Of Spinning Gold and Song

| Twenty Three | The Affair

Prince Lawrence's face snapped up the moment I recognized him. I guessed I hadn't been quite so quiet or discreet, but whatever the case, I was caught interposing on the strangely intimate moment. The prince met my gaze and narrowed his eyes, face contorting to a fierce expression, but he said nothing. I returned the favor.

Aurore, as well, seemed to catch on rather quickly that all was not well. Not that it had been, if her tears were any indicator. She too raised her head, first to look at the prince, then to follow his gaze to me. Unlike the prince, her eyes widened remarkably. She glanced around rather hastily.

None of us said anything for a few terse moments. I part wanted to walk away, but part thought that wouldn't be a good idea seeing what I was seeing. Besides, the nosy part of me wanted to know just what was happening.

My world had already been shook up today. I figured nothing should faze me at this point.

"Um, hi," I said, a little awkwardly. The prince's eyes, narrowed to scarcely more than slits, told me that I probably should have just left. But it was too late; Aurore, sounding dejected, said, "I see you've been taking good care of my dress."

I felt my face heating up but leveled my gaze back to the prince. "If his mam hadn't thrown me into a prison, I might be in a little better shape."

"Yes, right," said Prince Lawrence, his voice cold. "A prison full of dirt and grass. I'm not sure if you know that rolling around in the mud is commonly regarded as something children do. And certainly not in the royal palace."

"Sorry about the dress," I told Aurore, keeping my gaze up and ignoring Prince Lawrence. "I can try to pay you back."

"With what money?" sneered the prince. I was really starting to change my mind about him from earlier to indifference to apparent dislike. But of course, the scene in front of me alerted me that there may be more to the story than met the eyes. And I was learning more than ever before the importance of not judging things at face value.

"I suppose," Prince Lawrence continued drily, after another long awkward pause, "that it would be too much to ask for you simply to leave and forget you ever saw this?"

I bit my lip. That really would be the right thing to do.

But Aurore? And the prince? From what Margaret and Augustin had said—from what I had seen—Aurore hailed from a family nowhere near as elite as Augustin's.

Clearly, that didn't matter to Prince Lawrence.

Anyhow, I supposed I realized why he didn't want to marry me any more than I wanted to marry him. The right thing would be merely to leave.

And to just pray that the queen didn't have my head for it.

Not that she really was the queen. Or that she had shown any qualms about taking heads.

"Sorry," I muttered, backing up a little. "I won't tell anyone."

"Sparrow," said Aurore, surprising me by hopping up and rushing over to embrace me. At first I was too surprised to do anything. She was crying, hugging me, and then shaking me, sobs ripping from her throat.

"I don't blame you," she said quietly. "We always knew that it was never to be. The royals don't get to choose who they marry. That's just how it is."

My mouth parted slightly. I couldn't believe it, but now I was undeniably sure. Aurore, Margaret's friend that she loved to mock, was in love with Prince Lawrence.

And judging from the tender look he was giving her when she wasn't looking, the feeling was mutual.

"Aurore," I said, my mouth dry. "I don't want to be queen. I don't want to marry the prince."