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The next day was the first time I made it around the manor once before being shocked by Ywena. It was two laps short of what

Rorik demanded, but it was better than I’d ever done, and I couldn’t help but smile to myself as I sunk to the ground before

him. He leaned against the ancestor tree—it didn’t have a name, so I decided upon one myself—with his ankles crossed and scowled.

“That wasn’t three laps.”

I wished one hand would dislodge itself from the trunk and smack that self-important look right off his face.

“Thank you for that astute observation.” I rolled my eyes as my breathing slipped, and Ywena didn’t hesitate to send a tiny

jolt of electricity through to my fingertips. I’d grown used to her reminders, and while they didn’t exactly hurt, they certainly

pulled my focus. “I hit my limit. If I’d kept going, Ywena would’ve shocked me before the next bend.”

“Then you should have run to the next bend,” he said.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” I folded my arms over my knees and glared up at him. “I’ll try again in a minute.”

He dragged out a sigh as he tilted his head toward the branches. Leaves fluttered in the gentle breeze, and a butterfly with

bright blue wings and sable markings lazily followed the current to land on a withering flower. Rorik’s expression softened

as he spied the creature. Instinctively, my fingers trailed over the crest inked into my forearm.

“Why insects?” I asked.

He raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, they’re not exactly appealing. I mean, I don’t mind them, but most people shy away from them.”

“What makes you think we care about being appealing?” He raised his hand and extended a single finger to the butterfly. It

considered him for a moment before floating to his knuckles.

I snorted. “Are you kidding me? If you didn’t care about that, you wouldn’t bother with glamours.”

Surprisingly, he chuckled. “Point taken. As for why insects...” His amber eyes softened. “They’re plenty appealing. All

the colors and variations. But more importantly, they’re strong. And they adapt exceedingly well.”

“How do you mean?”

The butterfly took flight, and he tracked its path with his eyes. “Most of the insects around here are infected with blight,

yet they live on. In fact, they thrive. Blight seems to have altered their biology, but instead of killing them, it allows

them to feed on diseased plants. Life is wonderfully resilient.”

“It’s a shame there’s no magic for tapping into that adaptation,” I said as I watched the butterfly disappear into the tree

line.

Rorik folded his arms across his chest. “Orin’s tried, of course. Nothing has worked.”

Images of Orin’s body, stripped of glamour and enhanced with otherworldly magic, filled my mind. “What do you look like beneath your glamour?”

“Your obsession with seeing beneath our veil is tiresome.” He straightened, and his scowl returned.

“You know, some insects shed their skin. You should try it.” I stood and brushed loose grass from my pants. “At least Orin

trusted me enough to show me the beauty of his magic.”

“Beauty?” Rorik’s laugh was dark. “I see. Well, I’m sorry I’m unwilling to make myself attractive for your benefit. I’ll leave

that to Orin.”

I clenched my fists. “Orin showed me his true self because he trusts me.”

“You’re a fool.” Rorik glowered as he inched closer. “It just means he doesn’t think you’re a threat.”

Irritation bloomed in my chest, and I took an indignant step forward. His breath skated against my skin, and I ignored the

involuntary gooseflesh that traveled down my neck. “And what about you? Is that why you won’t reveal yourself? Do you think

I’m a threat?”

Something like desire flashed through his eyes, and he faltered for a breath before masking it with a smirk. “I don’t find

you threatening. I just don’t think it’s worth my time.”

“Is that right?” My words were deadly calm. I’d never once in my life aimed to be threatening. Well, maybe once . Back when I fought a kid for Noam’s sake. Maybe also when I slapped Tasia in the carriage. Maybe a few other times. Regardless,

there was something hot and angry that always seemed to linger beneath the surface when it came to Rorik. I didn’t need him,

and yet I wanted him to think I could do this. I wanted to be a threat, whatever that meant, to him. To the blight infecting

his grandmother and my brothers. I wanted to be strong enough to take it all on.

“Not in the slightest.” His grin was wicked. Again, I longed to slap it right off his face.

So I tried.

I moved fast, pulling my hand back and swinging it wildly through the air with the hope of meeting his cheek in a resounding

crack. But as quick as I thought I was, Rorik was faster. Worse yet, he was smooth about it. He barely leaned back, just enough

to avoid the arc of my swing, and the momentum of my wayward hand knocked my entire body off-balance. I went toppling into

his broad chest with an undignified grunt.

And then he started laughing.

The deep rumble barreling from his chest shook my entire body. With my erratic breathing and my nose buried in his shirt,

I expected to smell something. But nothing filled my nostrils, not even a hint of salt or musk to indicate he’d been baking

beneath the sun. Fucking Evers having to be perfect. I pushed away from him hard— so hard —and yet he still didn’t falter. Instead, he keeled over, hands on his knees, and laughed at the very earth.

“All right, enough of that,” I seethed. Ywena was shocking me endlessly, but her consistent jolts did nothing to distract

me from the burn ravaging my cheeks.

When Rorik finally righted himself, he swiped at one of his eyes as if chasing away a stray tear. “Next session, we’re moving

on to strength training. That was pathetic.”

“Asshole,” I hissed.

He lifted a shoulder, a smirk still toying with his lips. “Happy to be one.”

“You won’t be laughing when I actually do punch that grin so hard you lose teeth.”

“I would love to see you try,” he murmured, voice gravelly and dark. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Neither of us moved. He simply stared at me with an intensity that made my skin flame and my pulse race. Electrical currents rolled down my limbs in waves, courtesy of Ywena, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t seem to escape Rorik’s gaze. I was being scrutinized from head to toe, and yet . . .

“Run, Edira. Three laps.” He laughed as he folded his arms over his chest. “Don’t make me chase you—unless, of course, you

prefer that kind of play.”

I spit at his feet before taking off, trying in vain to ignore the heated blush that had crawled over my cheeks.

In the days leading up to the fete, I got only one chance to swing at him again. We’d warm up with running—rather, I’d warm

up with running, and Rorik would watch me from his place beneath the tree—and then he’d push me to every limit imaginable

for hours on end until my body gave out, and I’d return to the manor to research. My muscles screamed and buckled with the

new exercises as he made me carry stones while doing simple things like balancing. He also made me punch the air endlessly

until my shoulders burned and my arms shook. Anything to better my chances of success, he’d said through a laugh. And of course,

I was expected to breathe evenly throughout it all, which I failed to do every time.

“Who can manage this bullshit?” I grumbled once after falling to the ground in a heap, my hair an unkempt mess and my blouse

plastered to my skin with sweat.

“I can,” he mused with a raised brow. “Now do it all again.”

I’d cursed loud enough for a set of nearby attendants to balk as they set up some outdoor furnishings for the upcoming fete.

Throughout it all, Rorik insisted we continue our training. It was somewhat of a relief, spending my days outdoors away from the chaos within the manor, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if Rorik felt the same. With each passing day, the perma-glare carved into his expression grew sharper and deeper, and he rarely spoke save to bark out orders or correct my form. Beyond those curt directions during our sessions, he opted for silence at meals and then disappeared altogether. He was a brooding harbinger of malcontent, and I had no idea why.

That is, until the day before the fete when I finally managed to make it through a round of weighted lunges without my breath

faltering.

Rorik studied me intently as I came to a halt before him, sweat pouring down my brow and my skin flushed with heat, but the

rise and fall of my chest was steady. Even. My lungs screamed with every raw, burning breath, but I didn’t cave.

And Rorik actually smiled. It was still devilish in the most dangerous way, and yet there was also a sliver of pride to his

expression. “Good. You’ve earned your chance.”

“My chance?” I asked, allowing my shoulders to roll forward.

“Hit me,” he purred, voice tantalizingly dark.

“Are you a masochist or a sadist? It’s impossible to tell.” I rolled my neck from side to side. Yet I couldn’t deny the trill

of excitement that spurred through my limbs. Maybe I was a little bit of the latter.

His eyes flashed with heat. “Both.”

“What a horrid combination.” I’d gone still as I stared at his flawless face. I pictured it with ease. The way I’d cock back

my arm, the tightness of my muscles, the sting of skin on skin as my hand connected with his cheek. I moved instantly, rearing

back with the hopes of becoming the threat he wanted me to be... and met nothing but air.

At least this time, I didn’t fall into him. Glaring at his haughty smirk, I regained my balance quickly and fisted my hand

by my side. Just like before, he’d easily leaned out of my trajectory. Now, though, he dipped his chin low so that he was

no more than a breath away.

“Everything you do is painfully obvious.”

“And everything you do is painfully annoying.”

This time when I went to smack him, he didn’t back out of my space. He simply snared my wrist before it could make contact

and held it an inch away from his cheek.

“One chance per accomplishment, Edira.”

I curled my fingers slightly, and the tips of them grazed his smooth skin. He froze beneath my touch. Two could play this

game. If I couldn’t punch him, then at least I’d irritate him to no end. I longed to ghost my fingers along the length of

his sharp cheekbone, to trail over the dermal piercings hammered above his brow. But before I could bring my fingertips farther

along his jawline, he cast aside my hand with a scowl, taking an exaggerated step back.

A satisfied grin stole across my expression. “At least I got rid of that damn smile somehow.”

Heat flared in his eyes. “That’s enough for today. Can’t have you worn out for tomorrow’s events.”

He strode across the lawns without a backward glance, leaving me behind. I didn’t try to catch up. I was done running to or

away from that bastard. Rorik was a wild card that I didn’t know how to play. But I didn’t care. Couldn’t. Because night was

here and the fete was tomorrow, and my body throbbed from all the work I’d put it through. Nothing was more important than

sleep, so I put his confusing antics to the side and eased the front doors open.

Just down the hall, two attendants were busy rearranging a multitude of flowerpots on the credenzas in preparation for the

festivities. Final touches, I assumed. Seville’s theme for the fete was “grandeur,” which made me laugh out loud when I heard

her mention it to the staff. She’d orchestrated everything down to the varying perfumes she selected so each room would house

its own unique scent.

The flowers should have done that. I eyed the overflowing pots. The nagging reminder that something was off with the flora was inescapable. With their backs

to the front door, the attendants hadn’t noticed me slip into the house, and their whispered conversation carried through

the near-silent foyer.

“I can’t believe Dagas is attending. After Lorelai, I assumed they’d never set foot here again.” Her brown hair was swept

up into a sloppy bun, and she adjusted the silk scarf along her forehead to keep loose strands from falling into her eyes.

The other attendant, a woman with short black hair, nodded her agreement. “She did pass rather quickly after, well, you know.”

Dagas? Lorelai? I paused at the bottom of the stairs, curiosity outweighing my desperate need for sleep.

“Not the first time, either.” The brunette took a step back and surveyed her work. “Still, I’d rather work here than for the

Starglens. I’ve heard their home is atrocious.”

Just then, sharp heels clacked against the floorboards, and the women straightened as if lightning had struck their spines.

I stiffened with them, knowing full well who was likely rampaging through the manor at this hour in four-inch pumps.

“You two!” Seville came into sight from the opposite end of the hall, and she glared at their frozen forms. “I demand to know

who set out the glassware for the Ever meeting. I specifically requested our crystal stemware—the set with the diamond inlay.

Retrieve them now and make sure the kitchen knows to serve wine from the reserves when we meet with the Waterstones and Starglens.”

“Of course. Right away,” the brunette said, and both attendants scurried away without a backward glance.

“The incompetence.” Seville pinched her nose, and then without bothering to look my way, she said, “Get to bed, Edira. I swear

to the heavens if you have bags beneath your eyes tomorrow, I will riot. We did not spend a fortune on gowns for you to look

like death warmed over.”

A heat flamed my cheeks, and I grasped the banister as I glared at her. “You should get some sleep, too.”

“As if anything in this world could make me look less than flawless.” She let her hand fall away before she turned on her

heel. “Go. I have work to do.”

And with that she was gone. I grumbled at nothing as I climbed the stairs to my room. I wouldn’t have to worry about bags

or harried appearances if I could wield glamour, too. But I obviously couldn’t, and the fatigue from training was already

settling deep into my muscles. Still, I couldn’t help but think about the attendants’ hushed gossip. This fete, it seemed,

was truly vital for putting old feuds to the side.

I only hoped diamond stemware counted for something when it came to the Starglens.

The next morning, I lounged in bed and revisited the Ever texts I’d pulled from the library. I nibbled on scones and sipped

coffee, more than content to let the day slip away, until Vora breezed into my room and announced it was time to get ready.

I groaned at the stiffness in my body, but relented when she bribed me with a steaming bath, complete with rosewater and lavender.

Of course, it was over entirely too quickly, and before I knew it, I’d been whisked away to an oversized dressing room where

Amalyss and Tasia were already waiting. They sat side by side on cushioned, low-backed chairs while two attendants twisted

their hair into artful updos. When I stalled in the doorway, their quiet conversation halted.

“Come on. We don’t have time to dally.” Vora nudged me in the back as she guided me toward the third open chair. We were surrounded by ornate mirrors and glass trays full of perfumes and balms and oils. The room was thick with colliding aromas, and I struggled to parse one scent from the next. Tea and coffee had been arranged on end tables near each chair, and Amalyss delicately set down her cup as I approached.

“Good afternoon,” she said. Beside her, Tasia nodded but didn’t meet my gaze.

“Afternoon.” I took my seat, and Vora immediately got to work, combing through my damp locks. Ywena abandoned my shoulder

to temporarily perch on Vora’s, giving her the chance to style without interference.

Strange. I’d never seen Ywena with anyone outside of Rorik, and yet she’d effortlessly settled against the crook of Vora’s

neck, all without the attendant even blinking.

For several minutes, none of us spoke. There were a few mumbled comments from the attendants as they traded ideas for our

appearances, but aside from that and the gentle clink of fine ceramics, there was nothing to abate the ever-growing tension

between Amalyss, Tasia, and me. I would’ve been content to sit silently and listen to their aimless conversation, but they

wouldn’t even speak to each other. Amalyss and Tasia were still walking on eggshells, as if even the sound of their voices

would invoke Orin’s wrath. And he wasn’t even here.

“So.” I cleared my throat, and they both tensed. “Are you excited for the fete? What color are your gowns?”

They shared a private look before Amalyss dared to speak. “The fete should be fun. My dress is blue.”

“Mine is violet.” There wasn’t even a hint of excitement in Tasia’s voice. “What about yours?”

“Green.” Or some variation of it, at least. I’d largely left the design up to Seville and Mrs.Marlow.

“Green?” Amalyss raised a brow. “Interesting. I pictured you in silver.”

“Or gold,” Tasia said. Amalyss cut her a hard glance as she curled tense fingers around the arms of her chair.

“Does it matter?” I asked.

A pregnant pause hung between us. Then, finally, Amalyss blew out a breath and released her vise grip. “Typically, partners dress to match. It’s an Ever custom for these sorts of things. And Orin always wears green.”

“Yes, he asked that I wear it. I saw no reason not to.” A lightness bloomed in my chest at the thought of Orin. We hadn’t

declared ourselves as anything—partners or otherwise. But I couldn’t help thinking of my conversation with Seville. About

heartbonds. Tilting my head, I glanced between both girls. “Your parents are heartbonds, right? When did they decide to make

that commitment?”

Tasia’s and Amalyss’s attendants excused themselves as they went to plate us a light snack, but Vora remained behind. Her

hands stiffened against my scalp, and she gave my hair a firm tug that felt wholly unnecessary. I frowned at her through the

mirror, but she only clenched her jaw as she returned to her task.

Tasia finally looked at me, and I was struck by how soft her gaze had become. “They met around fifty years ago, but they declared

themselves as heartbonds after twenty years of dating. It’s not something Evers take lightly.”

“Because of the power sharing, right?” I asked. This time when Vora scraped my scalp, I winced.

Be careful who you trust. Right now, her words felt like a warning for her own actions.

Amalyss cast a wary glance at Vora. “Yes. The theory is that you become stronger together.”

“But if two Evers decide they no longer want to be heartbonds, it doesn’t matter.” Tasia picked at the hem of her silk robe,

same as the ones Amalyss and I wore, as she spoke. “The bond remains even if they both agree and go off to find other partners.”

“Which means they always have access to each other’s powers,” Amalyss said.

“And you two? You’re their children. Do you have both your father’s and your mother’s powers?”

“Father comes from a small Ever family with weak ties back to the first Ever. It’s typically the more dominant power that’s

passed on.” Tasia opened her palm to reveal a faint green glow, similar to the one that Orin summoned in his private study.

“It’s why we’re still considered Ferngloves.”

“Beyond power, though, there’s also the emotions to consider,” Amalyss mused, but she had an almost dreamy look to her expression.

“Can you imagine? Being able to feel what your partner feels, sharing your truest desires with nothing more than a thought?

You don’t have to be in love to form a heartbond, but if you are...”

Tasia’s exhale was soft. “Apparently there is no feeling like it. That’s how Mother describes it, anyway. It must be bliss.”

Bliss. I mulled over their words as the attendants returned with tea sandwiches and fruit. The girls picked at grapes and berries,

and with each passing breath they relaxed. Their smiles came easy; their conversation shifted to lighter, more mundane things.

And they often asked me questions about human customs, and for the first time since coming to Fernglove, I actually felt welcomed.

Between attempting to cure Tasia and this conversation about dresses and heartbonds, I’d gained an ounce of trust.

My heart twisted with a familiar ache as my mind wandered to my brothers. These were the conversations we’d have over meals.

I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed that sense of family and togetherness. I visited Noam and Nohr every night, finding

what little solace I could in their even breaths. Hours would pass as I fixated on their blight and hoped, prayed, I’d be

strong enough to stop its slow-moving progression. I’d been so focused on their survival that I’d buried the need for true

familial connection deep. But now, as Amalyss, Tasia, and I finished our snack and our dresses were brought in, I couldn’t

deny the budding joy in my chest.

As Tasia and Amalyss squealed over their dresses, running light fingers over the folds of fabric, it suddenly made sense to me why Orin insisted the silver fete go on as planned. His family could sit and fixate on the blight eating away at Mavis until she’d rotted away, or he could help them take solace in the little things. In the beauty of a new gown, in the joy of togetherness. The warmth he’d sparked in my chest grew. He was more caring than I’d realized, more perceptive about his family’s needs. He wanted them to enjoy every moment they could—and it felt like he wanted that for me, too, despite our working arrangement. Perhaps in spite of it. Grinning, I pushed out of my chair and joined Amalyss and Tasia before our dresses, eager to soak in their excitement.

Yet, as I met Vora’s gaze through the reflection in the mirror, all I could see was fear and dread. The stark, chilling contrast

between her and the girls was enough to root me to the ground. Her stare held a warning that I couldn’t comprehend, and before

I could excuse myself to ask her questions, Amalyss and Tasia had looped their arms through mine and were guiding me toward

the changing screen. They dropped their robes in one fluid motion and stepped into their gowns, shimmying them up their bodies

far enough to cover themselves before seeking the attendants’ help.

You’re allowed a moment. It was a small, quiet thought, but insistent nonetheless. I stared at my dress without moving. Vora’s eyes were still burning

into me, even through the safety of the screen. Maybe she thought this fete was as ludicrous as Rorik suggested. Maybe she

wanted me to get back to training. An indignant flame of irritation sparked in me. All I did was work for them. If Orin went

to the trouble of creating this event for us to enjoy a break from reality, then I was entitled to that joy, too. I didn’t

want to think about my brothers dying upstairs. About my shortening lifespan or my contract with the Ferngloves. Tonight,

I wanted to be Edira Brillwyn of Willowfell.

I stepped into my gown and stepped out of my responsibilities, giving over fully to the giddy swell of excitement permeating from Amalyss’s and Tasia’s bodies. Vora said nothing else as she laced the back of my corset, and it wasn’t until she stepped away that I dared to look in the mirror.

“Edira,” Amalyss said, coming to stand beside me. Her sky-blue dress was dotted in tiny crystals that winked like stars. Tasia’s

dress was the same, but in a richer deep violet that felt almost celestial. Together, they were the progression from dusk

to night. And they were stunning.

Tasia grazed the airy fabric of my skirt. “You look beautiful.”

I stared at myself in the mirror. “I look like a garden.”

Both girls laughed, and then Amalyss smiled. “No, you look like an Ever.”

The corset bodice hugged my curves in a way no article of clothing had ever appreciated my body before. The boning was made

to look like vines and stems that crawled toward my breasts and bloomed with delicate pale pink flowers that bordered on white.

Strips of green fabric with appliqué leaves draped over my shoulders and moved liked the long strands of willow trees in the

wind. The skirt fell to the floor, but it was featherlight against my skin. There was, undoubtedly, a certain earthy beauty

to it, and since the layers of chiffon were all dyed in varying shades of green, Orin would be happy. And I would not acknowledge

the thrilling sensation that wound through me at that thought.

“Come. Let’s finish your cosmetics. The silver fete awaits.” This time when Vora met my gaze, she’d schooled her conflicting

emotions in place. I returned to my seat while she painted on makeup, and the attendants did the same for Amalyss and Tasia.

Once finished, they lingered by the door, seemingly waiting for me to join them.

Vora brushed a translucent powder over my skin as a final touch, and she leaned closer under the guise of inspecting her work. Her fingers lingered on the crest on my forearm.

“Be careful.”

And then she straightened, plastering on a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. I stared at her for a long moment, uncertain

what to say, until Ywena fluttered off her shoulder to return to the crook of my neck. The gentle feel of her limbs was reassuring,

and I nodded once.

“Shall we?” I stood and crossed the room to Amalyss and Tasia, and together we made our way through Fernglove Manor toward

the fete outside.