Veiled Among Kingdoms - Book One of Thrones Entwined

Evening fell like poured silk over Ridgeview Point.

The golden hour had turned the horizon into a wash of fire and honey, the breeze tugging gently at branches and lifting the sweet scent of wildflowers into the air. 

Ridgeview Point stood high above Hillgovia's eastern slope, where the view stretched endlessly— stone met sky and light dipped low against the horizon, wildflowers weaving through the cracks, and the golden hour casting a glow that made even silence feel sacred. 

Kourtney stood near the edge, arms folded, the wind tugging at her ivory knit sweater. Her hair, wild in the wind, looked like a live flame—red auburn woven with ash-blonde threads, catching sunlight like threads of gold.

The city below blurred in the distance, her eyes focused somewhere beyond the view. She'd come here to clear her head, to be quiet. She liked the sense of serenity the view provided.

But she wasn't alone.

Unbeknownst to her, a presence lingered a few paces from her —silent, still, watchful.

Prince Keith stood off to the side, a few paces away, back straight, arms folded as the wind tugged faintly at his fancy coat. His thoughts were ironclad—bound and burning from the day's unraveling. He was here to clear his mind, not find more noise.

The chilled breeze did little to cool the fire simmering beneath his skin. 

He rubbed the edge of his nose in annoyance. Indeed, Robert always had managed to annoy him, and he did it with devotion.

He had barely tolerated the idea of that spontaneous visit to the studio.

What he hadn't expected was to be met—again—with her. That woman.

He flared through his nose, jaw clenched. The mere thought of her enraged him.

She'd humiliated him without raising her voice. Had stared him down like he was the one out of line.

Who did that?

Certainly not the women he was used to.

No—he was used to gazes that lingered long before he ever met them. The type who'd light up with nothing more than a glance in their direction. The ones who would fix their posture, laugh too brightly, flutter their lashes in hopes that Prince Keith of Liberty might spare them a passing thought.

That cold, distant air he carried? It didn't repel them. It pulled them in deeper—made them chase harder. They were grateful just to be noticed. 

But this one? This woman? 

She hadn't even faltered in their presence. Hadn't shrunk, hadn't simpered, hadn't offered a single appeasing word. She looked at them like royalty didn't matter—and that stung. 

Because it wasn't just disregard—it was something sharper, a strike to pride. 

And that? 

That dug deeper than it should have. 

His hand twitched slightly where it rested on his arm. And he exhaled—hard. Irritation swirling in his chest like smoke with no exit. 

He didn't even know why he was so worked up. 

Maybe it was because she wounded something others never dared touch. 

His pride. 

She didn't even flinch while doing it.

He let out a breath, the wind catching the edge of his coat. Something in him stirred—an itch beneath the skin, not quite urgency, just a need to shift the weight of his thoughts. He turned, not toward anything, just away from where he'd been standing too long.

And then he saw her. 

Not far from where he stood. Off to the side, not facing him but—giving him a clean line of her profile. 

The woman. The very reason his entire mood had been poisoned since morning. 

She stood at the edge of the overlook, just beyond the low stone barrier, her figure caught in profile—one arm cradling the other, head slightly tilted toward the horizon. 

And her hair—those long, cascading waves—flared as if lit from within. Red-auburn ignited by the sunset, ash-blonde ends catching the light like embers breaking free. It looked like it had been set on fire by the very wind itself. 

The scene shouldn't have stunned him. 

But it did. 

Because he had never seen anyone—not a single carefully groomed noble woman, not a single polished woman—look like that without even trying. 

Effortless. 

And for a moment—just a second too long—he didn't think about how irritated he was. He just… stared.

Until her head turned.

Slowly. As if she had sensed him.

Their eyes locked across the soft glow of the overlook.

Keith straightened instantly. Whatever softness had flickered across his face vanished. Gone in a blink. His eyes sharpened, jaw steeling, irritation snapping back, swift and bitter.

Of course, it was her. Again.

The same woman who had seared his pride.

And now here she stood—again—like the universe had a twisted sense of humor.

Neither of them moved.

They just stared.

And inwardly, Kourtney sighed.

Of all the people in Hillgovia… it had to be him?

Why him? Again? Just perfect.

His posture was exact—arms folded, jaw set, eyes locked on her with the kind of disdain that didn't need words to scream.

She stared right back.

He wasn't smiling. Of course not.

Neither was she.

Keith's eyes narrowed further, expression flattened into hard-lined stoicism, his gaze cooling to steel.

Why is she always where peace should be?

His jaw ticked. 

He'd come up here to clear his head. From everything.

But mostly from her.

Kourtney, however, didn't blink. Her gaze was still, unreadable, disinterest laced with just enough challenge to light a fire under his skin. 

And that made something twist in his gut.

He hated how calm she always was. How she was not flustered, not off-balance. It made him feel off-balance.

Their stare-off was a silent standoff—two cliffs refusing to bow to the tide.

Long enough that it became ridiculous.

But neither of them backed down.

Until—

"Are you two fighting?"

The question fell like a pebble into still water.

Both of them turned—startled.

A small group of children had wandered down the gravel path, half-eaten cookies in hand, laughter trailing behind them like streamers. Their joy clashed starkly with the storm that had just begun to brew between the two adults. One girl, no older than seven, stood at the front, eyes narrowed with disarming certainty.

"You look like you're fighting," she said again, undeterred. "You've got the face."

Keith blinked. "What face?"

"The squinty one," she said matter-of-factly. "Like when people argue but pretend they're not."

Kourtney's brow arched, slow and elegant.

Keith's jaw ticked—torn between amusement and irritation.

The girl went on cheerfully, "My mum and dad do that face when they argue. Then they say they're fine. But they're not."

Kourtney spoke with a coolness honed by practice. "No, sweetheart. We're just… standing."

The girl stared for a moment. "Oh." She didn't sound convinced.

Another girl chimed in, pointing between them. "You look like a prince and princess. Like in those books."

A boy grinned. "Yeah! The kind where they hate each other first—and then fall in looooove!"

Kourtney stiffened. Her eyes widened a fraction.Keith recoiled as if slapped with a cold fish.

"No," they snapped in perfect unison—firm, flat, final.

Keith added darkly, "Absolutely not."

"Never," Kourtney echoed, arms folding tightly. She glanced sideways at him and gave an audible shudder.

Love story? With him?I'd sooner fall in love with a marble statue. At least it wouldn't argue.

The kids didn't back down.

"But you're both really pretty and angry," one boy declared, glowing with pride. "That's what love looks like. My aunt says so."

"That's—" Keith started, then sighed in defeat, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is ridiculous."

"That's offensive," Kourtney snapped, tossing a glare in his direction. Her jaw clenched.

Their eyes locked again.

Tension surged like electricity beneath still water.

"You're really pretty," one of the girls said sweetly to Kourtney, stepping forward and slipping her small hand into hers. "Are you a princess?"

Kourtney's gaze dropped—first to the little hand, then to the girl's wide, adoring eyes. Something softened in her instantly.

She crouched down slightly, her hair catching the breeze like silk ribbons.

"Well," she said with a gentle smile, "you're the real princesses here. And very charming ones too."

The girls squealed in delight, clearly enchanted. One reached up and patted Kourtney's cheek with reverent affection.

"You talk like a princess," one of them whispered in awe.

At the same moment, two boys grabbed Keith—one by the wrist, the other by his coat hem.

"Are you a knight?" one asked.

"No, he's a prince," the other said with authority. "Definitely a prince. A grumpy one."

Keith let out a long breath, arms stiff.

Before either adult could process what was happening, the children giggled and yanked—pulling them forward.

Dragging them together.

And suddenly—too close.

Toe to toe. Breath to breath.

They stared.

Mortified.

The first girl grinned. "You sooo look like a couple."

"We are not a couple," Kourtney said smoothly, though her tone strained against civility. "We are nothing of the sort."

"Not even friends," Keith added. The word friends landed like a slur.

The kids blinked up at them, confused.

"But… you're glaring again. Like my sister and her boyfriend when they try not to admit they like each other."

Kourtney's posture sharpened like a blade.Why does this bother me so much?It's just a child. Innocent. Unaware.And yet…

It burned.

Being seen—paired—with him?The thought was insulting.

Keith's arms crossed tighter, his jaw clenched.A joke. This must be a joke.Paired with her? Of all people?

I've been matched with nobles, diplomats, daughters of empires," his thoughts hissed. And this woman is the one I'm being shoved toward by cookie-covered gremlins?

His cheeks burned—not from flattery. From sheer vexation.

"You're blushing," one of the boys pointed out smugly.

Keith's eyes narrowed. "I'm not."

"You're twitching," a girl whispered to Kourtney. "That's what my mum calls 'secret mad.'"

"I am not twitching," Kourtney said with icy precision.

Their eyes met—locked—and this time the silence between them was sharp enough to cut glass.

Two statues. Regal. Rigid. Radiating contempt.

"You're doing it again," the girl said softly. "The glare. That's how flirting starts."

Kourtney turned toward her with a calm so serene it was terrifying.

"Flirting," she said, "requires mutual interest. Which we absolutely lack."

"And mutual respect," Keith added, eyes never leaving Kourtney's. "Also missing."

The children blinked, processing.

But Kourtney and Keith—

They locked eyes again—this time their glares burning with renewed vengeance.

Their jaws clenched. Arms folded. Tension intense enough to snap.

A tense, silent standoff, framed by giggles and crumbs and too many tiny witnesses.

Then—

A smaller voice. Softer. Shy.

"Are you… are you Prince Keith?"

Keith blinked as he turned to the voice, surprised.

The youngest of the girls had stepped forward. Her fingers clutched a worn rabbit plush, its fur patchy with love. A scarf dangled loosely around her shoulders, half-tugged by the wind.

She inched closer, eyes wide with wonder. "You look just like the picture I saw on my mommy's phone."

The tension in Keith's frame melted almost instantly. The steel in his shoulders eased. The dryness in his tone disappeared.

He knelt, steady and slow.

"I am," he said gently, his voice a low warmth.

The girl blinked, awestruck.

"You're very observant and quite clever to spot me," he said softly. "That's a noble trait." 

Without hesitation, Keith took her small hand in his and pressed a kiss to the back of it—deliberate, sincere. 

"And who might you be, my lady?" he asked gently. 

She flushed, fingers curling tighter around her rabbit. "Clara."

He nodded once, solemn in his kindness.

"A beautiful name, Lady Clara." He smiled faintly, eyes softening.

She beamed, nearly bouncing in place. "You've got pretty eyes," she whispered.

He smiled—faint but real. "So do you."

"You've got lovely eyes," he added softly. 

She giggled, hiding her face behind her rabbit and shifting her legs nervously.

Kourtney blinked, amused by the spectacle before her.

Her gaze lingered on the unlikely exchange before her—on the girl fidgeting with the hem of her dress, and Keith, composed and kind, offering her a smile that held no sharpness, no armor. Just… quiet warmth.

So he can be gentle, she thought, unable to stop the flicker of surprise

Keith rose slowly, dusting his coat with one hand, and turned to meet her gaze.

Their eyes met again—no glare this time.