Page 68 of Love & Letter Charms
My lady!Thimble’s frantic voice broke the moment.Are you well? That was absolutely TERRIFYING! And dreadfully romantic! Did he save you? He saved you! Just like in Lady Olivienne’s novels!
The spell broken, Prince Ryden’s familiar grin returned. “Two dares in one evening. I’m thoroughly impressed by your boldness, my lady.”
They began wading toward shore where Thimble waited, wings fluttering anxiously.
“I rather think those will be the last two,” Aurelise admitted. “I’m quite convinced I’ve used up my entire supply of boldness for the foreseeable future.”
He laughed again, the sound rich and easy. “Somehow, Lady Aurelise, I doubt that. I have a feeling boldness suits you far too well to be so easily spent.”
~
Dearest L,
‘Geometrically pleasing cufflinks.’ L, you treasure. That poor gentleman is probably still pondering what you meant. (Though if it was an accident rather than an intentional flirtation, then I believe you’re right that it should not be counted toward dare number three.)
Now then, this sudden interest in my warmth-pilfering guest is fascinating. All these carefully casual questions about her impression-making abilities and magical qualities. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were experiencing a touch of … something. Could it possibly be jealousy?
Sweet L, are you perhaps worried that some charming visitor has captured my attention? That while you’re off complimenting geometry, I’m here sighing over some enchantress who’s stolen the very temperature from my halls?
Rest assured, there is no one who stirs such warmth in me as you. (You should have seen me when you so cleverly turned my improper honey remark back upon me. I was positively burning.)
Though I must say, this new slightly possessive version of you is rather captivating.
Thoroughly amused,
R
Dear R,
Possessive? That’s absurd. I’m merely conducting academic research into the phenomenon of atmospheric theft. It’s a serious matter that probably deserves formal study.
And I’m certainly not worried about enchantresses capturing anything of yours. You’re free to sigh over whomever you please. I’m sure she’s lovely, this warmth-burglar of yours. Probably never says awkward things about geometry or hides behind statues.
Actually, now that I consider it, she sounds exhausting. All that temperature manipulation and impression-making? Some of us prefer to leave rooms exactly as warm as we found them, thank you very much. It’s called courtesy.
I’ve decided I don’t like her. Not because of any possessive feelings, you understand, but on principle. Anyone who goes about stealing atmospheric conditions is clearly not to be trusted.
Academically yours,
L
My dearest L,
There is nothing left for any enchantress to steal—you already have it all.
R
Chapter Eighteen
Hundreds of spell-lightcreatures darted through the air above the Solstice Hall gardens like enchanted fireflies caught in an invisible wind, their luminous forms painting trails of silver and gold against the deepening twilight. Ladies in shimmering gowns rushed about with delicate nets of silver thread, their laughter rising and falling like music as they attempted to capture the elusive gleams. Gentlemen joined the chase with varying degrees of dignity intact, some maintaining their composure while others abandoned all pretense of sophistication in pursuit of particularly tempting quarry.
Ryden stood at the edge of the gathering, his mother a regal presence beside him, and found his gaze drawn inevitably to one figure among the many. Lady Aurelise moved through the crowd with considerably less competitive fervor than some of the other ladies—Lady Ellowa, for instance, had nearly knocked Ryden’s friend Lord Fin Thornhart into a rose bush in her enthusiasm—but her face was alight with genuine pleasure as she laughed and attempted to catch the darting creatures with her net. The sound carried to him on the lilac-scented breeze, and something in his chest tightened at the unfettered joy in it.
A full week had passed since he’d convinced her to venture into the rain with him. Since he’d convinced her to swim in the lake. He could still feel the memory of it branded into his skin—that breath-stealing moment in the water when he’d held her in his arms, her chest heaving, her nightgown clinging to her form, her eyes wide with shock and … something else?
She’d been so close, so breathtakingly, impossiblyclose.
His L, in his arms.
