And there sat Iris, her dark hair catching the light in a way that made it gleam almost black, her slender fingers turning the pages of the book that lay open on the desk before her. In that instant, any claim Jasvian had made to banishing thoughts of her simply evaporated. His gaze lingered on the graceful line of her back as she leaned over the text, on the subtle point of her ear just visible beneath a strand of hair that had escaped its pins. The mysterious woman in teal might have captivated him for an evening, but Iris Starspun effortlessly reclaimed his entire attention.
“Good morning, Lord Jasvian,” she said without looking up, her voice carrying the same polite neutrality that had characterized their recent face-to-face interactions, though their written correspondence had grown increasingly familiar.
“Lady Iris.” He moved toward his own desk. “I trust your morning has been productive.”
“Quite,” she replied, turning another page. “Lady Rivenna has rewarded my struggle through yesterday’s tedious management text with this marvelous old tome. It details the rather scandalous history of one of the first families involved in creating enchanted tea blends. It has proven to be quite absorbing.”
Ah. That explained the old-book smell then.
Jasvian settled into his chair, waiting the customary few moments for his neatly arranged documents to appear. Thenhe reached for the ledger he’d abandoned the previous evening when Hadrian had entered his study at Rowanwood House. He had little genuine intention of resuming his work, however. His eyes kept drifting to Iris, who appeared remarkably serene as she made occasional notes in her favorite notebook. Had she always been this composed? This focused? Or was he simply more attuned to her presence now, acutely conscious of every small movement?
“I hear the masquerade was quite spectacular last night,” he said, attempting to maintain conversational normalcy.
Iris’s quill paused mid-stroke, hovering over her notebook. “Yes,” she said after a moment, her gaze still fixed on the page before her. “So I’ve heard as well.”
Jasvian frowned slightly. “How have you heard already? It is still quite early; surely most of Bloomhaven’s elite have yet to rouse themselves after last night’s revelries.”
She hesitated for the briefest moment. “The gossip birds,” she replied with a slight shrug. “They’ve been particularly active this morning. Something about the High Lady’s dress and Lord Thornhart stepping on toes.”
“Ah.” Jasvian tried to focus on the columns of numbers before him, but found his mind wandering back to the mystery woman. “Gossip birds are remarkably swift, if not always accurate.”
“Indeed.”
Silence fell between them, broken only by the scratch of Iris’s quill and the occasional rustle as she turned a page—noticeably quieter than her usual enthusiastic page-flipping that had so often disrupted his concentration. Jasvian found himself missing the familiar sound, another peculiarity in a morning already filled with them.
After what felt like an eternity of pretending to work while his mind raced in useless circles, Jasvian lowered his quill andleaned back in his chair. Across the room, Iris reached for the porcelain teacup standing on one corner of her desk.
“The usual?” Jasvian asked, grasping at ordinary conversation. “Cinnamon and … something fresh?”
She paused, her hand a few inches from the cup, and he felt an utter fool for his lack of subtlety. He might as well have plainly announced how much attention he’d been paying her. “Uh, yes.” She reached for the cup. “‘Autumn & Pine’ is what I’ve called it.” She lifted the cup to her lips, and as she did so, something silver slid down her arm, catching the light. A bangle.
Jasvian froze, sudden recognition striking him like a physical blow. A silver bangle, intricately etched with flower patterns, each blossom’s center adorned with a purple gemstone. The same bangle the mystery woman had worn last night.
His gaze had traced that very ornament countless times during their dances, his fingers occasionally brushing against it as he guided her through the steps.
Iris. It had been Iris all along.
The realization crashed over him in waves of shock, disbelief, and—mortifyingly—a surge of something dangerously close to elation. His mind raced backward through every moment of their conversation, every turn and step, every laugh they had shared beneath the enchanted ceiling.
He’d spoken to her about the Rowanwood legacy, about his—no, aboutLord Jasvian’s—magical abilities. She had asked direct questions about him, as if … as if she had known exactly who he was.
Had she recognized him somehow? The enchantment should have prevented it, yet her questions about the Rowanwood family had been oddly specific. But she had claimed curiosity about all of Bloomhaven’s prominent families, and, as she had pointed out last night, being at Rowanwood House naturally invited questions about its family’s lineage.
Jasvian exhaled a quiet breath of relief, though his mind still whirled, sifting through everything he had learned about the mystery woman last night and layering it atop what he already knew of Iris. Her fondness for poetry … her immediate empathy for his ancestor who felt so out of place … Of course. That shouldn’t surprise him. Had he not played a significant role himself in ensuring she felt precisely that way upon her arrival? He had hardly been welcoming when she first arrived.
And her laugh. The warm, genuine sound that had sparked something within him had beenherlaugh—but distorted by the enchantment. He realized with a strange, piercing clarity that he had never heard Iris laugh in his presence. Not when she knew it was him.
“Lord Jasvian?” Iris’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. “Are you quite well? You look rather … distressed.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” he managed, though his voice sounded strange even to his own ears.
Iris set her teacup down, concern etched across her features. “Are you certain? You’ve gone quite pale.”
“Merely … a momentary dizziness.” He stood, forcing his gaze away from that damning silver bangle that had shattered his carefully maintained equilibrium. “It will pass.”
“Perhaps you should stay seated.” She shifted to the edge of her seat as if about to stand.
“That won’t be necessary,” he said stiffly. “I simply require fresh air.”
