Page 41 of Love & Letter Charms
He leaned forward, flattening his palms on the desk, his head hanging between his shoulders as he stared down at her letters. Her beautiful, vulnerable words scattered beneath him like a map to her soul. A soul he now knew belonged to a woman namedLady Aurelise Rowanwood.
He wanted to go back to her immediately. He wanted to take her face in his hands and tell her he knew who she was. He wanted to thread his fingers through her hair, pull her close, brush his lips over the warmth blooming in her cheeks. He wanted?—
But she did not even like him.
Her slip in the garden had been unmistakable. She’d tried to correct herself, but he’d seen the truth beneath her mortified expression. Lady Aurelise Rowanwood did not like His Royal Highness, Prince Ryden. And L, the version of herself that lived in these letters, had made it equally clear she did not want to meet R.
A groan tore from Ryden’s throat, raw and frustrated. He turned and slid to the floor, his back against the desk, knees pulled up. His fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to hurt.
This was wonderful. This was terrible. This was everything he’d wanted and nothing he could have.
His mother had already dismissed Lady Aurelise as unsuitable. Her music magic too emotional, too unstable to balance his own magic. Evryn had warned him off with barely concealed threats. Even Lady Rivenna had all but promised to destroy him if he so much as distressed her granddaughter.
The entire world seemed aligned against him loving her, and she herself stood at the forefront of that opposition.
He sat there for several long minutes, his breathing gradually evening out as the initial shock began to fade. The trembling in the air around him stilled. His magic, still restless but no longer raging, settled.
This was not the end. It couldn’t be. He’d been navigating the challenges of court life, had been slipping past his royal footmen and palace sentries to escape Solstice Hall for years. He’d learned long ago that every problem had a solution if one was determined enough to find it.
He pushed himself up from the floor and began to pace, his mind shifting from emotional chaos to strategic calculation. The obstacles were numerous but not insurmountable.
First, her family’s opposition. They saw him as the scandalous prince, the shameless flirt who would inevitably break their precious Aurelise’s heart. And why wouldn’t they? He’d given them every reason to believe the worst of him.
But none of them, not even Evryn, knew him fully. They did not know the man who wrote letters late into the night, who made terrible jokes about vegetables to make a shy girl laugh. They could not know that the mere thought of causing her pain was unimaginable to him. But once they understood this, surely their objections would fade.
His mother’s concerns about magical compatibility were more complex but not impossible to address. He would find a way to prove that Aurelise’s music was not the unpredictable, destabilizing force his mother believed it to be. Or perhaps he’d find another solution entirely. He had weeks still. Time enough to demonstrate that his choice was the right one.
But the most significant obstacle was Aurelise herself.
She did not like Prince Ryden—the public persona, the performance he gave the world. But she did like R, the manin the letters. He’d seen evidence of her feelings scattered throughout their correspondence. The way she’d admitted to blushing at his words. The way she sometimes teased him in return, with unexpected humor that delighted him. The fact that shewantedto keep writing to him, still needed him in her life in some way.
She cared for him. He was almost certain of it. But she was scared—of what, exactly, he was not entirely sure. But she was so convinced she was not brave. So certain she was unsuitable for this life, for him, for anything beyond a quiet existence.
How could he prove to her that a life with him would not be the daunting reality she feared? Royal life had its burdens, to be sure—formal events where every move was watched, tedious councils, public scrutiny, and the weight of decisions affecting many lives. But it also offered real purpose: the chance to protect what mattered and change what didn’t. And their true home in the Shaded Lands was nothing like the bustling court she feared. It was a place of quiet beauty with silver forests and pastel colors that shifted across the sky. She would find peace there, he was certain of it.
But first he had to convince her that she was, in fact, brave.
No, he thought as an idea began to emerge. There was no one who could convince her. This was something she had to discover for herself. Her own courage, her own strength, her own worthiness to stand beside anyone she chose.
Including, he hoped with everything inside him, a future High Lord.
~
Dear R,
All right then. If we are to pretend that nothing has changed between us, I suppose I should begin by addressing the more pressing matter at hand: Horatio the Judgmental Gossip Bird.
I must say, I’m relieved to know that he has taken up residence near your window. Someone needs to keep watch over your dignity, and since you’ve clearly abandoned that responsibility yourself, the task has fallen to our feathered friend. Please give him my regards and assure him that I, too, find your lack of self-respect deeply concerning.
(Though between us, I laugh-sobbed when your letter arrived. Horatio would have been most unimpressed.)
Now, you’ll be insufferably pleased to know that I attempted your suggestion about asking whether plants have opinions about us. I committed fully to the strategy—delivered it with complete seriousness to a gentleman during what was meant to be a perfectly ordinary garden conversation.
Not only did it work, but it was perhaps TOO effective! I completely scared off the gentleman I was talking to, who quite literally fled from my presence!
It was somewhat of a relief to be left alone, I have to admit. Though perhaps also a little … humiliating? Did he really have to depart my presence with such alarming speed? One moment we were discussing roses (elderly chaperones and all), and the next he’d remembered somewhere urgent he needed to be. I’ve never seen anyone disappear with such haste.
So thank you, R, for that spectacularly successful bit of social advice. I am now quite certain that at least one person in the realm believes I am utterly mad.
