Chapter 45 #2
“Mother,” Evelyne rushed to clarify, “I told you—that was a mutual decision.”
“No, it is quite all right, Evelyne,” Alaric cut in. “If a betrothal is dissolved, the responsibility falls to the gentleman. I will bear it.”
Evelyne turned toward him, ready to object, but her mother’s voice rose just enough to reclaim the room.
“I care very little who initiated the separation,” Celeste said evenly. “What matters is how it appears. Society must be informed before speculation begins, particularly if you are both to attend the end-of-year autumn festival in a few weeks.”
Evelyne straightened in her chair. “Absolutely not. I will not be returning to society. I have already made that clear.”
“You will attend,” Celeste replied without hesitation, “but only the festival. It will be sufficient to settle any rumors regarding your association with Mr. Stonebridge.” Her next words came sharper.
“And I would appreciate it if you allowed me to finish before interrupting. I am well aware of your preferences, Evelyne. I have been aware of them since you were five years old.”
Evelyne bit down on her tongue, forcing herself into silence as she leaned back into her chair. Her hand found Kaldrek’s beneath the table, fingers curling into his with quiet resolve.
Celeste noticed. Of course she did.
“What, precisely, are you proposing?” Gaviel Stonebridge asked at last.
“We will host one final ball,” she said.
“Here. In this house. Just prior to the festival. One in memory of Lord Aron Duskwood.” Her eyes flicked between Evelyne and Alaric.
“During the evening, the two of you will formally announce your separation. In the same breath, Evelyne will be introduced with her new betrothal.”
“What?” Evelyne snapped before she could stop herself.
“To the Lord of Centaro,” Celeste replied, frustration threading through her voice as her eyes settled on Kaldrek.
Alaric choked mid-sip, and a stunned silence settled over the table.
Then Holden broke.
An unrestrained laugh burst from him, quickly spiraling into a full cackle as he leaned forward and braced one hand against the table. He tapped the wood several times, as though that might steady him, but the effort only made it worse. Soon he was coughing, struggling to recover his breath.
Across from him, Aurelia stared in open astonishment at the display. The impropriety of it all.
And yet—
Their mother did not so much as flinch.
“With all due respect, Lady Duskwood,” Kaldrek said at last, “I am not a lord.”
“No. We are all aware of that. Society, however, is not. And since few within these lands have ever ventured beyond the veil, there is little risk of anyone contradicting us.”
“You know of the veil as well?” Aurelia asked, her brow furrowing.
“I do.”
“Can you tell us more?” Evelyne asked. “We only learned of it recently from Lord and Lady Shaw.”
Celeste folded her hands neatly atop the table. “There is not much to tell. The veil was woven long ago to protect these lands. It does not conceal us entirely, but rather diverts those who ought not enter. A subtle misdirection. A glamour, of sorts.”
She paused.
“The witches have long maintained that it exists to guard their most powerful source of magic, though I suspect its strength has diminished over time—particularly if all of you were able to pass through it.”
“Vaelora crossed it,” Evelyne said quietly. “When she took Cillian.”
“She created a portal,” Cillian added. “A direct path. But she claimed it cost her greatly—it drained her power to do so.”
Kaldrek leaned back, studying Celeste through narrowed eyes.
“Let me be certain I understand. There is an invisible barrier around these lands—one that does not keep outsiders out, but persuades them to turn elsewhere. A distraction rather than a defense. And both you and the Shaws believe it may now be weakening, yet no one has made any plan to restore it?”
“That is my understanding,” Celeste replied.
“Though I would advise speaking with the covens. They know far more of such matters than I do. I imagine another Great Rite would be required, though whether that would mean another prophecy…” She paused.
“I believe such things are chosen by the tree itself.”
“The only true way to keep these lands safe,” Alia spoke up, “is to remove the darkness from the world entirely. The veil is a bandage, not a cure.”
Kaldrek gave a slight nod, as though the answer only affirmed what he already suspected. They had to act—though how remained unclear. Still, Alia was right. Strengthening the veil would not be the answer.
Holden, having finally managed to compose himself, cleared his throat. “Yes, all very fascinating,” he said, still fighting the remnants of a grin, “but can we return to the part where my dear friend, my dear alpha, is expected to attend a noble ball as a lord?”
Kaldrek shot him a warning look. Celeste, however, turned her attention toward Holden with quiet interest.
“And you are?”
“The name’s Holden.”
“Well then, Mr. Holden,” she said, “you and your sister will accompany him as his companions. Eastern nobility, as it were.”
This time, it was Kaldrek who let out a short, incredulous laugh.
Evelyne couldn’t shake the growing sense that this was all becoming rather ridiculous.
“You do realize what that requires of them, Mother?” she said carefully. “Beyond proper attire and grooming, they must speak. Socialize. And not quite as they are”—her eyes flicked briefly to Holden—“accustomed to.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Holden demanded.
“It means no swearing,” Evelyne said. “No outbursts. No theatrical displays of amusement.” She gestured vaguely toward him. “And you will need to shave.”
“This is absurd,” Holden muttered.
“I think it sounds delightful,” Heidara said brightly. “I should very much like to see my brother properly clean and silent for an entire evening.”
“Fuck off, Heidara.”
“No swearing!” Aurelia snapped at once, turning sharply toward him. Then, looking back to her mother, she added, “You cannot possibly be serious.”
“From what I understand,” Celeste said, her tone returning to its usual calm authority, “this… mating bond is not something that can be undone.”
Her eyes shifted between Evelyne and Kaldrek. Kaldrek gave a single, confirming nod.
“In that case,” Celeste continued, “if I am to accept your chosen path, Evelyne, then we must also ensure that society accepts it. Our family name must remain respected. They must believe you are being properly married—into a suitable match. And the only way to accomplish that is to present a man of status. A lord unknown to them—one whose origins lie beyond the veil. With companions to support the illusion.”
Silence followed as Evelyne considered it. It was not… unreasonable. Only—
Complicated.
She turned toward Kaldrek, her voice softening. “I do not wish to force you into something that makes you uncomfortable. But my mother is not entirely wrong. If we are to live as we have chosen… this may be necessary.”
Kaldrek looked into her eyes for a long moment before slowly lifting his head.
“What,” he asked, “does being a fake lord actually require?”
“Well, it need not be overly complicated,” Lady Celeste said.
“You would attend the ball here, properly dressed and presented as a lord of Centaro. Thereafter, should you choose to appear at other gatherings or festivals, it would be sufficient to maintain the appearance that has been established. Once a year would more than satisfy expectations.”
She paused before adding, “You may reside wherever you please, provided you are not discovered among the human population in those… rather impractical leather garments.”
Evelyne exhaled, her fingers tapping absently against the stem of her wine glass as she considered it.
“I will do it,” Kaldrek said in a steady voice. “As will my companions.”
His eyes moved toward Holden and Heidara. Heidara inclined her head without hesitation. Holden, on the other hand, looked thoroughly displeased—but he did not argue.
“Good heavens,” Aurelia sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples. “It would seem we have a great deal of work ahead of us.”
“I will assist,” Cillian added. “Though I suspect this one will require particular attention.” He reached over and gave Holden a firm, almost amused tap on the shoulder.
Holden stared straight ahead, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “Fucking hell.”