Page 53 of Love & Letter Charms
Aurelise followed Willow’s gaze across the room. Lady Ellowa Brightcrest sat rigidly upright upon a pale blue settee, her expression arranged into something between disdain and wounded pride. Her mouth was pressed so tightly together that it seemed her lips had forgotten their purpose entirely, and her eyes—cold and crystalline as winter glass—glittered with barely contained fury.
It was the same look Ellowa—Mariselle’s dreadful elder sister—had been directing at Aurelise since they’d all gathered inthe Blue Parlor that afternoon. Several of the other ladies had cast similar glances her way, though none quite so brimming with hostility as Ellowa’s. All because Prince Ryden had chosen Aurelise for the opening dance at the Crown Court ball two nights prior. Apparently, more than a few of the ladies present had taken that particular moment rather personally.
“She seems quite convinced she’s the obvious choice for princess,” Willow whispered.
Lady Ellowa Brightcrest, the future Crown Consort? The thought sent an involuntary shudder through Aurelise. The realm would suffer under such calculating coldness, every decision filtered through that woman’s particular brand of sharp-edged ambition. She almost pitied Prince Ryden at the prospect—though if he actually selected Lady Ellowa, perhaps they deserved one another.
Although, after the previous evening …
No. She pushed the thought away before it could fully form. One unexpectedly genuine conversation beneath the stars did not transform Prince Ryden from an incorrigible flirt into someone worthy of deeper consideration.
She titled her head toward Willow. “Areyouupset?” Aurelise whispered to Willow. “About the prince choosing me first the other night? It really didn’t mean anything, you know.”
Willow’s laugh was soft and genuine. “Goodness, no. I’m fairly certain I’m only here because my aunt is dear friends with Her Grace. The High Lady likely wished to avoid giving offense.” She paused as her gaze flickered briefly toward the High Lady sitting across the room from them. “Not that I’m ungrateful for the honor, of course. But I harbor no illusions about becoming princess. And I was rather hoping … well …” She hesitated, fingers worrying the edge of her teacup as a faint pink colored her cheeks. “There is a gentleman who—before all this began—had shown a certain degree of interest. If the prince makes hisdecision swiftly, before the Summer Solstice Ball, then perhaps there might still be time this Season for the rest of us to … pursue our own more modest hopes.”
Aurelise smiled, warmth unfurling within her. How lovely to know that someone as kind as Willow might have her own quiet hopes waiting beyond all this spectacle. She could almost picture it—a letter exchanged, a glance across a ballroom, the delicate beginning of something real amid all the artifice.
“I hope he proves worthy of you,” she murmured softly, sincerity threading through her voice. Then, with a conspiratorial tilt of her head, she added, “I believe my presence here is for similar reasons. My grandmother is close to the High Lady. I suspect there may have been some … influence there. But I am also hoping for something entirely different.”
For a brief moment, the thought of R flitted through her mind. But that was not the sort ofdifferentshe meant, she reminded herself firmly.
“One tea per week,” the High Lady was saying in answer to a question from one of the other ladies. “You may select from any of the palace’s reception spaces—the Rose Veranda, the East Conservatory, Moonlight Terrace, Fountain Court, among others. The palace staff shall be at your complete disposal, and you need only choose your preferred date from the calendar.”
With an elegant gesture, she directed their attention to a shimmering panel of light unfurling in the air beside her chair. Lines of silver script formed across its surface, arranging themselves into neat columns of dates, each framed by filigreed borders. Tiny jeweled markers drifted beside the open days, waiting to be claimed.
The effect was immediate. Ten young ladies rose with varying degrees of haste, each attempting to maintain proper decorum while clearly desperate to secure the most advantageous date. Lady Ellowa moved with particular determination.
Aurelise found herself among the last to approach, her natural reluctance to push forward leaving her at the periphery of the elegant scramble. Her fingers moved automatically to refasten the small pearl buttons at her wrists, securing her gloves properly now that the tea-drinking portion of the afternoon appeared to be over.
By the time she could see the calendar clearly, most of the open dates had been claimed. She selected one roughly five weeks hence—safely nestled between her second and third scheduled visits home—and tried not to think too hard about what hosting such an event would actually entail.
“Now then,” the High Lady said once they’d all resumed their seats, “perhaps some inspiration would be beneficial.”
She waved one hand in a graceful arc, and the small tables that held their tea services began to shift. The delicate porcelain and silver disappeared as though dissolved into mist, and the tables themselves glided across the carpet, melding together like drops of water until they formed a single long surface.
Then, rising from the merged table like flowers blooming in impossibly rapid succession, several miniature scenes materialized. Perfectly detailed vignettes so intricate she could see miniature cakes on tiny dishes and the delicate painted patterns on impossibly small teacups.
“These represent various teas I have hosted over the years,” the High Lady explained, gesturing toward the magical display. “Please, examine them at your leisure. You may find ideas worth borrowing.”
The ladies clustered around the table, leaning in to study the enchanted memories. Aurelise found herself beside Willow, both of them marveling at a scene depicting an autumn tea where the leaves appeared to be actual gold, each one inscribed with a different poem.
“Look at this one,” Willow murmured, pointing to another tableau where everything, even the tea steaming in tiny glass teapots, was blue. Before Aurelise could comment, another lady drew Willow into conversation about the practicalities of a midsummer tea where all the decor appeared to be crafted from ice and frost.
Aurelise nodded along, trying to focus, but the room had grown overwhelmingly full of voices. Ladies exclaimed over various details, debated the merits of different themes, discussed which staff members were best for particular arrangements. The conversations layered upon each other, creating a wall of sound that pressed against her from all sides.
She could make out fragments of polite conversation between Lady Olivienne and the High Lady—questions about all the glittering spectacles that will fill the rest of the Season. The Gleamcatcher’s Soirée, the Tournament of Silken Charms, the Festival of Lantern Wishes, and more.
Her chest tightened. The familiar sensation of too much, too fast, too many began creeping up her spine. She needed space, needed quiet, needed?—
A delicate trill of anxious piano notes escaped before she could stop it. The sound was soft, likely lost in the general chatter, but she clamped down on her magic immediately, horrified by the lapse. She began backing away from the table, seeking the relative safety of the wall, somewhere she could breathe without feeling surrounded.
She’d nearly reached the edge of the doorway when she sensed movement just behind her. “Are you perhaps in need of rescuing, my lady?”
Aurelise jerked away with a small gasp, her hand flying to her chest. Prince Ryden stood in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the frame with studied casualness, though his eyes held something more intent than his posture suggested.
“Your Highness! No, I—” She remembered herself and hastily dipped into a curtsy. “Good afternoon.”
“I heard your music,” he said quietly, his voice pitched low enough that only she could hear. “The anxious sound rather gave away your distress.”
