The Frost of Springtime by Rachel L. Demeter Page A

wandered past the endless rows
of patrons. Her flesh tightened at the burn of over three dozen scrutinizing
eyes. And, for a horrifying instance, she swore all of Voisin could read her
thoughts.
    She and Aleksender settled into parallel seats and exchanged the
briefest of glances. The maitre d’ unfolded a napkin with a suave flick of his
wrist and laid it across Sofia’s lap. Voisin and flowered swags
were embroidered in the damask, awarding the linen with a hint of elegance.
    Sofia played with the fringe, unsure of how to act around Aleksender,
unsure of exactly what to say. She ached to ease his pain, but was clueless how
to do so. The situation was delicate and demanded a gentle approach. Indeed, it
required wisdom well beyond her nineteen years. Would he favor a distraction?
She cautiously wondered. Or, perhaps, he’d prefer meaningful conversation—the
opportunity to express his sorrow and voice his burdens?
    “Your server shall be with you in but a moment,” the maitre d’
announced, interrupting her thoughts. “In the meantime, allow me to fetch drinks? A finely aged wine, perhaps?”
    Aleksender nodded. With a last smile, the maitre d’ drooped into a bow
and departed from sight. A pregnant silence filled the air. Only the cheerful
rhythm of clinking silverware alleviated the quiet.
    Then light chatter and the melodic drumming of hooves wafted from the
window, each sound carried by a mild spring breeze. Tickled by the wind, an
abundance of lacy curtains twitched against the wooden pane. Enticed by the
sensuous sounds, Sofia gazed outside and into the star-filled sky. Beyond
Voisin’s walls, the night was an oily black and entirely moonless.
    “You are so beautiful.” Aleksender’s words were sultry and soft—little
more than a whisper. For an instant, Sofia wondered if she’d imagined them. Her
eyes snapped from the window and settled upon his strained features. A
distinct, pained passion embedded his gaze.
    No, his expression quickly confirmed—she hadn’t imagined those words.
    Silence swelled between them like a palpable force.
    “Th-thank you,” Sofia awkwardly stuttered.
    Aleksender offered no response. The corner of his lip
merely quirked into a subtle and almost shy smile.
    “Mademoiselle, monsieur …” The maitre d’ shuffled forward and
interrupted the moment. A slender bottle of wine was cradled in his hands and
held at a slant, allowing light from the chandelier’s crystals to illuminate
the scripted label. “ Cidre de Normandie . Compliments of the house.” He poured a serving for
Aleksender and Sofia, filling the hollow glasses with waterfalls of chilled
wine.
    Then he withdrew a pair of menus from his apron and arranged them atop
the embroidered cloth. “Enjoy your supper. Au revoir.” With a quick nod, the maitre d’ departed from the table and continued on his
way.
    Sofia’s stomach growled as she eyed the delectable columns of entrees.
Aleksender cocked his brow, which caused her blush to significantly deepen.
“We’re not a moment too soon, I see. Err, I hear.”
    Sofia gasped and leaned forward. Eyes beaming, she drew back her arm
and swatted Aleksender with the menu. He laughed at her teasing and dodged the
assault by sheer inches. The robust sound filled the room to its rafters and
warmed Sofia’s insides. Seduced by the playful banter, several patrons
exchanged murmurs and glanced over their shoulders.
    More laughter bubbled inside Sofia as a fond memory came to mind.
Shoulders rolling in a fit of giggles, she pressed a palm to her lips to better
stifle the sound.
    Aleksender studied her with keen interest, his own smile quickly
forming. Such laughter was contagious—and he was far from immune to his ward’s
charms.
    “What, pray tell, is so amusing?”
    “Oh, I was just thinking. When I was a girl—remember what I’d do to
your poor dinner guests?”
    Aleksender stretched against his chair with a small chuckle. He cradled
the wine glass and gently swirled