Page 32 of Love & Letter Charms
She breathed deeply, her wrists turning in slow, fluid circles. Gradually, the violent strings softened, the jarring notessmoothed, and a tender, lilting melody emerged, not erasing the emotions but transforming them into something bearable.
It wasn’t quite enough though. She longed for her pianoforte. She longed to lose herself in the sacred stillness that existed only between musician and instrument. That perfect void where time dissolved, where thought ceased, where nothing existed but vibration and breath and the seamless flow between finger and key, heart and sound.
But there was no pianoforte here. Only the enchanted box and the man waiting for her answer on the other side.
With sudden decision, Aurelise yanked open the dressing table drawers, searching for paper. The steward had mentioned her belongings had been unpacked, and she distinctly remembered tucking a sheaf of—Ah. There. The second drawer revealed her writing supplies, neatly arranged. The stack of paper and beside it, her preferred self-inking quill with its delicate pink feather.
She sat and began to write before courage could desert her again.
Dear R,
Please forgive my silence. I never intended to cause you distress or pain, but I simply did not know how to respond to your letter. In truth, I still don’t.
She paused, the pen hovering over the page. The music around her had settled into something softer, a tentative melody seeking resolution.
I miss you. More than I thought possible. I miss your humor, your observations about the world, the way you tease me. Imiss feeling understood without having to explain myself. I miss the safety of our correspondence.
She stopped. She couldn’t tell him any of that. It was far too honest. She crumpled the letter and began again.
Dear R,
Please forgive my silence. I never intended to cause you distress or pain, but I simply did not know how to respond to your letter. In truth, I still don’t. All I know is this: I want to keep writing to you.
Is there any way we might return to what we had before? Because certain events are unfolding in my life, events that require me to be brave, day after day, and I don’t know how I am to endure it without the comfort of your words when night finally comes and I can breathe again.
I realize how selfish this is of me. I’m asking you to be what I need, even though I cannot give you what you have asked for. I understand if you do not want to continue as we were. After all, you have a life to live away from these pages, and I have no right to ask that any part of you remain bound to this unnameable thing that has grown between us.
But if you can accept this—if you can continue as we were—please write back.
Still yours, in the only way I know how to be,
L
Chapter Eight
Consciousness returned slowly,pulling Aurelise from dreams she couldn’t quite recall, leaving only the impression of ink-stained fingers and words she’d been trying to catch like butterflies. The pillow beneath her cheek was softer than she remembered, and the air held a scent that didn’t belong to home.
Memory rose slowly through the fog of sleep, each detail finding its place. Solstice Hall. The Crown Court. Morning light that was somehow brighter, more golden, beyond her closed eyelids.
R.
The thought crystallized before she’d even opened her eyes, and her heart fluttered in its wake. Had he replied? Would there be a letter waiting in the box?
She pressed her face into the silk pillow, willing the sudden rush of feeling to settle. The box had been empty last night when she’d checked after dinner, an event that had been mercifully uncomplicated. While the gathering was small—only the High Lady, the prince, and the ten Crown Court ladies—they’d been seated around a table so vast that conversation across its width proved nearly impossible. This arrangement, which some might have found frustrating, had been Aurelise’s salvation. It allowedher to speak only with those seated directly beside her, while the prince remained a safe distance away at the table’s opposite end.
Nevertheless, she’d found her gaze straying toward him more than once during the meal. Prince Ryden had devoted his attention primarily to the ladies seated on either side of him. They were opposite ends of the same beautiful spectrum—Lady Coravelle with her warm cinnamon-brown skin and sparkling eyes, and Lady Olivienne, whose dramatic contrast of raven-black hair and alabaster complexion was matched only by the elegant arch of her brow, perpetually suggesting she found everyone else slightly disappointing.
The prince himself reclined in his chair with the air of a man well accustomed to being observed, his posture conveying casual ownership of the space around him. Even while seemingly engaged with the beautiful women vying for his attention, a certain detachment lingered in his expression. Strange, Aurelise mused, for every other time she’d seen him, he’d seemed to bask in the adoration surrounding him.
Later, when dinner was over and Marta had finished helping her into her nightgown, she had practically lunged for the wooden box. The disappointment when she’d lifted the lid to find it empty had been crushing, though she’d immediately chastised herself for feeling it. After a full week of silence on her part—a week of leaving R to wonder and worry—she had no right to expect an immediate response.
But that logic did nothing to quiet the desperate hope now thrumming through her veins.
She sat up, pushing her braid over her shoulder, and padded barefoot across the unfamiliar carpet to her dressing table. The enchanted box sat exactly where she’d left it, innocuous among her brushes and bottles, yet it seemed to pulse with possibility.
She reached for it, then hesitated, her fingers hovering above the carved roses.
There was something she hadn’t addressed in her letter last night. Something that lurked at the edges of every exchange they’d shared for months now. The question she could barely acknowledge even in the privacy of her own thoughts.
