Melting your Precious Heart

Chapter 8 - She accept my proposal?

"Serious about what, princess?" I wondered to myself, a storm of thoughts swirling in my mind. The atmosphere felt charged, almost electric, as I contemplated my next move. Should I acknowledge that I understand exactly what she's referring to, or would it be wiser to maintain my act of ignorance? The tension in the air was palpable, and a weighty silence enveloped us, making my heart race.

"A-about what you said earlier," she stuttered, her voice dropping to a hushed whisper that barely tickled my ears. What had changed her tone so drastically? It was as though the walls of the room were closing in on us, and the enormity of our discussion seemed to thicken the surrounding air, each unspoken word hanging heavily in the space between.

"What did you say, princess?" I prompted, urgency creeping into my tone as I leaned in closer, desperate to grasp her words that felt just beyond my reach. I strained to catch her nuances, but they flitted away like shadows whenever I tried to grasp them.

"(sigh) I said if you were serious about your proposal!" she blurted out, her voice unexpectedly sharp and loud, slicing through the suffocating tension like a knife. In a split second, panic surged through me, leading me to instinctively cover her mouth with my hand. What had I just done?

“Why are you shouting, princess? What if somebody hears you?” I hissed, my voice low and urgent as I tried to divert our perilous course back to safety. The very last thing I wanted was for anyone to catch a glimpse of this clandestine moment. The stakes were impossibly high, and if the wrong ears caught wind of our exchange, the consequences could be dire.

Her muffled protests were a jumble of incoherent sound, "Sh hdbdj adj yso dhsns gsnn jshs dhsbs s djdhs?" I panicked as I realized my mistake; I had forgotten to remove my hand from her mouth, and for a moment, I felt like a fool as her words became nothing more than a garbled echo.

I quickly withdrew my hand, flustered and stammering an apology for my bizarre lapse in judgment. "I'm really sorry for that," I managed to say, the flush of embarrassment creeping up my cheeks, hot and undeniable.

"It's you who proposed to me. Are you ashamed that you proposed to me?" Princess Eira's expression was resolute, her serious demeanor daring me to dodge the question. The intensity in her gaze demanded an answer, and I could feel my heart hammering in my chest.

"It’s not like that, princess!" I exclaimed, frustration weaving through my words. I closed my eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath to steady my racing thoughts, the weight of my next words pressing down on me like lead. "Yes, I proposed to you, but I know my place. I truly apologize for overstepping—insulting royal blood by making such a foolish advance. I’m the son of a baron—I don’t belong in your world. I promise, I won’t do it again, so please, could you let me off the hook this time?" The admission rushed out of me as I realized the danger lurking in my denial—punishment was a near certainty if I kept pretending I hadn’t crossed a boundary.

"What are you saying? I, the only princess of the Brinzel Kingdom, will say this only once: You, Felix Borgon, son of a noble baron, I gladly accept your proposal," she declared boldly. My thoughts spiraled into chaos at her words. Had I truly heard her correctly? Was she really accepting my proposal—or rather, my accidental proposal?

"Wait, princess Eira—" I stammered in disbelief.

"Just call me Eira, especially when we are the only ones in the vicinity," she asked, her gaze earnest and intense. This simple request caught me off guard, but I found myself inexplicably drawn into the gravity of the moment we shared.

"I... I Eira," I fumbled over the words, struggling to gather my scattered thoughts. "Did you know that it’s a crime for a baron to propose to a member of royalty? I’m even lower than that—I’m only the son of a baron. What am I doing in this situation?" My mouth spewed a barrage of confusion and fear. Had she truly accepted my accidental proposal, or was this some elaborate jest? What if guards were waiting just outside the door, ready to spring upon me the second I revealed my impropriety?

"I know that..." she replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty as if she wrestled with the same emerging realizations. "… but I thought about it, and I believe you meet most of the qualifications I’m looking for. I’ve visited every noble house and space except for the barons, but honestly, they all seem so similar. You are different," she continued, taking slow, deliberate steps towards me, closing the distance with a sense of purpose. "You’re calm, genuine, you don’t lie, and you carry yourself with admirable pride. You even have a great smile, and let’s not forget, you cook delicious food that I have never tasted—even as a princess! The only issue is your status as the son of a baron, which means you’re destined to be a baron someday. But we can rewrite history, just like you do with your cooking."

Could I really be swayed by her words? She had listed my traits with such earnestness, and while a part of me felt undeniably flattered, another part screamed at the absurdity of this entire situation. In the end, however, I was still just the son of a baron—a title that seemed to loom over me like a dark cloud. What was I thinking? It wasn’t that I actually wanted to marry her, was it? The notion felt impossible, given the disparaging gap that stretched between our worlds—a divide that seemed insurmountable, no matter how appealing the idea may be.

"I'm truly relieved that you accepted my proposal, Princess Eira," I said, my voice tinged with a shy smile that danced hesitantly across my lips. However, as I shifted my gaze to her, a flicker of concern washed over me. Princess Eira's expression was anything but joyful; her face bore a seriousness that I had not expected to see from someone so bright and hopeful. The intensity of her unwavering gaze seemed to weigh heavily on my chest, quickening the rhythm of my heart.

"Eira," I ventured, my voice faltering slightly, "perhaps we could simply forget about this?" Anxiety seeped into my words, prompting a cascade of worries to tumble forth. "I really do not wish to provoke His Majesty's wrath. If he were to find out about this... I’m certain my father would suffer greatly—perhaps even face a loss of his title." Each syllable spilled out in distress, a frantic blend of desperation and conviction. I understood that truthfulness was paramount in this dire situation, urging me to persuade Princess Eira of the rationality behind my plea. If I could make her see the sense in what I was saying, perhaps I could lighten the burden that had begun to weigh heavily upon my heart.

"I am well aware of the risks," she replied, her voice a harmonious blend of firmness and gentleness that both soothed and unnerved me. "I have contemplated this matter deeply, and that is precisely why I have come to speak with you. You must become a duke; it is the only path that could lead to our marriage." Her proclamation struck me like a bolt of lightning, jarring my thoughts and overwhelming my senses. Me? A duke? The very notion felt preposterous, a cruel joke played by fate. It was already remarkable that my father had risen to the status of baron after years of unyielding dedication to our kingdom. His achievement came not just from his hard work, but also because of his close friendship with the king. As for me, I was merely the son of a baron, a far cry from the illustrious stature of His Majesty. The idea of ever rising to the rank of duke during my lifetime felt beyond ridiculous—a fantasy that was, quite frankly, laughable.

"I fully grasp what you are trying to convey, Princess Ei—I mean, Eira," I stuttered, struggling to articulate the turmoil swirling within me. "But the reality is that becoming a duke is a dream so far removed from my reach. History offers no examples of commoners suddenly ascending to such heights. My father was the first to elevate our family’s status, and even then, he only barely scraped into the nobility. Sure, he has achieved remarkable things and fostered a close rapport with His Majesty, but absent that connection, we remain commoners beneath it all. The very thought of attempting to rise to the rank of duke—two ranks under the king himself—seems utterly insurmountable."

Why was I even articulating all of this? It’s not as if ambition for dukedom had ever crossed my mind; in truth, I was genuinely content with the life that had been laid out for me. Yet, the steadfast determination shining in Princess Eira’s eyes compelled me to voice the impossibility of her ambitious vision for our future together.

"But what do we have to lose if we just try?" she countered, her eyes sparkling like stars igniting in the night sky, filled with infectious determination. "I have six full years until I reach the age of marriage, which gives you ample time—six years to become a duke. If you manage that, I will open my heart to you as your wife." Her radiant smile pierced through my haze of doubt, shining like a beacon of hope, casting light into the corners of my swirling uncertainties.

As her words gradually took root within me, an unfamiliar flame stirred within my heart. For the very first time, I experienced an intense surge of emotion—an exhilarating blend of excitement and anxiety that set my heart racing. I have always chosen to perceive the world with optimism, nurtured by my parents' unwavering positivity throughout my life—both in this world and the last. But this was different; I could feel a rich tapestry of emotions weaving through my veins—a thrilling mix of fear, exhilaration, and the tender hints of something that felt distinctly like love. But was it truly love I was feeling? Perhaps it was—and this epiphany ignited within me an unwavering resolve to confront the seemingly impossible dream that Princess Eira had so boldly set before me.