“Rosavyn,” Lady Lelianna admonished gently.
“Forgive me, Mother,” Rosavyn replied, not sounding remotely contrite. “I simply find it remarkable how my ordinarily courtship-averse brother has transformed into this lovesick shadow of himself. And all because of a—” She caught herself, but the word ‘Brightcrest’ hung unspoken in the air.
Mariselle took a measured sip of her tea, refusing to rise to the bait. It was hardly a surprise that Evryn’s sister should dislike her. In addition to the longstanding animosity between their families, it appeared that Rosavyn was a good friend of Iris’s, and she would no doubt have been aware that Mariselle had cruelly taunted her the previous Season.
“I understand the soulbond manifested during the Opening Ball at Solstice Hall,” Kazrian interjected suddenly, leaning forward in his seat. “Was there a particular astronomical alignment that evening? I’ve been researching celestial convergences and their effects on spontaneous magical manifestations.”
Mariselle blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt change in subject. “I … couldn’t say,” she replied. “I wasn’t precisely observing the stars at the time.”
“Of course not.” Kazrian nodded. “You were focused on the immediate phenomenon. Could you perhaps tell me about?—”
“Kazrian,” Evryn sighed, “must you approach everything like a scientific inquiry? Even matters of the heart?”
“Especially matters of the heart!” Kazrian insisted. “The intersection of emotion and magic is woefully understudied. And when you factor in the possibility of some form of cosmic confluence?—”
“I’m fairly certain it wasn’t related to the alignment of Junivar with the fifth moon of Thackersberry,” Rosavyn interrupted dryly.
“There is no fifth moon of Thackersberry,” Kazrian replied with equal dryness.
“Snizzleberry?” she asked.
“Rosavyn.”
“I could have sworn you were prattling on about some form of celestialberryat dinner last night.”
“I believe it was a Bumbleberry,” Evryn offered with a straight face.
“Ah, yes, that was it,” Rosavyn said. “You gave us an entire speech about Professor Lumenwright’s observations regarding the twenty-seventh moon of Winkleberry.”
Poor Kazrian dragged a hand over his face, and Mariselle couldn’t help herself. A most undignified snort of laughter escaped her before she could suppress it. The room fell silent, all eyes turning toward her in surprise. Rosavyn, in particular, stared as though Mariselle had suddenly sprouted wings.
“I beg your pardon,” Mariselle said quickly, mortified by her lapse in decorum. “It’s just—Thackersberry? Snizzleberry? These sound like names one might encounter in a children’s nursery rhyme.”
Rosavyn’s lips twitched. “Indeed. ‘The gnome from Thackersberry, whose nose was extraordinarily hairy,’” she improvised, her tone mockingly pompous. “‘He sneezed with such might, he took sudden flight, and now orbits the sun quite contrary.’”
Mariselle’s composure cracked entirely, genuine laughter bubbling up as she pictured the absurd image. “Can you imagine the professor’s reaction? ‘Most extraordinary! A gnome-shaped celestial body with unusual nasal properties!’”
Rosavyn’s own laughter joined hers—a bright, unexpected sound that transformed her features from guarded hostility to unabashed amusement. For a brief, disorienting moment, Mariselle forgot she was supposed to be maintaining careful distance from these people. She lifted her teacup, hoping to compose her expression behind it.
“Charming, Rosavyn,” Kazrian said with brotherly exasperation.
“Indeed,” Evryn said to his sister. “I believe you’ll find that you and Lady Mariselle share an appreciation for terrible poetry.”
Mariselle choked on her tea. Evryn’s hand moved immediately to her back, patting it a fraction too forcefully while giving her a look of mild concern. “Are you quite all right, dearest?”
“Perfectly fine,” she said hoarsely. Her gaze darted back to Rosavyn, whose frozen expression suggested she’d just remembered precisely who she was laughing with and found the idea of having anything in common with a Brightcrest horrifying.
“I believe,” Lady Lelianna interjected gently, though her eyes sparkled with barely suppressed mirth, “we have strayed rather far from polite tea conversation.”
“Perhaps,” Aurelise suggested after a pause, “we might discuss something more pleasant than Kazrian’s theories? Lady Mariselle, do you have any particular interests or pastimes you enjoy?”
Mariselle hesitated. Her first instinct was to manufacture some appropriate feminine pursuit—embroidery, perhaps, or watercolors. But something about Aurelise’s seemingly genuine interest made her pause. What could she safely reveal? Certainly not her nighttime pegasus rides, nor her illicit racing against their very own brother.
“I … enjoy sketching,” she admitted finally, surprising herself with the honesty. “Though I’m absolutely dreadful at it.”
Evryn glanced at her, brows arching slightly. He probably thought she was lying.
“I have journals filled with these terrible drawings,” she continued, feeling oddly vulnerable. “I’m forever trying to capture scenes from my imagination, but they never come out right. It’s quite embarrassing, actually.”
