“It happened last night at the Opening Ball, Your Grace,” Mariselle said to the High Lady, “during a … well, while we were arguing. Our hands accidentally touched as we both reached for the same railing, and there was a flash of light.”
“The mark appeared instantly,” Evryn continued, “spreading across our hands and wrists.”
“Fascinating,” the High Lady. “Did you feel anything?”
“It was … somewhat painful,” Mariselle admitted. “Like lightning beneath the skin, as my beloved—Lord Rowanwood, I mean—described it.”
She glanced at Evryn again, noticing the slight tensing of fingers where they rested upon his knee at her use of the endearment ‘my beloved.’ Most likely trying to hold back a snort of laughter.
“And beyond the physical sensation?” the High Lady pressed. “Emotionally, I mean.”
This was the part Mariselle had dreaded most. Describing fictional feelings for Evryn Rowanwood without dissolving into either laughter or revulsion seemed an impossible feat. Yet she managed to fix her gaze upon him, softening her expression into what she hoped resembled affection.
“It was … confusing at first,” she began. “A rush of feelings that made no sense, given our history. But then … it was as though I was seeing him clearly forthe first time. All the animosity, all the years of family resentment—they simply fell away.” She lowered her lashes, partly for effect and partly to hide the sheer absurdity she feared might be visible in her eyes.
“Yes,” Evryn said, his voice unexpectedly soft. “I found myself seeing her anew. As though a veil had been lifted, revealing someone I’d never truly noticed before.”
Mariselle blinked, startled by the sincerity in his tone. She looked up to find him gazing at her with an expression of such tender regard that she might have actually believed him if she didn’t know the truth. Her heart rate slowed as she relaxed slightly. She’d been concerned he might not be able to act convincingly enough, but it seemed she’d worried for nothing.
She tore her eyes away to address the High Lady once more. “We both tried to resist, of course. It seemed impossible that I could develop such feelings for a Rowanwood, of all people. But the connection was undeniable.”
The High Lady observed this exchange with evident pleasure, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “How romantic,” she said. “I confess, I have always harbored a weakness for tales of unexpected love. The notion that magic itself might intervene to bring together those who would otherwise remain apart … it quite captivates the imagination.”
Mariselle couldn’t quite hide her surprise. The High Lady—a romantic? The woman whose very presence could silence a ballroom, whose decisions shaped the political landscape of the entire realm—this formidable figure admitted to being enchanted by notions of fated love? It seemed incongruous with her cool, composed demeanor.
“Your families must be beside themselves,” the High Lady continued, a knowing gleam in her ink-blue eyes. “Lady Rivenna, in particular, has never been one to disguise her feelings regarding the Brightcrests, though she has never elaborated on the precise origins of this feud. I came into power only after it was well established and am still unclear about the precise details.”
“Ah, yes. My grandmother has expressed … reservations,” Evryn acknowledged diplomatically.
“As have my parents,” Mariselle added. “Though they are coming to terms with the situation.”
“Delightful,” the High Lady said, then glanced past them suddenly, her expression brightening. “Ah, my dear, do come join us.” To Mariselle and Evryn, she added, “You know my son, Prince Ryden.”
A hard knot formed instantly in Mariselle’s stomach, dread washing through her veins like ice water. She did indeed know the prince, though not in the way the High Lady must surely be imagining. She lifted her gaze and saw him approaching from a side path. Tall, with midnight-blue hair and skin several shades darker than his mother’s. He moved with the casual grace of someone who had never needed to worry about being judged for their posture or deportment.
“Your Highness,” Mariselle said, rising to curtsy while her heart continued racing in her chest. She had nothing to worry about, she assured herself as Evryn bowed beside her. Prince Ryden would reveal nothing. He had as much to lose as she and Evryn did.
“Mother,” the prince greeted, dropping into a chair with none of the formality one might expect from a prince. He stretched his long legs before him and suppressed a yawn that seemed deliberately provocative.
“I wonder, my dear,” the High Lady said, her serene expression unchanged despite her son’s casual disregard for etiquette, “have you met Lord Evryn Rowanwood and Lady Mariselle Brightcrest?”
The prince’s gaze swept over them both, and Mariselle held her breath. His eyes—the same ink-blue as his mother’s—betrayed not a flicker of recognition.
“No, Mother,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “You keep me caged here like some exotic bird, so of course I’ve never met these people.” He straightened slightly, his posture still relaxed but his attention more focused. “But I’m well aware of the notorious rivalry between these two families, and the fact that two of their offspring now find themselves romantically entangled …” A slow grin spread across his face. “Well, I have to say, it’s the most entertaining thing I’ve heard this Season.”
Mariselle worked hard to keep her smile to herself, inwardly acknowledging that Prince Ryden could pull off an act even better than she could. His performance was flawless—the bored royal prince, entirely unacquainted with the wilder elements of Bloomhaven society.
“Ryden,” the High Lady muttered, the serene mask of her features slipping just enough to reveal a flash of maternal displeasure. “Your observations, while perhaps accurate, lack the diplomacy one expects from someone of your station.”
“Forgive me for speaking plainly in your exalted presence,” Prince Rydenreplied, not sounding remotely contrite. His mother’s lips thinned slightly before her composure returned in full.
“I believe I’ve kept you both long enough,” she said, turning back to Mariselle and Evryn with a gracious smile that made the previous tension seem imagined. “I have matters requiring my attention, and you must have much to discuss regarding your future together.” She rose, and Mariselle and Evryn immediately followed suit, Mariselle acutely aware that neither she nor Evryn had taken so much as a sip of the tea that now cooled in their untouched cups. “This has been a most illuminating conversation. Your connection is quite remarkable.” A smile curved her lips. “In fact, I believe it deserves proper recognition. I shall host an engagement ball in your honor, here at Solstice Hall.”
Mariselle blinked, hoping she had misheard. “An engagement ball, Your Grace?” she repeated faintly.
“Indeed,” the High Lady confirmed. “We shall celebrate your newfound love for each other with the entirety of Bloomhaven in attendance.” Prince Ryden coughed loudly, pounding his chest with his fist several times before finally clearing his throat with dramatic emphasis. His mother directed a withering glance at him before returning her attention to Mariselle and Evryn. “It will be the event of the Season.”
Mariselle fought to keep her dismay from showing on her face. She had anticipated curiosity when news of their engagement spread, but not this level of attention. Not a royal celebration that would make their charade the focal point of the entire Season.
