Elowen's POV:
The silence stretches longer than it should.
The lanterns hanging from the iron frames hum softly with heat. Somewhere in the greenhouse water drips steadily into a shallow basin, each drop echoing faintly through the glass chamber.
He is still watching me.
As though my answer has presented him with a puzzle he does not particularly enjoy.
"You would refuse it," he says at last.
The words are quiet.
Not disbelieving.
Simply… testing.
"Yes."
"And yet you remain here."
"My family would not appreciate my sudden disappearance."
One corner of his mouth lifts faintly.
"A practical answer."
"I try to be practical."
His gaze drifts briefly to the glass walls surrounding us, then back again.
"You were placed last."
The statement lands so abruptly that it takes me a moment to process it.
"I noticed."
Most of the candidates had seemed pleased with their earlier appointments. Selene had nearly vibrated with nervous excitement when her name was called near the beginning.
But mine—
Mine had sat alone at the bottom of the list.
Waiting until the day had nearly ended.
"You placed it that way," I say slowly.
His expression does not change.
"Yes."
I blink once.
"Why?"
For the first time since I entered the glass house, the prince exhales sharply.
The sound carries a hint of something dangerously close to frustration.
He runs a hand through his hair, pushing the dark strands back from his forehead in a gesture that looks far less composed than anything I have seen from him before.
"I wished to speak with you without an audience lingering outside the door."
My brow furrows.
"The others met you in the parlor."
"Yes."
"And I am here."
"Also yes."
"That hardly answers the question."
His grey eyes flash.
"It answers precisely the question you asked."
Something in his tone pushes against my patience.
"I did not realize my presence required such elaborate arrangements."
His jaw tightens slightly.
"You misunderstand."
"Then perhaps you should clarify."
For a moment he simply looks at me.
Then he lets out another breath that sounds almost like restrained irritation.
"You are the only candidate who speaks to me as though I am merely another man standing in a garden."
"That is because you are."
His head tilts.
"Am I."
"Yes."
"You do remember that I am the Crown Prince."
"I do."
"And yet you behave as though the title means nothing."
"It means a great deal to the kingdom."
His gaze sharpens.
"But not to you."
The truth sits dangerously close to the surface.
"Not in the way you might prefer."
He studies me again.
That measuring look.
Then he asks quietly,
"Tell me something, Lady Elowen."
"Yes?"
"If you dislike palace life so much…"
He did not complete his sentence.
A faint sound escapes him.
Not quite laughter.
"You are an unusual woman."
"So I have been told."
"And yet," he continues slowly, "you insist you want nothing from this process."
"I do not."
"Nothing at all."
"Nothing."
He steps away then, pacing slowly between the rows of flowering plants as though the movement might help organize his thoughts.
Or restrain them.
"I have spent the last few hours listening to candidates explain why they would make excellent queens."
He gestures vaguely toward the greenhouse door.
"They describe their ambitions. Their plans. Their dedication to the crown."
His gaze returns to me.
"You are the only one who seems determined to run in the opposite direction."
"Perhaps that should tell you something."
"Yes."
"And what is that?"
"That you are either very honest…"
His eyes narrow slightly.
"…or very careful."
My pulse flickers.
"I have no reason to be careful."
"Everyone in this palace has a reason to be careful."
"I am not everyone."
"No," he says quietly.
"You are not."
The words hang between us.
The air in the greenhouse suddenly feels warmer than before.
"You placed me last, so you could question my motives" I say again, drawing the conversation back to safer ground.
"Yes."
"And have you found the answer you were seeking?"
His gaze lingers on my face.
Long enough that I begin to wonder if he truly expects to find something written there.
"I am not certain yet."
"That sounds inconvenient."
"For whom?"
"For you."
His brow lifts slightly.
"Why would that inconvenience me?"
"Because uncertainty is inefficient."
For the first time since this conversation began, the prince actually smiles.
It is brief.
But unmistakably real.
"I suspected you would say something like that."
"And were you disappointed?"
"No."
The answer comes immediately.
If anything, the opposite.
He studies me again, that frustratingly thoughtful expression returning.
"You are determined to leave this palace."
"Yes."
"And live your quiet life."
"Yes."
"With orchards and books."
"Yes."
"And you believe that refusing to engage with me will make that easier."
I lift my chin slightly.
"I believe distance prevents misunderstandings."
His grey eyes sharpen again.
"Does it?"
"Yes."
A quiet pause follows.
Then he says softly,
"I think you misunderstand something, Lady Elowen."
"And what would that be?"
"That distance does not always prevent interest."
My breath catches very slightly.
I do not like the direction of that statement.
"I assure you, Your Highness, my intentions remain unchanged."
His gaze does not waver.
"I know."
The words are calm.
Almost too calm.
"And yet," he continues thoughtfully, "you remain the most interesting conversation I have had all day."
I stare at him.
"That sounds like a problem."
"Perhaps."
He folds his hands behind his back again, returning to that composed posture he wore when I first entered.
"But problems are often… instructive."
The lantern light flickers against the glass ceiling.
Outside, evening has deepened into night.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
And then he says quietly,
"You may return to the palace, Lady Elowen."
The dismissal is polite.
But something in the way he watches me suggests the conversation is far from finished.
I incline my head.
"As you wish, Your Highness."
But as I turn toward the door, I cannot shake the uncomfortable feeling that placing my name last on that list had not been about convenience at all.
It had been deliberate.
And somehow…
I suspect he is not done with his experiment.