“Everything that happened at dinner,” he said slowly.
Mariselle waved a dismissive hand, another light laugh escaping her. “Oh, that was nothing. I’ve survived far worse, believe me.”
The casual way she said it, the matter-of-fact acceptance in her voice, made something twist inside him. He watched as she straightened her shoulders almost imperceptibly, her chin lifting a fraction higher in what he now recognized as a defensive posture.
“I should thank you,” she added, still not quite meeting his gaze, “for your defense of me at the dinner table. You played your part admirably.”
Played his part. As though every word hadn’t been absolutely sincere.
“My grandmother was supposed to attend this evening,” she continued, smoothly changing the subject. “But it seems my mother conveniently ‘forgot’ to send the invitation and only informed me of this tonight.” A small,rueful smile curved her lips. “They would have been a little … different in her presence.”
“I’m sorry,” Evryn said quietly.
“Oh, no, I’m the one who should apologize for subjecting you to that dreadful ordeal. I’ve grown accustomed to the barbs and slights, but you …” She shook her head, giving him a look of playful sympathy. “Well, I don’t suppose you’ve ever had to endure anything quite so unpleasant at Rowanwood House. You may have to take a few drops of Dream-Bright Elixir tonight to ward off the nightmares.”
Evryn couldn’t bring himself to match her attempt at levity. Though he was intimately familiar with using humor to dance away from anything serious—had built his entire social persona around never allowing a sincere moment to linger too long—there was something profoundly wrong about allowing her to minimize what he’d witnessed.
“Mariselle …” he said quietly, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the right words, unwilling to simply let the moment pass yet uncertain how to navigate these unfamiliar emotional waters.
Then he remembered the folded slip of parchment he’d tucked into his waistcoat pocket earlier, the delicate gift wrapped carefully inside. For a moment, he hesitated, suddenly and oddly shy about the gesture. Up until this moment, he hadn’t been entirely certain he would give it to her.
He’d woken that morning with fragments of the previous night’s musicale still playing through his mind. He’d dreamed of how they’d sat side by side, his hand over hers, though in his dream, she hadn’t been wearing a glove. Instead, he’d been able to trace his finger over the gleaming silver patterns of the marking on her skin.
In the dream, those delicate lines had felt warm beneath his touch, almost alive with magic. She’d turned her hand over and laced her fingers through his, palm to palm. He’d looked up then, startled by the intimacy of the gesture, wanting to see her face—but the moment of startled awareness had shattered the dream, waking him and leaving him strangely curious about what expression he might have found in her eyes.
After waking, his thoughts had circled inevitably to the evening ahead—her birthday dinner. The realization that he should give her a gift had struck him with unexpected force. The thought had immediately conjured memories of their various mischievous gifts—the embarrassing poetry book, thebracelet that had turned her hair that remarkable shade of blue—but this time felt different. This time, he wanted to offer something genuine, something unmarked by their usual need to maintain the upper hand. A gift that might actually mean something to her.
In a moment of inspiration, he’d risen from his bed and crossed to the writing desk positioned near his window. He’d taken the piece of lumyrite he’d been using as a paperweight and let it soften in his palms, his manifested ability glowing faintly beneath his skin.
Now, standing in the Brightcrest dining room with the distant sounds of conversation drifting from the terrace, Evryn withdrew the parchment envelope and extended it toward her. “I almost forgot. I have something for you. A small token.”
Mariselle regarded the slim envelope with a considerable degree of suspicion, her blue eyes narrowing as she made no move to accept it.
“I promise you,” Evryn said, unable to suppress a small smile at her wariness, “this gift is entirely genuine. No colorful hair enchantments or multiplying flowers this time.”
“Forgive me if I find your assurances less than completely reassuring,” she replied dryly, though after another moment’s hesitation, she reached out and took the slip of parchment. “You have something of a reputation for magical mischief.”
“Only when the occasion calls for it,” he murmured, watching as she loosened the parchment folds and let the gift slide into her hand, where it caught the light with a quiet gleam.
Her quiet intake of breath was barely audible, but he caught it nonetheless. On her palm lay a delicate hairpin, its tip adorned with a tiny pegasus no larger than her thumbnail, exquisitely sculpted from faceted lumyrite. The stone shimmered with opalescent light, catching the glow of nearby faelights and scattering it in soft prismatic sparks, as though the creature might take flight at any moment.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Mariselle whispered, lifting the pin with careful fingers and turning it to examine the tiny creation from all angles. “Wait.” She looked up at him. “This is lumyrite. Did you fashion this?”
He nodded. “May I?” he asked softly, stepping closer, one hand rising hesitantly.
She nodded wordlessly, still gazing at the delicate pegasus. He took itfrom her, and she turned her head slightly to the side. As he carefully gathered a section of her azure hair, the intimacy of the gesture struck him unexpectedly—this quiet moment, away from the performance and pretense. He slid the pin into place, taking his time as he adjusted a wayward strand of hair, ensuring the delicate creature was displayed to its best advantage.
“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice rougher than he’d intended as he stepped back.
She looked at him with her head still slightly tilted, a slow, sly smile curving one corner of her lips, and for the first time that evening, Evryn saw a genuine spark of mischief light her eyes. “Please tell me it’s going to neigh loudly every time my mother tries to say something to me. That would be absolute perfection.”
He broke into a grin. “IknewI forgot something. Truly, I’m disappointed in myself.”
“Perhaps there’s still time to?—”
“Mari!” Ellowa’s voice rang out, cutting Mariselle off. “Lord Rowanwood! The dessert is about to be served!”
Mariselle’s smile faded, and as they turned back toward the terrace, Evryn leaned closer and murmured, “If you’d like, I could perform the neighing myself every time your mother opens her mouth.”
