Page 57 of Love & Letter Charms
Aurelise found herself laughing, the sound bright and unexpected in the quiet corridor. Perhaps this was it: not the pianoforte’s peace nor a good night’s rest, nor even the warm golden sunlight, but the fact that this majestic and imposing palace was populated by beings who treated its grandeur with such cheerful irreverence.
She stretched out her palm toward Thimble, who seemed to understand the invitation immediately. The tiny pink mouse landed on her hand with obvious delight, her wings fluttering to a gentle stop. Aurelise brought Thimble close and briefly nuzzled the tiny creature against her cheek.
OH MY STARS!Thimble’s mental voice quivered with pure joy.This is the BEST DAY EVER!
Spark, gliding in endless graceful circles at her side, huffed a puff of sparkly smoke and twitched his tail with what might have been the slightest hint of jealousy. Aurelise blew him a kiss with her free hand.
“Thank you both,” she said. “For making this place less frightening.”
Eventually, their wanderings led them toward the kitchens, the air growing warmer and rich with the mingled scents of baking bread, spices, and something that might have been caramelized sugar. Perhaps there she might find her evidence for dare number two. Surely liberating a cream scone or a small tartlet would be less problematic than absconding with an ornamental cushion or decorative figurine from the palace’s formal rooms.
As she drew nearer, the murmur of voices and the clatter of metal grew louder, until the full life of the palace kitchen unfolded before her. She paused at the threshold, peering into the organized chaos within.
White-aproned maids bent over long wooden tables, knives flashing as they peeled potatoes and trimmed green beans into neat piles. Two others sat shelling peas into wide earthen bowls, while near the ovens, a broad-shouldered cook slid great rounds of bread onto a cooling rack. The air shimmered faintly with enchantments—spoons stirring on their own, a rolling pin gliding back and forth over a sheet of pastry as though guided by invisible hands.
Aurelise leaned against the doorframe, content simply to observe. This, at least, felt familiar—the kitchens at Rowanwood House operated with similar cheerful industry, though perhaps on a slightly less grand scale.
A scullery boy hurried in from the courtyard, his arms full of freshly cut herbs tied in bundles. At that exact moment, a young maid turned from her station with a bowl brimming with peeled potatoes. Neither saw the other until they collided. The bowl tipped, the herbs flew, and a dozen potatoes thudded and rolled across the flagstones.
“What were youthinking?” the maid cried, clutching the rim of her now-empty bowl. “You nearly knocked me over!”
“Well maybe don’t stand in the middle of the floor like a statue!” the boy snapped back, herbs still hanging from one arm. “Some of us have work to do!”
“Some of us,” she retorted hotly, “are actually doing it properly!”
Voices rose, sharp with embarrassment and temper. The clatter of knives and spoons faltered as nearby maids turned to stare. The cook’s head jerked up, her expression darkening as she drew breath to shout.
Aurelise’s pulse fluttered. Their anger pressed against her skin, quickening her own heartbeat. She turned swiftly away from the kitchen, pressing her back to the cool wall, desperate not to be noticed—her instinct to retreat from conflict stronger than any intention that had brought her here.
Her fingers began to move of their own accord, tracing delicate patterns in the air beside her. The motion came as naturally as breathing, summoning a soft, wordless sound. A gentle harmony rose like sunlight filtering through leaves. The sound of strings, soft and sweet, wrapped around her like a familiar shawl.
She exhaled, her nerves slowly settling. She was just about to slip away, content to abandon any thought of gathering ‘evidence,’ when she realized the shouting had stopped. From the kitchen came a burst of laughter. The rhythm of work hadresumed—the scrape of knives, the hum of voices, the faint hiss of steam.
Peeking around the corner, she saw the maid and the scullery boy crouched together, gathering the fallen potatoes and scattered herbs, both smiling now at some shared remark.
Well. Perhaps she would linger a moment longer after all. Maybe, if she asked nicely, the boy could be persuaded to part with a bundle of herbs. Or perhaps?—
Movement beyond the kitchen window caught her eye, drawing her attention to the herb garden beyond. Her breath caught in her throat.
Prince Ryden stood among the raised beds, though he looked nothing like the polished courtier she’d grown accustomed to seeing. His coat—or was that a riding jacket?—lay discarded on a nearby bench, his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows in a fashion that would have horrified any proper valet. Sunlight caught the lean lines of his forearms as he and an older man—presumably the herb master—lifted a large wooden planter box.
Their voices carried faintly through the open window, low masculine laughter over some shared observation about the weight of wet soil or the stubbornness of thyme. The prince’s expression held none of its usual calculated charm. Instead, he looked … happy. Genuinely, unselfconsciously happy, as though this moment in a kitchen garden, hands dirty and hair slightly mussed by the breeze, was precisely where he wished to be.
Something twisted in Aurelise’s chest—a sensation she firmly refused to examine. Her fingers curled against the door frame. She told herself she was merely surprised, that was all. The heat rising in her cheeks was surely from the kitchen’s warmth, not from watching the flex of his arms as he shifted the planter or the way the morning light played across his profile when he turned to point at something in the garden bed.
Oh my STARS!Thimble’s delighted squeal pierced her thoughts.You’re watching the prince! You’re ADMIRING him! Look how pink she’s turning, Spark!
“I am not—” Aurelise hissed, horrified. “I was merely surprised to see?—”
Surprised by his masculine forearms?Spark inquired with unusual wickedness.Surprised by the way he fills out that shirt? How very educational this reconnaissance has become.
“Surprised,” Aurelise insisted, her voice rising slightly in pitch, “to find him laboring in the gardens when he should be?—”
“My lady?” a new voice interrupted, making Aurelise start guiltily. “Might I be of assistance?”
She turned to find one of the kitchen staff—a plump, pleasant-faced fae woman with flour dusting her apron—standing before her with a curious expression.
“Oh! I—forgive me,” Aurelise stammered, mortification washing through her. “I did not mean to intrude upon your domain.”
