It was one of those afternoons where the air buzzed with the lively chatter of female campers, their giggles bubbling over with pure innocence and excitement. Anya was gossiping and giggling with other girls, her cheeks flushed with warmth and mischief as they leaned in to whisper secrets about boys after class. The world outside seemed to fade away as they reveled in their little moment of carefree joy.
Suddenly, amidst the gleeful whispers, a figure emerged—a tall, dark silhouette against the sunlit corridor. His presence was commanding, yet oddly out of place among the familiar camp walls.
Anya's eyes widened as she caught sight of him. The man was probably old enough to be her uncle, but there was something about him—an undeniable allure that made her heart skip a beat. She couldn't help but drool slightly, caught up in the allure of his dark eyes and confident stride.
He approached with purpose, and in that moment, Anya realized who he was, she'd seen him around the Prince and that her day was about to change. The older man's voice broke through her daydreams, firm yet gentle, as he announced the reason for his visit.
The other girls, misinterpreting the whole situation, giggled and whispered as she followed the man. "Oh, I think she's caught the attention of the Prince," one murmured with a bashful grin. "He's probably going to ask her to marry him or something." They nudged each other, eyes gleaming with mischief. But Anya, she knew better. She had been waiting for this moment—since that fateful incident at the welcome party a few days ago.
The man led her down a corridor she'd never seen before, its unfamiliarity whispering secrets of a world beyond her own. The walls seemed to hold their breath as she followed, her heart pounding with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. They reached an unfamiliar door, and the man paused, turning to her with a serious expression.
"Go in," he said simply.
Anya hesitated for a moment, then gently knocked. The door creaked open, revealing a room bathed in a soft, golden glow. Inside, sitting behind a grand desk, was Prince Vaelorian. His long blonde hair was neatly braided, and his regal bearing seemed almost too majestic for this modest setting. He looked up from his book, his piercing green eyes locking onto hers.
"Good day, Your Highness," Anya greeted nervously, fumbling with the hem of her blouse, feeling suddenly small and unsure under his regal gaze. The words tumbled out before she could stop them. "I was surprised when they told me you asked for me. Why did you ask for me?"
The prince's voice was calm, almost detached, as he held his gaze steady. "I'm sure you know why you're here," he replied before returning his attention to the book in his hands.
Anya's stomach clenched. She already knew. Her mind raced, and a single word escaped her lips before she could think it through. "Riven," she said softly. "It's about Riven, isn't it?"
The prince's eyes flicked upward, faintly narrowing. "Yes," he admitted. "I want you to stay away from him."
Her breath caught in her throat. That was blunt—so straightforward it took her aback. She stared at him, trying to read what lay behind those icy eyes of his.
"Why?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
He closed his book gently and leaned forward, his expression serious. "Riven gets hurt when he's around you. I don't like it."
Her mind spun—was that really the only reason? Did he truly care that much, or was there something more she's missing? She wondered, her heart pounding with a strange curiosity.
"But we're friends," she tried to plead, her voice barely above a whisper.
The prince's gaze grew icy, and his voice edged with a quiet fury when he spoke again. "Friends don't stick their tongues down each other's throats," he said sharply, looking at her with a piercing gaze. Anya gulped, feeling a cold shiver run down her spine. How did he know about their kiss? And why did he look like he wanted to skewer her alive for kissing Riven?
His brow furrowed—no, he looked upset, troubled even. She could see it in his face, in the tight set of his jaw.
She was in trouble. Of all people, she'd somehow managed to piss off the prince.
Why the hell is she so reckless?
Vaelorian's gaze softened just a little as he saw her trembling, the corners of his mouth tightening into a sigh. He looked away, as if burdened by the weight of his own decisions.
"I know you two are friends," he said quietly, "and I also know how it looks that I'm asking you to stay away from him. But I don't have many options right now. I need to protect him."
Her stomach clenched at his words, and she couldn't help but ask, voice trembling with a mixture of daring and fear, "Aren't you worried I'll tell him about this?"
The question hung in the air, and she inwardly cursed herself for even voicing it. Why did she say that?
"I'm certain you will," Vaelorian responded calmly, a hint of a warning in his tone. Her eyes widened in disbelief.
"And you don't care?" she pressed, voice edged with disbelief.
He looked at her, steady and unwavering. "No," he said simply. "My priority is his safety."
Wow. That was bold—so cool, so badass. Anya couldn't help but admire that unwavering resolve. She felt a flicker of admiration for him, even as her heart ached.
Tentatively, she dared another question, her voice hesitant but curious. "May I ask… what's going on between you and Riven?"
Before she could finish, Vaelorian's voice cut her off sharply. "No, you may not," he said, his tone final.
Anya nodded, understanding that she'd crossed a line, and felt a wave of relief that she wasn't in any serious trouble—yet.
"You may leave," the prince dismissed her with a wave of his hand.
She bowed respectfully, then turned to go, but something made her pause. She looked back over her shoulder, summoning her courage.
"Your Highness," she called softly.
He looked up at her again.
"I just want you to know that despite how it looks, I actually care about him."
Her words hung in the space between them, vulnerable and sincere. Vaelorian's only response was a nod. And with that, she walked away, leaving the room cloaked in silence.
As she left the room and disappeared down the corridor, Vaelorian's gaze lingered on the empty space where she'd stood, his mind swirling with conflicting thoughts.
He knew she cared about Riven. However, It's just a crush, he told himself. It'll go away soon. But deep down, he knew better. He knew that some feelings—no matter how fleeting—could leave scars. First crushes are hard to forget. Whether she was Riven's or not, she was already part of that fragile, dangerous web of crushes that will stay with the younger boy forever, whether Vaelorian liked it or not. And the boy he was trying to protect might hate him even more now for doing this but doesn't mind.
Someone had hurt Riven because of her, and he still doesn't know who. That uncertainty gnawed at him, fueling his resolve. Someone wanted to hurt the boy—someone who wouldn't think twice about crossing lines. So for now, the safest thing was to keep them apart. Yes, he was jealous about the kiss, about her closeness with Riven, but he will survive. What mattered most was the boy's safety.