Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
No. She did not need to process anything. She needed to move beyond it.
Beyond the tender confession that had arrived in R’s latest letter, beyond those three devastating words that had burrowed beneath her skin like seeds threatening to bloom.
Beyond the person whose beautiful words were slowly, inexorably drawing her heart from its carefully maintained fortress.
And most certainly beyond the charmingly flirtatious prince whose very presence seemed to unravel every thread of sense she possessed.
She needed to move beyond both of them. Before they destroyed her.
Aurelise pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to massage away the persistent ache that had taken residence there since the previous evening.
The driftshade had long since faded from her system, leaving her with crystalline clarity about precisely how inappropriate her behavior had been.
Not only the previous night, but the entire time she’d been here at Solstice Hall.
Running through rain-soaked gardens. Taking illicit midnight swims. Smoking, for goodness’ sake. And then an attempt at flirting? Stars above, when assembled in such damning succession, it painted a portrait of impropriety that would have sent the Aurelise of several weeks ago into a dead faint.
She needed to put an end to this immediately.
Which was precisely how, on this uncomfortably warm afternoon, Aurelise found herself strolling through the palace gardens alongside Prince Ryden, trying desperately to maintain an appropriate distance while the sun beat down mercilessly from a cloudless sky.
Fortunately, a retinue of palace pixies had followed them from the terrace, holding between them a swath of shimmering mistcloth.
It drifted above her and the prince like a weightless canopy, scattering the sunlight into golden haze.
She was grateful, of course—the day was far too warm for comfort—but it made her acutely aware of every word she spoke, as though even the pixies might be listening.
She’d requested this audience through proper channels that morning (after much anxious pacing about her suite), and when Prince Ryden had suggested a garden walk, she’d readily agreed.
It would be properly chaperoned—an attendant walked a respectable distance behind them, her presence a constant reminder of propriety.
And the timing was perfect: as soon as this conversation concluded, she would depart with the other Crown Court ladies for their fortnightly visit home.
If things went poorly, at least escape was readily available.
“You seem uncommonly serious today,” Prince Ryden observed as Thimble darted beside them, performing a series of gleeful aerial pirouettes, her wings catching the sunlight in bursts of violet and rose. Spark glided a few paces ahead. “Should I be concerned?”
“Not at all,” Aurelise replied, keeping her tone carefully neutral. “I merely wished to discuss certain matters before my departure.”
“Certain matters,” he repeated, that familiar amusement threading through his voice. “How delightfully mysterious.”
They turned down a path lined with blossom arches, where the air grew heavy with warmth and perfume.
The heady scent of sun-drenched honeysilk roses mingled with something sharper—mint, perhaps.
The soft trill of hidden songbirds threaded through the air, accompanied by the small, indignant shouts of two garden gnomes locked in a heated debate at the base of a nearby hedge.
As they emerged from the path and walked toward a large ornate fountain, Aurelise tried to recall the careful phrasing she’d practiced in her room that morning.
Nearby, Spark alighted on the rim of a large earthen pot in which a lemon tree grew.
The sunlight gleamed across his emerald form as his voice brushed through her mind: Lemons, he declared with grave solemnity.
Deceptively dangerous. Their scent is addictive.
He inhaled again. Almost as good as custard.
Neither he nor Thimble had been supportive of her plan to ask the prince to resume a more proper distance.
Naturally, they had objected, Thimble first and Spark with rumbling indignation soon after.
But Aurelise had stood her ground. This was how it must be, she reminded them.
Did they not recall her telling them, the very day she arrived here, that she had no wish to be princess?
Thimble’s tiny eyes had shimmered with unshed tears when she whispered that Aurelise would make such a lovely one.
Even Spark, whose usual emotional range ran from mild irritation to faint disapproval, had sounded gruffly unsteady when he muttered something about being unable to imagine anyone else as Crown Consort to the High Lord.
The guilt of disappointing them had wrapped tightly around her ribs, squeezing until it was almost difficult to breathe, and making her think yet again of the words she’d unintentionally spilled onto paper addressed to R the night before.
Every emotion amplified until it’s almost unbearable …
But she’d managed to smile and tell her lovable companions that they must recover from their heartbreak and perhaps redirect their enthusiasm toward one of the other ladies.
Not Willow, who, if Aurelise had interpreted matters correctly, already harbored a fondness for another gentleman.
So perhaps Lady Coravelle. In Aurelise’s few interactions with her, she had seemed perfectly kind, and far more suited to the role.
Thimble and Spark had exchanged a look so brimming with unspoken mischief that Aurelise had immediately narrowed her eyes. “No sabotage,” she’d warned.
They had then insisted on accompanying her this afternoon as a mark of solidarity, though Aurelise suspected their true intentions leaned more toward interference than assistance.
“Shall we stop here?” Prince Ryden suggested as they reached the fountain—a magnificent creation of white marble depicting water sprites at play, their frozen forms sending streams arcing through the air.
The sound of splashing water provided a soothing backdrop, though it did little to calm Aurelise’s racing heart.
“The spray provides some relief from this heat,” the prince added.
Indeed, the fine mist that drifted from the fountain was pleasantly cool against her flushed skin.
She turned to face him properly, squaring her shoulders.
Their chaperone had found a bench in the shade several yards away, her attention politely averted, though the pixies still fluttered overhead with the mistcloth.
“Your Highness,” Aurelise began formally, “I believe recent events have led to a certain … informality between us that is neither appropriate nor advisable.”
The prince’s expression shifted to one of polite attention, though she didn’t miss the way his lips twitched. “Indeed? Do elaborate.”
“The dare list,” she said in a low tone. “Which, I might add, was never meant to involve you in the first place. All these inappropriate adventures, these … clandestine meetings. They must cease immediately.”
“Must they?” He tilted his head, studying her with those deep blue eyes. “And here I thought we were making excellent progress.”
“That is precisely the problem. You should be making progress with the other ladies of the court. Ladies who actually wish to be chosen. Ladies who could fulfill the role of Crown Consort.”
“Ah.” He nodded sagely. “Ladies who wish to fulfill a role. How romantic.”
“If it is romance you seek, I’m certain any one of them would be happy to—” She paused, noticing the way his gaze kept drifting toward the lemon tree where Spark—and now Thimble—sat. “Your Highness, are you listening to me?”
“Every word,” he assured her, though she caught the telltale flicker of amusement that suggested another conversation entirely was happening beyond her perception.
He’s terribly handsome in this light, came Thimble’s dreamy mental voice in Aurelise’s mind.
Prince Ryden coughed, poorly disguising a laugh.
Oh, forgive me, Your Highness! Thimble squeaked. That one was supposed to be directed only at Lady Aurelise!
“Are you silently conspiring with my companions while I am endeavoring to converse with you?” Aurelise asked, trying to sound disapproving.
The prince’s smile curved higher. “I am doing nothing. They are the ones who seem to have important things to tell me. Such as how pretty you look with the sunlight catching your hair and turning it to gold—as though I might have failed to notice.”
Aurelise’s mouth opened, then closed again.
Heat rushed to her cheeks, and for a moment, her carefully rehearsed words scattered.
“I—that is—” She drew a sharp breath, her gaze darting toward the attendant before returning to Prince Ryden.
“You see? This is precisely what I mean. You cannot go about saying things like that to me when we both know you have no interest in me.”
“No interest?” His voice softened, the teasing edge tempered by something … else. He took a single, measured step closer. “Lady Lise, I think we both know that could not be further from the truth.”
She suppressed a groan. She should never have shared that name with him. On his lips, it sounded far too … intimate. Darned driftshade leaf.
“I—that is—” She took a purposeful step backward. “Your Highness, I believe it would be wiser if we … maintained a certain distance.”
“Of course,” he answered, though the glint in his eyes and the slow curve of his mouth suggested no such intention. “You wish for the two of us to be perfectly proper in every way.”
“Yes.”
He tugged one of his gloves off. “Because being perfectly proper makes you happy.”
She frowned, her eyes on his bare hand now. “I don’t see how happiness has anything to do with it. And what are you—”