“Where is he?” Mariselle’s father growled. “Where are you hiding him?”
Mariselle took a step forward, confusion giving way to understanding as her mother barged past her father and stalked toward the wardrobe, flinging it open with such force that the doors banged against the wall.
“Mother, there’s no one?—”
“Do not lie to us,” Lady Brightcrest snapped, striding past Mariselle toward the dressing screen. “I know that Rowanwood boy was in here. I heard voices. He—oh!” Her gaze landed on the cleverly arranged pillows beneath the bedcovers. She marched triumphantly past Mariselle and tore the coverlet back?—
Then spun back to Mariselle. “What is this?” she demanded as the disturbed pillows settled.
“Look at yourself,” Lord Brightcrest said in a cold voice. “Your hair is a mess, your gown is wrinkled, and your bed is arranged to give the false impression of a sleeping form. You have clearly been out this evening.Unchaperoned.”
“Father, it isn’t what?—”
“Do not insult our intelligence,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet. “Where were you? With him?”
Mariselle exhaled slowly. She supposed there was no point in denying it. Her appearance along with the pillow arrangement was evidence enough that she had snuck out. “Yes. But nothing?—”
She broke off. She’d been about to assure them that nothing of an improper nature had occurred, but that wasn’t precisely true. If it had been any other night, then perhaps yes. But tonight? Tonight had been very different.
Her father, however, wasn’t about to give her a moment more to come up with an explanation. “This is beyond acceptable behavior!” her father exploded, his face flushing dark with rage. “Sneaking out to rendezvous with a young man, unchaperoned, at this hour? Have you lost all sense of propriety? Of dignity? Was anyone witness to this shameful display? Any of those damned birds? Do you understand what this would do to your reputation—to our family name—if even a whisper of this reached society’s ears? The Brightcrest legacy would be tarnished for generations!”
“N-no, Father, there was no one else present. The family name will?—”
“Thank the stars for small mercies. Now. I met with that Lord Hemenlock this evening,” he continued, his tone clipped. “The lord with the disjuncture manifestation. He believes a soulbond should be no different from other enchantments he’s broken. The procedure will take place the day after tomorrow.”
The world seemed to tilt beneath Mariselle’s feet. “What?”
“You have utterly failed in the one useful task we assigned you—to extract any information that might give us leverage over the Rowanwoods,” her father said with cold dismissal. “Your inability to perform even this simple duty only confirms our judgment. It’s time we sever this abominable connection to that family.”
“But I love him!” Mariselle blurted out.
And unlike the first time she’d uttered those words to her parents in this very room, she now meant them wholly and entirely.
Her father’s expression shifted from anger to disgust. Before she could react, he advanced, hand shooting out, fingers closing around her wrist in a grip so tight she gasped. “Love?” he spat the word. “I told you never to utter that word again in regard to aRowanwood.”
His grip tightened further, sending a pulse of pain up her arm. Mariselle whimpered, trying to pull away, but he held fast, his fingers digging into the delicate bones of her wrist.
“Do you understand me?”
“Father, you’re?—”
“I saiddo you understand me?”
“Let go of me!” she shouted, shoving hard against his chest with her free hand as some spark of defiance that usually sputtered and died in her parents’ presence ignited like a flame.
He released her wrist, the look on his face suggesting it was more from shock than from the force of her push. For a moment, they stared at each other, mutual disbelief hanging in the air between them.
Then his hand came up, fast and merciless, the crack of the slap echoing in the quiet room. The force of the blow sent her stumbling backward, the edge of her bed catching her behind the knees. She collapsed onto the mattress, her palm rising to her stinging cheek, tears aching behind her eyes.
“Dear,” her mother murmured, and Mariselle saw enough through herfingers to know that her mother was placing a restraining hand on her father’s arm—though whether out of concern for Mariselle or fear that servants might hear, it was impossible to tell.
Lord Brightcrest shook his wife off, breathing hard, pointing a trembling finger at Mariselle. “You will remain in this room until further notice. Your mother and I will personally escort you to the procedure the day after tomorrow. The only time you will leave this house is when you’re accompanied by one or both of us. Your bedchamber will be enchanted to prevent your departure. You have proven yourself untrustworthy, and I will not have the Brightcrest name dragged through the mud because my daughter cannot control herself around a Rowanwood.”
The finality in his voice sent a chill through her. This was truly happening. They were going to break the bond, separate her from Evryn, lock her away like a shameful secret.
As the two of them turned and made for the door, she sat up, one hand still covering her throbbing cheek. “It’s not a soulbond,” she blurted out, desperation overtaking caution. “There is no soulbond. There never was.”
Her parents turned back to her, twin expressions of shock on their faces.
