Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Just over a week later, Aurelise sat at the pianoforte in Solstice Hall’s forgotten music room, her fingers moving across the keys.
Tomorrow’s tea loomed before her like an approaching storm, and she was employing every method at her disposal to keep the threatening tide of panic from washing over her entirely.
She focused intently on counting the beats as she played.
Not on the dwindling hours until her tea (fewer than twenty-four).
Not on the number of dares she’d attempted since her most recent visit home (a resounding zero).
Not on the number of nights that had passed since R’s letter arrived with those three words that still echoed through her every waking moment (nine).
Not on the number of days a certain prince had been gone from Solstice Hall (eight).
And certainly not on how many times her thoughts had drifted to said prince since she’d taken refuge at this instrument a mere half hour ago (at least a dozen).
She inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of sugarplum whimsy tea.
She wasn’t entirely certain how the kitchen staff had learned it was her favorite—though she strongly suspected Thimble or Spark’s meddling—but not long after she’d retreated to her suite that afternoon, there’d come a gentle knock at the door.
Outside stood the same maid who had caught her muttering and pacing about the Sun Salon an hour earlier, now balancing a tray with a delicate teacup and a plate of miniature tarts.
The girl had stammered, cheeks pink. “Forgive the intrusion, my lady, but we thought—well—it seemed you might be in need of this. Cook insisted upon the dream-tarts when he heard it was for you. I … I do hope I’m not overstepping. ”
Aurelise had very nearly hugged the girl—and then promptly started crying the moment the door had closed behind her.
Now the teacup sat on the low table between the music room’s mismatching chairs, almost finished, its soft, sweet scent reminding her of home.
“Lady Lise.”
A gasp caught in her throat, her hands faltering instantly, a discordant jumble of notes filling the air as she turned swiftly on the bench.
And there he was—Prince Ryden, with that crooked smile of his, his blue hair just slightly disheveled as though he’d run his fingers through it.
Something twisted in her chest, a beautiful, consuming ache that stole every breath she might have drawn.
It seemed that time and distance had done absolutely nothing to dull the alarming effect he had on her.
“Stars above!” she breathed, pressing a hand to her chest. “You startled me.”
He closed the door—which she certainly had not heard him open—and moved closer, choosing the chair nearest the pianoforte.
He sat with his usual casual elegance, though this time he remained perched forward on its edge rather than reclining as he had on previous occasions when they’d been alone in this room.
There was a certain tension in the way he held himself, something coiled and restless that would have been easy to miss had she not been studying him so closely now.
She turned fully on the bench to face him properly. “You’ve returned.”
“Yes.”
When the Crown Court ladies had all returned from their home visits, they’d found Prince Ryden conspicuously absent.
“Dealing with important matters in the Shaded Lands,” the High Lady had informed them, adding that he would likely return within a few days, perhaps a week at most. She’d then suggested this was an excellent opportunity for those who hadn’t yet hosted their teas to focus entirely on their planning.
“Did you have a pleasant visit with your family?” he asked.
“Oh. Yes, quite pleasant, thank you.” She refrained from mentioning that she’d endured another thorough interrogation from her grandmother—somehow even worse than the first—and that for reasons she could not fathom, her grandmother seemed far less inclined this time to believe her assurances that the prince was behaving with perfect propriety.
“And you, Your Highness?” she asked. “Was your trip … successful?”
“Yes.” His lips curved into that familiar, flirtatious smile she’d come to know far too well. “Did you miss me?”
“No,” she answered immediately.
His smile deepened into something positively wicked. “Shall we play a game, Lady Lise? I’m thinking of two words. They both begin with L.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, though her heart continued its traitorous flutter and she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from his face.
“Lamentable liar,” he whispered.
She turned swiftly back to the pianoforte. “It has been pleasantly uneventful here without you,” she said, resting her fingers on the keys. “No midnight escapades. No attempted dares. I find I am thoroughly rested.”
She was not well rested in the slightest. Thoughts of him and of R and of this wretched tea that simply needed to be over had consumed her every night, making sleep nearly impossible.
“I should certainly hope there were no midnight escapades in my absence,” Prince Ryden said. “If you were attempting to finish that dare list with someone else, I would be thoroughly jealous.”
A flare of something deliciously warm unfurled low in her belly, spreading through her limbs like honeyed wine, leaving her feeling light-headed and wonderfully unsteady. Her fingers trembled against the keys where she still had not resumed playing. She flexed them, trying to still the tremor.
I will not be overwhelmed by this, she firmly instructed herself.
I will not be overwhelmed by this.
“Are you all right?” he asked quietly from behind her. “I understand your tea is tomorrow. Are you feeling prepared or dreading it entirely?”
Why did he have to be so genuinely kind beneath all that disarming charm? It really wasn’t fair.
“I am … attempting not to think about it,” she admitted. “So perhaps discussing it is unwise.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “Might we speak of your trip instead—if that is permitted, of course?”
“Of course we may speak of it,” he said, shifting slightly in his chair. “In fact, I had intended to tell you regardless.” He paused, and something flickered across his face—a momentary uncertainty that seemed foreign on someone usually so assured. “I was visiting some … distant family.”
He drew in a breath, as though preparing himself for something significant. “On the afternoon you and the other ladies departed, someone arrived at Solstice Hall. My uncle. From the Shaded Lands.”
“Your uncle?” Aurelise turned turn face him once more, surprise coloring her voice.
“I was not aware you had—” She caught herself, realizing how presumptuous that sounded.
She knew almost nothing of his family beyond the High Lady herself.
This uncle must be from his late father’s side, she reasoned, though something about the prince’s expression suggested the matter was more complex than that.
A small, almost rueful smile touched his lips. “Not many are aware.” He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely together. “My uncle came bearing welcome news. One of my cousins had found a match. The wedding was to take place this past week.”
The warmth that entered his voice as he spoke of it caught Aurelise off guard.
This prince who had always seemed to exist solely in relation to his mother, to the court, to his royal duties—yet here he was speaking of cousins and an uncle and a wedding with such genuine affection.
The expression on his face was one she’d never seen before, soft with familial love in a way that reminded her painfully of how she felt about her own family.
“They did not wish to impose upon my mother and myself during the Bloom Season, knowing our responsibilities here. But as I am rather fond of this particular cousin, my uncle thought to inform me personally. I had intended to stay only a few days, but it stretched into a week. Despite the fact that”—his gaze found hers then, steady and intent—“there were certain things at Solstice Hall I found myself missing rather desperately.”
The flutter returned to her chest, an ache that made breathing feel oddly difficult. A part of her knew he spoke of her, yet she clung stubbornly to denial.
“The High Lady did not wish to accompany you?” she asked carefully. “Not even for a day or two? Surely for a family wedding …”
The pause that followed was heavy with unspoken meaning. Prince Ryden’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before he answered. “I know my mother would have wished to attend, but she cannot publicly acknowledge any connection to that particular branch of the family.”
Aurelise felt her brow furrow. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Prince Ryden rose from his chair then, moving with sudden purpose toward the far corner of the room.
There, partially hidden behind a settee, sat the wooden toy chest he had pointed out to her the first time he’d brought her here.
Aurelise had noticed it during her solitary practice sessions, had felt curiosity pluck at her each time she looked at it, but she’d never presumed to open it.
She watched as he knelt beside it, lifting the lid with careful reverence. His hands moved through its contents with the care of someone revisiting precious memories. When he straightened and returned to her, he carried a small, enchanted frame that gleamed softly in the afternoon light.
He resumed his seat and extended the frame toward her. “This,” he said quietly, “was Master Ellian Glendale. The Royal Instructor of Magical Theory. My tutor.”
Aurelise accepted the oval frame, looking down at the moving portrait within. The man captured there was distinguished, with intelligent eyes that crinkled at the corners as he smiled. He had dark skin, rich and warm in tone, an angular jaw that spoke of determination, and—
Everything went peculiarly still.