As Adela and Rebecca motion to curtsey, His Grace takes a careful glance of my room, before setting his gaze at my vanity.
“So, Avalor,” he begins, stepping towards it. “It must seem you got my letter from this morning,” he concludes cheerfully, holding the opened envelope out before me.
“I certainly did,” I admit delicately, perturbed by his acknowledgement of the letter.
“And of the others?” he suggests curiously, setting it down, “I believe I have yet to receive a reply from you.” Though his question might come across as unassuming among the handmaids, I’m all too familiar with the intent behind it.
“Oh,” I falsely console, with a hand to my lips, “I’m sorry, it must have just slipped my mind, Nikkolas.”
“Well, that’s quite alright, Avalor,” he continues as I eye his draw towards me. I try my best to appear natural in my shuffle closer to the bed, hoping it might better conceal my proof of the burnt letter. “All I want to hear are your thoughts.” My thoughts? I struggle to recall the specifics of his letters, mostly since I had reduced them to a lovesick dribble that crossed his mind nightly. Perhaps, he was hoping for a few words in reciprocation of his sweet nothings. Or, considering his lament of our parting, he had relayed to me future plans once we were to be reunited. In truth, either scenario was just as likely. I should have just written him back.
“Well, I received quite a few letters from you, Nikkolas,” I suggest, considering what even he couldn’t simply ignore, “What might you be referring to?”
“Our engagement,” he gently affirms, “Earlier, when we had discussed the prospect of a diamond ring, you hadn’t given me an answer so I hoped we might narrow that down. I meant it when I said I wanted to have your band specially crafted, Avalor.” “And although I would have wanted to begin preparations for its construction, I…” he quickly clarifies, seemingly self conscious on the matter, “I still desired to hear your thoughts." The thought of a specially crafted engagement ring doesn’t sit well with me. Though a noblewoman who wishes to marry might consider it a labor of love, such a unique band wouldn’t live to serve me. Its only value lies in its monetary worth, for when I were to abandon my post as a lady, I’d be scrounging to sell whatever I might conceal on my person. Be it as it may that a diamond alone might fetch for a temptingly high price, but adorned in a recognizable band, I feel certain would give me away.
“Actually, Nikkolas,” I offer, with an outstretched palm, “I wouldn’t mind purchasing one already made.” “I’d prefer it not be created in any particular fashion–I’d much rather save such intricacies for the band I’m to be wed with,” I insist sweetly, with a shrug.
“Oh,” he smiles, visibly in love with the empty notion, “Alright, Avalor.” I find contempt gazing upon the hopeful curve of his lips. How arrogant of His Grace. “So, now that that’s settled,” he affirms in his approach to me, “Are you ready to join me?” I look back at him with a listless stare, realizing he hadn’t arrived with the sole purpose of merely paying me a visit.
“Of course,” I concur, trying not to make further conversation, lest I’m found to be severely ill-informed. He then swiftly meets me beside the bed, holding out the crook of his arm. Stepping away from the bed in my acquiesce to his escort, I notice how his brows furrow at the window behind me, giving him pause.
“Avalor?” he smiles humorously, taking notice of the lit candle. “Did you light this just now?” I turn my attention back to the lone candle sitting at my window sill. It’s still flickering.
“The candle?” I repeat, considering in my head if it’s worth confessing or lying about.
“Yes,” he nods, seemingly bewildered, “I can’t fathom it would have stayed lit past the night.” Confess it is.
“Of course not,” I concur egregiously, “I merely lit it this morning.” Judging by his expression, I can tell neither response would have sufficed in my attempt to persuade him.
“Upon broad daylight?” he asks curiously.
“I-It was dark,” I affirm, with a straight face. “When I awoke, that is,” I quickly clarify.
“Of course,” he halfheartedly agrees, before turning to further examine the candle, “though, it is strange…” Reaching for the tray’s handle, he raises it between us. “Look here, Avalor, it’s as though ash has pooled around its center.” Yes, it would appear I couldn’t exactly remove it from the hot wax. “Did you happen to take notice of this,” he prods, “when you lit it, that is?” His recycling of my words puts me at unease, cluing me into his suspicion.
“I can’t say I hadn’t thought it was strange,” I offer, with an innocent pouting of my lips.
“So, you know nothing of this discrepancy?”
“Not the slightest idea.”
“But does the thought not trouble you, Avalor,” he continues, pressing on the matter, “that a candle within your residence has suddenly turned gray?” “And what with the faint smell of smoke lingering in the air…” he adds, pausing to inhale, “Are you not at all concerned someone might be intruding upon your room?” I’m speaking to the intruder right now.
“I’m certain it’s nothing,” I infer, aloof as I cross my arms. His stare remains firm as he mulls over my response, before peering over his shoulder.
“Rebecca, Adela, you may be excused.” Huh? My expression falls flat upon hearing his tone.
“Nikkolas, what are you–?” Tilting his gaze at me, he smirks.
“I’m to have but a brief word with my fiancée, Avalor, and so I will be expecting our conversation to remain private.” I watch regrettably as Adela and Rebecca take their leave, knowing his word on the matter is final. His focus lingers on the two handmaids until Adela leaves with the pushcart and the door closes. For a brief moment, the room falls silent. Afterwards, he begins his pull away from me. “Alright, Avalor,” he affirms, circling back to the vanity that started it all. Picking up the torn envelope, he holds it out before me. “So, it would appear my letter was successfully delivered to your room…and it would also appear that you opened it.” Focusing his gaze at me, he steps forward. “When I asked for your thoughts, Avalor, I presumed your answer would be implicit,” he continues, raising a brow in emphasis, “considering I had only asked you of this in my recent letter.” Ah, it seems unfortunate I couldn't read his letter in greater depth. “Further, upon my arrival, you assured me that you had received it. So…” he alludes definitively, “Where is it?”
“W-Where’s what?” I ask coyly, attempting to stall for time.
“The letter I sent you this morning,” he asserts, “Where is it?”
“Well, it’s within my room, of course.”
“I believe it might serve you to be more specific,” he says, narrowing his eyes objectively.
“I’m not certain I can be any more specific, Nikkolas.”
“And why might that be?”
“Because if I were to have misplaced it, Nikkolas, I couldn’t quite give you an answer, now could I?”
“So you misplaced it, then?” he asks, raising a brow.
“I might have,” I affirm haughtily. Putting a hand to his temple in his pull away from me, he sighs.
“Avalor,” he says delicately, gesturing to himself, “consider my position.” “As your fiance, I have a commitment to both serve and protect you. Meaning,” he continues with widened eyes, “if I have reason to believe something is amiss within your residence, it’s my responsibility to ensure the matter is dealt with.”
“Certainly,” I nod, allowing him my hollow assurance.
“But, to carry out said duty, I will require your cooperation to at least a certain degree.” “Now, this may entail you being forthcoming–” he shrugs, with both outstretched palms, “perhaps, cluing me into information that you may possess that I don’t. Might that be the case, here?” I merely stare back at him with a deadpan expression, feeling it unnecessary to humor his concern.
“No,” I say flatly. I watch as he lets out a sigh, the futility of his search encroaching his drive.
“Alright, then…” he concludes, before oddly trailing off in his turn away from me. My eyes follow his gaze towards the now apparent gray smudge along my bed. Glancing back at him, I notice his pause, his attention fixed on the stain. He bends into a crouch, placing one knee on the floor. In his reach for it, he slowly withdraws the crumpled pieces of the letter. Holding it out before me, he continues; however, this time, his tone drops his habitual arrogance. “Now, heaven forbid he does,” he says somberly, “but if that lord were to speak out against you on grounds of desertion, my word alone may very well diffuse the situation.” “However, evidence of a partially burnt… and torn… love letter of mine…” he exhales, “that would definitely harm your case.” I remain frozen as my lips part to speak.
“T-That wasn’t–I d-didn’t do that…” I assert profusely, refraining from the possibility of an admission.
“Avalor, if you only partially burned this letter,” he sighs, handing it to me, “then I insist you finish with disposing of it, lest it ever be used as proof against you.”
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