Page 77 of Love & Letter Charms
(You are terrified right now, reading those three little words. Your hands are shaking. Perhaps you’re finding it hard to breathe. For this, I apologize. My words are overwhelming you all over again, but I will not take them back. You need to know them.)
If you could bring yourself to take this risk—to let this feeling in—I believe you would discover something wonderful: that when the wave washes over you, you remain. Different, perhaps. Changed, certainly. But not washed away. Not drowned. Not consumed.
And I would still be there, holding fast to you.
When you are ready—and only when you are ready—I am here. I have patience enough for both of us. I have always suspected that anything truly worth having with you would require time and care and gentle persistence.
Take your time, my L. Process this in whatever way you need.
I will be waiting, as always, for your next letter.
Yours, steadfastly,
R
Chapter Twenty
No.She did not need toprocessanything. She needed to movebeyondit.
Beyond the tender confession that had arrived in R’s latest letter, beyond those three devastating words that had burrowed beneath her skin like seeds threatening to bloom. Beyond the person whose beautiful words were slowly, inexorably drawing her heart from its carefully maintained fortress. And most certainly beyond the charmingly flirtatious prince whose very presence seemed to unravel every thread of sense she possessed.
She needed to move beyondbothof them. Before they destroyed her.
Aurelise pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to massage away the persistent ache that had taken residence there since the previous evening. The driftshade had long since faded from her system, leaving her with crystalline clarity about precisely how inappropriate her behavior had been. Not only the previous night, but the entire time she’d been here at Solstice Hall.
Running through rain-soaked gardens. Taking illicit midnight swims.Smoking, for goodness’ sake. And then an attempt atflirting? Stars above, when assembled in suchdamning succession, it painted a portrait of impropriety that would have sent the Aurelise of several weeks ago into a dead faint.
She needed to put an end to this immediately.
Which was precisely how, on this uncomfortably warm afternoon, Aurelise found herself strolling through the palace gardens alongside Prince Ryden, trying desperately to maintain an appropriate distance while the sun beat down mercilessly from a cloudless sky.
Fortunately, a retinue of palace pixies had followed them from the terrace, holding between them a swath of shimmering mistcloth. It drifted above her and the prince like a weightless canopy, scattering the sunlight into golden haze. She was grateful, of course—the day was far too warm for comfort—but it made her acutely aware of every word she spoke, as though even the pixies might be listening.
She’d requested this audience through proper channels that morning (after much anxious pacing about her suite), and when Prince Ryden had suggested a garden walk, she’d readily agreed. It would be properly chaperoned—an attendant walked a respectable distance behind them, her presence a constant reminder of propriety. And the timing was perfect: as soon as this conversation concluded, she would depart with the other Crown Court ladies for their fortnightly visit home. If things went poorly, at least escape was readily available.
“You seem uncommonly serious today,” Prince Ryden observed as Thimble darted beside them, performing a series of gleeful aerial pirouettes, her wings catching the sunlight in bursts of violet and rose. Spark glided a few paces ahead. “Should I be concerned?”
“Not at all,” Aurelise replied, keeping her tone carefully neutral. “I merely wished to discuss certain matters before my departure.”
“Certain matters,” he repeated, that familiar amusement threading through his voice. “How delightfully mysterious.”
They turned down a path lined with blossom arches, where the air grew heavy with warmth and perfume. The heady scent of sun-drenched honeysilk roses mingled with something sharper—mint, perhaps. The soft trill of hidden songbirds threaded through the air, accompanied by the small, indignant shouts of two garden gnomes locked in a heated debate at the base of a nearby hedge.
As they emerged from the path and walked toward a large ornate fountain, Aurelise tried to recall the careful phrasing she’d practiced in her room that morning. Nearby, Spark alighted on the rim of a large earthen pot in which a lemon tree grew. The sunlight gleamed across his emerald form as his voice brushed through her mind:Lemons, he declared with grave solemnity.Deceptively dangerous. Their scent is addictive.He inhaled again.Almost as good as custard.
Neither he nor Thimble had been supportive of her plan to ask the prince to resume a more proper distance. Naturally, they had objected, Thimble first and Spark with rumbling indignation soon after. But Aurelise had stood her ground. This was how it must be, she reminded them. Did they not recall her telling them, the very day she arrived here, that she had no wish to be princess?
Thimble’s tiny eyes had shimmered with unshed tears when she whispered that Aurelise would make such a lovely one. Even Spark, whose usual emotional range ran from mild irritation to faint disapproval, had sounded gruffly unsteady when he muttered something about being unable to imagine anyone else as Crown Consort to the High Lord.
The guilt of disappointing them had wrapped tightly around her ribs, squeezing until it was almost difficult to breathe, andmaking her think yet again of the words she’d unintentionally spilled onto paper addressed to R the night before.
Every emotion amplified until it’s almost unbearable …
But she’d managed to smile and tell her lovable companions that they must recover from their heartbreak and perhaps redirect their enthusiasm toward one of the other ladies. Not Willow, who, if Aurelise had interpreted matters correctly, already harbored a fondness for another gentleman. So perhaps Lady Coravelle. In Aurelise’s few interactions with her, she had seemed perfectly kind, and far more suited to the role. Thimble and Spark had exchanged a look so brimming with unspoken mischief that Aurelise had immediately narrowed her eyes. “No sabotage,” she’d warned.
They had then insisted on accompanying her this afternoon as a mark of solidarity, though Aurelise suspected their true intentions leaned more toward interference than assistance.
“Shall we stop here?” Prince Ryden suggested as they reached the fountain—a magnificent creation of white marble depicting water sprites at play, their frozen forms sending streams arcing through the air. The sound of splashing water provided a soothing backdrop, though it did little to calm Aurelise’s racing heart. “The spray provides some relief from this heat,” the prince added.
