She had originally planned to send a discreet note this morning via messenger pixie and then slip away to meet Petunia at their secret sanctuary—the forgotten greenhouse that stood precisely between their family properties. But after her mother’s breakfast announcement of their immediate departure for the dressmaker, there had been no opportunity. Mariselle would have to try visiting their meeting place this afternoon, to explain everything properly.
“Those wretched creatures,” Lady Clemenbell muttered. “Utterly lacking in discretion or decorum. And why must it always be ‘Rowanwood-Brightcrest’? Why should their name invariably precede ours? As though they claim precedence in all things.”
“I do apologize if I’ve overstepped,” Madame Spindriel said, though her eyes glittered with barely disguised curiosity. “Then it is true? There is to be a marriage between the families?”
Lady Clemenbell sighed with the weary resignation of one greatly burdened by fate. “My younger daughter,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward Mariselle without actually looking at her, “has found herself unexpectedly entangled with one of the Rowanwoods. Asoulbond, of all things.”
“A soulbond?” Madame Spindriel gasped. “But that’s extraordinarily rare! Which Rowanwood, if I may ask?”
“The second son,” Lady Clemenbell said, her lips curling in distaste.“Evryn.”
“Oh! The charming one with the handsome—” The dressmaker coughed and broke off at the sight of Lady Clemenbell’s darkening expression. “That is—I simply meant—how … unexpected.”
“Indeed,” Lady Clemenbell agreed coldly. “Madame, might I examine that new shipment of glimmer-lace you mentioned? I wish to see if it’s truly as extraordinary as people claim.”
“Of course,” the dressmaker replied, clearly relieved to escape the sudden tension. “This way, my lady.”
As the two women disappeared into an adjoining room, Ellowa turned to Mariselle, her eyes bright with mischief, the corners crinkling in what might pass for sisterly affection if not for the slight curl of her upper lip that Mariselle had learned from childhood preceded her most cutting remarks. “Did you hear that? She called himcharming.” Ellowa stepped off the fitting platform, the gown projection trailing behind her. “That’s what everyone says about him, you know.” She leaned into Mariselle’s personal space and trailed one finger down the exposed skin at her throat. “Whatcharmsof his have captivated you so thoroughly, little sister?”
“Stop it,” Mariselle muttered, swatting Ellowa’s hand away, even as Ellowa laughed. “It only happened last night. There has been little time for me to become acquainted with any of his … charms.”
“But you were missing from Solstice Hall forhours, sister dear. I’m only curious about what transpired between you and Lord Evryn after this soulbond mysteriously appeared. Or perhaps,”she added with a delicate arch of her eyebrow, “it wasn’t the soulbond that came first. Perhaps the marking formed in response to more … intimate activities?”
“I wouldnever?—”
“Oh, no. Of course not.” Ellowa’s laugh tinkled. “I jest, of course. The virtuous, obedient Mariselle would never behave with such impropriety. To engage in such scandalous behavior withanyonewould be unthinkable, but with a Rowanwood? Why, the betrayal to our family name would eclipse even the indecency of the act itself.”
Mariselle bit the inside of her cheek to suppress the unexpected twitch of her lips. If only Ellowa knew what ‘indecent acts’ had truly transpired. Racing through the night on a pegasus, hurtling wildly through a moonlitforest, kicking Evryn’s shins, tugging her own glove off with her teeth. She rather doubted Ellowa’s delicate sensibilities could withstand the shock of her younger sister engaging in actual, genuine rebellion.
“Perhaps,” she said with a poise she had spent years perfecting, “you should worry less about my activities and more about securing your own matrimonial?—”
Her retort was interrupted by the shop bell as another customer entered, a young woman with a nervous smile and unfashionably simple attire. Mariselle recognized her as Miss Nerie Skystone—no, she wasLadySkystone now—daughter of a modestly successful fae merchant whose recent ventures had elevated the family just enough to participate in society events, especially after Nerie manifested magic that was considered significant enough to be presented at Solstice Hall this Season. Mariselle had watched her magical display the previous night before making her escape from the ballroom.
“Oh, look,” Ellowa whispered, her voice dropping to a register Mariselle had come to dread. “If it isn’t little Miss Climbing-Above-Her-Station.”
Mariselle felt the familiar twist in her stomach, the knowledge that she should defend this innocent girl warring with the certainty that doing so would redirect Ellowa’s cruelty toward herself. Years of experience had taught her that joining Ellowa was the safer choice, a way to maintain the fragile illusion that she belonged within her own family.
“Her sleeves are at least a season behind,” Mariselle heard herself say, hating the words even as they left her mouth. “And that shade of yellow does nothing for her complexion.”
Ellowa smiled—that rare, approving smile that Mariselle still pathetically craved—and leaned closer. “Did you see the hem of her dress last night? An attempt at animated embroidery. Flowers, I think? But they barely fluttered. Like wilted weeds clinging to the edge of her gown,” she snickered.
Nerie glanced their way, a hesitant smile forming. Ellowa immediately raised her voice. “I simply cannot comprehend how anyone could appear in public with such inferior magical embellishments. It reflects a fundamental lack of understanding about proper society.”
The girl’s smile faltered, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she turned away to join her mother beside a display of ribbons. Mariselle’s stomach clenched with shame.
But before she could decide whether it was worth it to challenge hersister’s casual cruelty, Lady Clemenbell returned. “The glimmer-lace will do for the final embellishments,” Lady Clemenbell declared. “Now, Ellowa, back on the platform. Madame Spindriel will return shortly.”
She turned to Mariselle, her voice dropping to a confidential murmur. “Since we have a moment of relative privacy, regarding those developments I mentioned this morning …”
Mariselle steeled herself, entirely unsure what to expect.
“Your father and I have discussed the situation at length,” Lady Clemenbell continued. “While we cannot and will not ever support a marriage to a Rowanwood, we have recognized certain … strategic advantages to this unexpected connection.”
“Strategic advantages?” Mariselle repeated, hardly daring to hope.
“Indeed.” Her mother’s voice dropped further, barely above a whisper. “Your position offers unprecedented access to the Rowanwood family. You will undoubtedly be invited to their gatherings, perhaps even to The Charmed Leaf itself, a place no Brightcrest has ever been permitted to enter.”
Understanding dawned, and Mariselle had to suppress a wild urge to laugh. “You want me to spy on them.”
