The haunt pressed his other hand atop her fingers. “You were touched by the heart which is yourself. This grace of yours was always inside you, dear one.”

He had called her “dear one.” The words struck her like a blow, and yet they lifted her up.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, pressing her fingers tightly between his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“The longer I tarry, the more it hurts that I must leave you, when I have come to see what a jewel you are.”

“I’m no jewel. More like a weed that has survived being trampled on.”

He laughed, although perhaps more with pain than delight. “I love what you are, whatever you may choose to call yourself. To me, you are the cloud whose rain nourishes, you are the star whose effulgence sparks dreams of better things that may yet come, you are the moon whose stubborn light offers hope in darkness and the sun whose golden rays bring life to all that lives in this world. Well, or at least to my heart.”

He fell silent. They stood together as the cold wind curled around them, cocooned by the night and by the weight of the feeling between them, like an egg that has finally cracked open to spill an unexpected gift into the world.

He shook his head as if answering a question he had asked himself. “I cannot with honor remain in this body. Nor would you want me to. Anyway, this prince has his own schemes and ambitions. I must leave him to them. I’m sorry for him, though.”

Throat thick, she said, “Sorry for him? Why? He has everything.”

“He will not recall you, this you, the person you have trusted me to know. I suppose I pity him, for he will never comprehend the precious spirit that is the soul of you.”

He pressed his hands, with hers still clasped in them, to his chest, as if to imprint her in his heart. Then, he untangled their fingers and raised one of her hands to his lips. With a kiss, he placed a seal upon her palm. His lips on her skin were sweet. Their touch made her shiver with longing.

She leaned toward him, thinking to kiss him with the whole heart and soul of her being, for it was the moment. They had risen into love, risen without meaning to pass the boundary beyond which there were no more questions.

But he did not shift toward her, lips parting to welcome her advance. He simply held her hand, so she held back. She would not force him to compromise his honor.

Yet she couldn’t help but ask, desperately, “Do you have to go now? Right now?”

A shout rose from the compound, answered with another.

“Your Highness! Your Highness!”

“This way!”