Page 25 of The Prince of Power

“Yes,” I say immediately. It will give me something to do, and then maybe he won’t see my nervousness.

Damian’s gaze sharpens as he leans against the piano. “Can you read music?”

For some reason, that question irritates me. “Didn’t Rhett tell you I’m classically trained?” I shake my head. “He’s heard me practice enough.”

His lips twitch. “I’ll find you something to play.”

He strides to a nearby shelf and picks up a leather-bound book. The faded gold leathering says it’s a collection of Beethoven’s sonatas. He sets it on the piano’s music stand, his gaze sliding back to me.

“Play something.” His voice is calm but commanding.

I sit down on the bench, my fingers brushing the keys. “Anything?”

He shakes his head as he flips the pages. His finger taps the top of a page. “This.”

It’s the third movement of “Moonlight Sonata”.

I press my lips together, stifling the urge to call out his subterfuge. He didn’t pick this one randomly. The third movement is difficult for even the most skilled pianist, and the song is well-known enough that even an untrained ear could catch a mistake.

And his ear isn’t untrained, is it? He’s probably heard some of the best concert pianists in the world, and this is just another way to toy with me.

I start playing. Beethoven’s notes aren’t the challenge—it’s the emotion beneath them that matters. I close my eyes, letting myself slip into a world of misty woods and grieving mothers, their melancholy lingering just beyond reach. My fingers instinctively finding the keys.

The first few notes echo through the conservatory, haunting and gentle. I focus on the music, letting it guide me, but I can feel Damian’s gaze on me.

As I play, something shifts in the air. When I glance at him, I see his expression has softened, his usual detachment replaced with something raw, almost vulnerable. His eyes are riveted to my hands, following every movement, every note.

I drift, letting the music take me somewhere else. My fingers begin to improvise, weaving a melody that isn’t on the page. Something softer, lighter, like moonlight on water.

When I finally pull back, I look up at Damian and the breath leaves my lungs. His eyes are glinting. Jesus, is he close to tears?

I’m good, but notthatgood. Had I wanted to major in music at Ashford, I probably wouldn’t have even gotten a scholarship. That requires virtuoso level skill.

“What?” I ask.

He blinks, as if snapping out of a trance. “Who were you playing? Was that Liszt?”

I frown. “Of course not. Liszt’s melodies are much more intricate. I was just…playing around.”

His expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes deepens. The silence stretches, uncomfortable and weighted, until I shift on the bench.

I swallow. “It might have seemed cool that I can improvise, but it’s nothing special. I was probably…” My head grows fuzzy at his nearness and the scent of his cologne. It’s clean. Spicy. “I was probably borrowing a melody I’ve played before without even realizing it. I’m no artist.”

He raises a hand like he’s about to touch my face and lets it hover.

He dips toward me, and my breath catches.

He’s not touching me, but I feel him. His heat, his breath, his lips inches from mine. My heart hammers. My body leans forward of its own will.

He steps away, leaving me breathless. He begins pacing, his footsteps echoing softly against the marble floor. His hands are clasped behind his back, his brow furrowed. The silence between us is heavy.

He stops suddenly, turning to face me. “You’re not interested in pledging Thornecroft, Ava. You’re not good at deception. Don’t try it again.”

I blink. What is it about his voice? It’s as elusive as smoke and yet wraps around my throat like an iron chain?

He’s been a little…intimidating before, but nothing like this. Those blue eyes are blazing behind that calm mask.

He sets his hand on the top of the piano, and a soft thud echoes through the room, making me jump.

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