Thrones We Steal: An Enemies-to-Lovers Royal Romance (Queen of Wesbourne Book 1) by Jessica Jude

Author:Jessica Jude [Jude, Jessica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Independent
Published: 2024-09-03T00:00:00+00:00

21

“Stranded” - Plumb

It takes less than thirty minutes to regret my decision, but Henry will never let me back out now, not after I’ve agreed.

I need an escape route. I’ll go and have one drink with him, claim a headache, and go back to my own suite. He can’t force me to drink more than I want, and if he actually thinks I have a headache, he’ll let me go. The trick is to be convincing enough.

After dismissing Daphne for the night, I circle my closet, debating what to wear. It’s best to be on full defense. Henry is not to be trusted, no matter how guileless he appeared earlier. I finally decide on a black cashmere sweater and jeans. Comfortable, unassuming, and best of all, modest.

I’m pulling my hair into a loose ponytail when soft music floats through the wall separating my suite from Henry’s. My blood hurtles through my veins at top speed, and I curse my younger self who stood in the park and agreed to this. Stupid girl.

I can’t delay any longer, or he’ll come looking for me. I summon up the courage to knock on the door connecting our suites. He doesn’t come, although I can still hear the music. Maybe he didn’t hear my knock.

I knock again, louder this time, but there’s no answer. We didn’t agree on a time. Maybe he expects me to let myself in when I’m ready.

I turn the knob and step inside, able at last to satisfy my curiosity about the prince’s lair. Candles flicker on the available surfaces, making shadows dance on the dark walls. I briefly consider running, but—let’s be honest—wild horses can’t drag me away before I see more. I’ll leave soon enough.

His sitting room looks much like mine, except it’s decorated in shades of navy and taupe. There’s also a baby grand piano hogging an entire side of the room. A small grouping of candles mimics their reflection in the glossy black lid.

The most incredible melody surges from its depths: dramatic, sad, hypnotic. I stand mesmerized, watching Henry play, a hot ball of emotion welling up inside as his fingers draw out the haunting music. Despite the years of lessons I’ve taken in both piano and violin, I’ve never produced anything this beautiful.

He is unaware of my presence, of that I’m certain. He’s playing with complete abandon, eyes closed, his body leaning into the music like they are one. I know he feels it in the depths of his soul, the same way I do in mine.

Watching him is magical.

After several more minutes of playing, he pauses, and in doing so, notices me standing there. The serenity drops from his face. I’ve embarrassed him.

“That was beautiful,” I whisper and approach the piano. “I didn’t realize you still played.” I’m having trouble reconciling the picture of Henry, playboy prince, with Henry, heartfelt musician.

He rises from the bench. “It’s my escape.”

“Don’t stop on my account.”

He walks around the piano, wearing a thin white T-shirt and soft jeans.

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