Crowned by Words

The rich aroma of brewed coffee filled the Celtic Quill, Riona O’Clarke’s bookshop and café in Cavan, Ireland. She tidied up books scattered by customers. She stretched up on her tiptoes to grab a paperback on the top shelf. Her fingers brushed against the worn spine of a leather-bound classic. An old collection of Irish folktales sat with yellowed pages and a worn cover. It showed the passage of time. Years had passed since she had last touched it, since she packed it away with the remnants of her old life.

Pulling the book from the shelf, Riona traced the raised patterns on its cover with her fingers. She lingered for a moment, her fingers running over the spine of the book. The memories she had buried long ago threatened to surface. She gave a small shake of her head, as if trying to clear her thoughts, then refocused on her work. Some doors were best left unopened, no matter how often they rattled on their hinges.

The weight of the books, soft whispers, and lively debates at the Celtic Quill made it her refuge. Yet fate had a way of keeping stories alive, even when they seemed ready to conclude.

The bell above the door chimed, a tiny metallic ping against the wind and rain, as a gust of cold, rainy Irish air rushed in. The soft chatter dissolved into an awkward silence. Her gaze followed, slow and deliberate, toward the doorway. Standing there was Colin Quinne, famously known as the last prince of Ireland, infamous for his playboy lifestyle and scandalous escapades.

His emerald eyes scanned the room, like a hunter looking for his next target. Riona believed he’d never honestly worked. His thick, dark hair, windswept and unruly, exuded a rugged charm that annoyed Riona. He gave a smirk. Quinn was a somebody who thought coffee should pour itself. He expected books to land in his hands magically and for women to swoon over him—tastefully, of course.

Colin entered, his confidence obvious and his smirk irritating. Riona felt a spark of familiarity, recognizing the type instantly; she had met men like him before. They carried their privilege like a shield and expected the world to cater to them. Long ago, she had learned how to deal with them: with sharp words and even sharper wit. But he felt different. The way he carried himself and how his eyes scanned the room suggested he was also hiding behind a mask.

Concealing his disdain behind a practiced facade, he took a deep breath, releasing it slowly, as if to expel the irritation that simmered just beneath the surface. “Someone told me this place held some kind of ‘hidden gem.’ But judging by what I see, they lied to me.”

All eyes were on Riona, awaiting her reaction. She responded, her tone dry: “‘Afraid we’re fresh out of crown polish, but I can recommend a good book instead.” A few members of The Bookish Bards exchanged amused glances, their snickers audible throughout the café. Colin’s presence failed to enchant the regulars, who were immune to his charm, and even less so, Riona, who remained unimpressed.

Colin frowned, his surprise clear in the way his face registered the unusual tone. But just as quickly, he shook it off, his smile returned, and he made a second attempt to win the room.

Colin flashed his signature smirk. “I like my books like fine wine—aged, rare, and high quality. I may have looked unsuccessfully.”

Keeping her gaze fixed downward, Riona responded dryly, “Vineyards might suit you better.”

Riona watched Mrs. O’Connell perk up, ready to pounce. She was the ever-observant president of the Bookish Bards. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and Riona felt a flicker of unease. She knew that look. It was the same one Mrs. O’Connell had when she convinced the Bookish Bards to tackle War and Peace on a single weekend.

Riona braced herself, fingers tightening around the book, thinking, “Don’t.” She worked hard to leave her past behind, but no matter how far she went, it always caught up with her.

With her aged voice commanding the room, Mrs. O’Connell spoke. “Careful, Your Highness. You’re talking to someone who knows a thing or two about aged and rare treasures.”

“Is that so?” He spoke this with a casual tone, but his gaze sharpened as it landed on Riona. “What do you mean by that, ma’am?”

Eager to share, Mrs. O’Connell leaned forward. “Oh, haven’t you heard?” she retorted, her eyes sparkling. “Others hold a title here.”

Colin blinked rapidly, his mind struggling to process the information. “I’m not quite following,” he confessed, his voice tinged with bewilderment.

Silence fell over the café as, one after the other, the customers’ gazes landed on Riona.

Colin understood Mrs. O’Connell’s meaning. He looked at Riona. His arrogance wavered as he rushed to process the information.

“That’s a joke, right?”

“Not at all, Your Grace,” responded Mrs. O’Connell, her tone dripping with satisfaction.

Riona kept her eyes lowered, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. As she flipped a page of the book in her hands, she said softly, “I was. Not anymore.” Her voice carried the weight of her past, hinting at the journey that brought her to this moment.

Colin was still staring at her, his usual quick wit failing him. Speech failed him; a first within the cafe. He had no clever remarks, smug retorts, or knowing smirks.

Shaking his head, he chuckled. “And here I thought I was the only one in this country who hated it when people called me ‘Your Grace.’”

Despite everything, Riona kept her gaze lowered. She had already moved on.

Dismissing the moment, the members of the Bookish Bards chuckled, returning to their books and coffee. Here, Riona was one of them. That was all that mattered.

Colin’s hesitation suggested he was looking for a way to salvage the situation. He had nothing left to do.

Before exiting, he cast one last glance at Riona. The bell chimed as he stepped out into the rain. Colin grumbled, “Happy now?” as he pulled out his phone after stepping outside. “I went to the ‘quaint little bookshop.’ But don’t expect me to make a habit of it.”

Hearing the last part of his words, a small smile curved Riona’s lips. Someone dared him to come here. That explained a lot.

She released a held breath, unaware she’d been holding it. For a fleeting moment, she sensed the foundation of her carefully crafted life quiver. But she had stood her ground, as she always did. She was no longer the girl trapped beneath a title she never wanted. Riona O’Clarke was a bookseller and coffee barista. No sneering princes, reporters, or busybodies could change that.

As she watched him vanish into the storm, a feeling lingered. She sensed this wasn’t the last she would see of him. Also, the past he had stirred still echoed in her mind.

With a gentle and light voice, she gave the customer the book she had been holding. “Enjoy the read.”

Leaning in, Mrs. O’Connell’s voice was warm with amusement. “My dear, you’re quite skilled at putting the royals in their place.”

Finally, Riona smiled. “Titles collect dust, Mrs. O’Connell. But a good story? That stays with you forever.”