Page 21 of Façade

When the milk finished heating, he lifted the kettle from the hearth and poured it into two mugs. “Evelyn?”

My shoulders curled in on myself as I braced myself for the long-awaited interrogation. “Yes?” I shakily managed.

“Is honey, nutmeg, and vanilla alright for your warm milk?”

I blinked at that unexpected inquiry. When I didn’t immediately answer he glanced over his shoulder at me, his eyebrow raised in silent question.

My cheeks warmed. “Oh! All of those ingredients will be fine, thank you.”

He nodded once before completing the drinks and handing me a mug topped with a dash of cinnamon. At my hesitation, his brows drew together. “It’s not poisoned if that’s your concern, but if you’re worried, you don’t have to drink it.”

After a moment’s deliberation I concluded that a dead wife would be little use to a man in desperate need of my magic; I was afraid to examine the part of me that would have trusted him even if he didn’t have need of my supposed powers.

The mug was warm against my hands; the heat expanded to enfold me when I took a tentative sip of the sweet and soothing liquid, dispelling my lingering fear until none remained.

Ryland settled across from me and leaned back in his seat with his leg propped up to sip his own cup of warm milk. I determinedly looked anywhere but at him, appearing far too handsome for his own good, especially after such a sweet domestic gesture…yet my gaze was repeatedly drawn to him of its own accord. In this cozy moment I could almost imagine us a real husband and wife.

Almost.

My gaze continued to wander about the room before being drawn back to him…as well as his shirt that had been soiled by my salty tears. The milk’s warmth reached up to tinge my cheeks. “I’m sorry, I—”

He glanced down, looking almost amused. “It appears I’ve secured a convenient excuse for wriggling out of the remainder of the ball. I must thank you for providing one now that my original excuse of coming to find you is no longer valid.”

My eyes bulged. “You wanted to leave the ball so badly? But attending it was your idea.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “My presence was all for the sake of duty, one performed with the utmost reluctance. I suspect we share this aversion to formal events.” He gave me a knowing look.

“I find dancing tedious and hate crowds.” Another glimpse of my true self different than the image I struggled to maintain that my current vulnerability made impossible to cling to.

The corner of his mouth simply lifted in a half-smile that, to my own vexation, I found rather adorable. “I confess I feel the same. I’m surprised we share this commonality considering you always seemed to be enjoying yourself at the past formal events we attended together throughout our courtship. A façade?”

Only one of many.

“I suppose our role require us to pretend when decorum dictates.” Understanding filled his tone, an invitation to confide in him. Part of me yearned to share a snippet of my heart and with it the true reason I loathed formal events: the judgement of the court that always accompanied them. But such a confession not only extended beyond the poise expected but assailed my determination to protect my many secrets.

I took another hesitant sip of my drink, drawn by the comfort I found in the symphony of flavor—the soothing warmth of the creamy milk mixed with the perfect amount of spice and sweetness. The combination brought with it memories of my family and the many evenings we’d spent near the hearth, drinking a similar drink…a cozy moment tainted by the knowledge that not only had it been merely an illusion, but such tender moments were forever lost to me. Even this healing moment with Ryland had been tainted by our charade, yet I still desired to protect it almost as much as I yearned to cling to the cherished memories with my lost family.

When these thoughts slipped away, I found Ryland with a look I knew all too well from each time my tendency for distraction pulled me into a daze. “I’m sorry,” I said when I realized he’d spoken. “Could you please repeat that?”

Normally he became impatient with my lack of attention, but for once he didn’t seem to mind, which only deepened the sweetness he’d already exhibited. “It’s nothing important. Is something on your mind…perhaps the reason you were so visibly shaken when I discovered you?”

At least the man had waited until I’d calmed down before beginning his interrogation, which he’d been gentleman enough to soften with a mug of milk. Whether the gesture had been given out of the goodness of his heart or as a bribe, the effect was the same.

“I was thinking of my family.”

His expression gentled. “You must miss them.”

More than he could ever possibly know, a feeling far stronger than the times my parents had gone away for royal business—this separation was permanent, as if I’d died.

“I do, but I can wait to see them until their royal business is concluded.” My heart cinched at the reminder that such a day would never come.

I expected him to press the matter or to use the topic of Estoria to lead to its magic, but to my surprise he demonstrated some consideration not to broach it when I was in such a fragile state.

He didn’t speak again until I’d finished my milk. “Would you like some more?” He reached for my mug, but I held it out of reach.

“Why did you give me warm milk?”

He paused with his own mug lifted halfway to his mouth before lowering it with a frown. “Is it unusual for a husband to do something to cheer his wife up after she’s been crying?”

---