“I’m terribly sorry, Your Highness. I didn’t mean ... to ...”
She laughed with a bright, delighted sound that somehow gave Baron no choice but to smile along. Ducking her head, she wiped her eyes. “I’m not sad. Quite the opposite.”
Cook called out to ask if she was all right, and the princesswaved off the concern. Kitchen activity resumed once more, allowing Baron to breathe.
“I’ve never moved someone to tears with a cup of tea,” he admitted.
Of course, he offered magic only to his family and Silas. Being the sole Caster born into nobility, he was privileged to have that option. Those born to average families, like Edith, had to make a living for themselves, and when regular professions wouldn’t accept them, they sold what magic could offer, though it required enduring though it required enduring scorn and suspicion.
Princess Aria stared down into her empty cup with enough mourning that Baron almost offered her another. She said, “It was like ... flowers in bloom under light rain. How is that possible? Even mysoulseemed to taste it.”
Heat crept through Baron’s neck. When was the last time someone had spoken positively of his magic?
All at once, the princess leaned closer, reaching her free hand to grasp his. “Thank you, Baron.”
The heat increased. He barely managed a nod, distracted by the way his fingers tingled even inside his glove.
“Highness!” A young maid with black hair burst through the door. She was perhaps the age of the twins. “Terribly sorry, Your Highness, but His Majesty searches for you.”
Princess Aria’s fingers tightened on the cup as she rose. After a brief exchange with the servant girl, she grew tense, and Baron found himself strangely regretful at the clear ending to the evening. By the time she made a quick curtsy and hurried off—though not without giving personal goodbyes to the twins—he felt he’d given away something very terrible indeed. Something more than magic.
Something personal.
Aria rushed back to her father’s side, still reeling from the events in the kitchen. Her steps felt light; her thoughts raced with clearness through a fogless mind. The moment she’d sipped Baron’s tea, it had washed away every ounce of exhaustion and left her feeling likeAriaagain. She couldn’t believe it.
Had he known she was cursed? Was it something another Caster could see or feel? Had breaking her curse been his thanks for something as simple as showing his brothers akitchen?
Aria felt as if her history professor had handed her a new textbook on a time period she’d never studied, full of unknown writings waiting to inspire her with truth. There was more to magic than she’d ever dreamed. The people of her kingdom coexisted with it and knewnothingof its processes.She’dknown nothing. Not for eighteen years.
“Ah, there you are.” The king nodded as she reached him beside the refreshments table. He gestured to the woman beside him. “Duchess Newburn has a son who would like to present himself as a possible suitor. I told her this matter has your utmost attention.”
“It does,” Aria said, her voice strong, “and I would be delighted to consider your son, Your Grace. If you’ll direct him to me, wecan share a dance before the evening is out and spend some time evaluating if we might be compatible partners.”
She didn’t have to drag the words one by one into sense; they flowed almost without effort. Had conversation been this easy before the curse?
As the duchess curtsied and excused herself to find her son, Aria’s father raised an eyebrow.
“Well handled,” he remarked. “Though I cannot excuse this event’s hostess disappearing for the past hour.”
“It was for a good purpose. I was with a member of court, and I found him most ... enlightening.”
The king raised his eyebrows, taking a sip of wine. “Enlightening. Is that what they’re calling trysts these days?”
Aria gasped, fighting her blush. “Father. It wasnotlike that.”
“If he’s your decided-upon courtship, I won’t complain.”
For a moment, she thought of Baron’s vibrant green eyes, the tawny shades to his hair, which gave its thick waves a captivating depth. She thought of the way he’d looked at her when she’d touched his hand. Vulnerable, perhaps, though she couldn’t imagine why—not when he held a power that made others uncomfortable with its very existence.
“Who was it, then?” her father asked. “Lord Alexander? Lord Christopher? I noticed you two seemed to connect when the evening began.”
“No one of consequence,” she said, then hated herself for the words.
Ingratitude. Mark.
If Baron Reeves had freed her from a curse, she should be rushing to reward him. Instead, she found herself slightly wary, the way she’d felt a moment before drinking his tea. She’d decided to take that risk because her overwhelming exhaustion meant she could not turn away even thepossibilityof assistance,and she was gambling he wouldn’t offer poison in clear view of a room full of people.
Surely the results spoke for themselves, didn’t they?
