Opal nodded as he explained about keeping her talent secret. He did understand. Which meant she didn't have to explain that part. Though she didn't know about being mysterious, she didn't think she was at all. And she wasn't sure she'd turned Henry's eye. These days, she wasn't sure why he'd married her at all, but she was starting to have suspicions. They weren't good suspicions.
“I can't write,” she explained quietly, deftly catching the gems and flowers that fell as she spoke. “I mean, I can, I know how, but it's not what my father-in-law wants me to do. He says my writing is terrible. But I do like the idea of finding another way to communicate.”
Then, because he was so kind, and so understanding, and Opal genuinely felt she could trust him, she told him something she had told no other living soul. Not even her husband. “The gems click against my teeth. It's... not comfortable.”
It was a big admission. So big that Opal feared she may have overstepped. She'd just made a mistake, hadn't she? He was so nice, he didn't need to hear about her problems. She looked down, ashamed that she'd given in to the impulse. This was why she wasn't supposed to talk to others, she knew. She was no good at all at being a princess.