Sorrows of Adoration by Kimberly Chapman Page B

hadn’t really thought about it.”
    “Splendid,” I spat in
fury and started again to storm away.
    He ran to catch up with
me and put himself before me. I did not stop walking, just lowered
my head to not look at his face. He matched my steps walking
backwards, placing his hands on my shoulders, trying to stop me. I
refused to look at his eyes, knowing well that if I did I would
burst into tears. That was the source of my anger—the knowledge
that I had made a fool of myself in thinking my silly dreams that
such a man might love me, a poor little peasant girl. Those dreams
were now as the wind, fleeting and gone, and I was hurt and angry
for it.
    “Aenna, please,” he
said, finally managing to stop me, but failing to make me look at
him. “I’m sorry. Truly I am. Please don’t be angry at me for what I
had to do.”
    Under my breath, such
that it was barely audible to either of us, I muttered, “I’m not
angry with you. I’m angry with myself.”
    “Why?”
    “You wouldn’t
understand.” I tried to pull myself free, but his hands remained
gripped to my shoulders as he tried to make eye contact with
me.
    “What wouldn’t I
understand? Please, I’m truly sorry.”
    “Sorry that the poor
peasant girl wasn’t willing to give up more than a few kisses?” I
snapped, finally looking into his eyes. I saw them widen in shock
at my words, but I was too enraged to have the sense to stop
speaking. “Just because I’m poor, alone, and have nowhere to go
doesn’t mean I’ll be your tawdry little tart!”
    He stepped back,
letting go of my shoulders, and it was obvious my words had cut
him. I felt tears rolling down my cheeks, and I cursed myself
inwardly for them. This was no time to weep like a weak little
girl.
    “Is that what you
think?” he asked, clearly aghast at my accusation. “That I was
trying all along to seduce you?”
    I could look at him no
more, not with the look of shame and pain in his eyes. I put my
hands over my face to hide the sight of him from myself and to hide
my now freely flowing tears from him.
    “Is that what you truly
think?” he asked, his voice pained.
    “Why else would you
show me affection?” I said quietly through my hands, ashamed that I
had spoken so rudely to him. My anger gave way to great heartache,
a deep agony that I had allowed myself to dream of a future that
could clearly never be.
    He came to me again,
laying a gentle and tentative hand on my arm. “Because I meant it.
I meant every word I said, and the affection of my kisses was real.
Whether my name is Jarik or Kurit does not change that.”
    I looked at him through
my fingers, feeling a greater shame than I had known possible. I
wished desperately that the snow beneath my feet would melt into a
river and carry me away. My throat was tight, and fighting sobs, I
barely was able to whisper, “But being the Prince changes it.”
    “How?” he asked. He
tried to pull me into an embrace, but I stepped back from him. “I’m
the same man I was last night. I still find you enchanting.”
    I dropped my
hands to my sides in frustration, the cold air stinging my wet
cheeks. How
can he go on like this, I wondered, playing this game that is tearing at my heart? “Until we reach the palace
gates,” I said, “and then you’ll realize you’ve had an infatuation
for a dirty little peasant girl, and you’ll send me merrily on my
way.”
    “No. No,” he said,
shaking his head emphatically. “I have no intention of doing
anything of the sort. You saved my life.”
    “And I told you I
expected no reward. It was my duty.”
    “So you keep saying.
And I deeply admire that. I do. You are a remarkable woman, Aenna
of Alesha. I spoke honestly when I told you that I had not met your
equal. And it matters not to me whether you’re the poorest peasant
girl in the kingdom, or the daughter of the wealthiest lord. I know
some very wealthy, beautiful, eligible maidens that I utterly
detest. I am enchanted by you for who you