A prickle of awareness crawled up her spine as her gaze traveled back to where it had begun, and—Oh.A shiver of apprehension darted up Mariselle’s spine. For there in the private alcove, seated in solitary splendor on the chair that had previously been vacant, was Lady Rivenna Rowanwood.
Their eyes met across the intervening space, and Mariselle felt as though she’d been caught in the focused beam of a magnifying glass held to sunlight. Refusing to be intimidated, however, she lifted her chin a fraction higher, offering a polite smile that deliberately failed to reach her eyes. Lady Rivenna’s only response was a slight narrowing of her gaze, as though Mariselle were a puzzle she found both tiresome and intriguing.
Neither woman looked away. The silent standoff continued, a wordless battle of wills conducted through the tea house air. Mariselle folded her hands primly in her lap, maintaining steady eye contact despite the thundering of her heart. She had been raised to hold her own in social warfare, after all.
Lady Rivenna’s eyes narrowed further, genuine affront crossing her features when Mariselle refused to be the first to look away. The tea house itself seemed to grow still around them, as though holding its breath in anticipation.
After what felt like an eternity but could only have been a minute, Lady Rivenna rose with regal dignity and began approaching. Mariselle’s heart leaped into her throat. It was one thing to maintain eye contact across the room; it was quite another to face Lady Rivenna Rowanwood directly. Every bit of proper upbringing insisted she show respect to this older woman, regardless of family animosity.
As Lady Rivenna reached her table, Mariselle stood and dipped into a respectful curtsy. “My lady,” she murmured.
Without a word, Lady Rivenna settled herself elegantly into the chair opposite. Mariselle hesitated a moment, then reseated herself, awaiting whatever would come next.
For several heartbeats, Lady Rivenna simply studied her, continuing their silent assessment. Then, with deliberate slowness, she spoke. “Lady. Mariselle. Brightcrest.” Each word fell between them like a stone dropped into still water.
“Yes, my lady,” Mariselle replied, pleased that her voice emerged steady.
“I find myself in the unprecedented position of hosting a Brightcrest in my establishment,” Lady Rivenna observed, her tone glacial. “A situation I never anticipated—nor desired.”
“Your grandson extended the invitation,” Mariselle said, matching the older woman’s formal cadence. “I would not wish to disappoint him.”
“No, I imagine you wouldn’t.” Lady Rivenna’s gaze sharpened. “What manner of enchantment did you use?”
Mariselle blinked, feigning confusion. “I beg your pardon?”
“On my grandson,” Lady Rivenna clarified. “What manner of magic did you employ to create this false connection between you?”
Heat flared in Mariselle’s cheeks—half indignation, half terror that thetruth might somehow be discerned. “I assure you, my lady, I employed no enchantment whatsoever. The mark that binds us formed of its own accord.”
“Curious,” Lady Rivenna replied, clearly unconvinced. “How extraordinary that such a phenomenon—so rare that many have lived entire lifetimes without encountering a single instance—should suddenly manifest between two people whose families have been bitter enemies for generations. A remarkable coincidence, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Magic works in mysterious ways, does it not?” Mariselle said, her tone deliberately light.
“Do not offer me such vapid platitudes, child. I cannot yet discern the precise nature of your scheme, but I recognize artifice when I see it. Make no mistake, Lady Mariselle. Whatever this binding truly is, I will see it severed before I allow this absurdity to continue.”
“Absurdity? You doubt our connection?” Mariselle asked, managing to sound wounded rather than alarmed.
“Yes,” Lady Rivenna said bluntly. “Your connection is complete nonsense, a mockery of genuine bonds that offends anyone with even a modicum of sense.”
“The High Lady seemed quite pleased by it,” Mariselle countered in her politest voice. “But I’m sure you are not suggesting that the High Lady herself is lacking in sense.”
An expression of absolute outrage flashed across Lady Rivenna’s features, her lips pressing into a thin white line as she realized the trap Mariselle had so neatly laid. “You will not marry my grandson,” she said. “There will be no Rowanwood-Brightcrest union. That is all there is to it.” She rose from her seat with the same regal dignity that had accompanied her arrival. “Enjoy your tea.”
With that, she departed, not toward her previous table but through a door that presumably led to the kitchen. Mariselle released a breath, her hands trembling slightly as she smoothed her skirts.
From her peripheral vision, she noted that Iris had quietly taken Lady Rivenna’s vacated place in the private alcove, a notebook open before her. Unlike her formidable grandmother-in-law, Iris did not stare; instead, she bent over her notebook, quill moving across the page.
As she attempted to compose herself, a young woman approached her table—human, with soft brown skin and expressive eyes that widenedfractionally in recognition. Mariselle placed her immediately: Lucie Fields, younger daughter of the dressmaker the Brightcrests steadfastly refused to patronize, whom she and Ellowa had publicly mocked on more than one occasion.
“Your tea, my lady,” Lucie said, quickly averting her gaze as she set down a delicate silver tray bearing a porcelain teapot adorned with hand-painted butterflies and two matching cups. “The tea house has selected a rare duskmint-vanilla infusion for you. An unusual choice that happens to be among Lord Evryn’s preferred blends. I believe you’ll find it both calming and restorative.”
“Oh, thank you.” Guilt twisted in Mariselle’s stomach as she recalled the cutting remarks she’d made at this girl’s expense. Remarks that had drawn delighted laughter from Ellowa and her circle. She should apologize, as she had to Iris the night before.
But before she could muster a response, Lucie had already retreated, leaving Mariselle alone with the fragrant tea. She watched until Lucie disappeared beyond the door Lady Rivenna had vanished through, then turned her attention to the teapot. Her brows drew together in suspicion. Would Lady Rivenna stoop so low as to poison a guest in her own establishment? It seemed unlikely, yet Mariselle couldn’t shake her wariness.
“Lady Mariselle,” said a familiar voice, and Mariselle looked up to find Evryn standing beside her table, a strained smile stretching his lips. He made a show of bowing gallantly before taking the seat Lady Rivenna had vacated.
“I do apologize for my tardiness,” he said in a low voice as he leaned closer, eyes flashing dangerously. “I was detained by an unexpected affliction I appear unable to free myself from. Perhaps you might enlighten me as to why I find myself incapable of maintaining a normal conversation without being overcome by—Your golden hair, a cascade of light, sets my poor heart afire at night. I dream of braiding it into a rope, and swinging from it, shrieking with?—”
