Iris, who had maintained a curious silence throughout most of the exchange, finally spoke. “I believe I have as much cause as anyone to harbor ill feelings toward the Brightcrests,” she said in a measured tone. “But perhaps we might all benefit from a moment’s reflection. What if—and I realize this seems improbable—what if Evryn truly has developed an attachment to Lady Mariselle? Would we deny him the chance at happiness that I’ve found with Jasvian, simply because of a family name?”
“We most certainly would,” Lady Rivenna declared. “Evryn will not find happiness with a Brightcrest.”
On this particular point, Evryn couldn't help but silently agree with his grandmother—a rare occurrence that would have been worth savoring had it not been entirely irrelevant to his current predicament.
“With all due respect, Grandmother,” Evryn replied, his voice tight, “I don’t believe that decision falls to you. The soulbond has formed. Lady Mariselle and I are connected by forces beyond our control. I wish to marry her, and I will be doing so with or without your support.”
The indignation in his voice surprised him with its genuine heat. How dare they dismiss his happiness so readily? What if he truly did wish to marry Mariselle? His entire family stood prepared to deny him without a moment’s consideration. When Jasvian had fallen for Iris—a match that had raised its own share of eyebrows due to her mixed heritage—his grandmother had not given it a second thought before accepting it. In fact, she’d practically orchestrated the relationship, placing Iris directly in Jasvian’s path as her apprentice. But for Evryn, the redundant second son with his ‘useless’ magic? No, there would apparently be no such accommodation.
“Goodness,” Kazrian murmured, his expression slowly turning to one ofhorrified realization. “Does this mean Lady Mariselle will be coming to family gatherings? Will she be sitting at our dinner table? What if she poisons the soup?”
“Kazrian!” Lady Lelianna scolded. “The Brightcrests may have actively worked against our interests for generations, but they are not murderers.”
“Though Grandmother did once say she’d sooner drink poison than accept hospitality from any of them,” Aurelise murmured.
“The point remains,” Jasvian said firmly, “that this union poses significant complications for both families. The Brightcrests have made no secret of their animosity toward us. How do you propose to navigate that, Evryn? Have you given any thought to the practical realities?”
In truth, Evryn had given precisely no thought to the practical realities, having been far too preoccupied with the immediate crisis of his exposed pseudonym and the ludicrous scheme that had followed. “Love … finds a way,” he offered lamely.
“This is notlove!” his grandmother exclaimed, slapping her hand down on the table. The vines adorning the walls shivered. Lady Rivenna rose to her feet in one fluid motion, and though she stood a full head shorter than Evryn, something in her bearing made him feel as though she were looking down at him. “You will notlovea Brightcrest! Your grandfather’s brother isdeadbecause of that family!”
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the vines ceased their shivering. Evryn’s heart hammered in his chest. His great-uncle haddiedbecause of the Brightcrests? From the collective shock rippling across his siblings’ faces, this piece of family history was as new to them as it was to him.
It was Jasvian who finally broke the silence. “Do you mean Great-Uncle Thaelan?” he asked slowly. “But his death was an accident, was it not? No one ever mentioned the Brightcrests being involved in any way.”
Lady Rivenna’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she offered no further explanation.
“What do you mean, Grandmother?” Rosavyn pressed. “You cannot make a statement like that and then refuse to explain it.”
“That family was directly and entirely responsible for Thaelan’s death. That is all you need to know.”
Evryn cleared his throat, his mind reeling. Was his grandmother really speaking ofmurder? Surely she was exaggerating, transmuting an ancientdisagreement into something more sinister through decades of resentment. But even if it were true … “Grandmother, that was generations ago. Lady Mariselle cannot be held responsible for what happened in the past.”
“No, but the fact remains that we will not be tied to that family.”
“Perhaps, Lady Rivenna,” Iris said gently, “this could be a first step toward reconciliation. After all, feuds cannot persist indefinitely.”
“This one certainly can,” Lady Rivenna said darkly. She gathered her pile of ledgers and the plate with its remaining scone before fixing Evryn with a glacial look. “You and I will discuss this later. In private.”
“There is nothing more to discuss,” Evryn replied with a defiance he would never have dared display under ordinary circumstances. His grandmother, who had already half turned away with the imperious air of someone accustomed to having the final word before making a grand exit, froze. “I intend to wed Lady Mariselle Brightcrest. The soulbond has sealed our fate.”
And with that, Evryn tugged sharply at the hem of his jacket, squared his shoulders, and strode past his stunned family. He pushed through the tea house door and out into the morning air before anyone could utter another syllable—and, more importantly, before his grandmother could attempt to transform him into something small and slimy that might be found beneath a garden stone.
Outside, he exhaled a shuddering breath, disturbed to find his hands trembling slightly. Had he truly just defied Lady Rivenna Rowanwood to her face? Not in his usual manner of playful insolence that they both understood as merely the expected role of the family troublemaker, but with genuine opposition? He had. And now he felt … what, precisely?
Terrified? Absolutely. There would be consequences later, likely severe ones. And yet beneath the terror lurked something unexpectedly intoxicating—the first heady taste of true rebellion rather than merely sanctioned mischief.
The moment of triumph deflated swiftly when reality settled back in. This grand stand wasn’t truly about asserting his worth or demanding the same consideration afforded to Jasvian. It was about Mariselle Brightcrest and a ridiculous charade he’d been blackmailed into performing. When this farce eventually concluded, he would feign heartbreak, and his grandmother would enjoy the vindication of having been right all along. The family hierarchywould reestablish itself with Evryn firmly in his assigned place—the charming but ultimately inconsequential second son.
The bitter disappointment that washed over him at this thought caught him entirely off guard. Why should he care? This was merely an unfortunate situation to be endured until he could reclaim his manuscript and return to his life of comfortable insignificance.
He cleared his throat and straightened his cravat with a resolute tug. Best get on with the performance. The sooner this particular play began, the sooner he could reach its final act.
Chapter Five
“Stand still,Ellowa. How can Madame Spindriel properly measure you if you persist in fidgeting like a restless sprite?” Lady Clemenbell’s voice cut through the hushed atmosphere of the dressmaker’s shop with all the delicacy of a butcher’s cleaver.
Mariselle observed the scene from her perch on a velvet settee, savoring the rare moment when her mother’s exasperation was directed at her sister rather than herself. Ellowa stood upon a raised platform, arms extended as Madame Spindriel’s enchanted measuring tape flitted around her like a restless snake.
