Amara discovered two inconvenient truths on the same afternoon.
The first was that avoiding Prince Kofi Mensah inside the Royal Palace of Aderra was about as easy as avoiding sunlight.
The second was that her mind, traitorous and ungovernable, kept replaying the way he had said her name on television, as though it were something soft and private instead of a royal title.
She told herself she was only restless because of the scandal.
That was a lie, but a useful one.
By the time she reached the palace library, she was in desperate need of quiet. The tall arched windows poured in afternoon light, dust motes floating lazily in the air. The scent of old paper and polished wood usually calmed her.
It did not work today.
"Of course," a familiar voice said behind her, "this is where you hide."
Amara froze.
Slowly, she turned.
Prince Kofi stood between two towering shelves of history and forbidden stories, his jacket gone, sleeves rolled up, looking far too at ease for a man who had just caused a national scandal.
"I don't hide," she said. "I strategically retreat."
"From me?"
"Always."
He took a step closer. "You watched the interview."
"I was forced to," she replied. "You set my entire life on fire with one word."
"Unforgettable," he said, unapologetic.
"You did it on purpose."
"Yes."
Her pulse leapt. "Why?"
"Because the truth deserved a stage."
"The truth is that you're reckless."
"And you're pretending you don't enjoy it."
She scoffed. "You think too highly of yourself."
"Do I?" His eyes flicked to her lips before returning to her gaze. "Then why does your breathing sound like that?"
Amara hated him for noticing.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered. "My mother will end you."
"Not before you do," he said softly.
They were far too close now. Close enough that she could see the faint scar at his jaw. Close enough to feel the warmth of him.
"This is a terrible idea," she murmured.
"Most important things are."
His hand lifted, hovering near her cheek, not touching. Waiting.
The moment stretched thin as silk.
Amara's heart pounded. Every lesson she had ever learned screamed at her to step away.
Instead, she leaned in.
Just a fraction.
Footsteps echoed down the aisle.
They sprang apart like guilty teenagers.
"Your Highness?" a librarian called.
"I'm here," Amara replied, voice steadier than she felt.
Kofi took a slow step back, his eyes never leaving hers. The air between them still vibrated with what almost was.
"This isn't over," he said quietly.
"It is," she insisted.
He smiled like a man who knew better. "You don't sound convinced."
When he disappeared between the shelves, Amara pressed her hand to her chest, trying to calm the riot inside.
She had nearly kissed her kingdom's greatest enemy.
And some part of her wished she hadn't been stopped.