Chapter 13 #3
She blinked. “With … with you?”
“Yes, with me.” He gestured to the stone bench, his smile almost gentle, stripped of its earlier trace of mischief.
“But that would be most improper! We are alone, without a chaperone. If someone were to discover us—”
“We are not alone,” he pointed out. “Your delightful companions are here.”
Aurelise turned to follow his gaze, and there, at the base of the stone fountain, sat Thimble and Spark, both of them apparently having borne silent witness to the entire exchange.
Though the High Lady had instructed her and the other ladies to treat their companions with the same respect they would give any other member of their household staff, Aurelise doubted the creatures truly fulfilled the traditional role of chaperones tasked with preserving decorum between young people. Still, she didn’t wish to offend them.
“Does that … count?” she asked tentatively.
Of course it does! Thimble’s enthusiastic voice rang in her mind.
Most certainly not, Spark countered simultaneously.
Prince Ryden laughed, a warm, genuine sound. “I agree with Thimble.”
Aurelise started. “You heard them?”
“They can choose who to direct their inner voices toward. Either of us individually, or both.” He gestured toward the bench again.
“Come. I give you my word, no one will find us here. And I assure you that in spite of my earlier enthusiasm for dares of a scandalous nature, I have not the slightest intention of compromising your virtue. You are safe with me, Lady Aurelise.”
She tilted her head slightly, studying him with clear suspicion that softened—just barely—into reluctant amusement.
Then, against her better judgment, she found herself following him to the bench.
She sat at the farthest possible edge, ensuring a proper amount of space between them, and pulled her shawl more tightly around herself.
Despite the mild evening air, the stone was cold through the thin fabric of her nightgown, and she shivered slightly.
Without a word, Prince Ryden leaned forward, brushing his fingers along the paving beneath the bench. A soft shimmer of magic stirred the air, and the stone itself seemed to sigh, revealing a small recess where none had been a moment before. From within, he drew out a neatly folded blanket.
Aurelise blinked. “You keep blankets hidden beneath garden furniture?”
His mouth curved. “Only the most essential of comforts. The evenings grow cooler later in the Season, toward the end of summer.” He rose. “If you’ll stand a moment?”
Bewildered but compliant, she rose to her feet.
He spread the blanket carefully across the bench, letting part of it drape over the backrest, then motioned for her to sit once more.
When she did, he lifted the remaining length and settled it lightly around her shoulders.
He was close for only a few moments, but his scent enveloped her nonetheless, warm cedar and fresh oakmoss.
Strangely steadying when she still expected him to smell more like mischief and poor decisions.
“There. Much better.” He resumed his place at the opposite end of the bench, ensuring a proper distance between the two of them.
For a moment, they sat in silence, both gazing upward. Despite her acute awareness of his presence—the way he lounged against the bench with casual elegance—Aurelise found herself relaxing incrementally. The stars demanded attention, and their steady light soothed something restless within her.
“They’re different in the Shaded Lands,” Prince Ryden said quietly.
She glanced at him, curiosity overcoming shyness. “The stars?”
“Everything, really. But yes, the stars. We’re much farther north there, you see. The constellations appear at different angles, and there are some you can only see from there. The Dancing Dragon, for instance, never rises here. While there, one cannot see the Silver Swan.”
“Oh.” For a moment, her mind went blank, that familiar flutter of panic rising. How did one ever know the right thing to say to keep a conversation going? The silence stretched, but he didn’t seem troubled by it, merely waiting with that easy composure of his as he continued staring at the sky.
She forced herself to breathe, to think, to catch hold of a single sensible thread she might follow from what he’d said. “What else is different there?”
“Hmm. It’s … peaceful. Compared to the pace of the Bloom Season, it feels as thought everything moves more slowly there.
The seasons blend into one another rather than changing abruptly.
In high summer, the sun barely sets—just skims along the horizon for hours, painting everything in gold and rose.
In winter, the aurora dances across the sky in colors that don’t exist anywhere else.
And the old enchantments woven through the Shaded Lands keep the air temperate, the storms gentle, the balance ever constant. Nothing harsh or extreme.”
“Does it rain there?” she asked, surprising herself by having a question ready without even knowing it was coming.
A foolish question, perhaps, but it seemed suddenly important.
There was nothing quite like the comfort of being indoors while rain whispered against the windows, soft and steady as a lullaby.
The prince smiled, gaze still turned toward the stars. “It does.”
A few quiet moments passed in companionable stillness, and to her surprise, Aurelise found herself relaxing further. This was not nearly as dreadful as she had imagined.
Then the prince turned his head, his gaze settling on her with quiet curiosity. “That music earlier,” he said. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
Ah. So much for feeling at ease. Heat crept back into her cheeks at once. She looked skyward, as though the constellations might offer rescue. “Yes,” she admitted at last. “That was me.” A small pause. “It’s rather mortifying, really. I am still learning to control it.”
“I found it quite remarkable,” he countered. “How delightful to have one’s life accompanied by music. As if the world itself were keeping time with you.”
She glanced at him sidelong, uncertain whether to be flattered or exasperated. “I fail to see what’s so delightful about one’s own emotions announcing themselves to everyone within earshot, Your Highness.”
His laugh came softly, warm enough to melt any sting. “I do so enjoy it when you tell me precisely what you think. You ought to do it more often. It’s one of your dares, isn’t it?”
She blinked, thinking back to the list. “Speak my mind to someone who scares me?” Tilting her head, she considered him for a beat. “Do you suppose I may cross that one off tonight?”
His smile deepened, eyes alight with challenge. “Certainly not. I don’t scare you.”
“You—” She caught herself before the word ‘do’ could slip from her tongue, realizing it wasn’t true. No, he did not frighten her. Fluster her, confuse her, make her blush until even her thoughts felt pink—yes. But scare her? No.
She pulled her gaze away from his, focusing again on the stars above. “I should go,” she said softly. “It’s very late.”
“Early, technically,” he corrected, but he stood when she did, moving to gather up the blanket while she readjusted the shawl around herself.
He stepped aside, allowing her to precede him as they crossed the terrace toward the door. Thimble darted gleefully about her in quick, sparkling circles, while Spark followed at a slower, more dignified glide.
At the threshold, Prince Ryden reached past her to open the door. “Good night, Lady Aurelise,” he murmured. Then that roguish smile curved his lips once more. “Do let me know when you’re ready to attempt any further dares. I would be delighted to assist.”