Page 81 of Love & Letter Charms
She was not well rested in the slightest. Thoughts of him and of R and of this wretched tea that simply needed to be over had consumed her every night, making sleep nearly impossible.
“I should certainly hope there were no midnight escapades in my absence,” Prince Ryden said. “If you were attempting to finish that dare list with someone else, I would be thoroughly jealous.”
A flare of something deliciously warm unfurled low in her belly, spreading through her limbs like honeyed wine, leaving her feeling light-headed and wonderfully unsteady. Her fingers trembled against the keys where she still had not resumed playing. She flexed them, trying to still the tremor.
I will not be overwhelmed by this, she firmly instructed herself.
I will not be overwhelmed by this.
“Are you all right?” he asked quietly from behind her. “I understand your tea is tomorrow. Are you feeling prepared or dreading it entirely?”
Why did he have to be so genuinely kind beneath all that disarming charm? It really wasn’t fair.
“I am … attempting not to think about it,” she admitted. “So perhaps discussing it is unwise.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “Might we speak of your trip instead—if that is permitted, of course?”
“Of course we may speak of it,” he said, shifting slightly in his chair. “In fact, I had intended to tell you regardless.” He paused, and something flickered across his face—a momentary uncertainty that seemed foreign on someone usually so assured. “I was visiting some … distant family.”
He drew in a breath, as though preparing himself for something significant. “On the afternoon you and the other ladies departed, someone arrived at Solstice Hall. My uncle. From the Shaded Lands.”
“Your uncle?” Aurelise turned turn face him once more, surprise coloring her voice. “I was not aware you had—” She caught herself, realizing how presumptuous that sounded. She knew almost nothing of his family beyond the High Lady herself. This uncle must be from his late father’s side, she reasoned, though something about the prince’s expression suggested the matter was more complex than that.
A small, almost rueful smile touched his lips. “Not many are aware.” He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely together. “My uncle came bearing welcome news. One of my cousins had found a match. The wedding was to take place this past week.”
The warmth that entered his voice as he spoke of it caught Aurelise off guard. This prince who had always seemed to exist solely in relation to his mother, to the court, to his royal duties—yet here he was speaking of cousins and an uncle and a wedding with such genuine affection. The expression on his face was one she’d never seen before, soft with familial love in a way that reminded her painfully of how she felt about her own family.
“They did not wish to impose upon my mother and myself during the Bloom Season, knowing our responsibilities here. But as I am rather fond of this particular cousin, my uncle thought to inform me personally. I had intended to stay only a few days, but it stretched into a week. Despite the fact that”—his gaze found hers then, steady and intent—“there were certain things at Solstice Hall I found myself missing rather desperately.”
The flutter returned to her chest, an ache that made breathing feel oddly difficult. A part of her knew he spoke ofher, yet she clung stubbornly to denial.
“The High Lady did not wish to accompany you?” she asked carefully. “Not even for a day or two? Surely for a family wedding …”
The pause that followed was heavy with unspoken meaning. Prince Ryden’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before he answered. “I know my mother would have wished to attend, but she cannot publicly acknowledge any connection to that particular branch of the family.”
Aurelise felt her brow furrow. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Prince Ryden rose from his chair then, moving with sudden purpose toward the far corner of the room. There, partially hidden behind a settee, sat the wooden toy chest he had pointed out to her the first time he’d brought her here. Aurelise had noticed it during her solitary practice sessions, had felt curiosity pluck at her each time she looked at it, but she’d never presumed to open it.
She watched as he knelt beside it, lifting the lid with careful reverence. His hands moved through its contents with the care of someone revisiting precious memories. When he straightened and returned to her, he carried a small, enchanted frame that gleamed softly in the afternoon light.
He resumed his seat and extended the frame toward her. “This,” he said quietly, “was Master Ellian Glendale. The Royal Instructor of Magical Theory. My tutor.”
Aurelise accepted the oval frame, looking down at the moving portrait within. The man captured there was distinguished, with intelligent eyes that crinkled at the corners as he smiled. He had dark skin, rich and warm in tone, an angular jaw that spoke of determination, and?—
Everything went peculiarly still.
Her gaze lifted slowly from the portrait to Prince Ryden’s face, then back again. The resemblance was … undeniable. The shape of the nose, the slant of the brows, something about the expressiveness of the mouth—all of it echoed between the portrait and the prince sitting before her.
“Yes,” Prince Ryden said softly, watching her with an expression that suggested he’d expected precisely this reaction. Perhaps even wanted it. “Your supposition is correct.”
“This man,” Aurelise whispered, her voice barely audible as she stared at the portrait, “is your … father?”
“Yes. The man who held the title of Crown Consort was not. He was … not a good man, as I’ve mentioned before. There was never any affection between him and my mother.”
He paused, his gaze dropping to his clasped hands. “I was twelve when I accidentally discovered the truth about my mother’s relationship with Ellian. It had been … ongoing for many years. Once I knew to look for it, the truth of my own parentage became rather obvious.” A bitter smile touched his lips. “It took me somewhat longer to realize that nearly everyone else in our palace there already knew—or guessed, at least. As you’ve noticed, the resemblance is rather striking.”
“Everyone knew?” Aurelise breathed.
“Everyone except the Crown Consort himself. Or at least … I believe he knew but chose to live in denial.”
