Page 36 of Love & Letter Charms
Evryn frowned.
“What?” Ryden asked.
“I feel as though I’ve heard of an enchantment like that before. Or seen a similar box somewhere, though I cannot recall where. Could you show me yours? Perhaps it will stir something in my memory.”
An instinctive protectiveness stirred in Ryden’s chest. The thought of anyone else handling that box felt somehow wrong, as though it were a sacred relic rather than simply a carved piece of wood and spellwork. The idea of another’s hands upon it made something in him recoil.
“Uh … of course,” he said aloud, forcing a quiet laugh at his own foolishness. It was only a box, after all—even if it was thesole thread connecting him to L. “Though I’m afraid it will have to wait. My mother has arranged a rather relentless schedule of Crown Court activities for today.”
“How dreadful for you,” Evryn drawled, lips quirking into a smirk. “Forced to spend your day in the company of ten beautiful ladies, all desperate for your attention. Well, nine, I suppose, given that one of them is my sister, and I prefer not to think about that.”
Ryden leveled a pointed gaze at Evryn. “Wouldyoufind it such a delight when there is only one who holds your heart, and she is not among them?”
“Touché, my friend,” Evryn conceded, his expression softening into that particular dreamy-eyed look that appeared whenever his wife was mentioned. “Touché.”
Chapter Ten
Aurelise watchedthe spellthread clock on the mantelpiece with mounting dread, a thread of light endlessly stitching changing numbers along its edge, drawing her inexorably toward her doom. Well, it was notdoomprecisely—merely her impending garden stroll with Prince Ryden—yet her fluttering pulse and quickened breath suggested her body recognized no meaningful distinction between the two.
The Green Drawing Room she was seated in had transformed over the course of the afternoon into a perfect tableau of feminine accomplishment, each lady engaged in some genteel magical pastime that might catch a prince’s eye. Some perched on elegant chaises with their charmstitching hoops, needles flashing in the afternoon light as threads of gold, silver, and moonwhite shimmered with quiet enchantments. At the far side of the room, others bent over their bloomcraft arrangements, coaxing flowers to shift their shades and scents until each bouquet sang of quiet perfection. Two or three ladies sat alone quietly playing games of enchanted solitaire—though the sidelong glances they cast at one another hinted that even this was a competition in disguise.
Aurelise, perhaps the only one not endeavoring to impress Prince Ryden, sat in a corner with a book of poetry open in her lap, though she hadn’t absorbed a single verse in the past quarter hour. The words blurred together as her attention drifted to the doors through which Willow had just disappeared on Prince Ryden’s arm into the gardens. They took the shaded path and disappeared beyond a hedge, Willow the eighth lady of the Crown Court to receive her carefully timed ‘private’ moment with the prince.
Only two ladies remained now—herself and Lady Ellowa, who appeared thoroughly vexed by the prolonged wait, viciously prodding a delicate blossom into submission within her bloomcraft arrangement. The poor flower trembled visibly with each jab, its blue petals curling inward as if trying to escape her increasingly aggressive attentions.
Aurelise attempted to focus on the poetry book once more, but the chandelier at the center of the drawing room’s ceiling drew her attention upward as it began its peculiar performance once again. A thrumming, chattering sound that seemed to emanate from the hundreds of crystals adorning its golden frame. The noise had started soon after they’d all assembled in the room, occasionally growing louder alongside bursts of nervous laughter or animated conversation, and then falling silent again.
“Stars above, not again,” Lady Ellowa muttered, releasing the cowering blossom with an exasperated sigh, granting the flower a momentary reprieve from her botanical tyranny. She pressed her fingers to her temples. “How does anyone concentrate with such a racket?”
A nearby steward, who had been discretely arranging a silver tea service by the window, offered an apologetic smile. “A quirk of the Summer Palace, my lady. The chandelier chatters whenthe room is full. Annoying, certainly, but one grows accustomed to it.”
“Accustomed?” Lady Ellowa’s voice dripped with skepticism. “To that cacophony?”
The steward’s smile never wavered, though Aurelise detected a slight tightening around his eyes. “Her Grace refers to it as the palace’s way of joining the conversation.”
Several ladies tittered at this, though whether from genuine amusement or the desire to appear charmed by anything connected to the royal family, Aurelise couldn’t determine. She returned her gaze to the unread poetry, trying to ignore the way the chandelier’s insistent tinkling seemed to scrape against her nerves. She was having precious little success, however.
The jangling sound bore an unsettling resemblance to the chaotic, unruly melodies that often escaped her when her emotions threatened to overwhelm her control. Twice already she’d had to press her palms firmly against her lap, convinced for one heart-stopping moment that the dissonant tones were emanating not from the chandelier but from her own barely-contained magic. But no—the sound remained firmly above their heads.
Nevertheless, Aurelise’s fingers twitched involuntarily, the familiar urge to shape and direct music pulling at her. She found her hand moving of its own accord. Just the smallest gesture, hidden by the book in her lap—a gentle sweep of two fingers, as if coaxing a single note from an invisible instrument.
A soft, clear tone emerged, so quiet that she was fairly confident only she could hear it. Then another joined it, harmonizing perfectly. She kept her movements minimal, her eyes fixed on the poetry as if thoroughly absorbed, while her hidden fingers wove a subtle melody.
Above her, the chandelier’s chattering began to align with her quiet music, its overzealous tinkling gradually calming untilfinally it fell into a contented silence, with only the occasional delicate chime as individual crystals swayed in the gentle breeze drifting through the open garden doors.
Interesting, she mused, glancing up as a matching tranquility settled over her, smoothing the jagged edges of her anxiety. Her intent had been to soothe her own nerves, but if she had somehow influenced the chandelier as well, that was even better. For the first time since entering the drawing room, she drew a full, easy breath, her shoulders relaxing and?—
“Lady Aurelise?”
Her hand stilled immediately, the melody dissolving as her head snapped up, nerves returning instantly. Prince Ryden stood in the doorway, having returned Willow to the company of the other ladies. The afternoon light streaming through the tall windows did unconscionably flattering things to him—illuminating his dark blue hair and casting shadows that emphasized the line of his jaw.
It was thoroughly irritating, Aurelise decided, that someone so reprehensible should be so absurdly well-formed.
“Y-your Highness,” she stammered, quickly moving the poetry book aside before rising and somehow managing to execute a graceful curtsy.
“Shall we?” he said.
Aurelise sensed every eye in the room following her progress to the door, but she kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, her chin lifted despite the heat crawling up her neck. She could do this. She had rehearsed precisely what she would say—while alone, of course. Her enthusiastic little companions certainly would not approve of what she was about to tell the prince.
