Lysara stood beneath the old oak until the dark grey Aston Martin disappeared beyond the Ashwyn gates, one hand resting lightly against her lips where Daevyn's had last touched them. Her heart still refused to settle, every beat seeming determined to remind her that the impossible had just happened.
Lord Daevyn Vale had come to court her.
Amongst the oldest Houses of the Winter Court, there was very little difference between a formal courtship and an intention to marry. Such things were not entered into lightly, nor abandoned without consequence. Whatever had happened between him and the wedding singer after Niava's wedding, he had still crossed the veil into the Human Realm, sought her out, and asked for the opportunity to win her hand.
I find myself in need of a wife.
The words echoed through her thoughts, tangled hopelessly with the memory of his mouth upon hers, the warmth of his body against hers beneath the oak, and the way his carefully ordered composure had unravelled as completely as her own.
A smile escaped before she could stop it.
Her mother was waiting in the hallway when she stepped inside.
"Well?" Elowen demanded before the front door had even clicked shut behind her. "What did he say?”
"He..." Lysara laughed nervously, trying to gather thoughts that seemed determined to scatter in every direction. "He said he was looking for a wife." Her smile became impossible to contain. "And that he would like to court me."
Her mother gave a delighted squeal, catching Lysara by both wrists.
"Oh, my darling," Elowen laughed, pulling her into a fierce embrace. "I knew you would do well for yourself, but I never imagined..." She leaned back, her eyes shining. "House Vale. One of the oldest Houses in the Winter Court."
Then her expression changed abruptly as she took in Lysara's jeans.
"And what," she demanded in exasperation, "possessed you to wear this?"
Lysara looked down at herself.
"What?"
"Out of every beautiful dress hanging in your wardrobe, you chose jeans." Elowen threw her hands into the air. "When you came downstairs, I very nearly died."
"They're comfortable."
"They're denim."
Lysara couldn't suppress a smile.
"Daevyn didn't seem to mind."
"Lysara." Her father's voice carried quietly from the study. "When you have a moment." He disappeared back through the doorway before she could answer.
Elowen released her with a theatrical sigh. "Go and speak to your father. I'll make us all a pot of tea."
Lysara crossed the hallway towards the study, her smile fading slightly. The room overlooked the old oak tree. She had never really noticed that before.
Then again, she had never before found herself kissing an impossibly handsome Fae noble beneath its branches.
Thank goodness Daevyn had possessed rather more self-control than she had.
Her father stood beside his desk, thoughtfully turning a crystal tumbler between his hands. His jacket had been draped over the back of his chair, while a decanter of whisky and two glasses sat upon the low table beside the window. One glass was empty. The other still held a finger or two of amber liquid.
Daevyn had clearly been there for some time before she arrived home.
"About Daevyn Vale..."
"Yes, Papa?" She took the chair opposite him, immediately noticing the concern lingering beneath his usually calm expression.
Her father was quiet for a long moment before speaking. "Everything I've ever heard of Daevyn Vale has been favourable. He's intelligent, hardworking and, by all accounts, an honourable young man. If I had been asked to describe the sort of gentleman I hoped my daughter might one day meet, I doubt I could have invented one much better. Which is precisely why this conversation is so difficult."
Lysara frowned. "I don't understand."
"You should know that House Vale has not enjoyed the easiest of fortunes these past several decades. The Vales have become very good at ensuring nobody notices." He crossed to the window, looking out towards the gardens. "In business, one begins to hear things. The sort that never reach the society pages."
He glanced back at her. "House Vale has been quietly selling assets. Small holdings. The sort of sales respectable families make when they need liquidity but don't wish anyone to ask why."
Lysara felt her stomach tighten. "You think they're in financial trouble?"
"One thing that has always brought your mother and me great comfort," he said quietly, "is knowing that you have choices." He sat opposite her, leaning forward slightly. "You may marry, or you may spend the next twenty years painting. You may travel the Human Realm. Or you may disappear into some little village in the Summer Court and fill a cottage with canvases and entirely too many cats."
A reluctant laugh escaped her. "I don't even like cats."
"Then dogs."
She smiled.
"My point is that your life belongs to you. Your mother and I have been fortunate enough to ensure that whatever you choose, you'll never make that choice because you need someone else to look after you." His expression softened. "House Vale is an extraordinary match. I won't pretend otherwise. Ancient blood, impeccable reputation, influence throughout the Winter Court..." He spread his hands. "Your mother has probably already imagined your children running through halls that have stood for twenty thousand years."
"That sounds suspiciously specific." Lysara’s laugh was brittle. She felt as if the bubble of happiness she’d floated into the house in had popped.
"I've been married to your mother for centuries. I know exactly how her mind works." His smile faded. "But titles are not enough." He held her gaze. "If Daevyn Vale wishes to court you because he admires you, then I couldn't be happier. But if he wishes to court you because your family happens to possess considerable wealth..."
He let the sentence trail away.
Lysara wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "You think that's why he's here?"
Silence settled between them, heavily weighted with the words he did not say.
“I…” She hesitated. “I think I feel…” She swallowed hard. “I think I feel the bond.”
His expression eased. “That would be wonderful. Love is a wonderful reason to marry. I want that for you.” He reached across the desk and squeezed her hand. "Just promise me one thing. Before you give your heart to him, make certain he's giving you his."