//CLARA//

The mansion had become a battlefield.

I stood at the top of the stairs like a ghost in my own home. Just another ornament to be dusted.

"Chin up, Eleanor. You look like you’re waiting for the guillotine," Aunt Cornelia snapped, adjusting my lace collar for the twentieth time.

"Maybe the guillotine would be quicker. At least then I wouldn’t have to worry about my posture."

"Don’t be grim. It’s unsightly."

The front doors groaned open. The arrival was a cacophony of carriage wheels, snapping flashbulbs, and synchronized bowing.

Then there was Felipe.

He didn’t seem to notice the stiff formality or the way Aunt Cornelia was practically vibrating with terrifying glee.

"Your Highness," she breathed, curtsying so low I thought her knees might give out. "Welcome to our home."

Felipe’s eyes found mine over her head and walked straight to me.

"Eleanor," he breathed, taking my hand. "The tides were too slow. Every mile felt like a year."

I gave him the smile I’d practiced in the mirror until my face ached.

"Welcome to New York, Felipe. I hope the crossing wasn’t too unkind."

"I would have swam the Atlantic if it meant seeing you sooner."

I curtsied. "Well. You look... rested."

He laughed. "I look like I’ve been on a ship for two weeks. But you are too kind to say so."

The days blurred together. Tea in the blue drawing room. Dinner in the gold dining room. Walks through the gardens. Aunt Cornelia trailing us like a shadow, inserting herself into every moment I tried to steal.

Felipe bore it with grace I couldn’t fathom.

"You’re very patient," I said in the conservatory, watching servants rearrange flowers for the third time.

"I’ve had practice," he said. "My mother is worse."

I raised my eyebrow. "The Queen?"

"Come to Madrid. I’ll introduce you."

I looked away. "Perhaps."

He didn’t seem to notice the crack in my voice as he asked about the Linotype. He listened when I talked about the factory. He didn’t flinch when I mentioned Oliver or Beatrice or the dusty warehouse where I felt more alive than I ever did in this gilded cage.

The night of the ball, the mansion blazed. Chandeliers dripped crystal. Women in diamonds swirled past.

I wore the emerald gown Aunt Cornelia had chosen where my shoulders were bare and my neckline lower than I would have liked.

Felipe took my hand.

"You are breathtaking," he said.

"You’ve said that."

"I’ll keep saying it until you believe me."

I smiled. It was getting harder to tell if it was real.

We danced. But every time I turned my head, I saw a shadow.

In the periphery of the ballroom, I’d see a tall, broad-shouldered figure in a black coat, and my heart would stop. I’d think He’s back. He’s here to stop this. But when I looked, it was just a footman. Or a statue.

Sometimes, when the candlelight caught Felipe’s face at a certain angle, his features would blur. His dark eyes would turn stormy gray. His gentle smile would sharpen into that cold, devastating smirk that haunted my dreams.

I’d have to blink rapidly, digging my nails into my palms until the pain snapped me back to reality.

You’re pathetic, I told myself. He’s a prince. And you’re still looking for a man who isn’t there.

I smiled. I danced. I said all the right things.

Inside, I was rotting.

The evening wound down.

Guests began to trickle out, their laughter fading into the night. Aunt Cornelia was flushed with triumph, basking in the glow of a successful evening. Felipe was surrounded by well-wishers, shaking hands, accepting compliments.

I slipped out the side door.

The hedge maze loomed ahead. I walked without thinking, letting the turns guide me until I reached the center. A small clearing with a stone bench and a view of the crescent moon.

I sat. I breathed.

For the first time all night, I was alone.

Fifteen minutes passed. Maybe more.

Then I heard footsteps.

I didn’t turn. I didn’t need to.

Felipe sat down on the bench next to me.

"I am sorry," he said softly, looking at the house. "I think I may have caused all the chaos in there. I did not realize my visit would require a military mobilization."

I gave him a weary smile.

"It’s New York, Felipe. We don’t do anything quietly. We wouldn’t mind a little bit of chaos if it meant keeping the world watching."

"And you?" He turned to me, his expression earnest. "Do you mind it?"

"I’ve grown used to being a spectator in my own life."

We sat in silence, watching the moon drift behind a cloud. The crickets sang.

"I like you, Eleanor," he said again. "I hope you know that."

"I know."

He was quiet. Then he took my hand, gently, carefully, as if asking permission.

I didn’t pull away.

"Eleanor," he said. "I have something to ask you."

My heart stopped.

He slid off the bench. Onto one knee.

Under the crescent moon, in the middle of a hedge maze, Felipe de Borbón, third son of the Spanish crown, looked up at me with eyes that held no hidden agenda.

Just hope.

"Will you—"

"No." The word came out before I could stop it. I looked around, suddenly aware of how exposed we were. "No, Felipe, not here. Someone could see—"

"Let them." His voice was soft. "I am not ashamed of you, Eleanor."

"I know. But—" I pulled my hand free, stood up, paced to the edge of the clearing. "Please. You are a wonderful man. You’re sweet, you’re kind... you’re a Prince. Any woman in this city would give her life to have you look at her this way."

"Any woman but you."

I faltered. I didn’t have an answer. The silence of the garden felt like it was crushing me.

He was still on one knee, watching me with that gentle, knowing expression. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t hurt. He was just... waiting.

He stood and walked closer to me. He took my trembling hand again and held it between both of his.

"I understand. We are moving too fast. I am sorry."

"No." I shook my head, reaching up to touch his cheek. "No, Felipe, you don’t have to be sorry. You did nothing wrong. It’s just that—"

"It’s just that your heart already belongs to another."

It wasn’t a question.

I wanted to deny it. Tell him my heart belonged to no one. But looking at his kind face, I knew. Casimir had my pulse. My air. He was the ghost I was choosing over the living man in front of me.

I said nothing.

He covered my hand with his, pressing my palm against his cheek. Then he smiled, not bitterly, just... sadly.

"It’s alright," he said. "I am a man of the world, Eleanor. I know when I am standing in a space that has already been claimed."

"Felipe, I never meant to—"

"You are the most fascinating woman I have ever met." He spoke as if confessing a secret. "It would not be a wonder if someone had already been taken by you. I suppose I came too late?"

"Felipe, I am so sorry," I choked out. "You deserve someone who doesn’t have to search for another name between the lines of your letters."

"Well..." He laughed, a hollow sound. "Might I still attempt to win your affections? To sway your heart from its current residence?"

I thought about it. For one terrible moment.

Maybe he could, a voice whispered. Maybe he could make you forget. Maybe he could make you happy.

But that would be cruel.

"No, Felipe." I shook my head. "Don’t do this to yourself. You are a prince. You ought not chase after a woman of my standing."

He chuckled, reaching out to tuck a stray hair behind my ear.

"Good thing I am just an extra spare, then. The weight of the crown isn’t on me. I can afford a little bit of chasing."

My heart breaks for him. But I cannot, for the living shit out of me take this man down to hell with me. Tears welled up my eyes, but I blinked them away.

"We can still remain friends," I said, reaching for the only olive branch I had left. "If you’ll have me."

"Of course, Eleanor. You could do no wrong in my eyes." He squeezed my hand. "In time, perhaps, I shall meet another woman of your standing. Though you have quite ruined me for the rest of New York. You’ve set the standard at such a dizzying height that I fear any other woman would seem a mere shadow in your wake."

I didn’t know what to say to that.

So I just stood there, in the moonlight, holding the hand of a prince who had offered me the world and received nothing but friendship in return.

He didn’t let go. Neither did I.

Sixteen more days. I wondered if he was counting too.