Chapter 19 #2
Without conscious thought, her hand moved toward him.
Through the fog in her mind, some part of her shrieked in alarm—what was she doing, touching him like this?
—but the voice seemed very far away. He went utterly still beneath her touch, his breathing shallow, while her gloved finger traced the edges of the scar.
“You told me it was the result of an accident,” she murmured.
“In a way,” he said, his voice little more than a breath, “it was.”
She became acutely aware of their proximity then. The now familiar scent of fresh rain on cedar trees, of how she was almost leaning over him, how if she simply lowered her head …
No.
She pushed herself upright abruptly, her hand flying to her hair which had become somewhat disheveled and likely had bits of grass in it. “That was … considerably more serious than my own revelation.”
“Would you prefer something lighter?” His voice had gone rough in a way that sent shivers down her spine.
“Only if you wish to share it.”
“Very well.” He sat up as well, though they were somehow far closer now than when they’d first positioned themselves on the grass. “My favorite event of the Season—that’s appropriately frivolous, isn’t it?”
“Perfectly so.” She drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them in a gesture that would have horrified the majority of her family and made Rosavyn grin with delight. “Let me guess—the Gleamcatcher’s Soirée? You did win the moonflare, after all.”
“And gifted it to you,” he said quietly, his gaze steady and unguarded.
A faint tremor stirred in her chest as their gazes held.
She had found his gift the night of the Soirée, a small silver token resting atop the pianoforte.
It had unsettled her then, though she’d pretended it hadn’t, insisting to herself that it meant nothing.
But now, under the stars, with that quiet intensity in his eyes, nothing no longer felt like the truth.
She swallowed and looked away. “So … the Gleamcatcher’s Soirée, then?”
“Yes, though there is perhaps another event I enjoy equally. The Festival of Lantern Wishes.”
“I don’t believe I’ve heard of that one.”
“It’s one of our smaller gatherings, usually held close to the Summer Solstice Ball.
” His eyes took on a distant quality, seeing something beyond the present moment.
“Guests inscribe wishes on enchanted parchment, then fold them into lanterns. When released, they rise into the night sky. The wishes that align with the constellations—that is to say, that find their matching stars—are said to come true.”
She smiled. “It sounds beautiful.”
“It is.” He turned to look at her again, and something in his expression made her heart skip yet again. “You’ll see it for yourself this Season.”
For a long, quiet moment, the space between them seemed to deepen, filled with a warmth that swelled and grew until it was almost too much to bear. It felt big, too big, as though it might spill over and remake everything she thought she understood.
I have no intention of choosing you.
What need have I to charm you?
We may converse honestly, without the tedious pretense of courtship.
And yet … the way he looked at her now suggested something entirely different. She drew a steadying breath and looked away before the feeling could completely overtake her.
“I’m feeling wonderfully drowsy,” she said, needing to break the moment. “I should return to my chambers before I accidentally fall asleep beneath the stars.”
“Rest easy,” he said, that teasing tone creeping back into his voice again. “I would carry you back to your bed, should that occur.”
She shook her head, though she found she was not nearly as scandalized as she ought to be. “If your aim is to shock me with impropriety, I’ll have you know I’m developing quite an immunity to your scandalous suggestions.”
“Then I shall simply have to become increasingly creative in my impropriety.”
She laughed at that. “You are incorrigible.”
“I do try to be consistent in my character.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth before he tilted his head, a touch of hesitation softening the easy charm in his manner. “May I ask one more thing before I escort you back?”
“That depends entirely upon what you’re asking.”
“Would you …” He drew a careful breath. “Would you play for me? Not the pianoforte—though I count myself fortunate for every time you’ve permitted me to remain in the music room with you and listen. What I mean is … your own music.”
The request was so unexpected, so earnest, that she could only stare at him.
He’d heard her music before, of course—it had escaped often in his presence, and he’d been present at the musicale early on in her stay at Solstice Hall, when all the Crown Court ladies had been expected to perform.
But this was different. He was asking her to deliberately share this part of herself that she treasured most deeply with him and only him.
“Please?” His eyes captured hers, the blue of them seeming darker, depthless. And it was surely only the haze of the driftshade, the enchantment of the night, but she felt herself sinking, helplessly, into their depths.
“Very well,” she whispered, though she couldn’t seem to look away, nor remember how to move her hands.
He reached for her then, his touch slow, deliberate. His gaze never wavered from hers as his fingers found her wrist. “You removed your gloves at the Opening Ball,” he murmured, his voice low, the words curling through the night like a secret. “And again at the musicale. Do you always do that?”
But he was already easing at the tiny buttons along her wrist, one after another, his movements unhurried, almost reverent.
She swallowed. “Yes,” she managed, though the word came out unsteady as he gently grasped the fingertips of her glove. “It … it allows me to …” A shuddering breath escaped her as the glove began to slide down over her hand. “To better feel the magic around me,” she finished on a breath.
The fabric slipped free beneath his hands, satin whispering against her skin, leaving his palm warm against the bare skin of her forearm. His fingers traced a slow, lingering path downward, following the curve of her arm until his hand found hers.
Then he reached for her other hand, fingers moving to the buttons there, undoing them with deliberately aching slowness.
And surely this was the driftshade’s influence, because she would never, ever, under any normal circumstances, allow a gentleman to undress any part of her, no matter how small.
Yet she could not look away from his face, from the intensity in his eyes as he revealed her bare skin inch by careful inch.
By the time the second glove lay on the grass beside the first, she could barely breathe.
“There,” Prince Ryden murmured, his voice rough as his thumb brushed across her bare palm before releasing her. “Now you are ready.”
Ready? She was the very opposite of ready. She’d quite forgotten what she was even meant to be doing. Music, she reminded herself with another shuddering breath, her skin still tingling beneath the memory of his touch.
“Can I—that is—would you mind if—” She took another steadying breath, forcing herself to look away from him. “I find it easier if I close my eyes.”
“Of course,” he said.
She let her eyelids fall shut and drew several deep, steady breaths, willing her pulse to slow.
The driftshade was still there—soft and heady—curling through her veins, loosening her restraint, quieting every careful thought.
She let her mind wander toward the melodies and harmonies that were ever-present beneath her skin suspended, invisible, in the air around her, waiting to be caught and shaped into something beautiful.
She breathed again.
Slow … deep …
In … out …
Then she lifted one hand and swept it through the air in a languid arc before her.
Music unfurled like silk ribbons in the dark—low, velvety cello notes weaving with the crystalline shimmer of harp and viola.
A meandering melody that wound and looped around them both, encircling them in a cocoon of sound.
Her hands moved in slow, graceful patterns, tracing arcs and spirals through the air as the music swelled, gathered upon itself, and rose toward a shimmering crescendo before softening once more.
Gradually, the sound gentled, each note folding into the next until it faded to near stillness, like the final sigh of a dream.
When the final note drifted into silence, Aurelise opened her eyes to find him watching her with an expression that made her chest tighten painfully.
Did it touch him the way it did her? That sensation of being threaded through with something that was like warmth and color and light, and yet somehow none of those things.
“Has anyone told you before how utterly extraordinary you are?” Prince Ryden murmured.
She blinked, slowly. The driftshade still lingered in her veins, and the memory of the music still hummed around her, and what she wanted to say was, Not while looking at me like that.
But she forced another breath into her lungs and lowered her eyes.
She might have been feeling light and unguarded, but she possessed just enough sense to know she ought to return to her rooms before she said or did something she would most assuredly regret.
I would never do anything you did not wish me to do.
“I believe it is time to return to my chambers now,” she said a little too loudly, as though attempting to drown out her own thoughts.
“Yes, of course.” The prince stood and offered her his hand, but before she could reach for it, she remembered her hands were bare.
“Oh. My gloves.” She reached for them, trying her utmost to sound casual, though she very much suspected she would never look at another pair of gloves in quite the same way again.
She slid them on, fastening the tiny buttons with careful fingers before placing her hand in his and allowing him to pull her to her feet. The world tilted slightly, and she steadied herself against his arm with a small laugh. “Oh. Perhaps the ground isn’t quite as stable as I recalled.”
“The ground is perfectly stable,” he said, unmistakable amusement coloring his tone. “You, however, are delightfully unsteady.”
He kept hold of her arm, and she made no effort to draw away.
As they made their way back through the moonlit gardens, the charged tension between them gradually softened into something warmer, easier, perhaps aided by the fact that she seemed incapable of walking in a straight line.
She tripped over roots that weren’t there, lost her balance on even ground, and giggled at his teasing insistence that Lady Aurelise, paragon of grace, could not possibly be capable of such clumsiness unless the universe itself was conspiring against her.
It was, frankly, a wonder they reached her suite at all without waking half the palace.
There had been the small table that appeared out of nowhere and caught her hip, and the towering flower arrangement she somehow managed to topple—though she could have sworn it had been nowhere near her path.
Prince Ryden, of course, found every mishap thoroughly entertaining, especially the part where they were forced to hide behind a marble statue while several footmen came to investigate the mysterious crash.
By the time they arrived at her door, she was deliciously drowsy and pleasantly content, already imagining the bliss of sinking into her bed and not stirring until noon.
Though perhaps—just perhaps—she might first find the courage to reply to R.
After all, she could now claim to have completed a dare he surely believed she would never attempt.
She stepped inside and turned to bid the prince goodnight. He was already leaning against the frame with that casual grace that seemed as natural to him as breathing. “I still can’t quite believe you actually allowed me to talk you into this,” he said.
“Nor I,” she agreed with a small smile. “I’ll likely be horrified when I wake in the morning and remember.”
“I hope not. I thought it rather fun. We may have to attempt it again.”
She laughed, then quickly pressed a hand over her mouth when the sound rang far too loudly in the quiet space. “Definitely not. Though I suppose if I’m ever to complete dare number three, I may require a similar degree of … assistance.”
“Oh?” The prince’s brows rose in exaggerated interest. “Are you saying you have plans now to complete that particular challenge? You seem to have been firmly against it since the beginning.”
She tipped her head and gave him a shy smile that was laced with something … daring. “Why, I’ve been saving it for you, of course.”
Something flared in his eyes. He leaned closer, hand rising to ghost along her jaw before tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Then he bent nearer still, his lips grazing past her ear as he whispered, “I believe you may now cross that one off your list as well, Lady Lise.”