Spinning with her head tilted back, she took in all of them. When her head was dizzy from it all, she found herself drawn to a glass case at the center of the room. Rows and rows of different trinkets were locked away. Necklaces, vases, watches, and a spoon. The oddest array of items.
“They are meant to be from the age of magic. Some argue there are traces of it on them.” His voice reminded her that she was not alone.
In fact, the door was shut, and though the room was big with two fireplaces carved into the wall and desks, chairs, and couches littered throughout, she was very aware of the solitude she had found herself in amidst a ball. If Brielle were there, she would have made a comment about how only Luci was capable of being alone at a grand event meant for socialization. A pang inside her chest was all the reminder she needed of how she missed her. Only a few hours apart, but that was more than enough to know a piece of her was missing.
Somehow, she needed to find her way back to Lady Margaret and back to the carriage. Luci had been seen, and that had to be enough for Lord Treveon, even though it never would be. At least she had fulfilled her duty to Brielle.
“You are upset,” he said, coming up beside her, the warmth of him more than it should have been.
It would have been nice if she had taken time to have a glass of champagne so that she could blame how she was feeling on it. Instead, she was heartbreakingly sober and well aware it was her own weakness. Luci would’ve liked to believe she was immune to charming princes, but apparently that was too much to hope for.
“What is magical about a spoon?” she asked, clearing her throat.
His head cocked to the side as if deciding whether to let the evasion slide. A breath of tension left her chest when his gaze finally fell from her and to the spoon in question. It was made of silver and had not a speck of dust on it, which said these items were well cared for.
“It was said to have been enchanted during the time of The Beauty and the Beast,” he said.
“So it was your great, great, great, great ancestor’s spoon,” she said with a small smile.
To her surprise, he didn’t take offense, but huffed out a small laugh.
“Apparently,” he said, “It supposedly makes anything you eat taste like chocolate.”
“Well, has anyone tested that theory?” she asked.
His smile slipped, and there was the ghost of something more that ran over his face. A trail she felt pulled to like a siren’s call.
“Magic is dangerous. The only time this case is ever opened is every three months for cleaning, but it is done carefully so no hand touches them,” he said, seriously.
Luci stared at him with narrowed eyes, trying to decipher him. The way he said it all was with the conviction of someone who truly believed the words he was saying. Yet he was a prince, schooled on how to present a convincing presence in all things, or maybe it was that he did believe. Maybe he truly believed himself to be a descendant of Belle and her Beast.
“I would think a simple test would eliminate the debate that has been ongoing for hundreds of years that magic ever existed,” she said, calling his bluff.
He pressed his lips together, hiding his smile. “Would you like to be convinced?”
There was a heat to the question, and the tension that had been building found its way to her heart, which skipped a beat.
“I don’t know,” she said, honestly, because the way he was watching her made her forget her own name.
He leaned forward, and she found her body drawing towards him of its own accord. Like there was a string tying them together, pulling closer and closer. His eyes dropped to her lips, and light above, she parted them, needing to take in air.
A crash of papers and a loud screech had her jerking away, the spell broken. Ten feet away, next to an oak desk, was an array of scattered papers, ink carefully scrawled over them, though the owner of the shriek that had made her bones jump was nowhere to be seen. Just as she was about to open her mouth to speak, Prince Ira pressed a finger to his lips with a wink.
This was all such a terrible idea. It was hard to say what she expected to happen next, given the sheer unpredictability of the night, but the crown prince crouching on silent feet towards a vacant desk wasn’t on her list of possibilities. As he reached the corner, he lunged to the other side, and a sharp yelp rang through the library.
“I hate when you do that!” a disgruntled voice said.
As if nothing untoward had happened, Prince Ira leaned against a long column with his arms crossed and a wide grin.
“You are supposed to be in bed.” The prince said, humor bouncing off each word.
“And you,” said a brown-haired boy as he emerged from beneath the desk, “aren’t supposed to bring strange women in here!”
Maximilian Vencia. The youngest Vencia prince was seven years old. The sigh of relief that broke from her chest was born of near-death experiences.
“I don’t see any strange women here, do you?” Prince Ira asked her.
Luci nearly choked on the leather-bound air of the room, but managed to take a step toward the young prince, bowing her head.