Chapter 249 TEIGEN LXXIX
The doors closed.
Silence settled between them.
Darius turned back to Audrey, his eyes warm with quiet amusement. “I did not mean to frighten your tutor,” he said. “Though I must admit, her reaction was worth seeing.”
Audrey laughed, unable to stop herself. “You are impossible.”
He smiled, part charm, part apology. “And you, my light, are most beautiful when you laugh at me.”
Her laughter faded, the endearment resting deep in her chest.
He reached up and brushed a strand of her hair from her face. “May I steal you from your studies, Audrey? There is something I would ask of you.”
Her heart gave a hard beat. “And if I refuse?”
“Then I will remain here until you change your mind.”
She raised a brow. “You would face the scribe’s anger again?”
“I have faced worse.”
She tried to hide it, but her lips curved in a small smile.
Audrey set down her quill. The ink on the parchment still glistened in the light.
With a soft sigh, she rose. “Very well, Your Majesty. Lead on.”
He offered his arm. She took it, hesitant at first, but willing.
As they stepped into the bright corridor, she glanced back once at her work. The words she had written seemed to linger behind her, like a promise yet to be spoken.
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The palace gardens were quiet beneath the gentle light of the afternoon. Gold clung to the leaves, and the air carried the scent of jasmine and crushed roses. Somewhere nearby, a fountain murmured softly.
Darius led her along the winding paths. For a time, neither spoke. The silence was not cold, only fragile.
At last, Audrey broke it. “You seem fond of stealing me away from my duties.”
He glanced at her, a faint smile on his lips. “And you seem fond of making me earn your forgiveness.”
Her fingers tightened slightly on his arm. “Forgiveness,” she said. “Is that why you came?”
He stopped and turned to face her. The sunlight softened his features. “I came to ask if I still deserve it.”
The words struck her more deeply than she expected. She looked away, toward the fountain. “You burned the book,” she said quietly. “You burned the truth. And when I tried to save it…” She lifted her bandaged hand. “You turned away.”
His gaze fell to her hand. Guilt showed plainly on his face. He reached toward it, then hesitated. “You would have been hurt far worse if I had not stopped you.”
“I was hurt,” she said simply.
He drew a slow breath. “Audrey…”
The way he spoke her name made her chest tighten.
She turned back to him, her eyes bright. “Why did you do it? It was not just a book. It held something you did not want me to know.”
For a long moment, he was silent. Then he stepped closer.
“The book held words you were not meant to read yet,” he said. “It spoke of a bond, old and powerful. One that ties ruler and seer, flame and light.”
Her breath caught. “You mean us.”
He nodded. “The prophecy was written there. I feared it would harm you, as it nearly did me. I thought destroying it would keep you safe.”
She studied him. There was no lie in his face, only regret. “You could have told me.”
“I know,” he said. “And if I could take that moment back, I would.”
Silence stretched between them again, but it was warmer now.
“I never meant to lose your trust,” he said.
“You did not lose it,” she replied softly. “You wounded it.”
He gave a small smile. “Then let me mend it.”
Before she could answer, he took her hands gently in his. His touch was careful, his thumb brushing the edge of the bandages.
“These hands should never have been hurt because of me,” he said.
Her throat tightened. “You still say such things.”
“More so now than ever.”
He looked at her, open and without pride.
A breeze stirred the garden. A pale rose petal caught in her hair. He reached up and brushed it away, his fingers lingering for a moment.
“Do you remember your first day here?” he asked. “You asked why the gardens held only white roses.”
She nodded. “You said red roses were too proud.”
He smiled faintly. “I was not honest. I chose white because they reminded me of peace. Of you.”
Her heart stumbled. “And now?”
“Now I think I should have planted both.”
She looked down, her voice soft. “You make it hard to remain angry with you.”
“That is my aim.”
A quiet laugh escaped her.
He watched her closely. “There she is. My light.”
She shook her head. “You speak too sweetly.”
“And you smile too beautifully.”
He lifted a hand and cupped her cheek, his touch gentle. “I hope you liked the jewels I sent.”
She blinked. “Liked?”
“An apology,” he said. “Though I know little of what a lady prefers.”
“They were beautiful,” she said softly. “But too costly.”
He smiled. “No jewel is worth more than you. I would give you far more.”
The words lingered between them.
She stepped closer. “Darius…” she began.
“Audrey,” he said, stepping nearer. “I am sorry. For the book. For the hurt. For all of it.”
Her eyes softened. “Then I forgive you.”
He leaned down and kissed her.
It was gentle, unhurried. A kiss of quiet beginnings. His hand rested against her cheek, careful of her injuries, and she leaned into him.
For a moment, the world fell still.
Then a voice broke through. “Ahem.”
Audrey pulled back at once. Darius stiffened.
At the far end of the path stood Elder Azalia, her silver robes catching the light, her eyes filled with knowing.
“Your Majesties,” she said calmly, “though your union is blessed, there is still a need for restraint.”
Audrey flushed. “Elder, we were only—”
“I saw nothing,” Azalia said, turning her gaze away. “Come. There is work to be done.”
Audrey hesitated, but Darius touched her wrist lightly.
“I believe we are dismissed,” she said softly.
“By you or by her?” he asked under his breath.
“Both, it seems.”
Azalia cleared her throat.
Audrey stepped back with a small smile. “Until later.”
He held her gaze. “Until always.”
As she turned to go, he leaned in and stole one last kiss.
Azalia sighed. “The young will be the death of patience.”
Audrey laughed softly as she followed the elder away.
Darius remained where he was, watching her go, a faint smile on his lips.
“Soon,” he murmured.