“Howdid this happen?” Jasvian asked with a frown. “Were you caught in a compromising position? Please tell me you haven’t created yet another scandal requiring hasty resolution. The Season has barely begun.”
“Well, this is rather boring,” Rosavyn said, slumping a little in her chair. “And here I thought you’d done something truly outrageous. Marriage is perfectly respectable. Disappointing, really.”
“Oh, nonsense,” their mother scolded. “Do ignore her, Evryn dear. Now tell us. Who is this young lady?”
Evryn’s throat felt remarkably dry. He took a deep breath, savoring what would likely be the last peaceful moment in this room for some time tocome. “The young lady in question,” he began, then paused, steeling himself for his family’s inevitable outrage, “is Mariselle Brightcrest.”
The silence that followed was so profound that even the sounds from the kitchen seemed to fade. Lady Rivenna, who had been raising her scone for another bite, froze mid-motion. The scone slipped from her fingers and landed on the floor with a dull thud, her hand remaining suspended in the air as though her body had forgotten how to complete the motion. Evryn’s mother released a pained gasp, pressing her hand to her chest.
“Mariselle Brightcrest?” Iris repeated, seemingly the only one among them whose vocal cords hadn’t been paralyzed by shock.
“Yes,” Evryn confirmed, his voice sounding oddly hoarse.
Iris’s head snapped toward Lady Rivenna, and Evryn watched as his grandmother’s sharp eyes immediately found Iris’s face. They exchanged a look so loaded with meaning that Evryn wished desperately he could interpret it.
But before he could open his mouth to question this strange look, his grandmother’s hard gaze swept back to him. “No,” she said, her voice dangerously quiet. “You’ll see me buried before that happens.”
More likely I’ll be the one in the ground, Evryn thought grimly. It wouldn’t surprise him if Mariselle was indeed the death of him before this charade concluded.
“A Brightcrest?” Jasvian’s voice had dropped to a horrified whisper. “Have you taken complete leave of your senses?”
“I assure you, I am perfectly sound of mind,” Evryn replied with as much dignity as he could muster.
“You will not marry a Brightcrest,” his grandmother said.
“I’m afraid it’s not exactly a matter of choice, Grandmother,” Evryn answered as calmly as possible, extending his right arm to display the silvery mark that curled around his hand and wrist. “We appear to have formed a soulbond.”
Another sound escaped his mother, this one a pained whimper that she quickly stifled behind trembling fingers.
“It, ah, appeared quite unexpectedly,” Evryn continued, pushing his sleeve up to reveal the rest of the mark, “while the two of us were arguing on one of the terraces outside the ballroom at Solstice Hall last night.”
“No,” Lady Rivenna repeated. “What absolute nonsense. I refuse to acknowledge it.”
The notebook Iris had placed on one of the tables somehow slipped off the edge and landed on the floor with a loud slap. She retrieved it hastily and tucked it beneath her arm after directing a furious whisper at … the notebook itself?
Evryn shook his head before returning his gaze to Lady Rivenna. “Grandmother, you cannotwillthis out of?—”
“I said no.”
“Evryn.” Rosavyn leaned forward, her expression uncharacteristically grave as she searched his face. “You cannot possibly go through with this. I admit I delight in the occasional impropriety, but even I must protest. Have you forgotten how Mariselle and her sister treated Iris last Season? We cannot permit aBrightcrestto infiltrate our family circle.”
“I … yes, I am aware of what happened.” In all honesty, Evryn retained only the haziest recollection of some incident in a garden maze that Rosavyn had recounted with theatrical indignation while he’d nodded at appropriate intervals, his mind wandering to other matters. “Lady Mariselle feels truly dreadful about it.” He had no doubt that Mariselle possessed not a single crumb of remorse over whatever had transpired, but she would need to manufacture a convincing apology if they had any hope of maintaining this farce.
“Perhaps the soulbond can be broken?” Lady Lelianna suggested, her voice thin with desperate optimism. “Or simply refused?”
“I have no desire to break the bond,” Evryn declared, surprising himself with how convincing he sounded. “I know it defies all logic and reason, but I have feelings for her.”
Rosavyn physically shuddered. It was taking every ounce of Evryn’s self-control not to mirror the gesture with twice the intensity.
“Feelings?” Lady Rivenna repeated in a tone that suggested Evryn had just announced he’d developed an affinity for eating garden soil. “You most certainly do not. You have been ensnared by a cheaply constructed spell straight from the pages of nonsense fiction peddled to impressionable young ladies. This ‘soulbond’ is nothing but magical trickery designed to manipulate your emotions. We shall see to it that this enchantment is undone as soon as possible.”
“Um, I don’t believe it quite works that way, Grandmother,” Aurelise offered hesitantly. “And it isn’t nonsense fiction. I read about it in?—”
A small commotion erupted at the kitchen door as three garden pixies, their gossamer wings glittering in the morning light, dashed across the main floor carrying armfuls of freshly cut blossoms twice their size. Lady Rivenna immediately straightened in her chair.
“Out!” she shouted, waving a hand imperiously. “Now isnotthe time!”
The pixies skidded to a halt, pausing before exchanging glances of collective confusion. One of them had the audacity to stick out its tongue at Lady Rivenna before the trio retreated in a flurry of petals and indignant chatter.
