The Growing Pull
Elizabeth lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
Her chambers were silent, save for the occasional rustle of the wind against the windows. The bed beneath her was soft, the heavy covers warm, but sleep would not come.
Though she would hate to admit it...her mind kept straying back to that day. That morning. To the thoughts of a certain person who was she could not seem to keep out of her head.
Of Philip.
She sighed, turning onto her side, pressing her cheek against the cool silk of her pillow.
It was infuriating, the way he still managed to get under her skin. She had spent years convincing herself that whatever childish admiration she had once held for him was just that—childish. She had convinced herself that the letters they exchanged were mere formalities, nothing more than a friendly correspondence between two people who had once shared a fleeting moment in time.
But then she had seen him again.
And suddenly, all those careful walls she had built seemed far more fragile than she had realized. Philip had always been charming. Infuriatingly so. He had always known exactly how to push her, how to tease her just enough to unsettle her. But today had been different. Because, for the first time, she had met his challenge.
He had expected her to retreat, to fall into the role she had always played—polite, controlled, proper.
But this time, she hadn’t.
Instead, she had looked him straight in the eye and responded with a sharpness she hadn’t even known she had in her. She had felt something stir in her, something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel for years—the temptation to break free of the rules, just for a moment.
To be daring.
And it frightened her.
It frightened her because, deep down, she knew it wasn’t just the teasing words between them.
It was something more.
Something more powerful.
Her heart had quickened when she had seen him lean closer, the heat of his presence drawing her in, the challenge in his voice daring her to step closer to the edge. His eyes had lingered on her, and she had felt it—felt the weight of that unspoken connection between them.
It wasn’t just physical. It was emotional.
They were both drawn to each other, and it terrified her. It was a feeling that she had never felt for anyone before.
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The fire in Philip’s room crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the darkened walls.
He sat in a high-backed chair near the hearth, a glass of brandy in hand, though he had barely taken a sip.
His mind was elsewhere—back in the frosty fields that morning, back to the sharp scent of winter air and the crisp sound of hooves against frozen earth.
Back to her.
Elizabeth.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his disheveled blond hair.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought of her over the years.
He had.
Occasionally, fleetingly.
When a letter from her arrived, neatly penned and polite, he had smiled, amused by her careful choice of words, the way she always seemed to measure every sentence. He had enjoyed pushing her, teasing her just enough to catch a glimpse of the girl beneath the duty. He had always respected her, but he had never truly been captivated by her. But today had been different.
Today, the air between them had shifted.
He had expected to find the same Elizabeth he had known years ago—the reserved, dutiful girl who watched him with wide, careful eyes, as if he were a storm she had yet to understand. But the woman he had met on that frost-covered field was something else entirely.
She was composed, yes, but there was something else beneath the surface—something sharper, something with an edge. There had been a glint of challenge in her eyes, the subtle curl of her lips when she had parried his words with ease. She was no longer just observing him; she was meeting him, step for step, her wit as quick as his own.
And then there had been the way she looked.
He let out a low curse under his breath, taking a sip of brandy that did little to clear his head.
She had always been beautiful, but today, it had struck him differently.
It wasn’t just her elegance, nor the way her blue riding habit framed her form. It was the confidence she carried now, the way she met his gaze without hesitation. She was no longer a girl trying to keep up—she was a woman who knew exactly who she was.
And God help him, he was drawn to it.
Drawn to her.
Philip leaned back in his chair, staring at the flames, feeling something settle in his chest that he hadn’t expected.
Maybe this wasn’t just some passing intrigue. Maybe this was something more.
But even as he thought it, a knot of unease tightened in his stomach. Elizabeth was not someone he could simply pursue without consequence. She was a princess—his equal in blood but worlds apart in duty. Her life was already mapped out, already determined by forces far beyond their control. His heart thundered in his chest as he thought of her sitting there in the saddle this morning, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of challenge and something else—something deeper. She had been playing a game, and for the first time, he had wondered if she was as intrigued by him as he was by her.
He closed his eyes, willing the thoughts to recede.
You’re a fool, Philip.
But he couldn’t stop thinking of her.
He needed to get to bed...at least in his sleep, he could stop his mind from spinning in circles.
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The next morning, the breakfast table at Windsor Castle was laden with eggs, sausages, fresh rolls, and fruit, but the air around the long wooden table was thick with something else.
Cousin David, seated beside Philip, was prattling on about the latest diplomatic affairs, but Philip’s mind was not on the conversation.
He was, once again, thinking of Elizabeth.
She sat across from him, her hands delicately lifting a cup of tea to her lips. Her expression was calm, composed, as always, but there was a glint in her eyes that he couldn’t quite place. She was listening to David, her gaze flickering between the two men, but Philip noticed how her attention seemed to waver, how her thoughts were elsewhere.
He had never seen her look like this before.
The way her brow furrowed slightly, the way her lips pressed together when David mentioned something trivial. He had never noticed those small details—the way she shifted ever so slightly, as if she were fighting the urge to speak, to voice an opinion, to contradict something she found disagreeable.
His eyes locked on her for a moment too long, and when he realized, he quickly turned his attention back to David, but the damage had been done.
David’s words faded into the background. The only sound in Philip’s mind was the rhythm of his heart, a constant thrum that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. He could feel Elizabeth’s presence—her aura—across the table, drawing him in, even though she had not glanced at him directly.
It was maddening.
Philip’s gaze darted to her once more, and this time, she met his eyes, just for a split second, before quickly looking away. But in that moment, something passed between them—a spark.
It was like a magnet, drawing them together despite the distance.
David’s voice seemed to blur into the background as Philip’s focus shifted entirely to Elizabeth. He saw the way her lips parted ever so slightly, as if she was about to speak, to say something witty, but then the moment passed. She closed her mouth, her gaze shifting down to her plate.
His pulse quickened.
The tension between them was palpable.
David, oblivious to the exchange between them, continued talking, his voice rising with each word. But Philip was lost in his own thoughts. He could feel his attraction to Elizabeth growing, blossoming into something far more than he had expected. And the more he tried to push it away, the more it seemed to pull him in.
Across from him, Elizabeth’s thoughts were racing, but she too was struggling to make sense of what was happening. The brief glance they had exchanged—the one that had sent a jolt through her chest—was impossible to ignore. Her heart beat faster, her mind refusing to focus on anything but the way he had looked at her.
It was dangerous.
He is dangerous.
And yet, despite the warnings her mind screamed at her, she couldn’t tear her gaze away.
She was drawn to him.
And though she told herself to focus on the conversation with David, her mind kept returning to Philip—his eyes, the way he had leaned toward her that morning, the way his voice had softened.
She couldn’t forget it.
And perhaps, deep down, she didn’t want to.
As David rambled on about some minor diplomatic issue, both Elizabeth and Philip were lost in the pull between them. They sat there across from each other, their gazes occasionally meeting, each of them daydreaming of the other. Neither of them spoke of it aloud, but it lingered in the air—unspoken, undeniable.
The question was no longer if they were drawn to each other, but how long they could deny it.
And neither of them had the answer.