Chapter 17 #2
“I am not going outside in the rain with you. In my nightclothes. At this hour. It would be—”
“Daring?” he suggested, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
You should absolutely go! Thimble urged, fluttering to Aurelise’s shoulder. When will you have another opportunity like this?
You should absolutely not go, Spark countered firmly, abandoning his custard kisses to deliver his pronouncement. You’ll catch your death of cold, and then where will we be? Also, the scandal if anyone were to witness—
Oh, please, Thimble scoffed. It’s the height of summer! The rain is warm, and it would be THOROUGHLY refreshing. Besides, no one’s awake at this hour except the night footmen, and they’re all playing cards in the servants’ hall.
“I appreciate your companions’ spirited debate,” the prince commented, looking amused. “Might I add that the rain is indeed quite warm this evening? Perfect for a first attempt at purposeful drenching.”
Aurelise worried her lower lip, a habit her mother would have scolded her for.
The sensible part of her—which was to say, most of her—insisted this was absolute madness.
But there was another part, a tiny rebellious whisper that sounded suspiciously like R’s letters, suggesting that perhaps, just perhaps, a small adventure wouldn’t be the end of the world.
“I would need to … to cover my nightgown,” she said, hardly believing she was even considering this.
“Of course,” he agreed readily. “Though I wouldn’t bother with slippers. They’ll only become waterlogged. Besides,” his smile turned almost boyish, “don’t you want to feel the grass between your toes?”
She stared at him for a long moment, then made a decision that would have horrified her even a fortnight ago. “Wait here.”
She closed the door—not quite in his face, but nearly—and rushed to the end of the bed where her wrapper lay.
Still scandalously insubstantial, but it would at least provide some coverage.
And besides, he had already witnessed her flailing about in a flowerbed in her nightclothes; the threshold of dignity had surely been crossed long ago.
As she pulled the wrapper on with trembling fingers, she caught sight of herself in her dressing table mirror. Her eyes were bright with something that might have been fear or excitement or very possibly both.
“This is madness,” she muttered.
This is adventure! Thimble corrected, already dancing in anticipation.
When she opened the door again, Prince Ryden was still there, looking as though he had every right to be lounging outside a lady’s bedchamber at nearly midnight. He offered her his arm with exaggerated formality.
“Your evening constitutional awaits, my lady.”
Against every principle of proper behavior she’d been taught, Aurelise placed her hand—her bare, gloveless hand!—upon his arm and allowed him to lead her into the corridor.
Solstice Hall lay hushed and dreamlike, soft shadows spilling across marble and gilt.
Aurelise, however, noticed precisely nothing of her surroundings.
Every scrap of her awareness was consumed by the prince beside her, the warmth of his sleeve beneath her palm, the cool floor beneath her bare feet.
This was complete, unrepentant madness. At any moment, someone would discover them. Her reputation would be not merely tarnished but obliterated. She would have to return to Rowanwood House in unspeakable disgrace.
Her magic responded to her nerves, thin threads of melody trembling into existence around them, high, uncertain notes like harp strings brushed by invisible hands.
A soft laugh came from beside her. “There is no need to panic, Lady Aurelise. I promise, you shall not be discovered, and you shall not melt from the rain.”
Thimble darted ahead of them, her iridescent wings catching what little light remained, while Spark followed with obvious reluctance, muttering under his breath about the follies of youth and the inevitability of lung fever.
They passed through the Blue Parlour, its elegant furniture transformed into mysterious shapes in the darkness, then through a smaller sitting room Aurelise had never entered before. Finally, Prince Ryden stopped before a set of glass doors that led to the garden.
He pushed open the doors, and immediately the sound of rain filled the space. Not a violent downpour but a steady, gentle shower that released the green scent of growing things into the night air.
Without hesitation, the prince stepped outside.
Within moments, his white shirt was plastered to his skin, his hair dripping water down his face. He turned back to Aurelise with a grin that was pure mischief, spreading his arms wide as he took a few steps backward, further into the rainy night.
“Come now, Lady Aurelise! What are you waiting for?”
She hung back in the doorway, her fingers clutching the frame. “I’ll get wet!”
“Yes, that’s rather the entire purpose of the exercise.”
“But then I’ll be thoroughly soaked!”
“Indeed you will. And what then? Will the world cease spinning? Will society crumble? Or will you perhaps discover that being wet is merely … being wet?”
She shook her head, though she was fighting a smile. “You’re impossible.”
“I prefer ‘encouraging.’ Come now. One step. That’s all. One step into the rain.”
I’m absolutely not going out there, Spark announced, settling himself primly in the doorway. This is undignified behavior for anyone, but particularly for a lady of quality.
This is the most exciting thing that’s happened in AGES! Thimble squeaked, zipping out into the rain and performing an elaborate loop. Oh, it feels WONDERFUL! Like tiny kisses from the sky!
Aurelise took a breath, then another. Then, before she could lose her nerve entirely, she stepped out into the rain.
The first droplets on her skin made her gasp—not from cold but from the strange intimacy of it. Rain had always been something to shelter from, to observe from behind windows. But this—this purposeful stepping into it, choosing to be drenched—felt like breaking a rule she hadn’t known existed.
She moved a few paces from the palace wall, her bare feet sinking slightly into wet grass.
The sensation made her cringe at first, the squelch between her toes entirely foreign.
But as the rain continued to fall, soaking through her wrapper, plastering her braid to her neck, something in her began to unfold.
A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep in her chest. She tilted her face to the sky, closing her eyes, feeling the droplets trace paths down her cheeks. Without quite meaning to, she spread her arms wide, palms up, catching the rain like gifts.
“You see?” Prince Ryden’s voice came from somewhere nearby, warm with satisfaction. “Not so terrible after all.”
Spin! Thimble called out, performing her own aerial pirouette. You must spin! And twirl! This is far too wonderful to stand still!
“She’s right,” the prince agreed, and when Aurelise opened her eyes, she found him watching her with an expression that made her stomach perform a peculiar flutter. “Though I’d suggest something even better. Run.”
“Run?” She was still laughing, giddy with the strangeness of it all. “I’m not going to run through the rain like some wild creature.”
“Why not? There’s nothing quite like it. The feel of your blood racing, your lungs burning, the rain streaming past as you move. Pure freedom.”
She shook her head, still smiling. “You are thoroughly mad.”
His expression shifted then, taking on a quality that sent a different sort of thrill through her. “And if I were to chase you?”
The laughter died in her throat. “You wouldn’t—you cannot—surely you would not actually pursue me through the gardens!”
He began a slow and purposeful walk toward her, that roguish grin still in place. “Wouldn’t I?”
Run, my lady! Thimble shrieked with delight, diving down to tug at Aurelise’s thumb with her tiny paws. This way! Quickly!
The prince took another deliberate step, and with a squeal that would have mortified her in daylight, Aurelise darted past him and ran into the night.
Her feet flew across wet grass, her nightgown and wrapper plastered to her skin, the soaked fabric tangling about her knees.
She ran past the carefully manicured rose bushes, their blooms heavy with rain.
Past the ornamental fountains that overflowed with the evening’s bounty.
Past hedges trimmed into fantastic shapes that looked like creatures in the night.
Behind her, she could hear the prince’s laughter, his footfalls, steady and unhurried, as though he could catch her whenever he chose but was enjoying the chase too much to end it. Thimble flew beside her, squeaking encouragement, her tiny form a pink blur against the darkness.
Her lungs began to burn, her legs to shake, but still she ran, powered by something wild and free she hadn’t known existed within her. The rain streamed down her face, and she was laughing again, breathless and exhilarated.
Finally, when she could run no more, she stumbled to a stop near the edge of the palace’s lake.
Her chest heaved as she bent forward, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.
The lake, Veilmere, stretched before them, its surface dimpled with raindrops.
In the center, barely visible through the rain and darkness, sat the small island with its ancient stone archway—the Veil Gate that led to the Shaded Lands.
“Well?” Prince Ryden asked, coming to stand beside her, his breathing quickened, though far less uneven than hers. “Was I correct about the running?”
She straightened, pushing wet strands of hair from her face. “That was … that was actually rather wonderful.”
“I do occasionally have good ideas,” he said with false modesty, and for some inexplicable reason, Aurelise was suddenly reminded of R and his ‘almost always Right About Things.’