Page 62 of The Duke’s Wager

“Good. I did not raise a rude grandson!”

With this, she seemed to view the entire conversation as resolved and she turned away from him to talk to her husband once more.

Edward’s mind was already elsewhere.

He searched through the faces in the crowd, desperate to find the one he most wanted to see. His heart stopped in his chest when he finally saw her.

She sat on the other side of the opera house, in one of the boxes nearest to the stage. Though she was far away from him, it felt as though the miles between them, and the rest of the crowd, disappeared when he looked at her.

It was only her. No one else mattered, no one else existed – it was just Lucy. And he wished above all else that he could take her in his arms right there and profess his desire for her.

From where he sat, she looked like a statue, carved from the finest marble by the greatest artist the world had ever seen. Her lips, he believed, were pursed as she stared out in front of her, ignoring everyone around her, not speaking to a single soul and not acknowledging the attention she so readily received.

In this moment, she looked every bit the Ice Queen: unmoving and unfeeling. Only he was privy to the truth: that she was fire, albeit a dormant one.

She was like Aphrodite, the Grecian goddess of love, come down to earth to show mere mortals the face of something they could never attain.

No, he realized quickly. Not tonight. Tonight, though she was incomparably beautiful, she was not the goddess of love and beauty sent to earth. She was Athena, goddess of war, sent down to earth to destroy any mortals that lay in her wake. She was Nemesis, out for retribution against those who had done her wrong…

She was pure, otherworldly perfection.

“Edward.” With difficulty, Edward managed to tear his eyes away from Lucy and face his grandmother.

“The show is about to start. Stop staring at Lady Lucy and pay attention. Respect the artists, my boy.”

Though he ignored her quip about Lucy, Edward turned in his seat to face the stage. Ever since he had been a young boy, his grandmother had made it a priority to teach him that he had to respect all forms of art, and he had done so. Tonight would be no different – difficult though it may be.

Thankfully, the show quickly captivated him, and he allowed himself to be enthralled by the first woman who stepped onto the stage to sing.

The initial song foretold the tale of a princess who had fallen in love with a cursed prince. The princess, the audience soon learned, was trapped, hidden from the world.

Once again, Edward’s eyes drifted to Lucy. She seemed enamored by the music, leaning forward ever so slightly.

Was she thinking about her own life too? Was she musing about how she was similar to the trapped princess, just like Edward thought of his own curse he had to bear?

Without being fully conscious of his actions, Edward’s eyes traveled to Henry Beaumont. He watched the stony-faced man as the woman sang about an evil wizard who had cursed the prince and princess with lonely, miserable lives.

At the behest of his grandmother, Edward turned back to the stage where the princess lamented the actions of the evil wizard, who had fallen in love with her after a single glance.

He had stolen her and locked her away in a forgotten tower, to have her as his own, and to make sure that no other man would ever have her.

Once again, Edward could not help but look at Lucy. It was as though the music was about her: stolen away and locked up, her true self hidden from all those who could possibly dare to get to know her.

Though she may not have been physically locked in a tower, she might as well have been, he mused now. The real Lucy was one no one saw except for him, in their stolen moments at the cemetery. And, Edward realized now, the one person who had seen the true Lucy… had hurt her.

He felt immensely guilty.

He glanced at her again. Even from a distance, it was apparent that her eyes were tear-filled. Her chest moved rapidly, her breaths shallow. It was evident she was entirely captivated by the music.

Was she thinking of herself, her own life, or was she thinking of her mother, who had been trapped by the very same man?

Though he was certain that this would draw his grandmother’s ire, Edward had given up completely on paying attention to the opera itself. How could he, when he could pay attention to her? She drew him in, far more than any opera could. She was more beautiful than any form of art could ever be.

The stage and everyone on it had disappeared. Instead, it was her standing in the center of the stage, singing a song of lament.

The music picked up its pace as the prince and princess found a way to be together. Now all that was left was a plan to defeat the evil wizard – to kill him, be rid of him for good so that they could be together.

This was it. The final act of the show. The point where the prince and princess found each other and managed to live happily ever after.