Page 226 of The Sins of Silas

The next was upbeat, his hands movingso fast the crowd roared when he completed the melody. Song after song played, and somehow, a half hour had flown by.

A woman stood on stage, getting ready to announce the next performer as Roland stepped off. “Next up, Novalie Briar will be singing ‘Loveless’.”

The crowd cheered in excitement just as Roland's eyes found me.

“You came!” he exclaimed as he strolled up to me, a giant grin on his face. “Well, what did you think?”

“It was amazing,” I admitted. “I had no idea you had such talent.”

I didn't miss his cheeks slightly flushing. “Thanks, man.” His eyes darted around the room. “I'm surprised no one has recognized you.”

I laughed softly. “I'm a master at disguise.”

He chuckled, his gaze sliding back to me. “Apparently so.”

“Who taught you?”

“My mother,” he voiced proudly, adjusting the bag containing his sheet music on his shoulder. “She insisted that my sisters and I have at least one talent. I was always drawn to music.”

I nodded, crossing my arms, eyes flitting around the place. “Perhaps you could teach me.”

He blinked in surprise, his grin growing. “I’d like that. For tons of gold, of course,” he teased.

I snorted. “Sure.”

As we headed out, I spoke again. “Hey.”

Roland turned to me with a quirked brow.

“Thank you. You’ve helped me more than you know.”

He gave a reserved smile, and when he went to turn away, I grasped his arm.

“Always be real with me, okay?” I insisted. “I…I need some authenticity in my life.”

The corners of his lips raised. “Always.”

One week later.

“Wow.” Roland cringed as he listened to me attempt to play the piano in my room. I had purchased one the following day after seeing him perform. “Turns out the Prince isnotgood at everything.”

I scowled at him. “I never said I was good at everything.” I tried playing the notes again and groaned when I messed up. “I don’t think I’m artistically gifted,” I muttered.

“It takes practice. I was this bad once before. When I was four.”

I shoved his shoulder playfully, and he snickered.

“Remembering which notes are which takes time,” he said from his seat beside me on the bench. “But with daily practice, I'm sure you'll grasp it eventually.”

I began the “easy” song, as Roland had called it, and sighed after I completed the first part correctly, only to mess up the second.

He placed a hand on my shoulder, causing me to wince. He quickly removed it.

He didn't know my wince was due to the new wounds I'd gotten the night before.

“Don't give up,” he encouraged, rubbing the back of his head. “You'll get thehang of it.”

Two and a half months later.

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