Page 6 of Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part Two

Tereza’s gaze flicks to the fourth chair. “No, Your Highness. I wasn’t certain who you would have accompanying you. Even after … Lord Savoy messaged.”

I typically never went anywhere unaccompanied by a friend or family member. Honestly, I never went anywhere with less than twenty-four hours’ notice. At all.

“As I broached in my email, I want to discuss the establishment of a perpetual scholarship … two yearly scholarships, to be specific. To be paid for by the foundation I’m establishing for Armin. He … we … spent the bulk of our lives here, learning who we … were …”

Tereza nods politely, ignoring that I can’t speak about Armin in the past tense without my heart cracking, just a little.

“Of course. I’ve got the preliminary paperwork ready for your lawyers.

Specifically, what the Phrontistery requires to help you establish and maintain the scholarships.

But if the sponsorship is coming from a private foundation, then you, rather than the school board, oversee the yearly allotments. ”

“Yes,” I say, still a bit shaky. “Or … I’ll likely find a director or two with more experience.

But it’s the criteria that I’m … it’s not just grades and an entrance exam, correct?

I assume that the Phrontistery must have requirements or a way to assess …

essence … abilities?” I feel absolutely stupid, asking about things I should probably already know or inherently understand.

My place in this school would never have been questioned, even without the color of my eyes proclaiming me as one of the awry since birth.

“You have kids in mind, Mirth?” Sully asks almost gently.

I nod. “Two. I’m not certain of their designations, but I believe they are both awry blooded. Would you require them to be tested?”

Tereza pauses thoughtfully. “The Phrontistery isn’t … and especially not here in Prague …” She rethinks what she wants to say a second time. “You might not know, Your Highness, but —”

“The rich shits that go here are fucking brutal to anyone who isn’t powerful enough to put them down.” Sully leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Even worse if they don’t come with the right pedigree.”

“Or have powerful friends,” Tereza says, eyeing Sully right back.

He snorts, but more in acknowledgement than derision. Then a sharp-edged smile overtakes his face. “The Savoy bond group will fund the refurbishment of Moravia Hall.”

Both Tereza and I blink at the fabricator mage.

Sully predictably smirks back, mostly at me. “You’ll rename it Savoy House. And Mirth’s scholarship kids will be among the first residents this fall.”

“The Savoy bond group?” I ask quietly.

He nods. “Elias says going around and getting our name on shit is part of establishing ourselves. I was pissed he sent me. But then I found you here, my darling Princess.”

Tereza’s gaze rapidly flicks between us once more. Then she laughs, sharp-edged and completely delighted. “Gods. The Mertons are going to be fucking pissed.”

“That they are,” Sully drawls.

I shoot him a quelling look, feeling out of depth but …

in an almost delightful, heady way. Not unlike Teresa’s own bond group, the Line of Merton is comprised of two generational tiers, with the elder Lord Merton as their primary crux.

Like Elias and my father, Vincent Merton holds a hereditary seat on the World Council.

His presumptive heir, Archie, is the head of the younger bond tier, comprised of his half-sister Isla, a savvy lawyer who is on the board of my literacy charity, and their recently bonded— Noah, an awry.

The Mertons participated in my matchmaking event …

and they are still the most solid, the most established choice.

Likely the best choice to help me hold the intersection point.

“Are you adopting the kids?” Sully asks me, curious and just a little bit pleased. And not only with himself. He’s just … enjoying sharing this moment. With me.

“No, they have a family … I’m … I think …

” I glance over at Tereza. “I just wanted to have the conversation, understand the parameters. This isn’t something I want to hand over to a board.

I understand if there needs to be an assessment.

Or other … tests. But … I know you have other scholarship students. ”

“Yes,” Tereza says kindly. “The Phrontistery scholarships are merit based.”

I nod, thinking furiously. I know next to nothing about Tommy and Kitty. Just because Tommy came to a literacy event doesn’t in any way mean he has special needs. But if he did? Or if Kitty needed a different kind of school? Well, I could come up with another plan if that was the case.

“I’ll have the preliminary paperwork sent to your lawyers,” Tereza says.

“For two students. I’ll include the school’s scholarship requirements, just so you have them.

And everything we’ll need to establish and renovate the Savoy House residence hall.

” She flashes a grin at Sully. “Ready to spend some of daddy’s money? ”

“It’s not like you care how filthy it is, Tereza.”

That wipes the smirk off the lynx shifter’s face.

I stifle a sigh, then politely eat another small piece of my chicken.

Playful with me or pissy with Tereza, leaking so-called secrets or not, Sully still has his foot wrapped around mine under the table. I rub my foot against his ankle, getting a heated look in return.

And just for a moment, I allow myself to forget the urn in my backpack and to think only of the tentative steps I’m taking into my future.

Whether or not I sound like an idiot asking questions I should already know the answers to, or having the realities of the life of scholarship students pointed out to me.

Because knowledge can be gained. Hurdles can be overcome.

Only Armin’s death is irrevocable.

Sully ghosts his fingers over the back of my hand, breaking protocol. Though I touched him first. “The scholarship kids? Will you tell us about them?”

I smile at Sully gratefully. “Tommy and Kitty. Or, properly, as Tommy informed me, Thomas and Katherine Walsh. I’d like you to meet them. We’ve been texting every few days. They send me pictures, some selfies, and the best updates …”

The smile that Sully levels on me is so bright it sears right through to my soul, taking my breath with it.

Tereza chuckles to herself. “I wish I could be in the room when Isla lays eyes on the two of you and realizes you’ve finally admitted that you’ve been crazy about each other from the moment you met. Or, even better, Lord fucking Merton himself.”

Sully laughs, and I have a difficult time quashing an inappropriate smile.

Even though I haven’t actually decided to turn down the Mertons’ suit. Not yet.

Back in London, with Sully gleefully and noticeably ignoring his text messages, a brown-paper-wrapped parcel awaits my return on my entranceway table.

It’s rare for me to receive packages directly, but after I open the attached card, I immediately understand why the royal guard accepted it on my behalf.

The sender has already been more thoroughly vetted than just about any other person in my sphere.

Christoph, the Duke of Hapsburg, also known as the Archduke of Austria, has sent me the most delectably scented peaches-and-cream candle.

It’s hand-poured into an adorable antique crystal dish — a repurposed small pitcher typically used to hold milk or cream.

Its mage signature is so distinctive that I’m worried about touching the candle for fear of dispelling whatever essence was used to create it.

The candle is accompanied by a matching sugar dish filled with similarly scented bath salts.

Sully peers down at the half-unwrapped package, then eyes my lightly flushed face. Yes, apparently, anything having to do with peaches is going to trigger a recollection of trading slices of the peach Christoph previously gifted me at breakfast. Hence, the blushing.

Sully hums knowingly. “Seems I have to up my wooing game.”

I laugh a little breathlessly. “I’m dressed head to toe in your handpicked outfit, Sully.”

He flashes me a wicked grin. “But not the bra and panties.”

I huff playfully, pulling the pretty crystal-encased candle out of the box and smelling it. Dislodged from the tissue paper, a small embossed card falls to the counter.

Biting his lush lower lip, Sully winks at me. Then he wanders into the living room to throw himself on the long couch. Holding his phone over his head, he starts to answer his messages. Or perhaps he’s shopping for lingerie.

I retrieve the card. The duke’s name, Christoph Williams, is the only thing on the front, embossed across the thick white paper in black ink. On the other side is a short note, carefully hand-printed in capital letters, and a phone number.

Just in case you ran out of peaches.

Text me?

– C.

I shouldn’t text Christoph. I walked away from the matchmaking event.

I have fairly serious plans to accept the Mertons’ suit, but …

I’m feeling just a little weak-kneed from the reasoning behind all of the duke’s peach-themed gifts.

Specifically, his confession that my ass looks like a peach to him.

And it would be terribly impolite not to at least thank Christoph for the sweet gift.

I open my message app and start a text thread.

Lord Williams, thank you so much for the lovely gift.

Sully is smirking over the back of the couch at me.

Setting my phone facedown on the counter, I narrow my eyes at him, then lift my chin offishly.

He chuckles, then says, “Let’s order in Indian for dinner.”

“Yes,” I say, perfectly polite. “That sounds lovely.”

My phone buzzes on the counter with a text message from Christoph.

Have dinner with me this week? I’ll be heading to London in the next couple of days.

I stare at the message for a moment, completely conflicted.

“That was a quick answer,” Sully says playfully. “Think he’s been watching his phone since he had the gift delivered?”