Page 32

Bronwyn

B ronwyn fanned herself as she stared over the balcony railing, toward the crimson curtains that presently blocked much of the stage from view. A pre-show comedian dressed as a clown walked in front of the curtains and entertained the crowd as they waited for the show to begin.

It was a cool night for the season, but between the amount of people inside and all the lamps lighting the place, the heat was stifling. Sweat clung to the back of Bronwyn’s neck and slid down her cleavage. Phillip had ordered a bottle of champagne, but she couldn’t see that helping her, especially not with her anxiety over what would transpire that evening. In fact, she probably needed to abstain altogether to keep her wits straight.

After all, she wouldn’t be simply watching and enjoying the show, she’d be looking for anything amiss, any sign of someone trying to trigger the spells they’d lain, particularly as they closed in on the scenes with the castle set pieces.

Malik, on the other hand, would slip away shortly after the opera began. Drystan had taught him some spells to pull the shadows and hide among them—perfect for sneaking around backstage and catching someone up to no good.

Bronwyn sighed. If only she could do something so useful. She should be back there, too. Even without the benefit of magical shadows, surely, she would be more help there than stuck in the balcony.

“Are you quite all right?” Phillip asked, leaning over from his seat at her side.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just anxious for the show to begin. Besides, it’s quite warm in here, don’t you think?” Damn it if her voice didn’t crack a little at the end.

He frowned, unconvinced. “If you’re feeling unwell again, I could see you home. I wouldn’t mind.”

“And miss the premiere?” She tried to swat at him playfully and nearly cringed at the way her hand flopped around. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, as I said, I really am quite all right.”

“Hmm.” Phillip settled back in his seat and reached into his pocket. When his hand returned to his lap, he held something small in his closed fist. He looked back over at her, a little dimple forming as he smiled. “I do have something that may cheer you up.”

A sinking feeling started in her chest and tumbled down her body like a boulder gaining speed as it rolled. Phillip said something else, but she barely heard him over her pounding pulse. Just past him, she spied Charlotte a few boxes away, her little opera glasses up and pointed directly at them. Did she know what was about to happen? Probably. She’d come over briefly when they’d first taken their seats, and she’d seemed almost too eager to leave Bronwyn and Phillip alone.

“Well, what do you think?”

When she focused back on Phillip, he held a golden ring with a large, heart-cut emerald between his thumb and pointer finger.

“I had to guess at your size, but hopefully I got close.”

“It’s…” She swallowed thickly. “It’s lovely.”

The curtain at the back of their box was pushed aside. Someone gasped. “Oh, my! Is this an engagement?”

What terrible timing. Bronwyn was sorely tempted to leap off the balcony, especially when she saw who had intruded: the beaming Lady Sian, who openly gaped as she stared between Lord Griffith and herself. And beside her, Malik.

“Not quite,” Lord Griffith said, annoyance clear in his voice. It softened as he looked back at Bronwyn. “At least not yet.”

Yet. Goddess help her. She had to break things off with him. Soon. Before this all got much further out of hand.

“I do hope you like the surprise,” Phillip continued. “Though I am sorry for the poor timing.” He frowned as the others filtered into the box.

“It is lovely. Truly.” It was gaudy as hell and not to her taste at all, but she couldn’t ruin his evening any further. She steadfastly refused to look at Malik as she held out her hand, letting Phillip slide the ring on finger. It fit oddly perfectly, so much so that it sent a chill down her spine.

“Apologies for interrupting, Lord Griffith,” Mr. Yarwood said, greeting the other man. “I did try to get us here earlier.”

The lights began to dim, several put out completely. Noise from the audience below dwindled to whispers as the last of the patrons took their seats and all eyes turned to the crimson curtains. Before she lost the best of the light, Bronwyn pulled the little brass locket out of her pocket and opened it.

If the ring was a shock, this was an earthquake. The spell was triggered.

Numbly, she folded it closed and slipped it back in her pocket. It was expected, she supposed, if the opera house was a target, but knowing the dragons truly were here and that they had been so close to her was utterly unnerving.

Bronwyn tried her best to focus on the performance, to search for anything amiss. The opera was unique after all, starring a young woman whisked off to a strange and unusual world. The audience was enthralled. From the colorful sets, to the beautiful singing, to the sweet romance between the two leads who bantered almost as much as she and Malik, it was charming.

But the whole time she sat there, Bronwyn kept twisting the new ring on her finger. The damn thing might as well have been an anchor the way it weighed her down. The same could be said for the triggered spell. The last thing she needed was another distraction, particularly since Malik had slipped off during the previous song. He’d be backstage, in the shadows somewhere, lying in wait for one of the dragons to appear and attempt to trigger their spells. Assuming they needed to. If they didn’t, well…

Bronwyn bit her bottom lip, pulling it between her teeth. Things could turn to disaster at any moment.

Another song came and went. Bronwyn swept her gaze across the orchestra, up to the balconies. As she lifted her eyes to the level above, she spied movement at the back of one of the boxes. Her brows scrunched. Someone leaving? She leaned forward, as if those few inches would give her a better view. But something else odd did strike her then. The box was empty.

An empty box at a sold-out show? It was a good performance, too, and not even halfway done. There was no way a whole party had come and gone.

Something touched her hand, and she jolted, nearly falling out of her seat. It was Phillip, still half reaching for her. She sucked in a calming breath and slid back in her seat.

“Sorry to startle you,” he whispered. “Are you enjoying the show?”

“Of course. It’s strangely beautiful.”

His lips quirked up in one corner. “That’s one way to describe it.”

The music swelled, pulling their attention back to the stage. But she couldn’t just sit there. Not when she’d spotted something amiss. They neared the portion of the opera with the bespelled set pieces.

Before she could second-guess, Bronwyn slipped off her seat with a whispered “Excuse me, I need to stretch my legs.”

“Bronwyn?” Lord Griffth called after her, loud enough to draw a scolding look from Mr. Yarwood.

“Stay. I’ll just be a moment,” she promised.

The second she slipped through the curtain at the back of their box, she broke into a jog lest he try to follow her.