of the woodland was like stepping into another world. Here, the air was cooler, smelling of damp earth, pine needles, and the sweet, wild scent of night-blooming jasmine. Above them, the moon hung heavy and silver, its light filtering through the canopy in long, shimmering ribbons that danced across the forest floor.

They walked in a comfortable, rhythmic silence, their hands entwined. Near the water’s edge, the darkness was alive with the soft, pulsating glow of fireflies, their tiny lanterns reflecting in the still surface of the lake like fallen stars. The only sound was the crunch of their shoes on the path and the occasional, gentle lap of water against the reeds.

Drake led her toward a weathered wooden bench perched on a small rise overlooking the lake. The moonlight turned the water into a sheet of hammered silver, vast and serene.

"I bet this is a lot more quiet than you're used to, huh?" Drake asked softly as they sat. He draped a heavy arm around her shoulders, pulling her into the heat of his side. "Living in the city must be loud and chaotic compared to the stillness of the countryside. Village dances being the exception, of course," he added with a low chuckle that rumbled in his chest.

Emilia let out a long, shaky breath, resting her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes, letting the peace of the place sink into her bones. "The city can get a little loud," she murmured. "There’s always something going on, some event to attend, someone to impress. It’s a little overwhelming sometimes, honestly. This, though... being at Applewood, being in the quiet... it’s peaceful. It means there is actually time to hear myself think. Time to breathe."

Drake looked down at her, the silver light catching the sharp line of his jaw and the softness in his eyes. He felt a swell of hope so strong it made his hands tremble slightly. He took a breath, summoning every ounce of courage he possessed.

"Would you ever consider moving here? Permanently? Or somewhere like it, at least?"

Emilia shifted, looking up at him. Her heart gave a painful thud against her ribs. "Honestly? I’d love to. I’ve always imagined what my life would be like if I just left. Left the city, left the pressures of life there and just moved somewhere quiet. Somewhere I can really settle. Somewhere near a lake, a log cabin where I can spend my days riding and sketching, and spend my evenings reading on a porch swing or sat around a fire... cuddled up with someone."

Drake’s gaze intensified, his thumb tracing a slow, hypnotic circle on her arm. "That sounds incredible. Perfect, even."

"I know," she whispered, a wistful smile touching her lips. "I just want somewhere that’s private. That’s mine. Somewhere I can spend time with people I love without any pressure to be anything more than just me. Just Em."

"We could, you know," Drake said, his voice dropping to a gravelly, intimate register. "We could build somewhere like that."

The smile on Emilia’s face faltered, replaced by a profound, aching sadness. "I can’t. I would love to, more than anything, but my life... it’s complicated."

Drake’s brow furrowed, his arm tensing. "In what way?"

"My father," she began, her voice small and tight. "My obligations. My duty."

"Duty?" Drake pulled back slightly to look her in the eye. "What duty, Em? What are you talking about?"

This was it. The invisible wall she had built was crumbling, and there was no way to patch the cracks. She could see the confusion in his face, the earnestness that made her feel like a criminal. She was terrified, her hands turning cold despite the warmth of the night.

"Em, what is it?" he asked, his voice softening with concern. He took both of her hands in his. "Whatever it is, it’ll be okay."

Her eyes welled with tears, the moonlight making them shimmer before they spilled over. "Drake, I need to tell you something. I should have told you before now, but I didn't... because I wanted you to get to know me. The real me. Not the 'me' I’m supposed to be."

"Supposed to be?" Drake’s voice was wary now. "Em, I don't understand."

She looked at him, her eyes pleading for mercy, for understanding, for a miracle. "I’m not summer staff, Drake."

Drake blinked, a confused half-smile tugging at his mouth. "You’re not? What do you mean? You’re here permanently?"

"No, Drake," she sobbed, the sound breaking the stillness of the lake. "I am only here for the summer. But I’m not staff at the estate."

"Well, what are you then?" He let go of her hands, his body language shifting from affection to guarded curiosity. "Are you just visiting? Are you visiting Rose?"

"I am visiting, Drake, but I’m not visiting Rose. I’m visiting for the summer for a holiday because... my family own the estate."

The silence that followed was deafening. Drake’s eyes went wide, his head tilting as he tried to process the words. "Your family own the estate? But I thought the estate was owned by the Royal Fam—"

He stopped. The blood drained from his face as the pieces clicked together with the force of a landslide. The grace, the education, the "demanding" parents, the way she spoke of duty. He looked at her as if he were seeing a ghost.

"You’re... you’re a member of the Royal Family?"

Emilia swallowed hard, her voice a mere whisper. "I’m the Princess, Drake."

For several seconds, Drake didn't move. He didn't even seem to breathe. Then, the shock vanished, replaced by a wave of pure, white-hot fury. "You’re what?!"

He surged to his feet, the bench creaking under the sudden movement. He began to pace the small clearing, his hands buried in his hair. "You’re the Princess?! What the hell do you mean, you’re the Princess?!"

Emilia was openly crying now, her shoulders shaking. "I’m sorry, Drake! I’m so sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but I just wanted you to get to know me! Not my title, or the crown... just me!"

He spun around to face her; his expression twisted with disgust. "So, what the hell has this been, Em? Was I just some joke to you? Was this just your way of having a fling with a commoner? A way to 'rough it' for the summer so you have something scandalous to gossip about with your ladies-in-waiting back at the palace?!"

"What? No!" she cried, reaching out toward him. "Of course not! I would never do that to you! I just wanted you to see me for me!"

"You lied to me!" Drake roared, his voice echoing off the water, startling the birds in the reeds. "I could have lost my job because of this! You’ve made a total fool out of me! I thought I was courting you, showing you a good time, making you feel alive when you said you felt suffocated... but all this time you’ve been lying and probably laughing at me behind my back!"

"Drake, please—"

"The pathetic country boy!" he spat, his eyes icy and cold. "The guy who could never come close to the types of men you usually go for. The guys with the money and the expensive suits and the fucking crowns!"

"I don't think you're pathetic!" Emilia sobbed, her voice breaking. "You're the most amazing man, the most amazing person, I've ever met! Everything I told you about myself is true! It’s just the title... everything else was real!"

He gave her a look that felt like a physical strike—cold, distant, and utterly devoid of the love that had been there only minutes before.

"I never should have trusted you," he said, his voice dangerously low. "I never should have let you into my heart. You lied to me. Our whole relationship is built on a lie."

He turned and started to walk away, his strides long and frantic.

"Drake! Wait!" Emilia scrambled off the bench, chasing after him, her hand catching his forearm.

He wrenched his arm away as if her touch burned him. He didn't look back.

"Leave me alone," he snarled over his shoulder. "Don't talk to me again... Your Highness."

He spat the title out like it was a curse, the words hanging heavy and bitter in the moonlight. Emilia stood alone by the water's edge, the fireflies still dancing around her, as the man she loved disappeared into the shadows of the trees.

*****

The walk back to the estate was a blur of blind, staggering rage. Drake didn't feel the cool night air or the roots tripping his feet; he only felt the searing heat in his chest, a burning sensation that felt like his very heart was being cauterised. He headed straight for the stables, the one place where the world usually made sense.

Inside, the air was thick with the comforting, earthy scent of hay, leather soap, and the warm, rhythmic breathing of sleeping animals. But tonight, it offered no comfort.

"Damn it!" he roared, the sound tearing from his throat.

His heavy boot connected with a galvanized metal bucket sitting in the aisle. It flew through the air, clattering violently against a wooden stall door with a deafening clang that echoed through the rafters. Several horses whinnied in alarm, shifting restlessly in their bedding.

The violence of the sound seemed to drain the adrenaline from him, leaving only a hollow, aching void. Drake stumbled toward the end stall, his breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches. He leaned his forehead against the cool, dark wood of the door, his shoulders heaving.

Penny, the gentle dapple-grey mare, poked her velvet nose over the gate, blowing a soft, concerned puff of air against his neck.

"Sorry, Pen," Drake whispered, his voice cracking. He reached up, his fingers trembling as he stroked the long, powerful line of her neck. The horse leaned into his touch, a silent anchor in the storm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

He stood there for a long time, the silence of the stable pressing in on him. Every memory of the last week began to twist, turning from gold to lead. Every conversation they’d had, every smile she’d given him, every kiss they’d shared—it all felt like a performance.

"I fell for her, Pen," he croaked, finally letting the words out into the dark. "I thought... I thought she was the one. The perfect girl. Someone who finally saw me, someone who understood me."

He let out a harsh, bitter laugh that sounded more like a sob. "But she wasn't real. None of it was. She’s a Princess. A fucking Princess."

The word felt foreign and disgusting on his tongue. He pictured her in the city, surrounded by gold and silk, laughing behind a gloved hand as she told her ladies-in-waiting about the simple stable boy who thought he was 'courting' her.

"I was just a thrill for her, wasn't I?" He looked into the horse’s large, dark eyes, searching for an answer he already knew. "A chance to 'rough it.' To see what it’s like to be with someone who doesn't have a polished title or a designer suit. I bet they'll have a big laugh about it over tea at the palace. 'Tell us about the boy with the dirt under his fingernails, Emilia! Did he really think he had a chance?'"

His eyes welled up, the tears hot and blurring his vision. He didn't wipe them away. He didn't have the strength.

"I loved her," he admitted, the confession whispered so low it was barely audible over the rustle of straw. "I actually... I fell in love with her. But I don't even know if the girl I love exists. How can I trust a single word she ever said? Was the sketching real? Was the log cabin dream real? Or was that just part of the fairy tale she was spinning for herself?"

The betrayal felt like a physical weight, crushing the air out of his lungs. He slid down the stable door until he was sitting on the cold stone floor, his knees pulled to his chest. He buried his face in his hands, his fingers digging into his scalp.

"I thought she was the one," he whispered into the darkness, his voice breaking completely as the first true sob escaped him. "I really thought she was the one."

In the rafters above, an owl hooted, a lonely, haunting sound that seemed to mock the silence of the boy weeping in the straw.

*****

The woods felt different now—cold, oppressive, and far too quiet. Emilia sat on the same moss-covered bench where she had felt so safe only a little while ago, but now her world was in ruins. Her chest ached with every breath, the salt of her tears stinging the corners of her mouth. She wasn't just crying for the loss of a man; she was crying for the version of herself that only existed when he looked at her.

The snapping of twigs and the low murmur of voices broke the silence.

"Em?" 

Olivia and Hana broke through the brush first, followed closely by Leo and Max. The boys were laughing about something until they saw Emilia’s slumped form. Olivia didn't hesitate; she sprinted forward, her heels thudding against the damp earth.

"Emilia! What’s happened? Where’s Drake?" Olivia reached her, dropping to her knees and grabbing Emilia’s shaking hands.

"I told him, Liv," Emilia sobbed, her voice a fragile thread. "I told him the truth... and he hates me. He told me never to talk to him again. I hurt him so badly, and I don’t know what I’m going to do because I need him, Liv. I need him more than I’ve ever needed anyone. He’s everything to me."

She buried her face in Olivia’s shoulder, her tears soaking into the other girl's dress. Hana stood by, her face pale, while Leo and Max exchanged a look of pure confusion.

"What is she talking about, Liv?" Leo asked, his brow furrowed. "What could possibly make Drake hate her?"

Olivia looked up, her expression hardening with the weight of the secret they had carried for the past week. She glanced at Hana, who gave a slow, sombre nod.

"She’s not just a city girl, Leo," Hana said, her voice steady but quiet. She turned to the boys, her eyes searching theirs. "We aren't summer staff. We’re here on holiday. Olivia and I... we are Ladies of the Cordonian Royal Court. And Em..."

Hana took a deep breath. "Em is Crown Princess Emilia Dawson. The future Queen of Cordonia."

The silence that followed was absolute. It was as if the very wind had stopped blowing. Leo’s jaw literally dropped, and Max froze mid-step, his eyes darting from Hana to the sobbing girl in Olivia’s arms.

"You’re... the Princess?" Max whispered, the word sounding absurd in the middle of the dark woods.

Emilia pulled back slightly, her eyes red and swollen, and gave a small, tragic nod. "I’m sorry I lied. I’m so sorry. I just wanted him to know me. Not the title, or the Crown... just the real me. But he thinks I used him for a thrill. He thinks I’m going to go back to the palace and laugh at him with my friends." She let out a jagged breath. "But I wasn't using him. I love him."

Leo took a slow step forward, the shock on his face softening into something like pity. "Hey... Em. Your Highness... Princess..."

Emilia let out a watery, self-deprecating laugh. "Em is fine, Leo. Please."

Leo knelt down, tentatively stroking her arm. "Drake will come around, okay? He’s just in shock. You have to understand... he’s never had a good experience with the nobility. He’s worked for families who treated him like furniture. One Lord in particular... he made Drake’s life a misery. Cruel, belittling. Drake ended up losing his job and his pay because he finally snapped. He’s built these walls, Em. He thinks every noble, every Royal is the same. But once he processes this... he'll see what you two have is special. Right?"

"It is," Emilia whispered, looking at the dirt. "I miss him every second we're apart. He makes me feel... human. But the way he looked at me tonight... I don't think he'll ever forgive me."

"He will," Max added, stepping up to join them. "Leo and I are his oldest friends. He’s a stubborn, grumpy pain in the ass, but we’ve seen him this week. He’s been different. Lighter. We'll talk some sense into him."

Leo stood up, his expression turning serious. "Em, I have to ask... what exactly do you want from him? Because if you plan on leaving for the palace at the end of the season anyway, you’re both going to end up destroyed."

Emilia looked up at them, the moonlight catching the resolve in her tear-filled eyes. "I don't know. I have a duty, I know that. A country to lead. But... I’d give all that up for him."

Hana gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Emilia! You aren't thinking about abdicating, are you?"

"If it meant I could be with him... yes," Emilia said firmly.

Olivia stood up, pulling Emilia with her. "Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’s been an emotional night. We need to get you back to the manor for some rest."

Emilia nodded, and they began the long, sombre walk back. The forest seemed to watch them, the secrets finally out in the open. When they reached the wrought-iron gates of the estate, the group paused.

Olivia and Hana turned to the boys. "We’re sorry we didn't tell you the truth about being Ladies-in-Waiting," Olivia said, her usual bravado slightly dampened.

Max smiled warmly, reaching out to squeeze Hana's hand. "It’s okay. I know you didn't do it to be mean."

Leo chuckled softly, looking at Olivia. "I think part of me always suspected you were too bossy to be a regular waitress."

Olivia laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Yeah, right. Of course you did." She looked at him tentatively. "Would you... still want to see us? Knowing who we are?"

"Definitely," Leo said, stepping in to give her a gentle, lingering kiss on the lips. Max and Hana shared a warm, tight hug.

The girls turned and walked across the manicured grass toward the manor, their shadows long and elegant. Max and Leo stood by the gate, watching them until the heavy oak doors closed behind them.

Max turned to Leo, his voice hushed. "Do you really think Drake will come around?"

Leo sighed, looking toward the dark silhouette of the stables where he knew his friend was hiding. "I don't know, mate. But I hope so. Because if he doesn't... he’s just lost the best thing that’s ever happened to him."

Chapter 10 - Written in His Blood

He leaned against the gatepost, the cold iron biting into his shoulder through the thin cotton of his white shirt. He pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and struck a light, the sharp scritch and the sudden flare of orange illuminating the sharp lines of his face for a second before he inhaled the acrid, comforting scent of tobacco. He let the smoke curl out of his lungs slowly, watching it vanish into the heavy air. It didn't fully kill the flutter in his stomach, but it gave his nervous hands something to do.

In his left hand, he gripped a small, square box wrapped in cream paper with a thin, emerald-green ribbon tied in a neat bow. He held it carefully, as if the slightest pressure might crush whatever secret lay inside.

"Seven-oh-two," Leo muttered, checking his watch for the fourth time in sixty seconds. He too had a cigarette lit, the cherry-red tip glowing bright as he took a short, sharp drag. He was pacing a small, frantic circle in the dirt, his boots making a dry, scuffing sound against the grit, exhaling a plume of smoke that trailed behind him like a ghost. "They’re late. Maybe they never got the note. Maybe they got cold feet."

"Relax," Max said, though he was busy picking a microscopic piece of lint off his blue sleeve. He reached behind his ear, retrieving the cigarette he’d been saving, and lit it with a slightly unsteady hand. He looked younger than usual tonight, his eyes wide and restless as they darted toward the tree line. He let out a short, jagged laugh that broke the tension of the crickets' chirping. "I don’t get it. We’ve taken them out before. We spent the whole afternoon with them at the lake. Why does this feel like I’m about to go over the top of a trench?"

Leo stopped pacing, his eyes fixing on Drake. "He’s right. Why does this feel different?"

Drake looked back toward the dark silhouette of the manor, its roofline a jagged crown against the darkening sky. He thought of the way Em’s hand felt in his—the warmth of her skin, the way her pulse seemed to sync with his. "Because it’s a real date," he said, his voice sounding deeper, more grounded in the quiet of the night.

Leo snorted, trying to find his usual bravado, though his voice cracked slightly. "You took Em on a date to the pub, Drake. How is this any different?"

Drake shifted his weight, his fingers tracing the line of his clean-shaven jaw. He felt a strange, tight ache in his chest—a physical pressure that had nothing to do with his stiff, starched collar. He looked down at the box in his hand.

"I don't know," he admitted, his hazel eyes darkening. "That was... we were still getting to know each other then. It was a bit of fun. But now..."

"Now?" Max prompted, his teasing tone softening as he caught the raw look on Drake's face.

Drake looked away, staring into the dark canopy of the trees where the woodland road began. The "James Dean" of the stables, the man who usually moved through life with a smirk and an easy confidence, looked suddenly, floor-droppingly vulnerable.

"I just like her so much," Drake whispered, the confession feeling heavy in the humid air. "I’ve never felt like this before. It’s terrifying. I feel like if I move too fast, I’ll break something. Or she'll realise I'm just a country boy with hay in his hair that isn’t good enough for her, and she'll head back to the city for good."

Leo and Max exchanged a glance. Usually, this was the moment where they would pounce—where they’d mock him or make a crack about him being soft. But the words died in their throats. They saw the way Drake’s hand was subtly trembling as he took a drag on his cigarette, and the way he looked at that little ribboned box. They saw a man who had stopped playing the game and had started living the stakes.

Leo stepped forward and clapped a hand firmly on Drake’s shoulder, the solid thud of palm against fabric echoing in the quiet. He didn't say anything, but the grip was steady and knowing. Max followed suit on the other side, a quick, supportive squeeze.

"She’s coming, mate," Leo said softly. "She’d be a fool not to."

The silence returned, but the air felt thicker now, charged with a new kind of energy and the lingering scent of three different brands of tobacco. Then, from the darkness of the tree line, the sound of a muffled giggle drifted toward them. It was followed by the rhythmic swish-swish of fabric against long grass and the low, melodic murmur of girls' voices.

Drake dropped his cigarette and crushed it beneath his boot, standing up straight and smoothing his shirt. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird as the voices grew clearer, floating through the trees just before the first splash of a colourful dress broke through the shadows.

As soon as he saw her, the knot of tension in Drake’s chest simply unravelled. Emilia stepped out of the darkness like a vision. She was wearing a fuchsia pink dress that seemed to glow against the twilight. It featured a Bardot neckline that showed off the soft curve of her shoulders, a fitted bodice that nipped in perfectly at her waist, and a flared swing skirt that danced around her knees as she walked. She looked breath taking—vibrant and elegant all at once.

She caught his eye and beamed, a wide, genuine smile that made Drake’s world narrow down to just the two of them. His nerves vanished, replaced by a steady, pulsing warmth.

Leo moved forward to greet Olivia, his bravado returning in a flash, while Max met Hana with a shy, bright-eyed grin. But Drake remained rooted for a moment, simply drinking her in.

Emilia stepped toward him, her perfume—fresh linen, bergamot, and sweet peach—cutting through the lingering scent of tobacco. "Wow," she breathed, her eyes travelling over his starched shirt and clean-shaven jaw. "You look very handsome tonight, Drake."

He smiled down at her, his hazel eyes softening until they were the colour of warm honey. "And you look beautiful, Em. Stunning."

He took her hand, his rough, calloused fingers gentle against her skin, and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of it. He felt the slight tremor in his own hands, but he didn't hide it. "I got you a little something," he said, holding up the box. "It’s nothing big... I just... I thought..."

He handed her the cream-coloured box. She looked at him with wide, curious eyes before pulling the emerald ribbon. Inside, nestled against tissue paper, was a wrist corsage. It was a delicate arrangement of ivory petals and fresh green foliage, held together by a shimmering band. It was a classic, romantic gesture—the kind of thing a country boy gives a girl he intends to keep.

"Drake," she whispered, looking back up at him. "This is beautiful."

The contrast was striking. He was a powerful man, built of muscle and raw masculinity, a man who broke horses and worked the land until his bones ached. Yet, as he reached into the box, his touch was as light as a summer breeze.

Leo and Olivia, along with Max and Hana, had already started to drift down the road, their laughter echoing ahead. But Drake and Emilia stood still for a moment, as Drake took the corsage from the box and carefully slid it onto Emilia’s wrist, his large hands manoeuvring the delicate flowers with surprising grace. He adjusted the petals, his thumb grazing her pulse point, which was racing as fast as his own.

She looked at him, her expression a mix of awe and affection. "You’re incredible. You know that, right?"

Drake let out a low, soft chuckle, the sound vibrating in his chest. "I wouldn't go that far."

Emilia reached up, placing her palm against his cheek. Her skin was cool, a perfect balm to his heat. "No, you are. This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you."

She leaned in and kissed him—a soft, sweet press of lips that tasted of promise and the humid night air. Drake closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, feeling for a moment as though they were the only two people left in the world.

"You’re welcome, Em," he murmured as they broke apart. “Shall we?”

“Let’s,” she smiled, before he tucked her arm into his, and they set off. Together, they followed the others down the woodland road, the sound of their footsteps on the crushed flint marking the rhythm of their walk toward the town and the music waiting for them in the distance.

*****

The woodland road spilled out into the edges of the village, where the scent of wild thyme and dried pine needles was replaced by a distant, rhythmic thumping that seemed to vibrate in the very marrow of Emilia’s bones. As they rounded the final corner into the main village square, the world exploded into golden light.

The square was a theatre of warm stone, framed by low-slung buildings with terracotta roofs and iron balconies. Strings of Edison bulbs were draped from the church bell tower to the surrounding cafes and shop fronts like low-hanging stars, casting a honeyed glow over the crowd. The air was thick with the scent of roasted almonds, hair pomade, and the sharp, botanical tang of the night.

Young men wore narrow-cut trousers and short-sleeved shirts unbuttoned at the collar, their hair slicked back into dark, shimmering waves. The girls were a blur of motion; their dresses had cinched waists and wide, flared skirts that caught the air with every turn, showing flashes of bright heels and tanned legs.

​"Look at this place," Max said, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd and the electric hum of the evening.

"Oh Leo, it’s amazing!" Olivia squealed, her eyes wide as she grabbed Leo’s arm. "It’s like the whole sky decided to come down for a party!"

Hana didn't say a word, but her face was alight with wonder. She squeezed Max’s hand tight, her shy smile blossoming into something radiant as she took in the spinning skirts and the golden haze. "It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen," she whispered, leaning her head against Max’s shoulder for a fleeting second before the music swept them further in.

"Best night of the year," Max promised, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd.

On a raised stone terrace, the band was tearing through a set that sounded like it had been imported straight from a Memphis basement. There were no woodwinds or brassy orchestras here; just the frantic, metallic twang of electric guitars and a drummer who hit the snare with a sound like a pistol shot. The double bassist was leaning into his instrument, his fingers flying over the strings to maintain a driving, relentless beat. It was pure, unadulterated rock and roll.

"Come on," Drake said, his voice dropping an octave, vibrantly alive. “Let’s get a drink, loosen up a bit.” He didn't wait. He caught Emilia’s hand and pulled her toward a small, wooden-topped outdoor bar. "Two whiskeys," he told the barman, his voice cutting through the noise with ease. "Neat. The good stuff."

As they waited, Emilia watched him. He leaned against the bar with an effortless, rugged grace, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to reveal forearms corded with the strength of a man who worked the land. He was gorgeous—a man of the countryside, raw and honest, and nothing like the manicured, hollow suitors of the royal court.

In the short time she had known him, he had managed to dismantle everything her mother and father had told her about how she would live her life. For years, she had viewed her future as a series of negotiations—a marriage of duty, an alliance of bloodlines, a quiet sacrifice for the crown. She had accepted that love was a luxury her position couldn't afford. But looking at Drake now, that cold logic felt like a foreign language. He had dismantled the very idea that she was a piece on a chessboard. He made her see that she could be with someone she actually had feelings for—someone she actually loved.

She realised then, with a sharp pang in her chest, that she had fallen for him completely. He was smart, funny, protective. Everything she could ever want. He made her feel like a person, not a position. I want to be with him, she thought, watching the light play across his features. I want to spend the rest of my life by his side. She knew her father wouldn’t like it, she knew it was a risk for the princess of Cordonia to be romantically involved with a commoner. But she didn’t care. She would trade every palace, every tiara and every ballgown she owned to be with him.

But with that love came a cold, creeping terror. She knew she had to tell him who she really was. She couldn't keep living behind a lie, but she feared the moment the word Princess left her lips, the magic of the village square and the last week would vanish. She just hoped that the man who had gotten to know the real her—the girl beneath the title and the royal performance—could accept the woman she was forced to be.

When the drinks arrived, he handed her one, his fingers lingering against hers. "To the best night of our lives," he toasted, his dark eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat.

The whiskey hit her with a warm, blooming heat that melted the last of her inhibitions. "I feel like the luckiest woman in the world right now," she said, her voice small but steady.

Drake smiled, glancing toward the stage. "Yeah, the band are something else, aren't they? Best in the country."

Emilia shook her head, stepping closer so her shoulder brushed his. "They are, but that’s not why I feel lucky. I feel lucky because I met you. Because I'm here, with you." She looked out at the spinning dancers. "I’ve always wanted to come to something like this. Usually, the dances I go to in the city are... formal. Stiff. Everyone watching their step, their true feelings hidden behind fake, polite smiles. But this? This is real. And you... you’re amazing, Drake."

Drake’s expression softened, the swagger fading into something much more vulnerable. He looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time all over again. "Em..." he started, but the band launched into a high-octane number, the opening riff screaming across the square. His grin returned, wider than ever. He set his glass aside and caught both of her hands. "Let me show you how 'real' it can get, then."

He swept her into the centre of the square. The transition was seamless; the moment they hit the cobblestones, the world outside their contact ceased to exist.

This wasn’t the rehearsed, mathematical choreography of a ballroom. It was a conversation of skin and bone. Drake moved with a predatory, rhythmic grace, and Emilia found herself responding without a second's thought. Every time he spun her out, she felt the centrifugal pull of the music, her wide pink skirt blooming like a carnation against the night. Just as she felt she might spin right off the earth, he snapped her back, his hand catching her waist with a firm, protective strength that sent a jolt of heat through her.

"Nice moves, Em!" Drake shouted over the roar, his eyes dancing with mischief as he pulled her into a tight, fast-paced shuffle.

"It’s easy when you have the perfect partner!" she laughed, breathless and giddy.

They moved through the crowd like they were the only two people who knew the steps to a secret language. When the drummer went into a frantic solo, Drake didn't miss a beat, lifting her in small, playful hops that made her feel weightless. It was uncanny; she didn't have to watch his feet or anticipate his lead. Her body simply knew where he was going. It felt as if they had danced this same dance for a thousand years, in a thousand different lifetimes. They weren't just two people on a village square; they were two halves of a whole, finally finding their rhythm.

"You're not going to collapse on me, are you?" he teased, spinning her under his arm before bringing her back so close her chest brushed his.

"Never!" she cried, her heart hammering a rhythm that matched the double bass. "I could do this all night!"

He threw his head back and laughed, a sound of pure, unbridled joy. He swung her through a gap in the crowd, navigating the chaos with effortless confidence. Every time their eyes locked, the intensity was staggering. He looked at her not as a curiosity or a prize, but as his equal—his match in every sense of the word.

Eventually, as the high-energy set reached its climax, they retreated toward the shadows of the bar area. They were breathless, chests heaving, their skin glowing with a fine sheen under the bulbs.

"This is incredible," she panted, leaning against the cool wood. "You’re incredible."

"It's not me," Drake whispered, stepping into her space, his shadow falling over her. He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw, his touch light but burning. "It's the music, the stars... And it's you."

He didn't wait for an answer. He leaned in, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that tasted of whiskey and wild, adrenaline-fueled joy. It wasn't the tentative, polite kiss of a suitor; it was deep, hungry, and honest, a physical seal on everything they had felt since the moment they met in that dusty paddock. Emilia tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, letting the roar of the square fade into a dull hum until all she could feel was the heat of him.

When they finally broke apart, both slightly dazed, he ordered two more whiskeys and they turned to sit on the low wall of the fountain, laughing and whispering in the dark. Drake pulled her close, his arm draped heavily and comfortably around her shoulders, shielding her from the rest of the world.

"Em?" A familiar voice broke their private bubble. Rose stood there, her arm linked with a handsome local boy. Her eyes were bright with joy at the sight of her princess, her friend, looking so truly, radiantly happy.

"Rose!" Emilia jumped up, a wide, genuine grin on her face. She pulled the other girl into a warm, fierce hug. "You look beautiful tonight!"

"As do you," Rose smiled, squeezing Emilia's hands.

Emilia stepped back, keeping a hand on Rose’s arm as she turned to Drake. "Drake, this is Rose, the best friend a girl could ask for."

"We’ve met, Em," Drake smiled, offering Rose a grateful, respectful nod. "Thank you for getting the note to her, Rose. I don't know what I would have done if she hadn't shown up."

Rose smiled warmly, her gaze flicking between the two of them. "I was happy to help, Drake. You both look so wonderful together. Truly. Em, I don't think I've ever seen you smile as much as you have in this last week. It’s like you’ve finally found where you’re supposed to be."

Emilia felt a blush creep up her neck. "He makes me happy, Rose. He’s... he's amazing." She lifted her arm, showing off the delicate wrist corsage. "Look what he got for me."

Rose leaned in, inspecting the flowers, then looked at Drake with an arched eyebrow and a playful smirk. "Romantic and handsome? You're the full package, aren't you, Drake?"

Drake laughed, a genuine, slightly bashful sound as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I just wanted to do something nice for her… I want her to be happy," he said simply.

Rose’s expression softened into one of pure affection. "Well, you're doing a grand job of making sure she is." Her date leaned in then, whispering that they should head to the bar before the line got too long. Rose squeezed Emilia’s hand one last time. "Enjoy yourselves. You deserve this."

They said their goodbyes, and as Rose disappeared into the crowd, Emilia and Drake sat back down on the stone ledge. The fountain bubbled softly behind them, providing a cool mist against their heated skin. For a moment, they just sat in a comfortable, romantic silence, watching the lights dance on the surface of their whiskey. Drake reached over, taking her hand in his and tracing the patterns on her palm with his thumb.

"I meant it," he whispered. "You're all I can think about, Em."

Emilia looked at him, the glow of the Edison bulbs reflecting in the deep pools of his eyes. "You're all I can think about too, Drake," she replied softly.

He leaned in again, and this time the kiss was different—slower, deeper, and filled with a quiet promise that made the world around them fall away. When they eventually pulled apart, they were both smiling, their foreheads resting against each other.

Soon after, the drummer transitioned to a slow, steady roll of the mallets, the atmosphere shifted. The lead guitarist slid into a lower, bluesy register, the notes echoing long and soulful against the church walls. The frantic spinning stopped and the space between couples vanished.

Drake set their glasses on the fountain ledge and reached for her again. He took her hand and drew her flush against him, his hand firm and steady against the small of her back. Emilia rested her head against his shoulder, her nose brushing the crisp cotton of his shirt, inhaling the scent of him—tobacco, cedarwood, and whiskey.

He moved her through the shadows with a slow, masculine confidence. As they swayed under the canopy of stars, the rest of the world—the village, the Applewood estate—felt like a distant dream. He leaned down, his breath warm against her ear.

"You know," he murmured, his voice vibration through her very core, "I always worried about meeting a girl who wanted a version of me that didn't exist. Someone who wanted a 'gentleman' or a posh city guy. But you... you’re the first person who just sees me. You’re so honest, Em. So perfect. I think that’s why I’m so far gone for you."

The words were meant to be a comfort, but they felt like a cold blade to Emilia's heart. She tightened her grip on his shirt, her eyes stinging as she hid her face against his chest.

"Thank you for tonight,” he whispered, unaware of the storm he'd just invited into her mind. “For being here with me."

She looked up, forcing a smile that felt as fragile as glass. In his arms, under a sky that seemed to have been painted just for them, she knew with absolute certainty that she belonged exactly where she was. With him she felt loved, cherished, and completely, utterly home.

But as she looked into his honest, trusting eyes, the warmth of the evening turned into a cold weight in her chest. The time for hiding was over; the secret was no longer a desire for freedom, but a ticking clock. She had to tell him who she really was. The thought terrified her—the princess and the stable hand was a fairy tale that ended in the dark, and she couldn't bear to lose him, not when they were just getting started. Not when she was sure they were meant to be together. Not when she had finally learned what it means to love someone.

Chapter 9 – Crown Princess Emilia Dawson

"It’s tomorrow night, Drake. Tomorrow," Leo said, leaning heavily on his own shovel in the neighbouring stall. He looked less like a stable hand and more like a man facing a firing squad. "The 'Starlight Swing.' They’ve got that band coming up from the south. Doing all the greats—Berry, Holly, maybe even some Presley if the lead singer’s got the hips for it."

Drake stopped, wiping a smear of dirt from his forehead with the back of his hand. The mention of the music made his chest tighten with a sudden, sharp ache of longing. He knew Em loved that sound—the raw energy of a Fender Stratocaster and the driving backbeat of a snare drum. He could almost see her spinning in a circle, her hair flying wild, a laugh caught in her throat.

"I know," Drake muttered, his voice gravelly. "Em told me music like that makes her feel alive. Plus, I heard her humming 'Peggy Sue' when she was sketching. She’d love it."

"Then we’re idiots," Leo groaned, dropping his head. "Absolute, Grade-A, prize-winning morons. We had them right there yesterday. Sunset, sand, the whole bit. Why didn’t we ask? Why did we just wave goodbye like we were seeing them off on a Sunday bus?"

Drake didn't answer because he didn't have a good one. He felt the weight of the missed opportunity like a physical stone in his gut. Since the lake and the vulnerability he had shown, the stakes felt higher. He didn't just want to see her; he needed to. But the girls were a mystery that lived behind the high stone walls of the manor, disappearing every evening into a world he wasn't invited to.

"We don't even know how to get a message to them," Max added, appearing from the shadows of the tack room with a pair of cleaned bridles draped over his arm. The jingle of the bits sounded like mocking laughter. "We’re outdoor staff, they’re indoor staff, it’s not like we can just stroll up the main drive and ring the front bell."

Drake leaned his pitchfork against the stone wall; his gaze fixed on the heavy oak doors at the end of the stable block. The silence of the manor felt like a challenge.

"The service entrance," Drake said suddenly, the idea taking root. "Down by the kitchens. It’s where the deliveries go—the milk, the coal, the laundry. It’s where I dopped Em off after our date. One of us could go there. Just... show up. Ask for them."

Leo whistled low. "That’s risky, mate. If the Head Housekeeper catches a stable lad sniffing around the back door, she’ll have your head on a pike before you can say 'Elvis.'"

"Do you have a better idea?" Drake challenged, his hazel eyes flashing. The thought of her sitting in that big, quiet house while the music played in town tomorrow night was more than he could stand. "I need to see her."

His challenge hung in the air, thick and heavy as the smell of wet hay. Leo and Max exchanged a look—the kind of look shared by men who knew they were about to do something incredibly stupid.

"Fine," Leo sighed, tossing his shovel into the corner. "But we aren't just 'showing up' empty-handed. If we get caught, we need a reason to be there. And if we don't find them, we need something to leave behind."

"A note," Max said, his eyes brightening. "Like a proper invite. Then we don't have to stand there stuttering like fools if the cook opens the door."

The "Starlight Swing" suddenly felt like a mission. The three of them scrambled into the small, cramped office at the back of the tack room, a space usually reserved for grain ledgers and veterinary receipts.

"Paper. We need paper," Drake commanded, rifling through a drawer. He pulled out a crumpled delivery slip for oats. "Too messy. And it smells like molasses."

"Here," Max offered, holding up a slightly yellowed envelope that had once contained a bill for horseshoe nails. The back of it was blank, save for a small grease smudge in the corner. "It’s practically royal parchment compared to the oat slip."

Then came the real struggle: the pen. They found a stubby carpenter’s pencil that had been sharpened with a pocketknife, its lead thick and blunt.

"You write it, Drake," Leo said, shoving the pencil into Drake’s hand. "Your hands shake the least."

Drake hovered the pencil over the envelope, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. "What do I say? 'Dear Em, come to the dance'?"

"Too blunt," Max whispered, leaning over his shoulder. "Say, 'We request the honour of your presence.' Sounds more... manor-like."

"We're stable boys, Max, not dukes," Leo countered. "Just say: 'The band's playing tomorrow. We'll be at the gate at seven. Don't make us wait.'"

Drake ignored them both. He took a deep breath and, in his slow, deliberate script, pressed the lead into the paper. He didn't use any of Max's flowery language or Leo's blunt warnings. Instead, he wrote:

Em,

You said that rock and roll music makes the world feel like it's finally moving. There’s a dance tomorrow night, a band is playing, and I’d like to be standing next to you when it starts. We’ll be at the gate at seven. If you can’t make it, I’ll understand—but the world will move a lot slower without you there.

— Drake

"There," Drake said, wiping his palms on his jeans as he finished. He folded the envelope with the precision of a man handling a delicate bird. "It’s done."

"Right then," Leo said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as the silver-grey sky outside began to deepen into twilight. "The kitchen entrance is around the east wing, past the laundry lines. If we see the Head Housekeeper, we scatter. If we see the girls, we deliver the goods."

Max grabbed a clean burlap sack. "I'll carry this. If anyone asks, I'm delivering... the formal livery. It needs washing before the King and Queen arrive. It’s a cover."

Drake tucked the note into his shirt pocket, right against his chest. "Let's go before I lose my nerve."

The three of them slipped out of the stables, moving with a quiet, practiced stealth. The damp grass muted their footsteps, but the air near the manor was thick with the heavy, savoury scent of roasting mutton and woodsmoke billowing from the kitchen chimneys. They skirted the laundry lines, where long white linens snapped like ghosts in the rising wind, hitting the boys' faces with the scent of lavender and lye. They pressed themselves against the cold, rough stone of the east wing, the grit of the masonry biting into Drake’s palms.

They stood before the heavy oak service door, breathing hard. Max clutched the burlap sack like a shield, his knuckles white against the coarse fabric. Drake’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm against the note tucked in his pocket, the paper warm from his own body heat.

"Do we knock?" Max whispered, his voice cracking slightly and thin in the wind. "Or just... leave it on the step?"

"We can't just leave it," Leo hissed, shifting his weight. "The barn cats will shred it before anyone finds it."

Before they could decide, the heavy iron latch clicked with a sharp clack. The door swung inward, spilling a warm, golden rectangle of light onto the wet cobblestones. A young maid—Penny—stepped out, clutching a bucket of vegetable scraps. She stopped dead, the bucket swaying and splashing a bit of water onto her sturdy leather shoes.

The sight of three stable boys, their hair windswept and their sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms dusted with hay and sweat, sent a visible jolt through her. Penny was small, with a dusting of freckles across a nose that was currently pink from the kitchen heat. Her eyes travelled slowly—almost hungrily—down Drake’s huge frame, lingering on the way his thin cotton shirt pulled taut across his chest, before traveling back up to his face. A deep, blooming flush crept from her lace collar up to her hairline.

"Can I... help you?" she asked, her voice breathless and flustered, her fingers twitching on the handle of the bucket as she tucked a stray, greasy strand of hair behind her ear.

Drake rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers rough and calloused against his skin. "Yeah," he said, offering a small, lopsided smile that made Penny’s pupils dilate. "We were looking for Em."

"Em?" Penny blinked, looking dazed, her gaze dropping back to the line of Drake's jaw.

"Or Olivia. Or Hana," Max added quickly from behind Drake’s shoulder, trying to look smaller than he was.

Penny’s brow furrowed, the initial spark of flirtation being replaced by genuine confusion. "I... I don’t know any Em. Or an Olivia or Hana."

"They’re summer staff," Drake explained, his stomach beginning to do a slow roll, the smell of the roasting meat suddenly making him feel a bit sick with nerves. "Just here for the season."

"Summer staff?" Penny shook her head, her lace cap bobbing. She looked back toward the busy, clattering kitchen where the sound of metal on metal echoed. "I’ve been here three years, and I’m not sure who you mean. We haven't taken on any—"

"It’s alright, Penny. I know who they mean."

A second woman appeared in the doorway. She was a similar age to the girls, with a sharp, observant gaze and an air of quiet authority. This was Rose. She wore a crisp, starched apron and had her dark hair pinned back so tightly it accentuated the intelligent curve of her brows. As Penny scurried back inside with a final, lingering look at Drake’s biceps, Rose stepped out into the twilight, the door swinging partially shut behind her to buffer the kitchen noise.

The men didn't know her, but Rose was sure she knew exactly who they were. She had been the one to help Emilia out of her tight capri pants after the fair, whispering as the Princess stumbled over her own excitement; she had been the one to see her in the heavy, scent-drenched leather jacket Emilia had worn home, the smell of the fairground and man still clinging to the collar. She had heard the Princess humming unfamiliar tunes in her bath, the steam rising around a secret, soft smile that was far removed from the rigid expectations of the court.

Rose looked at Drake—really looked at him—and saw the honest, hardworking man who had managed to steal the heart of a future Queen. She liked the kindness she saw in the set of his eyes.

"You know Em?" Drake asked, hope surging back into his voice, his posture losing its defensive hunch.

"I do," Rose said softly. Her voice was steady and kind. "She and her friends are here for the summer. I’ve worked alongside them in the city and spent some time with them here. They’re nice girls. Especially Em."

Drake’s face transformed, a bright, relieved smile breaking through his nerves like sun through clouds. "Yeah. She’s the best." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the yellowed envelope, the edges slightly softened and curled by the heat of his body. "Could you give this to her?"

Rose took the note, her fingers brushing the rough paper. She looked up at him, a knowing glint in her eyes. "So... you’re the one who has put that smile on her face, huh?"

Drake ducked his head, a faint heat rising to his own cheeks as he kicked at a loose stone. "I certainly hope so."

Rose reached out, her hand resting briefly, reassuringly, on his forearm. Her palm was warm and the touch was sisterly and supportive. "You have. I’ve honestly never seen her look so happy."

Drake’s smile widened, genuine and brilliant, his teeth white in the deepening gloom. Rose tucked the note securely into her apron pocket, patting it flat. "I'll make sure she gets this. Personally."

"Thank you," Leo said, stepping forward with a nod of respect.

As they turned to walk back toward the stables, the weight of the mission had lifted, replaced by a buzzing excitement that felt like static electricity in the air. The silver-grey sky was now a deep, velvet indigo, and the first few stars were blinking through the haze.

"I’m wearing the blue jacket," Max announced as they hit the grass, his stride bouncy and his heels clicking on the firmer ground. "The one with the brass buttons. If we’re going to the Starlight Swing, I’m not going looking like a hayseed."

"The blue one has a hole in the armpit, Max," Leo pointed out, though he was grinning too, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. "I’m taking the grease out of my best boots tonight. Drake, you better borrow my good belt. The one with the silver buckle."

Drake wasn't really listening. He felt like he was floating, his boots barely touching the dew-slicked clover. He could still feel the warmth of the kitchen light on his back and the phantom weight of the note—now a promise—travelling through the stone walls of the manor toward the girl who made his world move.

*****

Inside the Princess’s suite, the air was a hazy, sweet-smelling cloud of jasmine perfume and aerosol hairspray. It was a world away from the cold stone service corridors of the manor. A portable turntable sat on a velvet-covered side table, the needle crackling through a rock and roll record that sent a thrumming, upbeat rhythm bouncing off the silk-lined walls.

Emilia stood behind Olivia, her fingers nimble as she worked a thick, fiery red braid into Olivias hair. Scattered across the duvet were glossy fashion magazines, their pages curled and marked with excitement. Hana was sprawled on the floor, surrounded by a sea of bobby pins and ribbons, trying to mimic a sophisticated French twist she’d seen in a spread from the city.

"If we can perfect the high ponytail, I can wear those hoop earrings we found in the palace boutique," Olivia said, her eyes shining as she looked in the mirror. "I want to look perfect when I see Leo again. Did you see the way he looked at me at the lake? Like he couldn't even breathe. He’s so much more... real than the Dukes and Earls the court tries to parade in front of me."

"And so much more handsome," Hana added with a giggle, biting her lip. "Max is just... wow. He’s got that cheeky smile that makes you think he’s up to no good, but he was so sweet when he helped me into the lake. I’ve never met a man who makes my heart race like that just by saying hello."

"They're all gorgeous," Emilia agreed, her voice dreamy. "And they don't treat us like fragile glass dolls. It’s like they actually see us."

A soft, rhythmic knock at the door cut through the music. The girls froze, the playful energy momentarily replaced by the practiced stillness of the court. Emilia smoothed her clothes and nodded toward the door as Hana moved to open it.

Rose slipped inside, closing the door firmly behind her. The moment the latch clicked, the mask of the dutiful servant vanished, replaced by a wide, conspiratorial beam that made her sharp eyes sparkle.

"Rose!" Emilia exhaled, her hands dropping from Olivia's hair. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything is better than alright, Your Highness," Rose whispered, though her voice bubbled with excitement. She reached into her deep apron pocket and pulled out the yellowed envelope. "I have something for you… Em. From a very handsome stable hand."

Emilia’s eyes widened, a flicker of panic crossing her face. "How did you—? Rose, did you know?"

"I’ve been your maid for a long time, Princess Emilia,” Rose replied as she let out a soft, knowing laugh. “I’ve seen a change in you recently; you look happier than I’ve ever seen you. You have a certain glow. I knew it had to be about some boy."

Emilia was shocked for a second, then a massive grin broke across her face. She lunged forward and threw her arms around Rose, hugging her tightly. "Oh, Rose! Thank you! I was so worried you might think badly of me..."

"I don’t," Rose said, hugging her back. "Your secret is safe with me."

Emilia pulled away, her breath hitching as she finally took the note. She grazed the rough, hand-smudged paper with her thumb. It felt heavy with meaning, still carrying a faint, lingering warmth. "He actually came to the door?"

"All three of them," Rose said, leaning against the doorframe, watching Emilia’s face transform with a soft, radiant glow. "Standing there in the dark like they were storming a fortress. The smaller one looked like he was holding onto that laundry sack for dear life, and the blonde was trying to look far more cool than he clearly felt."

"And Drake?" Emilia asked, her voice small, her heart performing a slow, dizzying roll in her chest.

Rose’s expression softened. "Oh, Your Highness. He’s lovely. He was so nervous his fingers were shaking when he handed me this, but the moment I mentioned your name... it was like someone turned on a light inside him." She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "He has such kind eyes. Honest eyes. And heavens, the man is handsome. He’s like a statue carved out of oak."

Emilia let out a breathless, giddy laugh, clutching the note to her chest. "I know! He’s absolutely gorgeous! You should see him when he’s working with the colts—he’s so gentle, but he’s so... big."

Olivia and Hana squealed, abandoning the hairpins to crowd around. "Let me see what it says!" Olivia demanded, giggling and poking at the folded paper.

"Thank you, Rose. Truly," Emilia said, reaching out to squeeze the maid's hand. "I don't know what I would do without you."

"I just want to see that smile stay on your face," Rose replied, her own eyes misty. "I haven't seen you this happy since... well, ever. Now, read it! We need to know if we’re picking out ribbons or planning an escape."

Emilia carefully slid her finger under the fold of the paper, the sound of the unfurling note crisp in the quiet room. As she opened it, the other two girls pressed in so close their shoulders were touching, eyes darting across the page.

The writing was heavy-handed and slanted, clearly written by someone more comfortable with a bridle than a pencil, but the last line made Emilia's heart skip a beat:

“... If you can’t make it, I’ll understand—but the world will move a lot slower without you there. —Drake”

A collective, high-pitched gasp filled the room.

"‘The world will move a lot slower without you there’?" Hana repeated, clutching her hands to her chest. "Emilia, that is the most romantic thing I have ever heard! He’s a poet as well as a stable hand."

“He’s certainly got a way with words,” Olivia smirked, nudging Emilia with her elbow.

Emilia didn't say anything at first. She just stared at the last line of the note, tracing the script. Her heart was beating so loudly she was sure they could all hear it. The rock and roll record reached its end, the needle clicking rhythmically in the groove, but the girls didn't move.

"He wants to be standing next to me when it starts," Emilia finally whispered, a surge of fierce, joyous adrenaline rushing through her. She looked at her friends, her eyes burning with a new kind of determination. "We need to figure out what to wear!”

*****

The following evening, the communal bathroom at the edge of the stable workers' quarters was thick with a humid, opaque fog. The sharp, bracing scent of menthol shaving cream and bay rum aftershave fought against the lingering smell of damp stone and iron. A single, naked bulb hung from the ceiling, its yellow light reflecting off the condensation-slicked mirrors where the three of them stood shoulder-to-shoulder.

Drake leaned in close to the glass, his jaw set. He moved the straight razor with practiced, rhythmic strokes, the blade making a crisp scritch-scritch sound against his skin. He’d already scrubbed the stable grime from beneath his fingernails until the skin was raw, and his arms still felt the pleasant, heavy ache of a day’s hard labour. But as he wiped away a patch of foam to reveal a clean, sharp jawline, he didn't feel like a mere stable hand—he felt like the luckiest man in the world about to take out the most beautiful woman in the universe.

"If I’d nicked myself one more time, I’d have bled out before we even get to the gates," Max muttered, dabbing a tiny piece of toilet paper onto a red spot on his chin. He was dressed in a pale blue button-down, the colour making his dark eyes pop. He had a cigarette tucked behind his ear—unlit, for now—and he was fidgeting with the buckle of his leather belt. "My hands won't stop shaking. It’s pathetic."

Leo, looking sharp in a slate-grey shirt that emphasised his lean frame, let out a short, nervous laugh. He was busy with a tin of pomade, scooping out a thick dollop of the translucent wax and rubbing it between his palms until it glistened. "It's not pathetic, Max. It's the excitement. If you weren't shaking, I'd think you were dead."

Leo ran his hands through his hair, slicking the sides back into a tight 'ducktail' before using a fine-toothed black comb to lift the front into a perfect, gravity-defying quiff. He checked his profile in the mirror, his expression uncharacteristically soft. "I keep thinking about the way the light hit Olivia's hair at the lake. She looked like something out of a dream. I just hope this shirt doesn't make me look like I’m trying too hard."

Drake rinsed his razor in the basin of steaming water, the metal clinking against the porcelain. He reached for his shirt—a crisp, heavy white cotton button-down that felt stiff and formal against his skin. As he tucked it into his black tailored trousers, he felt the weight of the evening ahead. He tightened his belt, the notch clicking into place with a sense of finality.

"They won’t think we’re trying too hard," Drake said, his voice low and steady, though his heart was thumping a frantic rhythm against his ribs. "You heard what the maid said. They like us. I just… I want Em to see the best versions of us."

He picked up a jar of pomade and began the ritual of taming his own thick hair. The wax was cool and tacky, smelling of sandalwood. He worked it through, sculpting the hair back until it was sleek and dark, leaving just enough volume at the front to catch the light.

"You think they'll actually come?" Max asked, his bravado slipping for a second as he adjusted his collar.

"They'll come," Drake said, and as he spoke the words, he felt a surge of that same fierce adrenaline he’d felt when he kissed Em in the woods after the pub. He could still see the image of her in his mind—the way she looked when she was laughing, so full of life and fire. "Em... she isn't the type to stay behind a locked door when there's a world moving outside."

He reached for the bottle of aftershave, splashing the cool, stinging liquid onto his palms and pressing it to his face. The sharp burn cleared his head. He looked at his reflection—the white shirt stark against his tanned skin, his hair gleaming, his eyes bright with a dangerous, hopeful light.

“I don’t know about you two, but I’m not coming back through those gates tonight until I’ve had a proper kiss from Olivia. I’ve been dreaming of it for a week." Leo muttered.

"A kiss?" Max snorted, though his eyes were wide. "I’d settle for Hana just letting me hold her whilst we dance. But yeah... a kiss would be the win of the century."

Leo glanced over at Drake, who was studying his hair one last time, his expression unreadable. A knowing, slightly wicked grin spread across Leo's face as he nudged Drake with an elbow.

"Look at him," Leo teased, nodding toward Drake’s reflection. "Slick as a river stone and twice as quiet. I bet you’re hoping for a whole lot more than a kiss tonight, aren't you mate? You’ve got that look in your eye like you're going to war and the prize is a queen."

Drake didn't flinch, though his heart hammered a little harder. He thought of the kisses he and Em had already shared—the heat of them, the familiarity of her lips, the way she tasted like stolen moments and rebellion.

"I just want to see her," Drake said, his voice low and steady. "That’s enough for now."

"Liars get a special seat in hell, Drake," Max joked, finally getting his collar to sit flat. "But seriously. If you get lucky, try not to make the rest of us look too bad."

"Right then," Leo said, slapping his hands together and exhaling a long breath. "Shirts tucked, hair set. Let's go see if we can steal some hearts."

Drake led the way out of the steam-filled room and into the cool, night air. The manor loomed in the distance, a fortress of stone and tradition, but as the three of them walked toward the shadows of the service gate, they moved with the rhythmic, confident stride of men who had nothing to lose and everything to win.

Chapter 8 - What it Means to Love Someone

Emilia looked up from her sketchbook, her charcoal pencil poised mid-stroke. She felt the temperature too—a heavy, restless weight—but beneath it was a buzzing energy that made her skin prickle with anticipation. Through the hazy ripples of heat beyond the garden walls, the distant line of whispering willows on the edge of the lake looked like a cool, dark sanctuary.

"Shall we head to the lake?" Emilia suggested, a slow, mischievous smile spreading across her face. "We could go for a swim. The water will be perfect today."

"Yes! Please!" Olivia bolted upright with renewed life, her green eyes darting toward the distant horizon where the stables lay. "Anything to cool off. I'll race you to the doors."

Hana nodded eagerly, clutching her book to her chest with a shy, bright smile. "A swim sounds wonderful, Emilia. It’s far too beautiful a day to stay cooped up behind the garden walls."

The three of them scrambled up, gathering their discarded blankets and magazines, and hurried back toward the manor. Their laughter echoed off the honey-coloured stone walls, which were draped in thick, waxy ivy that felt cool to the touch. Inside, the grand hallways offered a brief, shaded reprieve; the air here was different—crisp and smelling of beeswax, old wood, and the faint metallic tang of suits of armour.

They didn't linger in the cool. They practically raced to their respective suites—familiar, sun-drenched rooms that felt more like home to them than the stiff formality of the city palace ever could.

In her bedroom, Emilia kicked off her shoes, her bare feet finding comfort on the polished floorboards. She flung open the heavy oak wardrobe, ignoring the stiff silk tea dresses and lace-trimmed slips her mother had insisted she bring. Those clothes belonged to a different life, one of duty and tight-laced expectations. A life she desperately wanted to escape.

Working quickly, she shed her garden clothes and slipped into her bikini, the fabric a hidden layer of intent beneath what was to come. Once the ties were secure, she reached for something she’d tucked away specifically for this summer—a red cotton romper suit, the fabric crisp, vibrant, and daring.

She stepped into it, the cool cotton sliding over the bikini and against her sun-warmed skin. As she pulled the halter neck tight and tied the bow behind her neck, she caught her reflection. It was scandalously short by her mother’s standards, cinching her waist and showing off the long, tanned curves of her legs. She felt liberated—unbound by the heavy weight of the royal silhouette.

When they emerged into the hallway a few minutes later, they couldn't help but giggle with excitement. They looked like girls on a holiday, not the princess or her ladies-in-waiting.

Hana was a vision in a yellow floral sun dress that made her dark hair look like melted chocolate, the skirt swaying with a soft swish as she moved. Olivia looked like she had stepped off a cinema poster—the ultimate pin-up in high-waisted denim shorts and a white sleeveless blouse.

"Look at us," Olivia whispered, striking a dramatic pose against a marble bust. "If your mother saw us now, she’d have a collective heart attack for the whole court. The scandal would be legendary."

"Then it’s a good thing she’s still miles away at the palace, probably fussing over guest lists for some tiresome ball or another,” Emilia laughed, grabbing a woven straw basket and stuffing it with three plush, oversized towels. “Today, we’re just three girls going for a swim. And,” Emilia paused, casting a slow, sultry smirk back at Olivia and Hana that made her intentions perfectly clear, “if we’re lucky, maybe we will have some company."

As they stepped back out into the glare of the afternoon, heading down the sloping, emerald-green lawn toward the paddocks and the lake beyond, Emilia felt a surge of pure, unadulterated joy. The grass was dry and toasted beneath her sandals, smelling of hay and parched earth. The shimmering sapphire blue of the lake beckoned in the distance, framed by the silver-green leaves of the weeping willows.

But her heart hammered for a different reason. To get to the water, they had to pass the stables. She knew exactly who would be there, working under the unforgiving sun—likely with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, his brow damp, and that hungry, piercing look in his eyes.

"Do you think they’ll be there?" Hana asked softly, her cheeks already pink with a mix of the climbing temperature and sweet anticipation.

"They're stable hands, Hana," Olivia teased, swinging her towel in a wide arc. "Where else would they be? Probably sweating and looking rugged just for our benefit. It would be rude not to say hello."

Emilia didn't say anything, but she reached up to adjust the strap of her romper, her pulse quickening. She could almost feel Drake’s gaze on her already, heavy and warm like the sun. She wanted him to see her like this—unburdened, daring, and entirely 'Em'.

*****

Inside the stables, the air was a thick, stagnant soup of dried hay, leather oil, and the sharp, animal musk of horses. The heat here was different than in the garden; it was heavy and industrious, pressing down on the lungs with every breath, tasting of dust and hard labour.

Drake exhaled a harsh, jagged breath, his chest heaving as he threw the heavy broom aside. The stone floor was finally clear, the last of the gruelling afternoon chores Bastien had assigned them complete. "It’s hot as hell in here," he growled, his voice rasping and low in the dry air.

With a slow, deliberate movement born of exhaustion, his fingers went to the buttons of his work shirt. He began to undo them, one by one, his knuckles grazing the damp, heated skin of his chest. When the last button gave way, he shrugged the sweat-soaked fabric off his shoulders and let it fall carelessly onto a hay bale. He stood there for a moment, the cooler draft from the air outside licking at his wet skin, his ribs expanding and contracting with every deep lungful of air.

Leo leaned against a wooden pillar, wiping his brow with a grimy forearm that left a streak of dirt across his forehead. "Tell me about it. I feel like I've been baking in an industrial oven for six hours."

Max, who was busy hanging up a set of heavy leather bridles, nodded in weary agreement. "My boots are full of sweat. I don't think I can stand another minute in this gear without jumping into the nearest bucket of water."

"Shall we head to the lake?" Leo asked, his eyes brightening at the thought of the cool, dark depths. "Bastien said we had a few hours to ourselves once the sweeping was done."

Max paused, his hand hovering over a saddle rack, a look of hesitation crossing his face. "But what if the girls stop by? We don't want to miss them. I'd hate to be halfway across the property when they show up."

Drake looked at his friends, then out at the heavy, sun-drenched yard beyond the stable doors. He was bone-tired, his muscles aching with a dull, heavy throb, but the thought of missing Em was a sharper pull than the lure of the water. "You’re right," Drake said, leaning his bare back against the cool, rough stone wall of the tack room. "Why don’t you guys go get out of your sweaty clothes? I’ll wait here, keep an eye out. When you get back, I’ll go up to my room and change. We can hang around for a bit, see if they show up, then head down to the lake. They might’ve had the same idea."

Max and Leo didn't need to be told twice. With a chorus of tired groans and eager talk of the lake, they headed out the back exit toward the shared quarters behind the stables.

Drake watched them go, then reached into the pocket of his low-slung denim jeans. He pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Tucking a cigarette between his lips, he headed straight for the main stable doors, seeking the open air.

Stepping out into the glare, he felt the sun immediately bake into his bare skin, a searing but honest heat. He stood there, the heavy denim of his jeans clinging to his hips, and leaned one broad shoulder against the weathered, silvered wood of the doorframe. He flicked the lighter, the small flame invisible in the bright afternoon, and took a long, deep drag. He exhaled a plume of blue-grey smoke into the golden light, squinting his eyes as he looked toward the shimmering, distant invitation of the lake.

Across the emerald-green slope of the lawn, the three girls suddenly ground to a halt. The laughter they had been sharing died instantly in their throats. The very air seemed to vanish from the world.

Emilia felt her heart give a violent, erratic thud against her ribs, followed by a frantic, galloping rhythm that she could feel in her throat. She couldn't move; she couldn't even draw a full breath. There he was, framed by the dark, cavernous shadow of the stable interior, standing in the merciless golden light like a pagan god of bronze and grit.

He was magnificent. The muscles of his back and shoulders were broad and terrifyingly defined, beaded with a fine, glistening sheen of perspiration that caught the light with every move he made. As he took another slow drag of his cigarette, the muscles in his torso rippled and shifted under the tanned skin—a living map of raw, masculine power.

A wave of intense heat that had nothing to do with the summer sun rushed through Emilia’s body. It was a delicious, liquid tingle that started in her chest and pooled deep in her stomach, making her knees feel dangerously weak and her skin feel suddenly too tight for her body.

As they watched, Drake raised a hand, running long, calloused fingers through his damp, dark hair to push the stray strands back from his forehead. The movement flexed his bicep, the veins standing out in stark, rugged relief against his arm, the skin taut over the muscle.

"Holy..." Emilia breathed, the word caught on a hitch of air.

Next to her, Olivia was equally paralysed, her usual sharp-witted tongue silenced by the sheer, unadulterated masculinity of him. Even Hana looked stunned, her book pressed forgotten against her chest, her face blooming a deep, vivid crimson.

"Should we... should we announce ourselves?" Hana whispered, her voice trembling with a tiny, nervous giggle that betrayed her fluttering heart.

Emilia didn't move. She didn't want to break the spell. She had spent her life surrounded by the carefully curated beauty of the court—polished princes and stiff-collared lords—but she had never seen anything like this. This was wild, unburdened, and breathtakingly primal.

"One more minute..." Emilia replied, her eyes tracing the line of his spine down to where his jeans sat dangerously low on his waist, the fabric moulding to the curve of his hips. "Just one more minute."

But she didn’t wait for the minute to end. Before she even realised what she was doing, her legs were moving, carrying her across the parched grass toward the stable doors. She felt the eyes of Hana and Olivia on her back—stunned and hesitant—but she couldn't stop. She was drawn to him like a moth to a flame, the distance between them shrinking until the scent of the garden was replaced by the raw, heavy aroma of tobacco and worked skin.

As the shadow of the stable roof finally fell over her, Drake sensed the movement. He turned his head, the cigarette still perched between his lips, squinting against the glare of the afternoon sun.

When he saw her, he froze. For a fleeting second, a flicker of genuine embarrassment crossed his rugged features—a hand instinctively twitched as if to reach for the shirt he’d discarded on the hay bale. He was caught half-dressed, grime-streaked and salt-crusted, standing before the woman who was stealing his heart.

But the movement died before it began. He saw her eyes.

Emilia wasn't looking at him with any kind of hesitation; she was looking at him with a raw, unmistakable hunger that made his breath hitch. Her gaze was a physical weight, tracing the heavy breadth of his shoulders before dropping to the dark, unruly hair splattered across his chest.

Drake’s embarrassment vanished, replaced by a dark, simmering surge of pride. He felt the power shift. He didn't reach for the shirt; instead, he leaned back further against the doorframe, deliberately hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his low-slung jeans, offering himself up to her scrutiny.

Emilia felt her throat go bone-dry. She watched, mesmerised, as a single, stray bead of sweat broke free from the hollow of his throat. It tracked a slow, glistening path down the centre of his chest, navigating the ridges of his muscle, before rolling over the flat plane of his stomach. Her eyes followed it with obsessive focus until it disappeared, soaking into the dark denim just below his navel.

Without thinking, she bit her lower lip, her breath coming in a short, shaky exhale.

Drake saw the gesture. A slow, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, the cigarette tilting upward. He loved it—the way her composure had shattered, the way her red romper seemed to vibrate with her heartbeat. He knew he looked like a wreck, covered in the dust of the stables, but in her eyes, he saw that he was exactly what she wanted.

"Good afternoon, ladies," he rasped, his voice dropping an octave, thick with the smoke and the sudden tension. He took a slow, deliberate drag of his cigarette, his eyes never leaving hers as he exhaled the smoke into the space between them. "See something you like, Em?"

Emilia let out a soft, shaky sigh before finally forcing her gaze up to meet his eyes. A deep, betraying blush crept up her neck and settled in her cheeks. She tried to pull her composure back together, smoothing the front of her romper, as Drake let out a low, melodic chuckle that vibrated in her chest.

"We... we were just headed to the lake to cool off," she managed to say, her voice regaining some of its strength.

"We’re doing the same," Drake replied, his smirk widening. He pushed off the doorframe, the movement fluid and powerful. "The guys have just gone to get changed. Thought I’d stay and wait... see if you showed up."

"Well, I’m certainly glad I did," Emilia said, her voice dropping into a flirtatious lilt. Despite her attempt at composure, her gaze betrayed her again, travelling slowly down the planes of his body before snapping back to his face.

Drake’s eyes darkened with approval. "I should get changed out of these jeans," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the back of the stables. "Shall we meet you down at the lake, or did you want to wait here?"

"We can wait," Emilia said instantly, giving him a bright, lingering smile.

"I'll be quick." Drake flashed her one last wink before disappearing into the cool shadows of the stable interior.

The three women stood in the sudden silence, watching the spot where he’d been as if he might reappear at any second. Emilia finally turned back to Olivia and Hana, her jaw practically on the floor and her heart hammering against her ribs.

"Oh my god," Olivia exhaled, breaking the silence as she shook her head in disbelief. "He is lethal."

Hana didn't speak at first; she just started fanning herself frantically with her hand, her eyes wide. "Is it just me, or did it get ten degrees hotter the second we got here?"

Emilia took a deep breath, trying to steady her hands as she looked at her friends. "Not just you, Hana," she murmured, her voice still a little breathless. "Definitely not just you."

*****

The minutes stretched, thick with the sound of cicadas and the girls' own frantic, hushed whispers, before familiar voices were heard coming around the side of the stable block.

Leo and Max emerged first, looking like different men entirely. The grime of the morning had been scrubbed away, replaced by the scent of cheap soap and the bright, optimistic colours of a 1950s summer.

Leo led the way, looking surprisingly dapper in a pair of high-waisted, navy-blue trunks that hit mid-thigh, paired with a matching short-sleeved button-down shirt left entirely open. The shirt featured a bold, geometric print in cream and red—a "cabana set". He’d even taken the time to slick back his hair with a fresh dollop of pomade, the blonde waves gleaming in the afternoon sun.

Max followed, looking more athletic in a pair of simple, belted swim shorts in a vibrant forest green. He carried a couple of rough, grey stable towels over his shoulder and had swapped his heavy work boots for canvas espadrilles. He looked less like a labourer and more like a tourist on a weekend lark, his expression bright and eager as he spotted the girls.

"Keeping you waiting?" Leo called out, his grin widening as he took in the sight of the three of them—his gaze lingering with unmistakable heat on Olivia. "We had to fight for the bucket and the soap. Max is a bit of a hog when it comes to the water."

"I am not!" Max protested with a laugh, though his face reddened under Hana’s shy, yet appreciative gaze.

But the playful banter died down when the shadow in the main stable door shifted again.

Drake stepped out into the light.

If he had looked like a pagan god before, he now looked like a cinematic icon. He hadn't bothered with a shirt or a cabana set. He had simply changed into a pair of dark maroon swim trunks, tailored high on the waist with a thin camel coloured belt and a silver buckle that sat right against the tanned, iron-flat plane of his stomach. The deep red of the fabric made the bronze of his skin look even richer, almost golden.

He carried a single, tattered towel slung low around his neck, the ends dangling over his chest. His hair was still damp, messy and dark, falling over his eyes in a way that made him look dangerous and entirely untamed.

He stopped beside Leo; his thumbs hooked once more into the waistband of his trunks. His eyes immediately locked onto Emilia, taking in every inch of the red cotton romper. The smirk was gone, replaced by a look of intense, quiet focus.

"Ready?" Drake asked, his voice low and steady.

"Ready," Emilia breathed.

The group set off, a colourful parade of youth and rebellion against the backdrop of the ancient, golden-stone manor. As they crested the emerald hill, the "beach" came into view—a small, crescent-shaped strip of pale, hauled-in sand that sat at the edge of the sapphire water, framed by the drooping, silver-leafed boughs of the willows.

The sand was hot, promising to burn their feet, and the water was as still as a mirror, waiting to be broken. For Emilia, in that moment standing at the edge of the slope, the divide between her life as royalty and the life she truly craved—freedom and adventure—didn't exist. With Drake standing beside her, the Princess was entirely absent. There was only the sun, the sand, and the terrifying, electric pull of him, and the afternoon ahead.

The geography of the lake was a blessing Emilia hadn’t fully appreciated until now. Because of the steep, grassy slope and the way the willow trees swept down like heavy velvet curtains, the little cove was entirely shielded from the manor’s upper windows. It was a secret world. Emilia scanned the shoreline, her heart hammering a steady rhythm of relief; the house staff had clearly opted for the shade of the quarters or the local pub. For today, the lake belonged only to them, and she sent a silent prayer of thanks to the empty horizon.

"Home away from home," Leo declared, dropping a heavy canvas bag onto the sand with a muffled thud.

They settled into a flurry of activity—laying out the rough stable towels and arranging their meagre supplies. The heat was oppressive now, the sand radiating a dry, white warmth that made the prospect of the water irresistible.

Then came the moment of the shed.

Olivia was the first to move. She was confident, unzipping her shorts and letting them fall to the sand. She wore a sleek, strapless one-piece in a vibrant marigold. It was a daring cut, emphasising her shoulders and the long line of her neck, and Leo let out a low, appreciative whistle that earned him a playful swat.

Hana was next, her movements quick and slightly self-conscious. She stepped out of her sundress to reveal a sensible, navy blue all-in-one swimsuit. It featured a small modesty skirt that fluttered at her thighs, and while it was simple, it suited her quiet grace perfectly. Max, however, seemed to find it more than adequate; he stopped mid-stride, a towel frozen in his hands, as he watched her tuck a stray dark hair behind her ear.

Finally, Emilia reached for the ties of her red cotton romper.

She felt Drake’s presence before she saw him. He was standing a few feet away, ostensibly checking the water’s edge, but as the romper hit the sand, he turned.

Emilia stood before him in a two-piece halter bikini. It was a scandalous choice—a bold red-and-white gingham print that screamed of Mediterranean summers and silver-screen starlets. The bottoms were high-waisted, cinching her middle to emphasize the curve of her hips, but it was the halter top, tied in a firm bow behind her neck, that felt truly daring. It left her midriff bare, exposing a sliver of golden skin that had never seen the sun of the palace gardens, and gave her breasts a delicious lift.

The silence that followed was heavy.

Drake didn't whistle. He didn't make a joke. He simply stood there, his gaze travelling slowly from the top of her head down to her bare toes in the sand and then back up again. His eyes darkened, that quiet focus from before intensifying into something much more predatory and raw.

Emilia smiled at him. The "Princess" wasn't just absent; she had been completely replaced by a woman who knew exactly the effect she was having on the man standing in front of her, and loved every minute of it. She watched as his jaw tightened, a small muscle leaping in his cheek. He looked like a man who had suddenly realised the water wasn't going to be nearly cold enough.

The tension snapped the moment Leo let out a rebel yell and charged toward the sapphire expanse.

"Last one in is a square!" he roared, his feet kicking up plumes of pale sand, as Olivia and Max chased after him.

Hana followed, though her courage wavered at the shoreline. As the first wave of frigid lake water curled over her ankles, she let out a high-pitched squeal. "Oh! It’s freezing! Max, it’s like ice!"

Max didn't give her time to reconsider. Laughing, he caught her hands and began to wade backward, drawing her deeper. "It’s only cold for the first ten seconds, Hana! Come on, trust me."

"I don't trust you at all!" she shrieked, even as she giggled and followed him, her navy skirt floating around her like a dark flower.

Olivia and Leo were already waist-deep, showing no mercy. They began a coordinated assault, cupping the water and sending massive, silver sheets of spray over Max and Hana. The cove was suddenly filled with the sounds of splashing, frantic laughter, and mock outrage.

On the shore, Drake didn't look away from Emilia. The predatory stillness in his frame shifted into a sudden, wild energy. Without a word, he reached out and caught her hand. His palm was warm, his grip firm and certain.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice low but alive with a challenge.

Emilia didn't need to answer. She just smiled at him, her eyes full of that adventurous spirit he was falling for and tightened her fingers around his. Together, they sprinted.

They hit the water at a full run. The transition from the oppressive, white heat of the sun to the biting, crystalline chill of the lake was a shock that made Emilia’s lungs seize in the best way possible. They didn't wade; they didn't test the temperature. They dove, hand-in-hand, disappearing beneath the surface in a single, synchronised splash.

When Emilia broke the surface, the world felt brand new. The water was delicious, washing away the dust of the manor and the weight of her secret life. She reached up, using both hands to slick her hair back, the heavy, wet weight of it dripping down her spine.

Nearby, Drake emerged, shaking his head with a violent energy to clear the hair from his eyes. He stopped when he saw her. In the bright, unforgiving light of the afternoon, with water beading on her skin and her eyes bright with adrenaline, she looked more beautiful than anyone he’d ever seen. She looked like she belonged here, in the wild, not scrubbed and silent in some drafty stately home mopping floors.

"Better than being stuck inside the manor?" he asked, his voice dropping as he trolled water to bridge the gap between them.

He didn't wait for her to answer. Instead, he reached out, his hand submerged beneath the surface, and caught her by the waist, pulling her toward him. Emilia gasped as she was tugged through the water until they were dangerously close. Her hands flew up to find purchase, resting naturally on his broad shoulders. For a heartbeat, the shouting of the others faded into a blur. The water was cold and refreshing, but where their bodies met, the heat was undeniable.

"You look..." he started, his gaze dropping to her mouth, his expression turning intense again.

"OI! BREAK IT UP!" Leo’s voice cut through the air a second before a massive wall of water slammed into the side of them.

The spell broke as they were both doused. Emilia laughed, the sound bright and musical, as she pushed off Drake's shoulders to retaliate against Leo.

For the next hour, the world beyond the willow trees ceased to exist. They were no longer a girl with a crown she hated, her ladies-in-waiting, or common staff; they were simply young. They played like children—Max and Leo staged a ridiculous wrestling match that ended with both submerged, while Olivia tried to teach a shivering but smiling Hana how to float.

They splashed, they raced, and they drifted, their voices carrying across the water, a symphony of rebellion and life. For the first time, Emilia wasn't watching a life through a window; she was right in the middle of it, soaking wet and perfectly, wonderfully free.

*****

The sun had begun its slow, honeyed descent, turning the lake from sapphire to a shimmering hammered gold. They lay scattered across the sand on a patchwork of mismatched towels, the grit of the beach sticking to their damp skin and the smell of lake weeds and sun-warmed cotton hanging heavy in the air. The oppressive heat of the morning had mellowed into a lazy, enveloping warmth that made every movement feel slow and intentional.

Max lay flat on his back, his eyes closed against the glare, a piece of long grass dancing between his teeth. "My old man probably has the grill going by now," he said, his voice thick with a nostalgic sort of hunger. "Mum always makes this potato salad that could win awards. My sister, Savannah—she’s a few years younger—she’s probably already annoying him about when the corn will be ready. They’re only about twenty miles from here, just over the ridge. Seems like a world away sometimes when you're behind the manor gates."

Leo chuckled, propped up on one elbow as he traced patterns in the sand with a twig. "I know the feeling. I grew up just three villages over. This county is in my blood, I think. Me and Drake, we’ve been running these woods since we were knee-high to a grasshopper. Used to steal apples from the orchards until the farmers chased us off with rock salt." He glanced over at Drake with a grin. "Drake was always the faster runner. I was just the one who could talk us out of trouble when we got caught."

Emilia, Olivia, and Hana remained largely silent, though not uncomfortably so. They were like three shadows leaning into the light. Olivia and Hana exchanged a fleeting, weighted look—a silent acknowledgement of the lives they couldn't speak of, the lineages they had to keep tucked away like contraband. To speak of their families was to speak of titles, of history, and of the very "crown" Emilia was so desperate to forget. Instead, they just listened, their laughter echoing softly off the water, soaking in the rare privilege of being listeners rather than the subjects of conversation.

Emilia was resting against the rough bark of a willow, her knees drawn up to form a makeshift desk for her sketchbook. Her charcoal pencil moved with a frantic, graceful energy. Drake watched her from the corner of his eye, admiring the way she seemed to be capturing the scenery. He watched her gaze darting from her book, to him and then over the shimmering horizon and the way the light hit the water, then drop back down to the paper as she worked. He figured she was sketching the swaying reeds at the water's edge or perhaps the way the light was dancing on the waves.

He noticed a smudge of black charcoal on her cheek and the way she bit her lip in deep concentration, completely lost in her own world.

"Going to let me see that?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that cut through the group’s chatter. "Capturing the sunset for prosperity?"

Emilia’s hand froze. A fierce, sudden blush crawled up her neck, staining her skin a dusty rose. She looked down at the pad, then back at him, her heart thudding against her ribs. "Oh—it’s nothing. Really. I’m not exactly Norman Rockwell, Drake."

"Come on, Em," he said, shifting closer, his shoulder brushing hers. The heat from his body was a physical presence, smelling of salt and sun. "I've been watching you work for twenty minutes. Let me see the masterpiece."

With a hesitant exhale, she turned the sketchbook around.

Drake’s breath hitched. He had been expecting a landscape—some trees, the water, maybe the distant manor. Instead, his own face stared back at him.

The air seemed to leave his lungs in a single, sharp rush. In the hour they had been lounging, she hadn't been looking at the lake at all; she had been looking at him. She had captured him with startling, raw precision. It wasn't just his likeness; it was the mood of him—the intensity in his eyes, the hidden softness in the set of his mouth, the rugged line of his jaw where the light caught the stubble. The charcoal had been smudged to create depth and shadow, making the portrait feel alive, as if the paper version of him might blink and speak.

"Wow," he whispered, his voice thick with genuine shock and a sudden, soaring awe. "Em... I thought you were drawing the trees. This is... I had no idea you saw me like this."

She looked up at him, her eyes bright with a mixture of affection, relief and shy pride. "I see you, Drake. Every wonderful part of you."

The romantic gravity between them became a palpable force, pulling the rest of the world into a blur. The stories of potato salads and childhood orchards faded into the background. Drake didn't say anything more; he didn't need to. He reached out, his hand sliding behind her neck, his thumb grazing the soft skin behind her ear to pull her into his side. He leaned down and pressed a slow, firm kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering against her hair.

He kept his arm wrapped tightly around her, tucking her under his shoulder, his fingers splayed across her arm as if he were claiming her right there on the sand. Emilia let her head rest against his chest, listening to the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heart. For the first time, she felt she wasn’t just part of a royal tale destined for history books. She was a woman writing her own story—she was holding the pen—and she couldn’t wait to see what came next.

*****

Eventually, the others began to stir. Max stretched with a groan, shaking sand off his towel. "If we don't move now, we’ll never be back in time for the night check and Bastien will be on the warpath," he announced, checking the darkening sky. The threat of the head groom's discipline was a sharp reminder of where they were. Even here, on the fringes of the estate, they were still technically on the clock.

Olivia and Hana stood up, laughing as they tried to beat the dust from their clothes, casting knowing, gentle glances at the couple still tethered together.

"We’ll catch up," Drake said, his voice barely louder than the lapping waves. He didn't move an inch.

As the sounds of their friends' chatter faded into the tree line, a heavy, beautiful silence settled over the shore. The sun was a sliver now, bleeding deep violets and oranges into the sky. They were still on estate property, a fact that usually demanded a high level of professional distance, but the ancient, sweeping branches of the nearby willows created a natural curtain. Tucked between the silver-leafed boughs and the quiet lap of the lake, the small stretch of beach felt like a sanctuary—a pocket of the world where the manor's prying eyes and strict hierarchies couldn't reach them.

Emilia felt the cooler evening breeze begin to stir, but it didn't touch her; Drake was a wall of warmth beside her. She shifted slightly, looking up at him. The fading light made his features look softer, the sharp angles of his face replaced by shadows.

"Do you really like it?" she whispered, her fingers tracing the edge of the sketchbook.

"Like it?" Drake turned toward her, his expression intense. He reached out, his fingers tracing the smudge of charcoal on her cheek, his thumb lingering on her jawline. "Em, no one has ever looked at me that closely. I feel like you just showed me a version of myself I didn’t know existed."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. Their breaths mingled, warm and steady. "You're incredible," he murmured.

Emilia closed her eyes, her hand finding the nape of his neck, her fingers tangling in the thick hair at the base of his skull as if to anchor herself. Here, hidden by the willows and the deepening twilight, the fear of being caught slipped away.

When he finally tilted his head and pressed his lips to hers, it was slow and deep, tasting of the salt on their skin and the fading heat of the day. It was a promise, a grounding force that made the world beyond the lake—the rules of the manor, the looming night checks, and the weight of her own secrets—vanish entirely.

When they finally broke apart, Drake didn't pull away. He stayed close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him, his thumb still tracing the line of her cheek. He looked at her with a kind of quiet bewilderment, as if he were seeing her for the first time and the hundredth time all at once.

"It's strange," he said softly, his voice a low vibration in the quiet air. "I've spent my entire life in this county. I know every path, every tree." 

He paused, his eyes searching hers, a small, lopsided smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But I think this is the first time I've ever actually felt like I was home."

He let out a short, breathy laugh, shaking his head slightly. "Anyway. We should probably get back before Bastien, or the head housekeeper sends a search party."

He stood up and reached a hand down to her, pulling her to her feet in one smooth motion. As they walked back toward the path, his fingers remained laced tightly through hers, a silent anchor in the gathering dark. Emilia smiled, but the weight of the manor loomed ahead of them, a reminder that the "home" he had just found was built on a foundation of things she hadn't yet dared to tell him.

Chapter 7 – The World Will Move Slower Without You There

A portable radio sat between them, humming with the forbidden, rhythmic pulse of an American rock and roll station. The raw, distorted energy of the electric guitar vibrated through the ground, a low thrum that felt like the heartbeat of their summer.

Emilia lay on her back, her golden hair spread like a halo against the tartan wool, a few stray blades of dry grass catching in the curls. She had traded her usual restrictive tea dresses for a pair of high-waisted cotton shorts and a simple sleeveless blouse that felt blissfully light against her skin. Her bare legs were tanned and dusty at the ankles, soaking up the heat until it felt like it was radiating from her bones. A pair of dark, cat-eye sunglasses rested on the bridge of her nose, the sharp frames giving her the look of a movie star hiding in plain sight.

To anyone else, the weather was oppressive, but to Emilia, the heavy warmth was a visceral reminder of the previous night. Every time a stray, hot breeze brushed her skin, she was back under the willow tree. The midday sun beating down on her felt like a pale imitation of the heat Drake had radiated—the smell of tobacco, ale and warm skin, the solid, muscular wall of pure masculinity pressing her into the rough, grooved bark of the tree until her breath caught in her throat. The memory made her skin prickle with a delicious, lingering fever.

"It’s too hot to even think," Olivia groaned, lying flat on her stomach and flipping through a glossy magazine featuring the latest Parisian silhouettes. She had rolled her own shorts up as high as they would go, her hat discarded in the clover. She nudged Emilia’s foot with her own. "But I know you aren't thinking about the weather. Come on, Em. I’ve been waiting since the sun came up. Every. Single. Detail."

Emilia rolled onto her side, propping her head up on her hand and sliding the cat-eye frames down her nose just enough to look over the top. Her eyes were bright, dancing with a spark of life that usually stayed hidden behind royal decorum.

"He took me to the village," Emilia whispered, her voice barely audible over the crooning on the radio and the lazy buzz of a bumblebee circling a nearby foxglove. "To The Thirsty Stag. We sat in the lounge bar. It was... incredible, Liv. Everything about it."

"Weren't you terrified someone would see?" Hana asked, sitting cross-legged nearby, her eyes wide. She was wearing a simple sundress, her fingers idly braiding blades of grass into a tiny, fragile crown

"A little, at first," Emilia admitted. "But none of the villagers even gave me a second glance. He bought me an ale—a real pint of bitter. It was earthy and cold and perfect. For the first time in my life, I wasn't 'Her Royal Highness.' I was just a girl on a date with a handsome man who makes me laugh until my sides ache."

Olivia sat up, her interest piqued, her magazine forgotten. "Did you kiss him again? Like you did on the Ferris wheel?"

"I did," Emilia smiled, her blush deepening, a fierce rose colour creeping up her neck. "Mr. Henderson walked in. The estate gardener. I had to hide my face, so I just... I pulled Drake to me. I didn't think, I just acted." She paused, her fingers drifting to her lower lip, which still felt sensitised and full. "But the second our lips met, the reason didn't matter. It wasn't like those polite, dry pecks at the winter balls. It was hungry. It was like being consumed by him."

She recounted the walk back, the way the moonlight turned the lake into a sheet of black glass, and the final, breathless encounter by the willow tree. She described how Drake had pinned her against the bark, the scent of the damp earth and the sharp tang of his cigarette smoke clinging to his jacket. She described the way his body felt—a solid, muscular wall of heat that made her feel safe and reckless all at once. She described the way his hands felt on her waist—heavy, sure, and possessive—and the way the world simply ceased to exist.

"He’s so... intoxicating," Emilia said, her voice rich with a fierce, protective affection. "He talks about his motorcycle, about making things with his own strength. He doesn't care that ‘Em’ is just a commoner girl from the city, he doesn’t care about lineage or protocol like the men I’m used to. He just sees me."

Hana’s smile faltered slightly as she looked toward the main house, the stone chimneys peeking above the rooftop like silent sentinels. "But Emilia... you’re not just a commoner girl... you’re the princess. And the King and Queen. They’ll be here soon. What happens when they arrive?"

The question hung in the air, a heavy reminder of the reality waiting just around the corner, cooling the fever of the garden for a brief, sharp moment. Emilia looked toward the distant roofline of the stables, where she knew Drake was likely working, his brow damp with sweat and his hands busy with the horses. The thought of him made her chin set in a line of stubborn resolve.

"I don't know," Emilia said, her voice steady and full of a new-found strength. "But I'm not going to spend my life wondering 'what if.' For now, I’m just Em. And I’m going to see him this afternoon no matter what."

Olivia’s expression softened, the usual playful teasing replaced by something more serious. "You really like him, don't you? This isn't just a summer lark."

"I think I’m in trouble," Emilia confessed, a shaky breath escaping her as she pushed her sunglasses back up. "I think about him every second I’m away from him. The way he looked at me when he kissed me... I would trade every tiara in the palace just to stay in those woods with him."

Olivia sighed, a look of genuine envy crossing her face. "God, I want that. I want to feel like I’m actually living for once, instead of just performing. Leo is the same way. He’s so irreverent. He makes me feel like I could just run away and never look back."

"Max too," Hana added softly, a shy smile touching her lips as she finished her grass crown and placed it on the blanket. "He’s so sweet. He makes me feel... visible."

The three of them shared a look of pure, youthful excitement. This was why they loved Applewood. In the city, they were dolls in a gilded cage; here, in the dirt and the heat and the proximity of the stables, they were alive.

*****

The heat that felt like a "delicious fever" to the girls in the lavender-scented garden was a suffocating weight in the Applewood stables. Here, the air was a thick, stagnant soup of cedar shavings, sharp leather soap, and the pungent, salt-crusted warmth of horses. Dust motes danced in the shafts of light cutting through the hayloft, landing on sweat-slicked skin and sticking to the grease-stained denim of the men at work.

Drake was mid-lunge; his heavy work boots braced against the dirt floor as he tightened the cinch on Jupiter. The chestnut stallion was a restless mountain of muscle, his coat shimmering with a fine lather of sweat. Drake’s shirt was unbuttoned to his sternum, sleeves rolled high enough to reveal the tension in his forearms as he fought the buckle. A drop of sweat rolled down his temple, carving a clean path through the smudge of oil on his cheek.

"Hold him steady, Max!" Drake grunted, his jaw tight enough to snap.

Max was at Jupiter’s head. His palms were flat against the stallion’s velvet nose, murmuring low, rhythmic reassurances that were lost to the sound of shifting hooves. "He’s just as cranky as the rest of us in this sun, Drake. Take it easy before you snap a strap."

Once the saddle was secure, Drake stepped back with a heavy exhale, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. He looked toward the main house—passed the stone walls where he imagined Emilia was currently buried under a mountain of laundry or scrubbing the long gallery floors.

"You've got that look again," Leo remarked. He was leaning against a stall door, idly polishing a bit of brass hardware. His blonde hair was a sweat-dampened mess, sticking to his forehead in jagged spikes. "The one where you look like you’re ready to jump the fence and liberate that girl from her mops and buckets."

Drake let out a short, dry laugh, pulling a cigarette from behind his ear but leaving it unlit between his lips. "Em? She’s something else, Leo. I’ve met city girls before, but I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s... incredible. She told me her parents are strict as a church Sunday, and the family she works for in the city sounds like a pack of wolves. You’d think she’d be broken by it, but she sat in the Stag last night drinking a bitter like she owned the place."

"They're a strange lot, the three of them," Leo agreed, tossing the brass bit into a wooden crate with a metallic clatter. "Olivia... she’s got a mouth on her. She talks about the city like it’s a prison cell. I don't know what kind of shop or house she’s stuck in back home, but she’s got a fire in her. Tells me I’m irreverent. I told her she’s just repressed by those demanding bosses of hers."

Max looked up from the horse, his expression thoughtful and a little soft. "Hana is different. She’s so quiet, like she’s afraid of breaking one of the Royal tea sets she’s probably spent all morning polishing. But when she talks about the light on the lake... it’s like she’s seeing the world for the first time. I don't think she gets to see the sky much in the city."

"Poor things are probably exhausted," Drake said, finally striking a match against the rough stable wall. The sulphurous scent cut through the musk of the horses as he leaned back against a support beam, the smoke curling lazily around his head. "Hard to believe they’re here for the summer just to work twice as hard as they do back home. But Em... she doesn't complain. She told me she just wanted to feel something real. After that ride on the bike the other night, she looked... alive. Like she’d finally stepped out of a shadow."

"You're falling for her, aren't you?" Max asked softly, leaning his head against Jupiter's neck.

Drake didn't answer immediately. He looked down at his calloused palms, stained with the honest, gritty work of the day. "She makes me feel like I’m more than just the help. She looks at me and doesn't see a grease-monkey stable hand. She just sees... me. But the clock is ticking. The King and Queen are showing up next week. They’ll probably have the house staff working even harder than now."

Leo paused his polishing, looking thoughtful. "Maybe not, mate. Bastien said the Princess has been here for days already, and have you seen so much as a hair on her head? Hidden away in the East Wing probably, too busy with her fancy books to bother the staff. If the King and Queen are like her, they might just stay in their parlours and let the girls be. Em, Olivia, and Hana might still be able to sneak away for a few hours without anyone noticing they’ve gone missing."

"I hope you're right," Drake said, his eyes hardening with a stubborn resolve. "Because I'm seeing her this afternoon. She said she’d try to drop by the stables when she could slip away. I don't care if Bastien loses his shit and threatens to sack me. She’s coming, and I’m going to be here."

"Just don't get us all kicked out before the Royals get here," Leo joked, though he kept glancing toward the stable entrance, his fingers nervously drumming on his thigh. "I’m hoping Olivia finds a reason to stop off this way, too. My afternoon is looking pretty bleak without her telling me off."

"And Hana," Max added quietly, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. "She said she liked the smell of the hay. Maybe she'll come by to see Jupiter."

Drake took a long drag of his cigarette, looking out at the shimmering heat haze over the path. "They'll come. They're just as hungry for a bit of freedom as we are."

Leo turned back towards Drake, a slow, mischievous grin spreading across his face. "You’re being awfully poetic today. 'Stepped out of a shadow'? 'Hungry for freedom'?" He let out a sharp whistle. "Come on, then. Spit it out. Something happened on your date last night, didn't it?"

Drake stiffened, his hand hovering as he flicked the ash from his cigarette, but he didn't look up. "We just talked, Leo. Mind your own."

"Talked? Pull the other one,” Leo laughed, stepping away from the stall door to nudge Drake with his elbow. "Max, look at him. He’s got that look of a man who’s been kicked by a horse but enjoyed the sensation. You kissed her, didn’t you? The city girl let the stable hand get close."

Max looked over, his eyes bright with curiosity but his tone gentler. "Is it true, Drake? Did you?"

Drake finally looked up, his face flushed—though whether from the stifling heat of the stables or the question, it was hard to tell. He took another slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling the smoke toward the rafters.

"Twice," he admitted, his voice low and roughened.

"And?" Leo pressed, leaning in. "Did she slap you or ask for more?"

"She didn't slap me," Drake scoffed. "She... she stayed. For a long time. It wasn't like the girls in town. It didn't feel like a game. It felt like she was actually seeing me,” he said, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through his stoic expression. “She actually started it at the pub. Just caught me off guard. But then later... in the woods, by that old willow on the edge of the lake." He trailed off, his jaw tightening at the memory of her against the bark. "It got heavy, Leo. Real heavy. I wanted her more than I've wanted anyone, ever, but I had to be the one to back off. I didn't want to scare her. I didn't want her thinking I was just another guy looking for a quick thrill before she heads back to the city."

Leo’s grin softened into something more contemplative. He slapped Drake on the back, harder than necessary. "Well, damn. No wonder you’re worried about the King and Queen showing up. You’ve gone and caught feelings for a girl who’s only here for the season."

"She's more than a season," Drake muttered, though the weight of the "ticking clock" seemed to settle even heavier on his shoulders. “So much more.”

Just then the heavy office door at the back of the stable creaked open, and Bastien stepped into the aisle. He was a man of few words, his face lined by decades of outdoor work, but today even he looked frayed by the temperature. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow.

"Sorry lads, but can you remove the saddle from Jupiter," Bastien said, his voice echoing in the rafters. "It’s too hot to work the beasts, and it’s too hot for you lot to be standing here melting. Once you’ve finished the water buckets and swept the aisle, you can take off for a few hours. I want the stables quiet until the night check."

He looked toward the East Wing of the manor, a look of genuine confusion crossing his weathered face. "It’s strange... I’ve had no word from the Princess. Usually, she’s at the gate before the dew is off the grass, eager to ride. But I haven't seen so much as a hair of Her Royal Highness since she arrived.” He shook his head. "Suppose she’s found something better to do in that big house than look at the back of a horse's ears. Or perhaps the heat has even her staying behind drawn curtains."

He turned back to them then, pointing a finger between them. "One of you take Jupiter for a slow walk through the shaded woods—just to stretch his legs, mind, no galloping. Then that’s it. Get yourselves to the lake or the cellar, I don't care which. Just be back by eight for the lock-up."

As Bastien retreated into his small office, the tension in the stables broke instantly.

"Did you hear that?" Leo whispered, a slow, mischievous grin spreading across his face. "The afternoon off. And Bastien thinks the Princess is 'staying behind curtains.'" He let out a sharp whistle. "The girls are going to find us for sure if they don't have to worry about being house staff for a few hours."

Drake took a final long drag of his cigarette, his heart hammering against his ribs. The gift of a free afternoon felt like a miracle.

Chapter 6 – Every Wonderful Part of You

Tags: @kingliam2019 @choices-myworld @walkerdrakewalker @nestledonthaveone @beau1811

“Just shut up, both of you.” He shook his head as he made his way over to the body where the medical examiner was already crouched over the victim. “Hey, Hana. How’s it going?”

“I can’t complain,” she smiled up at him, “But this poor girl…”

“Yeah. What do we know so far?”

“Blunt force trauma to the head.”

The apartment was swarming with officers. One of them approached him, “You must be the homicide detective from the seventh precinct.”

“That’s right, Liam Rys.” He shook the squat balding guy's hand.”

“Steve Carlson. The twelfth precinct is happy to collaborate with you, but this is our case.”

“Of course, but the vic was a suspect in my case.”

As the two detectives hammered out jurisdictional concerns, Drake made his way over to Riley. “You sure know how to get a guy sideways with people he’s supposed to be getting along with.”

“How was I supposed to know our witness was going to be dead when we got here?”

He just smiled as he shook his head. “I told you that you were going to be trouble.”

“Nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure.” She teased.

“I’m not so sure about that,” he mused.

“Have you learned anything new?”

“You’ve been with me the entire time we’ve been here.”

“Not true. You were with the police when they searched the place while I was exiled to this couch, waiting to be questioned.”

“Well, I didn’t learn much except…”

Riley perked up. “Except what?”

Drake paused to consider what he should tell her. His client had only hired him to investigate Trent’s murder. Sarah’s murder was likely related, but he couldn’t fathom a motive for either Katie or William Sloan to have killed her. So what he had learned didn’t fall under client privilege. He didn’t see how the information could hurt his client, and that’s all he cared about.

“Except that the murder weapon was her own rolling pin.”

“She was killed with a rolling pin?”

“It was one of those heavy, marble ones.”

“Huh.”

“Huh, what?”

“Weapon of opportunity.”

“Looks like it.”

“Just like Trent’s gun.”

“That’s a pattern.”

“Yeah… but…. “

“What?”

“Ok, so the motive was jealousy. Sabrina kills Trent, then gets in her car and goes to kill Sarah, right?”

“That’s the working theory, yeah.”

“Why didn’t she just bring the gun with her? I mean, she didn’t know there would be a handy murder weapon lying around this place. She could have just brought the gun.”

“Maybe she wasn’t thinking clearly. She shot Trent and panicked.”

“Panicked.” Riley raised her eyebrows skeptically. “Then drove across town to kill the mistress?”

“Am I supposed to understand how murderers think?”

“Yes. I would think so. It’s your job.”

“I mostly track down cheating spouses and runaway kids, Riley.”

“This is your first murder?”

“Well, no, but still—”

“Come on. What else have you got? You must know something.”

“I know that the police found two airline tickets in Trent’s possession, and Sarah’s bedroom looks like she was packing for a trip.”

“So, Trent and Sarah were about to skip town together?”

“Looks that way. And there was an engagement ring with the tickets.”

Riley’s eyes widened. “So, Sabrina found out he was about to wife up her competition?”

Drake nodded. “Motive enough for you?”

“Maybe,” Riley’s gaze swept around the room distractedly.

“What are you looking for?”

“I don’t know. Something doesn’t add up.”

“Seems pretty cut and dried to me.”

They were distracted by a disturbance at the door. A plainclothesman was yelling, “Sir! Sir! You can’t be in here!”

They turned to find Max in the doorway. “I was just—”

The man yelling at Max whirled on the uniformed officer who seemed to be escorting him and continued, “What the fuck are you doing letting a reporter up here?”

“Reporter?” The cop recoiled. “I thought he was the crime scene photographer!”

Returning his attention to the man with the camera, the plainclothesman shook his head. “You do realize it’s a crime to impersonate—”

“I wasn’t impersonating anyone! I was called to the scene!”

“By who?”

“That would be me.” Riley stood up and waved to Max.

“You have no authority to—”

She blinked innocently at the officer. “I just needed a ride home. I’m too shook up to drive.”

The man grunted in consternation. “Fine. But he can wait for you downstairs.” Turning back to Max, he made a shooing motion, “Go!”

“I’ll be waiting outside,” Max called to Riley as he was roughly escorted from the apartment.

Drake turned to her in astonishment. Lowering his voice so the police wouldn’t overhear, he hissed, “You drove yourself here. And if you’re really too upset to drive…which I sincerely doubt, I could have given you a ride home. I’m right here.”

She shrugged and gave him a devious grin. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.” Her fingers flew over her keyboard as she texted Max to get photos of the outside of the building and the police going in and out.

He reached out, grabbed her arm, and dragged her closer. “Yes, they can actually! Do not give them a reason to charge you for impeding an investigation!”

“I’m happy to know you care, but they can’t arrest me for calling a friend for a ride.”

“Don’t play stupid, Riley. It doesn’t suit you. You’re a reporter, he’s your photographer, and he totally just tried to bullshit his way into a crime scene.”

“Max just gets enthusiastic—”

“Max does whatever you tell him to do. I’ve known you for a day, and I already know that. He’s young and naïve, and if you’re not careful, you’re going to get him in trouble.”

“And you’re underestimating him. Max can take care of himself.”

“Yeah? And how would you feel if he got arrested because of your antics?”

“Antics?” She arched an amused eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, antics. It’s a valid word!”

“Ok, grandpa.”

“Grandpa? Really?”

Riley shrugged. “If the shoe fits…”

Drake grunted in consternation. “Whatever. Just answer the question. How would you feel if you got him arrested?”

“Well, if he managed to get himself arrested, which is highly unlikely, mind you, then I’m sure his family would send a cadre of lawyers to get him out and probably sue the police for arresting him in the first place.”

Drake blinked. “Who’s his family?”

Riley’s mouth fell open. “Seriously? He’s a Beaumont! Didn’t you notice his last name when you were writing those checks to him?”

It took Drake’s brain several seconds before the pieces fell into place. “Wait. You mean those Beaumonts?”

“Yeah. Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Riley! Maybe because it never occurred to me that a member of a notorious crime family would be moonlighting as a photographer for what amounts to peanuts!”

“First of all, all the crime was committed by his great-grandfather, and allegedly his grandfather, not him. The Beaumonts are legitimate now! Second of all—”

Drake snorted loudly. “Yeah, okay.” Everyone knew that Beaumont Enterprises was a front for organized crime. Or at least suspected it. No one had ever been able to prove any accusation. Probably because of all the lawyers.

“They are! And even if they weren’t…. that’s hardly Max’s fault.”

“Hey, I get it.” He put his hands up in the universal sign of surrender. “No one likes to be judged by their family.”

Something in his tone drew a sharp gaze from her. “Judging from my research, your family seems pretty exemplary. Something I missed?”

He shook his head emphatically. “I’m just saying, some people may be trying to live down their family’s infamy, while others are busy trying to live up to an impossible standard.”

Her demeanor softened. “I get that.”

“Really?” He sounded skeptical. “Judging from my research, you’re the most successful person in your family.”

“Really.” She nudged him gently. “All that success is a stunning disappointment to parents who saved all their lives to pay for their daughter’s wedding and want nothing more than grandchildren.”

“Ouch. I’m sorry.”

“Nah. It’s fine. I’ve learned to live with it.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re amazing.”

“Thanks. You’re not too bad yourself.”

They both looked up at the sound of a throat clearing. Liam fidgeted uncomfortably. “Am I interrupting something?”

Drake was the one who answered. “Nothing we can’t continue later. Did you need something?”

“I just wanted to let Miss Brooks know that she’s free to go and to remind you not to keep spilling secrets to the press.”

“I didn't spill anything she wouldn't have found out on her own.” A note of admiration crept into his voice as he continued, “Have you read any of her articles? Do you know how many awards she’s won?”

Liam frowned. “What’s your point?”

“My point is, she's really good at what she does. She doesn’t have to steal information from me. She’s the one who pointed me to Sarah in the first place.”

“Did she now?” Liam turned a thoughtful gaze to the reporter. “How did you find out about Sarah?”

“I’m an investigative journalist, Detective. I investigated.”

“If you had information pertinent to the case, why didn’t you share it with law enforcement?”

“I did.” Riley gestured to Drake.

“Right.” Liam scoffed. “In the future, please refer any and all relevant information about my active murder investigation to me. The officer in charge. Got it?”

“Got it.” She gave him a mock salute.

“Riley,” he pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “I know you’re mocking me, but I’m serious. There are protocols and procedures for a reason! I’m simply trying to do my job, catch the bad guys and keep the general public, including you, safe!”

“I know, Liam. I just—”

“Do you? Because I have a code of conduct that I live by, and I take my oath to the badge seriously!”

“I do know that. You are an honorable man, Detective Rys. Which is something I really admire and respect about you.”

Surprise flashed across his face. “Do you really feel that way?”

“Yes, Liam, I do.”

Drake cleared his throat. “Ok, I don’t mean to interrupt a moment here, but—"

“There’s no moment.” Liam snapped.

“Are you sure? Because to me, it looked like—”

“I’m sure. I just wanted to impress upon Miss Brooks the importance of staying out the way of an active investigation.”

“So just to be clear, you're not interested in dating her?”

“No!”

“Great!” Drake crowed before turning his attention back to Riley. “Now, about that dinner…”

Liam paled. “Wait—"

Drake slapped him on the back with a grin. “Too late, no take backs!”

Riley shook her head. “Guys, I’m standing right here!”

“Detective!” A plainclothesman approached Liam with a cell phone in his hand. “The chief has a question for you.”

“Alright, I’ll be right there.” He gave one last look over his shoulder before walking away. “I mean it, stay out the way, Riley.”

“Yeah. I will.”

"You’re sure about the scarf?" Olivia asked from the bed. She was sprawled across the silk duvet, lazily flicking through a glossy fashion magazine, though her eyes followed Emilia’s every move with an approving glint. "It’s very... bold. It draws the eye."

"It’s perfect," Emilia murmured, adjusting the knot so the ends pointed just so. "It’s not 'Princess Emilia.' That’s the point."

Hana, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, chewed nervously on her thumbnail. "He seems like a nice man, Em, he really does. But the pub? Alone? What if someone from the village recognises you, or a member of the household staff sees you?"

Emilia turned, the heels of her ankle boots clicking sharply on the hardwood border of the rug. She looked at Hana’s worried face and softened. "No one will see me, Hana. I’ll slip out the same way I did last night. And even if they did... I like him. For the first time in my life, I’m doing something because I want to, not because the council or my parents deemed it appropriate. It’s worth the risk."

Olivia tossed the magazine aside, sitting up. "She needs this, Hana. Look at her. She’s actually glowing." Olivia reached out, squeezed Emilia’s hand. "She’s been suffocating under that tiara since she was five. Let her breathe while she can."

"Are you ever going to tell him?" Hana asked softly, her voice small. "Who you really are?"

Emilia’s reflection looked back at her—eyes bright, heart racing against her ribs. "Not yet. I just... I want him to see the real me. Not the title. Not the status. 'Princess Emilia' is a role I play for the public, with the practiced smiles and the perfect posture. But 'Em'?" She touched the silk of her scarf. "Em is the real me, beneath all the silk and gold. I want him to see her, not the crown."

Hana sighed, clearly still anxious but knowing she couldn't win this argument. To lighten the mood, Emilia leaned against the vanity, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "So... have either of you seen anything more of Leo and Max today?"

Olivia’s smirk was instantaneous. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes sparkling. "Well, Hana and I just happened to go for a stroll near the stable block this afternoon. Purely for the fresh air, of course."

"Of course," Emilia teased.

"We bumped into them," Olivia continued, her tone lighter now. "Leo is hilarious. He has this way of making me laugh without even trying. He’s... refreshing. Not like those polished, boring lords who spend three hours talking about their polo handicap."

Hana blushed, looking down at her lap. "Max is very sweet. He... he picked a wildflower for me. He didn't make a big deal of it, just tucked it behind my ear while we were talking."

Emilia’s heart warmed. "See? They’re good people. They’re real. And they’re nothing like the men we’re used to." She took a deep breath, checking her reflection one last time. The girl in the mirror was ready to live. "Now, how do I look?"

*****

The woodland path at the edge of the Applewood estate was a tunnel of shifting shadows and silver light. Emilia moved quickly, the heavy leather of Drake’s leather jacket creaking softly with every step. Up ahead, the manicured lawns gave way to the rugged stone pillars and wrought iron of the service gate.

Drake was there, leaning back against the cool stone wall. The moonlight caught the sharp line of his stubbled jaw and his dark, chocolate-brown hair, which was slicked back in a sharp greaser style with a few unruly strands falling across his forehead, made him look like he’d stepped straight off a movie poster. His simple black t-shirt strained against the hard-earned muscle of his chest, and his dark denim jeans were rolled at the cuffs over heavy black boots.

As she drew closer, the scent of the jacket seemed to intensify with her own body heat—a heady, intoxicating mix of faint tobacco, cedarwood, and his own unique, masculine scent that made her heart race.

When he saw her, his eyes did a slow, appreciative sweep of her figure. A low whistle escaped him. "You look... incredible, Em." His gaze lingered on the leather. A small, knowing smirk played on his lips. "Nice jacket. Looks better on you than it ever did on me."

"I’m so sorry," Emilia laughed, her voice a soft lilt in the quiet night. "I meant to bring it to the paddock earlier, but I guess I forgot it in all the excitement."

Drake straightened up, a lazy, teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "No problem. Though, if I didn't know any better, I’d think you kept it on purpose. Just for an excuse to see me again."

Emilia didn't look away. Instead, she let a playful, mischievous smile mirror his. "Well... there might be a little bit of truth in that."

He chuckled, a warm sound that seemed to vibrate in the still air. "Come on. The village is about a twenty-minute walk if we take the woodland trail."

They set off, leaving the estate grounds behind for the wilder beauty of the woods. The canopy of ancient oaks and elms dappled the path in silver and ink. The air here was different—damp earth, pine needles, and the sharp, clean scent of the coming night.

"So," Emilia said, her boots crunching softly on the dry leaves. "Tell me more about you, Drake. You said you’ve lived in the county your whole life?"

"Yeah," he said, hands shoved into his pockets. "My mum was a farmer's daughter from just over the ridge. She grew up with horses in her blood—reckon that’s where I got it from. My dad, though... he was a different breed. He worked in security for one of the noble families out west."

Emilia felt a sharp pang of irony, but kept her expression neutral. "Security?"

"Yeah. Died when I was just a lad, though," he said, his voice level but tinged with a faint, old sadness. "I don't remember much—just the smell of his pipe and the weight of his hand on my shoulder. But Mum tells me stories. Said he was a man who believed in doing the right thing, no matter the cost."

"I'm sorry, Drake," she said softly, reaching out to brush her hand against his arm in a brief, fleeting gesture of comfort.

"Thanks," he said, glancing down at her. "What about you? You mentioned your life in the city being... well, a bit much."

“It is,” Emilia sighed, the sound lost in the rustle of the trees. "My father is very strict. We’ve always lived in the city, and everything there is so... controlled. He has an idea of who I should be, down to the way I sit and the people I speak to. My mother is the same. She doesn't yell the way he does; but she has this look of quiet disapproval that feels like a physical weight. It’s suffocating."

She stopped for a moment, looking up at the moon through the branches. "Being here, at Applewood... I feel like the real me. The person I was actually born to be, not some idealised version they can show off at dinner parties."

Drake turned to face her, his expression softening. The teasing glint was gone, replaced by a flickering desire that made Emilia’s pulse skip. "Well," he said, his voice dropping an octave, "if it’s any consolation, I like the real you."

"I like you too, Drake," she whispered.

He didn't hesitate this time. He reached out and draped a heavy, warm arm over her shoulders, pulling her into his side. Emilia leaned into him instantly, her arm looping naturally around his waist. The heat of him seeped through his t-shirt, making the woodland chill vanish.

"I’m not all horses and hay, you know," he said as they resumed walking, his thumb idly stroking her shoulder. "I love anything where I can get my hands dirty. My motorcycle, for example. I’ve been working on that for a year. Bought it as a heap of rusted bolts. Every spare minute I have goes into that engine. There’s something about making something broken run again... it’s better than anything."

"Drake, that's amazing," she said, looking up at him with genuine admiration. "You’re clearly very talented."

"It’s just grease and patience," he said modestly, though he looked pleased. "What do you do when you’re not fighting with your parents?"

"I draw," she admitted. "It’s my escape. But music... music is the thing that really makes me feel alive. I’m obsessed with the new records coming out of the States. Elvis, Chuck Berry, Little Richard... that raw energy. My father thinks it’s the end of civilisation, which only makes me love it more."

Drake laughed, a rich, genuine sound. "No kidding? I’ve got a stack of those 45s hidden under my bunk. We might have more in common than I thought, Em."

*****

The woodland trail eventually opened up into the village of Oakhaven. It was a cluster of honey-coloured stone cottages, their windows glowing with the warm, amber light of oil lamps and early electric bulbs. Despite the late hour, there was still a gentle hum of life—a few locals strolling home from the post office or chatting by the stone bridge.

Emilia instinctively tucked her chin into the high collar of Drake’s jacket, her heart hammering. But as they passed a group of men by the well, she realised with a rush of relief that no one spared her more than a passing glance. To them, she wasn't Crown Princess Emilia; she was just a girl in a big leather jacket, being kept warm by the arm of a local lad.

"Alright, Drake?" a man called out, tipping his cap. He looked at Drake’s arm around Emilia’s shoulders and gave a slow, knowing wink.

Drake just grinned, his thumb tracing a slow circle on Emilia's shoulder. "Evening, Ted."

They reached The Thirsty Stag, a low-slung building with a thatched roof and a sign that creaked rhythmically in the breeze. As they approached the heavy oak door, Drake guided her toward the left-hand entrance.

The pub was split into two distinct worlds. To the right was the public bar—a loud, smoky cavern with sawdust on the floor, where labourers and farmers stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their voices booming over games of darts. It was a strictly male domain, thick with the smell of heavy shag tobacco and sweat.

Drake steered her to the left, into the lounge bar. This room was quieter, designed for couples and the "respectable" trade. It had a patterned carpet that muffled their footsteps, velvet-upholstered benches, and a roaring fireplace that threw long, dancing shadows across the wood-panelled walls. The air here smelled of beeswax polish and the sweet, malty scent of hops.

"Take a seat by the fire, Em," Drake whispered, nodding toward a secluded booth in the far corner. "I'll get the drinks."

Emilia watched him walk to the bar, his broad shoulders and slicked hair drawing the eyes of a few local women, but his focus remained entirely on the task at hand. When he returned, he leaned over the table. "I'm having a pint of the local ale. What can I get you? They’ve got a sweet sherry, or maybe a gin and tonic?"

Emilia looked at the dark, rich liquid in the glass he was holding. Usually, her nights involved chilled Chablis or flute after flute of dry Champagne—drinks that felt as cold and brittle as the social circles she moved in.

"I'll have what you're having," she said, surprising herself. "An ale, please."

Drake’s eyebrows shot up, a genuine, delighted laugh breaking from his lips. "An ale? It’s a bit heavy for most girls, Em. You sure?"

"I'm sure," she said firmly, meeting his gaze.

When he brought her the glass, she took a sip. It was bitter, earthy, and warm, with a creamy head that clung to her upper lip. Drake laughed softly, reaching out to brush the foam away with the pad of his thumb. The contact was brief, but it sent a jolt of electricity through her.

"I was right," he murmured, sliding into the booth beside her. "You are different to any other girl I’ve met, Em. Most would’ve turned their nose up at a pint of bitter."

They sat side-by-side, angled toward one another so their knees were almost touching. As the night wore on, the distance between them seemed to evaporate. They talked about everything and nothing—he told her about the time a stubborn mare had chased him up a fence, and she told him about her secret vinyl record collection, the ones she kept hidden under her floorboards back in the city—music that felt alive, unlike the stiff orchestral pieces she was forced to endure at her father's request. Drake listened with an intensity that made her feel like the only person in the world, and the way he looked at her, like he saw a girl with a secret fire in her soul, made her heart skip a beat.

Drake was effortlessly funny, his wit sharp but never mean. When he laughed, he threw his head back, and Emilia found she couldn't stop looking at him—the way the firelight caught the chocolate-brown of his hair and the flickering heat in his hazel eyes. He’s so handsome, beautiful even, she thought.

"You're not at all what I expected," Drake admitted, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rumble. He reached out, his hand covering hers on the table. His skin was rough and calloused from the stables, but his touch was incredibly gentle. "I thought you'd be... well, a bit stuck up. A city girl looking down on a lad who smells of horses."

"And I thought you'd be a rogue," Emilia teased, though she didn't pull her hand away. Instead, she let her fingers slide between his, intertwining them. "Well, you are a rogue. But a charming one."

Drake smiled, leaning in until their foreheads were almost touching. The scent of him—cedar, tobacco, and that warm skin—was all she could breathe. He draped his arm back over the top of the bench, his hand resting on the nape of her neck, his fingers idly playing with the strands of hair.

As they huddled closer, the noise of the pub faded into a dull hum. Emilia felt his thigh press against hers, a steady, grounding warmth. Her heart was racing, but it wasn't out of fear. It was anticipation.

"Is that so?" he whispered, his gaze dropping to her lips.

Emilia felt a delicious, terrifying pull in her chest. She wasn't thinking about the court's expectations or the idealised version of herself. She was just a girl in a pub, her heart racing as she moved closer to the man beside her, the heat of the fire and the heat of his body blending into one.

Suddenly, the heavy latch of the lounge door clicked. Emilia’s gaze drifted over Drake’s shoulder, and her blood turned to ice. Stepping into the warm light of the pub was Mr. Henderson, the estate’s gardener. He was a man who knew her face, and he was currently scanning the room for a place to sit.

Her heart didn't just skip a beat; it hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. Henderson hadn't seen her yet, but if he took three more steps, he would see her profile.

Panic and desire collided in a single, sharp impulse. She didn't pull away; she lunged forward.

She grabbed the material of Drake's t-shirt and pulled him to her, closing the final inch between them. It was a desperate move to hide her face, but the moment their lips met, the pretence vanished. This wasn't the tentative, dizzying rush of the Ferris wheel; this was deeper, fuelled by the warmth of the fire and the shared secrets of the evening.

Drake let out a low, muffled sound of surprise against her mouth, but he didn't hesitate. His hand moved from the table to the small of her back, drawing her flush against him. Emilia felt herself melting into the kiss, her eyes fluttering shut as the world—and the threat of Mr. Henderson—sank into a blur of heat and cedar-scented skin. It was slow, heavy, and achingly romantic, the kind of kiss that made time feel like it was stretching thin.

"Oi, Drake!" The voice was like a bucket of cold water.

They broke apart, breathless and blinking. The landlord, a stout man with a formidable moustache, was leaning over the bar, drying a glass with a towel. He was looking at them with a stern, paternal disapproval.

"Less of that, or I’ll have to ask you to leave," he said firmly. "This is a respectable house, not a hayloft."

Drake didn't look sheepish; he just chuckled, a low, vibrato sound in his chest. He didn't let go of Emilia, though he gave them both an inch of breathing room. "Sorry mate," he called back, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Got a bit carried away."

The landlord gave a final, warning grunt and returned to his glasses.

Emilia felt the heat climbing into her cheeks, a fierce blush that had nothing to do with the fire. She glanced nervously toward the bar. Mr. Henderson was no longer in the lounge; he had clearly opted for the rowdier atmosphere of the public bar next door.

Relief washed over her, followed by a lingering, dizzying thrill. She looked back at Drake. He was watching her with an expression that made her feel seen in a way no tiara ever could—not as a princess, but as the girl who had just boldly claimed him in the middle of a village pub.

She smiled at him, her fingers still trembling slightly where they were rested against his chest. "A rogue," she whispered again, breathless.

"And a lucky one," he replied, his thumb grazing her lower lip where the taste of him still lingered.

The bell for last orders rang out like a distant signal, and shortly after, they were spilled back out into the night. The Mediterranean evening air was thick and sweet, feeling like a warm velvet cloak wrapping around them.

They walked slowly, the gravel crunching beneath their boots as they left the village lights behind. Drake’s arm was a heavy, comforting weight across her shoulders, and Emilia leaned into his side, her own arm hooked firmly around his waist. They were a single silhouette moving through the dark.

"I didn't think you had it in you," Drake murmured, his voice a low vibration against her temple. "Kissing me like that in front of the whole village. You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

"I just..." She trailed off, her heart skipping. She couldn't tell him it had started as a frantic cover. "I wanted to." It was the truth. She had wanted to kiss him.

"I'm glad you did." He tightened his grip on her, pulling her closer into his heat. "Because I’ve been thinking about doing the same thing since the second we got off that Ferris wheel."

She didn't answer; she couldn't find the words without giving too much away. She just smiled up at him and squeezed his waist, letting the silence of the woods swallow them.

They entered the woodland path, the canopy of ancient trees filtering the moonlight into silver shards on the forest floor. Every step toward the estate felt like a countdown. To Drake, it was just the path to where they were working; to Emilia, it was the boundary of the world she was supposed to belong to and had no desire to return to.

The path dipped toward the edge of the lake, a vast expanse of black glass reflecting a perfect, heavy moon. They stopped by the water’s edge, the only sound the rhythmic pulse of cicadas and the soft lap of the water.

"It’s beautiful," Emilia whispered, looking at the moon. But she wasn't looking at the sky for long. She turned to find Drake already watching her, his eyes dark and unreadable in the shadows.

The tension that had been simmering in the pub finally boiled over. Here, under the cover of the trees, there were no village eyes and no expectations. Drake moved suddenly, stepping into her space and guiding her back until her shoulders met the rough, sturdy bark of a willow tree.

The contact was electric. He didn't hesitate; his hands framed her face, his thumbs tracing the line of her jaw before he crashed his lips onto hers.

It was a different kind of kiss—passionate, demanding, and entirely private. Emilia let out a small, soft moan and pulled him into her, her fingers hooking into his belt loops to drag him closer. She wanted to feel every inch of him. As he pressed his hard, muscular body against her, pinning her firmly to the tree, a huge wave of desire she had never experienced before rushed through her. It was a physical ache, a tidal wave that made her knees weak and her mind go blank.

Drake felt the shift, too. He groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding down to her waist, pulling her flush against his hips. To him, she was just an incredible woman from the city who had wandered into his life and set it on fire. He wanted to be as close to her as humanly possible, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. In that moment, surrounded by the scent of the night and the heat of their shared breath, he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anyone.

The world outside the shadow of the willow tree ceased to exist. For Emilia, the refined, controlled life she had always led—a life of calculated movements and suppressed impulses—was being scorched away by the sheer heat of Drake’s presence.

This wasn’t the polite, measured affection she had known in the royal court. This was something primitive. The way his hands gripped her waist felt less like a gesture and more like a claim, and she met it with a hunger that shocked her, a hunger she hadn’t known she possessed. She arched her back against the rough bark, her hands moving from his belt loops to his hair, pulling him closer as if she could merge their heartbeats into one.

The scent of him—tobacco, ale, and the cool evening air—filled her senses, and it was far more intoxicating than any wine she’d ever tasted, any chaste kiss she had received from the polished men of the nobility. Every time his tongue brushed hers, a fresh jolt of electricity raced from her lips to her toes. The princess was completely forgotten, leaving only a woman who wanted to be consumed completely by him.

She let out a shaky breath against his lips, her body humming with a desperate, foreign need. It was a physical ache, deep in her marrow, a magnetic pull that made her want to strip away every layer of fabric and pretension between them. She felt the heavy thud of his heart against her chest, mirroring the frantic rhythm of her own, and she realised with a start that she wasn't just hungry for freedom anymore. She was starving for him.

Drake broke the kiss for only a second, his forehead resting against hers, his breath coming in ragged, uneven hitches. His eyes, usually so sharp and observant, were hazy with a raw want that mirrored her own.

"Em," he rasped, her name sounding like a vow in the quiet of the woods.

She didn't let him finish. She couldn't. She didn't want words or explanations; she wanted the delicious, terrifying weight of him. She reached up, capturing his lower lip between hers, dragging him back down into the depths of a desire that felt like it could burn the whole forest to the ground. In his arms, by the edge of the glass-like lake, she finally felt like this was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Drake eventually pulled back again, though he didn’t go far. They both stood there for a long moment, chests heaving in the dark, the only sound the rhythmic lap of the lake against the shore. The air between them still crackled, heavy with the weight of everything they hadn't said.

"Em," Drake breathed, his voice rougher than usual, tight with the effort of restraint. He looked down at her, his hands still gripping her waist. "We need to stop. Right now. Because if we don't... I’m not sure I’ll be able to."

Emilia looked up at him, her lips swollen and her pulse still thundering in her throat, aching to pull him back down.

"I don't want to stop," she admitted, her voice a soft, honest thread in the night. She took a steadying breath, the cool air finally reaching her lungs. "But you’re right. We should."

Drake searched her eyes for a heartbeat, then leaned in. This time, it wasn't a claim or a fire; it was a soft, lingering kiss on her lips—gentle, loving, and full of a promise that felt far more dangerous than the passion of a moment ago.

When they finally turned to walk back, the silence wasn’t one of strangers, but it was the comfortable, charged quiet of two people sharing a secret. As the silhouette of the Applewood estate grew larger against the moonlight, the reality of their world began to bleed back in. Drake guided her toward the shadows of the service entrance.

Stopping at the heavy oak door, Emilia felt the weight of the night ending. She reached up, shrugging his heavy leather jacket off her shoulders. The loss of his warmth was immediate. She handed it back to him, her fingers lingering against the leather as he took it.

He draped the jacket over his arm, a boyish, lopsided grin tugging at his mouth. "Thanks," he said softly. He paused, his gaze intensifying. "I hope another date is on the cards?"

Emilia let out a genuine happy sigh, the sound bright and clear. "Absolutely," she said, stepping a fraction closer. "I like you, Drake. A lot."

The grin on his face softened into something more vulnerable. "I like you too, Em." He reached out, taking both of her hands in his. He didn't pull her back into a clinch; instead, he brought her hands up, pressing a slow, reverent kiss to her knuckles, his gaze never leaving hers. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Emilia felt a flush creep up her neck that had nothing to do with the humid evening air. She gave him a teasing smirk, her eyes dancing. "I'm sure I'll be around the stables at some point. I hear one of the stable hands is an absolute dreamboat."

“I don’t know about that,” Drake laughed, the sound low and warm. "But I look forward to it."

He waited until she slipped inside and the bolt clicked softly into place before he turned back toward the darkness of the stables, the smell of her perfume still clinging to his jacket.

"She’s coming! I hear the cart!" Olivia hissed, pressing her ear to the heavy oak door. She was already half-dressed, having traded her lady-like slip for a slim, navy pencil skirt that hugged her hips in a way the Queen would have found "highly suggestive."

A rhythmic clack-clack of a loose floorboard sounded in the hall, followed by three quick, rhythmic taps on the wood. Olivia swung the door open, pulling a breathless, red-faced maid inside.

Rose, a girl of twenty with a conspiratorial glint in her eye, moved quickly. She wasn't just any maid; she was Emilia’s personal lady’s-maid, the one who knew the exact temperature she liked her tea and how to steam the stubbornest wrinkles out of a royal gown. Rose had been at Applewood for three days before the Princess arrived, ostensibly to prepare the wardrobes and clean Emilia's suite. In reality, she had spent that time filling a false-bottomed trunk with garments she had spent months smuggling into the palace at Emilia’s request.

Rose adored the Princess, mostly because Emilia was the only person in the household who looked her in the eye and treated her like a person rather than a piece of furniture. To Rose, helping the Princess with clothes and magazines wasn't just a thrill—it was an act of loyalty to a friend.

"Right on time, Your Highness," Rose whispered, pulling a brown paper parcel from the bottom of her laundry basket, hidden beneath a pile of heavy linens. "The postman delivered the last of it to the service gate this morning, just as you asked. Tucked away from prying eyes. And I've got the magazines you requested,” she added, her voice bubbling with the thrill of the secret.

Emilia didn't wait. She tore into the parcel, her fingers trembling with a mix of anxiety and hunger. Out tumbled a pair of jet-black capri pants—heavy denim that lacked the soft give of her royal silks—and a sleeveless red blouse patterned with bold white polka dots.

"Oh, Emilia," Hana breathed, clutching a modest, sky-blue gingham dress to her chest. She looked between the daring red blouse and her own casual, yet sensible, outfit, her chestnut hair already set in neat, perfect waves. "It’s so... scandalous. Are you sure about this?"

"Yes, Hana. I want to experience something normal, something fun, something that isn’t tied to duty or etiquette," Emilia countered, her eyes sparkling. She turned to look at the magazines Rose had deposited on the vanity and began to flip through the glossy, forbidden pages of Photoplay. Her eyes lingered on a daring shot of Brigitte Bardot, her hair a wild, teased nest of blonde waves, her lips painted a defiant, heavy red. Beside her was a spread on the "Teddy Girls" of London—girls in drape jackets and tight trousers who looked like they feared absolutely nothing.

"Look at them," she whispered, her reflection in the mirror already changing. "They don’t look like everything is decided for them, they look like they own their own lives. That’s what I want, even if it’s just for one night."

She sat at her vanity, the silver-backed brushes and crystal perfume bottles pushed aside to make room for the magazine. Her golden hair was naturally wavy, and usually, it was forced into tight, sculptural curls that sat heavily on her neck. Tonight, she took the heated tongs herself, the metal clicking and hissing. She worked with a frantic, focused energy, teasing the crown of her hair into a soft, rebellious "pouf" and letting the blonde waves hit just above her shoulders, messy and tactile.

"Pass me the liner, Liv. The heavy one," Emilia commanded, her voice bright with a giggle as she narrowly avoided burning her ear with the tongs.

Olivia handed it over, her own face glowing. "If the King saw us now, he’d have a heart attack."

Emilia leaned in close to the mirror, so close her breath fogged the glass. With a steady hand, she drew a thick, dramatic wing of black ink across her lids—the "cat eye" she had studied in secret. Finally, she applied the Cherry Red lipstick, the waxy, sweet scent of it filling her senses. It was a loud, provocative colour that screamed for attention.

When she stepped into the capris, she had to lie flat on the bed to haul the zipper up, Olivia and Hana both tugging at the denim until it finally gave way. They fit like a second skin, tracing the long line of her legs and the sharp curve of her hips. She slipped on the red blouse and, looking at her reflection, grabbed the hem and tied it in a tight knot just above her navel, exposing a daring sliver of golden skin.

"Emilia!" Hana gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, though she couldn't stop a nervous giggle from escaping. "If the King finds out—"

"The King is seventy miles away, Hana" Emilia said, stepping into a pair of red wedge shoes that added a few inches to her height and a wiggle to her step. She turned in a circle, feeling the weight of the denim and the freedom of her bare shoulders. She felt dangerous, daring, and more right than she had ever felt in her life.

Olivia stood beside her, smoothing her own sleeveless knit top. "We look like trouble," she whispered, a slow, wicked grin spreading across her face. "I think I like it."

"I'm terrified," Hana admitted, smoothing her gingham skirt with trembling hands. "I’ve never been around 'common' boys, Emilia. What if they... what if they realise we don't know how to talk to them? What if they think we're stuck up? Or worse, what if they expect us to be as daring as we look?"

Emilia grabbed Hana’s hands, her blue eyes blazing with a fierce, infectious joy. "It will be fun, Hana. Tonight, we can be whoever we want to be. No titles. No protocols. Just three girls going to a fair with three handsome men."

She looked back at the mirror one last time. The girl staring back wasn't a Princess. She was a rebel, a woman on the hunt for adventure, her heart hammering a wild rhythm against her ribs.

"Ready when you are, Em," Olivia said, using the shortened name like a secret password, an excited smirk playing on her lips.

They slipped out of the room, leaving the scent of hairspray, Chanel, and pure rebellion lingering in the royal air.

Rose was waiting for them just outside the heavy dressing room door, her jaw dropping slightly at the sight of Emilia’s midriff.

"You look like a movie star, Your Highness," Rose whispered, already moving toward a seemingly solid section of the wood-panelled wall. She pressed a hidden catch, and a small 'jib' door swung inward with a faint, oiled click. "Quickly now. The night steward is doing his rounds in the South Gallery."

The girls followed Rose into the narrow service passage. It was a world away from the velvet and gold of the suite; the walls here were bare stone, and the air held the chill of a cellar. They descended a steep, winding spiral staircase that smelled of floor wax and old coal smoke. Emilia’s wedge shoes felt clunky on the narrow steps, and she gripped the cold iron rail to keep from stumbling.

At the bottom of the stairs, they reached the scullery wing. It was a labyrinth of white-tiled corridors and heavy oak doors. Rose led them through the still-room, where the scent of dried lavender and rosemary hung thick in the air, until they reached a heavy, iron-bolted delivery door.

"Wait," Rose cautioned, holding up a hand. She leaned her head against the wood, listening intently. "There’s someone in the kitchen garden."

Emilia peered through a small, high window. In the moonlit courtyard beyond, a silhouette was leaning against the low stone wall. It was one of the household guards, his peaked cap pulled low. The orange cherry of his cigarette glowed in the dark, and a thin trail of smoke drifted upward into the warm night air.

Hana let out a tiny, panicked squeak, which Olivia quickly muffled with a hand over her mouth. They stood in the heavy silence of the scullery for what felt like an eternity, their hearts thundering in unison. Finally, the guard straightened, ground his cigarette out with the heel of his boot, and disappeared through the door to the guardroom.

"He’s gone," Rose whispered, unbolting the door. She turned to Emilia, her face soft with genuine affection. "Be careful out there, Your Highness. If you're not back by midnight, I don't know what I'll tell the Housekeeper."

Emilia didn't just nod. She reached out and pulled the young maid into a quick, tight hug. "Thank you, Rose. Truly. You’ve given me a night I’ll never forget."

Rose looked startled, a blush creeping up her cheeks as she pulled away with a shy, happy smile. "I hope it's everything you want it to be. Go on, now!"

The girls slipped out into the garden, the humid night air hitting their bare shoulders like a splash of warm water. They moved like shadows, darting between the neatly trimmed box hedges and the towering shadows of the topiary.

The estate grounds were different at night. The familiar lawns felt vast and untamed, the rustle of the wind in the ancient oaks sounding like a thousand whispered secrets. Emilia led the way, her eyes fixed on the distant, dark gates of the service entrance. Her blood was singing with the sheer thrill of it. She wasn't just walking out of the estate; she was crossing the border into a different life.

As they reached the edge of the woodland path, the wrought iron and stone walls of the service gate finally came into view. Three figures were waiting in the shadows, the occasional flash of a match-strike illuminating a leather jacket or a shock of chocolate-brown hair.

Drake.

Emilia’s pulse quickened. She smoothed her hair, checked the knot in her blouse, and shared one last, wide-eyed look with Olivia and Hana.

"Here goes nothing," Olivia whispered.

"Everything," Emilia corrected, her voice low and steady. "Here goes everything."

*****

The men were leaning against the cool, ancient stone of the service entrance wall, silhouetted by the soft amber glow of the moon. They looked like they had stepped right off a movie poster. Drake was in the centre, his broad shoulders filling out a heavy black leather jacket that caught the moonlight on its silver zips. His dark denim jeans were cuffed high over a pair of thick-soled creeper shoes, and his black t-shirt hugged his muscular frame. Beside him, Leo looked effortlessly cool with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, while Max was currently trying—and failing—to toss a coin and catch it with a suave flourish.

But it wasn't just the men waiting for them. Parked just outside the entrance was a gleaming Triumph motorcycle, its chrome exhausts reflecting the moon like liquid silver—Drake's pride and joy, a machine he'd spent every spare coin and hour rebuilding from parts. Behind it sat a beat-up, dark green truck, the kind that smelled of hay and grease.

"They're late," Max joked, his voice echoing under the tree canopy. "I told you, Drake. City girls are like clocks with no hands. You never know where you—"

He stopped mid-sentence as the girls stepped out of the shadows and into the pool of light beneath the gates.

The silence that followed was heavy and sudden.

Drake, who had been mid-exhale from a cigarette, felt the air vanish from his lungs. He didn’t drop the cigarette, but his fingers froze. He had thought she was stunning yesterday—the beautiful girl in the white Bardot blouse had haunted his dreams all night—but this woman was something else entirely.

The heavy black wing of her eyeliner made her blue eyes look predatory and deep, and that red lipstick... it was a provocation in physical form. His heart hammered against his ribs with a sudden, violent force, and for a split second, his palms felt damp against the leather of his sleeves. He felt a rare, dizzying flash of vulnerability. She wasn't just a "looker" anymore; she looked like a girl who could ruin a man’s life and make him thank her for it.

Emilia felt a surge of heat flood through her chest as she watched Drake’s reaction. She saw the way his hazel eyes widened, the way his breath caught, and the way he almost seemed to forget he was holding a cigarette at all. For nineteen years, she had been a person people bowed to, a person people respected out of duty, but never before had she felt a man look at her with such raw, breathless desire. It made her feel powerful, dangerous, and entirely alive.

He recovered quickly, snapping his mouth shut and letting out a low, slow whistle that vibrated in his chest. "Em," he breathed, his voice even rougher than usual. "You’re an absolute knockout. I mean… hell. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it."

Leo straightened up, his eyes roving over Olivia’s navy pencil skirt with blatant, confident appreciation. "You three look... incredible."

Max, however, was staring at Hana with a wide, goofy grin. "Hana! You look like a bluebell! A very... very pretty bluebell. Does that make sense? My mum says I’m not great with words."

Hana let out a genuine, tinkling laugh that seemed to settle Max's nerves instantly. "It makes perfect sense, Max. Thank you."

Emilia stepped closer to Drake, her red wedge shoes clicking on the cobblestones. The humid night air seemed to pull them together, the scent of her perfume clashing beautifully with the smell of his leather jacket and the faint hint of tobacco. She saw the way his hazel eyes darkened as they swept over her tied-up blouse and the sliver of golden skin at her waist.

"You seem like you're looking for trouble, Drake," she teased, her voice low and flirtatious.

Drake stepped away from the wall, closing the final few inches between them. "I think I already found it, Em." He looked down at her, his expression a mix of awe and that signature, cocky smirk. He gestured with his head toward the machines. "Leo's taking the others in the truck. But I figured you might prefer the scenic route." He patted the leather seat of the Triumph. "Hope you don't mind a bit of wind in your hair."

Emilia's eyes widened at the machine. She had seen motorcycles from the back of the Rolls Royce, but she had never even touched one. The thought of being that exposed, that fast, made her stomach flip.

"I… I’ve never been on one of those," she admitted, her voice dropping.

Drake's smirk softened into something more encouraging, something gentle. "We can go in the truck if you would prefer, but I won't let you fall, Em. I promise. Just… hold onto me tight."

Emilia smiled at him; he had a way about him that made her feel exhilarated, alive and safe all at the same time. She slowly nodded, “Okay.”

He swung a leg over the Triumph, the leather of his jacket creaking as he settled into the seat. "Shall we?" he smiled, holding his hand out to her.

"We shall," Emilia whispered, as butterflies took flight in her stomach. She slid her hand into Drake's before she climbed on behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist, feeling the rock-solid muscle beneath the cool leather. As she settled, she glanced back at her friends. Olivia gave her a bright, encouraging grin, her eyes dancing with the shared thrill of their escape, while Hana caught her eye with a look of pure, wide-eyed worry, her hands clutching her skirt.

Drake kicked the starter, and the engine roared to life with a deep, guttural thrum that Emilia felt in the very marrow of her bones. Leo climbed into the driver's seat of the truck, with Max, Olivia, and Hana piling into the cab and the flatbed behind, laughing as the old engine sputtered into life.

Drake revved the engine, the vibration rattling through them both. "Hold on beautiful," he called back over the roar, before the motorcycle tore away from the estate, the headlight cutting a fierce, white path through the dark woodland. For the first few seconds, Emilia held her breath, her eyes squeezed shut as the sheer power of the machine surged beneath her. The vibration of the road was electric, travelling from the soles of her shoes up through her entire body, a rhythmic, mechanical pulse that felt more alive than any car she’d ever sat in.

Then, she opened her eyes.

The wind was a wild, invisible force, tearing through her hair and pulling at the carefully teased blonde waves. It wasn't the polite, filtered breeze of a palace window; it was raw and exhilarating, smelling of pine needles, damp earth, and the faint, metallic scent of the engine. She felt the world rushing past her in a blur of deep greens and shadowed greys, the trees looming like silent giants.

She leaned in closer, pressing her chest against Drake’s back. He was broad and solid as a rock, the cool leather of his jacket a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from him. She could feel the play of his muscles as he expertly leaned the bike into the curves of the winding path, his movements fluid and sure. Every time they dipped into a turn, her stomach did a somersault of pure, unadulterated joy.

"Wooooo!" The sound burst from her throat before she could stop it—a high, clear cry of delight that was lost to the wind almost as soon as it left her lips.

Beneath her, she felt Drake’s chest rumble. He was laughing. He turned his head slightly, just enough for her to see the flash of his teeth and the spark of pure admiration in his eyes. To him, she was just a city girl with an amazing spirit, a daredevil who met the speed with a shout of defiance. He loved that she wasn't some fragile, shy girl who needed to be handled with delicate care.

Drake felt the delicious weight of her pressed against him, her arms locked tight around his waist. He could feel her heart hammering against his spine—not with fear, but with the same frantic, joyful rhythm that was currently pounding in his own chest. He felt an intense, protective surge. He wanted to go faster, to show her more of his world, to keep her right there close to him.

They emerged from the thickest part of the woods, the canopy opening up to a sky littered with stars. Far off in the distance, a new light began to glow on the horizon—a hazy, pulsing crown of neon and gold. The thumping, rhythmic heartbeat of the fair was growing louder, calling to them through the night air.

Emilia tightened her grip, resting her cheek against the rough leather of his shoulder. She had never felt so exposed, yet she had never felt safer. With the wind screaming in her ears and the roar of the Triumph vibrating in her bones, she finally understood what the girls in the magazines were smiling about. She wasn't just riding a motorcycle; she was riding toward the version of herself she’d been waiting nineteen years to meet.

*****

The transition was jarring. One moment, they were in the cool, velvet cover of the forest road; the next, they were swallowed by a tidal wave of noise and colour. The Triumph slowed as they reached the grassy outskirts of the fairgrounds, the engine growling a low, hungry idle.

Emilia gasped, her eyes wide as she took in the sight. It was a kaleidoscope of spinning lights—the towering, skeletal frame of a Ferris wheel encrusted in amber bulbs, the dizzying spin of the Tilt-A-Whirl, and the bright, primary colours of the game booths. The air was thick with a dizzying cocktail of smells: the sweet, cloying scent of spun sugar, the savoury smoke of frying onions, and the sharp, oily tang of diesel generators.

Drake brought the bike to a smooth stop near the entrance, kicking the stand down. He turned in the seat, looking at her with a grin that was both proud and curious. "You okay, Em? Hair’s a bit of a mess, but you’ve got a hell of a glow about you."

Emilia slid off the bike, her legs feeling a little like jelly, but her heart still racing at a hundred miles an hour. She reached up, instinctively trying to smooth her wild waves, but then she stopped, laughing. "I've never felt anything like that, Drake. It was... it was incredible. I think I might be ruined for cars forever."

Drake’s eyes darkened with a quiet, intense satisfaction. "Glad you enjoyed it, beautiful," he said, his voice dropping an octave as he smiled at her. He reached out, his thumb grazing a smudge of red lipstick that had strayed near the corner of her mouth during the ride. The contact was brief, but it sent a fresh jolt of electricity through her. "Come on. Let's find the others."

The truck pulled in a moment later, Leo and Max jumping out followed by Olivia and Hana. Olivia looked like she had just won a prize, her navy skirt slightly rumpled but her eyes dancing. "Leo is a maniac behind the wheel!" she laughed, swatting Leo’s arm as he gave her a wink.

Hana, however, looked a little pale, clutching her gingham skirt as Max hovered around her like a nervous puppy. "You okay, Hana? I told Leo to slow down on the bumps, I swear! I'll buy you a ginger beer, settle the stomach right up."

Hana gave him a small, shy smile. "I'm alright, Max. Just... a lot of excitement for one night."

"Right then," Drake said, stepping into the lead and naturally reaching back to catch Emilia’s hand. His palm was warm and calloused, a perfect, steady anchor. "Where to first? We’ve got the shooting gallery, the coconut shy, or we could head straight for the heavy hitters."

Emilia looked at the bright, chaotic midway, the music of the calliope clashing with the shouting of the barkers. "The shooting gallery," she said, her eyes fixed on a booth where a row of tin ducks moved in a steady line. She felt a sudden, playful spark of competition. "I want to see if you're as good with a rifle as you are with that bike, Drake."

Drake barked a laugh, squeezing her hand. "Careful now, city girl. You might be surprised at what a country boy can do."

As they moved toward the lights, Emilia felt a thrill of pure anonymity. Here, under the neon and the stars, she wasn't a Princess bound by duty and lady-like etiquette. She was just Em, a girl holding hands with a guy who made the world feel fast, dangerous and wonderfully alive.

The shooting gallery was a frantic, noisy spectacle. The 'crack-crack' of air rifles punctuated the air, and the smell of gunpowder hung faint and metallic beneath the scent of popcorn.

Drake stepped up first, his movements fluid and confident. He handled the rifle with a casual ease that spoke of years of practice on various estates. He took three shots, the tin ducks clanging as they fell with satisfying precision. He looked back at Emilia, a cocky, challenging smirk on his face. "Your turn, Em. Don't worry if you miss, it's harder than it looks."

Emilia didn't say anything. She took the rifle, the weight of it familiar in a way she couldn't explain to him—years of formal pheasant shoots and skeet practice with the nobility came flooding back. She adjusted her stance, her eyes narrowing as she found the rhythm of the moving ducks.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Three ducks flattened in three seconds.

Drake’s smirk vanished, replaced by a look of pure, slack-jawed shock. He looked from the fallen ducks to Emilia, who was currently blowing a mock puff of smoke from the barrel of the air rifle, a mischievous glit in her eyes.

"Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that?" he asked, his voice full of genuine admiration. "I thought you city girls just spent all your time in salons."

"Oh, Drake," she teased, handing the rifle back to the wide-eyed stallholder. "You should know by now, I’m not like other girls."

Drake laughed, his arm coming around her shoulders to pull her into his side. “I’m starting to see that, Em.”

Beside them, the group was equally busy. Olivia and Leo were currently embroiled in a heated Coconut Shy battle. Olivia had thrown her first ball with surprising force, missing the coconut but nearly taking out the stallholder's hat. Leo was doubled over with laughter, his hand resting casually on the small of her back as he showed her how to 'aim with the elbow.' Olivia was feigning annoyance, but her bright, flushed cheeks told a different story.

Max and Hana had drifted toward a smaller booth where Max was currently trying to toss a hoop over a glass bottle. He was sweating with effort, his face scrunched up in concentration. Hana stood a step back, her hands clasped in front of her sky-blue dress, her eyes following the hoop with a look of quiet, hopeful intensity. When Max finally landed one, he let out a victory yell that drew eyes from three booths away, and Hana’s laugh was so bright it seemed to rival the neon.

"Winning is hungry work," Drake said, leaning in close to Emilia as they began to walk further down the midway. He stopped at a brightly painted stall where a man was twirling a stick in a cloud of pink fluff. "Ever had candyfloss, Em?"

"Never," she admitted, watching the delicate, sugary web form.

Drake bought a large, towering cone of the stuff, the pink cloud almost as big as Emilia’s head. He handed it to her, and she took a small, hesitant pinch. It melted on her tongue instantly, a burst of pure, airy sweetness that made her eyes widen.

"It's like... eating a cloud," she laughed. "Here, try some," she said, plucking a larger piece and holding it out to him.

Drake didn't take it with his hands. He leaned in, his eyes locked onto hers, and took the sugary fluff from her fingers. His lips brushed her fingertips for a fraction of a second, a touch so light it could have been the wind, yet it made Emilia’s breath hitch.

He chewed slowly, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. "Sweeter than I remembered," he murmured, his gaze dropping to her red lips before returning to her eyes.

In that moment, surrounded by the roar of the fair and the laughter of their friends, the royal world felt a million miles away. There was no protocol here, no expectations, just the taste of sugar on their lips and the growing, undeniable heat between them.

"Come on," Drake said, his voice low and vibrating with a new kind of energy. He tossed the empty candyfloss stick into a bin and caught her hand again, his fingers interlacing with hers. "I know just the thing to wash down all that sugar."

He led her toward a ride that looked like a mechanical nightmare of spinning silver tubs and flashing strobe lights: the Waltzer. It was a riot of noise, with a teenage 'ride-boy' in a grease-stained t-shirt jumping onto the moving platforms to give the tubs an extra, dizzying spin. The music pumping from the speakers was loud and distorted—a rock-and-roll track that made the very ground beneath their feet tremble.

"What do you think, Em?" Drake yelled over the music, his eyes dancing with a challenge. "It’s a bit faster than the bus from the city, I'll bet."

Emilia looked at the spinning tubs, her heart hammering. "I think I can handle it, Drake!"

They climbed into one of the rounded carriages, the vinyl seat cold against the back of Emilia's legs. Leo and Olivia piled into the tub behind them, Olivia’s laughter echoing off the metal siding. Max and Hana took the one on the other side, Max looking determined to be Hana's "protector," while Hana looked like she was reconsidering every choice that had led her to this moment.

"Hold on," Drake warned, his smirk widening as the ride began to groan into motion.

The Waltzer started slow, a rhythmic, undulating movement that felt like being on a boat. But as the music ramped up, the speed increased. The tubs began to spin on their own axes while simultaneously racing around the central track.

Suddenly, the centrifugal force kicked in.

Emilia felt herself being shoved sideways by an invisible hand. With a small gasp, she slid across the slick vinyl seat, her shoulder slamming into Drake’s solid frame. Before she could even try to steady herself, the ride-boy swung past their tub, giving it a violent, expert shove that sent them into a dizzying, high-speed spin.

"Whoa!" Emilia cried out, laughing as the world becoming a blur of neon lights and dark sky.

Drake didn't hesitate. He threw a heavy, protective arm around her shoulders, pulling her flush against his side to keep her from rattling around the carriage. Emilia didn't fight it; she turned into him, burying her face in the crook of his neck, her hands clutching the front of his leather jacket.

The scent of him was everywhere—leather, tobacco, and something uniquely masculine that made her head spin faster than the ride ever could. She could feel the steady, powerful thrum of his heart against her cheek, a rhythm that seemed to sync with her own.

Drake tightened his grip. He could feel the fine, golden strands of her hair whipping against his face, and felt a fierce, unexpected surge of possessiveness. He didn't just want to hold her for the duration of the ride; he wanted to keep her right here, shielded from the rest of the world. He looked down, and for a second, the spinning lights caught the blue of her eyes—she was looking up at him, breathless and glowing, a wild, beautiful smile on her face.

"You okay?" he shouted, his face inches from hers.

"I’m perfect!" she yelled back with a bright smile, and she meant it.

Across the ride, Olivia was screaming with pure, unadulterated delight, her head thrown back as Leo gripped her waist, the two of them spinning in a blur of navy blue and denim. Max was holding Hana so tightly it was a wonder she could breathe, but Hana had her eyes squeezed shut, a tiny, terrified smile playing on her lips as she leaned into his strength.

When the ride finally slowed to a halt, the world continued to spin for a few seconds. Emilia stayed exactly where she was, her heart thumping a frantic rhythm against Drake’s chest. She didn't want to let go. She felt a strange, sharp pang of sorrow at the thought of the night ending, of having to go back through that hidden door and become a Princess again.

Drake looked down at her, his hazel eyes soft and uncharacteristically vulnerable. He reached out, tucking a stray, wind-blown lock of hair behind her ear. "You’re amazing, Em," he whispered, the roar of the crowd fading into the background. "I don't think I've ever met a girl who takes to the chaos quite like you do."

Emilia looked up at him, her red lips parted. "Maybe I’ve just been waiting for the right person to show it to me."

Drake’s gaze dropped to her mouth, and for a heartbeat, the air between them felt thick enough to touch. The flirtation had shifted; it was no longer just a game between a country boy and a city girl. It was something deeper, something that scared them both.

"Come on," Drake said, his voice slightly husky as he helped her out of the tub. "I think there's one more thing we need to do before the night is through."

He pointed toward the centre of the fairground, where the great, amber-lit Ferris wheel turned with a slow, majestic grace.

"The view from the top is something else," he said, his hand sliding down to clasp hers. "You can see the whole county. Even the Applewood estate, if the moon is right."

They left the others at the base of the wheel. Leo and Olivia were already heading toward the ghost train, and Max was proudly presenting Hana with a giant stuffed panda he’d won at the hoop-la. As Drake and Emilia stepped into the small, open-air carriage of the Ferris wheel, the noise of the midway began to pull away.

The wheel moved in hitches, stopping and starting as people boarded below. With every lurch upward, the world beneath them grew smaller. The screaming teenagers at the Waltzer became insignificant dots, and the neon lights of the booths blurred into a soft, glowing carpet of electric jewels.

As they reached the halfway point, a sudden, sharp breeze swept across the open fairground. It was much cooler up here than it had been on the humid ground. Emilia, in her sleeveless polka-dot blouse, felt the chill bite into her skin. She let out a small, involuntary shiver, her shoulders bunching.

Drake noticed instantly. Without a word, he stood up slightly in the swaying carriage, unzipping his heavy leather jacket. He shrugged it off and draped it around her shoulders. The weight of it was immense and grounding—it was still radiating the heat from his body, and the scent of it, that intoxicating mix of leather and tobacco, enveloped her like a shield.

"Better?" he asked, his voice low.

"Much," she whispered.

He didn't move away. Instead, he sat back down and slid his arm around her, pulling her close so that her head rested against his shoulder. His arm felt like a bar of solid iron, yet his touch was incredibly gentle.

Finally, the wheel made its last rotation and groaned to a stop. They were at the very apex, suspended at the highest point of the sky.

The silence up here was profound. The calliope music and the roar of the generators faded into a rhythmic, distant hum that felt like it belonged to another planet. Above them, the stars were terrifyingly bright, and to the west, the moon illuminated the sprawling, dark silhouette of the Applewood estate.

Emilia looked at it, and then she looked at Drake.

The amber glow from the light bulbs lining the wheel’s frame cast a warm, flickering light across his face. He was looking at her with an intensity that made her heart stop. He wasn't looking at a "summer staff" girl, and he wasn't looking at a Princess. He was looking at the woman who had shouted in delight on the back of his bike.

"What are you thinking about, Em?" he asked softly.

"I'm thinking that for the first time in nineteen years, I'm exactly where I want to be," she said, her voice trembling just a little.

Drake’s gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes. He reached out with his free hand, his fingers cupping her jaw. His skin was rough and warm, his thumb grazing the line of her cheekbone with an aching slowness.

"I know we only just met, and I don’t know where you’ll go when the summer ends," Drake whispered, his breath warm against her skin. "But I know I like you, Em. A lot."

Emilia leaned into his palm, her eyes fluttering shut. "Then don't think about the end. Just... concentrate on being here right now. With me."

He leaned in, and she met him halfway.

It was her first real kiss—nothing like the stiff, rehearsed etiquette of the court. It was soft at first, the tentative meeting of lips that were both hungry and hesitant. It tasted of the candyfloss they’d shared and the cool night air. Then, as Drake’s hand moved to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her wind-blown hair, the kiss deepened.

It was a slow, dizzying burn that made the rest of the world vanish. The vibration of the Ferris wheel, the glow of the neon, the distant laughter—it all dissolved until there was nothing left but the heat of his mouth, the weight of his jacket on her shoulders, and the frantic, beautiful drumming of two hearts beating as one.

When they finally pulled apart, the wheel had begun its slow descent back toward the earth. Drake kept his forehead pressed against hers for a long moment, his eyes closed as he let out a ragged breath.

"Hell," he whispered, a small, stunned laugh escaping him. "I think I'm in trouble, Em."

Emilia smiled, her lips still tingling, her soul feeling like it had finally taken flight. "Me too, Drake. Me too."

For those few moments at the top of the world, she wasn't a royal with a crown waiting for her. She was just a girl falling for a boy under a canopy of stars.

Chapter 3 - A Runaway Sunbeam

For most, it was a season of newfound rebellion. But for Princess Emilia Dawson, rebellion had to be measured in miles.

The black Rolls Royce Phantom IV glided through the countryside like a silent, obsidian shark cutting through a sea of emerald green. Inside, the air was cool and smelled of expensive Connolly leather and the faint, floral trail of Chanel No. 5.

Emilia leaned her head against the window, watching the jagged skyline of the city dissolve into the rolling hills of the shire. Her golden hair, meticulously styled into soft curls that brushed against her neck, caught the light, shimmering like spun silk. Her eyes—a piercing, tropical blue that often seemed too vast for the palace walls to contain—were fixed on the horizon. At nineteen, she possessed a beauty that was often described as "stately," but today, she felt anything but.

"I thought we’d never break past the gates," Emilia breathed, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I think if I had to attend one more tea party for the Women’s Institute, I might have actually turned into a porcelain doll."

Beside her, Lady Hana Lee let out a musical laugh. Hana was the daughter of the Duke of Westbury, a girl with chestnut hair that flowed like molten chocolate and a face that seemed perpetually lit from within. She adjusted the skirt of her floral tea dress, her movements graceful despite the excitement bubbling in her gaze.

"Your father did look rather stern when you suggested leaving early," Hana noted. "I thought for a moment he’d insist you stay at least until the Duke of Sutherland’s visit was concluded."

"The duke is a bore," Lady Olivia Nevrakis interjected from the seat opposite them. Olivia was a striking figure, her hair a fiery, defiant red against skin as pale as alabaster. Having lived at the palace since the loss of her parents, she was more than a lady-in-waiting; she was the sister Emilia had never had. "And Constantine knows that if Emilia is unhappy, she becomes... difficult. Better to let her loose in Applewood than have her scowling at the royal dinner table for the next week."

Emilia didn't disagree. She had spent weeks charming her father, King Constantine, into letting her depart ahead of him and her mother, Queen Eleanor. The King’s unforeseen meeting with a Duke had provided the perfect window. While the Crown saw Applewood as a mere country retreat, Emilia saw it as a sanctuary.

At Applewood, the air didn't feel weighed down by history. The sprawling estate was surrounded by ancient, whispering woodlands and a lake that held the secrets of her childhood. There, she could trade her stifling silk gowns for simple cotton blouses and pedal pushers. She could walk through the local village, where the baker and the blacksmith saw only a girl with a bright smile, rather than a face that would, one day, be printed on every postage stamp and coin in the realm.

It helped that, in the quiet corners of the shire, a television set was a rare luxury that most working-class families simply couldn't afford. Even those who religiously bought the newspapers were only familiar with grainy, distant photographs of the royal family—stiff, black-and-white images taken from a respectful distance during official engagements. Emilia had yet to undergo the global scrutiny of a coronation or a royal wedding, and she guarded her relative obscurity with a fierce, quiet passion. She craved the anonymity that the countryside provided; the freedom to experience a life that was tactile and real, unburdened by the heavy expectations of the palace. In the city, the eyes of the press felt like a physical weight, stifling and cold. But here, amidst the scent of pine and the ripple of the lake, she felt truly, vibrantly alive.

"Just think," Olivia said, her eyes dancing. "Tomorrow morning. No bells. No schedules. No etiquette classes or ballgown fittings."

"I want to head straight for the stables," Emilia said, her voice rising with genuine enthusiasm. "I’ve missed the breeze on the ridge. And the lake, we must go boating. The water is always perfect this time of year."

"And the county fair!" Hana added, clasping her hands together. "The village will be preparing for it already.”

“I heard there’s to be a dance in the town square on Saturday night.” Olivia purred, a sly smirk playing on her lips. “Do you think we could sneak out? Real dancing, ladies. Not the waltz!"

Emilia looked at her friends, her heart feeling lighter than it had in months. The car hit a bump as the paved road gave way to the well-kept gravel of the Applewood estate, the rhythmic crunch-crunch beneath the tires sounding like a countdown to freedom.

"We’ll do it all," Emilia promised, her blue eyes reflecting the sun-drenched woods they were finally entering. "This summer, there are no titles, no duties, no schedules. Just… us."

*****

The Rolls Royce swept through the massive stone pillars of the Applewood gates, and for the first time in a year, Emilia took a breath that reached all the way to her soul.

The driver brought the heavy car to a smooth, silent halt before the grand stone portico of the manor. As the doors were opened, the girls spilled out like birds released from a cage. Emilia paused by the driver’s side, her blue eyes bright.

"Thank you, Arthur," she said, her voice warm and lacking the practiced distance usually required of the royal family. "It was a lovely drive," she told him as she squeezed his arm.

Arthur, a man who had spent thirty years maintaining a mask of invisible efficiency for the Crown, froze for a fraction of a second. His gloved hand gripped the edge of the door, his eyes widening in a rare moment of genuine surprise. He was used to the King’s silent nods and the Queen’s distant, regal indifference—the kind of dismissal that made a man feel like a piece of the car’s machinery. To be seen, and thanked so sincerely, was a breach of protocol that made his chest swell with an unexpected, fatherly pride. He quickly masked the emotion, though a soft, crinkled smile touched the corners of his eyes as he dipped his head.

"My pleasure, Your Highness," he murmured, his voice slightly thicker than usual. "Welcome home."

She stepped back and turned in a slow circle, her heels clicking softly on the gravel. Applewood was even more beautiful than she remembered. Thick, vibrant ivy clung to the ancient honey-coloured stone walls of the manor, shivering slightly in the breeze. The air here was a rich, heady perfume—a blend of the damp, cool scent of the lake and the sweet, earthy aroma of fresh hay drifting from the nearby stables. To her left, the rose gardens were in full, magnificent bloom, their velvet petals lining the manicured lawns in shades of crimson and blush. Beyond the gardens, the woodland waited, a dark and inviting sea of green and gold where the light dappled the forest floor.

Emilia felt the last of the city’s tension evaporate. She turned to Olivia and Hana, who were already giggling and adjusting their clothes.

"Last one to the suites is a duchess!" Emilia teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

The three girls didn't wait for the footmen to gather their bags. Abandoning the stateliness expected of young ladies of the court, they gathered their skirts and rushed up the stairs and through the heavy oak doors. They moved with a frantic, joyful energy, heading straight for the upper wing. Within those rooms lay the wardrobes they had curated in secret in advance of their visit—the cotton shirts, the tapered trousers, and the simple sandals that represented the only version of themselves they truly cared to be.

*****

A few hundred yards from the manor, the air was different. The delicate scent of roses gave way to the honest, muscular aroma of the Applewood stables—a thick mixture of cedar bedding, oiled leather, and the warm, musky heat of horses. The afternoon sun slanted through the high, arched windows of the stable block, dancing in the dust motes that kicked up from the cobbles.

Drake Walker stood in the centre of the aisle, his boots braced wide as he worked a soft cloth over a heavy leather saddle. At twenty, he was already a formidable presence, standing a broad-shouldered six-foot-three. His hair was a thick, unruly mass of chocolate brown that defied the neatness of the era, a few rebellious strands falling over a forehead dampened by sweat. He looked less like a servant and more like one of the greasers seen in the glossy magazines from the city—his white t-shirt, stretched tight across his chest and back, was tucked into dark denim jeans with cuffs turned up to reveal heavy work boots.

Beside him, Leo, a lean blonde, was mucking out one of the stalls, while Max, a shorter lad with ash-coloured hair, was vigorously polishing the brass buckles on a set of bridles. Both were dressed in the same practical denim and cotton t-shirts, their frames lithe and fit from years of labour, though they lacked Drake’s raw, imposing stature.

"Bastien says they're due in the next week or so," Max said, his voice buzzing with a nervous sort of energy. He paused his polishing to glance toward the open stable doors. "Can you believe it? The actual Royal Family, right here. I’ve never seen a King in the flesh before, let alone met one."

Drake didn't look up. He didn't even break the steady, rhythmic circle of his hand against the leather. "What makes you think you’re going to meet one now, Max?" he scoffed, his voice a low, gravelly baritone. "They’re all the same, these noble types. They won’t give you the time of day."

"You don't know that, Drake," Leo called out from the stall, the shovel scraping against the stone. "They might be nice. It’s a country estate, isn't it? Things are supposed to be more relaxed here."

"Pfft," Drake spat, finally pausing to inspect the shine on the saddle. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a faint smudge of oil on his temple. "No such thing as a nice noble. The royals are probably even worse. As long as you have their horse ready for them at the drop of a hat, they won’t care if you're a man or a fence post."

"I don't know," Max insisted, his eyes bright. "I heard the Princess is nice. And a looker, too, from what I’ve been told."

Drake let out a short, cynical bark of a laugh. "It’s easy to look good when you have money. Who told you that, anyway?"

"One of the guys that works in the kitchens," Max said, returning to his brass with renewed vigour. "He was here last year when they visited. Said she has eyes like a tropical ocean."

"Yeah, well," Drake said, tossing the cloth onto a nearby bench. He reached for a heavy bucket of water, his muscles rippling under the thin fabric of his shirt. "Like I said—it’s easy to look good when you don’t have to lift a finger or do a lick of hard work. They live in a different world, Max. One where people like us are just part of the scenery."

Leo leaned on his shovel, watching his friend. "Why are you so down about all this? She might actually be alright."

"Yeah, right. I’ll believe that when I see it," Drake muttered, his jaw setting in a hard line. He looked toward the manor, his hazel eyes narrowing in the sunlight. "Look, I’ve worked for nobles before. Not this family, but others just like 'em. They’re all the same. Stuck up, pretentious, and mean. I highly doubt this Princess Emilia is any different."

"Walker!” The sharp bark of Bastien, the head groom, cut through the afternoon lull. “A word."

Drake set the bucket down and wiped his hands on his jeans. He headed toward the small side office tucked into the corner of the stable block—a cramped space that smelled of old tobacco, ink, and ancient ledger books.

Bastien was leaning over his desk, his face lined with the stress of the impending arrival. "As you know," he started, not looking up, "the royal family are due to arrive within the next couple of weeks.”

"So, I've heard," Drake said, leaning against the doorframe.

Bastien finally looked up, his gaze hard. "I'm only going to say this once, Drake. Hands off."

Drake felt a flicker of annoyance. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You and those two knuckleheads out there," Bastien said, gesturing toward the main floor. "I’m not stupid, Drake. I know all three of you like a little game of backseat bingo with the ladies. That’s fine when it’s on your own time, with women from the village or wherever else you pick them up. But the Princess is off-limits. Do you understand me?"

A smirk played on Drake's lips, though his eyes remained cool. "Perfectly. I wouldn't dream of it, Bas."

"I'm serious, Drake."

"So am I," Drake countered, pushing off the doorframe. "I don’t know what you’re getting so worked up about. Someone like her wouldn’t even give guys like us the time of day, so why should we give it to her?"

Bastien looked at him sceptically for a long moment before nodding. "Just see that you don’t. And tell that couple of stooges out there that the same goes for them. Clear?"

"Crystal."

Drake walked back out, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind him. He started to head back to his task of oiling the saddles, but he realised the rhythmic sounds of mucking and polishing had stopped. He looked around for Max and Leo and spotted them standing in the large stable doorway, silhouetted against the bright afternoon light. They were dead still, staring out toward the north paddock.

Curiosity piqued, Drake sauntered over. "What are you two—"

The words died in his throat as he followed their gaze.

Three young women were standing by the fence of the paddock, their backs to the stables. A large, dappled grey horse was trotting toward them, its ears pricked forward. The girl in the centre threw her head back, turning toward them slightly as she let out a peal of laughter at something one of her friends had said. The sound was bright and genuine, carrying across the grass like a bell.

Drake’s hazel eyes widened, his breath hitching. Even from a distance, she was unlike anyone he had ever seen. She was stunning. She was dressed in a pair of tight, high-waisted pale-yellow pedal-pushers that accentuated the sharp curve of her waist and the flare of her hips. Her top was a white, Bardot-style loose fitting blouse that left her shoulders bare, her golden hair tumbling to just above her shoulders in a beautiful cascade.

"Wow," Drake breathed, the cynical edge in his voice completely vanished.

"I know, right?" Leo whispered, not taking his eyes off them. "Who do you think they are?"

"Beats me," Drake murmured. His eyes lingered on the girl in the centre, taking in her perfect hourglass figure and the way she moved with a natural, unstudied grace.

"You don't think... the Princess?" Max asked tentatively.

Drake scoffed, though it lacked his usual bite. "No way. In clothes like that? Not a chance." He shook his head; his gaze still fixed on the golden-haired girl. Holy shit, she’s gorgeous, he thought. “Besides, they’re not due to arrive ‘til next week.”

"New staff, maybe?" Max suggested.

"Probably," Drake said, a slow, predatory grin beginning to spread across his face. "The estate will definitely have hired in a few new staff for the royal visit. Probably from the city."

"Should we talk to them?" Leo asked.

Drake’s grin widened, the challenge from Bastien already a distant memory. "Oh, absolutely." He nudged his chin toward the gorgeous blonde in the white Bardot blouse. "The blonde is mine," he stated with a quiet, absolute authority.

Leo didn't even argue; he was already fixated on the vibrant splash of colour to her left. "Suit yourself. I’ve always had a thing for redheads," he said, his voice light with anticipation.

Max looked at the third girl, the one with the chestnut hair and the gentle, pretty profile. He gave a cheeky wink to the other two, a mischievous grin stretching across his face. "Well, I guess that leaves me with the brunette. Sounds good to me."

"Then let's not keep 'em waiting," Drake said. He straightened his t-shirt, hooked his thumbs into the loops of his jeans, and began his confident stride across the grass. Max and Leo followed close behind, the three of them moving with the easy, cocky grace of young men who had no idea what they were about to get themselves in to.

As the three men approached, Emilia was leaning against the wooden fence, her fingers tracing the rough grain of the timber. For her, this was paradise. It tasted like freedom; the fresh air, the rustle of the wind and the soft whinny of the dappled grey horse. The palace in the city, with its high walls and suffocating schedules, faded into insignificance here.

"Can we help you ladies?"

The deep, gravelly voice made all three girls turn. Emilia’s breath caught in her throat. Standing just a few feet away was a man who looked like he had walked straight out of a James Dean film. He was rugged, raw, and completely unpolished—the total opposite of the porcelain-perfect men at court. His shoulders were impossibly broad, his white t-shirt clinging to a chest that was clearly hardened by real labour, and he had stubble on his face that highlighted the sharp line of his jaw.

Emilia felt a sudden, fluttering rush in her stomach. Butterflies, fierce and frantic, took flight as her eyes met his hazel gaze. For a second, her practiced royal composure faltered, her mouth parting in a tiny "o" of surprise before she managed to pull herself together.

"Hello," she said, her voice a little breathier than usual. "We were… just admiring the horse."

Drake took another step closer, invading her personal space in a way that should have felt intrusive but instead felt intoxicating. Up close, the scent of him hit her: hay, aged leather, and a sharp, salt-and-musk masculine aroma that made her dizzy. "Her names Penny," he said, his eyes never leaving hers.

"She’s beautiful," Emilia murmured.

"She certainly is," Drake replied, and the way his gaze lingered on her face made it clear he wasn't talking about the horse.

Emilia felt a heat creep up her neck, a genuine blush staining her cheeks. It was a thrill to be looked at like a woman, not a monument. Usually, meeting a man meant a stilted introduction in a drafty ballroom, followed by a conversation so steeped in etiquette it felt like reading from a script. But this was a breath of fresh air: raw and real. She tucked a golden lock of hair behind her ear. "So... do you gentlemen work here?"

"We do," Drake said. He gestured casually behind him. "I’m Drake. This is Max and Leo."

Emilia gave a brief, charming smile to the other two, before her attention was pulled back to Drake like a magnet. "Nice to meet you."

"Do you have a name?" Drake asked, leaning one arm on the fence beside her. A smirk played on his lips. "Or do I need to guess?"

"Oh! Sorry," Emilia laughed, the sound light and musical. "This is Olivia, Hana... and I’m Emi—" She bit her tongue just in time. If she said Emilia, he might connect the dots to her being the Princess. And she didn't want him to stop looking at her with that dangerous, hungry curiosity. She liked it. She liked it a lot. "Em," she corrected.

"Em?" Drake repeated, his brow arching. "Is that short for something?"

"Yeah," she said, her blue eyes dancing with a newfound playfulness. "But my friends call me Em. So, you can call me Em, too."

Drake liked that. He liked the fire in her eyes and the way she didn't seem at all intimidated by him. "Okay, Em. We haven't seen you three around here before. Are you new?"

"Just arrived today," she smiled, leaning back against the fence. "We’re here for the summer."

"We thought as much," Max chipped in, grinning at Hana. "Drake here said the estate would likely have hired in new staff for the royal visit. You from the city?"

Olivia opened her mouth, her eyes wide. "Actually... before we—"

Thump. Emilia’s elbow connected sharply with Olivia’s ribs.

"Ow!" Olivia hissed, rubbing her side, but Emilia didn't even look her way. Her focus was entirely on the man standing in front of her.

Drake stepped into the small gap between them, closing the distance until she could feel the heat radiating from his massive frame. He caught the scent of her then—a clean, sophisticated fragrance of fresh linen, bergamot, and sweet peach. It was a stark, beautiful contrast to the grit of the stables.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of sugar cubes, holding them out to her. "Penny will be your best friend if you give her a couple of these."

Emilia smiled and took them, her fingers brushing against his calloused palm. The contact sent a jolt of electricity up her arm, a delicious sensation that she immediately wanted more of. She turned back toward the fence, Penny's large head dipping down expectantly.

She felt Drake move up behind her, his presence a warm weight. He reached around her, his large, rough hand gently guiding hers to hold the sugar cubes flat. "Hold your hand just like that," he whispered, his breath tickling the sensitive skin of her neck. "Otherwise, she might nip your fingers."

Emilia closed her eyes for a split second, a shiver running down her spine that had nothing to do with the breeze. His hands were huge and weathered, yet his touch was incredibly gentle.

"There you go," he murmured in her ear. "Looks like you made a new friend."

Emilia turned her head slightly, her nose almost brushing his jawline. The proximity was thrilling. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Max and Leo were equally engaged, their conversation with Hana and Olivia punctuated by laughter and lingering looks.

"So, Em," Drake said, stepping back just enough for her to breathe, though he kept his eyes locked on hers. "What do you new girls do on your days off? Any plans?"

"We haven't really made plans yet," Emilia admitted, her voice low. "We did think about heading to the county fair tomorrow night, though."

Drake’s grin turned wicked. "Did you? How funny. We were just thinking the same thing."

Emilia tilted her head, her blue eyes shimmering with a bold, flirtatious light. "Oh? I don't suppose you know three handsome men who would like to escort some ladies, do you?"

Drake winked, his hazel eyes glowing in the afternoon sun. "I'm sure I can think of a few."

Emilia felt her heart skip a beat. She felt more alive in this dusty paddock than she ever had in the palace. "Okay," she whispered, her cheeks flushed. "Then I guess it’s a date."

"I guess it is," Drake said, his voice dropping an octave.

Just then, a heavy, resonant tolling broke through the afternoon stillness. The great bronze bell of the manor house began to chime, calling the household to the evening preparations. It was a sound Emilia had heard a thousand times, but today, it sounded like an alarm.

"That'll be the head housekeeper," Hana said, her voice tight with a sudden, sharp nervousness. She glanced toward the main house, her eyes wide. "We... we really should go."

"Right," Max said, looking disappointed but offering a friendly wave. "Duty calls, I suppose."

Drake didn't move immediately. He stayed close to Emilia, his presence a lingering challenge. "Tomorrow night. Service entrance?"

"Tomorrow night," Emilia promised. She felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, and for the first time in her life, she was ready to jump.

Hana and Olivia were already beginning to walk away, tugging gently at the air to get her moving. Emilia started to join them, her heart hammering against her ribs. As she walked back toward the manor, she couldn’t help herself; she looked back over her shoulder one last time.

She saw Max and Leo already whispering and shoving each other playfully as they headed back towards the stables. But Drake was still rooted to the spot. He stood silhouetted against the long shadows of the late afternoon, watching her with a burning intensity in his hazel eyes that sent a massive thrill through her entire body.

Caught in his gaze, Emilia offered him a slow, sultry smile before turning to continue walking with her friends.

"Emilia!" Hana whispered urgently, grabbing her arm the moment they were out of earshot. "Are you mad? We can’t go to a fair with servants! If your father finds out—"

"He won't," Emilia snapped, her eyes fixed on the path ahead, though her mind was still in the paddock. She felt a fierce, burning heat in her chest, a rebellion that had finally found its spark. "For the first time in my life, I'm just a normal woman, not a royal, not a Princess. Just me. And I'm not giving that up."

She turned toward the manor, the golden sun setting behind the ancient stone walls, casting long, dark shadows across the grass. Back in the palace, a crown was waiting for her, but out here, in the fading light of the afternoon at Applewood, she had found something much more real, much more raw, much more exhilarating.

And she already couldn’t wait to see what came next.

Chapter 2 – Under a Canopy of Stars

Before him, the lake shimmered like hammered silver. The water was so still it seemed to hold its breath, reflecting the dark, reaching shadows of the surrounding pines and the brilliant blue of a cloudless sky. The air coming off the water was crisp and cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine resin. It was a sharp, clean contrast to the warmth of the sun that filtered through the dappled forest canopy, warming his skin through his flannel shirt. He took a long, slow breath, letting the serenity of his sanctuary settle into his bones, listening to the rhythmic drumming of a woodpecker somewhere deep in the timber.

The peace was broken not by a sound of nature, but by the crunch of tires on the long, winding gravel lane.

Drake’s lips curved into a slow tired smile as a dust-covered SUV came into view. He stood, his tall frame uncoiling with a grace that defied his age and descended the porch steps just as the vehicle groaned to a halt.

"Grandpa!"

The door flew open and Grace was out before the engine had even fully cut. She was eight years old and a literal ball of chaotic energy—all flying blonde pigtails and denim dungarees. Her blue eyes shone with a manic, beautiful light as she sprinted across the grass. She launched herself at him with the force of a small gale.

Drake scooped her up effortlessly, his powerful arms locking around her as he let out a booming laugh. "Hi, squirt!" He pulled back, squinting at her with mock suspicion. "You’re getting bigger every time I see you. I think you’re growing an inch an hour."

Grace rolled her eyes, her small face set in the practiced theatrics of an indignant child. "You say that every time!"

"Because it’s true every time," a softer voice interjected.

Liberty approached them with a tired but warm smile. She was the image of her father—the same dark hair, though hers was free of the silver, and those same intense hazel eyes that seemed to see right through a person and into their soul. She stepped into Drake’s free arm, offering a long, grounding embrace that felt like an anchor for them both. “Hi, Dad.”

As she pulled away, her gaze flickered briefly toward the empty porch swing, a shadow of concern crossing her features. "Any news from the hospital?" she asked softly.

Drake’s smile faltered, a sigh escaping him as the weight of the previous night seemed to settle back onto his shoulders. "No. Not yet."

Libby squeezed his forearm, her brow furrowed with worry, before she offered him a small reassuring smile. "I’m sure everything will be fine. She’s strong, Dad. Stronger than all of us."

"I know she is," Drake murmured, his voice thick with a private kind of devotion.

"Have you eaten? I can get started on dinner." Libby asked, shifting the mood with a determined nod toward the cabin door. "It'll take a little while."

"I haven’t, but that sounds good. I'll help," Drake offered, starting toward the porch.

Libby held up a hand, stopping him. "No, it’s okay. I can manage. And I’m willing to bet you didn’t sleep a wink last night. Plus..." she tilted her head toward Grace, who had already scrambled up onto the porch and was perched on the swing like a little bird. "I know a certain someone who has been dying to hear some more of your stories."

Drake looked at his granddaughter. Grace was beaming at him, her legs swinging back and forth, her small hands clutching the edge of the weathered wood.

"Okay. I suppose I can think up something good," Drake chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest.

Libby disappeared inside, the screen door clicking shut behind her. The cabin began to fill with the muffled sounds of domestic life—the clink of a pot, the rush of water. Drake sat back down on the porch swing, the wood groaning familiarly under his weight. The sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the edges of the trees in gold and fire.

"So," Drake said, looking sideways at Grace, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "What story do you want to hear this time?"

Grace didn't even hesitate. She leaned her head against his muscular arm. "The one about the Princess."

Drake let out a soft, breathy laugh, his eyes drifting back to the shimmering lake. "Again? You’ve heard that one plenty of times already."

"I know, Grandpa," she whispered, her blue eyes wide and earnest. "But it’s my favourite."

Drake watched a lone heron skim the surface of the water, its wings silent and steady. He felt the tug of the past, a magnetic pull that spanned decades. He cleared his throat, his voice dropping into the low, melodic cadence of a man stepping through a doorway in time.

"Alright," he said softly. "It all began in 1958..."

Chapter 1 – A Summer Sanctuary

As they passed through the service gates and onto the estate grounds, the air changed. It was cooler here, smelling of damp grass and the ancient, sleeping woods. The manor sat on the hill like a silent, stone titan, but down by the stables, the world was soft and shadowed.

Drake brought the bike to a halt near the darkened stable block, cutting the engine. The sudden silence was deafening, broken only by the ticking of the cooling metal and the distant, rhythmic chirping of crickets.

"We’re back," Drake whispered, though he didn't move to get off.

Emilia didn't move either. She stayed pressed against him for a heartbeat longer than necessary, letting the warmth of his body seep into hers. "I know, but I don't want the night to end," she admitted, her voice barely a breath.

Drake chuckled, a low rumble that she felt against her chest. He swung his leg over and helped her down, his hands lingering on her waist for a moment as she found her footing on the cobbles. The truck pulled in a few moments later, the engine sputtering out as Leo, Max, Olivia, and Hana piled out.

"I think my heart is still back on that Waltzer," Olivia laughed, her hair a wild, copper halo in the moonlight. She looked at Leo, a new, soft light in her eyes. "Thank you, Leo. Truly."

Hana looked tired but remarkably happy, clutching the giant panda Max had won her. "It was... quite an experience, Max. Thank you for making sure I didn't fly off the ride."

"Anytime, Hana. Anytime at all," Max said, looking like he’d just been handed the keys to the kingdom.

"We should probably get inside," Hana whispered, glancing nervously toward the main house. "Midnight is... well, it’s past midnight, isn't it?"

The group shared a hushed, conspiratorial goodbye. Leo and Max headed toward the grooms’ quarters, around the back of the stables, while Olivia and Hana began to drift toward the scullery door where Rose was likely waiting, their voices hushed as they compared prizes and stories.

Emilia lingered. She was still wearing Drake’s leather jacket, the weight of it a comforting, masculine presence on her shoulders.

"I should give this back to you," she said, starting to shrug it off.

"Keep it," Drake said, stepping closer. The moon was high now, casting long, sharp shadows across the stable yard. It caught the rugged line of his jaw and the intensity in his hazel eyes. "I don’t want you to get cold walking to your quarters. You can give it to me tomorrow."

Emilia looked up at him, her heart doing that strange, frantic dance again. "Tomorrow?"

"I'll be in the paddock by eight," Drake said, his voice dropping to that low, gravelly register. "Penny needs her exercise, and I have a feeling she'll be looking for more sugar cubes."

Emilia smiled, a genuine, private thing. "I think I can manage that."

They stood in silence for a moment, the tension between them thick and electric. The fair had been loud and fast, but this—this quiet moment in the shadows of her own home—felt much more dangerous. Here, she wasn't just a girl at a fair; she was a woman standing in the dark with a man who made her forget she had a crown to return to.

Drake reached out, his hand grazing the lapel of the jacket he’d lent her. "You're different, Em. I've met city girls before, but none of them... none of them look at the stars the way you do."

"How do I look at them?"

"Like you're trying to figure out how to climb up to them," he murmured. He stepped even closer, his presence overwhelming. "I like it. It makes me want to help you get there."

Emilia felt a lump form in her throat. For nineteen years, people had told her where to stand and how to look. Drake was the first person who seemed interested in where she actually wanted to go.

She reached up, her fingers grazing the silver zip of the jacket. "Thank you for tonight, Drake. It was the first real thing I've felt in... well, in a very long time."

Drake’s expression softened. He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of her lower lip, still stained a faint, smudged red from the fair and their kiss. "I'll see you in the morning, beautiful."

"In the morning," she whispered.

She turned and began to walk toward the scullery door, the oversized jacket swinging around her thighs. She didn't look back until she reached the heavy iron handle. When she did, she saw Drake still standing by his bike, a dark silhouette against the moonlight, watching her until she disappeared inside.

As she stepped into the cool, stone scullery, Rose was there, a lantern in her hand and a look of immense relief on her face.

"Oh, thank heavens," Rose breathed, hurrying forward to pull the heavy door shut. "I've been pacing this floor for an hour. The Housekeeper finished her final rounds ages ago, but I was terrified one of the night watch would see you crossing the lawn."

"You're a wonder, Rose," Emilia said, her voice sounding far away as she felt the lingering warmth of the motorcycle engine still humming in her legs. "I'm sorry we're so late."

"You're wearing a leather jacket, Your Highness," Rose noted, her eyes widening as she took in the heavy, oil-scented garment.

Emilia looked down at the jacket, her fingers curling into the leather. It smelled of him—tobacco, engine oil, and that sharp, salt-and-musk scent that made her head swim.

"It’s a loan," Emilia said, a small, secret smile playing on her lips. "I have to return it tomorrow."

As they climbed the service stairs, the velvet and gold of the royal wing felt strange, almost alien. The plush carpets muffled her footsteps, and the ornate statues seemed to watch her with cold, judgmental eyes. But as she reached her suite and Rose helped her peel off the denim and the polka dots, Emilia didn't feel like a Princess returning to her cage. Applewood was different, a sanctuary. The King and Queen wouldn't be here for days. The gardens were vast, the woods were deep, and for the first time in her life, she had something that was entirely hers that couldn’t be claimed or managed by her family. A perfect first kiss under the stars.

She lay in her bed, the high-thread-count sheets feeling too smooth, too sterile after the grit of the fair. Before she settled, she reached for the leather jacket, which she had draped carefully over the armchair beside her bed. She pulled it closer, pressing her face into the collar. The scent of him was still there—the rough, heavy musk of him—and she let it ground her, keeping the memory of the night from fading into the morning. Finally, she tucked the jacket under the edge of her pillow, her hand resting against the cool, worn leather, as she closed her eyes. She could still feel the vibration of the motorcycle in her bones and the ghost of Drake’s kiss on her lips as she drifted off to sleep.

Tomorrow, she would put on a light cotton sundress—something simple for the summer sun—and enjoy the ease of the estate grounds. She would have a slow breakfast on the balcony and perhaps wander the rose gardens. But in the back of her mind, she would be counting the minutes until eight o'clock, when she could walk down to the paddock and find the man with the hazel eyes that made her feel more seen than she had ever felt in her life.

The rebellion wasn't over. It was just getting started.

*****

The sun was a mere bruised purple smudge on the horizon when Drake climbed down the narrow wooden ladder from his loft the following morning. His living quarters—a single room tucked directly above the stables furnished with a narrow iron bed, a scarred pine wardrobe, and a small table that held a stack of motorcycle manuals — were modest, but he loved the proximity to the animals and the way the floorboards vibrated with their morning restless energy.

He stepped out of the stable door into the Mediterranean morning, having just splashed his face with bracingly cold water from the communal stone sink in the washroom downstairs. There was no hot water, no fine soaps—just the bite of the pump and the scent of lye. The air wasn't sharp or biting; instead, it was balmy and thick with humidity, a warm promise of the heat to come. He took a long breath of the heavy air, feeling the familiar scents of damp earth and blooming jasmine. It helped clear the cobwebs of a restless, wonderful night spent staring at the rafters and replaying every second of the fair.

He made his way into the main stable block, the gravel crunching softly under his boots. Inside, the air was warm and thick with the familiar, comforting smells of cedar and livestock. As he flipped the lights on, a chorus of low nickers and the shuffling of hooves greeted him. The horses knew the routine.

"Alright, alright, settle down," Drake murmured, his voice still heavy with sleep.

He headed to the feed room first, the heavy galvanized bins echoing as he scooped out the oats and chaff. His first stop was Jupiter, a massive bay stallion with a temper as fiery as his coat. The horse tossed his head, his nostrils flaring, but Drake just patted his muscular neck.

"Hungry, are you, big fella?"

As he moved down the row, filling the mangers for Titan, the steady grey gelding, and Willow, the dainty chestnut mare, his mind drifted back to the fair. He could still feel the phantom weight of Em’s arms wrapped around his waist, the way she’d leaned her head against his shoulder on the long ride back. Her laugh—that bright, musical sound—kept echoing in his ears, cutting through the silence of the stables.

And the kiss.

He stopped by Penny’s stall, the dappled grey mare already nudging his shoulder for attention. He leaned his forehead against the wooden gate, a slow, dazed smile spreading across his face. He’d kissed plenty of girls, but none of them had been like Em. None of them had made the world feel like it was spinning out of control and coming into perfect focus all at the same time.

He remembered the way she’d looked under the stars—the intensity in her blue eyes, the way she seemed to want to climb right up into the sky. She wasn't like the girls from the village, and she certainly wasn't like the city girls he’d encountered. There was a fire in her, a quiet, burning rebellion that called to something deep inside him.

He poured the feed into Penny's manger and watched her eat for a moment, his hand resting on the latch. He was counting the minutes now. Eight o'clock felt a lifetime away. He wondered if she’d really show up, or if the sunlight would turn last night into nothing more than a ghost story.

But then he remembered the way she’d looked back at him from the scullery door, and he knew. She’d be there.

As he was lost in his own thoughts, the side door creaked open, and Leo and Max shuffled in. They looked utterly drained. Leo’s throat was sore from laughing so much with Olivia on the Waltzer, and Max was rubbing his lower back with a groan, his posture slumped with the kind of exhaustion that only comes from a night of high-adrenaline fun followed by three hours of sleep.

"My legs feel like lead," Leo croaked, grabbing a pitchfork with a heavy sigh. "I swear I can still hear that blasted carousel music ringing in my ears."

"Worth it, though," Max yawned, a wide, toothy stretch that ended in a wince. "But if Bastien makes us muck out the stallion stalls first, I might actually keel over in the hay."

"You guys’ better move," Drake warned, glancing toward the office. "If he catches you coming in late, he’ll have your knackers for a necklace."

As if on cue, the heavy thud of Bastien’s boots announced his arrival. He marched into the centre of the stable block, his expression even more severe than usual. He didn't even acknowledge the boys' drooping shoulders; his eyes were fixed on his clipboard.

"Listen up," Bastien barked. "The Housekeeper omitted to let me know, but Her Royal Highness, Princess Emilia, has arrived at the estate. She’s been here two days already."

Drake froze, the curry comb mid-stroke on Penny’s flank. The Princess was here? He looked at Leo and Max, who had both straightened up instantly, their exhaustion forgotten in the face of royal news.

"She hasn't requested the stables yet, thankfully," Bastien continued, his voice tight with professional pride. "But I want the horses all properly groomed and mucked out—Jupiter, Willow, all of them—in case she decides she wants to ride. When she does come down, I will be acting as her personal pad groom. I'll handle her horse and her tack myself."

He levelled a pointed look at the three younger men, his gaze hardening. It was clear he didn't want any young men with wandering eyes anywhere near her.

"I’m leaving the messy work to you three," Bastien snapped. "Muck out, polish the brass, make sure the horses get their exercise, and keep the yard immaculate. I don't want her seeing a single stray bit of straw or a smudge on a stirrup. Understood?"

"Understood, Bas," Drake said, his heart hammering as he turned back to Penny, a small, triumphant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Bastien could play bodyguard to the royalty all he liked; Drake would be happy if he never saw any of them, they wouldn’t give him the time of day if he did. He was just happy he’d be left alone at the paddock with Em.

*****

The morning at Applewood didn't begin with the chime of a silver bell or the stiff rustle of a senior maid’s apron. Here, Emilia woke to the sound of a woodpigeon in the oaks and the soft, rhythmic sweeping of a broom on the terrace below.

She dressed herself—a simple, sleeveless cotton sundress in a pale primrose yellow. It was the kind of dress any girl in the village might wear to a picnic. She left her hair loose, letting the leftover waves from the night before fall naturally over her shoulders, and skipped the heavy eyeliner for just a touch of rose-tinted balm on her lips.

She looked in the mirror and didn't see a Princess. She saw the girl who had screamed with joy on the back of a Triumph.

"Going for a walk, Your Highness?" Rose asked, entering with a tray of light breakfast. She saw the yellow dress and smiled. "You look lovely. Very... Applewood."

"I'm heading to the lower paddocks, Rose. I promised to advise with the training this morning."

"The King’s equerry called the main house," Rose mentioned casually, setting the tea down. "The royal party is still a week out. The Housekeeper is in a tizzy, but it means the grounds are yours until then."

Emilia felt a surge of relief. Another week. Another week of being just 'Em.'

*****

The air was already warming, thick with the golden, hazy light of a summer morning as Emilia reached the weathered wooden fence of the training paddock. The scent of crushed clover, damp earth, and horsehair was sharp and honest—a thousand times better than the cloying, expensive perfumes that drifted through the palace corridors like ghosts.

Drake was already there.

He was leaning against the rail, a stray blade of sweetgrass tucked between his teeth. His attention was fixed on Penny as she trotted in easy, rhythmic circles, the thud of her hooves a steady heartbeat against the ground. He looked rugged and startlingly real in the low morning sun. He wore a light red and black flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled haphazardly to his elbows to reveal the tanned, corded muscles of his forearms—arms that looked like they were built for work, not for holding champagne flutes.

He didn't see her at first, and Emilia took a long, quiet moment just to watch him. He moved with a confident, unstudied ease that she envied with a physical ache. There was no "protocol" in the way he stood, no rigid spine or practiced chin-tilt; he was just a man who knew his business and liked the heat of the sun on his back.

She reached the gate, the rusted iron latch clicking with a sharp snap as she stepped inside.

"You're late," Drake said. He didn't turn around, but she saw the corner of his mouth twitch, a smirk playing on his lips. "I was beginning to think you’d turned back into a pumpkin."

He turned then, the smirk widening into something genuine—and it stayed there. He didn't look shocked; he looked delighted. His eyes, a shifting shade of hazel, swept over the yellow sundress and the loose, wind-tangled blonde hair with a look of pure, warm appreciation that made her skin prickle.

"Morning, Em," he said, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that seemed to vibrate in her very marrow. "Yellow suits you. Makes you look like a runaway sunbeam."

Emilia laughed, the sound bright and easy, echoing off the stable walls. "A sunbeam? That’s very poetic, Drake. And here I thought you country types were men of few words."

"Only when the words aren't worth saying," he replied. He pushed off the rail, the movement fluid and predatory, and walked toward her. He stopped just a foot away, his presence a warm, grounding force that smelled of cedarwood and hard work. "How’s the head? That Waltzer spin yesterday was no joke."

"Still a bit dizzy," she admitted, tilting her head back to look at him, feeling the sun-warmth on her throat. She held his gaze, a playful spark in her eyes. "But I don't think it was the Waltzer... the Ferris wheel, on the other hand..."

Drake’s eyebrows shot up, a slow, knowing heat spreading across his face. He took a half-step closer, lowering his head until they were almost at eye level. "The Ferris wheel, huh?" he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "Funny. I remember that being the best part of the whole fair. Though I suppose you’re right, it was enough to make a person's head spin."

He lingered there for a second too long before clearing his throat, his gaze flicking toward the stables. "Actually, I'm surprised you're even here at all. Don't the people you work for have you scrubbing floors or polishing silver this early? How’d you manage to escape?"

Emilia didn't miss a beat, though her heart hammered against her ribs. "I guess I just move fast when I have somewhere more important to be, with someone I’d rather be with," she said, offering a sultry smile.

Drake let out a low whistle, a look of genuine admiration crossing his face. He didn't look away this time; he leaned back against the gate, crossing his arms over his chest. "Is that so? Well, I'd better make sure I’m worth it then. If you're going to work that hard, you might as well have a good reason for it."

They spent the next hour working with Penny. It was simple, tactile work that left her palms dusty and her heart full. Drake showed her how to hold the lunge whip—not as a weapon, but as an extension of her arm to guide—and how to read the subtle flick of a horse's ear. For the first time in her life, Emilia wasn't being taught a lesson to be graded; she was sharing an experience.

"You've got a way with her," Drake noted, leaning back against the fence as they took a break. He wiped a bead of sweat from his temple with the back of his hand. "Most of the city help we get are terrified of anything bigger than a housecat. But you... you're not afraid to get your hands dirty, are you?"

"I like things that are real," Emilia said, her fingers stroking Penny’s velvet nose, feeling the horse's warm breath against her skin. "Sometimes I feel like my life is... suffocating. Like I'm living underwater. Here, I can actually breathe."

Drake watched her, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to solve a puzzle. "You talk like someone who’s spent a lot of time in a cage, Em. What do you do in the city that's so suffocating?"

Emilia froze, the sound of a distant tractor filling the silence. "I... I work for a very demanding family," she said, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest. It wasn't technically a lie. "Everything is about appearances. Schedules. What you wear, who you talk to. Coming here... meeting you... it's the first time I've felt like I'm actually in charge of my own feet."

Drake reached out. It was a slow, deliberate movement. His hand covered hers on the rough fence rail. His skin was calloused and warm, the physical weight of his touch anchoring her to the moment.

"Well," he murmured, leaning in just enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his chest, "as long as you're at Applewood, nobody's in charge of you but you. I'll make sure of that."

Emilia looked at him, the heat of his hand seeping through her skin and into her blood. For a moment, the world of velvet ropes, curtsies, and heavy crowns felt like a fever dream she had finally woken up from.

"Tell me about you, Drake," she said softly, her voice barely a whisper above the rustle of the leaves. "Beyond the horses and the motorcycles. What do you dream about? When you're not leaning on this fence, where does your mind go?"

Drake looked out toward the lake, the water shimmering like broken glass. The confident smirk he usually wore softened, revealing something raw underneath. "I want to see what's over those hills, Em. I've lived in this county my whole life. I know every stone and every stream, but I want to go somewhere where nobody knows my name. Somewhere I'm not just 'the help' or 'the stable hand.' Just... somewhere wide open that I can call my own."

He looked back at her, his hazel eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. "Maybe that's why I like the bike. When you're moving that fast, the noise stops. You're not anywhere. You're just... between."

Emilia felt a deep, resonant pull toward him, a magnetic tug in her chest. They were both running from the same thing—the heavy, suffocating labels the world had branded them with.

"I think I understand that better than you know," she whispered.

*****

The morning stretched on, quiet and perfect. There were no interruptions, no guards in suits, and no reminders, at least on Emilias part, of the titles that lay like a chasm between them. Just the mounting heat of the sun, the soft snorts of the horses, and the beautiful blossoming romance between two people who were growing closer with every moment.

Eventually, Drake straightened up, his hand reluctantly slipping away from hers as he looked back toward the main stable block. "I’d better get back," he said, a touch of regret colouring his voice. "Bastien’s been on the warpath lately about the inventory. If he finds me out here at the paddock much longer, he’ll come looking, and nobody wants to deal with Bastien when he’s looking for a reason to grumble."

Emilia felt a sharp pang of disappointment. The bubble they had created felt so fragile, and she wasn't ready for it to burst just yet. "I understand," she said, managing a small, supportive smile. "I should probably get back, too. There's... a lot waiting for me."

Drake assumed she meant a mountain of laundry or floors to be scrubbed, and his expression softened. He took a step toward her, the space between them suddenly electric.

"Em," he began, pausing as he searched her face. "Can I see you again? I mean, really see you? Away from the estate?"

Emilia didn't even have to think. "Yes," she said, the word rushing out of her. "I’d like that very much."

A look of relief washed over Drake. "There’s a pub down in the village. The Thirsty Stag. It’s nothing fancy, just a few local taps and a quiet corner where we can actually hear ourselves think. Would you like to walk down there with me tonight? Around eight?"

"I’ll be there," she promised, her heart leaping at the thought of meeting him outside the walls of the estate, where she could just be 'Em' for a few more hours.

She looked at his mouth, and for a heartbeat, the urge to pull him close and finish what they had started on the Ferris wheel was almost overwhelming. But she caught herself. They were still on estate grounds—hallowed, disciplined turf. She knew the strict protocols for the staff; fraternization during work hours was a quick way to a dismissal.

More than that, the weight of her secret pressed against her. If a stray gardener or a lingering footman saw the Princess Royal kissing a stable hand, the fallout wouldn't just be a scandal—Drake would lose his livelihood before the sun set.

Drake seemed to be fighting the same internal battle. His gaze lingered on her lips, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach out, but he held back. He knew the rules of the house, and he wouldn't risk her position in the household staff—or his—for a moment of public weakness.

Instead, Emilia stepped forward, closing the small gap between them. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a soft, quick kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm, smelling of sun and cedar.

"I’ll see you tonight, Drake," she whispered against his skin.

She pulled back, seeing the dark flush of a blush creep up his neck. He gave her a sharp, lopsided grin—the look of a man who had just won a great prize—and turned to head back to the stables. Emilia watched him go, her hand rising to her chest, feeling the ghost of the morning sun and the promise of a night that belonged only to them.

Chapter 4 – The Depths of Desire