Hot water didn't chase the sorrow away and she ended up lying awake in a bed she wasn't familiar with. Rhosyn blamed it on the harrowing castle room, where the chill seeped in no matter what. But there were plenty of blankets and her borrowed nightgown was made from soft, warm material.
Groaning into the quiet, Rhosyn sat up. Her mind wouldn't still though her body begged it to.
She'd forgotten to eat, and even drink for that matter. Deciding to slip from her room, her thin slippers doing little to ward off the cold, Rhosyn went on a hunt for subsistence. Maybe then her mind would let her rest.
The halls were dark, but she picked her path well, recalling how the corridor curled and wrapped around. When she'd reached the stairs, a subtle dulcet tune trickled up to meet her, and she took a very deliberate step. It was like walking into a memory, the dancing keys dithering and drumming through the halls. Each step took her closer, and food was forgotten.
She rounded the corner and noticed the room she'd occupied hours ago—the lounge. With a breath, she crept closer. Her form slipped into the doorway, and surely someone sat at the piano, playing fingers over keys.
"Couldn't sleep either?" Karsyn's voice curled in her stomach. "Help yourself," he said offhandedly, playing the piano with one hand, his other with a glass in hand, gesturing to a crystal bottle containing spirits.
Rhosyn hesitated a moment, contemplating. Karsyn had already replaced his glass on the piano top and added chords to harmonise with the melody, all but forgetting her. It felt safe to be ignored.
Travelling deeper into the room, her fingers skimmed the surface-top and glossing the crystal bottle.
"I don't drink..." the words died on her lips as a terribly tempting idea slipped into her mind.
Rhosyn was exhausted, both from physical exertion and emotional drain. Her mind a storm she refused to navigate and alcohol seemed like the medicine to numb the haze.
She poured herself a glass, Karsyn watching her with mild interest as his hands continued to play. His attention turned back to the keys and she found herself drifting closer. It was ribbons vibrating in the air, like lace, intricate and delicate. It reminded her of a time when family was alive and safety wasn't a concept that had to be tested.
"You want to join?"
Rhosyn blinked at the grey eyes, wondering when her memories washed away.
"I don't play well—uncle had the worst time trying to teach me," she fumbled with the embarrassing excuse.
"Here," he appealed, holding a palm out for her as an invitation.
She contemplated his hand for a moment, the heat of alcohol sitting in her cheeks and clouding her mind. There was a reason to caution, but she couldn't remember what that was now and she found herself taking his offer.
Karsyn guided her around and onto the bench alongside him. The space was tight, warmth pouring off of him and she decided to abandon her drink on the piano top before it drowned out all of her thoughts.
With her other hand, Karsyn gently piloted it so her fingers kissed the keys, a sweet melody ringing out.
"Play it again," he prompted, and as she complied, his hand slipped away, elegantly and swiftly dancing across the piano.
His notes enriched the melody he'd taught her.
"Same melody, drop down two keys." His instructions were simple and Rhosyn followed, a new tone settling in and vibrating through her chest.
"Up four."
"Down two."
His prompts were chased by a new sound, an ebb and flow of music like the waves. But soon the tide was rolling out, the notes sounding slower, fingers lingering on keys deliberately and hauntingly.
Then his hands flanked hers, her heartbeat drumming faster than the keys singing out. Rhosyn turned to find him facing her, the song complete and still ringing low in the air.
His breath rolling down her neck and gaze locked on hers. There was an urgency that fluttered through her, though she wasn't sure if it was to bridge the space or create it.
There was a moment when she couldn't catch her breath, nor remember why she was pausing. Then intoxication shifted and her lips fell short.
"So, your cousin had a baby?" the words fell out of her mouth with urgency.
She turned away for an excuse and found her glass winking at her. It was a terrible idea, but alcohol was the mother of terrible ideas—and sometimes its own child.
Karsyn didn't shift away and an intrusive thought hummed in delight.
"Yes, though he's more like my brother," he said, and she could hear the smile in the words.
Rhosyn contemplated her glass for a moment, the liquid burning in her throat and warming her middle in a strange comforting way. For some reason—and it could be the drink—she felt at ease perched on a seat pressed close to the man she once thought of as her enemy. She wasn't sure what she considered him now, though she was sure the alcohol would have an influence on that.
"Elin's like that for me." Rhosyn's finger stroked the piano keys, lost in a thought of the reminisce of her family—the staff who stayed.
Karsyn's hand lightly wrapped around hers, his thumb soothing. When she turned back to him, his eyes had softened and she felt like she could see more of his emotions. He sympathised.
Thoughts sloshed in her head and she wasn't sure what they were screaming.
"What's your baby cousin's name?" she asked and not quite sure why—it just felt like the next thing to ask.
"Keldran, after my dad." Karsyn lips curled, in satisfaction, at a memory or both.
Rhosyn smiled too. Soft, as if joining in with his joy.
"New family," she breathed, almost to herself.
The idea of gaining something so precious curled inside her. It was raw and fragile in the only way new things were—and some very old tired things.
His hand came up, fingers stroking across her cheek, smooth and slow. He caught more than just the words on her lips as his thumb swept down, skimming her mouth. It was where eyes dithered and breaths stalled. Inching closer and she'd almost admitted that alcohol had a few good ideas.
"Your Grace, Sir Caerwyn—"
Heads snapped to the sudden appearance of two figures in the doorway, and a sudden audience was one thing that Rhosyn found, sobered her up. Heat crawled over her and she wasn't sure if it was the drink, Karsyn or the embarrassment of being caught in this situation.
The staff member Kaly stood next to Caerwyn, both looking just as shocked and awkward by the interruption.
"I'm sorry, Your Grace, My Lady," Caerwyn murmured, dipping and preparing to leave, but Rhosyn was already up.
"No," the word came to her lips shaky.
Karsyn's heat vanished from her, replaced by the odd disappointment that always lingered afterwards.
"It's late and I should retire," Rhosyn stumbled over the excuse.
Regret sank into her stomach, but she wasn't sure if it was from the words, or the alcohol. Karsyn didn't look surprised, if anything, he looked like he was amazed with how long she stayed and how close she got—and so was she.
"Goodnight, Lady Valewyn," he breathed with a contented sigh.
"Goodnight, Your Grace," Rhosyn replied, curtsying quickly and she was already heading for the door and Caerwyn.
Rhosyn's heart pounded in her chest and her stomach twisted uncomfortably. The urge to take all her words back, the persistent nagging to stop running away. But the ship had sailed, and sometimes, she learned that she'll just have to move with the wind, against the tide. Because how else was she going to get to where she was going.
Only when her bedroom door was closed secure behind her did she let herself fall against it. It had been a long day, a long couple of weeks for that matter. Her world had turned upside down ever since Karsyn's name crept back up, and she was sure it hadn't stopped turning yet.
But right now, she needed sleep and she knew her bed would grant her this one thing at least. She just never expected the dreams that it also gifted her—and she was in the piano lounge all over again.