Page 39 of Love & Letter Charms
“Are you certain? You seemed quite determined to escape just moments ago.”
“Yes.” The word emerged steadier than she felt—an odd mingling of determination and dread tightening her chest. “I’m certain.”
He inclined his head slightly, bending to catch her downcast gaze, his lips curving into a half smile. “Do you at least feel a little more at ease now? You may cease worrying about impressing me.”
Her brows lifted. “I never worried about impressing you.”
Surprise flickered across his features before melting into a grin that was far too pleased for her comfort. “Oho, so youdopossess a sense of humor! Your brother was trying to convince me you’re thoroughly dull.”
Aurelise’s mouth fell open, her cheeks flooding with heat. “Which brother?”
His lips curved further. “Evryn.”
“He would never.”
“True,” the prince allowed. “He did not use the worddull, precisely, but the implication was difficult to miss.”
Aurelise narrowed her eyes, tilting her head just slightly, though her blush betrayed her indignation. She studied him fora long moment before replying, her voice level. “He was trying to dissuade your interest in me.”
Something in his smile softened. “You are perceptive, Lady Aurelise.”
“No, I merely trust that none of my siblings would ever—” She stopped abruptly, remembering with a jolt that shehadintended to present herself as utterly boring and forgettable. While the prince’s assurance that she was not a genuine contender should have freed her from this charade, caution suggested maintaining the strategy she and her sisters had crafted. “Well. Yes. I am. Quite terribly dull, in fact.”
Prince Ryden’s ink-blue eyes glittered with mirth. “And a lamentable liar, it would seem.”
Her mouth fell open again. “Is this your famed charm at work, Your Highness? Insulting ladies to their faces?”
The grin he gave her was pure mischief. Disarmingly handsome and entirely aware of it. “I thought we had agreed I’m not going to choose you,” he said lightly. “What need have I to charm you?”
Aurelise drew back slightly, studying him with new consideration. Then, with a soft huff of laughter, half amused, half exasperated, she turned toward the roses, presenting him with her profile as she surveyed the pristine blooms. To her immense relief, there was no sign of her meddlesome companions among the foliage.
“Yes,” she said. “In answer to your earlier question, I am feeling more at ease now.” She reached out one gloved finger to trace the delicate curve of a blush pink rose, its petals unfurling in perfect symmetry. “You were right,” she added quietly. “The royal garden pixies have indeed outdone themselves this Season to coax such beauty to life.”
The idea brought to mind Lady Olivienne and her glenwhisper magic—that rare gift that breathed vitality intogrowing things, awakening in them a brilliance and vigor that ordinary nature couldn’t often achieve on its own. Aurelise wondered what spectacular demonstration the woman had presented at the Opening Ball. She had missed it entirely, consumed by anxiety over her own imminent performance.
The memory of that night sent her thoughts drifting to R and their letter exchange leading up to the event. His absurd strategy for surviving conversational lulls.
Emboldened by the thought of his likely amusement, Aurelise looked back over her shoulder and caught Prince Ryden’s gaze. Smothering a smile at the utter ridiculousness of the question, she asked, “Do you think plants have opinions about us?”
A startled laugh escaped him, softening his features for a moment before a faint furrow appeared between his brows. “It’s funny you should say that, because …” He trailed off, head tilting as he gave her the strangest look.
Ah, there it was. The expression of polite alarm belonging to someone now wondering whether she had taken complete leave of her senses, precisely as R had predicted. Evidently, the prince fell into the latter category of R’s theory: the sort of person who, upon concluding that she was quite mad, would wish to remove himself from her company at the earliest opportunity.
Despite the warmth of embarrassment rising in her cheeks, Aurelise couldn’t quite suppress her smile as she turned back to the roses. R’s ridiculous advice had proven effective.I see no flaws in this plan, he had written. Indeed, he had been entirely correct. She would write tonight and tell him so.
She reached out to cup her palm beneath a particularly perfect bloom, tilting it gently toward her as a quiet laugh caught in the back of her throat. “Elderly chaperones,” she murmured, recalling another of R’s comments that had always amused her.
Several heartbeats passed in gentle stillness, the faint rustle of leaves and the soft trill of birds filling the pause, before the prince’s voice broke it, low and oddly unsteady. “What … did you say?”
“The roses,” Aurelise clarified, deciding he likely thought her completely mad by now. She glanced back at him, cheeks still warm, her chin dipping as a shy smile curved her lips. “They disapprove of uncovered ankles, you know. And dancing too close to one’s partner.”
He stared at her, his gaze growing intent, flicking across her face as though searching for something while the furrow between his brows deepened. The rhythm of his breathing changed—quicker, uneven—and she could have sworn his eyes had darkened. The air itself seemed to tremble, a faint shimmer rippling between them.
“Your Highness?” she asked tentatively. Oh, good stars, what had she done? Had she truly managed to offend him with her silly comments? “Are you … are you all right? Did I?—”
He took a hasty step backward, turning his face away. “No, it is—not you. Forgive me, Lady … Lady Aurelise. I’ve just remembered something. Somewhere … somewhere I must be. Please excuse me.”
And without another glance in her direction, he strode away, leaving Aurelise alone among the roses, quite bewildered by what had just transpired.
