“It was nothing,” he said, wishing fervently that he could merge with the marble floor beneath his feet and sink into the very foundations of Solstice Hall.
“You never dance at these events, Lord Rowanwood,” Lady Emberlee observed with a practiced pout. “Could we not persuade you to join just one set this evening?”
“Oh, yes!” the third young lady exclaimed, her fan fluttering with excitement. “Surely you could spare one dance?”
Jasvian maintained his polite mask with considerable effort. “I’m afraid I must decline.”
The young women exchanged glances, undeterred by his refusal. “I heard the most interesting rumor,” Lady Myrissa ventured after a moment. “They say you might be considering taking a wife this season.”
“I will not be choosing a wife!” he blurted out stiffly. A shocked silence fell over the immediate vicinity, and he realized he’d spoken louder than he intended. Mortification washed over him. “I … that is …” He cleared his throat and attempted to recover his composure. “Forgive me, ladies. If you’ll excuse me, I have … urgent business to attend to.”
He turned on his heel and strode away from the clustered young ladies, their disappointed sighs following in his wake as he headed in the opposite direction from where Lady Iris had disappeared.
He needed air. And silence. And most of all, he needed to stop thinking about impertinent half-fae ladies who dared to suggest that his magic—magic that kept hundreds of families safe, that maintained the very foundation of their society—was nothing more than ‘sensing rocks.’
Chapter Seven
Iris triedto keep her pace measured as she made her escape from the ballroom. She tried not to draw attention to herself—well, anymoreattention than the exploding chandelier had already brought. But then she caught part of a conversation:
“How fortunate they only have the one.”
“Indeed! One shudders to think of how much worse it would be were there a whole brood of them.”
“I dare say he recognized his mistake after the first.”
“Alas, too late by then …”
Iris took off through the crowd, no longer caring who she offended or what whispers followed in her wake. She heard her name being called—her mother’s voice, then her father’s—but she kept moving, her skirts rustling as she wove between clusters of fae nobility.
She finally burst free of the ballroom. The palace corridors stretched out before her, a maze of gilt and marble, but she kept moving. She had no idea where she was going, only that she needed to get away from the music, the judgment, the weight of a hundred stares. Her heels clicked against the polished floor as?—
“Iris!” Her father’s voice cracked like a whip. “Stop this instant.”
She halted, chest heaving, and turned to face her parents. Her mother looked distraught, while her father’s face had gone an alarming shade of red.
“Have you completely lost your senses?” he demanded. “Arguing with Lord Jasvian Rowanwood? In public? At your debut?”
“Did you hear what he said about me?” Iris’s voice shook. “About my magic being useless and my blood being?—”
“It doesn’t matter what he said!” Her father took a breath and straightened. “He is one of the most influential men in … well, not only Bloomhaven. The entire United Fae Isles. The heir to the Rowanwood fortune and lumyrite mines. And you … you …”
“Perhaps we should find somewhere more private,” her mother suggested quietly, glancing around. “There is a room just there.”
Iris allowed her mother to lead her into an elegant chamber dominated by a gleaming piano. Moonlight streamed through tall windows, casting silver patterns across the instrument’s polished surface.
“I won’t apologize,” Iris said as soon as the door closed behind them. “We should return home. We are clearly not wanted here, nor do we have any need of this company.”
Her father’s laugh was harsh. “Need? We most certainly do need them. You have no future—none of us do—if you do not secure a match this season.”
“That’s absurd. I don’tneedsomeone, and even if I did, I can find such a person in my own town. Someone who doesn’t care about bloodlines or?—”
“And live like what?” her father burst out. “Like paupers?”
Iris blinked at him. “What are you talking about? What do you—” She shook her head, utterly confused. “What about the Starspun estate? Our family fortune?”
Her father’s shoulders sagged. “There is no fortune, Iris. There hasn’t been for years. No inheritance. No dowry. Nothing.”
“But …”
