Page 16 of Façade

“I was only teasing you, but it appears I went a step too far.” He dropped the butter knife and lifted his hands in surrender. “It appears you’re the victor in our first marital spat. Even if you hadn’t won this round, let me assure you that I would have respected your wishes, and not just for the fact that I share them.”

His tone had softened into one that was surprisingly gentle and cajoling, even…sweet, something that was as alarming as it was unexpected.

I blinked at him in surprise. Somehow this show of sweetness and his playful response in disarming me was enough to push through my irrational fears. “You’re…in agreement?” That hadn’t been the response I’d expected, making me fear this was nothing more than a trap.

He nodded. “Though I understand the expectations that come with marriage, I don’t share them.” His confident tone was free from pretense, the pink tinging his cheeks the only sign of his embarrassment to be openly discussing such a thing.

Despite him having given me no reason to trust him, I found that in this particular matter I did…for the sole reason that I knew it was my magic and not me that he truly wanted, and thus it’d be in his best interests not to violate my trust. Yet I didn’t immediately lower my blade.

We stared at one another for a long moment, the force of his grey eyes seeping into my soul, rendering me frozen. Eventually he stirred to graze my hand still clinging to the knife with his fingers, not to extract it from my grip but to turn my hand just enough for him to press a gentlemanly kiss to the back.

“Have a good night, Evelyn. I’m sincere that I enjoyed our time together and now have reason to hope for our future. I hope it’s done the same for you.” He released my hand and walked to his door alone, pausing with his hand on the knob to look back. “On my honor I will not hurt you, but if it’ll set your mind at ease, feel free to lock your door.” The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “I’ll be sure to lock mine should you get a sudden notion for a midnight sparring match.”

With those words and a parting wink, he bowed and entered his room, leaving me staring after him, confusion pressing against my whirling thoughts. Mere hours into our marriage, already it wasn’t at all what I’d expected.

* * *

This confusion lingeredin the days that followed, made endurable only because I spent them apart from my husband. I often took refuge in the gardens, an artistic arrangement of hedges and flowers that enclosed me within its cocoon of beauty. I managed to avoid Ryland for nearly a week before he finally ventured onto the grounds and discovered me. At his approach to where I sat on the lawn, I hastily rearranged my skirts to hide my bare feet, but the gesture was futile, as his gaze flickered to my shoes discarded nearby. His eyebrow twitched as if itching to lift, but he otherwise betrayed no emotion.

“Princess Evelyn.” He offered a proper bow.

I couldn’t quite contain my sigh of defeat. “It appears you found me.”

“I didn’t realize we were playing hide and seek.”

I hadn’t expected such a quip from one so serious, which only deepened my earlier suspicions that these charming falters in his usual countenance were merely a ploy to weasel himself into my good graces.

“Considering we haven’t spoken in days, you’ve been quite thorough in this game I didn’t realize we were playing,” he continued. “Giving me reason to wonder whether you’ve been avoiding me on purpose.”

In truth, avoidance had been my first tactic as spy for the Estorian throne—the less time I spent with Ryland, the less he could inquire after the magic I didn’t possess, and the more opportunities I could find to conduct my investigations into his motives. So far, my searches had been limited to public areas around the palace, which unsurprisingly hadn’t yielded any results. It didn’t help I didn’t quite know what I was looking for, save for anything suspicious.

“I’ll stop playing this particular game when you give me reason to seek out your company,” I quipped.

He closed his eyes as if praying for patience, and I felt a twinge of guilt that mere minutes into our first conversation in days, already I was proving difficult. Yet I found it impossible not to be after his unsubtle inquires about my magic that had tainted our previous exchange. Though I’d entered this arrangement fully aware of his intentions, it was impossible not to be affected by his intentions to use me.

“I hope your need for distance is not motivated by fear—as I assured you in our last interaction, I would never harm you.”

My cheeks warmed at the reminder of that awkward encounter.

“Not fear,” I said. “But though I prefer our arrangement to one with Thorndale, in the end our union was arranged by politics rather than love. Thus I prefer to be alone.”

I hoped my words would act as a deterrent from further conversation, but despite my obvious wishes on the matter, he seemed inclined to actually make an effort.

Anxiety swelled. What could we possibly talk about when we remained not only strangers, but two enemies? I found small talk wearying during the best of times, but the thought of navigating it now felt especially exhausting.

Oblivious to these silent reservations, Ryland seemed determined to make up for the time he’d ignored his new wife. With a steadying breath he looked around, as if searching for a topic that might dispel the tension between us, before noticing the sketchbook in my lap. “You’re an artist?”

After a moment’s deliberation I accepted his offered bait. “Not a very good one.” Like with most of my hobbies, my interest varied according to my mood—I never knew when my elusive whim would strike. As a result I flittered from one hobby to another, making it difficult to possess skill in any of them.

“Perhaps I can be the judge of that.” He crouched beside me and extended his hand. “May I?”

My hold tightened around my sketchbook, shy about the thought of showing my drawings to him. “My assessment of my skills weren’t given in false modesty; I’m truly not very good, especially since I lack the patience to spend extended time with any of my hobbies.”

He didn’t withdraw his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation I reluctantly handed him my sketchbook. His eyebrows promptly lifted when he opened to my first unfinished drawing and rose higher upon encountering the second. He flipped through each page, all containing unfinished snippets of each of my flashes of inspiration before I lost interest.

Shoulders stiff, I braced myself for his reaction. Though his expression remained impassive, an indecipherable emotion filled his eyes. “Areanyof these finished?”

“Who’s to say they aren’t?” The words were easier than admitting my lack of attention, even with a pastime that gave me joy whenever I felt inclined to pursue it.

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