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He gave a rose-gold clamshell to her. “Every bit as magical as the Sirenstone, yet we men need not fear it in quite the same way.”

Colette laid the clamshell on the table, examining it. When she gently prized the shell open, a translucent pink light erupted from the gem in the center. The light encased Colette like a cloak, casting her features with a shimmering rosy glow.

“It’s a Heartstone,” said Marcel. “Little is known about them, but they are said to originate in the Beyond. This stone casts protection over any woman who opens the shell.”

“I can feel it,” breathed Colette. “I feel like the sweetest invisible arms are embracing me.”

“Protection?” repeated Amelie. “What would happen if someone attacked her now?”

“Oh, do try it,” said Colette, a mischievous grin lighting her face.

“Let me show you,” said Raphael.

He crossed to the kindling basket by the stove, picking up a small piece of wood. Standing well back, he tossed it in Colette’s direction. The wood disintegrated upon impact with the pink shield, transforming into a fine white mist, which promptly faded to nothing.

Colette snapped the clamshell closed, the pink light vanishing. “I love it.”

“We wish only for you to be safe,” said Raphael, a troubled expression darkening his features. “Both of you.”

“This rose won’t leave my side,” said Amelie. “I promise.”

A muscle worked in Marcel’s jaw, like he was trying very hard to maintain his composure.

“Excuse me,” he said, pushing his chair back and striding through the back door.

“What is the matter, Raphael?” asked Amelie with a knitted brow, still holding the rose. “Did something happen on the road? You’re both acting so strangely.”

Raphael held up his hands. “It’s nothing. Everything is okay. I will not let anything happen to either of you.”

Far from reassuring her, his words only stoked her curiosity and concern. But Raphael and Marcel were clearly committed to withholding some kind of information. She would just have to divide and conquer. Marcel was always quicker to buckle under pressure, and she resolved to question him the following day, alone.

“How was the rest of the trip?” asked Colette. “Where did the horses come from? They are gorgeous creatures.”

“Oh, that.” Raphael cleared his throat and fiddled with his fork. “Papa’s insurance payment was far larger than we anticipated, so we purchased the horses. They will be useful around the property, and for traveling into the village. The journey was otherwise uneventful. We stopped at several inns, drank too much mead. The usual diversions.”

“Sounds nice,” said Amelie carefully. “I’m glad your trip was fruitful.”

“It was. It was.” Raphael continued to fiddle with his fork, avoiding Amelie’s shrewd gaze. “And how were things around here? The cottage looks in excellent shape.”

Amelie knew he was changing the subject, but she let him, since he was a far tougher nut to crack than Marcel.

“Well—” she said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Our dear Colette has attracted the attention of a certain huntsman.”

Raphael raised his eyebrows. “Has she, now?”

The siblings passed the rest of the afternoon chatting and eating. Marcel returned to the cottage and joined in, his mood improved. They teased and taunted and interrupted each other in a way only siblings could do and remain friends.

By bedtime, all were sleepy and content, their hearts full. They retired to their respective chambers, which were small but comfortable, and blew out their candles. Amelie set her silver rose on her bedside table before falling into a deep sleep.

Hours later, she awoke, her mouth dry from the mead and copious unfamiliar foods.

Not wanting to rouse the others, she tiptoed toward the kitchen for a glass of water. But two of her siblings were already awake. She halted in the shadows of the hallway, listening hard.

Her brothers argued in the kitchen in low, urgent voices, and the details of their discussion turned her blood to ice.

CHAPTER 3

“You must tell her.” That voice was Marcel’s, recognized Amelie. “She has a right to know.”