She also wrote to Baron.
Questions upon questions. She asked what he loved about swordplay, asked about the greatest difficulty in tending an orchard, asked if the twins’ arguments ever dragged him in or if he possessed a superhuman ability to remain peacekeeper. Remembering that their dialogue was aconversationratherthan an interrogation, she also volunteered information about herself. She told him of Eliza, her optimistic sister who saw romance bloom in every flower and sunlight break through every storm. She told him of Jenny, though she couldn’t mention the sisterhood there, and that she was a kinder companion than anyone deserved, certainly Aria.
She did not write of her parents. Any attempt left her with halting words and smears of ink blotting the page, forcing her to crumple it and begin anew. Secretly, Aria had always wondered what people in court thought of her parents’ relationship. No one said anything was wrong, but everyone couldsee. When Baron saw her parents sitting apart at court events, never dancing, never speaking, what did he think?
She wanted to know.
She could not ask.
Coward. Mark.
Nor did she ask about his steward. Their brief meeting had been too little to judge the man by, but Aria had later looked into Auden Huxley’s service to her father, then shied away. Not because the history was bad—the opposite. The man was devoted to the royal house and the ideals of Loegria. Upright in service. It should have been a good thing.
But did Mr. Huxley take her father’s discredit of Baron to heart, or did he simply tend his duties without adding unnecessary judgments?
She wanted to know.
She could not ask.
I can’t help but worry that you’ll think me very flawed, the more you get to know me.
Even admitting that felt like a weakness, and a crown princess could not be weak.Mark.
Yet Baron’s response was overwhelmingly gracious.
In my estimation, the goodness I have seen so far excuses a great deal of failings that may be revealed.
It was only after doing a full circuit of her room with his latest letter pressed to her heart that Aria realized she looked like Eliza. She blushed, then began working on a reply. Baron’s crow waited for replies if she asked him to, though he’d taken to fluttering off while she wrote, then returning to collect the letter. Perhaps he enjoyed investigating the perches of the castle or had made friends with another crow nearby.
When duties delayed her response and Aria had to use her own falcon, Eliza caught her sneaking into the mews.
“What are you up to?”
Aria whirled around, tucking the letter behind her back. Around her in the dim light, the falcons stirred gently, letting out little gurgles of sound. Her own falcon, Dawn, perked up, wriggling out of her personal nook to stand at the ready on a post.
“You’re sending a letter.” Eliza lifted her eyebrows. “Why? To whom?”
“Kendall.” In Aria’s panic, she named the first non-green-eyed man to come to mind.
Then she flinched.
Dishonesty. Concealment. Lies. All marks.
Running out of words to properly convey this failing. Mark.
“No, you’re not. Jenny told me you asked him to visit the castle again today, so he has to be on his way right now. Why didn’t you invite me? Just because I was cranky about his last visit? I still want tosupportyou—that’s exactly why I think you should court someone you actually like—but if you want me to be silent on the matter, I’ll ... No, that’s impossible. I can’t be silent on the matter.”
Despite herself, Aria cracked a smile. Then she sighed, her arm falling slack at her side, revealing the letter. “I invited Kendall to visit because I’m ending the courtship.”
It had been unfair to him from the beginning. He was a gentleman, with qualities to admire, and he deserved someone who could admire them properly. Someone who would appreciate his musicality or the fact that he thought a flute to be the most appropriate “sorry you fell from your horse” gift. Aria had given it to her mother.
Kendall deserved better. Perhaps Aria did too.
Her mind tingled with the wild possibilities of whatbettermight be.
“Aria!” Eliza gasped, snatching the parchment and rotating it until she found the name. “Baron? Which baron? Baron Atherton? No, he remarried. Baron ...”
She looked up, noted Aria’s grin, andharrumphed.
