Page 55 of Love & Letter Charms
When the final notes faded into stillness, she became aware of her surroundings again gradually, like surfacing from deep water. And with that awareness came the startling realization that Prince Ryden was still there, seated in one of the burgundy chairs, watching her with an expression she’d never seen on his face before. Something soft and unguarded, almost vulnerable.
“I apologize,” he said quickly, shifting forward in the chair and seeming to shake himself from whatever reverie had claimed him. “I should have left you to your privacy. It’s only that when you began playing, I found myself quite … captivated. Would you prefer I go?”
She should say yes. Every rule of propriety demanded it. But there was something in his voice, a quiet sincerity that made her pause. And if she was honest, the thought of being entirely alone in this unfamiliar place, no matter how welcoming, made her slightly nervous.
“I … I suppose you may stay,” she said quietly, turning back to the keys. “If you wish.”
She began playing again, something lighter this time, maintaining enough awareness to keep from losing herself completely. She lingered over a particular refrain, repeating it a few times as though trying to coax perfection from the melody, then let it melt into another, an unhurried dance of notes that rippled and softened until it resolved into slow, sustained chords. The music unfolded naturally, without plan or structure, her fingers following sound and instinct alike, content simply to feel the smooth glide of the keys beneath her hands.
“This room belonged to my grandmother,” Prince Ryden said quietly. His voice was different than she’d heard it before, stripped of its usual teasing quality and replaced by something more introspective. “When she was Crown Consort. She spent hours here during the Bloom Season when the palace filled with guests.”
Aurelise shifted her fingers to a new chord, but she tilted her head to show she was listening.
“I would hide here when I was small,” he continued. “Behind that settee, actually. There’s a toy chest that’s still there. I would take out my toy pegasi and stage airborne races. Terrifying obstacle courses through imaginary storms and over mountains of discarded books. My grandmother always pretended not to see me, but she’d change her playing to match the scene. Quick, daring scherzos when the pegasi took flight … soft, lilting waltzes when they soared safely home.”
Aurelise’s smile bloomed before she could stop it, the image taking root so vividly she could almost see it. A tousle-haired little prince crouched behind the settee, his toy pegasi darting through the air while his grandmother’s music provided the appropriate accompaniment. The thought was unexpectedly endearing.
“She was invited to court when she was barely seventeen,” he went on, “after manifesting fairly early and catching the attention of my grandfather, crown prince at the time. They married that Season, and she became Crown Consort. She fulfilled every duty asked of her, stood beside my grandfather with perfect grace, but I know she found it all rather overwhelming. The constant scrutiny, the endless social obligations. This room was her refuge. Well, one of her refuges.”
Aurelise’s fingers slowed on the keys as his words sank in. “She survived all those years, even though she found this life so … challenging?”
“Yes. She hid it well. Only those closest to her knew how much she needed these quiet spaces to restore herself. But she always found her balance again. It wasn’t the melancholy existence you might imagine. She simply withdrew when the noise grew too loud, then returned when her spirit had settled once more.”
Aurelise nodded slowly. That sounded all too familiar.
Her fingers continued their idle dance across the keys, a gentle melody forming beneath her touch as she pieced together the fragments of royal lineage she’d learned in her lessons. “And then there was your mother,” she said softly, almost to herself, “who eventually became High Lady. She married somewhat later than your grandmother, if I recall correctly.” Her gaze remained on the shifting patterns her fingers created. “A distinguished family from the southernmost region of the United Fae Isles. And then …” Her eyes flickered briefly toward him. “And then there was you.”
The music shifted to something more contemplative, minor chords weaving through the afternoon stillness. Her thoughts drifted to her own family line—her parents who had loved each other so dearly before a tragic accident at the Rowanwood lumyrite mines had claimed her father’s life when she was younger.
And that led her thoughts to the prince’s own father, who had also passed some years ago. She realized that she couldn’t recall the circumstances of his death. The royal family guarded their private matters carefully, and while the realm had mourned their Crown Consort, most had known him only through formal proclamations and rare, brief visits. Unlike the High Lady and her son, he had often remained in the Shaded Lands during the Bloom Seasons, making him something of a distant figure to most of the United Fae Isles. The circumstances surrounding his death remained as mysterious as the man himself had been.
She half turned toward him, her fingers stilling on the keys. “I don’t recall what happened to your father,” she said hesitantly. “How did he …” The question trailed off as she noticed the subtle shift in Prince Ryden’s demeanor. His shoulders tensed, and something in his eyes shuttered, like a window closed against an approaching storm.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I shouldn’t have?—”
“No,” he interrupted, his voice quieter than before. “You can ask.” He drew a deep breath, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the window. “It was an accident.”
The words hung in the air between them. She could feel the weight of all he left unsaid, but propriety—and compassion—kept her from asking what lay beyond that simple truth.
She played a few more measures, letting the notes fill the space where words might have gone. Then, reluctantly, she let her hands fall to her lap. “I should return. If someone discovers us alone in here?—”
“No one will discover us, I assure you. This room is safe.”
There was something in his tone, a certainty beyond mere confidence, that caught her attention. She gently closed the pianoforte lid and turned fully to face him. “What exactly do you mean by ‘safe’?”
A shadow of his usual smile returned. “There are enchantments on the door,” he explained. “Only certain people are permitted entry. My grandmother’s magic, reinforced by me after her passing. The walls and windows, too, are spelled.” He gestured toward the vine-covered glass. “Sound cannot escape. No one would have heard your playing, not even if they pressed their ear to the door.”
“A soundproofed room in the middle of a palace,” Aurelise murmured, half to herself. “A perfect sanctuary.”
“Precisely.”
They both rose and moved toward the door. “The room is yours to use at any time,” he added. “Thimble and Spark know how to find it.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.” She curtsied as he opened the door, then quietly added, “I did not realize how much I needed this.”
He looked out first, glancing in both directions before turning back to her with a mischievous grin that transformed his face into something boyish and unguarded. “The way is clear, my lady.” He gestured for her to precede him into the corridor, then joined her, pulling the door firmly closed behind them. “I’ll accompany you back to the Blue Parlor. If my mother has noticed your absence, I’ll concoct some suitably noble excuse. You won’t be in trouble on my account.”
They walked in silence for several moments before a thought occurred to Aurelise. “How will I enter the music room,” she asked, “if it’s charmed so that only certain people are allowed in?”
