In the heart of Begies, a heavy silence fell over the crowd gathered outside the Lee mansion. King Liam stood at the center of a phalanx of soldiers and officials, his presence commanding and cold.
Warren stepped forward, bowing deeply. "Your Majesty, we found these potion vials inside. Every member of the Lee family has been processed. They are all human, Milord."
Liam's gaze remained fixed on the estate. The recent assassination attempt in Firestark shouldn't have been possible. Firestark was a dead zone—a land where magic and abilities were strictly forbidden by the natural laws of the realm. Yet, someone had cast a spell.
"Take the vials to the castle," Liam commanded, his voice like grinding stone. "Tell Minister Jeol to produce the transit logs for Firestark and Derefield immediately."
He ran a gloved hand over a wooden table near the entrance, his jaw tightening. He could feel it—the greasy, lingering residue of dark magic clinging to the grain of the wood. "Rory," he called out, "the list?"
Prince Rory descended the grand staircase, tucking a parchment into his tunic. "I have it. A significant portion of the estate was transferred to the wife's name recently. More interestingly, a plot of land was purchased in Firestark. No names were registered on the deed—before or after the sale."
Liam's deep red eyes narrowed, scanning the room for any missed detail. As they exited the mansion, a massive, white-washed estate across the way caught his eye. It was bustling with high-society visitors.
"What is that?" Liam asked.
"An exhibition, it seems," Rory replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He knew exactly who owned that mansion, and he knew the explosive reaction that was coming. Rory had been digging into the Saipon family ever since he'd met his sister-in-law. His investigation had led him to a man named Ivan Westwood—a man who, in a previous life, had been his sister-in-law's greatest love.
How Ivan had returned as an Elf after the tragedy that destroyed them all was a mystery Rory was dying to solve. "A quick look shouldn't harm us, Your Majesty," he added smoothly.
A short distance away, tucked behind the white mansion, lay a hidden valley of purple Rhododendrons. Floria gasped, her eyes wide as she took in the sea of vibrant petals.
"Ivan… this is breathtaking. I had no idea you kept a place like this."
Ivan watched her, a soft, rare chuckle escaping him. "I've been cultivating these for years, Flor. When I asked you for a chance, I wasn't speaking lightly. These are for you."
Floria looked from the flowers to him, stunned. "And what is that supposed to mean?" It was one thing to gift flowers, but for a practical, high-ranking Elf like Ivan to cultivate an entire field felt like a monumental confession.
"These aren't ordinary blooms," Ivan said, plucking a single flower and breathing in its scent. "Elves are blessed with the power to mend. I have poured my own energy into these petals for years. They are designed to help your soul break free from the bond."
Floria's heart skipped. "Do you… do you know what happened to me? In my past life?"
It was a question she had asked a hundred times, and for the hundredth time, Ivan simply shook his head, his expression pained but firm.
"Then tell me this," she whispered, looking at the glowing purple field. "How exactly does a soul-bond breakage work?"
Ivan turned away from the shimmering flowers to find Floria watching him, her eyes clouded with unspoken questions. He hesitated. He knew that explaining the mechanics of the bond—and the agonizing toll its destruction would take on the one who placed it—might spark a flicker of sympathy for the Vampire King. He couldn't risk that. He wanted to scrub away every foul trace of her past, which was why he had spent years pouring his own life force into these soul-mending blossoms.
"You only need to consume them at specific intervals," he explained, his voice softening. "It will act as a catalyst. It will allow your heart to open, Floria—to feel as any other woman does."
Since the moment he had found her, Floria had been like a marble statue: beautiful, but emotionally hollow. It had taken a Herculean effort to track her soul down. In his past life, he had been a mere human, but through the grace of an Archangel who became his guardian, he had been reborn as an Elf to protect her.
"I cannot be certain of everything," he admitted, "but it will sever that undying tether that pulls at your soul."
Floria nodded slowly, though her mind was a whirlwind of doubt. The bond breakage... the end of this hollow pulling. For years, her life had been a silent turmoil. She couldn't feel desire or joy the way others did. Was this truly for the best? Or was she trading one kind of emptiness for another?
"I'll have Finley deliver them to the mansion," Ivan said, breaking her trance. "We still have much to see today."
As they walked, Ivan tried to lighten the mood. "Did you know we received our largest commission to date this morning?"
"Was it Mr. Walner?" Floria asked, grateful for the distraction. "I've heard stories of him. To order a grand statue of his wife after her passing... it makes me think not every fruit in the basket is rotten."
Toby Walner was a rarity—a pureblooded vampire of impeccable character who had loved his human wife so deeply he respected her choice to remain mortal, even if it meant losing her.
"He is a rare one," Ivan agreed. "This is the fourth version we've crafted; he is a perfectionist. It's hard to say if he's a 'good' man in the grand scheme, but even among the shadows, there is occasionally a sweet apple. A human heart can be a powerful influence."
Floria looked at him sideways, her curiosity piqued. "Ivan... did you ever love someone else before me? I've never seen you so much as hold a woman's hand, not even among your own kind."
Ivan paused, the weight of centuries flickering in his eyes. He was a man of stone and secrets, always dancing around the truth with poetic words. "Some tales are meant to be told only when the time is right, Floria. For everyone's sake." He stepped aside, gesturing for her to lead the way back toward the estate. "Shall we?"
"The grand display awaits, doesn't it?" she asked, a spark of mischief finally lighting up her face.
"It certainly does, Milady," Ivan chuckled. "This exhibition was organized specifically for the lady currently walking ahead of me—the one who complained quite loudly about being left out last time."
Floria laughed, remembering how she had missed the previous event while finishing her literature studies out of town. "Of course, gentleman."
They reached the mansion, a breathtaking structure known to the public as 'Blessed by the Heavens.' To the locals, it was a symbol of faith. To the inhabitants, it was a sanctuary where heavenly beings took refuge. The white walls were a masterpiece of divine architecture, carved with the likenesses of angels and messengers, each pillar whispering a different story of the gods.
As they stepped inside, the air grew heavy with the scent of lilies and the hushed whispers of the elite, unaware that the King of the Realm was currently marching toward their doors.
Floria walked just a few paces ahead of Ivan, her heart light until she rounded the corner into the main hall. The atmosphere shifted instantly. The crowd had parted, leaving a wide, respectful vacuum around three men.
Her breath hitched. There they were: one with hair like spun silver, one a deep brunette, and the leader—a man with hair as red as fresh blood. The moment her eyes met his, a violent tug pulled at her chest, like a knot being jerked tight. His eyes, a rich, piercing crimson, seemed to slice through her skin and read the very secrets of her soul.
"Mr. Westwood, I presume?"
The voice was deep, resonant, and sent a cold shiver racing down Floria's spine. Red hair... those eyes... A terrifying realization dawned on her. This was the King.
Ivan stepped forward, his voice dripping with forced sweetness and formal respect, though the hardness in his eyes was unmistakable. "Long live Your Majesty. Please, pardon my lack of preparation; had I known, I would have sent a servant to receive your commands. How may I serve you, Milord?"
"Long live the King," Floria whispered, finally forcing herself to break that suffocating eye contact. The moment she looked away, a wave of tightness flooded her chest, making it hard to breathe.
Liam Atkinson's gaze drifted to the intricate carvings on the pillars. "I am impressed by your skill, Westwood. One would think a deity had carved such art."
Floria's heart hammered against her ribs. Did the King know? It was rumored Liam was a hybrid—a Witch-Vampire of immense power. Could he see through Ivan's human glamour to the Elf beneath?
Liam looked back at Floria—his "little rabbit." Seeing her standing beside her past lover, a man who had gone so far as to shed his humanity to become an Elf just to stay near her, ignited a cold, silent rage in his veins. To think he could win her back with pointed ears and magic. How pathetic, Liam thought, his jaw tightening until the veins in his neck stood out. His fists clenched at his sides, his red eyes darkening with the primal urge to rip Ivan apart and drag Floria to his side where she belonged.
The tension between the two men was a physical weight, held back only by the thin, fragile thread that was Floria.
"Mr. Westwood is far too talented to be wasted on private exhibitions," Liam said, his voice laced with a dangerous irony. "The palace is in dire need of a decorator for the upcoming season. Wouldn't you agree, Prince?"
Prince Rory, catching the scent of his brother's possessiveness, flashed a mischievous grin. "Absolutely, Your Majesty. The palace needs a fresh touch, especially with the Royal Ball approaching. Mr. Westwood would be a perfect addition to the royal staff."
Warren, standing just behind them, gave a small, weary shake of his head. He knew exactly what the royals were doing—they were bringing their enemy into the lion's den.
"Then it is settled," Liam declared, his eyes returning to Floria. He could hear her heart racing from across the room, a frantic, rhythmic thrumming that he found intoxicating. He wanted to cage that heart. He wanted her bound to him so tightly she would never even dream of running.
"Lady Saipon," Rory said, stepping forward to take her hand. He pressed a lingering kiss to the back of her glove.
"Greetings, Prince Rory," Floria replied, curtsying deeply. She felt a wave of caution; the Prince's charm felt like a gilded trap.
Liam watched the interaction with distant, calculating eyes.
"I trust we shall see you at the ball, Lady Floria?" Rory asked smoothly.
"The pleasure would be mine, Milord," she replied. She looked so small, her amethyst eyes guarded, her pale skin glowing under the chandelier light. To Liam, she hadn't changed at all; she was still the same soul he intended to conquer.
"Milord, Prince, Mr. Davies... please, excuse me," Floria stammered. She bowed quickly and turned, almost running toward the gardens.
Liam watched her go, a dark, possessive smirk playing on his lips. Run all you want with those tiny legs, Mel. You can't run away from me anymore.
Once outside, Floria gasped for air, her lungs burning. The encounter had left her reeling. There was a strange, magnetic pull toward the King—something that felt like it was waking up a version of herself that had been sleeping for centuries.
She wanted to shake it off. She wanted peace, far away from the blood and politics of the court. She spent the rest of the afternoon drifting through the exhibition in a daze, barely hearing the greetings of acquaintances.
All she could feel was the ghost of that heavy, red-eyed gaze—the anger, the raw possession, and the dark promise that had followed her out of the room. The Royals had left the mansion, but the shadow of the King remained, wrapped tightly around her heart.
Peace had finally begun to settle over the Saipon estate. For Lillian, the days were filled with the quiet thrill of learning witchcraft under Lady Lily's guidance. She felt a budding sense of belonging with the family, and in the constant, warm presence of Jace, the terrifying memories of Wonderland had started to fade into a blur. Meanwhile, Floria moved through her life like a ghost. Despite Ivan's tireless efforts to woo her and sway her heart, she remained trapped in a state of icy indifference. Even the soul-mending medicine he gave her seemed powerless against the emotional void that kept her from truly connecting with him, leaving her feeling nothing but a hollow sense of pity for the devoted Elf.
Late that night, after the household had fallen silent following dinner, Lillian made her way toward Jace's chambers. She was buzzing with excitement, eager to show him a new spell she had mastered.
"Jace? Jace, are you awake?" she whispered, tapping softly on his door. When no answer came, she sighed softly, assuming he had already drifted off. Thirsty, she padded down to the kitchen, the cold stone floor chilling her bare feet. She gulped down a glass of water, but as she turned to head back to her room, a muffled, rhythmic sound from the direction of the basement caught her ear.
Curiosity, sharp and relentless, pulled her toward the heavy basement door. It was slightly ajar, casting long, flickering shadows against the stone walls from the lanterns within. As she drew closer, the sound of labored breathing and muffled cries grew louder.
She pushed the door just an inch further, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis.
The air was thick and metallic with the stench of fresh blood. Several bodies lay slumped and lifeless on the cold floor. In the center of the room stood Ethan and Jace. Ethan held a heavy iron rod, his face twisted into a maniacal grin. "Did you really think you'd draw another breath after infiltrating this mansion?" Ethan laughed, his voice sounding like a stranger's as he brought the rod down on the man trembling before him.
Lillian let out a sharp, horrified gasp. She stumbled backward, her heels clicking loudly against the stone. Both Ethan and Jace snapped their heads toward her.
"Lillian! No—stop!" Jace shouted.
At that moment, one of the wounded men on the floor scrambled toward Jace, screaming, "Young Master, look out!"
With a single, cold glance from Jace, the man's body violently erupted, blood spraying across the room in a horrific display of power. Terrified, Lillian turned and bolted. Her heart thundered against her ribs like a trapped bird as she scrambled up the staircase, her breath coming in ragged sobs.
She was inches from her chamber door when Jace's voice cut through the dark. "Lillian, stop! Please, just listen to me!"
Suddenly, her strength vanished. It felt as if the very blood in her veins had frozen, halting its path through her body. She stumbled, and in an instant, he was there. He slammed her against the wall, pinning both of her wrists above her head with a single hand.
"N-no... let me go! Please!" she sobbed, shrinking away from him. "I'll leave, I'll go away, just please let me go!"
Jace leaned in close, his ice-cold eyes devoid of their usual warmth, swallowed by the shadows of the hallway. "You aren't going anywhere," he whispered, his voice a low, possessive growl that made her blood run cold. "I won't let you leave. Never. Don't you ever think of leaving me, Lillian."
Only minutes had passed since the household had retired, but the silence had been a lie. Jace had caught the scent before they even breached the doors—vampires, scavengers looking for an easy mark. After a brutal interrogation in the basement, the truth came out: they were here for Lillian. It seems my little squirrel has brought some dangerous shadows with her, he thought darkly.
He hadn't hesitated. Leaving them alive was a risk he couldn't take, but the sight of the slaughter was more than Lillian's fragile heart could handle. When he saw her at the door, her face a mask of pure terror, he knew he couldn't let her run. His father, Oscar, was not a man of compromise when it came to family, and Jace was even less so when it came to his "squirrel."
His voice was like ice as he dragged her into his room, his grip firm as he forced her onto the bed. "What are you doing, Jace?" she cried out, trembling like a cat caught in a storm, her instincts screaming at her to fight back.
"Something I should have done a long time ago," he murmured. He leaned over her, his hand grazing her cheek with a sudden, unexpected tenderness. He pinned her gently against the mattress, letting his warmth seep into her, trying to show her she was safe even as he terrified her. Her olive-green eyes were wide, drowning in his, her mahogany hair splayed across the silk sheets like a dark halo.
As his breath fanned across her neck, Lillian felt a dizzying rush of ecstasy and fear. "Look at me, Lillian," he commanded. When she met his gaze, his blue eyes were glowing with an ethereal, haunting light. He flicked his gaze toward the nightstand.
Lillian gasped. The water in the crystal jug began to rise, hovering in the air as if held by invisible hands, before splashing back down at his silent command. The glow in his eyes faded slowly as he looked back at her.
"What... what was that?" she stammered, her heart hammering. "Are you a witch, too?"
"Do you really want to know?" He reached out, twining a lock of her hair around his finger. He wasn't a gentleman; he was a predator, a man willing to tame her with a love so intense it bordered on obsession. He watched her nod, a faint, dark smirk touching his lips. "You came to find me at such an odd hour. You had something to show me, didn't you?"
He played dumb, though Ethan had already told him she'd discovered her affinity for fire.
"I... I did," Lillian whispered, trying to regain her composure as she sat up. "I wanted to show you that I've learned to control the flames."
"Is that so? Fantastic," Jace said, his tone shifting to a playful, dangerous edge. "I was just about to take a hot bath." He led her to the massive stone tub in his ensuite, already filled with water that looked bone-chillingly cold.
"Jace, I don't think this is... appropriate," she murmured, her ears and cheeks turning a bright, frantic crimson.
"What? Warming my bathwater?" he teased, leaning in until their noses almost touched. "Or were you thinking of something else, squirrel?"
Lillian moved to the edge of the tub, her hands trembling. She knelt and summoned a flicker of orange light from her palms. Within seconds, steam began to roll off the surface of the water.
"Wonderful," Jace praised, though his voice dropped an octave. "You're ready to roast any admirer who dares come near you."
Lillian froze. "Admirers? You mean... the people in the basement? They came for me, didn't they?"
Jace saw the guilt take hold of her, and he seized it. It was the only way to keep her pinned to his side. Someone wanted her alive—someone powerful enough to send vampires. "They did. And since you're being hunted, you'll have to master your craft to protect us, won't you?"
As Lillian turned to respond, her breath hitched. Jace had already stripped to his trousers, his chest broad and intimidatingly toned. "I think... I should go," she whispered, her words dying in her throat as he stepped toward her.
"You think what, sweetheart?"
The next second was a blur of splashing water. Lillian slipped, falling into the deep tub, only to be caught instantly by Jace as he dove in after her. She gasped, grabbing his shoulders as the water soaked through her gown, making it cling to her every curve.
"Breathe, squirrel. You aren't a mermaid yet," he chuckled, his hands settling firmly on her waist.
Lillian felt the heat of his skin against her palms. He felt broader, stronger—more than human. If Aunt Lily is a witch and Uncle Oscar is a witcher... what is Jace? And what about Floria?
"Lillian," he whispered, his voice vibrating against her ear, sending shivers down her spine. "I want to show you something... I am not a witcher."
She looked at him, completely lost. "Then what are you?"
He shook his head, his eyes locking onto hers with a burning intensity. "First, answer the question you've been running from. Do you love me, Lillian?"
The world stopped. The only sound was the drip of water and the frantic rhythm of her heart as she stared into the eyes of the man who was both her protector and her captor.
Lillian looked up at him, her heart overflowing. This was the man who had pulled her from the wreckage of her past, the one who shielded her from the world and accepted her without question. How could she not love him?
"I do," she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of the confession. "I love you, Jace. I have for a very long time."
The thin thread of restraint Jace had been clinging to finally snapped. He crashed his lips against hers, a desperate, hungry greeting. His hand gripped her waist, anchoring her to him as she reached up to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders. "Part your lips for me, sweetheart," he murmured against her skin. His kiss was slow and intoxicating, a passionate exploration that claimed every corner of her breath. When he finally pulled back, Lillian was gasping, her head spinning from the sheer intensity of him.
He cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing her lower lip. His voice was husky, thick with a raw, undeniable need. "I want you, Lillian. I want you by my side forever. I want to marry you and hold our child in my arms."
The warmth of his words burned away her lingering fears. Overwhelmed and not knowing how else to respond, she leaned forward and pressed a shy, quick peck to his lips. Jace froze, stunned by her rare show of initiative, before growling low in his throat and pulling her back in to devour her lips once more.
As they moved together, Lillian's forehead eventually came to rest against his chest as she tried to catch her breath. But as she shifted, she felt something strange—something smooth, cold, and powerful—brushing against her legs beneath the water.
"Jace... you... you're a..."
She pulled back, her eyes widening in shock. Jace had transformed. He had grown unnaturally broad, his pale skin shimmering like moonlight against a massive, bluish-purple tail that made him look a foot taller than before. Sharp, elegant fins trailed down his arms, and a powerful fluke rested at the bottom of the tub.
"Do you still love me, Lillian?" he asked, his blue eyes glowing with a hypnotic, enchanted light.
Lillian stared at him, breathless. "I... I do, Jace. I accept you. My lord... you are beautiful. You look like a god of the deep."
Jace let out a low chuckle, pulling her into a fierce hug. He hadn't expected such a pure, fearless reaction. God, she's too precious to resist, he thought, his heart swelling. He settled her onto the submerged step of the tub, his lips finding hers again in a heart-melting kiss that promised safety and devotion.
"I thought you were a witcher," she murmured against his neck, her curiosity finally surfacing. "But what about Floria? Isn't Aunt Lily a witch? She's been teaching me magic for weeks."
Jace held her close, his tail swishing slowly in the water. "My mother is a witch, yes. But Floria and I... we are something else. We are more human than vampires or witches in our hearts, but what you see now is my true form. We are the creatures the ruling species fear. Even dragons and vampires tread carefully when they sense our breath."
"Can you... can you read my thoughts?" she asked, her voice small and curious.
He laughed softly at her innocence. "Not all of us can, but some hybrids can. Just like the high-ranking vampires and witches."
"Just like them," she repeated, her voice drifting off. The adrenaline of the night finally began to fade, and within minutes, she had fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep in his arms.
Jace sat there for a long time, cradling her as the water began to cool. He had come so close to losing control, so close to overwhelming his delicate squirrel with the dark, possessive hunger of his true nature. He had sworn never to take a woman unless she was the one, and his patience was wearing thin. He wanted to mark her, to bond with her—a process that would extend her life and allow him to feel her every emotion. But he knew she wasn't ready. She was too timid, too fragile for the intensity of a merman's bond.
He would have to move carefully. He would protect her from the shadows, and when the time was right, he would make her his entirely.
The days seemed to blur together as the Royal Ball loomed on the horizon. For Floria, life had become a repetitive cycle of enduring Ivan's polite, persistent advances. While her heart remained an impenetrable fortress of indifference, she had begun to view him as a stable, gentlemanly presence—the kind of man she could, perhaps, spend a lifetime with, even if the spark of passion was missing. Yet, with every effort Ivan made to woo her, a strange, heavy weight settled deeper in her chest.
"Lillian, Flor! Look at these! What do you think?" Lady Lily's voice was bright with excitement as she gestured toward the mountain of silk and lace. Mr. Saipon had ordered the finest gowns in the city to be brought directly to the mansion.
Lily was in high spirits; she was thrilled that Floria was finally seeing someone, and she took every opportunity to tease Lillian about her obvious bond with Jace. She had even started dropping hints about a double engagement, much to the young couple's embarrassment.
"Mom, stop! You sound like you want to marry us off tomorrow!" Floria sighed. They had been trapped in this whirlwind of fabric for two hours, and her mother showed no signs of slowing down.
"Oh, you young women are so dramatic," Lily laughed, smoothing out a pleat of satin. "I just want my daughters to have the best of everything. No one wants an elopement on their hands! And Lillian, you must attend the ball. I know Jace wouldn't dream of going without you."
Floria watched as a deep flush crept up Lillian's neck. It had been six months since Lillian joined their household, and while she and Jace were clearly head-over-heels, Floria knew the social pressure was mounting. An unmarried elder daughter past the typical age of courtship was a scandal waiting to happen, and Floria didn't want her own status to hold Lillian back.
"Mother is right, Lillian," Floria added gently. "You should go. It's a rare occasion, after all." Reluctantly, Lillian agreed. She had tried to keep her distance from the Saipons at first, but their warmth had slowly but surely pulled her into the center of their hearts.
Eventually, the group split up to finalize their outfits. Lady Lily dragged Floria toward the footwear section, while Jace and Lillian were playfully shooed away to another corner of the boutique. "Go on, you two! You'll only distract us from the serious work," Lily teased.
As Floria stood among the rows of shoes, the shop owner approached, looking starstruck by her ethereal features. "Miss, are you looking for something to match your gown? If I may see the fabric..."
"I'll take these high black ones," Floria said, her voice clipped. An assistant stepped forward with the shoes, gesturing for her to take a seat so he could help her try them on.
Suddenly, the air in the room felt different. A wave of agitation—a dark, twisted sort of glee—washed over her senses. As the assistant knelt and took hold of her foot, his touch lingered far too long. He gripped her sole with a firmness that wasn't professional; it was predatory.
She has human-like feet... what a waste of such pure blood, a voice hissed in the back of her mind. I wish I could have some fun with this one.
Floria's blood ran cold. She could sense the malice radiating off the man. It was a hunger she recognized—the hunger of a vampire hiding in plain sight. It's a good thing Jace isn't here, she thought, her heart starting to race. If her brother sensed a threat to his family, the boutique would turn into a slaughterhouse in seconds.
"Flor? What do you think of these?" her mother called out, holding up a pair of shimmering heels, completely unaware of the monster kneeling at her daughter's feet.
Floria stared at her mother, a sense of dread pooling in her stomach. Her mother was standing right over the pit, and the vipers were already circling.
"Mother, I think we should look for jewels first," Floria said, her voice steady but carrying an edge of steel. "The footwear here doesn't seem to match the gown I've chosen after all."
Floria was no fragile blossom. She and her brother had been forged in a different fire, trained by their father to be as lethal as they were elegant. For a split second, her eyes snapped down toward the attendant. As she stood up, she deliberately ground the heel of her shoe into the man's fingers. She didn't flinch as she felt the bone yield slightly; she simply stared him down with a gaze that promised a much slower death if he dared to linger.
Lady Lily was momentarily confused, but she caught the cold flash in her daughter's eyes. She trusted Floria's instincts implicitly—if Floria said it was time to move, they moved.
"Miss, please! If there has been a mistake, let me make it right," the shop owner stammered, his eyes darting to the attendant who was clutching his bruised hand in silent agony. He knew something had gone horribly wrong.
"Your merchandise is fine," Floria said, her voice dripping with icy politeness as she turned to leave. "But a wise gardener knows better than to keep a rot-infested tree in a beautiful garden. I suggest you tend to your staff." She left the warning hanging in the air, a trail of breadcrumbs for the owner to follow if he valued his life.
"Let's find Lillian and Jace, Mother," Floria urged, tucking her arm into Lily's.
"No, let them have their moment," Lily replied, her tone softening as she realized Floria had just shielded her from something dark. "We shall look for jewelry. I realized I don't have a single piece that does my new gown justice."
Across the market square, Jace had dragged a reluctant Lillian into a high-end apothecary and grooming boutique. To him, this was the most vital part of the day.
"Pack a set of everything essential for the lady," Jace ordered. The shop owner, a gentle elderly woman who had known the Saipons for years, couldn't help but smile. She had seen Jace trail behind his mother and sister for years looking utterly bored; to see him now, meticulously hovering over every silk ribbon and scented oil for Lillian, told her everything she needed to know.
"Right away, Mr. Jace," she chuckled. "It seems a celebration is in order soon."
Lillian felt a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with her fire magic. She had lived so long in fear of her identity, but here, with Jace, she felt precious. She was overwhelmed as he pushed her to try different scents, constantly nudging the attendants to bring out rarer, more beautiful varieties just to see her smile.
By the time the four of them met back at the carriages, it was past eight, and the night air had turned crisp. The exhaustion of the day finally began to settle over them. In the lead carriage, Lillian rested her head on Jace's shoulder, her eyes fluttering shut.
She felt something cool and smooth slide against her skin. Opening her eyes, she looked down to find a singular, glowing golden pearl resting against her collarbone. "Jace... this is..."
"It's my heart, Lillian," he whispered, his voice vibrating deep in his chest. "A creature of the deep sheds a pearl like this only once in their lifetime. It is a piece of me."
Lillian had heard the legends of mermaid tears turning to pearls, but she never imagined she would hold one born of such devotion. "I love you, Jace," she breathed, clutching the pearl as if it were the most fragile thing in the world. "I love you so much."
The carriages rolled forward through the quiet streets, the rhythmic clopping of hooves the only sound in the peaceful night. In the second carriage, Lily and Floria sat in a comfortable, shared silence, unaware that the dawn of the Royal Ball would bring an end to the peace they had worked so hard to build.