Page 82 of Love & Letter Charms
Aurelise’s fingers tightened slightly on the frame. “Were you angry with your mother?”
“At first, yes. A little. I understood that a wife was expected to keep her vows. And I did not wish to think of myself as … illegitimate. But the anger faded quickly. I had never harbored any affection for the Crown Consort, and he had treated my mother abominably behind closed doors. Ellian, meanwhile, had always been everything a father should be to me. Kind, patient, endlessly encouraging. It did not take long for me to make peace with the truth.”
Silence stretched between them for a moment before Aurelise ventured, “What happened to him? To Master Glendale?”
The prince’s expression shuttered. “There was an accident. In his workshop. It was ruled a tragedy. An unfortunate mishap.”
“Oh,” Aurelise breathed, her heart constricting. “I’m so terribly sorry.”
“Thank you. It was years ago now. The grief has mellowed. Though I believe my mother still mourns him far more deeply than I. They truly loved one another.”
Several moments passed in contemplative quiet, the only sound the distant trill of birds beyond the windows. Finally, Aurelise found her voice again. “Why are you telling me this?”
The question hung in the air between them like a held breath.
“Because,” he said softly, his eyes finding hers with an intensity that made her pulse quicken, “I want you to know.” He paused. Then: “I want you to knowme.”
She felt it then—that sensation of something vast and overwhelming approaching, like a wave gathering strength far out at sea. Her breath grew shallow as she met his gaze, unable to look away despite every instinct screaming at her to flee. The feeling rose higher, threatening to crash over her, to pull her under into depths from which she might never surface?—
No. She couldn’t. She would not allow it.
She turned abruptly back to the pianoforte, her movement so sudden that the portrait frame nearly slipped from her lap. Her fingers gripped it tighter as she drew in a steadying breath.
But then she paused, glancing back over her shoulder. He had just entrusted her with something of great consequence. She could not let him think she was rejecting him for it, that she thought less of him for being illegitimate. It wasn’thimshe was turning from—it was the terrifying depth of feeling he stirred within her.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, meeting his eyes. “For telling me. That cannot have been easy to share.”
A small, genuine smile curved his lips. “Surprisingly, it was not as difficult as I anticipated. I find myself wanting to tell you things. Many things.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she quickly faced forward again. “Would you—that is—might I play something for you?”
“I would like that.” His voice carried that familiar thread of mischief now. “But only if you’ll permit me to play alongside you.”
Surprise made her turn again, though only slightly, as he was now standing beside the pianoforte. “You play?” she asked.
“I do, though not nearly as well as you. My grandmother taught me. Or should I say …attemptedto teach me.”
“But—in all the times we’ve been in here together, you’ve never once mentioned this.”
He smiled down at her, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You did not ask.”
She hesitated, her pulse fluttering. Why did she keep finding it so difficult to look away from those very blue eyes? “I … I suppose that is true.”
“So then,” he said lightly, “may I sit beside you?”
He seemed to be asking for more than that. The air shifted, subtle, invisible, but she felt it all the same. That same tremor beneath her skin she kept sensing around him, as though something vast were drawing nearer. It pressed against her ribs, stole her breath, filled her chest with that dangerous mixture of dread and delight.
She should say no. Now would be an excellent time to prove that dare number six was hardly insurmountable. And yet … she did not want to.
“Yes,” she heard herself say softly. “You may.”
He moved to sit beside her on the bench, positioning himself to her left where the bass accompaniment would naturally fall. The bench, which had seemed perfectly adequate when she satalone, now felt impossibly small. His thigh pressed against hers through the layers of her dress, and she could feel the warmth radiating from him, smell the warm steadiness of cedar and the freshness of a rain-drenched forest.
“Well then,” she managed, her voice only slightly breathless. “Shall we attempt something simple? Perhaps a traditional solstice duet?”
“Lead the way, my lady.”
She began with a familiar piece, one she’d learned years ago, her fingers finding the notes easily despite her heightened awareness of him beside her. The melody flowed forth, sweet and uncomplicated, perfect for a duet.
