Page 9 of The Gilded Fae (Royal Fae of Rose Briar Woods 2)

He must be to win the affection of the twenty-three-year-old darling of Davon. Candace Whitmore is practically royalty, known in all the social circles, and invited to all the galas. Her father is rumored to be a viscount residing in a rural district of Valsta, but she’s lived with her aunt and uncle since she came of age. She once told me that city life suits her better than chasing cows.

The nights she attends our shows, we don’t have an empty seat in the house. That is what I call influence.

Her fiancé would make an excellent connection—one I’d do almost anything to secure.

“I’ll invest in your show,” Charles says. “But I have a condition.”

“You, of course, will have the best box in the house,” I assure him. “Come every night if you like—it’s yours.”

“No,” he says, sounding a touch impatient. “You see, it’s actually for my Candie.”

Frederick and I share a look, but I nod for Charles to continue.

“She would like to be in the show.”

I stare at him for several seconds, wondering if my brain is still addled from the alcohol. “Candice wants to be in the show?”

With a great sigh, Charles nods. “She fancies herself an actress—said she wants a chance to spread her wings.”

“Has she ever acted before?” Frederick asks, sounding befuddled.

If anyone would know, it would be him. He courted the girl for a year before they parted due to unreconcilable differences—not that Charles needs to be made aware of that.

“I don’t believe so,” Charles says curtly. “Do we have a deal?”

I swallow, hating to miss this opportunity. “Perhaps she can audition?”

Charles nods, rising. “That’s reasonable. If you decide she’s fit for the leading role, then I will invest in your show.”

I nearly choke. “She wants…the lead?”

“Nothing less is good enough for my Candace. Nor is it worth my time.” And with that, he places his hat on his head and steps out the door.

Once we’re alone, Frederick turns to me. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” I ask.

“Don’t even think about it. I’ll throw money at your show if you need it—you know I will.”

“Yes, but you’re cheap.”

It’s his one fault.

He rolls his eyes. “And you insist on paying your performers too much.”

“If you had your way, I wouldn’t pay them at all.”

“Do they need glory and money?”

“If they want to eat, then yes.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Fine, let Candie audition—but I’ll tell you something right now. The girl can’t sing.”

I cringe, my hopes sinking. “At all?”

“Not a note.”

I ponder that, pressing my fist to the table. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Luckily our current show runs a few more nights. We have time to figure out something.”