A Royal Ruse

Chapter 19

The first one graced her breakfast tray the morning after her trip to the Naval Base. The words on the page — mainly detailing his daily activities — tasted sweeter to the princess than the honey drizzled over her stewed pears that morning. Whether he was writing about polo matches, dull business meetings he attended with his father, or his rigorous training schedule for the boating race, each word inclined towards her the same way his body did whenever he spoke to her.

She wrote back sharing about her strange day spent near Haddon's shore with the prince and how she spent most of her time reading, walking, going to the baths, and playing card games with Oziakel as soon as he was finished with his daily tutoring. She shared how frustrated she was that her injuries prevented her from doing any activities that were overly exerting.

"Gadrian and I are friends."

Harita looked at Zita, unconvinced.

"I would be equally as invested in this race if you were competing." Zita insisted.

When she met up with the girls at the baths the previous week, she had mentioned in passing that she had spoken to Gadrian at the procession. They knew that the air had been cleared between the two of them regarding the engagement debacle but Zita decided against sharing any information about their regular correspondence.

Now that Zita knew that they, along with most of the nobility, didn't hold him in high regard she felt it was her duty to shield him from their sharp-tongued judgement. Unfortunately, that meant minimizing the true nature of their relationship, which was indeed friendship but peppered with the unspoken promise of something more. A wistful thread ran along the pages of their letters and strung their words together. Nestled between the pointed tip of her quill and the jagged edges of his handwriting was the shared sentiment: things wouldn't be so dull if you were here.

Harita remained unconvinced but decided to let the topic lie. She turned her attention to waving a servant down for a refill of her drink. Zita shifted her focus back to the ochre-colored boat that was now being ushered to shore by the paddlers who had all jumped out of it.

Zita's eyes sifted through all the soaked bodies hoisting their boats up along the sloping bank. She spotted Gadrian almost immediately standing upon the shore, plucking the winning watercraft out from the river.

A tight gasp escaped her lips as she observed his still-glistening torso. Sweat and water made for a meticulous scalpel, etching out each ripple and curve of his body whether clothed or exposed.

Zita stared at those arms that braced the ochre nose of the boat. She never failed to be steadied by them. Those arms reminded her of the stairway banister in her palace. Or the bougainvillea dripping from the trellises in the plaza of the Arnoan marketplace. Pillars of dependability. Soothing. Primarily ornamental. It wasn't until today that it occurred to Zita that beneath the billowy linen he wore, lurked instruments trained for battle — arms not solely built for comfort but for strength. Arms that resisted the rigid bow and tilled the iron-willed waters. Zita watched on in wordless wonder as he disappeared into the competitors' tent to rest before his next race.

"Like I said, Haddon's finest." Zita heard her friend whisper in her ear. She turned to meet a sly sliver of a smile cutting across Harita's vaguely intoxicated face.

Zita's eyes shot straight down to the ground and locked on it, mortified that others might have noticed just what had captured her attention for so long. Despite the multiple layers of her disguise, the princess could not conceal just how much her eyes clawed for Gadrian whenever he was near. She couldn't help it. Bathing in his words had satisfied her in his absence. But without so much as a glimpse of his face for almost a fortnight, she needed to drink in the only sight she longed for and had been deprived of for far too long.