“This cannot continue,” he cut in, his gaze returning to hers now. “Whatever this is between us. I cannot allow it to proceed any further.”
Iris felt as though the ground had shifted beneath her feet. Around them, the garden grew unnaturally still, even the breeze falling silent.
“I don’t understand,” Iris said, though she was beginning to—all too clearly.
“My responsibilities to the Rowanwood mines and the safety of the workers must take precedence over …” He hesitated, and something like genuine pain flickered across his featuresbefore being ruthlessly suppressed. “Over personal feelings. The burden is mine alone, and I cannot risk dividing my attention.”
“Surely there must be a way?—”
“There is not.” His voice was final, brooking no argument. “You saw what happened at the Night Market. One moment of inattention, one evening spent in pleasant company, and disaster nearly struck.”
“But no lives were lost,” Iris argued, desperately reaching for something to counter his rigid certainty. “And what of Hadrian’s early warning system? You spoke so positively of the developments?—”
“I will never be able to trust it,” he interrupted, something raw and wounded entering his voice. “Not with people’s lives. I can only trust myself, and even that …” He drew a sharp breath, looking away. “Even that has proven insufficient. But I will not allow myself to fail again.”
“My lord, you have not failed?—”
“I have!” He retorted, loud enough that Iris took a step back. “It was my failure to react in time that resulted in my father’s death! If I had been closer, if I had left home that day just a few minutes earlier instead of dallying with ...” He shook his head, eyes filled with a pain so acute it took Iris’s breath away.
“I … I didn’t know …” She trailed off softly. “But that wasn’t your fault. No one could have known what was about to?—”
“Ishouldhave known,” he said, his voice cracking. “Just as I should have sensed the danger the other night, long before it reached critical levels. I cannot allow myself to be diverted from my duty, not for a single moment. Not even for—” He stopped, pressing his lips into a thin line.
“Not even for me,” Iris finished quietly.
The silence that stretched between them seemed endless. The distant squawk of a gossip bird reached Iris’s ears, and she prayed it came nowhere near this garden. The last thing shewanted was for this raw, painful exchange to become fodder for Bloomhaven’s rumor mill.
“You deserve more,” Jasvian finally said, his voice softer but no less resolute. “Someone who can give you more than divided attention. More than constant worry that any moment of happiness might be interrupted by disaster. Someone whose duty does not require him to abandon you at a moment’s notice.”
“That should be my decision to make,” Iris argued, anger beginning to burn through her shock. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve or what I can accept.”
“Nevertheless,” he said, straightening his shoulders, “I have made my decision. I … I cannot continue our acquaintance in its current form.”
Iris stared at him, searching his face for some sign of the man who had held her hand in the darkness at the Night Market, who had traced gentle patterns on her skin as he tended her wounds, who had looked at her with such undisguised longing. But that man seemed to have vanished, replaced by this cold, unyielding stranger.
“So this is how it is to be?” she asked, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. “You’ve decided, and I have no say at all?”
“It is the only possible course,” he replied with terrible finality. “I cannot be what you need. I cannot be what anyone needs outside of my role as head of the Rowanwood family and guardian of the mines.”
A lump formed in Iris’s throat, hot tears pressing against her eyelids. She fought them back fiercely, refusing to let him see how deeply his words had wounded her. “Very well, Lord Rowanwood,” she said, deliberately using his formal title. “I understand completely.”
His expression flickered—a brief, pained shadow crossing his features—before settling back into rigid control. He noddedonce, a sharp, decisive movement. “I wish you all happiness, Lady Iris. Truly.”
Without waiting for her response, he turned and strode away, his back straight, his steps measured. Not once did he look back, not even as he rounded the corner of the tea house and disappeared from view.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jasvian tugged irritablyat the high collar of his evening coat, which seemed determined to strangle him with each breath. The crowded ballroom of Fawnwood House felt oppressively hot, the air thick with perfumes that clogged his senses and set his teeth on edge. Despite the late hour—an hour when any sensible person would be at home with a book or ledger—the festivities showed no sign of waning. Couples swirled across the polished floor with mindless enthusiasm, the orchestra played with relentless, grating vigor, and hollow laughter punctuated every corner of the grand space.
He had not wanted to attend. In the week since he had returned from the north, he had spent his time either locked away in his study or working with Hadrian, obsessively refining their early warning system. Despite the fact that he would never trust a mechanical system alone, Jasvian hoped that the combination of both Hadrian’s invention and his own focused vigilance would result in no more potentially disastrous surprises. The mines were secure for now, but the close call had shaken him more than he cared to admit, driving him to work punishing hours that left little time for sleep, let alonefrivolous social engagements. His grandmother, however, had been insistent.
“Your absence has become the subject of speculation,” she had informed him that morning. “People are concerned about the state of the Rowanwood mines. Your continued seclusion only fuels the gossip.”
“The state of the mines is hardly their business,” he had replied, not looking up from his ledger.
“When those mines supply the lumyrite that powers half the enchantments in their homes, it most certainly becomes their business,” she had countered. “One evening, Jasvian. Your presence will reassure them that the situation is under control.”
He had relented, but only after extracting a promise that Iris would not be in attendance. “She is occupied at the tea house this evening,” his grandmother had assured him. “She continues her preparation for the Summer Solstice Ball display. Her control improves daily. I am most impressed with what she has managed to achieve since the night she lost control in the tea house study.”
