Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
It was her. It was her, it was her, it was her.
The words pounded through Ryden’s skull with each rapid stride through Solstice Hall’s corridors, matching the frantic rhythm of his heart.
She was right here, in the summer palace.
She’d been barely a few feet away from him, close enough that he could have reached out and touched her, could have traced the curve of her cheek where that enchanting blush had bloomed.
His legs moved with desperate purpose while his mind reeled in absolute chaos.
Lady Aurelise Rowanwood—shy, blushing, declaring herself entirely unsuitable for royal life while quoting his own letters back at him—was L.
His L. His correspondent. The woman who’d held his heart captive for nearly a year through nothing more than ink and paper.
The shock of recognition had struck him as though the world itself had tilted, sending his magic surging through his veins with such violent force that the very air around them had begun to shimmer and warp.
He’d had to flee, had to practically run from her, before his magic could spill over and accidentally command her to do something.
The possibilities of what he might have said in that moment of overwhelming discovery terrified him.
Tell me you feel what I feel.
Kiss me.
Never leave.
Or something far worse.
Any of those commands, spoken with his magic running wild, would have stripped away her free will entirely. The thought made his stomach turn even as his feet carried him faster through the palace halls.
“Your Highness?” A footman appeared in his path, concern etched across his features. “Is something amiss? You appear—”
“Leave me.” The words emerged before he could think.
A pure command, his magic threading through them like iron through silk.
Power surged outward, sharp and uncontrollable, and the footman was flung backward as though struck by an invisible force.
He hit the far wall with a heavy thud and slid to the floor, dazed.
Another servant cried out and rushed to his side.
Ryden pressed a hand over his mouth, horror mixing with the wild joy still coursing through his veins. He lurched a step forward, instinct driving him to help, to apologize—but terror stopped him cold. One more word, one wrong breath, and he might unleash something far worse. He had to get away.
This was exactly what he’d feared, exactly why he’d fled from Lady Aurelise in the garden.
Aurelise.
At last, a name. A face. The living reality of the person who had existed only in ink and imagination.
He half stumbled through the door to his private quarters, his magic slamming it shut behind him.
The sound echoed through his chambers, but he barely heard it over the roaring in his ears.
In a few swift strides he crossed to his study, reaching the large desk.
Without pausing to sit, he bent and brushed trembling fingers over the enchanted lock of the bottom drawer.
The mechanism yielded at once, the drawer sliding open, and he drew out the familiar stack of letters.
His hands shook as he spread them across the desk’s surface, though he hardly needed to read them. He’d memorized every word, every curve of her handwriting. But he needed to see them. Needed to trace the connections, to prove to himself that this impossible thing was real.
Still standing, he pulled one of her earliest letters toward him.
I am perhaps the least brave person in all the United Fae Isles. I am shy to the point of invisibility.
She had stood before him just minutes ago, telling him almost the exact same thing. He reached for another letter, one from several months into their correspondence.
I cannot decide who I am closer to: my twin brother or my older sister.
Twin brother—Kazrian. Older sister—Rosavyn.
And then, from her most recent letter:
Certain events are unfolding in my life, events that require me to be brave, day after day.
The Crown Court. Of course. What else could demand daily bravery from someone who found social gatherings torturous?
Everything aligned perfectly, each piece slipping neatly into place—except for one thing. She’d told him explicitly that her family would not be traveling to Bloomhaven this Season. That single lie stood out like a discordant note in an otherwise perfect symphony.
But of course she’d lied.
Ryden pressed his palms against his eyes, understanding flooding through him.
She’d lied for the same reason she’d stopped responding after he’d sent his desperate confession.
Because he’d crossed the boundary she’d drawn between them, pushed too hard, asked for more than she was willing to give.
Their carefully maintained anonymity was her shield, and he, in his desperation to know her, to make their connection real, had threatened that shield. He’d all but forced her to lie.
He leaned forward, flattening his palms on the desk, his head hanging between his shoulders as he stared down at her letters. Her beautiful, vulnerable words scattered beneath him like a map to her soul. A soul he now knew belonged to a woman named Lady Aurelise Rowanwood.
He wanted to go back to her immediately. He wanted to take her face in his hands and tell her he knew who she was. He wanted to thread his fingers through her hair, pull her close, brush his lips over the warmth blooming in her cheeks. He wanted—
But she did not even like him.
Her slip in the garden had been unmistakable.
She’d tried to correct herself, but he’d seen the truth beneath her mortified expression.
Lady Aurelise Rowanwood did not like His Royal Highness, Prince Ryden.
And L, the version of herself that lived in these letters, had made it equally clear she did not want to meet R.
A groan tore from Ryden’s throat, raw and frustrated. He turned and slid to the floor, his back against the desk, knees pulled up. His fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to hurt.
This was wonderful. This was terrible. This was everything he’d wanted and nothing he could have.
His mother had already dismissed Lady Aurelise as unsuitable. Her music magic too emotional, too unstable to balance his own magic. Evryn had warned him off with barely concealed threats. Even Lady Rivenna had all but promised to destroy him if he so much as distressed her granddaughter.
The entire world seemed aligned against him loving her, and she herself stood at the forefront of that opposition.
He sat there for several long minutes, his breathing gradually evening out as the initial shock began to fade. The trembling in the air around him stilled. His magic, still restless but no longer raging, settled.
This was not the end. It couldn’t be. He’d been navigating the challenges of court life, had been slipping past his royal footmen and palace sentries to escape Solstice Hall for years. He’d learned long ago that every problem had a solution if one was determined enough to find it.
He pushed himself up from the floor and began to pace, his mind shifting from emotional chaos to strategic calculation. The obstacles were numerous but not insurmountable.
First, her family’s opposition. They saw him as the scandalous prince, the shameless flirt who would inevitably break their precious Aurelise’s heart. And why wouldn’t they? He’d given them every reason to believe the worst of him.
But none of them, not even Evryn, knew him fully.
They did not know the man who wrote letters late into the night, who made terrible jokes about vegetables to make a shy girl laugh.
They could not know that the mere thought of causing her pain was unimaginable to him.
But once they understood this, surely their objections would fade.
His mother’s concerns about magical compatibility were more complex but not impossible to address.
He would find a way to prove that Aurelise’s music was not the unpredictable, destabilizing force his mother believed it to be.
Or perhaps he’d find another solution entirely.
He had weeks still. Time enough to demonstrate that his choice was the right one.
But the most significant obstacle was Aurelise herself.
She did not like Prince Ryden—the public persona, the performance he gave the world.
But she did like R, the man in the letters.
He’d seen evidence of her feelings scattered throughout their correspondence.
The way she’d admitted to blushing at his words.
The way she sometimes teased him in return, with unexpected humor that delighted him.
The fact that she wanted to keep writing to him, still needed him in her life in some way.
She cared for him. He was almost certain of it. But she was scared—of what, exactly, he was not entirely sure. But she was so convinced she was not brave. So certain she was unsuitable for this life, for him, for anything beyond a quiet existence.
How could he prove to her that a life with him would not be the daunting reality she feared?
Royal life had its burdens, to be sure—formal events where every move was watched, tedious councils, public scrutiny, and the weight of decisions affecting many lives.
But it also offered real purpose: the chance to protect what mattered and change what didn’t.
And their true home in the Shaded Lands was nothing like the bustling court she feared.
It was a place of quiet beauty with silver forests and pastel colors that shifted across the sky.
She would find peace there, he was certain of it.
But first he had to convince her that she was, in fact, brave.
No, he thought as an idea began to emerge. There was no one who could convince her. This was something she had to discover for herself. Her own courage, her own strength, her own worthiness to stand beside anyone she chose.
Including, he hoped with everything inside him, a future High Lord.