Kiss the Stranger

I had paused mid–weave, a long, involuntary sigh escaping me. The tapestry before me was almost finished, and I sat there, dazed for a moment. It had been a peaceful afternoon. The sky was flawlessly clear, and now and then I heard the precise shouts of the guards exchanging posts beyond the window. As I sat in a trance, my thoughts drifted naturally back to yesterday’s events.
At the prince’s command, I had left the bathhouse—and the instant I opened the door, I collapsed. The steam must have been too much for me. When I came to, I was lying on the crown prince’s bed, the room bright around me. I was still naked, but fresh clothes hung over the chair’s back, and I felt relief flood me.

The traces of Asgaile’s stay were unmistakable. The disarray beside me, the lingering sweetness in the air—it all told me he’d been here.
But Asgaile himself remained a mystery. What had he meant to say yesterday? Why had he been waiting for me?
What might have happened if I hadn’t been so terrified?

Regret now was pointless, and I couldn’t promise I’d act differently if the same thing happened again. Even now, recalling the cold sharpness of his gaze made my knees go weak and my body tremble.
There it was again.
Seeing my unthinking hand trembling, I gripped it with my other hand. I drew in a slow, deep breath, forcing calm back into my chest.

Maybe it’d be better to take my medicine and sleep…
But then I’d lose the chance to speak to Kamar secretly in the quiet of night. The thought brought tears to my eyes. I hurriedly brushed them away—and then I sensed someone’s presence. Only afterward did I register that same subtle, sweet scent floating around.
It wasn’t Kamar—that much I knew instantly. But if it wasn’t him, there was only one other person with that scent. I bolted upright and spun around. My eyes met the scent’s owner.
A man I had never seen was watching me.

I froze in shock. He simply stared, expression unreadable. I stumbled backward in hesitation. He blocked the only exit, so I could retreat in only one direction. He said nothing until I pressed myself against the open window’s ledge, hands gripping the sill. Then he finally spoke.
“Third floor.”
His face wore a full smile. I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me or if I’d simply amused him. I stared «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» back at him in silence. He was as tall as Kamar, dressed in a bright cobalt suit, a gaudy diamond watch glinting on his wrist. His light brown hair framed high cheekbones and a sharply angled jaw—everything about him was the height of modern elegance, down to his polished Oxford shoes. Yet he wore an eye patch over one eye, like a sixteenth-century pirate fresh from plundering the seas. This absurd imbalance suited him strangely well. And it made me even more unsettled.

This man was dangerous.
My instincts screamed the warning. I wasn’t good at judging people, but I could see him plainly. It was suspicious how easily he let his pheromones drift free. He smiled, but I couldn’t fathom what he was thinking.
Just like Asgaile.

My chest tightened at the thought. Suddenly he took a step forward. I flinched but had nowhere left to go. One foot, then another, he closed the distance. I hastily raised a hand.
“Wait—don’t come closer.”
“Why?”

He grinned, and I lost my voice.
“Why…”
My irresolute voice died in my throat. He cocked his head, then advanced a step. There was no escaping him. Panic rose—what was I to do?

“Ah!”
My hand slipped from the windowsill. A scream tore from me as the world tilted, the man’s startled face filling my view…then the bright blue sky.

Ah…

Not a cloud marred its endless expanse. Time seemed to slow as I gazed at my outstretched hand.
It’s so clear.
“Your Highness!”

A sudden, sharp voice brushed my ear, and the slow-motion sky snapped back into rapid motion.
“…!”
A dull thud, and my mind went blank. It took a moment for me to realize what had happened. Blinking dazedly upward, I saw a familiar face leaning over me. He said without preamble,
“You all right?”

His calm question took a moment to register. I blinked wordlessly, and then voices clamored from behind.
“Your Highness, how could you be in such danger…”
“Put her down at once—carrying a lowly omega!”

“Your Highness, are you hurt? Fetch a doctor, quickly!”
Noise rained down, and awareness returned. I recognized the man above me. He spoke again.
“Silence, all of you.”

Though his voice was low, the uproar ceased instantly. In the hush, he kept his gaze on me.
“I asked if she was all right.”
My body convulsed, relief and gratitude warring for expression. Tears welled as I trembled, and Asgaile furrowed his brow at me.

Instead of anger, he looked up, hesitation in his eyes. When I followed his gaze, I saw the broken window frame—and beyond it the eye-patch man, leaning forward to peer down. He caught my startled glance, a slow smile touching his lips, and he raised a hand in greeting.
“Well… Crown Prince.”
At that unexpected address, I turned to Asgaile. He scowled upward at the newcomer. The man spoke again, his tone languid as before.

“It’s been a while.”
Asgaile’s reply was a low murmur, barely more than breath in my ear.
“Hayden.”

I exhaled a shaky breath once I was safely away. Asgaile had released me at once, and the eye-patch man followed him. I returned to the workshop alone, cheeks burning with embarrassment. He’d done nothing wrong, but I’d acted like a coward.
He seemed close to the crown prince.
Asgaile’s expression flashed through my mind. Had he not caught me, I might have been badly injured—or worse.

Why?

The question struck me belatedly. Asgaile had risked himself for me, though he had no reason to do so.
A lowly omega worse than livestock.

“Yohan? What are you doing?”
Zahara’s voice snapped me back. I turned and saw her holding the cat carrier and a loaf of bread. I tried to stand but sank back into my seat.
My vision went black, and my ears rang. I wasn’t unconscious, but I could neither see nor hear.

What’s happening? Why?
“Ha—Yohan!”
As my hearing cleared, Zahara’s distant voice drew closer. Sensation slowly returned, and my vision brightened. Blinking, I focused on Zahara’s concerned face leaning over me.
“What’s wrong? Do you feel unwell?”

“A-ah.”
My voice sounded weak, but relief flooded me.
“Sorry, I just… got dizzy.”

“You scared me.”
She complained, offering the bread and setting down the carrier. Rikal sprang out and leapt onto my lap. The hard bread was especially difficult to chew today. I gnawed each piece, washing it down with water, when Zahara asked abruptly,
“They said a guest of the crown prince stopped by? Did you meet him, Yohan?”

“Huh? Uh…”
I swallowed with effort, debating whether I could manage another bite. I was starving, but the bread felt like chewing stone. Could I ask for something softer? Soup to dip it in…
As I hesitated, Zahara went on.

“What did you talk about? How was he? He’s from America, right? Did he speak our language? You don’t know English, Yohan?”
Only one phrase registered in my ears. America? The steward’s country?
Before I could think further, that sweet scent slipped into the air again. A new voice cut between us.

“If you want to know about me, ask me.”
“Oh my!”
Zahara gasped, hand flying to her mouth. I looked up in surprise. As before, the man leaned in the doorway, watching us. Zahara blushed scarlet, flustering into stammering apologies.

“No, I mean, sorry, I’m—”
“What’s your name?”
He interrupted Zahara, fixing his gaze on me. I flinched, shoulders tensing.

“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
Hayden smiled.

“I’d like to speak with you alone. Would that be all right?”
He glanced meaningfully at Zahara. She flushed further and hightailed it out of the room, leaving us alone with Rikal on my lap. His sweet scent grew stronger around me.