Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Aurelise watched the spellthread clock on the mantelpiece with mounting dread, a thread of light endlessly stitching changing numbers along its edge, drawing her inexorably toward her doom.
Well, it was not doom precisely—merely her impending garden stroll with Prince Ryden—yet her fluttering pulse and quickened breath suggested her body recognized no meaningful distinction between the two.
The Green Drawing Room she was seated in had transformed over the course of the afternoon into a perfect tableau of feminine accomplishment, each lady engaged in some genteel magical pastime that might catch a prince’s eye.
Some perched on elegant chaises with their charmstitching hoops, needles flashing in the afternoon light as threads of gold, silver, and moonwhite shimmered with quiet enchantments.
At the far side of the room, others bent over their bloomcraft arrangements, coaxing flowers to shift their shades and scents until each bouquet sang of quiet perfection.
Two or three ladies sat alone quietly playing games of enchanted solitaire—though the sidelong glances they cast at one another hinted that even this was a competition in disguise.
Aurelise, perhaps the only one not endeavoring to impress Prince Ryden, sat in a corner with a book of poetry open in her lap, though she hadn’t absorbed a single verse in the past quarter hour.
The words blurred together as her attention drifted to the doors through which Willow had just disappeared on Prince Ryden’s arm into the gardens.
They took the shaded path and disappeared beyond a hedge, Willow the eighth lady of the Crown Court to receive her carefully timed ‘private’ moment with the prince.
Only two ladies remained now—herself and Lady Ellowa, who appeared thoroughly vexed by the prolonged wait, viciously prodding a delicate blossom into submission within her bloomcraft arrangement.
The poor flower trembled visibly with each jab, its blue petals curling inward as if trying to escape her increasingly aggressive attentions.
Aurelise attempted to focus on the poetry book once more, but the chandelier at the center of the drawing room’s ceiling drew her attention upward as it began its peculiar performance once again.
A thrumming, chattering sound that seemed to emanate from the hundreds of crystals adorning its golden frame.
The noise had started soon after they’d all assembled in the room, occasionally growing louder alongside bursts of nervous laughter or animated conversation, and then falling silent again.
“Stars above, not again,” Lady Ellowa muttered, releasing the cowering blossom with an exasperated sigh, granting the flower a momentary reprieve from her botanical tyranny. She pressed her fingers to her temples. “How does anyone concentrate with such a racket?”
A nearby steward, who had been discretely arranging a silver tea service by the window, offered an apologetic smile. “A quirk of the Summer Palace, my lady. The chandelier chatters when the room is full. Annoying, certainly, but one grows accustomed to it.”
“Accustomed?” Lady Ellowa’s voice dripped with skepticism. “To that cacophony?”
The steward’s smile never wavered, though Aurelise detected a slight tightening around his eyes. “Her Grace refers to it as the palace’s way of joining the conversation.”
Several ladies tittered at this, though whether from genuine amusement or the desire to appear charmed by anything connected to the royal family, Aurelise couldn’t determine.
She returned her gaze to the unread poetry, trying to ignore the way the chandelier’s insistent tinkling seemed to scrape against her nerves.
She was having precious little success, however.
The jangling sound bore an unsettling resemblance to the chaotic, unruly melodies that often escaped her when her emotions threatened to overwhelm her control.
Twice already she’d had to press her palms firmly against her lap, convinced for one heart-stopping moment that the dissonant tones were emanating not from the chandelier but from her own barely-contained magic.
But no—the sound remained firmly above their heads.
Nevertheless, Aurelise’s fingers twitched involuntarily, the familiar urge to shape and direct music pulling at her.
She found her hand moving of its own accord.
Just the smallest gesture, hidden by the book in her lap—a gentle sweep of two fingers, as if coaxing a single note from an invisible instrument.
A soft, clear tone emerged, so quiet that she was fairly confident only she could hear it. Then another joined it, harmonizing perfectly. She kept her movements minimal, her eyes fixed on the poetry as if thoroughly absorbed, while her hidden fingers wove a subtle melody.
Above her, the chandelier’s chattering began to align with her quiet music, its overzealous tinkling gradually calming until finally it fell into a contented silence, with only the occasional delicate chime as individual crystals swayed in the gentle breeze drifting through the open garden doors.
Interesting, she mused, glancing up as a matching tranquility settled over her, smoothing the jagged edges of her anxiety.
Her intent had been to soothe her own nerves, but if she had somehow influenced the chandelier as well, that was even better.
For the first time since entering the drawing room, she drew a full, easy breath, her shoulders relaxing and—
“Lady Aurelise?”
Her hand stilled immediately, the melody dissolving as her head snapped up, nerves returning instantly.
Prince Ryden stood in the doorway, having returned Willow to the company of the other ladies.
The afternoon light streaming through the tall windows did unconscionably flattering things to him—illuminating his dark blue hair and casting shadows that emphasized the line of his jaw.
It was thoroughly irritating, Aurelise decided, that someone so reprehensible should be so absurdly well-formed.
“Y-your Highness,” she stammered, quickly moving the poetry book aside before rising and somehow managing to execute a graceful curtsy.
“Shall we?” he said.
Aurelise sensed every eye in the room following her progress to the door, but she kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, her chin lifted despite the heat crawling up her neck.
She could do this. She had rehearsed precisely what she would say—while alone, of course.
Her enthusiastic little companions certainly would not approve of what she was about to tell the prince.
He offered his arm, and she placed her gloved hand upon it with the lightest possible touch, keeping a strictly proper distance between the two of them.
Yet even so, he was near enough that she caught the faint scent lingering about him—something woodsy and …
forest fresh. It wasn’t what she expected.
For all his reputation, she thought he’d smell less like clean, woodland and more like trouble.
They stepped outside and followed a gravel path that wound between hedges and meticulously maintained flowerbeds.
“I trust you’re finding your accommodations suitable?” the prince inquired as they walked, and Aurelise couldn’t help wondering if this was the ninth time he’d asked this exact same question.
“Yes, thank you,” she replied, her voice so quiet she wondered if he could hear her. She cleared her throat as delicately as possible and added, “My suite is lovely.”
“Excellent. And your companions? Are they … helpful?”
A memory of that morning flashed through her mind. Thimble and Spark locked in a heated debate about whether she should employ a strategic ‘fainting spell’ during her walk with the prince.
It’s FOOLPROOF! Thimble had insisted, wings fluttering with excitement as she demonstrated by dramatically swooning onto Aurelise’s hairbrush. The prince catches you, carries you dramatically back to the palace—ROMANCE BLOOMS!
Meanwhile, Spark had looked positively mortified, tiny puffs of glittery smoke escaping his nostrils as he demolished his third custard kiss. The indignity of it all, he’d muttered. Our Lady Aurelise, pretending to succumb to vapors like some melodramatic stage actress!
The entire scene had unfolded as Marta arranged Aurelise’s hair, the maid’s reflection in the mirror betraying her struggle against laughter, her shoulders quivering with the effort of maintaining composure even as Thimble detailed exactly which garden location would provide the softest landing spot.
“They are …” Aurelise searched for an appropriate word. “Entertaining.”
To her surprise, the prince laughed. A genuine sound that held no trace of the performative charm she’d observed at dinner the previous night. “That’s a diplomatic description. Which of our illustrious magical menagerie have been assigned to your service?”
“Thimble and Spark.” She paused, wondering if she needed to describe them, but Prince Ryden spoke before she could continue.
“Ah, Sparkle, though he’d attempt to incinerate me for revealing his true name. It’s been a source of embarrassment to him his entire life.”
Aurelise blinked at the prince. “You know him?”
“I know most of the palace companions. They’ve been fluttering, scampering, and setting things ablaze around me since before I could walk. They’re as much a part of Solstice Hall—and our palace in the Shaded Lands—as the walls themselves. Though considerably more opinionated.”
He leaned slightly toward her then, his expression shifting to something warmer and more intimate, as if inviting her to share in a secret. “Did you know Spark and Thimble are cousins? Though it’s still unclear to me how a mouse and a dragon manage to be related.”
Aurelise found herself leaning fractionally away, creating just enough distance to establish a proper boundary without appearing rude. “I thought it best not to ask,” she admitted. “It seemed impolite to pry into their family history.”