Chapter 8 – Raelyn
Chapter Eight
RAELYN
Smoky grey eyes look me up and down, and the stranger’s lips quirk into the hint of a smile. Do I know him? Not that I know many people, thanks to my hermit-like habits. Still, there’s an odd pang of familiarity, but when I grasp for it, it slips away like ash on the wind.
For a moment, I wonder if he’s even looking at me.
I glance to my left and right and then over my shoulder, but when I turn back, he tilts his head and gives me a slight nod.
Almost as if to say, Yes, it’s you I’m staring at.
A blush creeps up my neck, heat engulfing my body.
I take a sip of my sparkling wine, but when I look back, he’s gone.
My shoulders droop after scanning the room and not seeing him.
I didn’t expect anyone to catch my eye, and that glance made me feel alive, made me think that perhaps I’m not a completely lost cause.
What a shame. Would it be so terrible to find a handsome lord to dance with?
If I’m all dressed up, I might as well take advantage of it.
My skin is still buzzing from my afternoon run.
The spark of hope that I’ve outgrown my strange affliction has me wondering if perhaps my life could be more than it is .
. . more than it’s been. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible to find a man to flirt with, one who might be willing to abscond to a dark corner and press his lips to mine .
. . like the lips on the stranger I caught staring.
Get a hold of yourself, Raelyn. One man glances your way and you lose your head. It has to be hormones . . . definitely hormones. I calculate the time of month and laugh to myself, even as I let my gaze wander.
The ballroom is the grandest space in the manor with its polished floors and gleaming pillars.
The ceiling reaches to the top of our three-story home, and a dozen crystal chandeliers shine down upon us.
Lavender wisteria drips off the ends of them, their potent scent lingering in the space.
I’m grateful the doors to the outside terrace are open, allowing fresh air in to combat the competing scents of perfume and sweat from all the dancers twirling about the space.
The new Lady Astoria’s decorator ought to be fired. While the front hall reeks of death and pumpkins and is decorated in an array of autumn colors, the ballroom clings to the last vestiges of summer with violet flowers and pastel drapes.
After draining my glass, I set it on the table next to me and cross my arms under my breasts, trying to perk them up a little.
“Looking for someone?” A silky smooth voice caresses the back of my neck as a warm presence steps closer. When I glance to my left, I hold back a gasp and look away. It’s him. What do I do?
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I quip, feeling oddly flustered.
“I actually would, hence my asking.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Why am I so bad at this? “Who are you?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Ah, ah, ah, I asked you a question first, love.”
“Excuse me?” I spin to look at him, my mouth gaping. “Are you always so informal with strangers?”
Hurt flickers in his eyes, but he quickly masks it, his lips quirking into a grin. “My mistake. I thought we were acquainted.”
I frown. “I think I’d remember you.” I try to wrack my brain for who he might possibly be, but once again, I fail at placing him.
A harsh laugh comes out of him. “Nice to know I’m so forgettable. I thought everyone knew me.”
I roll my eyes. So conceited. “Who do you think you are, a prince of Rakveren or something?”
“That is precisely who I am.”
Well shit.
I step back and drop into a deep curtsy, my eyes glued to the floor as my cheeks heat with mortification. “I apologize, Your Highness. I truly did not recognize you.”
His feet step into view, and a hand reaches out, tilting my chin up so I meet his stormy gaze. There’s a hint of humor there, and I relax a little, fairly certain I’m not headed for the gallows.
“Please rise. I promise I won’t tell anyone you didn’t recognize your prince, love.” He winks before pulling his hand away.
Rising from my curtsy, I can’t keep from saying, “Stop calling me that. It’s Lady Raelyn.”
“I’m well aware.”
Something about his words and the way he looks at me tugs on something in my chest. Before I can respond, he reaches down and pulls my gloved hand up to his mouth, placing a kiss on it, and butterflies erupt in my stomach.
“Dance with me, my lady?”
I hesitate. The prince has me completely flustered and confused, and we’ve only spoken for a few minutes. Is it really a good idea to subject myself to his company for an entire dance? I’ve already completely embarrassed myself; Luna forbid I make it worse.
“Don’t leave me hanging here. People will talk.”
I bite my lip before nodding. “Okay, fine.”
A wide grin splits his face. “Delightful.”
The prince leads me to the dance floor and sweeps me into a flowing waltz.
I stumble for just a moment before I let muscle memory take over.
The rise and fall of the music flows through me, and we glide across the floor as if we’ve done this before.
His right hand is like a brand on my shoulder, my awareness of him heightened.
I can feel his eyes on me, but I’m too afraid to meet his gaze.
There’s something about him that has me off-kilter.
“You have freckles,” he blurts out.
“What?” I ask, whipping my face up.
“Freckles,” he repeats. “I’m aware of your . . . affliction, so I didn’t expect freckles. I don’t remember—”
So surprised at his observation, I trip on the hem of my gown and almost go sprawling, but he deftly catches me before anyone seems to take notice.
“Thank you,” I breathe, my mind still trying to work through what he said. I hate that people at court are aware of my affliction, but I suppose that can’t be helped.
“My pleasure.” He hums. “I enjoy holding a beautiful woman in my arms.”
Something about his words are oddly familiar, but I can’t place them. “I think I need some air.”
“Let me escort you to the gardens,” he replies.
Finding myself unable to deny him, I nod.
He places his hand on the small of my back, and a shudder courses down my spine as he leads me out to the terrace.
“You have such a lovely garden,” he says.
Small talk . . . I can attempt small talk, I try to reassure myself. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I turn to face him, the torchlight casting shadows over the sharp planes of his face.
“Yes, I probably ought to spend more time out here,” I admit.
He’s not wrong. There are torches all around the terrace emitting warmth and light while the jasmine-and-vanilla scent of the moonflowers tickles my nose.
I spy a couple sneaking off into the hedge maze in the direction of our fountain, and my mind flashes back to thoughts of kissing in dark corners.
The prince opens his mouth as if to speak but then glances around, running a hand through his hair in an almost endearing way.
I allow a small smile to slip through. Is he just as nervous as I am? Interesting.
A cool autumn breeze caresses my bare skin, and I wrap my arms around myself. I can’t explain the nerves, like I’m a young girl attending her first ball all over again.
“Are you cold? Would you like to go back in?” he asks, breaking the awkward silence.
“No, the cool air feels nice, actually.” Before I can lose my nerve, I ask, “Would you like to take a walk?”
“Are you sure?” He raises a brow. “We don’t have a chaperone.”
“Quite sure,” I reply as I start walking down the hedge-lined path. Either he’ll follow or he won’t.
“You aren’t worried about what someone might say about the two of us out here alone?” His voice dips lower.
I laugh. “Trust me, I’m fairly certain my new stepmother would actually be thrilled that I’m talking to a man, and besides, we’re not truly alone.” I gesture toward the other couples walking the terrace behind us.
“You don’t typically talk to men?” He frowns.
“Hardly. I’ve heard the whispers tonight. I know I’m considered the reclusive Astoria, the daughter my father is unable to get rid of.” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice.
“Forgive me, love, but I don’t understand. You’re absolutely alluring. You could easily have your pick of eligible men.”
My shoulders tense, and I pause. “Perhaps I don’t want just any eligible man.” I refuse to admit to the prince that no one wants me—no one has wanted me for years.
“Oh? Waiting for a prince to sweep you off your feet?”
Heat flushes my face. “That’s not what I meant!”
The laugh that comes out of him is so rich, I wish I could bottle it up and listen to it forever.
“Then what did you mean?” he asks, taking a step closer. “Waiting for true love? A soul-bonded mate?”
My throat bobs, and I shake my head. “I don’t believe in true love . . . or mates.”
He takes another step closer, and I’m backed into the flowered hedge wall. “Who hurt you, love?” the prince asks, his head tilting at a slight angle, eyes glinting darkly in the moonlight.
He’s so close, I could pull him in for the kiss I was thinking about, but that is a dangerous road I dare not travel.
“Stop calling me love,” I say breathlessly, ignoring his question. “You haven’t earned the right. I am nothing to you.”
The prince stiffens, backing away from me, and while I feel like I can breathe again, I mourn the loss of his weighty presence. I don’t understand the reaction he elicits from me, nor his reaction to my words.
“My apologies. This was a mistake,” he says before whirling around and marching back toward the manor.
I want to call after him, apologize for my rude behavior, but something stops me. I’m a fool for allowing myself to even entertain the thought that a prince might be interested in me. Gods, if my sisters had seen, they would have never let me forget it.