Chapter 24 #2
She could not prevent her eyes from sliding shut, could not stop the shuddery exhale that escaped her. Moments passed as they stood wrapped in each other, and she found her breaths slowing, calming.
“I know,” he murmured against her hair, “that your eyes are not the kind of blue that makes people write poetry, nor are they the kind brown that makes people feel steadied. They are the kind of gray that soothes and quiets. You are neither tall nor short but exactly the right height to fit perfectly against me, and you do bite your lip when you’re concentrating.
And when I guessed that you laugh with a quiet shake of your shoulders rather than your whole body, I was entirely correct. ”
She pulled back to look at him, confusion mingling with the warmth spreading through her chest. Those words … they were so achingly, beautifully familiar. She’d heard them before. No—not heard. Read. She’d read them before. Too many times to count.
The realization struck her like ice water poured over her head, shocking and absolute. She shoved away from him, her eyes raking over his features, wild with disbelief. A crashing crescendo of discordant music erupted around them.
R. He was R. Prince Ryden was R.
No. This was … this could not …
“And when I wrote you that dare list,” he continued, his gaze holding hers with a quiet intensity, “it was because I saw the bravery in you long before you did. I knew you needed something to draw you from behind those careful walls, to remind you that fear and wonder often walk hand in hand. Every challenge was meant to show you what I already knew—that you are far stronger than you believe.”
But she was shaking her head, stumbling away from him, overwhelmed by the enormity of this revelation. He reached for her, trying to grasp her hand, but she’d already stepped beyond his reach.
He couldn’t be R. He couldn’t be R. And yet … of course he was. Of course they were the same person! How had she not recognized it before? She felt suddenly, overwhelmingly foolish. They had the same teasing, affectionately provocative personality. The same kind, genuine heart.
Ryden. R. She pressed her fingertips to her temples, squeezing her eyes shut as she struggled for breath. Of course the prince remembered every dare on the list—he’d written the darned thing!
And he must have known that she was L since …
oh, stars above, since the day she’d first arrived at Solstice Hall!
She remembered standing among the roses, thoughtlessly repeating his own comments back to him, completely naive as to his true identity, and he’d …
something had happened. He’d recognized her, and then his magic had surged beyond his control.
She remembered now—the darkness in his eyes, that strange shimmer in the air.
Her thoughts tumbled, tripping over one another, landing on snatches of letters, phrases, half remembered words.
I found myself gazing at the Silver Swan tonight too.
One guest in particular seems to have packed all the warmth among her belongings when she departed.
That supposedly charming ‘warmth-burglar’ she’d been so jealous of—he’d been writing of her.
“How?” The word escaped her as barely more than a gasp. “How … how did this happen?”
The prince … Ryden … R … was watching her with careful wariness.
“Ellian created the enchanted letter boxes. The one I possess now was originally his. The one I’d initially used, years ago, was lost. I had no notion of where it had ended up.
Until the night you sent your first letter, neither box had been used in years. ”
Aurelise found herself pacing back and forth across the terrace, breathless, flushed, her thoughts spiraling faster than her feet could move.
It was as though her mind were determined to retrace everything—every letter, every dare, every glance and stolen breath in the prince’s presence—reassembling it all into an entirely new picture.
“That … that night you discovered me here—on this very terrace—with the dare list. That was deliberate. Planned. You … you wanted to involve yourself with the dares.”
“Well … yes.” He had the grace to look slightly abashed. “The dares were meant to help you find your own courage, but also to give you the chance to know me, as I truly am. Not the prince everyone else believes they know.”
“And you made it appear … accidental. You deceived me.”
“I … withheld the truth.
“How could you?” Her voice rose, cracking slightly on the words.
“You did not like me!” The words burst from him with surprising desperation. “Not at all! You were entirely set against me the prince, and you had refused to meet me the correspondent. I had to convince you gradually, as both versions of myself, or you would have fled immediately.”
She continued pacing, shaking her head, music crashing chaotically around her as she attempted to process this sky-shattering revelation.
She’d believed she’d made the right choice—the safer one—because the alternative was simply inconceivable.
Aurelise Rowanwood could not be a princess. Could not be Crown Consort.
But now both choices had collapsed into one. R was not dwelling in some distant, mysterious land, waiting to travel here to meet her. He was already here. He had danced with her, held her, laughed with her, threaded his fingers through her hair and pressed his lips to her neck and—
“No, no, no,” she breathed again, palms pressed against her burning cheeks, because this was all too much. This time, it truly would pull her under and drown her entirely.
“Aurelise—”
But she was already turning and hurrying for the terrace door, fleeing, this time, from both of them.