Chapter 39
39
Even in traffic, love makes hours pass easily. Elytheum’s most powerful sorcerers cannot hasten time the way laughing with Scott erases the minutes on the interstate. He drives, his hand on my leg, while the sun sets over the highway, the concrete painted in rosy light.
Night falls. We’re probably going to miss the dance.
We drive on.
It is nearly eleven p.m. when we reach Hollisboro. The cute city is quiet, hushed in the illumination of the streetlights. We park outside the college itself, where the gates wait, unmoving and imposing, in the darkness.
And, impossibly, lights are on in the dining hall. Music still floats out the doors into the night.
Scott meets my eyes. We exchange wordless smiles. We made it .
The realization sends us rushing. I run up to my room, where I pull my dress on hurriedly, not changing out of my sneakers under the shining fabric. Unable to find my masquerade mask immediately, I go without. In minutes I’m dashing back out into the hallway—half-fantasy, half-ordinary—and descending the stairwell.
In the downstairs entryway, I find Scott waiting for me.
He’s not in full costume, either, having only grabbed his shirt before we left—a simple but elegant black collared one. He extends his hand, grinning with half of his mouth. Not exactly a smirk and not only a smile. Lord Daniels of New York, High Master of Hallway Kisses.
Just Scott. Man of my heart.
I wouldn’t change a thing about him.
I put my hand in his, and we walk into the ball together.
It is magnificent, the hall remade in Elytheum finery. The room is packed—I underestimated the Elytheum crew’s enthusiasm for dancing late into the night. The string quartet from the first night has returned, filling the air with romantic music. Underneath the dark vaulted ceiling, hundreds of candles light the room. I feel like we’re walking into the midnight sky.
Everyone is here. When Erik, in his ebony mask, notices Scott and me reunited, he clasps us in one huge hug. We join him as he regales a crowd with his audition story. He’s gotten better with every recitation. We continue on, finding Laurel and Brit—dressed and done up impeccably, with the finest masks in the room—near the fantasy cocktails.
Scott notices the nameplate under the light pink drinks with sprigs of rosemary. “Vesperynthe over rosewater,” he remarks. His eyes light with recognition and shared joy. With what looks like fandom, I realize. “Just like what Val and Kethryn share when they’re hosting the first Court Convergence,” he reminds me.
Like I needed reminding. I only smile, feeling like I could combust from happiness—and, okay, pretty turned on by his love of my favorite books.
Speaking of fae lords, we find Amelia, who has donned the crown I gave her, on the dance floor in Val’s arms. No—not Val. Fred. I recognize the endless eagerness in his eyes. The man of a hundred fan fantasies, looking like he’s living a fantasy himself.
I wave, and Amelia smiles warmly. When she puts her head on Fred’s shoulder, I know I am not the only one having a perfect night. Dreams come in many forms, leading like paths into the sky, out to unknown horizons. While Amelia’s “dream job” didn’t work out like she’d expected, I’m inexpressibly glad she hasn’t closed herself off to other dreams leading in new, wondrous directions.
“Well, Lady Jennifer,” Scott murmurs like he’s read my mind, “may I have this dance?”
I grin, although I have to say, the steps look like one of the harder ones we learned in class. “Do you know how?” I ask him.
“Oh, I know how,” Lord Daniels assures me.
I’m laughing, putting my hand on his shoulder as he pulls us onto the dance floor. Scott may have more confidence than skill, I find as he leads us dauntlessly with the dulcet melody of the quartet.
It doesn’t matter. His hand on the small of my back, his face inches from mine, the way the candlelight changes into golden streaks as we spin—I feel utterly swept away into a dream.
A dream of my own. One nobody is writing except me.
One I don’t have to wake from, and one I won’t reach the end of with the final words on a page. One that will stretch out forever, in pieces of wonder scattered in ordinary moments.
When we return home for real—from Elytheum, from this unforgettable week—we won’t stop creating our fairy tale. It will be an enchantment woven in every kiss and every kindness, every hardship and every happiness.
And it won’t be fantastical, but it will be magical.