Chapter 8 #3
She inhaled sharply, forcing a bright smile. “Opalina, Lilibeth.” Her voice was tight, controlled. “I think we should have a quick chat.”
Lilibeth crossed her arms. “Oh, I cannot agree more.”
Cassia didn’t wait. She grabbed both her friends by the wrists and dragged them to the back storage room, letting the door slam shut behind them. Silence stretched for all of three seconds before—
“Chosen?” Opalina’s voice, usually soft and measured, carried a dangerous edge. “I wasn’t even aware you were courting.”
Lilibeth, on the other hand, had no such restraint. “Aura Cassia!” She threw her hands in the air. “Tell me I misheard. Tell me that towering slab of a demon out there didn’t just walk into your bakery with his friends and announce to everyone that you’re engaged!”
Cassia groaned, rubbing her forehead. “It’s not what you think.”
Opalina said, “Start with his name.”
Cassia shifted, glancing at the door as if debating whether she could make a run for it. She couldn’t, Lilibeth had blocked the door.
“He’s . . . Varil Arkenoth.”
Opalina went utterly still. Lilibeth blinked, then blinked again.
“. . . The Varil Arkenoth?” Opalina’s voice remained steady, but Cassia could see the wariness creeping in.
“The Daemar’s son? The infamous Idle Prince? The Reluctant Heir? That Varil Arkenoth?” Lilibeth added.
Cassia sighed. “Yes, him.”
Lilibeth let out a strangled gasp and seized Cassia’s chin, turning her face from side to side. Then she grabbed Cassia’s wrists, inspecting her skin. “Wait—where’s the mark? Is there a mark?”
When Lilibeth reached for her breasts, Cassia jerked back. “Goddess above, Lili, what are you doing?”
“Demons mark their Chosen, you know.”
Cassia’s cheeks burned and she swatted Lilibeth’s hands away. “There is no mark.” She clutched the front of her cardigan, keeping it closed. “Because it’s not real.”
That silenced them.
“We met the night I went looking for Agmon Alderrath—at The Ivory Club.” She exhaled. “Alderrath refused me. Arkenoth saw everything and followed me out.”
Opalina’s gaze sharpened. “He offered you a deal, didn’t he? Saving Starlight in exchange for pretending to be engaged to him.”
Cassia stared at her. “How did you—”
“It’s not a difficult stitch to follow, Cass. His friend just called you his Chosen in front of your entire bakery.”
Cassia swallowed and leaned against the wall. “Something like that.”
Lilibeth groaned. “And why, exactly, does the Daemar’s son need a fake engagement?”
Cassia hesitated. “To avoid his mother’s matchmaking scheme. I am to go to her Yulefrost ball as his Chosen.”
Opalina’s brows lifted. “So, you’ll show up with him at Varil Delphyne’s ball—the biggest, most anticipated event in demon high society—and that’s it? One night, and he’ll snatch Starlight back from Agmon Alderrath’s clutches?”
Cassia bit her lip. “One night, and . . . from now until the Yulefrost ball to craft the illusion of a couple.”
Lilibeth’s expression shifted—her usual playfulness replaced with something alarmed. “Cassia, that’s two weeks!”
“That’s not even long—”
“A lot can happen in two weeks!” Lilibeth’s voice dipped lower. “One night is one thing, but two weeks of pretending? Two weeks of dinners and walks and looks?” She shook her head. “After last time, you swore you wouldn’t fall for another arrogant, bloodline-obsessed bigot.”
Cassia flinched. The wound still ached, no matter how much time had passed. The words still echoed in her ears: ‘There’s only one thing an Untethered witch is good for.’
She flung the memory away. It was a cold slap, but she refused to let it linger. Arkenoth had seen her magic, her defiance, her orphanage. He had never once made her feel lesser for what she was. That alone set him apart from every man who had looked at her and seen only her blood.
Or lack of it.
She swallowed the old hurt and met Lilibeth’s eyes. “This is different.”
“Different how?”
“I have no illusion of romance this time.”
Lilibeth threw her hands up in the air. “You have no illusion of romance when your bargain is precisely to weave the illusion of romance. How reassuring.”
Opalina, who had been silent for too long, finally spoke. Her voice was calm. “You’ve only known him for four days. Do you trust him?”
The question hit her square in the chest. She opened her mouth. Closed it.
That was the problem, wasn’t it?
She wanted to say no. To tell them she knew better than to trust a demon. But she had seen something in Ark—something beyond the careful, calculating man he presented to the world. Beyond the image of The Reluctant Heir he strangely wanted everyone to believe.
Yes, they’d only known each other for a few days, but he hadn’t insulted her lineage. Hadn’t made her feel lesser. He was nothing like the men she’d learned to stay away from.
She wanted to say she didn’t trust him, but that would be a lie.
“I don’t know yet.”
Opalina studied her, searching for something, then gave a single nod. “Alright.”
Lilibeth sputtered. “Alright?! That’s all you have to say?”
Opalina shot her a look. “I trust Cassia’s judgment.” Then, her voice took a softer turn. “Besides . . . I was beginning to worry that you had no interest in romance after what happened. So, I suppose this entanglement, as false as it is, gives me hope.”
Lilibeth scowled but crossed her arms. “Fine. But if he so much as breathes wrong—”
“What? You’ll throw chocolates at him?” Opalina retorted.
Lilibeth growled, but Cassia saw what lay beneath the bravado. Not anger, but fear—for her.
“I may only be half Amoret Demon,” Lilibeth said, her eyes glinting with a sudden, dangerous allure, “and my magic may be persuasion and desire, not shadow and force. But I can still make a man regret his life choices in ways he wouldn’t even see coming.”
Opalina smirked. “Good. If the time comes, we’ll handle it.” She sighed, running a hand over her neatly braided coronet. “For now, we should get back before they start thinking we’re plotting your escape.”
Lilibeth eyed the high window at the back wall. “Might not be a bad idea.”
Cassia groaned. “Let’s just go. I need to prepare their order.”
She opened the storage room door and saw that Mr. and Mrs. Potts, and of course Mrs. Tilly, had surrounded Ark’s table like vultures on a carcass.
For the first time since she’d met him, Ark’s composure wavered—just a flicker—in the face of her nosy customers.
And Cassia couldn’t help noticing: she’d never seen him look this uncomfortable.