Synopsis-
When Kansas schoolteacher Emma Whitaker lands a summer fellowship in Sri Lanka, she expects lesson plans and culture shock—not a chance encounter with Prince Kaelan Devraj. Drawn together by curiosity and compassion, their worlds collide in a romance neither of them saw coming. But as royal expectations and public scrutiny threaten to tear them apart, Emma and Kaelan must decide if love is worth defying tradition—and what they’re willing to risk for a future together.
Chapter 1: A Ticket to Somewhere New
Emma Whitaker stared at the email on her cracked laptop screen, blinking twice to make sure she hadn’t misread it.
Congratulations! You’ve been selected for the Global Educators Fellowship in Sri Lanka…
Her heart pounded in her chest. For a full minute, the modest kitchen of her Kansas farmhouse faded away—the humming fridge, the chipped sunflower mug half-filled with cold tea, the wind chimes clinking outside the window. All she could see was that one word: Congratulations.
She let out a stunned laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. “I got it,” she whispered, almost afraid the magic would shatter if she spoke too loudly. “I actually got it.”
This wasn’t just a job. It was a breath of air after a year of drowning. Between grading endless papers, fixing the school copier herself, and taking care of her aging mother’s bills after her passing, Emma had started to believe her world would always stay small. Predictable. Safe. Stagnant.
But now—Sri Lanka. An island halfway across the world. She’d never even been out of the Midwest.
She clutched the letter to her chest and looked around the quiet kitchen. Photos of her with her third-grade students lined the corkboard by the fridge. A drawing from little Maddie Nguyen hung crooked, a stick figure version of Emma with a bright yellow sun above her head. Emma felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes.
For the first time in a long time, something was just for her. Not for the school. Not for someone else’s comfort or care. Her heart swelled with a mixture of excitement and fear—so much fear. Could she really do this?
The next few days passed in a blur. She submitted her final paperwork, updated her passport, and packed the only suitcase she owned. She said goodbye to her students with carefully measured smiles and answered their curious questions with as much optimism as she could muster.
“I’ll be back before the leaves change,” she told them.
She didn’t say what she was truly thinking: What if I come back changed instead?
On the day of her flight, her best friend Sarah drove her to the tiny Wichita airport. As the car bumped along the familiar country roads, Emma looked out at the golden wheat fields swaying in the wind, her fingers absently twisting the ring on her thumb—her mother’s old silver band.
“You’re doing the brave thing,” Sarah said, breaking the silence.
Emma nodded, gripping her suitcase tighter. “It doesn’t feel brave. It feels like I’m jumping off a cliff.”
Sarah grinned. “Maybe. But sometimes flying feels a lot like falling—until your wings remember how to work.”
At the gate, after a long hug and a few tears, Emma walked toward her gate with the boarding pass clutched in trembling fingers. She paused just before stepping onto the plane, her eyes searching the tarmac beyond the window.
Goodbye, Kansas.
Hello, whatever comes next.
Chapter 2: Island of First Impressions
The moment Emma stepped off the plane in Colombo, heat wrapped around her like a wool blanket soaked in spice. The air was thick, fragrant with something floral and smoky, and the sunlight shimmered on the tarmac like liquid gold. She paused on the steps of the plane, one hand gripping the railing, the other shielding her eyes as she took her first breath of Sri Lanka.
It was nothing like Kansas.
Customs was a swirl of unfamiliar sounds—Sinhala, Tamil, English spoken with crisp island lilts—combined with the low buzz of fans and the chaotic symphony of baggage carts clattering against tile. Emma clutched her carry-on, willing her nerves to settle. She told herself this was adventure, not panic.
A university driver held a cardboard sign with her name written in blocky letters. His kind smile calmed her as he led her to a rusting van decorated with jasmine garlands and a tiny Buddha on the dashboard. As they drove out of the city, the traffic turned wild and rhythmic—cars weaving around tuk-tuks, cows ambling across roads like they owned them. Buses painted with neon gods and movie stars blared loud music. Emma leaned against the window, stunned by the colors—the saris like walking flowers, the fruit stalls overflowing with mangoes, papayas, and something that looked like spiky grenades.
Her village, Nalupotha, was nestled in the Central Province—a place of tea hills, temples, and lush jungle. By the time they arrived, jetlag had made her thoughts sticky, but the beauty outside kept her wide-eyed. Her modest homestay was tucked behind a garden bursting with hibiscus and curry leaves. The host family welcomed her with warm smiles and mango juice that dripped down her chin.
Orientation at the village school was the next day. She wore her most modest skirt, tied her hair back, and braved the heat with a polite smile. The school was a simple building, painted a fading blue, but the children’s laughter echoed like music through the courtyard. Teachers in crisp saris greeted her with bows and warmth, though their English was hesitant.
During a walk with the headmistress to tour the grounds, the old school van broke down on a dirt road just outside the gates. Emma offered to help, though her knowledge of engines ended at jumper cables. The sun blazed overhead as they peered into the smoking hood. The headmistress sighed. “Always this van. Like old elephant—strong, but slow.”
That’s when a sleek black SUV pulled up beside them, its tires crunching over gravel. The window rolled down, and a man inside leaned out with a calm, amused expression.
“Do you need assistance?” he asked in perfect English, with the smooth cadence of someone used to being obeyed.
Emma turned. He was striking. Dark hair neatly styled, tan skin glowing in the sun, and eyes the color of warm teakwood. He wore a tailored shirt, sleeves rolled up to the forearms, and a watch that gleamed like royalty.
Before the headmistress could respond, Emma blurted, “If you have a spare engine, that’d be great.”
A slow smile tugged at the corners of the man’s mouth. “I’m afraid I only carry jumper cables. But I can offer a ride to the village.”
The headmistress nodded eagerly, but Emma hesitated. Something about him made her feel…off-balance. Like he saw more than she was comfortable revealing.
As she climbed into the passenger seat, her eyes drifted to the crest embroidered on the car’s headrest—a golden lion holding a sword.
Emma didn’t know it yet, but she had just accepted her first ride from a prince.
Chapter 3: Tea Leaves and Traditions
The next morning dawned with the earthy scent of rain on warm soil. Emma dressed in a light cotton blouse and a borrowed sarong from her host mother, hoping to blend in at the school’s much-anticipated cultural welcome ceremony. As she walked through the village, children greeted her with flowers, their small hands pressing blossoms into hers like offerings.
The school courtyard had been transformed. Colorful paper lanterns swung from trees, and mats were laid out beneath a makeshift canopy where students would perform traditional dances. A table had been arranged with hand-woven crafts and delicate trays of sweets—kokis, kevum, and milk toffees Emma couldn’t pronounce but delighted in sampling.
She was still chewing one of the crunchy spirals when the headmistress whispered, “The prince is arriving.”
Emma blinked. “I’m sorry, the what?”
Before the headmistress could clarify, a hush fell over the courtyard. Teachers straightened their saris, students sat up a little taller, and every set of eyes turned toward the school gates.
A gleaming SUV pulled in and parked beneath a flowering banyan tree. Out stepped the same man from the day before—calm, poised, and dressed in a crisp white kurta embroidered with gold thread. But now, there was no question of who he was. Two aides trailed behind him, and a school official rushed to lay a garland around his neck.
Emma froze, her half-eaten sweet still in hand.
“May I introduce Prince Kaelan Devraj,” the headmistress murmured. “He sponsors this school’s literacy program.”
The prince made his way to the front with the easy grace of someone used to both attention and expectation. But when his eyes met Emma’s across the courtyard, something flickered—recognition, amusement, and something else she couldn’t place.
He greeted the students and staff with practiced warmth, then scanned the group. “And who might this guest be?” he asked, his gaze settling on Emma.
Caught off guard, she quickly swallowed and stepped forward. “Emma Whitaker,” she said, offering her hand out of habit before realizing no one else had done the same. “I’m the new fellow from Kansas.”
Kaelan’s eyes twinkled. “Ah. The one who requested a spare engine yesterday.”
A ripple of polite laughter spread through the crowd. Emma blushed, feeling both foolish and oddly comfortable. She lowered her hand awkwardly, but Kaelan took it anyway, shaking it lightly.
“You’re a long way from home, Miss Whitaker.”
“And you’re full of surprises, Your Highness,” she replied, before she could stop herself.
His smile deepened.
Later, as students performed a graceful Kandyan dance and drums pulsed through the humid air, Emma found herself watching Kaelan more than the performance. He clapped and smiled, but his attention often drifted toward her, just as hers drifted to him.
When the final student bowed and the audience erupted in applause, Kaelan leaned toward her and whispered, “I hope your first impressions of Lanka haven’t been too overwhelming.”
Emma looked out at the sea of beaming children and vibrant colors, then back at him.
“No,” she said softly. “Overwhelming, yes. But in the best possible way.”
As applause faded and tea was served beneath the mango trees, she sipped a cup brewed so strong it curled her toes—and tried not to notice that the prince always seemed to find the seat beside hers.
Chapter 4: Of Crowns and Curiosity
The following week, the school was abuzz with whispers before the morning bell even rang. Teachers straightened their saris with extra care, and students peeked through classroom windows with excitement shimmering in their eyes. Emma was rearranging math cards on the chalkboard when the headmistress poked her head into the room, breathless.
“Prince Kaelan is visiting again. Surprise inspection.”
Emma blinked. “Again? Doesn’t he have a kingdom to run?”
The headmistress smiled faintly. “He says education is the soul of the future. And this school, it seems, has become part of that future.”
Minutes later, Kaelan strode into the courtyard, his presence as effortlessly regal as ever. Today he wore a navy linen shirt and cream trousers, looking every bit the modern royal. The moment his eyes landed on Emma, a knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—like he’d been expecting to see her.
She folded her arms, standing at the edge of the playground with a raised eyebrow. “Back for more engine trouble?”
Kaelan chuckled. “Actually, I came to assess the arithmetic program. But if your van’s misbehaving again, I’ll see what I can do.”
Their banter drew amused glances from the teachers nearby, and Emma suddenly felt self-conscious under the weight of royal attention. But she didn’t retreat. Instead, she handed Kaelan a flashcard. “Then let’s see if your arithmetic’s as good as your charm.”
He took it with mock solemnity. “Twelve times eight? Easy. Ninety-six.”
“Impressive,” she said, unable to hide her grin. “You’ve passed the first test.”
“Do I get a gold star?”
“Only if you help me teach the next one.”
To her surprise, he nodded. The next thirty minutes unfolded like a dream. Kaelan knelt among the children, his royal dignity set aside as he listened to their answers, helped them count on their fingers, and laughed when one cheeky boy asked if he lived in a castle made of gold.
After the lesson, Kaelan lingered near the chalkboard while Emma gathered materials. “You’re good with them,” he said quietly.
“I’m just myself,” she replied, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “They see through anything else.”
He looked at her then—not as a prince, but as a man seeing someone he didn’t expect to affect him. “That’s rare.”
The words sat heavily between them.
To break the tension, Kaelan offered, “Would you be interested in visiting the Temple of the Sacred Tooth? It’s nearby and holds great cultural significance.”
Emma hesitated. “Is that a royal invitation?”
“More of a historical one,” he said, his smile teasing but gentle. “Though I do promise a knowledgeable tour guide and excellent mango lassi afterward.”
She wanted to say no, to remind herself that this man belonged to a world of ceremonies and silk-lined halls—but the part of her that had dared to board a plane to Sri Lanka leaned forward.
“Alright, Your Highness. But only if I get that mango lassi first.”
As he walked beside her toward the waiting SUV, Kaelan glanced sideways, his voice low. “You can just call me Kaelan, you know.”
Emma smirked. “We’ll see. Depends on how good your tour is.”
Chapter 5: Secrets Among Ruins
The sky was overcast when Kaelan picked Emma up the next morning, the clouds casting a silver sheen over the hills as they drove toward Kandy. The car ride was filled with soft, curious conversation—discussions of literature, village traditions, and which fruit was superior: mango or guava. Emma argued for guava with passionate conviction, while Kaelan made a persuasive case for mangoes with a wink that nearly made her forget her point.
The Temple of the Sacred Tooth loomed majestic in the distance, its gilded roof shimmering beneath the moody sky. But instead of turning into the main entrance, Kaelan veered off the paved road and down a narrow, winding path that led into the forest.
“Change of plans?” Emma asked, brow raised.
“A slight detour,” he replied. “I thought you might appreciate something quieter first.”
The road ended near a centuries-old stone temple carved into the hillside, partially hidden by banyan roots and wild ginger. The scent of damp earth and incense lingered in the air. They stepped out, and Kaelan led her through mossy ruins where birds fluttered through ancient windows and carved elephants stood silent guard.
“This was one of my mother’s favorite places,” Kaelan said, his voice softer now. “She used to bring me here when I was a boy, when palace life got too loud.”
Emma glanced at him. “You don’t talk about her much.”
“I don’t talk about most things,” he admitted. “But you’re… easy to talk to.”
They sat on a weathered stone bench, cicadas humming in the distance. For a moment, neither spoke. Emma traced the shape of a lotus etched into the stone beneath her, waiting.
“She died when I was fifteen,” he said finally. “Car accident. My father buried himself in state affairs, and I was suddenly the crown’s responsibility. Tutors, expectations, and so many eyes watching my every move. I learned to smile, nod, be perfect. But she was the only person who saw through all of that.”
Emma swallowed. “I lost my dad when I was twelve. Cancer. He was my whole world. Taught me to ride a bike and cook scrambled eggs. I think I became a teacher because I wanted to give that same feeling of safety to someone else.”
Kaelan turned to look at her fully, his expression unguarded. “I haven’t told anyone that about my mother in years.”
Emma offered a gentle smile. “Then I’ll keep it safe.”
A breeze stirred the leaves above, and Kaelan exhaled as if something heavy had been lifted. “Sometimes I wonder what she’d think of all this. Of me.”
Emma didn’t hesitate. “I think she’d be proud. Of the man who visits schools, listens to children, and still remembers her favorite place.”
Their eyes met—his searching, hers steady. Something shifted in that quiet moment, a thread pulled tighter between them. No declarations, no dramatic music—just a deep, fragile knowing.
As they stood to leave, Kaelan offered her his hand to steady herself on the stone steps. She took it, her fingers brushing his, warm and grounding. Neither of them let go right away.
And though they said little on the drive back, the silence between them had changed. It was no longer unfamiliar—it was full of meaning.
Chapter 6: Curry Lessons and Fireflies
Emma was rinsing rice in a clay bowl when she heard the knock at the homestay’s garden gate. The sky was a canvas of fading orange, the scent of curry leaves dancing through the air. Her host mother peeked out from the kitchen and smiled mysteriously.
“Someone important is here,” she whispered with a wink.
Emma wiped her hands on a towel and stepped out, expecting a courier or maybe the headmistress. Instead, she found Kaelan leaning casually against the wooden post, sleeves rolled up, holding a small basket.
“I come bearing spices,” he said, lifting the basket like an offering.
She stared, dumbfounded. “You… showed up. At my house. With spices.”
“I promised you mango lassi,” he said with a grin. “But I thought cooking together might be a better deal.”
Despite herself, Emma laughed. “You realize this isn’t a palace kitchen, right? It’s an open-air stove and a few mismatched pots.”
“Perfect,” he replied, stepping in. “I’ve always wanted to ruin a curry in someone’s backyard.”
Under the watchful eye of her amused host mother, they began. Emma chopped onions while Kaelan attempted to roast spices in a pan. He sneezed twice and burned the cumin.
“Clearly, I’ve been overestimating my royal skill set,” he said, fanning the smoke.
Emma chuckled, handing him a wooden spoon. “Stir gently. It’s not a negotiation treaty.”
As the sun dipped lower, lanterns flickered to life around the garden. Fireflies blinked lazily above the banana trees. They sat on a woven mat under the jackfruit tree, dinner spread out before them—mildly burnt curry, fluffy rice, and mango lassi so sweet it made Emma groan.
“Okay,” she said, pointing her spoon at him. “You win. Mango is the superior fruit.”
“I’ll have that carved on a temple wall,” Kaelan said solemnly. “Victory tastes delicious.”
Laughter melted into quiet conversation, stories exchanged between bites. Emma told him about growing up in Kansas—cornfield hideouts, county fairs, and the loneliness after her dad passed. Kaelan spoke of royal tutors, hiding in the palace library, and sneaking out to watch local cricket games incognito.
As the meal dwindled and the fireflies danced brighter, the space between them shifted. The air turned still. Kaelan leaned back on his palms, his eyes catching the light in a way that made Emma’s breath hitch.
“This,” he said softly, “is the first time I’ve felt normal in a very long time.”
Emma looked at him—really looked. Beneath the prince, she saw the man: tired, kind, trying.
“You’re allowed to just be a person,” she whispered. “Even if it’s only in someone’s backyard.”
He reached over, brushed a fleck of rice from her cheek, his fingers lingering just a second too long. Her heart thudded loud in her chest. She met his eyes, and suddenly, the noise of the world faded.
He leaned in slowly, hesitantly—close enough that she could smell the faint spice on his skin. But before their lips met, Emma pulled back, just enough to break the spell.
“We should… probably go inside.”
Kaelan didn’t move for a moment. Then he nodded, his voice gentle. “Of course.”
As he walked back toward the gate, Emma stood under the swaying branches, hand pressed to her chest, fireflies swirling around her like stars.
They hadn’t kissed.
But something had definitely happened.
And it scared her—in the most beautiful way.
Chapter 7: Royal Rumors
Emma knew something was off the moment she stepped into the school courtyard the next morning. Conversations halted when she passed. Teachers who usually greeted her with warm smiles offered tight nods. Even the students seemed to watch her more closely than usual, their eyes flicking from her face to their whispering friends.
By midmorning, she found the reason why.
The headmistress pulled her aside during recess, her face lined with worry. “Miss Whitaker… I’m afraid your photo is in the papers today.”
Emma blinked. “What?”
The headmistress handed her a folded tabloid. There, splashed across the glossy front page, was a grainy photo of her and Kaelan in the garden at twilight—sitting close, heads tilted toward one another, a firefly caught mid-glow between them. The headline screamed in bold red:
“Prince’s Secret Sunset Date? American Teacher at Center of Palace Whisperings”
Emma’s stomach dropped. She scanned the article, her cheeks burning. It twisted facts and invented fiction, painting her as a mysterious outsider seducing the prince with “exotic charm” and “foreign freedom.” She wanted to laugh—except she wanted to cry more.
“How did they even…?” she began, but the headmistress was already shaking her head.
“There are eyes everywhere when it comes to the royal family,” she said. “You must be careful.”
Later that afternoon, a palace car rolled up to the school. A formal-looking woman in a navy sari stepped out. She introduced herself curtly as an advisor to the royal court.
“I have been sent on behalf of the Crown,” she said to Emma, her tone clipped. “To remind you that your time here is as a guest and a representative of your nation. Discretion is expected.”
Emma folded her arms tightly. “So, this is damage control?”
The advisor gave a thin smile. “Let us call it… preventive diplomacy.”
Emma watched the car disappear through the dust and heat, her heart a tangled knot of anger, humiliation, and hurt. She didn’t ask for this. She wasn’t chasing some fairy tale. All she’d done was share a meal in a garden and laugh with someone who made her feel seen.
But the cost of it was already clawing at her.
That evening, her host mother gently placed the newspaper on the kitchen table again and asked, “You care for him, don’t you?”
Emma didn’t answer. She simply gathered the dishes and began scrubbing harder than necessary.
The following day, Kaelan appeared at the school gates—alone, in casual clothes, and with shadows under his eyes. Emma met him just outside the office, arms crossed, back straight.
“You saw it?” she asked.
He nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” she shot back, voice low. “Because your people came to warn me off like I’m some scandal waiting to happen.”
“I didn’t send them.”
“But you didn’t stop them, either.”
Kaelan’s jaw tightened. “Emma, this world—it doesn’t bend easily. My every move is watched, twisted, repurposed for someone else’s gain.”
“And what about me?” she asked, her voice cracking. “My name’s in your tabloids. My students whisper. I came here to teach, not be your controversy.”
He reached out, gently, but she stepped back.
“I need time,” she said, the ache in her chest sharp and sudden. “Time to remember why I came here in the first place.”
Kaelan nodded, the weight of unspoken words settling between them. “I understand.”
As he turned and walked away, Emma watched him go, the distance growing not just in steps—but in something heavier, something that might not be fixed with an apology.
And when she finally returned to her classroom, the silence felt different.
It felt like something beautiful had cracked.
Chapter 8: The Elephants Know
The field trip to the elephant sanctuary had been planned weeks in advance, long before tabloids and palace warnings. Emma considered canceling her attendance, but the students were too excited—chattering about elephants, packing little lunch parcels, drawing pictures of trunks and tusks with wide, expectant eyes.
So she went, putting on her sunhat and her best smile, determined to focus on them. Not him.
The sanctuary was nestled deep in the forest, where the air was thick with the scent of earth and wildflowers. Elephants wandered in peaceful clusters, their massive feet sinking silently into the mud as they grazed on bamboo and sugarcane. The students’ squeals of delight echoed through the trees.
Emma knelt beside one young girl, helping her fill out a worksheet on elephant behavior, when a ripple of energy moved through the crowd.
She turned.
Kaelan was standing a few feet away, dressed in soft linen, holding a small bucket of fruit. No entourage. No fanfare. Just him.
Emma straightened, her heart clenching. “What are you doing here?”
He walked slowly toward her, eyes gentle. “This trip was on my calendar. I didn’t want to miss it.”
She hesitated, torn between walking away and walking toward him. In the end, she stayed exactly where she was.
Kaelan looked around. “These elephants were rescued from logging camps and conflict zones. Some are blind. Some were orphaned.” He knelt to offer a mango to one with a notched ear. “But look at them now—peaceful. Living.”
Emma watched as the elephant accepted the fruit with its trunk, its eyes sleepy and wise.
“You didn’t come here to talk about elephants,” she said.
“No,” he admitted. “I came to see you.”
She folded her arms, unsure whether to retreat or soften.
“Emma,” Kaelan said, his voice low and steady, “I didn’t realize how much the world would come crashing in on something that felt… simple. Real. I hate that I couldn’t shield you from it.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” she replied, her voice trembling. “But I won’t be part of a life where I’m hidden away like a mistake.”
Kaelan took a cautious step closer. “Then don’t be. I don’t want that either. I don’t have all the answers—not yet—but I know I don’t want to go through this pretending it meant nothing.”
The children nearby were feeding banana slices to a younger elephant, squealing when its trunk brushed their hands. The soft rumble of the forest filled the spaces between their words.
Emma looked into Kaelan’s eyes and saw not a prince, but a man trying. A man reaching across the space between their worlds.
She reached out and placed her hand gently on the elephant’s side. Kaelan did the same, their fingers brushing. Neither of them pulled away.
A breath passed. Then another.
Their hands intertwined slowly—quietly, like the forest around them had been holding its breath for this very moment.
And the elephant, wise and ancient, simply stood still, as if it understood the fragile miracle of two people trying to find their way back to one another.
Chapter 9: The Garden of No Titles
The sun was low when Kaelan led Emma through a narrow stone archway nestled behind the royal estate. Vines curled around the entrance like nature’s own secret, and beyond it lay a garden unlike anything she had ever seen.
It was wild, yet intentional—orchids blooming between ancient bricks, cinnamon trees casting cool shadows, and winding paths lined with white jasmine. A narrow stream glistened through the middle, its waters so clear she could see the fish darting beneath the surface. The air smelled of frangipani and something faintly sweet—like memory.
“This was my mother’s garden,” Kaelan said, his voice hushed. “No guards, no titles here. Just her hands in the soil.”
Emma took it in slowly. “It’s beautiful.”
“She called it her refuge,” he continued, guiding her toward a stone bench beneath a sprawling tamarind tree. “Whenever palace life became too heavy, she’d come here. And she brought me—when I was small, before everything got complicated.”
Emma sat beside him, her fingers brushing a fallen petal from the bench. “Why did you bring me?”
He looked at her, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes. “Because when I’m with you, I feel like I can breathe. Like I’m not pretending.”
For a moment, the garden hushed. Even the birds seemed to pause.
Emma swallowed. “I’m not used to being anyone’s escape.”
“You’re not,” he said gently. “You’re the reminder that something real still exists. Something outside of politics, tabloids, and tradition.”
They sat in silence, the soft rustle of trees and chirping crickets wrapping around them like music.
Kaelan turned toward her, his expression open, unguarded. “When the rumors broke, I tried to protect you the way I was taught—to manage it, contain it. But I was wrong. You don’t need protection. You needed truth.”
Emma’s eyes shimmered. “I needed you to see me.”
“I do,” he said. “And I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Not once.”
He reached for her hand—hesitant at first, then surer when she didn’t pull away. His fingers laced through hers, warm and trembling ever so slightly.
And then, without ceremony, without the weight of royalty between them, Kaelan leaned in.
The kiss was slow, reverent. A question and an answer all at once.
There were no palace walls. No titles. No cameras.
Just Emma and Kaelan beneath a tree that once shaded a queen, surrounded by flowers grown from love and memory.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads still touching, Emma whispered, “This feels like something I don’t want to let go of.”
Kaelan’s voice was soft. “Then don’t.”
And under the first stars of the evening, neither of them did.
Chapter 10: Tea with the Queen
The palace drew long shadows across the marble as Emma was escorted through its grand halls. She walked with careful steps, her borrowed blue dress swaying with each movement, her heart pounding against her ribs like a drum.
When the royal advisor summoned her for tea, she assumed it would be a polite scolding. Or worse—a dismissal. But she had agreed to come, not for diplomacy, but because Kaelan had asked her with that earnest look in his eyes.
“You won’t be alone in that room,” he had said softly the night before. “Not really. She’s my grandmother—but she once was a girl who chose love over duty too.”
Now, standing before the carved teak doors of the queen dowager’s sitting room, Emma exhaled slowly. A guard pushed the doors open.
The room inside was elegant but warm—bathed in soft sunlight from arched windows, with orchids blooming in porcelain vases and the faint scent of sandalwood in the air. At a round table draped in lace sat a woman in a crisp ivory saree, her silver hair pinned neatly, her spine impossibly straight.
“Miss Whitaker,” she said, her tone unreadable. “Please sit.”
Emma obeyed, smoothing her dress and murmuring a polite greeting. A servant poured fragrant tea into delicate cups. The queen dowager lifted hers without taking a sip, her sharp eyes never leaving Emma.
“You’ve caused quite a stir.”
Emma met her gaze with quiet honesty. “That wasn’t my intention.”
“No,” the queen agreed. “But it is the nature of storms. They never ask for permission.”
Emma folded her hands. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I didn’t come here for drama. I came to teach. And then… your grandson happened.”
A faint smile tugged at the queen’s lips. “He has a habit of happening. Much like his mother.”
Emma hesitated. “He told me about her. About this garden she kept.”
“She was fire and velvet,” the queen said, her voice softening. “And entirely unsuited for royal life—according to the advisors. But my son loved her. So I watched her try to shape herself into something she never was, just to survive here. In the end, it was love that made her strong, not duty.”
Emma blinked, taken aback.
“I did not invite you here to intimidate you, Miss Whitaker,” the queen said, her expression measured. “I wanted to look into your eyes and see if what Kaelan feels is real. If you are kind… and unshakable.”
Emma breathed in. “I’m not perfect. But I’m real. I don’t want a crown, I don’t want palaces. I just… want to be with him.”
Silence stretched between them, fragile and full.
Then the queen reached for her teacup, sipped it, and finally said, “Good. Then let us see what becomes of that.”
Emma wasn’t sure if it was permission, a warning, or both. But as she stood to leave, the queen surprised her by adding, “The palace has never needed more kindness, Miss Whitaker. I hope you stay long enough to leave some behind.”
As the doors closed behind her, Emma stepped into the corridor with trembling hands—but a steadier heart.
Because she had walked into the lion’s den…
…and left carrying tea and a little hope.
Chapter 11: A Proposal and a Goodbye
The palace gardens were quiet that morning, dew still clinging to the hibiscus petals, the air heavy with jasmine. Emma sat on a stone bench near the koi pond, her thoughts a tangled knot of memories and doubts. The warmth of Kaelan’s kiss still lingered, yet so did the sting of scrutiny—of knowing she could never truly blend into his world, no matter how sincere their feelings had become.
Kaelan found her there, dressed not in ceremonial robes but in a soft linen shirt, his hair slightly tousled, as if he hadn’t slept. He didn’t smile.
“There’s going to be an announcement today,” he said. “The press already suspects.”
Emma looked up. “An engagement?”
He nodded. “My father has been pushing it for months. The daughter of a foreign dignitary. Perfectly suitable. Perfectly… wrong.”
She swallowed. “But perfectly safe for the crown.”
Kaelan sat beside her, not touching, but close. “We could leave. I have a diplomatic trip to Singapore next week. I’ll take you with me. We disappear, even just for a little while. No titles. No scrutiny.”
It was everything she thought she wanted—escape, freedom, the man she loved reaching out to her with both hands.
And yet…
“You’d hide me?” she asked softly.
He flinched. “Not hide. Protect.”
“There’s a difference,” she said, tears stinging. “One says you’re proud. The other says you’re ashamed.”
Kaelan turned to her, anguish etched in every line of his face. “Emma, I love you. That’s not the question.”
She stood, the ache rising in her throat. “But it is the question, Kaelan. If you loved me out loud, without hiding, then maybe we could stand a chance. But I won’t disappear into the background of your life.”
He reached for her hand. “I just need time to fix this.”
She stepped back. “And I need space to breathe.”
The silence between them stretched, aching and honest.
Emma touched his face one last time, her thumb brushing the line of his cheek. “Don’t become the man who chooses comfort over courage.”
Then she turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last. She didn’t look back—not because she didn’t want to, but because she knew if she did, she wouldn’t be able to leave.
By nightfall, she was on a plane back to Kansas.
No one saw her off.
But deep in the palace garden, Kaelan sat alone under the tamarind tree, the same one where they’d first kissed, his hands empty—and his heart not just broken, but torn by the weight of what he hadn’t been brave enough to choose.
Not yet.
Chapter 12: Back to Kansas, But Not to Forget
Emma stood beneath the Kansas sky, so wide and endless it made her feel both grounded and painfully small. The air was dry and cool, the breeze carrying the scent of hay and earth instead of frangipani and spice. Home.
But everything felt… quieter now.
She moved through her days at the elementary school like a ghost of the woman who had left only weeks ago. Her students ran to her with the same laughter, the same messy art projects and crayon-smudged hugs—but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
In the quiet of her modest classroom, she stared out the window between lessons, her gaze often lost in the clouds. One morning, while erasing the board, she found herself sketching a little elephant in the corner, its trunk lifted skyward.
She erased it quickly, but her heart ached for the sanctuary, for the tangled beauty of the garden, for Kaelan.
At night, she lay awake wondering if he had gone through with the announcement. If he had slipped back into the velvet halls of expectation, or if he was still sitting beneath that tree, thinking of her. But she refused to let her mind linger there too long. Longing was a dangerous thing—it opened doors you couldn’t close.
Still, her students noticed. Especially Maddie, the precocious redhead in her third-period reading group.
“Miss Whitaker,” Maddie asked one day, squinting up at her, “did someone break your heart?”
Emma paused mid-sentence, startled.
Maddie continued solemnly, “Because you don’t laugh like before. You laugh, but it’s like… you forget to mean it.”
Emma knelt beside her, touched and pierced all at once. “Maybe someone didn’t mean to,” she said gently. “But yes. I think my heart is still learning how to be okay.”
Maddie nodded like she understood heartbreak better than an eight-year-old should. “I think your heart needs a field trip. Or maybe a new book. That helps me when I feel sad.”
Emma smiled through the sting of tears. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
After class, she stayed behind to organize her shelves, letting the classroom grow quiet. She ran her fingers along the spines of her favorite books—tales of faraway kingdoms, brave heroines, and unlikely loves that triumphed despite the odds.
She wasn’t angry at Kaelan. She was just… heart-tired. Loving him had never been the mistake. The mistake had been believing love alone could tear down walls built by centuries.
Still, she hadn’t stopped loving him.
And deep down, she knew she never truly would.
She looked out the window again at the empty swing set swaying in the afternoon wind, and for the first time since she’d returned, she whispered his name aloud.
“Kaelan.”
And somehow, in that single, quiet word, she found the courage to let the ache breathe without burying it. Because letting go, she realized, didn’t mean forgetting.
It meant remembering without breaking.
Chapter 13: The Prince in the Classroom
Emma was mid-sentence, explaining a reading exercise on metaphors, when the classroom door creaked open. She glanced up, expecting a late student or perhaps the janitor with another flickering lightbulb to fix.
But it wasn’t either.
It was him.
Kaelan stood in the doorway wearing jeans, a soft navy sweater, and a look in his eyes that was anything but casual. He looked out of place and yet completely at home, his gaze finding hers as if no time had passed at all.
Emma froze, the dry-erase marker still in her hand. “Kaelan?”
The classroom erupted.
Maddie let out a delighted shriek, “It’s the prince!” while another student dropped his pencil in awe. A few kids started whispering frantically, others waved, unsure of what else to do when royalty walks in unexpectedly.
Kaelan chuckled, raising a hand. “May I come in?”
Emma blinked, caught somewhere between disbelief and the overwhelming rush of something that felt dangerously like hope. “I… yes. Yes, of course.”
He stepped inside slowly, hands in his pockets, glancing at the posters and art on the walls like they were priceless relics. “You told me once this was your favorite place,” he said quietly. “I wanted to see it.”
The children gathered around, buzzing with curiosity, peppering him with questions. “Do you really live in a palace?” “Did you ride an elephant here?” “Are you here to take Miss Whitaker away?”
Emma laughed awkwardly, but Kaelan crouched down, meeting their eyes. “I live in a palace, yes. No, I flew on a very boring plane. And as for your teacher…” He glanced at Emma, his voice softening. “That depends entirely on her.”
The bell rang, releasing the class for lunch, and the children reluctantly filed out, casting backward glances like they were leaving the final scene of a fairy tale.
The door clicked shut behind them.
Emma stayed near her desk, arms folded tightly. “What are you doing here, Kaelan?”
He stepped forward. “I chose the crown once, out of fear. I thought I could wear it and still keep pieces of you tucked safely behind palace walls. But I was wrong.”
She swallowed hard. “So what changed?”
He looked around the classroom—at the bookshelves she’d organized by theme, at the alphabet banner she’d patched with tape, at the coffee mug with a faded sunflower that sat beside her lesson planner.
“You,” he said. “You changed everything.”
Kaelan walked toward her, slower now, each word like an unraveling. “I told my father no to the arrangement. I told the press the truth. And I told the court that if they wanted a king who knew what courage looked like, they’d need to start by meeting the woman who taught me how to find it.”
Emma stared at him, heart hammering.
“I’m not asking you to give up your life,” he said. “I’m asking you to let me build one with you. Wherever you are.”
She couldn’t speak. Could only breathe. And in the space between breaths, something in her finally dared to hope again.
Kaelan stepped closer, voice barely above a whisper. “Say something. Please.”
Emma reached out, touching his sweater like she needed to confirm he was real. “You found me.”
“I never stopped looking.”
And when he kissed her—there, in her messy little classroom, with sunshine pooling on the linoleum and crayons scattered on the floor—it didn’t feel like a fairy tale.
It felt like home finally catching up to her heart.
Chapter 14: A Crown Reimagined
The palace gates didn’t feel nearly as daunting this time.
Emma stepped out of the car hand in hand with Kaelan, the warm Sri Lankan sun spilling across the marble courtyard. Cameras clicked from a distance, reporters whispering behind velvet ropes. But this time, Emma didn’t flinch. Kaelan held her hand a little tighter, and she lifted her chin.
They had returned not as a secret, but as something real. Something unshakable.
Inside the palace, the grand council met behind closed doors. Kaelan stood tall, speaking not as a prince bound by generations of silence, but as a man who had found his voice. He spoke of education reform, of partnership over pageantry, of building a future where tradition and progress could coexist.
Emma sat quietly in a waiting chamber, fingers curled around a teacup she barely sipped from. But when the doors opened and Kaelan emerged—smiling, flushed with purpose—she knew something had shifted.
“They agreed,” he said, crossing the room. “Not all of them, but enough.”
She stood. “Agreed to what?”
“To change,” he said. “To start small. Community schools, literacy programs, rural support. And no arranged engagements without full consent of both parties. Including the royal family.”
Emma stared at him. “You fought for that?”
“I fought for us,” he said simply.
That afternoon, they visited the first of the schools Kaelan had pledged to support. Children rushed the gates with garlands and laughter, many recognizing Emma from her earlier time in the village. She knelt to greet them, hugging tiny bodies and accepting handmade drawings pressed into her hands.
Kaelan watched her from a few steps away, his heart so full it ached.
“She belongs here,” the headmistress whispered beside him. “Maybe not in a palace—but certainly in this country.”
He nodded. “She belongs wherever she chooses to be. And I’ll be beside her if she’ll let me.”
That evening, back at the palace, Kaelan brought her to a quiet corridor that led to a private wing—the one that had once belonged to his mother.
“I want you to have this,” he said softly, opening the doors to a light-filled room overlooking the garden. “Not as a queen, not as anything the world expects. But as you.”
Emma stepped inside, taking in the woven rugs, the bookshelves, the familiar scent of jasmine and old paper. It didn’t feel like a throne. It felt like a home.
“I didn’t think we’d get here,” she said.
“Neither did I,” Kaelan admitted. “But maybe this isn’t the end of the story. Maybe it’s just the part where we begin to rewrite the rules.”
He reached for her hand, and this time, she didn’t hesitate.
They had no crown between them, no palace expectations—just each other, a garden blooming again, and a promise quietly taking root in every shared step forward.
Chapter 15: Moonlight in the Royal Garden
The garden glowed under a soft wash of moonlight, every petal glistening with dew, every lantern flickering like a held breath. It looked almost exactly as it had that night when Emma first followed Kaelan beneath the tamarind tree—except now, the garden had been lovingly tended. The paths were cleared. The benches were newly polished. And at the center, fresh jasmine blossoms curled around a circle of low-hanging lights.
Emma stood near the pond in a flowing ivory dress, her hair loose around her shoulders. Her heart raced—not with nerves, but with something gentler. A kind of wonder. The sound of footsteps on stone stirred her thoughts.
She turned.
Kaelan approached, wearing a simple white tunic and a quiet, awed expression. His eyes didn’t leave her face.
“I brought you back here,” he said softly, stopping just before her, “because this is where I first knew.”
“Knew what?” she asked, her voice barely louder than the rustle of leaves.
“That you were the person I’d choose—even if everything else fell away.”
Emma reached for his hands, threading her fingers through his. “You already chose me, Kaelan.”
He smiled—shy, genuine, like the prince had fallen away and only the man remained. “But I haven’t asked you yet.”
Then he dropped to one knee.
Emma gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as Kaelan reached into his pocket and revealed a ring—handcrafted, its band etched with temple patterns and set with a sapphire the color of the Sri Lankan sea.
“This isn’t a royal decree. This isn’t for tradition or image,” he said, his voice steady and full of warmth. “This is me, Kaelan, the boy who learned to hope again with you. The man who would walk away from a crown if you asked him to—but is so grateful you never did.”
Emma’s eyes welled, her chest tightening as she listened.
“Will you marry me?” he asked. “Not as a queen, not as a title—but as my partner. My home.”
For a moment, the garden was completely still.
Then Emma dropped to her knees too, pulling him into a kiss that tasted like salt and jasmine and joy.
“Yes,” she whispered against his lips. “Yes to all of it.”
Laughter spilled into the air as fireflies danced above them, and the garden—his mother’s garden, now theirs—held them in its quiet bloom. Somewhere in the palace, bells rang for no one in particular. The moon smiled above.
It wasn’t just the end of a love story.
It was the beginning of a life—rooted in courage, blooming in trust, and forever crowned by love.
