“The guests are beginning to arrive,” Lucie announced, slipping into the kitchen. She wore a new dress of soft yellow, marking her status today as a guest rather than a servant—a transition that had clearly unsettled her, as she kept unconsciously reaching for an apron that wasn’t there.
“Then let us greet them,” Rivenna declared, sweeping toward the door to the garden with the regal bearing of a queen. Iris followed, her heart quickening. Whatever came of today’s gathering, she had made her choices deliberately. She would face the consequences with the same composure she had maintained throughout these difficult weeks.
The flagstone path leading around the tea house to the garden seating had been festooned with garlands of roses and lavender, while tiny enchanted paper rabbits and foxes darted through the low hedges bordering it. Near the path’s end, beyond the rows of herbs and flowers, Iris and Lady Rivenna stood waiting to greet their guests.
The first arrivals were the elder Thornharts and Whispermists, longtime friends of Lady Rivenna and pillars of Bloomhaven society. They greeted Iris with polite formality, only the smallest tightening around Lady Thornhart’s mouth betraying her awareness of the scandal still lingering in society’s collective consciousness.
Shortly thereafter, Iris spotted her grandparents making their way along the path. The sight of them brought amomentary tightness to her chest. Though weeks had passed since the disastrous end of her engagement, a certain strain still lingered between them. Her grandfather’s posture remained slightly stiffer than usual, and her grandmother’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes as they exchanged greetings with Lady Rivenna. Yet their presence here at all was testament to how far they’d come in accepting her decision regarding Lord Hadrian.
“The garden is looking quite splendid,” her grandmother remarked, her gaze taking in the enchanted decorations with genuine, if measured, appreciation.
“Indeed,” her grandfather added, patting Iris’s hand briefly. “You’ve done well.”
The unspoken remained between them—the inevitable sale of Starspun House, the country estate where Iris’s aunt resided likewise to be sold—but those were concerns for another day. Today, their attendance signified a tentative peace, and Iris felt a small weight lift from her shoulders.
More guests followed in quick succession. The Emberdales, followed by the Fawnwoods, then the younger generation of Thornharts and the rest of Lady Rivenna’s family—excluding Jasvian, of course. Rosavyn embraced Iris warmly before whispering, “The garden looks extraordinary. I see you managed the magical sparkles trailing the paper pegasi after all. Well done!”
“Thank you,” Iris said, feeling a pleased warmth rise in her cheeks.
Other guests began to filter in. Lady Featherlock with her daughters, Lord Bridgemere and his sister—who had once run in the opposite direction when Iris had attempted to approach her—and to Iris’s delight, the human families she had invited. The Fields family arrived in their finest attire, looking both nervous and proud. Charlotte’s mother appeared especially moved, blinking rapidly as she entered the tea house gardentypically reserved for the fae elite. The Turners followed, Mr Turner’s graying beard neatly trimmed for the occasion, his wife clutching his arm with visible anxiety. Their son Theo seemed less intimidated, his gaze immediately finding Charlotte, who promptly turned a delicate shade of pink before becoming intensely preoccupied with straightening her already immaculate sleeves.
As the garden filled, the subtle hum of conversation grew, punctuated occasionally by sharp inhalations or hushed murmurs as the more traditional fae guests realized that humans—and not merely the Fields family, who’d at least gained a measure of acceptance since Lady Rivenna took Lucie on—were present as invited guests.
Iris maintained her composure, guiding guests to their tables with warm smiles and gentle directions. She had anticipated such reactions and found she minded them far less than she might have even a month ago. After weathering the storm of her broken engagement, a few disapproving glances seemed trivial by comparison.
To her considerable satisfaction, the seating arrangement for the Fields and Turner families was working precisely as she’d hoped. Theo Turner had already migrated to the Fields’ table, engaged in animated conversation with Charlotte, whose earlier blush had settled into a becoming glow. Charlotte’s father appeared to be asking Theo detailed questions about his family’s stationery business, while Charlotte’s mother looked on with poorly concealed delight.
“A success already, I see,” Lady Rivenna murmured, appearing at Iris’s elbow.
“One small victory,” Iris agreed. “Though the afternoon is still young.”
“Indeed.” Rivenna nodded toward the garden entrance, where Lady Featherlock appeared to be having some sort ofinternal crisis upon finding herself seated at a table adjacent to the Garnet Lane ribbon makers. “And not without its challenges.”
Lady Rivenna’s eyes swept over the gathering, missing nothing. “You’ve done well, Lady Iris. Regardless of any discomfort, they all came. That in itself speaks volumes.”
Something warm unfurled in Iris’s chest at the praise. “Thank you, my lady.”
“Now,” Rivenna continued, “I believe it is time for your display. Shall we proceed?”
Iris nodded, drawing a steadying breath. She moved to the garden’s center, near the gently burbling fountain. Conversation gradually quieted as guests noticed her position, turning expectantly toward her.
“Distinguished guests,” she began, her voice clear in the hushed garden. “I thank you for gracing The Charmed Leaf with your presence today. Before we begin our tea service, I would like to offer a small demonstration of magic—a display I had originally prepared for the Summer Solstice Ball.”
She did not mention why she had been absent from that event; there was no need. Everyone present knew the story, or some version of it. Instead, she inhaled, exhaled, emptied her mind of all distractions, and summoned her magic. After weeks of practice, she felt it rise within her like sunlight breaking through clouds.
With a subtle gesture, she released the dozens of sheets of delicate paper that had been concealed at the fountain’s basin. The papers rose into the air, hovering at eye level as they began to fold themselves with precision. Iris guided them with careful concentration, directing their movement as they formed the outlines of a grand ballroom. Tiny, precise folds created chandeliers, and miniature paper figures appeared—dancers moving in perfect, synchronized patterns across a paper ballroom floor.
The garden fell absolutely silent, every eye fixed on the unfolding scene. Iris felt beads of sweat form at her temple as she directed her magic with increasing complexity. Two figures emerged from the crowd of dancers, meeting at the center of the ballroom. Unlike the other figures, these were crafted with as much exquisite detail as her magic could accomplish.
As the enchanted story progressed, the entire paper ballroom began to transform. The chandelier unfolded and refolded into a garden pavilion. The surrounding dancers collapsed into flowers and trees. The scene shifted from a formal ball to a moonlit garden, the two central figures still facing one another amid the transformation.
Then, with intense focus that strained her control, Iris divided the scene. The paper split into two separate vignettes. In one, the couple walked together through the garden; in the other, they parted ways, each turning in opposite directions.
Iris pushed further, dividing the scene again. Now four distinct stories played out simultaneously, each showing different paths the meeting might have taken: joyful togetherness, sorrowful parting, delayed reunion, uncertain waiting. Sweat now trickled down her back beneath her gown as she held the complex magic steady, her breathing elevated and her fingers trembling slightly with the effort of maintaining such precise control over so many individual elements.
Finally, in a breathtaking display of magical mastery, all four scenes began to unfold and refold, papers fluttering and reshaping themselves until they merged once more into a single image—the two figures standing together beneath an arch decorated with cascading paper flowers, their hands clasped between them. The message was clear to anyone watching:regardless of which path they took, these two were destined to find their way to one another.
As the last fold settled into place, the paper scene held for one perfect moment before dissolving into a flutter of butterflies that scattered above the delighted audience. The garden erupted in applause, with at least half the guests rising to their feet in appreciation. Even Lady Featherlock, who had appeared so scandalized by her seating arrangement earlier, pressed a handkerchief to her eyes, visibly moved.
