He was so unfamiliar with the feelings that possessed him now that he wondered for a

moment whether he might well and truly be ill. How he'd even delivered himself to his
chambers the evening prior he knew not, for he rode home through the blustery night as
if in a trance. The girl's beauty had first rendered him speechless under the most
unflattering conditions—in the half-light of a vicious storm⠀”but seeing her face by
firelight had dealt him a physical blow from which he had no hope of recovering.
Worse, far worse: he thought her fascinating.
He found himself captivated by her contradictions, the choices she made, even the way
she moved.
Who was she, precisely? Where had she come from?
His ambitions upon arriving at her door last night had been scattered by a battering of
his senses. He'd hoped to accomplish a great deal by going to her; he'd wanted to
return her packages, yes, but there was something more that had compelled his
senseless visit, a motivation of which he was entirely ashamed. Had his visit been
successful Kamran might've betrayed his king, his empire. He would've been reduced to
the most repellant variety of idiot, instead of the next king of Ardunia.
He'd gone to warn her.
He'd gone to tell her to run, to pack her bags and flee, to find a safe place to hide and
remain there, possibly forever. And yet, when he saw her face, he realized that he could
not simply ask her to run; no, she was an intelligent girl, she
would have questions. If he told her to flee, she would want to know why. And what
reason would she have to trust him?
He'd hardly begun to process this when she'd all but dismissed him.
It was possible she'd not known who he was⠀”she'd called him
sir
, at one point—but he suspected that even if she'd known she were speaking to a
prince she'd have treated him the same.
In any case, it did not seem to matter.
Kamran had known his grandfather's position on the girl; going against the king
would've been an act of treason. Had Kamran been found out, his head would've been
removed from his body in short order. It was some small miracle, then, that he'd lost his
nerve.
Or perhaps regained his good sense.
He did not know this girl. He did not understand why the thought of killing her left him
feeling ill. He only knew that he had to at least
try
to find another way—for surely she, a humble servant, was not the demon-like
creature with an abundance of formidable allies prophesied all those years ago.
No, most assuredly not.