The day of The Rehearsal That Was Definitely Not A Covert Meeting arrived with all the subtlety of a stage curtain rising.
I stood before my mirror, practicing facial expressions.
"Soulful grief," I muttered, attempting a look of profound, artful sorrow. I ended up looking like I'd smelled something foul. "Ethereal longing." That one made me appear mildly constipated. "Joyful musical participation." That was just a deranged grin.
Mira watched, holding my practice gown. "My lady, perhaps just… breathe normally?"
"Breathing normally is for people who aren't about to perform a war crime against music in front of the man they're trying to impress," I hissed, trying to smooth my eyebrows into something less judgmental. "Do I look like I'm channeling inarticulate grief, or like I'm planning to steal the silverware?"
"You look… very focused."
"That's code for 'unhinged,' isn't it?"
Valeria swept in, a storm of midnight blue silk and cold determination. She took one look at me and sighed. "Stop making faces. Your default expression of bewildered alarm is perfect. It reads as 'vulnerable.' Now come. The pianoforte tuner is waiting, and I want to run through the key change until it's sharp enough to draw blood."
—
The western rehearsal hall was all high windows and cruel acoustics.
Sunlight streamed in, illuminating dust motes dancing like tiny, judgmental audiences. At the far end, a severe-looking woman with a harp that probably cost more than a small village waited beside our pianoforte.
Valeria took her place, back straight, chin lifted. I hovered beside her, feeling like a duck that had accidentally wandered into a swan ballet.
"Remember," she whispered from the corner of her mouth, "after the first chorus, just move your lips. Think tragic thoughts. I recommend imagining your favorite dessert being taken away forever."
"That's too real," I whispered back, my voice already squeaky with nerves.
We began.
Valeria's voice filled the hall, clear and cutting as diamond. She sang of silent knights and unspoken vows, and even I, knowing this was a strategic move, felt a lump in my throat. It was his song. Every line felt like a secret message launched across a crowded ballroom.
My turn approached. I took a deep breath, opened my mouth, and—
Cream. I'm thinking of lemon cream tarts. Being stolen. By a bird. A large, smug bird.
What came out was less a harmony and more a series of emotional, melodic whimpers. I saw the harpist wince. Valeria, to her credit, didn't falter. She just sang louder, her voice wrapping around my pathetic sounds like velvet smothering a distressed squeak toy.
And then I felt it.
A presence. A shift in the light from the high windowed doors at the back of the hall.
I didn't turn. I didn't dare. But from the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow—tall, familiar, standing just outside in the colonnade, partially obscured by a pillar.
Cassian.
He was early for his new patrol route. Or perfectly on time.
My voice, already a disaster, cracked spectacularly on a high note that sounded like a bat being startled. Valeria shot me a look that promised slow, artistic murder later.
But I couldn't look away from the shadow at the door. He wasn't moving. He was listening. To this.
Abort. Abort mission. Self-destruct. Why did I agree to this? I'd rather be a hedge again.
We stumbled to the end of the song. The final note from Valeria hung in the air, pure and perfect. My final contribution was a soft, deflating squeak.
Silence. The harpist looked traumatized.
Then, from the doorway, a sound.
A single, soft, clear clap.
Not an ironic clap. Not a slow clap. One firm, respectful handclap that echoed in the hall.
We all turned.
Cassian stood there, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword, the other now at his side. His expression was unreadable, but his amber eyes were fixed on… me.
"A… compelling interpretation," he said, his voice calm. "The contrast is… striking."
Valeria recovered first, dipping into a flawless curtsy. "Viscount Veldt. To what do we owe the… unexpected critique?"
"Patrol route," he said simply, his gaze finally shifting to her. "I was assessing the security of the outer corridors. The music drew my attention." He looked back at me. "Lady Liriel. Your performance was… uniquely heartfelt."
I was going to spontaneously combust. Uniquely heartfelt. That was the noble equivalent of "bless your heart."
"I was channeling… the knight's internal turmoil," I blurted out, my brain-to-mouth filter utterly demolished. "It's a very… turmoil-y song."
A beat of silence. Then, the faintest, most devastating hint of a smile touched his lips. "Indeed. The silent vow is often the most turbulent."
He gave a short, polite bow. "Ladies. Please, continue. Do not let my presence disrupt your… artistic process."
He turned and walked away, his boots echoing on the marble of the colonnade. But he didn't disappear from view. He took up a post just at the edge of the window's sightline, a silent, watchful silhouette.
He was staying.
"Well," Valeria murmured, her eyes glinting with something akin to triumph. "It seems your atmospheric support has attracted a dedicated listener. Shall we run through it again? From the top. With feeling."
The next hour was a special kind of torture. Every strained note I produced felt amplified, broadcast directly to the patient, statuesque knight standing guard outside.
I was painfully aware of his presence, a quiet anchor point in my sea of musical shame.
But a strange thing happened.
Around the third run-through, my panic began to melt into something else. I stopped trying to hit notes and just… felt the song.
The story of the knight. My knight. The one who was, right now, listening.
My sounds didn't get better. But they became… consistent. A sincere, terrible backdrop to Valeria's brilliance. I even managed a halfway decent mournful hum in the bridge.
As we finished the final run-through, I dared a glance out the window.
Cassian was looking right at me. Not at Valeria, not at the hall. At me. And he gave a single, slow nod.
It wasn't praise. It was acknowledgment. I see you. I hear you. I am here.
My heart performed a full gymnastics routine before lodging itself firmly in my throat.
—
Later, back in my rooms, I was buzzing.
"He stayed, Mira! He listened to the whole horrific thing! He clapped!"
"A single clap, my lady," Mira reminded me gently, brushing out my hair.
"It was a clap of solidarity! Of respect for the artistic struggle!" I hugged Gerald. "He gets it. He gets me."
There was a sharp knock, and Valeria entered without waiting. She looked… thoughtful.
"Your knight has a strategy," she said, going straight to my balcony and looking out, as if expecting to see him there.
"For what? Enduring my singing?"
"For you." She turned, crossing her arms. "The changed patrol route. The deliberate appearance. The single clap. The strategic positioning where he could observe without intruding. He's not just being polite, Liriel. He's gathering intelligence. He's trying to understand what you are."
The buzz inside me fizzed into nervous energy. "What am I?"
"A variable. A disruption. A girl who hides in hedges one day and emotes all over a folk song the next." A smirk played on her lips. "He's a strategist. You've presented him with a puzzle that doesn't fit on his maps. And I think he's decided you're worth solving."
The thought was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.
"What do I do?"
"What you've been doing. Be the puzzle. Be the variable." Her smirk widened. "And tomorrow night, at the musicale, when we perform for the entire court… we make sure he's watching. Not just listening. Watching."
She left me with that ominous promise.
I looked at the little hedge carving, then at Gerald, then at Tick-Tock.
"Well, team," I whispered. "Tomorrow, we go from rehearsal to live performance. No hedges to hide in. No pillars to stand behind."
Tick-Tock's pendulum swung, catching the last of the sunset light.
Tick. Tock. The stage is set. Tock. Tick. Don't trip.
~🫶