You Don’t Commit

Tired as you are, worry over the **** attempt keeps you from sleeping deeply. Your mind races with thoughts of Ariel’s escape, the princess’s unpredictable nature, and the growing list of enemies you’ve somehow managed to accumulate in less than a day. By the time the first light of dawn filters through the window, you’re already awake, your body tense and restless.

You walk over to the window, staring out at the palace grounds. Ollie had the guards sweep the area after the attack, but there’s been no sign of Ariel. The thought of her out there, waiting for another opportunity, sends a chill down your spine. The gardens below are quiet, the early morning mist clinging to the manicured hedges and reflecting the pale light of the rising sun.

‘What am I even doing here?’ you think to yourself, running a hand through your hair. You’re an archaeologist, for fuck’s sake, not a warrior—and certainly not a pawn in royal intrigues. The absurdity of your situation isn’t lost on you, but neither is the danger.

A sharp rap at the door pulls you from your reverie. You consider ignoring it, but something tells you that if you take too long, the guards will just break the door down. With a sigh, you open it.

“Lord Caldersmith?” you say, somewhat surprised, given your less-than-courteous introduction the day before.

The diminutive man stands in the doorway, his silk robe impeccably tailored and his expression one of genuine concern. His balding head gleams faintly in the morning light, and his small, beady eyes study you intently. “I heard what happened,” he says, his voice soft but urgent. “We didn’t get off on the right foot, but we men must stick together. You might be as big as a woman, but if one decided to have her way with you, you’d be hard-pressed to stop her.”

He gestures for you to follow. “Come, join me in my chambers.”

With a shrug, you follow him out into the hall, the guards outside your door nodding respectfully as you pass. Lord Caldersmith’s chambers are far larger than your modest room, the opulence of his surroundings a stark contrast to your own. Rich tapestries adorn the walls, and a large chandelier hangs from the ceiling, its crystals catching the morning light. He invites you to sit at a large dining table and hands you a glass of wine, the rich aroma of the vintage filling the air.

“So, it seems you’ve successfully won the affections of our temperamental princess,” he says after taking a long sip of his wine. His eyes study you intently, a calculating gleam in their depths. “I must say, this is quite unexpected. She’s bedded many men but always thrown them out after using them up. What makes you different?”

“I...” you begin to answer, but he cuts you off with an effeminate wave of his hand.

“No matter,” he says, his tone dismissive. “This presents a unique opportunity. It’s clear I’m not the princess’s type, but it seems you are.” He takes another sip of wine, his gaze never leaving yours. “I propose we form an alliance. I’ll provide you with the financial and political resources necessary to continue courting the princess, and in return, you’ll swear fealty to House Caldersmith.”

He leans back in his chair, his expression expectant. “What say you?”

You consider his offer for a moment, your mind racing. You don’t want to ally with the man—his scheming nature is obvious—but you have the feeling that turning him down would only make another enemy. For now, it’s better to play along.

“Please,” you say wearily, “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not in my right mind at the moment. Give me a few days to consider your generous request.”

A frown flashes across his face, but it’s quickly replaced by a look of concern. “Of course, of course,” he says, his tone soothing. “How foolish of me to ask this of you just hours after such a terrifying ordeal.” He pauses, taking another sip of wine. “Consider my offer, and know that you have friends here in the palace.”

You nod, rising from the table. With the guards in tow, you hastily retreat from his quarters back to your room. The walk feels longer than it should, the weight of Caldersmith’s words pressing heavily on your mind.

You shut the door behind you and let out a long, exhausted sigh. Between the sex, the politics, and the attempted ****, you’re not sure how you’re going to survive in this strange world. The bed beckons, its soft sheets a rare comfort in the chaos of your new life.

You climb into bed, and despite the precariousness of your situation, you manage to sink into a deep, dreamless sleep.