Unease crossed Iris’s features. “It … I … really can’t say.”
Evryn sat forward. “Even if I ask very nicely?”
She sighed. “You should ask your grandmother. It isn’t my place to come between the two of you.”
He slumped back in his chair. “I can imagine how well that conversation will go.”
She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Yes. So can I.” Her fingers twisted together in her lap, and she seemed to be searching for a safe topic to navigate away from dangerous waters. “Will you be at the art exhibition this evening?”
Oh. The Emberdales’ art exhibition and auction. Evryn had forgotten about it entirely. “Uh, yes. Nothing quite like an evening of pretentious artistic analysis to follow a morning of family drama. I’m positively giddy with anticipation.”
Iris laughed. “Indeed. Well, it shall be my first time attending. I’ll see you there.” She rose from her chair and moved toward the door, then hesitated at the threshold. Her hand rested on the doorframe as she turned back. “Do you truly love Lady Mariselle?”
The directness of the question caught Evryn off guard. He scrambled toassemble the practiced response he’d delivered countless times over the past days, but found the words sticking in his throat under Iris’s sincere gaze.
“It’s … complicated,” he managed finally. “But the bond is real.” That much was true, at least, even if the magical binding that tethered him to Mariselle was certainly not the romantic connection Iris believed him to be referencing.
“I see,” she said, and Evryn had the disturbing sense that shedidsee. If not the full truth, then perhaps some of it. He shifted uncomfortably in the armchair, but Iris merely inclined her head in his direction and said, “I wish you a good day, Evryn. And try not to let your grandmother’s resistance trouble you too deeply. I believe all will work out as it should.”
She slipped from the room before he could formulate a response. After a moment, Evryn nodded to himself, finding peculiar comfort in her final words. Indeed, all would work out as it should—with Mariselle and himself eventually freed from their charade, the contract broken, and natural order restored. Rowanwoods and Brightcrests would return to their comfortable antipathy, precisely as they were meant to be.
Chapter Twelve
Mariselle stood slightlybehind her mother and sister as they glided through the entrance of the Emberdale Estate, her shoulders back and her expression perfectly composed, a small embroidered reticule clutched in one gloved hand. The Annual Enchanted Arts Exhibition & Auction was one of the most anticipated events of the Season, drawing most of Bloomhaven’s elite society—which meant that even feuding families must endure each other’s proximity for the sake of appearances.
Dusk sprites darted through the air, providing subtle ambient lighting, and crystal chimes suspended from the vaulted ceiling tinkled faintly. “How … enthusiastic the Emberdales are this year,” Lady Clemenbell observed, her tone suggesting that enthusiasm was a rather vulgar quality. She cast a critical glance around the grand foyer, where multiple provocative displays of entwined figures had already drawn scandalized gasps from several matrons, who furiously fluttered their fans while simultaneously leaning closer for a better view. “Though perhaps they might have consulted someone with more refined aesthetic sensibilities for the arrangements.”
“Indeed,” Ellowa agreed, sniffing disdainfully. “Oh!” She jumped slightly as the nearest sculpture—a pair of nymphs—shifted fluidly before their eyes, the figures separating and becoming two winged feline creatures.
Mariselle kept her silence as she followed her mother and sister into the main gallery, though she wondered why the moving sculpture had surprised Ellowa. The invitation had quite clearly announced ‘Transformative Sculptures: Magic in Motion’ as this year’s theme. One could hardly expect stationary art at an event specifically celebrating magical metamorphosis.
As they entered the main exhibition hall, Mariselle’s gaze swept across the assembled guests, automatically seeking those to avoid. The Rowanwoods would be present, of course. The Emberdales maintained cordial relations with both families, positioning themselves as neutral territory within Bloomhaven’s complex social landscape. Her mother and sister would no doubt keep their distance from the Rowanwoods, though Mariselle herself could hardly maintain her usual strategy of pretending they didn’t exist. It would appear decidedly odd for the soulbonded bride-to-be to avoid her betrothed, especially after the gossip birds had broadcast across Bloomhaven how the enamored couple could scarcely keep their hands from one another at the High Lady’s ball.
Across the gallery, pairs of ladies strolled arm-in-arm between the exhibits, their heads inclined toward one another in confidential conversation. Two sisters from the Windvalley family laughed softly as they gestured toward a sculpture of a pegasus whose marble mane moved inexplicably in an invisible breeze, while the Mosswood cousins pointed at an elaborate metal construction of hummingbirds, all joined at their wingtips, that morphed seamlessly into a collection of metal butterflies and then back again in an endless enchanted cycle.
Something in Mariselle’s chest tightened at the sight of this easy camaraderie, the quiet intimacy of shared experience between young ladies who genuinely delighted in one another’s company rather than merely tolerating each other’s presence. She glanced at Ellowa, whose golden head was tilted critically as she examined an exceptionally tall stone statue of an elf. On rare occasions, Ellowa would draw Mariselle close like this, linking their arms as they moved through social gatherings, though typically only when she wished to share cutting observations about someone’s appearance or behavior without being overheard. Still, perhaps tonight might be different. Perhaps they might actually discuss the art itself.
Tentatively, Mariselle shifted closer to her sister, her hand half-raised totouch Ellowa’s elbow. But before she could complete the gesture, a dusk sprite drifted too near Ellowa’s carefully arranged curls. Ellowa swatted sharply at the creature with a sound of disgust, the unexpected movement causing Mariselle to step back instinctively.
As she retreated, her gaze landed on a familiar figure across the room. Evryn Rowanwood stood with his mother near a sculpture of a golden stag, his expression unreadable as he watched Mariselle. How long had he been observing? Had he witnessed her pathetic attempt to win her sister’s attention? Heat crawled up her neck, but she refused to show embarrassment. She lifted her chin, arranging her features into her most imperious expression before turning away, as though she’d merely happened to glance in his general direction and found nothing worth her continued attention.
The sight of him reminded her of the small gift nestled inside her reticule, a token she had carefully selected after much deliberation. A small smile curved her lips. She would find the right moment to present it to him, a carefully calculated gesture to further their charade.
“Mother,” Ellowa murmured with sudden urgency, her voice dropping to that particular pitch she reserved for social emergencies, “I’ve just spotted Lady Lelianna Rowanwood and that insufferable peacock Mariselle has stupidly bound herself to across the room. Perhaps we should proceed to the east gallery? I’d hate for us to be forced into awkward pleasantries.”
Mariselle looked over her shoulder and spotted Lady Lelianna saying something to Evryn while making subtle motions with her head toward the Brightcrests. Oh dear.
“Yes, quite right,” Lady Clemenbell replied with a barely perceptible nod. “We shall remove ourselves immediately. Come along, girls.” She gathered her skirts, already shifting her trajectory toward the adjoining room.
Mariselle trailed behind as they processed toward the east gallery, wondering idly if the Rowanwoods and Brightcrests would ever actually acknowledge each other’s existence in public, or if they would continue this elaborate dance of avoidance until the end of days. It was almost comical how two families could occupy the same social spaces for generations without ever directly interacting.
“Lady Mariselle!”
Mariselle stopped at the sound of the familiar voice behind her. Turning, she found Evryn and his mother approaching, the former with a besottedsmile that appeared strained at the corners, the latter with polite curiosity painted on her features.
“Mother,” Mariselle began in an urgent whisper, turning back, “I don’t believe I can avoid?—”
But it was too late. Her mother and sister had already glided through the doorway into the next gallery, disappearing into the crowd with remarkable speed that belied their usual dignified pace. They had abandoned her without a backward glance.
