Chapter 11 In Contract Only
In Contract Only
Aurora did not speak to the Starmaker for the rest of the day, even as they patrolled the woods for the Frost and checked on the phlox bordering the village.
The Starmaker spoke when he had knowledge to impart, but otherwise he did not seem to mind the silence.
By the time they released the light for the day and journeyed back to the castle, the Starmaker had given up entirely, not even trying to teach her.
The sleigh had barely stopped moving before Aurora jumped out and hurried inside, not stopping even when Ina said her name as she passed. Aurora slammed her bedroom door and leaned against it, closing her eyes.
The Starmaker had said that the worst was over, but she didn’t want to go through that pain ever again.
She had suffered some nasty accidents before—slicing her knee open on a rock as she hunted, burning herself with oil in the kitchen, and missing a step coming down from the loft, breaking her ankle in the process.
It all paled in comparison to what she had experienced that morning, and she didn’t know how she could do it again.
Didn’t know how she could possibly do it every day.
And the Starmaker’s harshness—I do not think of you at all—made things so much worse.
There was a pot of tea waiting for her on the side table next to the fire, and a dress was laid out for her to wear to dinner.
She peeked into the bathroom and saw a hot bath steaming away, and it was then that she understood Ina’s words from the day before: she did appreciate having this place to come back to.
She sat by the fire and poured herself a cup of tea, noticing a letter resting on the tray.
She hoped it wasn’t from Farren, once again asking her to wait, but then she saw the unmistakable swoop of Elsie’s handwriting and exhaled with relief.
The back of the envelope was adorned with a deep magenta seal with silver flecks, a birthday gift that Aurora had given to her sister the previous year; she’d spent more than an hour in Reverie’s stationery shop, trying to find the perfect color for Elsie, and she had loved it. Aurora tore open the letter.
Dear Aurora,
We were so pleased to hear from you in such a short time!
Thank you for the letter. I miss you terribly and would be very happy to come visit at your earliest convenience.
Even Mama said she would see if she could get away from the house, which surprised me.
I don’t believe she has left for an extended period since Papa died.
We are doing well and eagerly await your next letter.
Love,
Elsie
P.S. If things aren’t going well, you know you could say so, right?
Aurora drank her tea as she read, and when she folded the letter and set it back on the tray, the heaviness she’d been carrying from the day had eased slightly. The Starmaker may not care how she was faring, but her family did, and that was of great comfort to her.
Once her tea was done, she took a bath before getting ready for dinner.
Aurora did not want to see the Starmaker again that day, but she was ravenous and felt as if she could eat the entire contents of the palace.
Besides, this was supposedly her home now, and she refused to cower alone in her room.
When her bath had warmed her from the frigid journey back to the castle, she slipped on the soft peach dress and readied herself.
Aurora made a point of arriving early to the dining room.
She hated the way she felt as if she was intruding on the Starmaker, even when she arrived on time, and she wanted him to be the one walking in on her for a change.
It was an added bonus that the room was empty, save for Constance, and she could sit alone and have a calm start to the evening before the meal began.
Constance looked at her from her usual place beside the Starmaker’s chair, then hopped down the length of the table and jumped onto the seat next to Aurora’s.
She truly was a gorgeous rabbit, and Aurora tentatively held out her hand in penance for her behavior the night before.
Constance looked at her for a moment before pressing her nose to Aurora’s finger, and Aurora hoped that meant she was forgiven.
Just then, the door from the kitchen opened, and one of the staff made a choking noise. “I’m sorry, miss, I wasn’t expecting you.” He scanned the room, a look of horror settling on his face. “Was there no one here to greet you and get you seated?”
Aurora smiled at him. “I’m perfectly happy to seat myself. Tell me, what is your name?”
“Frederick,” he said, visibly nervous.
“I’m Aurora. It’s nice to formally meet you.”
Frederick looked younger than Aurora, probably closer to Elsie’s age, with short brown hair and immaculate posture. He stood with his hands behind his back, and the candlelight warmed his fair skin. He kept watching her, and finally Aurora rose to her feet.
“Would you feel better if you could help me get seated?” she asked.
Frederick looked relieved, and he hurried over and pulled her chair out for her, draping a linen napkin over her lap once she was sitting. “Thank you, Miss Finch.”
“Please, call me Aurora,” she said, and he looked unsure, but he nodded. He then noticed that Constance had changed places, and he quickly brought the rabbit her cushion and crystal bowl, taking it as seriously as he had Aurora’s comfort. Aurora smiled to herself.
Just then, the Starmaker entered the room with long quick strides, but he stopped abruptly when he saw Aurora. “You’re early.”
“I would hate to keep Your Radiance waiting, as it seemed to displease you greatly when I arrived one minute past the hour last night.”
He scowled at her. “Is it truly so difficult to arrive at the stated hour, neither early nor late?”
“You’re early,” Aurora pointed out.
“I like some time to myself before I’m expected to engage with”—he vaguely gestured toward her with his hand—“this.”
The Starmaker then noticed where Constance was sitting, and he cocked his head to the side, giving the rabbit a long displeased look.
He huffed, walking to his seat and sitting down before Frederick could help him, and Aurora had to stifle a laugh at how completely lost poor Frederick appeared.
Finally, he walked back through the door to the kitchen with slumped shoulders and a look of dejection on his face.
“You’ve had quite a lot of time to yourself, have you not?”
The Starmaker sighed and looked up at her. “I have.” He eyed her over his crystal goblet before taking a long drink of water. “My temperament is well suited to solitude.”
“Now, that is something I believe entirely.”
The Starmaker put his goblet down, and his mouth settled into a hard line. “I am trying, Miss Finch; perhaps you ought to do the same?”
Aurora’s skin got hot as anger rose inside her. “If this is you trying, then I would hate to see you indifferent.” She paused, shaking her head. “Between the two of us, I think it rather obvious that I am the one putting in effort.”
“You certainly have an interesting idea of what constitutes effort. In case you have forgotten, you shut down immediately after pulling the light this morning and refused to let me teach you anything else. You make a show of how much you dislike being here. And you’re stubborn and seem to take more enjoyment from irritating me than from the magic that your friends and family are quite literally dependent upon for survival. ”
“I will address two things,” Aurora said, placing her hands on the table and staring down the Starmaker.
“First, that magic felt as if it was killing me. I am not afraid of discomfort or even pain, but that was excruciating, and you did nothing to prepare me for it. If I am to learn to accept that kind of pain, then you can certainly learn to be patient.” Aurora’s words got more forceful as she spoke, and by the time she paused, she was breathing heavily.
She took a long sip of water and tried to slow her racing heart.
“And the second?” the Starmaker asked coolly.
“I am perfectly capable of learning and irritating you; one does not preclude the other.”
The Starmaker raised his brows. “Forgive me, I did not realize I was in the presence of such genius.”
They glared at each other from across the table until Aurora finally looked away, noticing that Frederick, along with several other staff members, had come into the dining room but were seemingly frozen in place.
Constance was the only one unfazed by the tension in the room, and she watched Aurora and the Starmaker as if they were the evening’s entertainment.
No one dared interrupt the conversation, and Aurora leaned back in her chair and tried to release some of the fight coiling up inside her. “Frederick, I apologize for keeping you waiting. You may begin the dinner service.”
At first Frederick didn’t move, holding the silver tray as if it were a question instead of a meal. The Starmaker nodded. “Yes, Frederick, I find myself more famished than usual,” he said, directing his words at Aurora.
As soon as the Starmaker and Aurora had been served, Frederick all but ran from the room, and Aurora dipped her head and began on the soup that sat in front of her.
It seemed that all they could do was argue, but Aurora needed some answers, and so she tried to take the edge out of her voice when she addressed the Starmaker again.
“You said the worst was over,” she began, keeping her eyes on her dinner.
“This morning, after you pulled the sunlight over Reverie. Is that true?”
The Starmaker didn’t answer right away, and he seemed to be contemplating his words. “It is true,” he finally said, “but I won’t lie to you—it will be an uphill climb for a while.”
“What does that mean?”