The evening’s entertainment had proceeded, with his grandmother presenting each guest with a specially prepared teacup before guiding them through the precise ritual of tea leaf reading. She’d moved from person to person with dramatic flourish, examining the patterns left behind and pronouncing fortunes with grand certainty. The room had filled with laughter and delight throughout the performance, everyone understanding it was merely elegant entertainment. The enchanted cups, designed to reveal distinctive patterns, were all part of the orchestrated spectacle.
His grandmother had navigated the room like a queen in her court, utterly in her element and visibly relishing every moment, while pointedly ignoring the presence of a Brightcrest in her hallowed tea house.
Evryn had to admit that he’d barely paid attention to the evening’s theatrics. His mind had been elsewhere, drifting between the unexpected warmth he felt seeing his younger siblings accept Mariselle into their circle, and the persistent memories of the previous night, when he had somehow found himself inside Mariselle’s dream.
Dream sharing.
The term had surfaced in his mind the moment she’d explained what was happening. He’d heard her brother Alaryn Brightcrest mention it once, describing it as some sort of intimate joining of minds, possible when at least one of a pair of people possessed any sort of dream-related magic.
Indeed, Evryn had felt a connection to her unlike anything he’d experienced before. The walls between them had fallen away, and he’d wanted nothing more than to lay bare his very soul to her. She had revealed parts of herself, too—the real Mariselle beneath the cold Brightcrest exterior. There had been something genuine between them, a connection that had felt profound and real.
But now, in the jarring lucidity of the waking world, doubt crept in. How much of that connection had been real, and how much had been the effect of dream sharing itself? Perhaps the intimacy he’d felt was merely the nature of the experience, nothing more. The thought left an unexpected hollow feeling in his chest.
Across the table, his mother leaned in to contribute to the animated conversation between Kazrian, Rosavyn and Aurelise, her eyes alight withmerriment. Jasvian, seated on Evryn’s other side, remained apart from their lively exchange, though his face was notably free of its habitual stern expression. Like Evryn, he seemed content merely to observe the proceedings with quiet interest.
Throughout the evening, Evryn had not failed to notice how his brother occasionally lifted his gaze to seek out Iris—who was attending their grandmother this evening—until his eyes landed on her. The two had already exchanged multiple soft glances and secret smiles. There was a time when Evryn might have regarded such sentiments with inward derision, but now … Well. Now he found himself possessed of altogether different feelings on the matter.
Evryn turned, intending to draw his brother into conversation, only to start slightly upon discovering that Jasvian had been regarding him with a thoughtful expression.
“Your affection for her is real,” Jasvian said.
Evryn blinked, taken aback by this sudden declaration.
“For Lady Mariselle,” Jasvian confirmed, as if there might be someone else present whom Evryn had so-called ‘real affection’ for. Evryn was about to protest before remembering that he was supposed to be maintaining the pretense of utter adoration for her.
Mariselle chose that moment to turn her head in their direction, perhaps because she’d heard her name. She smiled, a brief question in her gaze, before returning her attention to the other side of the table.
Jasvian gestured with his head toward a quieter corner of the main floor, near the stairs that led to the tea house’s upper level. “Walk with me?”
Evryn hesitated for a moment, wondering if perhaps he should remain with Mariselle, but she appeared perfectly at ease in the company of his family. He nodded, and the two of them stood.
“They seem to be getting along rather well,” Jasvian said as they crossed the room, apparently having had the same thought Evryn had just had.
“Much to Grandmother’s chagrin, I’m sure,” Evryn replied.
A small laugh escaped Jasvian. “She’ll survive the shock.”
“Will she?” Evryn asked, his tone light though the question was in earnest. “I have my doubts.”
“I believe she will. Lady Mariselle is … not exactly what any of us believed her to be. I suspect even Grandmother might soften given some time in her presence.”
But therein lay the difficulty—getting Grandmother to remain in Mariselle’s presence for longer than it took to execute a dismissive sniff.
They reached the corner and came to a stop. “I confess I’m rather surprised myself by the way this has all turned out,” Jasvian said. “When you first announced your supposed magical binding to Mariselle Brightcrest, something felt distinctly … off. As though you were performing a role rather than experiencing it. It was as if you were trying to convinceyourselfof the connection as much as you were trying to persuade us.”
“Oh, but Idogive such a convincing performance,” Evryn said, automatically conjuring his usual armor of theatrical charm. “You should’ve seen the reviews. There was rapturous applause and one particularly enthusiastic pigeon threw a flower.”
Jasvian regarded him with exasperation. “Evryn. Is it impossible for you to engage sincerely when the conversation turns to something of actual significance? This is your future we’re speaking of. Your happiness.”
Evryn spread his arms and gave an exaggerated bow. “Do I not look the very picture of happiness? Positively radiant, if I do say so myself.”
Jasvian stepped a little closer, his eyes narrowing. Not in irritation, but in quiet scrutiny. The kind that made Evryn feel, uncomfortably, as though he were being read like one of his own manuscripts.
“Yes,” Jasvian said softly. “That’s what I mean. Youdolook like the picture of happiness. Because of a Brightcrest. Which—frankly—borders on unbelievable.”
Evryn’s smile dimmed. He inhaled slowly and took a step back, lowering himself to sit on one of the worn steps that led up to the study, elbows resting on his knees. He stared at the floorboards for a moment, gathering his thoughts.
He wished he could speak the truth. He wished he could explain that this was all an act, that Jasvian has never had anything to worry about, that it would soon be over. And he wished he could somehow express the deeper truth that lay beneath the facade—that he might notwantit to be over.
