Chapter 3 #2
“Modest as always,” Ryden said with a laugh, then turned to the younger man beside Evryn.
“Young Master Kazrian, a pleasure,” he said, then tried not to feel foolish about the greeting, for though Kazrian was several years his junior—and though Ryden had always been considered tall—the young man now stood at least half a head above him.
The youngest Rowanwood brother, it seemed, was now the tallest.
Kazrian executed a perfectly proper bow. “Your Highness.”
“I must say,” Evryn continued, his eyes dancing with barely suppressed mirth, “last Season when you claimed you might be forced to choose a bride this year, I thought you were being unnecessarily dramatic. Yet here we are. A Crown Court, no less. Your flair for theater remains unmatched.”
“Indeed.” Ryden’s smirk was automatic, as was the teasing jab that followed. He knew exactly how to needle his friend: “Your little sister—”
“No.” The word came from both brothers simultaneously, Evryn’s jovial expression hardening while Kazrian’s formal composure cracked just enough to show genuine alarm.
“Absolutely not,” Evryn added for emphasis.
Ryden laughed, the sound rich with implied wickedness he didn’t actually feel. “Such touching brotherly concern. I hadn’t even finished my sentence.”
“We know you well enough,” Evryn said dryly. “Or I do, at least.”
“If I may, Your Highness,” Kazrian interjected, his formal manner at odds with the protective steel in his voice, “while I hold my sister in the highest regard—she is genuinely one of the finest people I know—I feel obligated to point out that she would make a most unsuitable princess.”
“Unsuitable?” Ryden arched an eyebrow, genuinely curious now.
“She is …” Kazrian paused, clearly searching for words that were both honest and not unkind.
“She possesses a retiring disposition, shy to the point of discomfort. Large gatherings distress her considerably. She seeks nothing more than a quiet existence. The thought of standing at the center of society’s attention would be her definition of torture. ”
“What Kazrian is attempting to say diplomatically,” Evryn added, “is that Aurelise is decidedly not the sort of lady who typically catches your interest.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. While we adore her, I imagine you’d find her conversation rather … limited.”
Kazrian frowned at his brother “Limited?” he muttered.
Evryn shot Kazrian a frown, sharpened it with a glare, then embellished the performance with a series of pointed eyebrow arches.
The effect was unmistakable: a silent lecture compressed into mere seconds, which Ryden interpreted as Evryn’s desperate attempt to downplay his sister’s intelligence in hopes of diverting Ryden’s interest.
“Are you suggesting,” Ryden said with deliberate amusement, “that your dear sister is dull?”
“That is absolutely not what I—no. It is simply that she tends to speak only when directly addressed, and even then, her responses rarely extend beyond what politeness demands. I suspect you’d find yourself …”
“Bored?” He gave Evryn a politely confused frown. “Am I understanding you correctly?”
“No, you are deliberately misunderstanding me,” Evryn said with narrowed eyes.
“Am I?”
“Yes. What I mean is that Aurelise wouldn’t appreciate your particular brand of humor. She’s far too earnest, takes everything quite seriously. You’d scandalize her within minutes.”
“So now you’re saying she has no sense of humor?”
“Oh stop,” Evryn said with fond exasperation, a laugh escaping him now. “I’m simply saying she’s not at all to your usual taste.”
“Indeed, she is—” Before Kazrian could finish the thought, something behind Ryden caught his attention. Inclining his head, he said, “If you’ll excuse me, Your Highness, it seems my mother requires my assistance.” With a precise bow, he withdrew into the crowd.
With Kazrian gone, Evryn stepped closer to Ryden, his voice dropping to a more serious register that immediately put Ryden on guard. This was not the tone of friendly banter.
“Ryden,” he began, “you are my friend, and I hold you in the highest regard. But I have observed your … attentions toward the fairer sex. Your charm is legendary, as is your tendency to bestow it rather liberally upon any lady who catches your fancy.”
The words stung more than they should have. “Evryn—”
“Whoever becomes your wife,” Evryn continued quietly but firmly, “will be forced to witness such displays for the rest of her days. To watch her husband flirt with half the ladies at court while she stands beside the throne, pretending not to notice. That woman will not be my sister.”
The accusation left a cold hollowness in Ryden’s chest. He stepped closer to Evryn, his carefully maintained mask slipping for just a moment.
“You think I would—” His voice caught, and he had to swallow before continuing.
“You believe that once I am wed, I would be anything but entirely faithful to my wife?”
Something flickered in Evryn’s eyes—surprise, perhaps even a touch of guilt—but it only made the wound deeper. “I believe,” he said carefully, “that habits formed over many years are … difficult to alter. Even with the best intentions.”
The words hung between them like a blade.
Did Evryn truly know him so little? Had Ryden played his role so convincingly that even one of his closest friends couldn’t see past the performance?
Couldn’t recognize that the flirtations meant nothing, were merely another mask to keep people at a safe distance?
Though could he truly blame his friend for believing the facade, when Evryn was not permitted to know the real reason for the public persona Rydan had so carefully cultivated?
And now that he was considering it, did Ryden himself even know what sort of woman would truly capture his interest?
He’d flirted with countless ladies, had stolen his share of kisses in moonlit gardens, had played the role of the scandalous prince with such dedication that sometimes he forgot it was a role at all.
But he’d never courted anyone with genuine intent, never allowed himself to know someone deeply enough to determine what—or whom—he truly favored.
Well, there was someone, but things were entirely different with—
“Apologies, my friend. Perhaps you are capable of change,” Evryn conceded, interrupting Ryden’s thoughts. “Regardless, I must be clear on this point. Aurelise is not available for your … consideration.”
The message couldn’t have been more explicit if Evryn had drawn a sword.
Ryden forced himself to laugh, falling back into his familiar role. “Never fear, Evryn. Your dull sister—”
“I did not use the word dull!”
“—is perfectly safe from my ‘legendary charms,’” Ryden continued with a theatrical wave of his hand. “I assure you, I have no interest whatsoever in her.”
Again, he found himself wondering what sort of lady did capture his genuine interest. Not the giggling debutantes who swooned at his winks. Not the sophisticated ladies who played the game of flirtation as skillfully as he did. Not the ambitious ones who saw him as a crown rather than a person.
An image formed in his mind—not a face, for he had no notion of her appearance.
Not a name, for he knew her by only a single initial.
The image was more … an idea. Not of how she appeared, but of who she was.
The unshakable truth at her core, already so familiar to him though they had never even met.
He knew her wit, smart and self-deprecating.
He knew her vulnerability, the way she trusted him with her fears and anxieties.
He knew her thoughts on matters as mundane as jam versus marmalade, and as profound as whether beauty lies in the thing itself or in the eyes that choose to delight in it.
And he knew, too, the contradictions within her: a young woman who blushed and shrank from attention, yet who could be unexpectedly bold in the things she set down on paper.
If anyone embodied everything Ryden longed for, it was her.