Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Morning light spilled through Aurelise’s chamber windows, transforming the room into a study of golden edges and soft shadows.
She sat at her dressing table, fingers drumming softly against its polished surface as she contemplated R’s dare list, which lay before her like both an accusation and an invitation.
The music room visit the previous afternoon might have qualified as exploring somewhere new, she supposed, but ‘explore’ implied a certain independence of discovery—wandering and finding rather than being led.
Besides, she’d brought back no evidence of her adventure, unless one counted the melody that still hummed beneath her skin from those precious moments at the pianoforte.
As for counting it toward dare number ten—be entirely improper—well.
Prince Ryden had been quite correct that nothing truly improper had occurred.
Yes, they’d been alone in a private room without proper supervision, and yes, the mere thought of being discovered in such circumstances made her cheeks warm even now.
But since nothing untoward had transpired beyond conversation and music, she could hardly claim to have completed that particular challenge.
You’re making excuses to attempt more dares, Thimble’s voice sing-songed in her mind from where the tiny mouse perched on the windowsill, her purple wings catching the morning light. Admit it! You WANT to be scandalous!
“I want nothing of the sort,” Aurelise protested, though her conviction wavered as she glanced toward the door.
Marta had already attended to her morning preparations and delivered a tray of breakfast before departing to see to her own affairs.
The corridors beyond her chambers were still quiet, most of the Crown Court ladies choosing to luxuriate in their beds until later in the morning.
And no formal gatherings had been arranged until the afternoon.
Which meant …
“I suppose,” she said slowly, rising from her seat, “that a brief exploration of the palace would be perfectly acceptable. After all, the High Lady did say we should familiarize ourselves with our surroundings.”
Spark lifted his head from where he was curled beside Thimble on the windowsill, basking in the morning sun. Oh, we’re using royal directives to justify mischief now? How delightfully hypocritical.
“It isn’t mischief,” Aurelise insisted, moving toward the door. “It’s merely … educational reconnaissance.”
Educational reconnaissance, Spark repeated flatly. Is that what we’re calling it? Very well. Lead on, my lady, in your pursuit of definitely-not-mischievous education.
The palace corridors felt different this morning, less labyrinthine and forbidding than they’d felt even just yesterday.
Perhaps it was the lingering peace that had settled into her bones after playing that beautiful pianoforte the previous afternoon, or simply the restorative effects of a good night’s sleep.
There was also the golden sunlight, brightening everything.
It streamed through tall windows, painting patterns across marble floors and making the portraits of long-dead nobles seem less disapproving and more merely drowsy.
A housemaid carrying fresh linens offered her a warm smile and a small curtsy as they passed, and Aurelise found herself smiling in return.
“Good morning, Mrs. Fenbridge,” she ventured, surprising herself by remembering the woman’s name from a brief introduction days earlier.
The maid’s face brightened considerably. “Good morning, Lady Rowanwood! Lovely day for a wander, isn’t it?”
Aurelise’s usual shyness melted slightly under the maid’s warm greeting. “It is indeed,” she replied, gesturing to her companions. “And I’m most grateful for my little guides. I would be thoroughly lost without them.”
The maid laughed. “Not to worry. You’ll know your way blindfolded by Season’s end, my lady.”
They turned into another corridor and came upon a chaotic scene—four magical companions engaged in what appeared to be a fierce battle over a collection of ribbons.
A jewel-toned butterfly, two squirrels and a phoenix.
They darted and lunged at each other while two lady’s maids stood on opposite sides of the hallway, arms folded and expressions tight with irritation, though neither made any move to intervene.
Aurelise hesitated, wondering if she should help somehow.
Don’t bother, Spark muttered. Those belong to Lady Ellowa and Lady Floravine. Their companions are always at each other’s throats.
It’s not really the poor things’ fault, Thimble added with uncharacteristic solemnity. Their ladies are always pitting them against each other, making everything a competition.
Spark huffed out another cloud of glittery smoke. I don’t blame them for fighting, honestly. When your lady constantly demands to see whose companions will ‘win’ at every little task …
“What?” Aurelise whispered, shocked, as they passed the skirmish and turned into a new corridor. She was about to ask more about this disturbing revelation when a flurry of yellow darted toward her.
She stepped hastily sideways as a lemon-yellow mouse with dragon wings zipped past, carrying what appeared to be a stolen scone in its tiny paws.
UNCLE DANDELION! Thimble shrieked with delight, launching herself into the air. Uncle Dandy, wait!
The yellow mouse paused mid-flight, hovering with visible reluctance. Thimble, darling, lovely to see you, can’t stop, very busy, important business, you understand.
You’re stealing scones again!
Borrowing! Borrowing with intent to consume! Completely different thing! Uncle Dandelion executed a complicated aerial maneuver to avoid a passing servant. Give my regards to Sparkle!
DON’T CALL ME— Spark’s roar of indignation was cut short as Uncle Dandy disappeared around a corner, leaving a few crumbs falling to the floor in his wake.
Aurelise found herself laughing, the sound bright and unexpected in the quiet corridor.
Perhaps this was it: not the pianoforte’s peace nor a good night’s rest, nor even the warm golden sunlight, but the fact that this majestic and imposing palace was populated by beings who treated its grandeur with such cheerful irreverence.
She stretched out her palm toward Thimble, who seemed to understand the invitation immediately. The tiny pink mouse landed on her hand with obvious delight, her wings fluttering to a gentle stop. Aurelise brought Thimble close and briefly nuzzled the tiny creature against her cheek.
OH MY STARS! Thimble’s mental voice quivered with pure joy. This is the BEST DAY EVER!
Spark, gliding in endless graceful circles at her side, huffed a puff of sparkly smoke and twitched his tail with what might have been the slightest hint of jealousy. Aurelise blew him a kiss with her free hand.
“Thank you both,” she said. “For making this place less frightening.”
Eventually, their wanderings led them toward the kitchens, the air growing warmer and rich with the mingled scents of baking bread, spices, and something that might have been caramelized sugar.
Perhaps there she might find her evidence for dare number two.
Surely liberating a cream scone or a small tartlet would be less problematic than absconding with an ornamental cushion or decorative figurine from the palace’s formal rooms.
As she drew nearer, the murmur of voices and the clatter of metal grew louder, until the full life of the palace kitchen unfolded before her. She paused at the threshold, peering into the organized chaos within.
White-aproned maids bent over long wooden tables, knives flashing as they peeled potatoes and trimmed green beans into neat piles.
Two others sat shelling peas into wide earthen bowls, while near the ovens, a broad-shouldered cook slid great rounds of bread onto a cooling rack.
The air shimmered faintly with enchantments—spoons stirring on their own, a rolling pin gliding back and forth over a sheet of pastry as though guided by invisible hands.
Aurelise leaned against the doorframe, content simply to observe. This, at least, felt familiar—the kitchens at Rowanwood House operated with similar cheerful industry, though perhaps on a slightly less grand scale.
A scullery boy hurried in from the courtyard, his arms full of freshly cut herbs tied in bundles.
At that exact moment, a young maid turned from her station with a bowl brimming with peeled potatoes.
Neither saw the other until they collided.
The bowl tipped, the herbs flew, and a dozen potatoes thudded and rolled across the flagstones.
“What were you thinking?” the maid cried, clutching the rim of her now-empty bowl. “You nearly knocked me over!”
“Well maybe don’t stand in the middle of the floor like a statue!” the boy snapped back, herbs still hanging from one arm. “Some of us have work to do!”
“Some of us,” she retorted hotly, “are actually doing it properly!”
Voices rose, sharp with embarrassment and temper. The clatter of knives and spoons faltered as nearby maids turned to stare. The cook’s head jerked up, her expression darkening as she drew breath to shout.
Aurelise’s pulse fluttered. Their anger pressed against her skin, quickening her own heartbeat. She turned swiftly away from the kitchen, pressing her back to the cool wall, desperate not to be noticed—her instinct to retreat from conflict stronger than any intention that had brought her here.
Her fingers began to move of their own accord, tracing delicate patterns in the air beside her.
The motion came as naturally as breathing, summoning a soft, wordless sound.
A gentle harmony rose like sunlight filtering through leaves.
The sound of strings, soft and sweet, wrapped around her like a familiar shawl.