The earth crunches beneath Ginger’s hooves as we trot around a particularly beautiful bend in the path. Her caramel coat gleams brightly against the pale, whitewashed landscape that surrounds us. The evergreen trees to either side are fully frosted with snow. Icicles hang from their heavy branches, sparkling like diamonds in the late afternoon light.

I usually don’t ride at this time of day, but I desperately needed to clear my head after the tea party this afternoon.

Chloe was correct about one thing — the women in that room really do make all the decisions for their husbands. I’ve never experienced anything like it in my life. The way conversation shifted from the latest gossip — Did you hear Baron Levinson was caught in a rather compromising position with the new nanny? — to politics — What are the geopolitical implications of Europe’s recent push for renewable energy on the value of Germania’s natural resources? — was truly something to behold.

For more than an hour, they discussed everything from trade to tariffs to the charities they’ll be sponsoring this holiday season. I sat there listening in what I can only describe as awe.

But awe soon faded to outrage.

Not on my behalf — on theirs. On behalf of all women in this country. For it’s glaringly obvious that, hidden not so deeply beneath their perfectly coiffed hair and sparkling jewels, are some of the sharpest minds in Germania. And no one will ever know, on account of some archaic law barring women from Parliament.

What a goddamn waste.

The longer I listened, the more infuriated I became. How is it possible that Germania — a supposedly progressive nation, a first-world country, a gem of Europe — has sidelined half its population from making political decisions? How can it be that the country I love so dearly doesn’t love me back, simply because I have a set of ovaries? And dear god, why aren’t these women out protesting in the streets, demanding equal representation in government?

I was so lost in the dark spiral of my own thoughts, Chloe had to elbow me several times when the conversation turned my way. Which, to my great displeasure, happened quite frequently as several different women attempted to pawn off their single sons on the future Queen of Germania.

Oliver just returned from a semester at Oxford! He’d love to meet you.

Charles is the captain of his rowing team. He’ll take you out on the river once the weather improves!

Philippe has box seats to the opera. He simply must to bring you to a show!

Evidently, the word is officially out that I’m accepting suitors, which means a parade of eligible young men will soon start showing up at the gates, desperate for my hand in marriage — or, more accurately, desperate for a crown of their own.

My heels press into Ginger’s flanks, picking up our pace. This ride may well be my last moment of freedom.

Freedom.

What a joke.

This isn’t freedom. Merely the illusion of it.

It’s not like I can leave the grounds. And I’m not truly alone, even now. I might not be able to hear my guards anymore, but I’m sure they’re behind me somewhere — following at a respectful distance on a pair of black horses.

I grip my reins tighter, spurring Ginger faster down the trail as if I might outrun them. The fading light filters faintly through the snow-topped canopy overhead. I know I should turn back before it gets dark, but I’m not yet ready to return to the confinement of the castle.

Tomorrow, it all starts over.

The preening. The fake smiles.

The public appearances and forced princess duties.

I pull back on the reins, slowing Ginger to a walk. She whinnies softly, her breath pluming in the cold air like mist. Turning around another bend, she carries us through the final stretch of trees into a clearing.

I squint at the sudden shift from snowy forest canopy to overcast evening sky. The sun has dipped low, staining the clouds orange as it descends into the towering westward mountains. The castle looks like something out of a fairy tale in the distance, silhouetted like a slumbering giant, its pale stones gleaming, its spires and balustrades refracting a thousand beams of buttery light.

As soon as we leave the narrow trail behind, I feel Ginger’s muscles shift beneath me, poised and ready to run. I eye the large expanse of frozen field separating us from the castle doors and gather the reins more firmly in my gloved hands.

“Okay, girl,” I whisper, leaning forward in my saddle. “Let her rip!”

I barely have to nudge her with my heels before she vaults into motion, her powerful hooves kicking up the snowy ground with each stride. Air rushes into my face, colder than ice as it fills my lungs. The sky turns to a smear of color around us.

I know I should slow down, that Hans would likely disapprove of this wild, undisciplined charge when I’ve barely mastered a steady canter, but I can’t bring myself to pull Ginger back. I can feel the elation in her every hoofbeat.

She needs this as much as I do.

We gallop headlong across the field, heedless of the rest of the world. The ribbon is snatched from my hair. I feel it streaming out behind me like a flag, whipping into a tangled brown curtain. Wind stings my eyes until they’re watering, but even tears can’t stop the jubilant smile from spreading across my face.

This, right here, is what freedom tastes like.

“Faster, girl!” A laugh tears from my throat. “Faster!”

I let out a whoop of pure joy as we fly toward the castle. I’m so caught up in the rush of adrenaline, I don’t even notice the two men standing in the driveway… or their rapt stares, locked on the crazy girl riding her horse across the grounds at top speed, chased distantly by a set of disgruntled guards.

When we run out of field, Ginger slows her pace from a gallop to a canter as we cross over onto the circular driveway, passing a series of empty fountains and ice-bound topiary. The royal stables are located off the West Wing; I glance up to locate the side path that will lead us there and instead spot two tall male figures by the front steps, directly in my path.

My stomach somersaults.

They’re standing beside a black SUV, watching me intently. With their faces cast in shadow, I can’t quite make out their features from this distance. I squint as the stretch between us narrows with each passing second.

Thirty yards.

Twenty.

Ten.

The shadowed figures finally come into focus and I feel my heart lurch. I consider pulling the reins sharply to the left, making a mad dash for the stables to avoid them completely, but it’s too late. We’re already upon them.

“Whoa!” I call, pulling Ginger up short with a shower of gravel. I stroke her lathered neck, cooing softly beneath my breath as I suck in greedy gulps of air. “Good girl,” I murmur, trying not to panic as my head lifts toward the onlookers.

Both men are still standing beside the car, staring at me. They’re incredibly handsome in the twilight, albeit in completely different ways. Almost like mirror images of each other.

There’s Alden, grinning up at me with his perfectly parted platinum hair, not a strand out of place. His hazel eyes hold nothing but warmth. He’s like a human ball of light.

Then, three feet and a whole universe away, there’s Carter — those incredible cerulean eyes narrowed in an unmistakable glare, that messy black hair falling across his furrowed brow. His disposition is darker than the ebony dye of his winter jacket.

My throat constricts as I take them in.

Light and dark.

Sun and shadow.

Suitor and step-brother.

“I thought you weren’t back until tomorrow,” I say dumbly, still sitting astride Ginger. My eyes are locked on Carter’s and I can’t seem to look away, even though he’s scowling at me.

“There’s a blizzard in the forecast,” Alden informs me, his voice upbeat. “We decided to come back early.”

“Oh.” I swallow hard, hoping it’ll clear the lump in my throat. “That’s too bad.”

“Is it? Come on, Emilia — aren’t you even a little happy to see us?” Alden asks, drawing my eyes back to him. “And by us I mostly mean me,” he adds, winking.

“Sure,” I lie, wishing I sounded more convincing.

“Oof!” Alden staggers back, a hand thrown over his heart in a dramatic show. “How she wounds me with her indifference!”

Carter laughs, but there’s no joy in the sound. He mutters something snide under his breath but I can’t make out any of the words.

“Excuse me?” My eyes narrow on his. “Did you say something?”

“Not at all, princess.”

“Funny. I could’ve sworn I heard my name.”

Carter’s lush lips are twisted in a smirk. “Trust me, when I say your name, you’ll know it.”

A bolt of undeniable lust zings through my bloodstream. That look in his eyes…

Pure heat.

Pure hate.

It’s enough to make my thighs clench together. Enough to make me forget we have an audience.

Alden’s laugh jolts me back to reality. “Oh, listen to you two! Fighting like siblings already.”

At that, Carter’s face shutters of all emotion. Dropping my eyes, I shift in my saddle, feeling unbelievably uncomfortable. “Well, I guess I should be getting Ginger back to the stables. It’ll be dark soon and I still have to muck out her stall—”

“Nonsense! A groom can do that.” Alden’s voice is insistent. Snapping his fingers at one of the servants unpacking the car, he rattles off an order. I don’t hear what he says, but the boy takes off like a shot, running headlong tower the stables.

My nose wrinkles in distaste. “Really, that’s not necessary—”

Alden waves away my words of protest. The epitome of a gentleman, he strides forward and grabs Ginger’s bridle with one hand before offering the other up to me.

“Milady,” he says in a faux-formal tone, his grin teasing. “May I be of assistance?”

I hear what sounds like a snort from Carter’s general direction, but I don’t dare glance at him. Not seeing a way out of it, I place my gloved hand inside Alden’s and allow him to help me dismount. The gravel crunches beneath my boots as I hit the earth.

“Thanks,” I murmur, staring into Alden’s hazel eyes. He still hasn’t relinquished my hand. I try to pull it free, but he’s holding fast.

“My pleasure, Your Highness.”

“Just Emilia. Please.”

His mega-watt smile is so bright, I worry I’ll get a sunburn just being this close to him. “Very well. Princess Emilia, then. Better?”

I sigh deeply. “Marginally.”

“I didn’t know you rode,” he comments, passing off my horse’s reins to the groom who’s just materialized at his side. I try to catch his eyes, but the stablehand disappears with Ginger before I even have a chance to thank him.

“Princess?”

“Hmm?” I glance back at Alden, belatedly remembering he’s asked me a question. “Oh! I don’t really ride.”

His brows lift. “Could’ve fooled me. Was that not you we just saw galloping across the field?”

“It’s a new hobby. I’m still mastering the basics.”

“Well, you’re a natural. We’ll have to go riding together sometime.” His eyes gleam. “You know, Westgate has some amazing trails.”

“I was there just this morning, actually. Your mother hosted a tea.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Ava mentioned that.” His eyes flash with something that looks like worry. “I do hope she made you feel welcome. I must admit, I was hoping I’d be the one to give you the tour of our estate. It’s…” He actually blushes. “It’s important to me that you feel comfortable at my home.”

I force a laugh, but it sounds thin even to my own ears. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice. I dart a glance at Carter and find him glowering at the two of us. Specifically, at my hand, still clenched tightly inside Alden’s.

Shit.

A shiver moves through me.

“I’m so sorry — listen to me, prattling on like an idiot when you must be freezing,” Alden murmurs, misinterpreting my chills. “Let’s get you inside. We’ll sit by the fire, warm you up. Maybe have some hot chocolate and talk for a while.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely, but—”

He cuts me off. “It’s been far too long since I’ve seen you, Princess Emilia. And you…” His eyes have grown as soft as his tone. “You are certainly a sight for sore eyes.”

I can feel Carter’s eyes burning a hole in the back of my head. Shifting my weight from foot to foot, I chew my bottom lip and try to think of a polite excuse. “Much as I appreciate the chivalry, Alden, it’s been a very long day and I’m tired. I don’t think I’d be good company.”

“Ah. Well then, much as it pains me to leave you… I bid you adieu.” Winking playfully, he lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses the back of my glove. With a final squeeze, he finally releases me. I’m frozen in place as he strides back to the SUV and extends a hand out to Carter.

“Thorne. Great trip, man.”

Carter nods stiffly, not returning the handshake. His jaw is clenched so tight, I’m surprised he can get the words out. “Thanks for driving.”

Alden lowers his hand. The men face off for a terse minute, neither saying a word, and the air grows so thick with tension I think my knees might give out under the strain.

After what feels like an eternity, they finally break eye contact. Alden turns toward the SUV, shooting me one last look before he climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Always a pleasure to see you, Princess Emilia.”

“Bye, Alden.”

“Don’t forget… I’ll be cashing in on your promise of that ride.” He winks. “Soon.”

His door closes with a bang that makes me flinch. The tires crunch over the gravel as he steers down the long driveway, toward the distant castle gates. I watch until the SUV is no more than a black speck before I dare glance back at the man standing ten feet to my left.

Our gazes tangle instantly — green and blue clashing like swords on a battlefield. The breath catches in my throat as I hold his stare. His face is carefully empty of emotion, but I can see the rage swimming in his eyes.

“Don’t,” I say softly. Preemptively.

His mouth twists with dark amusement.

“Stop,” I whisper — half plea, half prayer.

“And what is it I should stop, princess?” The question is lethally soft; the first faint drop of rain before the hurricane makes landfall. “Stop looking at you? Stop talking to you? Stop being around you?”

My mouth opens to retort, but I find I can’t get a single word out.

“Or maybe you’d like me to disappear from your life completely,” he says lowly, taking a step in my direction, closing some of the space between us. “Is that it, Emilia?”

I inhale sharply as he takes another treacherous step. We’re only a handful of feet apart, now.

“Would it be more convenient for you if I stopped existing altogether?”

“N- no,” I stammer, barely breathing. “That’s not— I just—”

My words trail off, utterly useless. There’s no use speaking anyway — not when we’re having a whole conversation with our eyes.

What do you want from me, Princess?

Nothing.

You’re a liar.

Stop.

I can’t stop. And neither can you.

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Keep telling yourself that, princess.

The small scar bisecting his eyebrow stands out starkly in the cold evening light. It’s almost fully dark, now. The lights of the castle are spilling out the windows into the dark driveway, illuminating us both in silhouette.

“Please,” I say, but I’m not sure what I’m begging for anymore.

I should step back.

Turn away.

Walk inside.

But he’s looking down at me like he’s drowning and I’m the air he needs to breathe. And I’m looking up at him like… like…

Like he’s every star in the night sky, guiding me through the dark.

He takes another step toward me — or maybe I take a step toward him. I can’t quite tell, and it doesn’t seem to matter. Not when he’s close enough to see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, to feel the warmth of his breath on my face as he looms over me, tall enough to fill my whole visual field.

My tongue darts out to wet my bottom lip and his gaze tracks the motion, a predator stalking its prey with laser sharp focus.

“Go ahead, Emilia,” Carter mutters, leaning down until his lips are mere inches from mine. “Tell me again. Tell me to stop.”

I don’t.

I can’t.

My hands curl into fists by my sides to keep them from winding behind his neck, sliding into his hair, crushing his mouth onto mine. I hate that he hasn’t even touched me, but I can feel him in every fiber of my body. I hate that every atom of my soul is singing out for him. And I hate that I keep wishing he’d throw all caution to the wind and close that final sliver of space between our faces in a heart-stopping kiss.

“Emilia..”

He leans in, just the tiniest shift, and for a split second I actually think I’m going to get my wish. But his mouth doesn’t claim mine; it curls into a cruel smirk. When he speaks, his whisper is almost violent, splitting the dark like a lightning strike.

“For the rest of your life, whether its next week or next month or next year, when you’re out on a date with a proper gentleman like Alden who flatters you with perfect, pretty lines and kisses you with all the passion of a yawn… I want you to remember what you felt right here, in this moment, without me even touching you. All that passion and need storming inside, begging for a release… All that desire, pleading for an outlet… For my hands in your hair and my teeth on your neck and my cock buried so deep inside you, that line between pleasure and pain turns hazy…”

Sweet. Fuck.

My thighs clench together as a bolt of lust moves through me. I can barely see straight. All my carefully drawn boundaries go up in smoke as a primal, undeniable need hijacks my senses.

I’m yours for the taking.

I want him to be brutal, to claim me with a violent lust that will sate the ache deep in my veins. But when he finally closes that last sliver of space, his mouth brushes mine ever so lightly — the mere ghost of a kiss.

It’s not enough. Not nearly.

Before I can blink, he’s pulling back again. My moan of displeasure is quickly swallowed up by his low growl.

“I want you to remember this feeling, Emilia. Because that’s all you’re going to have to live on. A memory.” He steps back, eyes burning into mine with lust and loathing. “I hope it fucking haunts you.”

He turns and walks away before I have time to respond — not that I could find the words, even if I tried. I stand alone in the dark, cold down to my bones from more than just the chilly November air.

My heart races double-speed.

My breaths are choppy pants.

My lips still tingle from an almost-kiss.

I hope it fucking haunts you.

I’m not sure how long I stand there in the dark. Long enough for my fingers to go numb inside my gloves, for my feet to start aching inside my boots, for the tip of my nose to turn red with cold.

I don’t feel any of it.

I don’t feel anything at all.

Eventually, my guards force me to go inside. They walk me to my rooms in silence, exchanging worried glances until I shut the door in their faces. I lock it behind me and fall into bed, lacking the energy to do more than strip off my riding boots. The silence is so crushing, I have to put on music to drown it out.

As the lyrics of ‘The Night We Met’ by Lord Huron drift down from my speakers, I feel tears gather in the corner of my eyes and know it will be a long, long time before I finally manage to fall asleep tonight.

Just as I know, when I wake in tangled sheets in the middle of the night, nightmares fresh in my mind, throat raw from my screams… I’ll be alone in my room, with no strong arms to hold me or words of comfort to drive away the dark.