Page 29 of The Musician and the Monster

Drystan’s jaw worked as he finished a bite of food. “I have enjoyed all the ones you’ve played. Do you have a favorite? One you love to play?”

That was easy. “The Nocturne of the Moon.”

His brows rose as he replaced his silverware with care. Chair legs scraped on stone as he stood and moved his chair. Her body tensed as he moved it around the table, closer to her, until his elaborate armrest nearly nudged hers.

“Tell me about it,” he said as he sat.

Too close. Too…much. Her chest grew tight. Her neck flushed. All thought of food vanished as she focused on the servants quickly rearranging the place setting to accommodate their lord’s sudden move. And he sat directly next to her, like they were a couple or something far different than they actually were.

“It’s a rather dark tune,” she admitted once the shuffling of plates and silverware concluded, if only to distract her racing thoughts and the almost palpable tension leaping the short distant between their bodies. “It’s full of emotion. But I love the words that accompany it, the story of how the moon spirit wanders through the night, alwayssearching for his love, the sun. Every night he almost finds her but retreats just before she appears. I suppose it’s quite sad since the lovers are always kept apart, but the lengths they go to find each other are so moving, and the words that go with the tune are so fitting.”

He rubbed his chin. “I had no idea it had words to it.”

Ceridwen braced for mockery, for him to tease her about her girlish infatuation with the piece. Instead, he said, “I wish you could sing it for me.”

A soft gasp caught in her throat. But she couldn’t. Not anymore. Her voice was her first instrument, her most treasured—even beyond the flute. But her mother’s last day on this plane had been the last she sang. When she left, she took Ceridwen’s voice.

Old memories turned the food within her stomach. Sometimes she thought it was only fair after what she’d done, but that didn’t make the loss—either of them—easier to suffer. Oh, what it would be like to sing again, especially for him!

“You’re sad again.”

She blinked up at him and did her best to smooth out her features and not let the sorrow leak through. “I’m all right.”

He gave a slight shake of his head, seeing her words for the lie they were.

“Is there something you would like?” Drystan set his hand on the table, so close she could reach out and take it if inclined.

A flicker of hope lit within her. “Could I visit my family?” It’d been weeks since she’d seen them, and the steady ache for their company grew each day. She might have lost her mother and her songs, but there were others she loved, and being cut off from them for the first time in her life was harder than she envisioned.

He withdrew his hand abruptly. “No.”

“But why?” she pressed. “It’s not far, and I’ll come right back.” He’d given her expensive and exquisite dresses seemingly without thought or concern, but this simple request, this one that cost him nothing, he always declined.

“It’s better this way.” He straightened the napkin in his lap, not quite looking at her. “Safer for everyone.”

Her brows scrunched together. “Safer?”

“You think I haven’t noticed you sneaking around the manor?” he said, an eerie calm to his voice as his gaze slowly panned back to her. All trace of the warmth and joy of moments ago had vanished.

Breath caught in her throat. She’d tried to be discreet, never venturing into his forbidden tower, but it wasn’t in her to be idle and pass up the opportunity to potentially learn something about the monster and earn the mayor’s reward to help her family.

“Even today in the garden. You were trying to climb that wall before you fell, weren’t you?”

She gaped at him, heat rushing to her neck and face. He’d seen her. Oh, how foolish she’d been. Worse, he’d deduced what she was about.

“And then I showed you things today, told you things, that should not be shared. At least not while I am still in residence.”

“I’m not a gossip,” Ceridwen snapped in return. Of all the things to accuse her of. “I only wish to see my family. Surely that cannot be harmful. I will not say anything. Not about you, the manor. None of it.”

“There’s so much you don’t know,” he grumbled, almost to himself. Though he still sat next to her, he shifted in the chair, pulling away. The casual grin and friendly facade he’d worn all night was long gone.

Without thinking, she touched his sleeve. “What are you so worried about? Tell me. Please.”

A gloved hand ran through his dark hair, mussing it up. Emotions she couldn’t quite place flickered across his face. His mouth worked in his jaw. “I can’t.”

She snatched her hand away. “Can’t or won’t?”

When he refused to respond, to even look at her again, Ceridwen slid the chair back from the table. “Excuse me.”

---