3. Chapter 3
Chapter three
“You followed him to his fuck pad?” Cassidy tilted her glass of glittering orange nectar, swirling the flecks of infused stardust before downing the rest in one practiced gulp. She tapped the rim with a finger, catching the server’s eye for a refill.
“I wouldn’t say I followed him, per se.” Emmaline’s lips pressed into a thin line as she nudged the edge of her plate, where slices of honey-drenched briarflower toast glistened under a light dusting of powdered amber sugar. “Lord Baelin asked me to deliver a message.”
“And you had to deliver it right then?” Cassidy leaned across the vinewood table, snatching a piece of Emmaline’s neglected toast without hesitation.
Emmaline glared at her but didn’t protest, her appetite dulled by the memory of her poorly thought-out excursion.
“Where do you even put it all?” Margo said, placing a sliver of fish between her lips.
Cassidy shrugged, already halfway through Emmaline’s stolen toast. “Healing burns a lot of energy, and the Test was yesterday. Cadets were injuring themselves left and right. Lara is still passed out from exhaustion. Honestly, I’m eating for both of us.”
“When are Corgis not hungry and napping?” Emmaline laughed, grateful for the shift in conversation.
The events at Lord Caelith’s residence still lingered in her mind, embarrassing and uninvited. Not to mention that servant—what was his name again? Darren? Or maybe it was Dickwad.
“Lazy,” Ursula interjected, leaning back in her chair. “They’re known for being as lazy as they are brave.”
“Well, Lara certainly falls further on the brave side.” Cassidy nodded. “But weren’t we talking about Emmaline’s borderline stalker tendencies, not my Bonded’s eating habits?”
Emmaline groaned, dragging her palms down her face. “It wasn’t stalking!” Her voice came out muffled through her fingers. “It was... a coincidence.”
Cassidy snorted, leaning back in her chair. “Like the tracking bee on his carriage was a coincidence?”
“Or the overcharge on his previous dalliance’s line of credit that mysteriously got her barred from every social event for the rest of the season?” Ursula’s tone was dry, her gaze cutting as she lounged in her seat, fingers tapping idly on the table’s edge.
“How do you—?” Emmaline froze, her hands dropping to her lap. She hadn’t told anyone. Just—
Her head whipped toward Margo, whose deep brown eyes went wide, lips parting to deny what was already written on her face.
“You told them!” Emmaline’s voice pitched higher.
“Emmaline…” Margo cooed, drawing out the syllables like she could soften the betrayal by sheer will.
“I told you that in confidence! You promised you wouldn’t say anything!” Emmaline’s chair scraped loudly against the floor as she pushed it back and stood, slamming her palms on the table. “I thought you were helping me!”
“I was,” Margo insisted, reaching delicately for her silken napkin. She dabbed the corner of her mouth with infuriating precision. “But…” She tilted her head, a single arched brow lifting.
“No!” Emmaline shook her head. “It was your idea to track his carriage!”
Margo’s expression softened. The stern, polished facade melted like frost under sunlight, replaced with something warmer, gentler. She reached across the table, her slender fingers grazing Emmaline’s hand.
“No, love,” she said. “I simply mentioned that you could always tell where the well-to-do nobles were by the light of their gilded Gliders.” A rueful smile graced her lips as she crinkled her nose.
“They’re ostentatious enough to spot across half the city.
I didn’t think you’d actually track him.
” She sighed, her fingers resting lightly over Emmaline’s.
“I thought you just wanted to get to know his likes and dislikes. Harmless enough.”
“Not so harmless at all, it turns out,” Ursula said, her scowl cutting sharply toward Margo.
The sharp heat in Emmaline’s chest dulled as Ursula spoke, the tension in her jaw slackening. She hadn’t meant for things to spiral the way they had last night. She only wanted to bruise the Lady’s ego a little, not cause real harm.
“They already know about last night?” Emmaline slumped as she turned to Ursula.
“No secrets.” Ursula leaned back in her chair. “That’s what we agreed to all those years ago. No secrets, and we keep each other safe.”
Emmaline met Ursula’s bright purple eyes, searching for ridicule but finding only sincerity.
She glanced at Cassidy, who gave a firm nod, her teasing absent. Then at Margo, whose hand tightened gently over hers, anchoring her as if to say, We’re here.
“Tell me again, Ems. Why do you think he’s your mate?” Margo’s other hand reached across the table, settling lightly atop Emmaline’s forearm.
The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken doubt. Mate bonds were a thing of legend—romantic stories whispered over hearth fires, tales of unbreakable connections that tied two souls together. But there hadn’t been any new ones in centuries.
Most believed they had vanished when the Ellyllon left Wales for the New World after the War, as though the bonds had been tethered to the old lands and lost with them. Scholars debated whether they had ever truly existed or if they were just metaphors for ancient customs long forgotten.
“It’s been over three hundred years.” Margo’s fingers brushed against Emmaline’s hand. “If mate bonds were still real, wouldn’t we have seen one by now?”
Emmaline hesitated, unsure how to describe the indescribable.
“Plus, you know how I feel about the class disparities in the Vale, but Lady Isolde enforces them with all the power at her disposal,” Margo continued. “Even if he is your mate, he may not have a choice. He could be forced to reject the bond.”
“That doesn’t matter.” Emmaline shook her head. “I knew the moment I first saw him that he was my destiny. Nothing can come between two who are mated by the Goddess herself.”
She remembered how he’d walked into his father’s office with unshakable confidence, commanding the room effortlessly. Light from the arched windows had caught in his golden hair, while his tailored coat and sharp jawline spoke of power and grace. He was everything she had dreamed of in a mate.
He hadn’t looked her way, then, his focus on Lord Baelin, but the pull she felt had left her breathless. He must have felt it, too.
“Yes, but what exactly happened to make you think it, other than seeing a pretty Lordling up close for the first time?” Cassidy asked, clearing her plate with a swipe of bread through the last smear of jam.
“What do you mean, what happened?” Emmaline’s smile vanished as she withdrew her hand from Margo’s, folding it into her lap. “When you know, you know. As it’s written—I am his, and he is mine. It just…” She hesitated, searching for the words. “It just is.”
Ursula let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Ems…”
“Look!” Emmaline’s voice rose as she crossed her arms defensively.
“If you all had felt what I felt, you’d know too!
” Her friends didn’t understand. They thought her some silly, love-struck girl.
But she wasn’t that. She was someone who had survived a war, clawed her way back from ruin, and built a life—however modest—through sheer grit.
She wasn’t some na?ve fool. She was a graduate of the School of Light, for Lyra’s sake. A nobody who had become someone.
Her chin lifted, her voice steadying. “What happened last night was unfortunate.”
“A woman lost her life,” Cassidy interrupted.
“And it was unfortunate and unintended.” Emmaline’s tone cooled. If her friends couldn’t support her… “But the Law is clear regarding protecting one’s mate. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“The Law only protects you if you are indeed mates, Emmaline,” Margo said.
“I am his mate.” She glared across the table. “The Law will protect me because it has to.”
But even as she said it, a chill crept up her spine. The Law might be clear, but Lady Isolde’s influence was stronger. If Caelith’s mother decided to challenge the bond, or worse, force him to reject it... The Vale might respect the Law, but it also respected power, and Lady Isolde had plenty.
Emmaline felt their gazes on her, their surprise almost tangible. They weren’t used to this—seeing her stand her ground.
Ursula broke the silence first, a chuckle rumbling low in her chest. “She’s not wrong.”
“You helped her clean the scene. I’m not surprised you’d have no issues with murder,” Cassidy said, rolling her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. Then, quieter, she muttered, “I swear, I’m going to lose my job one day just being associated with you, Urs.”
Ursula settled deeper into her chair, her hand tapping lightly against the table in an almost lazy rhythm. “Then you can come work for me.”
Cassidy gave an incredulous laugh, the sound more like a bark.
“I’ll keep you and your Corgi well-fed and rested for the rest of your days,” Ursula added, the glint in her eye daring Cassidy to take the bait.
Cassidy opened her mouth, undoubtedly ready to fire back, but Margo raised a hand. “Enough of that old argument.” She cut them off, turning to Emmaline, who was sitting stiffly, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “You’re sure he’s your mate?”
Emmaline threw up her hands. “You’ll just have to take my word for it. Unless, of course, one of you suddenly discovered a talent for divination?” She glanced pointedly at Ursula.
“Not my department,” Ursula replied smoothly, lifting her drink with a lazy shrug. “Though I could curse him for you. Maybe give him a rash that spells out your name.”
Cassidy snorted. “That’s one way to claim him.” She paused, her brow furrowing in exaggerated thought. “Though it might send the wrong message.”
Margo pressed her fingers to her temples. “Can we please focus?”
A heavy silence settled over the table, broken only by the distant hum of the marketplace beyond. Emmaline felt the weight of their eyes on her, the tension coiling tighter with each passing second.
Finally, Margo sighed, her shoulders easing as she reached for her drink. “Very well.” She took a measured sip, then placed the glass back on the table with care. “We’ll consider the subject closed for now.”
The others nodded one by one—Ursula first, with a solemn dip of her head, then Cassidy, her lips pressing into a begrudging line.
“Thank you,” Emmaline said quietly, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her sleeve as she glanced around the table. “You really are the best friends ever.”
“Always and forever,” Margo said, lifting her glass with a small smile.
“Always and forever,” the others echoed, their voices overlapping as they raised their glasses.