Then he just felt sad that all he had left of the most compelling person he'd ever met was a single strange scale, and the knowledge that man would probably never think about him again.Probably would not even remember his name after a few days.
Sighing, he shrugged into a dressing robe then went and put the scale in his memento box, the one he kept tucked away in his wardrobe, locked and spelled so his mother's servants couldn't pry into it.By the time he had finished with that, the servants had arrived with his bath water and in short order he was cleaned and soaking in the hot water while two of his chamber servants dealt with his poor hair.
When he was finally dressed for a day at court, he kissed Pip goodbye, tossed a ball for her, and then headed out to face his day.He'd just reached the morning parlor, where several courtiers had gathered for a mid-morning tea they'd largely ignore in favor of gossip and the wine they'd demand be brought, when a familiar figure appeared.
Lord Marceau, heir to the Duke of Prosper, looped their arms together and all but dragged him to a quiet corner.He pushed a cup of dark red wine into his hands, despite knowing Aurélien didn't favor it, and said, "Where have you been?"
"In the woods," he replied, and gave a heavily edited version of events.He'd go to his grave before he told anyone about how he'd made a complete and utter fool of himself over a man who'd snuck away while he'd slept."What did you need, to drag me across the room like this?"
He did not count Marceau a friend, but they were friendly.Marceau did not staunchly avoid him like the rest of the court, at any rate, even if he never did much more than that.And there was always a look in his eyes, the look so many in court wore.Waiting for an edge, an advantage, the right leverage to lift himself up higher in the court.Aurélien never entirely trusted that.Ambition itself wasn't the problem, only the cold ruthlessness that so often went with it.
"Rumor has it that prince who arrived yesterday was invited here by your mother to marry you," Marceau said."I thought you'd like some warning."
So his motherwasup to something, exactly as he'd feared."Well, she's in for yet another unpleasant surprise from me, because that's not happening."The magic would not permit it, and she damn well knew that.The magic does as the magic wills.If she tried to ignore the spellshe'dordered cast, the magic would lash out.Sheknewthat.
Yet here she was trying to defy the magic anyway.
"Your mother is the queen, in case you forgot," Marceau said dryly."I hear Prince Zarin is…bearable.And of course, he's just a fourth son, so he's happy to remain here and serve your mother."
"Of course," Aurélien muttered.He set aside the wine and looked harder at Marceau, feeling tired."So what does it matter to you?"
Marceau eyed him slyly, stealing the wine for himself and taking several sips."We're friends, or friends enough.I know you don't want to marry someone your mother picks for you.So…what if you married me instead?"
If a single shred of affection had filled Marceau's eyes as he made the suggestion, Aurélien might have been tempted.For the barest moment he might have considered defying the magic just for the chance at someone who genuinely held him in some manner of affection.
But there was nothing but greed and ambition in Marceau's eyes.He didn't care about Aurélien anymore than this prince he'd yet to meet.
Nobodycared.
"You would be better than a stranger, I admit," he said levelly, "but you are overlooking the same thing as my mother: I am bound by the magic.By her command, I was bespelled by the Test of Heart.The mage told me the one meant for me—"ocean blue eyes, a soft smile, a gentle touch, vanished without so much as a fucking goodbye "—would appear some time after my siblings found their matches."
Marceau seemed momentarily angry, but hid it quickly."I think it's pretty clear by this point that spell isn't working.The only spell you seem to have are your ugly thorns."
"Ugly," Aurélien repeated softly, staring at where they just barely crept past his wrists to tease at the edge of his hand.
Keone had called them beautiful.Something no one else had done.Just one more reason he'd thought…
The magic does as the magic wills, and all will be as it should, even when it seems quite hopeless.
"I didn't mean that," Marceau corrected, hastily and poorly."I just meant—"
"You made yourself perfectly clear," Aurélien replied in clipped tones."I will not marry you.I will not marry anyone, save the one the magic brings me."
Now the anger took over, along with an edge of desperation.Around them, he could feel eyes watching as they drew the attention Marceau had poorly tried to avoid."Don't be such a snotty bitch.You know by now nobody else wants you,Your Highness.But I do.Why can't I be good enough?"
"I appreciate your offer, I do, but I will not spurn the magic."
Marceau snarled, reached out, grabbed his arm as he tried to leave—then jerked back, screaming in pain, hand covered in bloody holes and scratches where he'd been pierced by thorns.
Aurélien kept walking, ignoring the angry cries, the exclamations, the whispers, that followed in his wake.He continued on his way, body burning and tingling as the thorns continued their journey down his legs, reaching to his knees now.Normally they did not grow so quickly, but he did not care if they consumed him entirely.
He focused on his work—meetings, paperwork, luncheon, more paperwork, more meetings, until his mother finally summoned him to the blue parlor an hour before dinner.
His siblings and their spouses were there, and next to his mother stood Prince Zarin.He was handsome enough, with pretty blue eyes and hair that was so pale a blond it nearly seemed white, but he regarded Aurélien with cool disdain, not a single spark of warmth or even curiosity in his eyes.
Was he so terrible a person?His siblings did not care one way or another about him.His mother detested him.Everyone else avoided him.Even Marceau, the closest he had to a friend, had not cared about him in the end.
The pain grew, the thorns twisting even further down his legs, but Aurélien smiled politely and bowed deeply to his mother."Good evening, Your Majesty, Your Highness.How may I serve you?"
