章 3: Chapter 2.
She found him in the old abandoned vineyard where the old barracks had been. The only place few people would think to find him.
He was sitting on one of the almost crumbling walls that had been the war room decades before they were born.
Without turning to look at her, he scoffed, " What are you doing here?"
She refused to answer him, weaving through the rubble toward him, trying to avoid the annoying scratches of the blackjack growing on the abandoned land. She walked through what must've been a door years before and walked to him.
She climbed up some more of the heaped rubble and offered her hand up to him, silently asking him to pull her up. He obliged without looking at her.
Settling beside him, she peered up at him, noticing that his face was blank, and though once she would've been able to read him like a book, that was no longer the case.
His thick brown hair fell loosely over his eyebrows, casting a shadow over his eyes. Oliver's rogue hair had always made the king mad, but it was one of Charlotte's favorite features. It gave him a humanity everyone else in the royal family lacked.
His thin lips were set in a straight line, his dead eyes staring straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the warm presence beside him. His clenched jaw relaxed when he realized she was trying to read him. The sun rising behind them cast shadows over his sharp features, making it impossible for her to tell what he was thinking.
She sighed, exhausted. "You shouldn't be here."
"Concerned for my safety?" he asked as if it was the funniest thing he ever heard.
"There's a killer within the castle."
"And?"
"For heaven's sake, Frederick is dead!" her tone was harsher than she had intended. Tears stung at her eyes, a lump forming at her throat. She looked up at the sky, willing her tears to disappear back into her eyes. It pained her to see him act like he didn't care for his brother, she knew he did. She wished he would put their past behind them and let her comfort him.
She wished to grieve for Frederick with a person who knew him the same way she did. It was selfish, she was trying to comfort herself. They both knew this. But he still hated her, hated her as much as he loved her. He loved her more than himself.
It was hard for him not to wrap his arms around her and promise her that everything would be okay. He understood her pain. Wanted to comfort and be comforted by her.
She was the only one who could help ease the heaviness in his chest. Instead, her presence only made it heavier. They both knew a Frederick no one else knew. He wanted more than anything to comfort her, to wipe the tears he noticed she was trying so hard to keep in, but he could not forgive and she could not bring herself to apologize.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"For what?" he pressed, though surprised. Turning now to look at her. He noticed that she had been crying. Her eyes were red and puffy. Her broken nose was buried in her handkerchief as she blew her nose.
Her dark hair fell recklessly around her face, making her look younger and innocent. He noticed she was still in her training tunic, probably pulled away by the news of Fredricks's death. She must've been devastated.
The weight on his shoulders and his heart grew. Her sight reminded him of his brother. Memories of their childhood, the three of them, happy, wild, and free, flooded his head. He pushed them away.
And then later, she and Fredrick had grown closer. The two had been like a sword and its sheath. He wished he could let go of the past, he did not wish to be cruel to her. He did not wish to smear mud all over the promise he had made to his brother.
She raised her eyes to look at him, folding the handkerchief neatly in her hands. Her dark eyes pierced into his skull, sad and broken, begging him to open up to her. She looked so small, so delicate, he almost gave in, but this delicate face could be so cruel, these full lips could utter words that could cut deeper than a sword forged by the King's swordsmith.
And though at first, this was what had pulled them closer, her honesty and harsh words were the reason he now hated her. He pushed more memories that threatened to fill his brain away.
She opened her mouth to answer but he turned away from her, not ready to hear what she had to say for herself. "It doesn't matter." He dropped down to the ground and walked away, almost turning back when he heard her sniffle. He hated himself for his behavior but hated her even more. He walked on without looking back at the hunched shoulders behind him.
He knew he would have to forgive her sooner rather than later, after all, he was now the crown prince and she was bound to be in his council as the daughter of the senior advisor.
Their relationship would soon have to change to strictly professional, he would not have the luxury of letting his emotions get in the way of anything.
He didn't know how wrong and right he was then.
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