As the days slipped by, Maia felt the pressure of the approaching deadline to respond to Soren's letter. She had chosen to keep this letter a secret from Ms. Evelyn, stressing that she would bombard her with unnecessary questions. The thought of responding to Soren already made her stomach twist with anxiety. Deep down, Maia also dreaded the idea that Ms. Evelyn might take it upon herself to nudge or, worse, push her toward the commitment with Soren. The prospect of being cornered into a mistress of the crown prince lingered uncomfortably in her mind, adding to her hesitation.
Maia kept the details of her relationship with Soren a closely guarded secret, never fully disclosing the truth to either Ms. Evelyn or her mother. The situation became incredibly problematic after she discovered that Soren was not just an ordinary man but the crown prince of Lichtberg. Despite the weight of this secret, she chose to conceal it, carefully choosing the words she spoke when it to the crown prince.
Ms. Evelyn was only vaguely aware of the crown prince's affections; she knew that he admired Maia, whose charm seemed to capture his attention and many others deeply. Additionally, she had thought that he genuinely had a passion for the theatre, often attending before his marriage to the duchess from Kress.
Maia sat in her dressing room, the soft glow of the vanity lights casting a warm halo around her as she wrapped herself in a blanket of thoughts after her latest performance. Suddenly, the door creaked open, and a castmate peeked in with a bright smile, breaking her reverie. "Someone from the audience is requesting an autograph from our star," they declared cheerfully. It was a familiar request that had become a regular occurrence since her breakthrough lead performance had captured the attention of many, including the capitol newspaper. Maia rose from her vanity and took a deep breath, looking at her red ringlets dangling from the pinned updo and placing a practiced smile on her face.
As Maia made her way toward the man from behind, the sight was both perplexing and amusing. He resembled a bear dressed in a tailored suit. His broad shoulders and burly frame made him even more noticeable, aside from the small group surrounding him. They were smiling at him and complimenting him. Maia also noticed. It was the long, blond hair that cascaded down his back, meticulously braided, that truly set him apart. "Excuse me, sir," she called out, her tone warm and inviting. The towering figure turned to face her, and with a sudden rush of recognition, Maia recalled that he was indeed the brazen man she had encountered at Chedwicks.
"Lady Maia, we meet again," Ronan responded in a husky tone, trying to match hers.
"Yes, I remember." Maia smiled warmly at the gentleman standing before her. He exuded an air of polished refinement. His neatly shaped beard framed a strong jawline, while his golden blond mane was slicked back into a tidy braid that cascaded down his back. The meticulous grooming extended to his eyebrows, which were expertly trimmed, emphasizing the striking contrast of his chartreuse green eyes. They shimmered with a lively intensity, a vivid contrast to her own olive green eyes, which held a softer, earthy hue. Maia couldn't help but acknowledge the cleaned-up version before her.
"You're the bold man from Chedwicks," she said, recounting their first encounter.
With a low, husky chuckle, Ronan replied with a playful glimmer in his eyes, "Yes, and I must sincerely apologize for offering you such a fright, Lady Maia." He clasped his hands behind his back, standing tall yet humble, as he spoke. The dim theatre light caught the subtle hope in his eyes as he finished with a deep, courteous bow. "My manners were far from exemplary that day," he added, his tone sincere as he met her gaze.
"Ronan," an elderly lady called out, her voice tinged with a mix of concern and worry.
Her hair, a stunning blend of glimmering silver and rich, deep brown, was meticulously fashioned into a sophisticated updo that framed her delicate features beautifully. She was wrapped in a long, stylish coat, the fabric flowing gracefully over her frame. Just a step behind her stood a younger miss, her green eyes wide with curiosity. This young miss was the very embodiment of the woman beside her, with brunette curls cascading down just above her shoulders, playfully tucked beneath her fashionable cloche hat, which tilted slightly to one side.
Ronan turned, his expression brightening at the sight of the approaching woman. "Mother," he welcomed, his burly voice laced with affection. "Allow me to introduce you to Lady Maia." He gestured gracefully toward the red-headed woman beside him. "She was the dazzling dancer whose performance captivated you so deeply."
Maia bowed.
"Well," Ronan's mother said, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully as she observed the young woman before her, who had just dipped into a graceful bow. "What impeccable manners you possess, my lady," she praised, a courteous smile breaking across her face. "I must admit, I was quite concerned that you might have made a misstep this young lady," she added, her tone shifting to one more relaxed as she turned her gaze to her son.
"Lady Maia, allow me to introduce you to my family," Ronan said, motioning affectionately. "This is my mother, the graceful Baroness Flora, and beside her stands my younger sister, the charming Lady Beatrice,"
Maia greeted her guest with a warm smile. She engaged in conversation with Lady Beatrice, who peppered her with an array of unusual questions about dancing and the theatre. As Maia responded, she could tell Lady Beatrice was savoring each moment of this conversation. It was refreshing to feel her abilities be recognized and appreciated, and this sense of validation wrapped around her like a comforting embrace. Maia appreciated it.
"I'm so sorry, Maia," Baroness Flora apologized. "My daughter has an undeniable fascination for the theatre, and I truly appreciate you patiently answering all her endless questions." With a gentle nod, she expressed her appreciation once more as Maia gracefully led the small group toward the front exit, the soft rustle of their clothing blending with the fading echoes of the hall.
Ronan stood hesitantly by the door, his fingers lightly gripping the handle as he watched his mother and sister step out into the chilly night air towards the awaiting carriage. He longed for a moment alone with Maia, a chance that was denied because of his sister. Understanding her son's unspoken desire, the baroness glanced back at him knowingly. "Ronan," she began, her voice playful yet purposeful, "I believe I may have left my handkerchief inside. Would you and Maia be so kind as to fetch it for me?" Her countenance was encouraging, a gentle nudge giving him the perfect opportunity to have that private conversation.
***
"It would help if we knew the exact color of the handkerchief or if there are any distinct patterns on it," Maia vented with a hint of boredom. Her gaze swept over each seat in the auditorium before moving on to the next.
"I'm sure it matched her dress," Ronan replied confidently, his eyes following Maia, who was still in a golden evening gown that had a tassel. He noticed her curls were starting to give way as her hairpins were slowly slipping out of her hair.
"What color was her dress? I only caught a glimpse of her overcoat," Maia pressed, her patience for this phantom handkerchief starting to grow thin.
Ronan paused for a moment, lifting his head in thought while scratching the side of his temple thoughtfully. "I'm unsure," he murmured, his brow furrowing as he sifted through his memories.
Maia rolled her eyes and sank down into a seat a row behind Ronan, who walked further ahead and settled directly in front of her, unintentionally blocking her view of the empty stage.
"I feel sorry for anyone who ended up with a seat behind you, Sir Ronan," Maia teased, crossing her arms, her voice dribbling with laughter. "You're as big as a grizzly bear wearing a suit," she added, her amusement bubbling over as she struggled to contain herself.
Ronan turned around, a broad grin spreading across his face as he caught sight of Maia clutching her belly, tears of laughter sparkling in her eyes. Her expression was truly humorous as more pins fell from her head, and her red curls ballooned everywhere, causing Ronan to join in, their shared laughter echoing softly through the rows of seats and emptiness of the auditorium.
As the laughter faded and the weight of reality settled back in, Maia found a fleeting sense of happiness in the momentary escape from her sorrows. However, as her smile began to wane, it transformed into a feigned gesture―one she had perfected over time. She glanced at Ronan, her gaze more serious. "I'm sure the cleaning crew must have swept away the handkerchief," she remarked softly, her practice smile settling onto her face. "If she truly can't bear to part ways with it," Maia continued, "I could speak to the theatre manager about replacing it."
Fearing that his time with her was about to be cut short, Ronan stood up and faced Maia, who was still seated. "The handkerchief is no problem, my lady," his husky voice trembled, but he pushed forward. "I was wondering if I could take you out on the town, lady Maia," Ronan asked, his bright yellow eyes opened wide for her to see.
Before Maia could respond, a loud "YES YES YES indeed" hitched from behind the stage curtains. Shaking her head, Maia gave Ronan a practiced smile once again.