Beside him sat Crispin Ironvale, his posture as impeccable as ever, one eyebrow already arched in what Evryn recognized as his expression of profound skepticism. The chair nearest the entrance was occupied by Evryn’s oldest friend, Findrin Thornhart. He leaned forward to clap Evryn on the shoulder as Evryn sank into the remaining chair. “You came after all.”
“We thought perhaps you’d eloped,” Crispin remarked dryly. “Given the extraordinary nature of the gossip flying about town today.”
“Or that the lovely Lady Brightcrest had come to her senses and strangled you,” Ryden added with a grin.
Evryn forced a smile. “Your concern is touching,” he said, reaching for the decanter and pouring himself a generous measure. “Though I’m disappointed no one has offered congratulations on my impending nuptials.”
“It’s true, then?” Fin asked, his eyes never leaving Evryn’s face. “The rumors claim you’ve somehow formed asoulbondwith Lady Mariselle Brightcrest, of all people.”
Evryn took a slow sip of his drink, allowing the liquid to burn a path down his throat as he considered his response. This was the moment, the first test of his resolve to maintain this charade even with his closest friends. He set down his glass and spread his lips into what he hoped resembled a lovesick grin. “It’s true,” he confirmed, the words nearly sticking in his throat. “Though I admit it came as quite a shock to us both.”
Ryden hooted with laughter. “I told you!” he exclaimed, turning to Crispin with evident delight. “I witnessed it with my own eyes this afternoon, but Ironvale refused to believe me.”
“You’ll forgive my skepticism,” Crispin replied, still staring at Evryn as though he’d sprouted a second head. “I was genuinely hoping it was another of His Royal Abstruseness’s ridiculous jests.”
Ryden snorted at the latest nickname.
“It does seem rather implausible,” Fin observed, his gaze disconcertingly perceptive. “Are you certain this is genuine? Do you actually feel …” He hesitated, grimacing slightly.“Love?”
Evryn’s heart stuttered, but he maintained his expression with the ease of long practice. “It’s not like falling in love normally, if that’s what you mean,” he replied. “It’s a soulbond—some greater magic beyond my control. One moment we were arguing, and the next I was overcome by …” His cheeks flushed as he scrambled for words that might sound convincing. Damn Mariselle Brightcrest for putting him in this absurd position. “Feelings,” he finished lamely. “I’m still adapting to the sensation of loving a Brightcrest.” He emphasized the family name, hoping to deflect their scrutiny toward the obvious source of tension. “My family is … less than pleased.”
“I should think not,” Crispin said with feeling. “The Rowanwoods and Brightcrests have been at odds since before any of us were born. It’s not merely a social preference. There’s genuine animosity there, deeply rooted in historical wrongs.”
Evryn heard again his grandmother’s words from that morning:Your grandfather’s brother isdeadbecause of that family!She had to have been exaggerating, surely? Caught up in the heightened emotions of the moment. That was probably why she had refused to say anything further when pressed for details.
With his friends’ gazes still on him, Evryn extended his right arm and pushed back his sleeve to reveal the silvery pattern that curled around his wrist. “Magic, it seems, cares little for family feuds.”
Fin leaned forward to examine the mark, his brow furrowed in concentration. “A soulbond,” he murmured. “I’d never heard of such a thing before the gossip birds began shrieking the word about town this morning.”
“Neither had I,” Crispin admitted, leaning forward as well.
“My mother has mentioned them,” Ryden confirmed, giving the mark only a passing glance before leaning back in his chair. “Though I admit I’d never given them any thought before today.”
“Nor I,” Evryn said with a rueful chuckle. “Yet here we are.”
“So tell me,” Ryden said, crossing his legs at the ankles as he leaned further back in his chair, “how exactly does one transition from ‘I loathe everything about you’ to ‘you’re the love of my existence’ in the space of a few moments?”
“Magic, of course,” Evryn replied dryly, withdrawing his arm as Fin and Crispin sat back.
“Fascinating,” Crispin deadpanned as he reached for his half-full glass and brought it toward his lips. “Do elaborate on this sophisticated courtship strategy.”
“I believe it went something like: ‘Brightcrest, you insufferable menace—oh wait, you have rather lovely eyes—shall we marry?’”
Crispin nearly choked on his drink. “Please tell me you didn’t actually say that.”
“Of course not. I was far more eloquent.”
“He probably quoted terrible poetry,” Ryden said.
“I’ll have you know my poetry is exceptional,” Evryn said.
“Exceptionally awful, I’m sure,” Ryden snorted.
Fin caught Evryn’s eye but said nothing. He was the only one among them who knew of Evryn’s private writings. Not the satirical pieces published under his pseudonym, but some of his other scribblings, as well as the raw verses he occasionally composed. Fin had discovered them purely by accident one evening in Evryn’s study at Rowanwood House. He’d called them ‘surprisingly insightful’ and encouraged Evryn to continue, while Evryn had wished fervently for the floor to swallow him whole.
“And now there’s to be an engagement ball tomorrow night?” Fin said, moving the conversation deftly away from Evryn’s poetry skills. “Hosted by the High Lady herself? A herald pixie arrived at Thornhart House this afternoon, riding one of those oversized dragonflies they use for formal announcements.”
“Ironvale Manor received the same,” Crispin confirmed. “I initially dismissed it as an elaborate prank orchestrated by our royal friend here.”
