As Rinea admired the world around her, she could feel wonder in her heart. Rigel Castle was a marvel in the cool autumn light. Berkutâs cheeks were flushed in the cold, and his smile was genuine.
Sheâd had many daydreams as a girl of falling in love, but none compared to this.
She looked over as Berkut asked her opinion and noted with surprise his extended hand. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she stared down for what was likely too long. Should she lace her fingers in his? That would be the more intimate gesture, but one still acceptable for polite company. But perhaps he didnât want that. He could only be asking for a slight grasp.
Rineaâs head spun and heart pounded as she overthought every detail. It wasnât every day one was shown such interest from a prince - much less one like Berkut. Everything had to be perfect.
The moment felt whimsical, fantastical, almost magical, to be so blessed. Berkut was handsome. He was kind, and brave, and strongâŠ. more than she could have ever asked for. And in that moment, no one else mattered. Rigel Castle belonged to them, all her secrets theirs to unravel.
Rinea reached down, locking her fingers between Berkutâs.
âWhatever you wish to do, my lord.â She spoke softly. âMy only wish is to do it with you.â
The seconds that passed were an eternity, and Berkut awaited a response scarcely aware of his own breath. Had the gesture been too bold? He began to second-guess himself, though he fought not to allow his uncertainty to reach the surface - a skill in which he was well-practiced, as doubts and the heavy expectations that came with the crown circled his mind near-constantly. His muscles tensed to withdraw his hand and the rest of his body followed suit, driven by instinct to preserve his pride.
Then, her hand alighted upon his palm, her fingers through his own - a perfect fit - and the breath he did not realize he had been holding came out a quiet sigh. He was spared the nightmare of rejection, a nightmare that had stolen sleep from him on so many nights, and the relief was as warm as the sun in the midst of a Rigelian summer. The daylight itself grew a little brighter.
An observant eye might have noted the slimmest moment of awestruck hesitation, or the faintest lift of the corner of his mouth, but Berkut expertly hid it with a kiss to her knuckles, and drew her arm through his.
âYouâre in luck then, my lady,â he spoke ebulliently, confidence and happiness both renewed, and began their march toward the garden gates. âI have no intention of leaving you to yourself during your stay here. But if a thought strikes your fancy, do tell me, so I may make it a reality.â
The garden was full of brightly colored wildflowers, hardy trees, and insects buzzing away before the sun started its early descent toward the mountains. In contrast to the rigid, geometrical lines of the castle, the plants here grew wild, more greenery than colorful flowerheads, and bore greater resemblance to a shrubby forest than a proper garden. But there were patterns to the flowerbeds, and the groundskeepers worked hard to maintain each one.
âYou must have a favorite flower,â Berkut mused, and gestured out toward the grounds. âDo you see it here?â