Chapter Twenty - Tour of the Veil #4
A month passed before Osric arrived to destroy the peace they had found.
It was during one of their quiet evenings in the conservatory that the arrival of the lanky prince had been announced by Rowan. Osric had sauntered into the conservatory and looked surprised to see them both there, his gaze taking in Rosamund’s relaxed appearance.
Rosamund had dispensed with her dresses when working in the conservatory and on her walks through the Veil.
In fact, when she thought about it, she could not remember the last time she had put on a dress in the last month.
The black riding breeches she donned most days were far more practical, and the loose white shirt she wore with it had dark brown patches and streaks of green across it.
Her dark hair was usually tied back in a braid or hung in two bunches either side.
Neither were of the current style, but it was good for keeping her hair out of her face whilst she worked.
Dorian too had started to dress with more ease around her.
Where possible every inch of skin was still covered, but he had at last dispensed with always wearing the thick heavy high collared coat.
He had even started to remove his gloves when he was writing which she had counted amongst her great successes of the month.
Though at the arrival of his brother he had swiftly picked up the leather gloves.
“Osric,” he said, the coldness returning to his tone, “what a pleasant surprise.”
It had been so long since she had heard that hardness to his voice, she had forgotten how it chilled her. How easily he slipped the mask back into place. It fit him so well she realised, how much of it was false? Was it all pretend or did he simply reach down into the darker parts of his self?
“I arrived in the foyer,” said Osric grumpily, “your man led me here.”
“It’s good to see you,” said Rosamund with an encouraging smile as Dorian glowered at him, “how is Princess Marianne?”
Osric’s grumpy face immediately lit up, “Well. Thank you, Lady Rosamund. Much better. She’s keen to see you again actually.”
“I would like that,” said Rosamund genuinely, “tell her to send round a card and I’ll visit.”
“I will,” said Osric, pleased.
“What do you want?” snapped Dorian as he rose to his feet.
Osric tensed and held out a cream and sky-blue envelope with gold writing swirling on the front. Rosamund took a step closer and saw the crest on the golden wax seal; a lark rising over the sun.
“Isolde?” she said, surprised as Dorian cracked the seal and opened the envelope.
“Aurelian,” corrected Osric as Dorian read the invite, “he’s having his summer ball.”
Dorian handed the invite to Rosamund, “please give them our apologies.”
The calligraphy of the invite was enchanted.
She nearly dropped it when she heard the faint echo of music.
A bright, cheerful melody, and the ringing of laughter.
It was tempting. To refuse the invite was to invite scorn, and if they were to make it through the wedding then they would need some favour.
Osric nodded and turned to leave when Rosamund said, “please tell them we would be glad to attend.”
Dorian rounded on her, and the force of his glare had her almost taking a step back. She had forgotten how he was with the mask on, how he loomed and glared. How it frightened her. She recalled the man she had spent her days with this last month and held her nerve.
“I do not attend balls,” he growled at her.
Osric hesitated on the steps, looking between them both nervously.
Rosamund lifted her chin slightly as she looked up at Dorian, “I would like to go. It’s been too long since I’ve seen Princess Isolde and there are wedding matters I would discuss with her.”
He looked at her, confused, his back to Osric his expression had softened a little to something that looked more pleading.
She responded with an expression that said, ‘trust me’.
He growled and paced away from her, his gaze flicking between Rosamund and his brother.
Eventually he threw his hands in the air and said, “fine. We’ll go,” he looked to Osric, “tell them we’ll be there. ”
“I will,” said Osric, aghast, “thank you.”
As the mists swirled around the prince, Dorian turned to face her, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“So do I,” she said honestly.
“They will all be there,” he said, his tone softening, the mask falling away.
“I know.”
“They’ll try to make fools of us,” he said as he took a step towards her.
“They will try, but I’m ready,” she looked to him and smiled, “we are ready.”
The frown receded a little and she was rewarded with a small half smile.
“Let me handle them,” she said firmly as she crossed to the stairs, removing her gardening gloves, “you will have other things to worry about?”
“Oh yeah?” he said and she could picture his raised eyebrow without even turning around, “and what’s that?”
“What you’re going to wear,” she called back cheerfully, “there’s no black in Prince Aurelian’s household.”
His groan echoed down the corridor after her.