She turned from the window and crossed the room once more. Unlike the warm, cluttered home she’d left behind, Starspun House was all formal elegance and untouchable perfection—polished surfaces, stiff brocade, and gleaming silver that seemed more for display than use. Even the floral arrangements were pristine and scentless, preserved by magic in a state of perpetual bloom that somehow rendered them lifeless.
“Iris, please sit down,” her mother said without looking up from her light-weaving. The delicate strands of enchantedlight refused to hold their pattern between her fingers as she attempted to perfect the spells, clearly more difficult for her without any magic of her own. “Your constant movement is rather distracting.”
“How can I possibly sit still?” Iris drummed her fingers against her skirts. “We’ve been trapped in this house all morning.”
Her grandparents had departed for their promenade at Elderbloom Park over an hour ago, pointedly not inviting them to join. “After last night’s unfortunate display,” her grandmother had said with a thin smile, “perhaps it would be best if you remained here today. Allow the initial whispers to die down before presenting yourself in public again.”
Translation: hide your shameful face until people have found something new to gossip about.
Her father, who sat stiffly in the chair across from her mother while pretending to read a newspaper, sighed heavily. “You exaggerate the situation, Iris. No one is keeping you prisoner here. Your grandparents are merely being cautious. The social fallout from your confrontation with Lord Jasvian Rowanwood could be significant.”
Lord Jasvian Rowanwood.His name alone caused a flare of anger in her chest. That arrogant, disdainful face came to mind immediately—the way his dark eyes had swept over her with such dismissal, how his voice had dripped with condescension as he’d deemed her magic “paper-folding nonsense” and called her a “half-breed.”
But beneath the anger lay the sharp sting of something else. His words had sliced deeply because they’d echoed her own fears. Her magicwasfrivolous compared to the abilities of full-blooded fae. Her fatherhaddiluted the Starspun bloodline by marrying her mother. The great celestial magic of her ancestorshad indeed been reduced to mere paper manipulation in her hands.
“All the more reason I should be out there,” Iris insisted, resuming her pacing. “If I’m to repair the damage to my reputation and present myself as a worthy prospect to the eligible gentlemen of Bloomhaven, I can’t be confined to Starspun House.”
The weight of their conversation from the previous night pressed down on her shoulders even as she tried to outpace it with her restless movement. If she couldn’t find another solution, marriage to some wealthy lord was her only option. The thought made her stomach twist with dread. To be bound forever to a man who viewed her primarily as a means to continue his bloodline, who would likely choose her only because the Starspun name still carried the weight of respectability and ancient lineage worthy of alliance. How could she possibly bear such a fate?
Her father shook his head, his expression grave. “After last night, we need to proceed carefully. Your grandparents went out this morning specifically to gauge the reaction in society. When they return, we’ll have a better sense of our standing.”
With a sigh, Iris returned to the window, watching as a small flock of those awful gossip birds flew past, their dreadful squawking indecipherable but clearly excited as they darted from rooftop to rooftop. With any luck, they were now spreading some new piece of social misfortune instead of shrieking about her own indiscretion.
She turned away from the window and eyed the formal settee she’d abandoned earlier with its rigid back and thinly cushioned seat. Everything in this room was designed for appearance rather than comfort—much like the facade her grandparents presented to society. The warm spring sunlight that streamedthrough the windows seemed unable to penetrate the room’s austere atmosphere.
She turned away from the window and dropped into a chair beside a potted fern, her energy momentarily exhausted though her mind continued to race. The chair, like all the furniture, was clearly designed for perfect posture rather than relaxation, its ornate wooden arms unyielding beneath her fingers. Even the very air in the room seemed to demand formality, as if casual conversation or genuine emotion might somehow tarnish the perfect surfaces.
As she picked up the volume of poetry she’d abandoned earlier and began aimlessly leafing through it, one of the fern’s delicate fronds stretched outward, brushing against her wrist with a touch so gentle she might have imagined it. She glanced down as the plant appeared to reach for her deliberately, its leaves curling softly around her fingers in what felt remarkably like comfort.
“Thank you,” she murmured, stroking the frond with her fingertip.
Her mother looked up, a question forming on her lips, but before she could speak, the drawing room door opened. “Lady Rivenna Rowanwood,” announced the butler, his face betraying a flicker of astonishment that his impassive voice managed to conceal.
All three Starspuns shot to their feet as the formidable matriarch of the Rowanwood family swept into the room.
“Lady Rowanwood,” Iris’s father said, executing a bow that was perhaps a touch too deep. “What an unexpected honor.”
“Indeed.” Lady Rivenna’s sharp gaze swept the room before settling on Iris. “I trust I find you recovered from last night’s excitement, Lady Iris?”
Iris swallowed, unsure how to respond. Should she apologize for her heated exchange with Lord Jasvian? Express regret for her part in the chandelier incident? “I … that is …”
“Tea!” her mother exclaimed. “We simply must have tea.” With a swift motion, she reached back for the long cord of braided silk hanging against the wall and gave it a firm tug.
Lady Rivenna lowered herself into a chair with the easy confidence of one accustomed to commanding every space she occupied. “I must say, that was quite the display of temper last night. From both parties involved.”
Iris’s throat went dry. “My lady, I?—”
“Do you know,” Lady Rivenna continued as if Iris hadn’t spoken, “I cannot recall the last time I saw my grandson lose control of his magic like that. He insists it was not him, of course. I, on the other hand, find myself rather convinced that it was both of you.”
“I’m so terribly sorry about that,” Iris’s father said quickly. “We will, of course, cover any damages?—”
Lady Rivenna waved away his concerns, which was just as well, given that Iris had no ideahowher father would cover said damages. “Nonsense. That chandelier was ghastly anyway. The High Lady has been looking for an excuse to replace it for years.” Her lips curved. “Though I doubt she expected quite such a dramatic catalyst.”
A parlourmaid arrived with the tea service, and Iris’s mother busied herself preparing cups with slightly trembling hands. When she passed one to Lady Rivenna, the older woman took a delicate sip, then pursed her lips. “Ah. Well. I suppose not everyone can maintain The Charmed Leaf’s standards.”
“At least we don’t have to drink the leaves,” Iris muttered into her own teacup before she could stop herself.
Her mother released a barely audible gasp, but Lady Rivenna’s eyes sparked with something that might have beenamusement. “My dear, if you find yourselfconsumingthe leaves rather thanreadingthem, I fear you’ve misunderstood the entire practice.”
