The Prince's Bride (Part 1) - J.J. McAvoy Page 0,61

stood there just watching. I noticed he had changed. When and how I did not notice—proof of how transfixed I was while talking to her.

“She did not reject me,” I said, rising from the couch and standing in front of her flowers.

She merely reminded me that words are empty when said without feeling. Growing up in the palace, I was used to people flattering me, especially when I was younger. They would go on about how handsome, or smart, or talented I was. But I soon realized, it did not matter if I was ugly, stupid, or inept, they would still flatter me.

It also made me realize I did not have to try so hard to be better than anyone. Simply by being a prince, everyone would treat me as if I were great. There was no need for much effort. If I wanted friends or women, all I needed to do was utter a few compliments and offer a gift, and they stuck by me until I got tired of them, and I had to leave. I told myself I had grown bored of them. But I think I always knew that it was the fakeness of it all that I grew tired of. Behind their actions was only the desire to be the friend or the lover of a royal. They took whatever I gave and then gave nothing back but empty words.

But Odette did not want a royal, and her words were not empty.

“I doubt she will want to see me today. So, let us go to this city,” I said, lifting one of the flowers and smelling it.

“Sir—”

“I am not just going to sit here all day and wait for her. I am not on house arrest. Figure out a way,” I replied, putting back the flower.

I needed the air, a good walk in the cold to see her city. Maybe that would help me figure out what more I could do for this woman. She was tougher than I expected. “Maybe I can find someplace to take her for the weekend?”

“This weekend will not work. Her concert is this Friday, and I already have tickets.”

Both Iskandar and I looked at Wolfgang as he texted on his phone. It took him a few seconds to notice, as we had not replied, and when he did, his gaze shifted between us both. “Yes?”

“Why do you already have tickets to her concert?” I questioned.

“I thought you might want to go at some point and saw she had one coming up, so I took the initiative. I am your personal secretary to have your needs met,” he answered.

Something was off. However, I let it go.

That settled this weekend. What was I supposed to do until then?

Chapter 15

I woke up to another letter, no flowers, just a letter my mother had decided to put next to my pillow. And it read:

NOVEMBER 3

Dear Odette,

Some say the moon and the sun are at war,

others say they are wed in the sky,

But what if they are neither?

What if they are simply burning and freezing rocks?

Burning and freezing.

What, then, does that say about those who said?

The first poem I ever wrote was this—do not laugh. I know it is not very good. And I do not know why I am sharing it now. I wanted to write to you, but I wasn’t sure what to write. You left me a bit flat-footed, and I am not sure what to make of myself or this situation. So yes, I hope you have a good day.

See what you have done to me?

—GM.

I smiled for some reason without thinking. When my mind finally come back to me, I put down the letter.

I wasn’t going to give in to him just because of a few lines of poetry. Besides, I had things to do—a concert to prepare for.

No princes.

No more dates.

Just focus, Odette.

NOVEMBER 4

Dear Odette,

Since my poetry failed to move you, here is one I read today that reminded me of you.

She was a phantom of delight

When first she gleamed upon my sight;

A lovely apparition sent

To be a moment’s ornament;

Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;

Like twilight’s, too, her dusky hair;

But all things else about her drawn

From May-time and the cheerful dawn;

A dancing shape, an image gay,

To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

—William Wordsworth

It just occurred to me that you might actually hate poetry altogether? And if that is the case, I am very much screwed. For if I do not have the right words, and the greats do