“Stop it,” she whispered, fighting her own amusement. “It’s dreadfully impolite.”
“I’m merely appreciating his … unique interpretation,” Evryn whispered back, still not looking at her.
“His unique attempt to murder that poor composition, you mean.”
A snort of laughter escaped him, quickly disguised as a cough. Several heads turned in their direction, and Mariselle adopted an expression of concerned attention as she patted Evryn’s arm solicitously.
“Perhaps some water, my love?” she suggested, loud enough to be overheard.
“I’ll be fine, my precious pearl,” he replied, matching her volume. “Simply overcome by the moving performance.”
When the Bridgemere boy finally concluded his assault on musical sensibilities, Mariselle joined in the polite applause with perhaps more enthusiasm than warranted, relieved the ordeal had ended.
Evryn leaned in until his lips nearly brushed her ear. “I’m beginning to think we should reconsider Aurelise’s participation tonight. Far from beneficial exposure, this display might actively corrupt her musical sensibilities.”
A quiet laugh bubbled up from Mariselle’s throat before she could contain it as she inclined her head in agreement. In that moment of conspiracy, she almost forgot they were meant to be pretending.
A subtle shift in the atmosphere drew her attention toward the entrance, where a ripple of whispers and movement indicated the arrival of someone significant. Mariselle turned to look, her breath catching slightly as she recognized the newcomers—the High Lady herself, accompanied by Prince Ryden.
She moved through the room with effortless grace, acknowledging greetings with regal nods as she made her way toward the seat that had evidently been reserved for her near the front. Her son followed in her wake, his posture relaxed yet somehow still managing to convey the proper deference to his mother’s position.
“I wouldn’t have thought the High Lady would be interested in attending a private musicale,” Marisela said under her breath.
“Nor I,” Evryn replied. “Though it’s clear she was invited, and I supposed she does occasionally grace certain events with her presence if she finds them of interest.”
As the High Lady seated herself, Ryden continued a few steps further, coming to a halt beside Evryn’s chair.
“Rowanwood,” he greeted quietly, his tone casual. “Mind if I join you?”
“Your Highness,” Evryn replied with a slight nod. “Not at all.”
The prince dropped into the empty chair on Evryn’s other side, stretching out his long legs with a sigh. “Mother insisted I accompany her tonight,” he explained in a low voice. “Apparently, my continued absence from ‘appropriate social engagements’ has become concerning.”
“How fortunate for us all,” Evryn remarked.
“Lady Brightcrest,” the prince acknowledged, leaning forward slightly to catch her eye. “You’re looking well. The blue hair is an interesting choice. I approve, of course.” He gestured to his own midnight-toned hair.
“Thank you, Your Highness. It’s a cleverly disguised enchantment that reduces wind resistance during high-speed flight,” she added without missing a beat. “I look forward to putting it to use during our next race.”
“Ah, yes, we’ve missed your presence in our nocturnal adventures,” Ryden said with a roguish grin. “Particularly the delightful spectacle of Rowanwood’s wounded pride whenever you best him.”
“It was only three times,” Evryn muttered. “Hardly worth mentioning.”
“Four,” Mariselle corrected sweetly. “And once the whirlwind of wedding preparations subsides, I intend to make it five. Savor your temporary reprieve, gentlemen.”
Lady Bridgemere had returned to the platform, hands clasped dramatically at her breast as she gushed about the unprecedented honor of the High Lady’s attendance. Mariselle settled back in her chair, half listening as the conversation between Evryn and the prince continued in hushed tones beside her.
“Speaking of wedding preparations,” Ryden continued, “are they progressing to your satisfaction? Mother keeps asking for details, as if I’m somehow privy to your intimate affairs.”
“Everything is proceeding splendidly,” Evryn replied.
Ryden leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Count yourself fortunate, then. At least you no longer have to concern yourself with finding a wife.”
“Still being pressured to make a match?” Evryn asked quietly as movement on the other side of the room signaled the next musician was coming forward.
“Increasingly so,” Ryden replied, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Mother has hinted that this may be my last Season of freedom before she presents me with an ultimatum. ‘Choose someone suitable, or I shall choose for you,’ I imagine she’ll say.”
There was genuine frustration in his voice, his mask of irreverence slipping in the presence of his close friend. Mariselle’s gaze slid back to him with curiosity just as he tilted his head and added, “Is that your sister, Rowanwood?”
