Chapter One
There werethree things every member of Bloomhaven society knew about The Charmed Leaf Tea House: it had a mind of its own, its gossip was fresher than its scones (and its scones were legendary), and its formidable proprietress and creator, Lady Rivenna Rowanwood, missed nothing that happened within its walls.
Lady Rivenna had learned long ago that the best way to maintain her position in society was to create a space where everyone came to her. The Charmed Leaf Tea House, with its enchanted walls, opinion-holding decor, and subtly shifting floor plan, had served that purpose admirably for decades. Even those who dismissed its magic found themselves drawn back day after day like dusk sprites to faelights.
Amid the swirl of excitement that marked the Season’s first day, Rivenna reached up to subtly adjust one of the trailing vines that framed the tea house’s elegant menu board. The plant preened under her touch, its leaves unfurling slightly. Rivenna was about to pull her hand away when her sharp eyes narrowed at the board’s flowing script, where ‘Honeyed Lavender Tarts’ had been written as ‘Honeyed Lavendar Tarts.’ With a flick of her wrist and the barest whisper of magic, the letters adjustedthemselves, the ‘a’ gracefully reforming as an ‘e’ while the rest of the lettering adjusted to maintain perfect spacing.
Rivenna pivoted on her heel, tucking away a stray strand of her otherwise perfectly arranged silver hair, and allowed herself a moment to absorb the morning’s symphony of activity playing out across the tea house’s main floor. With satisfaction, she watched as both the young and old of Bloomhaven’s elite fae society fluttered through the doors, drawn by the promise of enchantment, gossip, and perfectly steeped tea. Magic sparkled in the air like dust motes caught in sunlight, and the constant lively chatter was as familiar to her as a favorite melody.
She released a contented sigh. All was right in her domain now that the Bloom Season had begun.
It was that most anticipated time of year, when the elite of the United Fae Isles returned from their sprawling country estates to present their sons and daughters to both society and to the High Lady herself. Those young fae lords and ladies whose powers had manifested over the past year would demonstrate their unique magic and watch it strengthen as the season progressed, all while hoping to secure an advantageous match before the Summer Solstice Ball.
The weeks ahead would be an intricate dance with Bloomhaven’s families guiding—or, more accurately, pushing—their offspring through the steps of courtship and alliance-building. From her corner in The Charmed Leaf, Rivenna would watch it all unfold, consulting the tea leaves, listening to the whispers around her, and quietly meddling where she saw fit. She’d been looking forward to it all year.
Across the room, Rivenna spotted Mrs Spindlewood, her hostess, leading Lady Featherlock and her two daughters toward an empty area near the kitchen. That simply wouldn’t do. She hastened across the room to intercept them before they could settle into their chairs.
“This way, ladies, if you please,” she said smoothly, gliding past Mrs Spindlewood. “I believe you might prefer this lovely spot by the eastern window. The morning light is particularly enchanting there.”
Lady Featherlock hesitated only briefly before nodding. “How thoughtful, thank you.”
Rivenna’s smile revealed nothing as she steered them toward a table conveniently situated beside Lord Emberdale and his sister. The young man had confided just that morning—within earshot of one of the tea house’s more gossipy vines—that he found the eldest Featherlock daughter’s newly manifested magic ‘utterly captivating’ and hoped to secure a dance with her at the Opening Ball.
The way his eyes widened and posture straightened as they approached confirmed Rivenna’s instincts. “Lord Emberdale, what a pleasant surprise,” Lady Featherlock exclaimed. “You remember my daughters, Elianora and Myrissa?”
As introductions flowed and cheeks flushed with carefully concealed excitement, Rivenna drifted away, weaving between the tables. She paused to straighten a perfectly straight flower arrangement, and then to adjust the hanging teapot that was already in precisely the right position, all the while keeping her ears attuned to the conversations flowing around her.
“He’s impossibly handsome, of course,” came a hushed voice from a corner table where three young ladies had gathered. “Those shoulders, and that jaw!”
“It’s the fencing,” one of her companions replied. “Or perhaps the swimming.”
“The swimming, yes. I hear there is a large bathing pool inside the glasshouse at Rowanwood House.”
“I believe so, yes. They say he swims daily. But he has all the charm of a frozen wasteland!”
Rivenna’s fingers stilled on the picture frame she’d just moved to. The ladies could be speaking of none other than her eldest grandson, Jasvian.
“Casimira is utterly besotted with him,” giggled the first voice. “She spent the entire ball the Rowanwoods hosted at their magnificent country estate this past winter trying to catch his eye.”
“I simply appreciate quality,” the third young lady—presumably Casimira—protested. “The Rowanwoods are the finest family in the United Fae Isles, and Lord Jasvian is as magnificent as he is wealthy.”
Rivenna’s lips pursed in consideration, a slight frown creasing her brow. Perhaps this season some brave soul might finally crack through Jasvian’s forbidding exterior. For all his handsome features and impeccable manners, it was true that the man possessed the social warmth of an icebound fortress. She did hope, though, that whoever might capture his attention would be interested in more than just the Rowanwood fortune.
“He’d likely be the most tedious lover imaginable,” the second voice continued with a snicker. “Can you picture it? ‘I regret to inform you that your kissing technique is substandard. Please refer to the manual I’ve prepared, with diagrams arranged in alphabetical order.’”
The trio dissolved into muffled laughter as Rivenna flushed with both embarrassment and indignation. She certainly had no desire to contemplate that particular aspect of her grandson’s life, but how dare these frivolous girls speak of him in such terms? The spoiled little chits wouldn’t recognize quality if it?—
The floorboard beneath the table suddenly shifted, rising a fraction of an inch on one side. The teacup before the offending gossip jerked on its saucer, sending a splash of liquid across the table.
“Oh!” the young lady yelped, jerking backward.
“How clumsy,” Rivenna remarked as she passed their table, her voice honey-sweet. “Do be more careful, dear.”
She continued on her way, feeling a ripple of satisfaction in the air around her as she aimed for her customary table in the corner. The small grouping of comfortable chairs there—dubbed the ‘Crone’s Corner’ by the younger set who thought themselves terribly clever—afforded the best vantage point to observe the entire establishment. She settled into her seat, arranging her skirts just so, and surveyed her domain with quiet satisfaction.
Something tickled the back of one of her pointed ears, and she absently flicked the air near her neck. When the tickle persisted—on her shoulder this time—she twisted in her seat and found one of the vines stretching hopefully toward the bowl of dainty sugar cubes at the center of the table. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, it’s the first day of the season. Do try to show some restraint.” But she snatched up a sugar cube anyway and tossed it over her shoulder.
The magical flora that adorned The Charmed Leaf’s walls had grown quite demanding over the decades, though Rivenna supposed that was partly her fault for indulging them. They rustled with satisfaction as they caught the treat, their leaves shimmering with hints of gold in the morning light that streamed through the windows. At least it kept the plants occupied for a few moments, distracting them from dropping petals onto the heads of those the tea house deemed most in need of humbling.
