The summer grass swayed gently around them, whispering as if it wanted to keep their secrets. The great oak spread its shade over Elias and her, their usual meeting place, far enough from the convent walls that no watchful eyes would ever notice. He sat cross-legged, elbows resting on his knees, watching her in the golden light. She was quiet, more than usual, her gaze lowered to the grass. Elias wanted to ask what weighed on her, but the words tangled in his throat the way they always did when the silence between them felt fragile.

Then she reached out and took his hands.

Elias froze. Her fingers were soft, warmer than he expected, and they curled around his rough, calloused palms as though she had wanted to hold them for a long time. His heart jolted, thundering so hard he was sure she could hear it. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to hers, and the look he found there shook him more than any storm.

She looked… apologetic. Almost sorrowful.

“I like you,” she whispered, her voice steady but trembling at the edges. “More than I probably should.”

Elias forgot to breathe. The words pressed into him like sunlight breaking through heavy clouds, at once blinding and impossible to hold. He wanted to speak, to tell her that he felt the same—had felt it for so long—but she pressed his hands tighter, as though to hold back the words forming on his lips.

“There’s something I’ve kept from you,” she said, her eyes fixed firmly on his, as if daring herself not to look away. “Something… large. Too large. And I wanted to tell you sooner, but I couldn’t. I was afraid. Afraid you’d look at me differently. Afraid it would ruin this, whatever this is.”

Elias’s mouth was dry. His thoughts spun like wheels in mud, caught between the sweetness of her confession and the sharp edge of her warning. He managed only a hoarse murmur. “What do you mean?”

She drew in a long breath. The wind tugged at her hair, and the field around them seemed to lean closer, waiting. “I care about you, Elias. I truly do. And because I care, I can’t keep lying to you.”

She released his hands only to fold them in her lap, as if bracing herself. Her next words fell with a weight that nearly stole the ground from under him.

“I am not just a girl in the convent. I am Princess Alina of the neighboring kingdom of Thariel. The convent isn’t my home. It is my hiding place.”

The name struck him like thunder. Elias blinked, certain he had misheard. Princess. He searched her face for some trace of jest, but there was none—only sincerity edged with fear.

“My father sent me here in secrecy,” she continued, voice low, almost trembling. “There were threats on my life. Too many enemies who would rather see Thariel’s heir destroyed before she ever takes the throne. Until an alliance can be secured through marriage, I am… safer here. Hidden.” She paused, her throat working as though the words hurt. “And one day, I’ll be called back. Promised to a man I’ve likely never met. My hand is not my own to give.”

Elias’s breath caught, his chest tightening. He looked at her, at the girl he thought he knew—the one who met him here in secret fields, who laughed softly at his clumsy jokes, who touched his hands as though they mattered. Now he saw her as someone impossibly far from him, belonging to a world of crowns and courts and duty.

A dozen thoughts collided in him: disbelief, awe, a piercing grief he couldn’t name. He wanted to protest, to tell her he didn’t care who she was, that she was still his friend—more than a friend. But the words stuck, drowned by the enormity of what she had just confessed.

She reached for his hands again, and this time he let her. “I know this changes everything,” she whispered, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “But I didn’t want to keep lying. You deserve the truth. You always did.”

Elias swallowed hard, his heart aching with a mixture of wonder and despair. At last, he found his voice, though it was barely more than a breath.

“You’re still… you.”

Her lips trembled into a sad smile, and she squeezed his hands as if anchoring herself to him