The palace’s music room was one of the prettiest, in her opinion. Sunlight came in through large windows, providing natural light for anyone who wanted to play music. All of the furniture, save for a few chairs in one corner and a shelf for score books, were instruments; each one was used at least once a week, if only by a curious child of one of the staff. It had a few different uses over the years—there was an easel and drawing table in her early childhood, before Adelinde’s parents noticed how much music meant to her—but the instruments always seemed to stay.

It was one of the first places Adelinde went after she managed to leave her room; purely by accident, an entire row of the shelf was dedicated to her own filled score books. She kept rough or early copies in her room—any she was comfortable with other people playing, she had reprinted. Most of her recent songs—about Aurik, Matteo, and Rene—had their original score books sitting on the shelf alongside the others, albeit marked on the spine of the books.

She took out a few from the shelf, alongside the general one she brought from her room, then sat down behind the piano. Adelinde played whatever notes seemed natural, letting her mind wander as she played. The resulting music changed at her thoughts did, creating a song that demonstrated each thing as it came to mind. That tendency helped if she had something in particular that bothered her—it put the thoughts out of her mind and into music, which faded until the original thought was no longer there.

Adelinde continued uninterrupted, noticing a certain pattern and going to the respective score book to write down the best resulting melodies, until there was a light knock and Mark entered.

She paused and looked up as her greeting. “You’re not working today?”

“We’re holding it off until a meeting after lunch,” Mark explained. He smiled. “May I join?”

She gestured towards the other instruments. “Take your pick.”

Without having any instrument preference—he had the same knowledge in all of the options, never taking an interest in one or two instruments in particular—he simply picked up the guitar and sat down in one of the chairs. Adelinde continued playing as he began.

“…It’s been a while since we played together,” she noted after a minute. “It must’ve been…around Father died, wasn’t it?”

“I remember you playing the violin,” Mark mused, “So that sounds about right.” He paused, then chuckled. “Then you had Aurik to play with, and I was brushed aside.”

“You respectfully declined joining because it was too awkward for you,” Adelinde corrected him.

Her song slightly shifted to something a bit higher, sadder—Mark noticed before she did, trying to counteract it with something more positive. Her instinct to match the other players overpowered the simplicity of putting her thoughts into music like usual.

“What were you playing before I came in?” Mark asked curiously.

“I was thinking about the past the seven months,” Adelinde replied.

“Just seven? Not the year?”

She shook her head. “Just seven. The time since I’ve met Rene.”

He perked up. Adelinde cast him a slightly cautious look.

“What’s with that face?” Adelinde asked, more wary than anything. He tended to only give her that look if he had something to say he didn’t think she would like.

Considering what made him don that look, it almost scared her—even more so when he answered in the roundabout way.

“How long have you had that score book for Rene?”

“Mark—”

“I’m just curious.”

She sincerely doubted it, dreading whatever he wanted to tell her.

“…Since early August,” Adelinde said after a moment. “We were talking in the conservatory, and a song came to mind.”

“How full is it now?”

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She stopped playing so she could check, comparing the left and right pages of the open book. She closed it once she had a good idea.

“About a third, I’d say. Most of them are unique, but with the same backing.”

She looked back at her brother for any indication of what he wanted to know based on that, but all he did was set the guitar aside and stare back at her with kind eyes. The look reminded her of their father, and that brought mixed feelings—that assured expression, promising her she would never have to do more than what she felt she could handle.

“You’ve grown a lot since you met Rene,” Mark said, smiling. “You’ve reconnected with friends outside the palace—or, at the very least, you actually talk to people again. You don’t hesitate as much to say something, and you’re more comfortable with people being close. Case in point—I couldn’t even come in here while you were playing until recently.”

“She has helped,” Adelinde agreed. Carefully, she continued playing, if only so her thoughts had somewhere else to go. The song ended up being one of the ones she wrote based on Rene, and she had a feeling Mark noticed. “Matteo is fond of her, too; it’s nice to see him comfortable with adults.”

“As a…kind of experiment,” Mark said, fading a bit more into caution as he leaned forward, “Could you ramble off a few reasons why you think Rene was the one you opened up to?”

Adelinde gave him a confused look, but his silent insistence meant she couldn’t argue. She started careful, then after a certain point she just said the first thing that came to mind.

“She’s great with Matteo—he’ll play with her like he does you or me, and she knows how to hold conversations and understand him. She’s considerate of my thoughts, even if she can’t always stop herself from voicing hers; she usually asks before she brings up anything she thinks I might be bothered by, and if she doesn’t ask she looks ready to apologize until I confirm I don’t mind. She isn’t self-conscious, either; I’ve been hiding in loose clothes since Aurik was accused, but she’s out there wearing whatever makes her comfortable—I admire that. She looks good in what she wears, too. And she’s—”

She caught herself the second Mark spoke up to interrupt her.

“There it is.”

He quickly got the guitar again and played the last few notes she did. Adelinde recognized them, but not to the extent Mark did. She almost wondered if he had been listening for them, knowing her playing tendencies fairly well—which unfortunately meant he had a larger reason for coming than to chat. There was a point he wanted to make that he could prove based on her playing.

Her brother stood up and skimmed through the score books on the shelf, not explaining himself until he took out one, opened it to a specific page, then walked over to show it to her.

“You started playing that,” he said, pointing to the beginning of one song.

She began to question him before she looked up at the composition name.

“Truth of Life.” One of Dakari’s few traditional songs with lyrics—the original composer wrote it to commemorate their deceased spouse. In more recent years, it was used in weddings, or else one of the standard songs to use if you wanted to confess to someone with music rather than words.

Adelinde understood Mark’s point now, and it scared her. He recognized that and took a step back to give her some distance.

“Rene is just a friend,” Adelinde said carefully, forcefully, trying to ignore any thoughts that implied otherwise that she only noticed when they were pointed out. In the span of seconds she put every conversation she had with Rene into consideration and tried to rationalize them into something she could handle. “She is a friend who just happened to help me recover. Nothing more, nothing less, and please don’t make me consider it more than that.”

Mark almost looked like he wanted to continue, but closed the score book again and sighed.

“I know it’s hard—”

“It’s terrifying.” She grew more anxious—a bit louder—as she continued. “I can’t love someone—I can’t give that amount of trust to another person. As soon as they break that trust—as soon as I think I can’t trust them—I’ll be back where I started. I need to be there for Matteo; if I’m hurt again, or if I think I’ll get hurt again, he won’t have me.”

Yet, even as she said it, she wondered if she meant it.

The idea scared her—of falling just to be hurt, and what getting hurt would mean for her family, if she could even manage a second love. But at the same time, when she was confronted with the thought she didn’t believe she could dismiss how she thought of Rene—she could picture herself sitting here with Rene, writing a song like she had with Aurik. Adelinde didn’t know which side was stronger, which side would win if she had to make a choice.

She avoided deciding by gathering up her score books and leaving. Mark let her go, and she desperately hoped it didn’t come up again.

Maybe the worst part is that she realized Rene could very well feel the same way, meaning some kind of discussion thereof could be inevitable.