Lysara woke slowly, warmth surrounding her for one blissful, disoriented moment before awareness returned.
Daevyn lay beside her, close enough that she could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Their bodies still touched along the length of the bed, yet he was turned away from her, his back to her, one arm tucked beneath the pillow.
It meant nothing, she told herself.
Not everyone slept wrapped around one another. Not every couple spent the night tangled together. People rolled over in their sleep. They sought comfort, warmth, space.
It meant nothing.
And yet...
She could not silence the quiet ache that settled somewhere beneath her ribs.
Only hours before, he had led her through the night with quiet, unwavering certainty. There had been no hesitation in him, no uncertainty, every touch deliberate, every command given with calm confidence until she had forgotten where one sensation ended and the next began. Afterwards they had drifted into exhausted sleep together, and she had fallen asleep feeling as if doubts had been resolved.
Waking to the line of his back felt like waking in another world. The distance of a few inches somehow felt immeasurable.
She closed her eyes. Her impulse was to move closer, to slide an arm around his waist and coax him back towards her. Surely, if she nestled against him, he would turn instinctively into her embrace. Surely...
Pride answered before hope could.
Very carefully, she slipped from beneath the covers.
The old floorboards were cold beneath her bare feet. She gathered her clothes from where they had been abandoned the night before, dressing quietly in the pale morning light that filtered through the tall windows. Her overnight case stood open beside the wardrobe, waiting exactly where she had left it.
Only once she was fully dressed did she glance back towards the bed.
He hadn't stirred.
She eased the bedroom door open and stepped into the corridor.
House Vale felt entirely different by daylight.
The romance of candlelight and roaring fireplaces had given way to the honest scrutiny of morning. Wallpaper had begun to peel at the seams. The polished timber beneath the carpets showed scratches earned over centuries. Decorative plasterwork bore fine cracks that no amount of careful cleaning could disguise. Even the electrical fittings belonged to another age, preserved more from necessity than sentiment.
The previous evening, she had admired the house's history.
This morning she noticed its neglect.
Daevyn had not exaggerated.
The estate needed far more than cosmetic repairs. It needed investment. Time. Skilled craftsmen. A fortune.
She wandered slowly along the corridor, fingertips brushing the worn banister as she descended the staircase.
House Vale carried the dignity of an ancient family whose wealth had quietly slipped away around it. Pride remained. So did responsibility. Money, however, had become something far less certain.
She paused on the landing.
Her father's words returned uninvited.
Be sure, before you give your heart to this man, that he is giving you his.
Standing in the quiet morning light of House Vale, surrounded by the visible evidence of generations of dwindling fortune, she found the question returning with stubborn persistence.
Had Daevyn chosen her...
Or had he chosen the marriage?
She knew he desired her. There was no doubting that. She could still feel the memory of his hands against her skin, hear the quiet certainty in his voice as he had promised to be a good husband.
But desire was not love.
Her father had asked her to be certain.
Kaethriel had warned her, gently, that duty and the heart did not always choose the same path.
And yet...
She closed her eyes.
For a long moment she simply breathed. The scent of old beeswax, woodsmoke and polished timber settled around her as she reached carefully outward with her magic, searching for that fragile thread she had sensed ever since the wedding.
The bond.
It wasn't something she could describe in words. Not a voice. Not a thought. More like the faintest awareness that another soul existed somewhere beyond herself.
There.
A smile touched her lips before she could stop it.
She wasn't imagining it.
Or if she was, then it was a remarkably persistent imagination.
The feeling had grown stronger.
Not dramatically. But stronger than it had been.
Last night had changed something.
She had always been told that true bonds deepened with intimacy, growing stronger with shared trust, shared vows, shared lives. Marriage strengthened them further still. Once husband and wife had spoken their vows, there would be no uncertainty at all. Thoughts could pass between them. Emotions. Comfort. Even distance became almost meaningless.
As a little girl she had dreamed of finding that sort of bond.
Dreamed of belonging so completely to another soul that loneliness simply ceased to exist.
Perhaps that was why she had found it so difficult to believe this one was real.
Because she had wanted it for so very long.
She opened her eyes slowly.
The connection remained.
Faint as silk, impossible to grasp, but undeniably there.
And if she could feel it... Surely he could too.
So maybe money was part of the reason, she reassured herself as she continued down the stairs. But she could not believe that it was the only one.
She reached the entrance hall to find one of the housemaids dusting the carved staircase.
The young woman looked up in mild surprise before setting the cloth aside with a graceful curtsy.
"My lady?"
Lysara hesitated.
"I wonder if someone might arrange a carriage for me back to the Human Realm."
"Of course, my lady."
There was no flicker of surprise, no awkward hesitation—and Lysara couldn’t help but wonder how frequently women left Daevyn’s chambers in the early dawn light.
The maid crossed to a small bell pull concealed beside the fireplace and rang it once. Somewhere deeper within the house another bell answered.
"It will be brought around immediately."
Lysara thanked her quietly before stepping outside.
Morning had transformed the gardens as completely as it had the house. Frost silvered the lawns, and the formal hedges stood dusted with white beneath a pale winter sky. Beyond them the ancient forest stretched away into stillness, every branch glazed with ice.
She settled onto the weathered stone bench beside the great front doors, drawing her coat a little closer around herself.
She hoped the carriage would arrive before Daevyn woke.
Not because she wished to avoid him forever.
Only because she wasn't yet certain she could look into those remarkable green eyes without betraying every question she had spent the last half hour trying to quiet.
The sound of harness bells drifted through the crisp morning air.
Moments later the black carriage emerged from between the snow-laden yews and swept to a halt before the steps. The coachman climbed down at once to open the door for her.
"To the Human Gate, my lady?"
"Please."
Relief loosened something tight inside her as the carriage rolled away from House Vale.
She watched the ancient manor recede through the rear window until the last glimpse of its snow-covered towers disappeared amongst the trees.
Only then did she allow herself to look away.
The carriage drew to a halt before the ancient stone arch.
Daevyn's coachman climbed down at once, opening the carriage door before offering her a respectful bow.
"My lady."
"Thank you."
Lysara gathered her overnight case and stepped down into the crisp Winter air.
The ring of mushrooms lay just beyond the archway, the glamour shimmering faintly between the weathered stones.
She stepped through and winter gave way to the mild warmth of the Human Realm. The arch dissolved into nothing more than a circle of pale mushrooms beneath towering pine trees, and beyond them sat an unlikely collection of luxury vehicles scattered through the clearing.
She breathed out slowly, retrieved her phone, and requested a taxi.
By the time it arrived fifteen minutes later, she had almost convinced herself she wasn't replaying the previous night over and over in her mind.
The driver slowed as he entered the clearing, his gaze sweeping across the Aston Martins, Bentleys, Porsches and Range Rovers parked amongst the trees.
"That’s never not strange," he muttered as she climbed into the back seat.
"I’m sorry?” She wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly.
"I've picked up from here before."
"You have?" She buckled her seatbelt.
"Oh, plenty of times." He nodded as he pulled away. "Always from this exact spot. Just people wandering out of the forest dressed like they've stepped out of a history book."
Lysara smiled despite herself.
"They're always very polite, mind you."
"I'm glad to hear it."
"So..." His curiosity finally got the better of him. "What's out there?"
She lowered her voice conspiratorially.
"I really shouldn't tell you."
His eyebrows rose.
"It's a secret society."
"No kidding?"
She nodded gravely. "I've probably already said too much. If they discover I've told you that, I'll be in dreadful trouble."
He considered this for a few moments. "Like the Freemasons?"
"Very similar...Except with considerably more cosplay."
Realisation dawned. "Oh! Renaissance fair people." He exclaimed. "I should have known it. Whole bunch of adults out in the woods pretending to be knights and dragons."
Lysara looked out of the window, her smile growing despite herself. "Something very much like that."
The driver seemed entirely satisfied by the explanation, humming cheerfully to himself as they joined the morning traffic.
Her phone began vibrating as the taxi joined the freeway.
Lysara glanced down at the screen.
Daevyn.
For a moment she simply looked at his name.
She couldn't remember giving him her number, though that hardly seemed remarkable. If he could arrange flowers to arrive before she reached home, obtaining a telephone number was unlikely to present much difficulty.
She let the call ring through to voicemail. The taxi was not the place for the conversation that she was sure would follow.
Her parents were already in the breakfast room when she arrived home, sunlight pouring through the tall windows onto the polished table.
She slipped quietly upstairs without announcing herself.
A long shower did little to settle the restless thoughts circling her mind. By the time she emerged, dressed in leggings, an oversized sweater and her hair tied into a loose ponytail, she had convinced herself that an hour at the dance studio would restore some perspective.
"Ah," her mother said brightly as Lysara appeared in the doorway of the breakfast room. "There you are."
"Morning."
She kissed first her mother's cheek, then her father's, stole the last of the tea waiting beside her untouched place setting and rescued a slice of toast before either parent could begin asking questions.
"I'm heading out."
"So early?" Elowen asked.
"Dance."
Theron looked up from his newspaper with an amused smile.
"Enjoy yourself."
"I intend to."
She escaped before either of them could ask whether she had enjoyed the previous evening.
She had barely backed the Mini from the garage before she saw the Aston Martin.
It sat neatly across the driveway, impossible to miss.
Her foot drifted automatically to the brake.
For one impossible moment she considered reversing back into the garage and pretending she had never seen it.
Instead, she switched off the engine and rested both hands on the steering wheel. Drawing a steadying breath, she climbed out.
Daevyn was leaning casually against the Aston Martin, dressed not in one of his impeccable suits but dark jeans and a charcoal knit sweater that somehow made him look even more unfairly handsome. A takeaway coffee rested in one hand, another in the other.
His expression softened the moment he saw her.
"You left before breakfast." He held one cup towards her. "So I brought breakfast to you."
She accepted it almost automatically. The cup was warm between her hands. "Thank you."
"I wasn't sure how you take your coffee." A faint smile touched his mouth. "There's milk and sugar in the bag if I've guessed incorrectly."
She lifted the lid and took a cautious sip. "It's perfect."
"I'm pleased." His gaze drifted briefly towards the little Mini before returning to her. "Were you going somewhere?"
"Dance."
He nodded, as though that answered a question he'd been asking himself. "I wondered what drew you from my bed so early this morning.”
There was no accusation in his voice.
Only quiet curiosity.
Lysara looked down at the coffee cup in her hands.
"I didn't want to wake you."
The answer was true.
It simply wasn't the whole truth.
"I wonder if I might be able to lure you into considering other plans." He lifted a paper bag from the bonnet of the Aston Martin and offered it to her. "I come with bribery as well as coffee."
The unmistakable aroma of warm pastries drifted out.
He stepped closer, one hand settling lightly against her waist before leaning down to brush a lingering kiss against her lips.
When he drew back, his smile was thoughtful.
"Take a walk on the beach with me?” He opened the passenger door for her.
She hesitated a moment before taking the bag from his hand. “I guess, as you brought pastries.”
As she settled into the leather seat, she caught sight of still-warm croissants nestled inside the bag.
Daevyn slid behind the wheel and started the engine.
For a few minutes they drove in comfortable silence, the coastline gradually replacing the suburbs.
"For next time," Daevyn said quietly as he guided the Aston Martin into a parking space overlooking the sea, "stay."
He switched off the engine but made no move to get out. "I would have liked to wake beside you."
The knot she had carried from House Vale eased. She had seen his turned back, remembered her father's caution, remembered Kaethriel's warning, looked at the worn grandeur of House Vale, and somehow managed to convince herself that leaving unnoticed had been the dignified thing to do.
"I'm sorry," she admitted softly. "I thought I was sparing us both an awkward conversation."
His brow furrowed.
"Awkward?"
She gave a small, embarrassed shrug.
"It seemed... easier to let you wake alone than to discover I had mistaken everything."
For a moment he simply looked at her, then exhaled a quiet laugh and shook his head.
"Lysara."
There was no reproach in her name. Only bewildered affection.
He reached for his coffee, peeling back the lid before speaking again. "May I ask you something?"
She nodded. "Did I make you uncomfortable?"
The question surprised her enough that she looked at him properly. "No."
"You would tell me if I had?"
"Of course."
His gaze lingered on hers, searching her face as though weighing the truth of her answer. "I know I wasn't..." His smile became self-conscious. "Particularly restrained."
Colour climbed warmly into her cheeks.
"No," she said, unable to suppress a smile. "You weren't."
"I worried afterwards."
She blinked. "You worried?"
"I know what I wanted." He stirred his coffee absently, watching the cream spiral through the black. "I wasn't entirely certain I'd paid enough attention to what you wanted."
The confession caught her completely off guard.
"Lysara?"
She laughed wryly as she realized that he thought she had left because of the sex. "No," she said, shaking her head. "You have nothing to worry about."
He studied her for another moment. Then, slowly, the tension left his shoulders. "That's reassuring."
She smiled into her coffee. "I rather thought it would have been obvious."
His mouth curved into a rueful grin. "I was... confident at the time, but the light of day and waking to an empty bed did puncture that confidence a little."
The warmth in his eyes met hers for the briefest moment.
She felt it all over again—that impossible mixture of embarrassment and exhilaration that only he seemed capable of provoking.
Perhaps, she thought, they were both equally out of their depth. “It is a big decision,” she blurted out. “I just… don’t want it to be the wrong one. For either of us.”