Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Hundreds of spell-light creatures darted through the air above the Solstice Hall gardens like enchanted fireflies caught in an invisible wind, their luminous forms painting trails of silver and gold against the deepening twilight.
Ladies in shimmering gowns rushed about with delicate nets of silver thread, their laughter rising and falling like music as they attempted to capture the elusive gleams. Gentlemen joined the chase with varying degrees of dignity intact, some maintaining their composure while others abandoned all pretense of sophistication in pursuit of particularly tempting quarry.
Ryden stood at the edge of the gathering, his mother a regal presence beside him, and found his gaze drawn inevitably to one figure among the many.
Lady Aurelise moved through the crowd with considerably less competitive fervor than some of the other ladies—Lady Ellowa, for instance, had nearly knocked Ryden’s friend Lord Fin Thornhart into a rose bush in her enthusiasm—but her face was alight with genuine pleasure as she laughed and attempted to catch the darting creatures with her net.
The sound carried to him on the lilac-scented breeze, and something in his chest tightened at the unfettered joy in it.
A full week had passed since he’d convinced her to venture into the rain with him.
Since he’d convinced her to swim in the lake.
He could still feel the memory of it branded into his skin—that breath-stealing moment in the water when he’d held her in his arms, her chest heaving, her nightgown clinging to her form, her eyes wide with shock and … something else?
She’d been so close, so breathtakingly, impossibly close.
His L, in his arms.
The moment hadn’t been planned, hadn’t been part of his gentle campaign to help her complete her dares. One moment, cool water had separated them. The next, he was pulling her up and into his arms, her body pressed against his in a way that had made every rational thought flee his mind entirely.
“I was relieved to observe you paying proper attention to the other ladies earlier this evening,” his mother said beside him, “rather than seeking out Lady Aurelise first, as you did at the Crown Court Ball.” She directed a pointed gaze at him, one brow raised.
“And as you did again, at several less formal events since then. It was gracious of you to send a clear signal that the Rowanwoods remain in favor despite their recent … difficulties. But I believe you’ve made your point now.
It would have sent entirely the wrong message had you shown such marked preference yet again tonight. ”
Ryden allowed himself a slight smile, grateful that his mother had accepted his carefully crafted explanation. Even more satisfying was the knowledge that she’d passed this reasoning along to Lady Rivenna, Aurelise’s formidable grandmother.
“It would not do to have anyone thinking you’ve already selected a favorite from among the ladies just yet,” his mother continued, her gaze following a particularly energetic chase as Lady Mariselle nearly collided with Lord Bridgemere.
“Especially not someone we both know you cannot actually choose as your bride.”
I can, Ryden answered silently. I will.
His attention was drawn back to Aurelise as she made another attempt at catching one of the gleams, her net sweeping through the air with more enthusiasm than skill.
Her startled laugh when she actually managed to capture something—a ribbon-bird, from what he could see—sent an unexpected warmth through him.
He watched as the creature dissolved into a translucent charm on her palm, its wings folding into an elegant token.
She said something to Lady Willow, who stood beside her, and Willow laughed in response, holding up the three tokens she’d already collected with obvious pride.
The Gleamcatcher’s Soirée had always been one of Ryden’s favorite events of the Season, a tradition dating back many years.
It was one of Solstice Hall’s smaller, more intimate gatherings, an evening reserved for the royal family’s closest friends and trusted courtiers.
The sort of night where conversation drifted easily, laughter carried through the gardens, and the formalities of rank seemed, for a few enchanted hours, to loosen their hold.
The palace enchanters spent weeks preparing the spell-light creatures, each one a masterwork of temporary enchantment.
They weren’t truly alive, of course, merely flickering wisps of magic given beautiful, fleeting form.
Tiny dragons of smoke and starlight wove between the revelers, while ribbon-birds fluttered on gossamer wings that left trails of shimmer in their wake.
Silver koi swam through the air as though it were water, and mischievous foxlets darted just out of reach, their forms bursting into sparkles of laughter when finally caught.
The greatest prize, naturally, was the moonflare—the rare moth spun of pure white light.
While dozens of lesser gleams drifted through the evening for guests to chase and trade, there was only ever one moonflare conjured each year.
Legend claimed that whoever caught it would have one wish granted before the Season’s end, though Ryden suspected this story had been invented by some creative matchmaker centuries ago.
He watched Evryn and Mariselle, who had positioned themselves near the fountain.
They were both ridiculously competitive as always, turning even this gentle entertainment into a battlefield of wills.
Mariselle had tucked her skirts up in a thoroughly improper manner to improve her mobility—a choice that drew a pointed sniff and a lift of Ryden’s mother’s chin before she discreetly turned away, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at her mouth.
Meanwhile, Evryn had removed his jacket entirely, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up.
They circled a particularly elusive starlit wyrmling, each trying to prevent the other from claiming it, their good-natured bickering carrying across the garden.
Ryden couldn’t help but smile at their antics. After the tedium of the past four days, this was precisely the kind of entertainment he needed.
The private picnics with each lady had been his mother’s idea, of course. “Individual attention,” she’d called it. “An opportunity for genuine conversation without the pressure of public scrutiny. Longer than a garden stroll, yet far less intimidating than a formal dinner.”
What she’d failed to mention was how mind-numbingly repetitive it would become.
Three picnics on the first day, then two each on the following three days.
He’d always thought himself particularly fond of candied violets and dreamleaf macarons, but by the fourth picnic, he could barely look at them without his stomach turning.
His mother had arranged the schedule with her typical strategic precision.
Lady Ellowa had been placed last, a decision that did not surprise him in the least, for both he and his mother tacitly agreed that she was nowhere near a genuine contender.
And then she’d positioned Aurelise just before Ellowa, for in her estimation, Aurelise was no more suitable, even if she was far more likable.
Perhaps his mother thought he’d be thoroughly bored and disinterested by the time the picnic with Aurelise arrived, his patience exhausted, his attention wandering. Instead, the delay had only heightened his anticipation, like saving one’s most exquisite confection for last.
He’d made certain to request the kitchen replace the standard strawberry jam they’d included in all the other wicker hampers with orange marmalade, remembering a detail from one of L’s letters about her preferences.
Aurelise had noticed immediately, her eyes widening with pleased surprise.
He’d merely nodded along, feigning mild confusion, working desperately to keep his amusement from showing on his face.
And then she’d very nearly undone him entirely when she’d placed the tip of one finger between her lips to catch a drop of marmalade that had escaped her scone.
The gesture was so innocently sensual that he’d had to grip the edge of the blanket to keep from reaching out, capturing her delicate hand in his, and discovering for himself exactly how the marmalade would taste on her skin.
“Ryden?”
His mother’s voice cut through his increasingly improper thoughts, and he felt warmth creeping up his neck. Thank the stars she couldn’t see the direction his mind had wandered.
“Forgive me, Mother. You were saying?”
She inclined her head toward him, her voice softening. “I was inquiring whether you’ve begun to feel any sort of … magical compatibility with any of the ladies. Perhaps a calming of your magic? A sense of balance or peace in someone’s presence?”
“I haven’t noticed anything specific,” he said carefully, mainly because he hadn’t been paying attention.
All he’d noticed was the quickening of his pulse, the unsteady rhythm of his breath, and the restless heat that seemed to steal through him whenever Aurelise was near—and an equal and maddening distraction whenever she was not.
“Though I should thank you for keeping my surges under control thus far. I know I don’t always …
” He paused, the words feeling stiff and formal even to his own ears.
“I don’t always express my appreciation adequately, but I know how taxing it is for you, increasingly so as my magic grows stronger. Your efforts don’t go unnoticed.”
Surprise flickered across his mother’s features before she smoothed it away.
“I haven’t been doing anything,” she said quietly, her voice carrying an undertone he couldn’t quite identify.
“I’ve remained keenly attuned to the possibility, as you requested before the Crown Court Ball, but I’ve felt nothing out of the ordinary since then. ”