Lord Eastern's idea of a picnic bore only the faintest resemblance to the sort Lysara had imagined.
The sweeping lawns of his Human Realm estate had been transformed into an elegant garden party, where small wrought-iron tables stood beneath striped canvas umbrellas, each dressed in cheerful gingham that somehow managed to coexist perfectly happily beside crystal champagne flutes, polished silver ice buckets and beautifully woven picnic hampers. Beyond them, a white marquee sheltered a timber dance floor where a jazz quartet tuned their instruments between quiet conversations, while liveried waiters wandered amongst the guests balancing silver trays of champagne and delicate canapés.
It possessed all the studied informality that only the very wealthy ever seemed capable of achieving.
Lysara smiled to herself.
She had struggled to picture Sterling Eastern sitting cross-legged upon a picnic rug. It appeared she had been right to doubt it.
The afternoon was already well underway. Lords and Ladies drifted between the tables in little knots of conversation, laughter rising easily above the gentle hum of voices as champagne flowed with enough generosity to suggest that no one intended to leave particularly early.
Daevyn guided her through the crowd with an absent hand resting lightly against the small of her back before drawing out a chair beneath one of the umbrellas. It was such a small gesture now that she scarcely thought about it anymore. He simply... did things like that. Opened doors. Pulled out chairs. Took her hand whenever they walked together, as naturally as though they had been doing so for years instead of days.
While she settled herself, he reached for the champagne.
He had barely eased the cork free before greetings began arriving from every direction.
"Lord Vale."
"Good afternoon."
"Daevyn."
He answered each with effortless courtesy, filling her glass whilst carrying on three separate conversations, somehow never spilling a drop despite dividing his attention between the bottle, the people passing their table and whatever calculations always seemed to be unfolding quietly behind his eyes.
His phone vibrated.
The smile faded almost imperceptibly. "Damn." The word was spoken so quietly she almost wondered if she had imagined it.
"My apologies." He slipped the phone from his pocket, glancing at the screen before meeting her eyes with obvious reluctance. "I won't be long."
"I'll survive."
"I'm not entirely convinced."
His smile returned briefly before he accepted the call and wandered a little way across the lawn, instinctively placing enough distance between them that she wouldn't overhear the conversation.
Lysara watched him for a moment.
There was something unexpectedly beautiful about him when he forgot anyone was looking.
The easy confidence softened into concentration. One hand rested in the pocket of his jacket while the other held the phone loosely against his ear, his head inclined slightly as he listened more than he spoke.
Without consciously deciding to do so, she reached into her handbag.
Her sketchbook appeared almost of its own accord.
The first lines were always the most difficult.
Not because she didn't know what she wanted to draw, but because there were too many choices.
The elegant line of his shoulders.
The slight inclination of his head.
The loose strands of pale gold escaping the ribbon at his neck and stirring gently in the breeze.
She had almost forgotten where she was when a voice sounded directly behind her shoulder.
"You've got his posture."
Lysara started violently enough that her pencil skated across the page.
Long blonde hair tumbled over one shoulder as its owner leaned comfortably over the back of her chair, apparently oblivious to the fact that they had never properly met.
"Most people get distracted by handsome faces," the woman continued, studying the sketch with frank interest. "You've started with the way he stands."
Recognition arrived a heartbeat later.
The impossibly beautiful blonde from the wedding.
Today she wore fitted rose-pink linen that somehow managed to look effortlessly expensive without appearing to have required any effort at all.
Lysara hurriedly closed the sketchbook.
"I'm sorry—"
"You apologize a lot. What for now?" The question seemed genuinely puzzled.
"I..."
The blonde reached quite casually for Lysara's champagne flute and took a thoughtful sip before answering herself. "For drawing?"
Lysara could only stare.
"You paint."
Again, it wasn't phrased as a question.
"Yes."
"Properly?"
"I suppose that depends what you mean by properly."
The woman's eyes sparkled. "I like that answer."
She lowered herself into the empty chair opposite without so much as asking permission, crossing one elegant leg over the other as though she had every right to be there.
"So." She gestured towards the sketchbook. "Are you any good?"
The bluntness of the question stole every instinctive modesty from Lysara.
Years of tutors correcting her whenever she diminished her own ability echoed somewhere in the back of her mind.
Own your talent.
She lifted her chin.
"Yes."
The blonde's smile widened. "I thought so."
Lysara found herself smiling back despite having absolutely no idea how the conversation had reached this point.
"My name is Celeste. I'll collect you tomorrow at two."
Lysara blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"We're going painting."
"You haven't asked whether I'd like to."
Celeste dismissed the objection with a wave of one perfectly manicured hand. "If you weren't interested, you wouldn't have looked disappointed when you thought I'd mistaken your drawing for a hobby."
Lysara opened her mouth. Closed it again. "...I did?"
"You did." Celeste rose smoothly to her feet. "Two o'clock."
"You don't know where I live."
A laugh floated back across the lawn. "My dear, of course I do."
She wandered away carrying Lysara's champagne flute as though it had always belonged to her.
Lysara watched her disappear into the crowd before looking down at the empty place setting in front of her.
"...Well," she murmured to herself.
She wasn't entirely certain what had just happened.
"I'm surprised she didn't steal the sketchbook."
Daevyn's amused voice drew her attention.
He reclaimed his chair opposite her, his eyes following Celeste's retreating figure with the resigned affection of someone who had witnessed variations of the same performance many times before.
"You know her?"
"We are acquainted. I’ll get you another champagne." He raised his hand and a waiter appeared almost instantly.
"We seem to be missing a champagne flute," Daevyn observed pleasantly.
The waiter nodded without surprise. "I'll bring another immediately, my lord."
Lysara watched him hurry away before looking back at Daevyn. "He didn't even ask what happened."
"He probably assumed Celeste happened."
She laughed. "Is she always like this?"
"I couldn’t speculate on always, but the few times I have encountered her… Yes." He leaned back in his chair, watching Celeste greet another cluster of guests three tables away. "I imagine you're wondering why she's here."
"I admit the thought had crossed my mind."
A knowing smile touched his mouth. "Kaethriel went into heat last night."
Understanding dawned, and she blushed. "Oh." She suddenly realized that she, too, might go on heat. And soon. It was something that happened once a Fae woman forged an intimate relationship with a Fae man—most particularly when that man was her bonded mate.
The fresh champagne flute arrived, and he filled it before continuing. "Sterling won't be attending his own picnic."
Lysara laughed nervously into her champagne. “I’m not sure I understand.”
"Celeste was Sterling’s mistress," he explained. "Was, being the operative word. No longer. I suspect she concluded there was little danger of accidentally encountering either of them." He shook his head, amusement lingering in his eyes. “Sterling will not be pleased.”
"She's very beautiful," Lysara observed, watching Celeste drift effortlessly from one table to the next.
Daevyn followed her gaze before lifting his champagne. "I suppose she is. I've always found her rather... theatrical."
The answer surprised Lysara more than she expected. Celeste seemed exactly the sort of woman men were supposed to admire. Beautiful in the obvious sort of way, every smile polished, every movement inviting attention.
"She seemed very nice."
He looked back at her then, his expression warming despite the wry smile that lingered at the corners of his mouth. "I'm sure she was." He turned the stem of his champagne flute slowly between his fingers before adding, almost as though he disliked speaking against someone who wasn't there to defend herself, "Just remember that Celeste is rarely nice without a reason. She's not malicious—those are two very different things—but she has an extraordinary talent for arranging the world into the shape she wants it to take.”
"They suited one another rather well," Daevyn said after a thoughtful moment, his eyes following Celeste as she disappeared amongst the tables. "Celeste and Sterling, I mean."
Lysara looked at him over the rim of her champagne glass.
"But Kaethriel is his soul bond."
"So she is." There was no disagreement in his voice, only a quiet acceptance that surprised her.
She had expected him to smile, to say that soul bonds outweighed everything else, that fate always knew best. Instead, he sat turning the stem of his champagne flute slowly between his fingers, watching the bubbles rise through the pale gold wine as though the answer required more consideration than the question deserved.
"Do you think they aren't happy together?"
His mouth curved faintly. "I think they love one another."
It was not quite an answer.
She waited.
After a moment he drew a slow breath. "Kaethriel has a very gentle nature," he said carefully. "She has spent most of her life trying to make herself smaller so that other people felt more comfortable around her." His gaze drifted across the gardens until it settled somewhere beyond the guests. "Sterling..." He smiled to himself, though there was little amusement in it. "Sterling spent years believing that if he loosened his grip for even a moment, everything worth having would be taken from him."
Lysara thought of the possessive way Sterling looked at his wife whenever she entered a room. "He adores her."
"There isn't the slightest doubt of that."
"But?"
Daevyn shrugged almost imperceptibly. "Love doesn't always smooth away the sharp edges of who we are." He looked back at her. "Sterling would walk through fire for Kaethriel without a second thought. He'd die for her if it came to it. But he also has a habit of holding on too tightly."
His smile became almost apologetic. "Sometimes fragile things suffer despite being loved."
The thought lingered with Lysara longer than she expected.
She found herself thinking of delicate porcelain displayed in her mother's cabinet at home. Beautiful things survived because they were handled with care. Held too tightly...
They broke.
Before she could decide whether she agreed with him, movement near the marquee drew her attention.
Aurora had arrived with the band.
Even in the bright afternoon sunshine she possessed the sort of beauty that instinctively drew the eye. Dark hair spilled over one shoulder as she crossed the lawn, the fitted black dress she wore seeming somehow entirely appropriate for a woman who belonged beneath stage lights. One by one the musicians disappeared into the marquee behind her while she lingered outside, exchanging a few words with one of the sound technicians.
Daevyn followed her gaze.
A faint crease appeared between his brows.
"I promised Sterling I'd welcome everyone in his absence," he said, pushing back his chair. "I'll only be a few moments."
Lysara smiled stiffly. "Go."
He bent to brush a light kiss against her temple before making his way towards the marquee.
She watched him weave easily between the tables until Aurora looked up. Their eyes met across the lawn and Aurora's face transformed almost instantly. Her smile was slow, familiar... intimate.
She stepped into his path before he reached the marquee, saying something that made him stop. As he answered, her fingertips drifted idly across the front of his jacket, smoothing an imaginary crease from the lapel before trailing lower over the buttons of his shirt.
He didn't move away.
"I'd be keeping an eye on that one."
Celeste had reappeared as silently as she had vanished, pausing beside Lysara's chair long enough to help herself to another splash of champagne from the bottle sitting between the place settings. She followed Lysara's gaze towards the marquee, where Aurora still stood speaking quietly with Daevyn, before taking an entirely unhurried sip.
"The singer?" Lysara asked, though she already knew the answer.
Celeste hummed.
"She has rather definite ideas about your lord."
Lysara's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the stem of her champagne flute.
"He has business with her," she replied, hearing herself repeat almost word for word what Daevyn had told her on the beach. "He's helping her record an album. I think he's looking for investors."
Celeste's eyebrows rose. "Is that what they're calling it these days?" There was no malice in the remark. Only amusement. The sort that made it impossible to know whether she was joking.
Before Lysara could think of an answer, Celeste was already wandering away, lifting her borrowed champagne in a casual farewell.
"Tomorrow," she called over one shoulder. "Two o'clock. Don't make me come looking for you."
Lysara watched her disappear amongst the tables before letting out a quiet breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.
The applause drew her attention back towards the marquee.
Daevyn had stepped behind the microphone.
Even without making any effort to command attention, he seemed somehow to gather it. Conversations drifted to a natural halt as people turned instinctively towards him, champagne glasses lowering, smiles appearing in anticipation.
"Good afternoon." His voice carried easily across the gardens. "I'm afraid Sterling sends his apologies. Circumstances have prevented him from joining us today, so the responsibility for welcoming you has fallen rather unexpectedly to me."
A ripple of good-natured laughter spread through the crowd.
"I hope you'll forgive the substitution."
More laughter answered him.
He smiled, that easy, charming smile she had already begun to recognise, one that somehow made every person present feel as though it had been offered personally to them.
"Please enjoy the afternoon. Eat too much, drink responsibly—or irresponsibly, depending upon tomorrow's commitments—and if anyone finds Sterling, do let him know his picnic appears to be surviving perfectly well without him."
Another wave of laughter rolled across the lawns.
He stepped back from the microphone, turning towards Aurora with a courteous inclination of his head. "My lady."
Aurora's answering smile unfolded slowly. "Thank you, Lord Vale."
She moved gracefully into his place as the band behind her settled themselves, one hand resting lightly upon the microphone stand.
The first notes drifted across the gardens.
Lysara had intended to return to her sketchbook.
Instead, she found herself watching the two of them.
Aurora's attention scarcely seemed to leave Daevyn as she sang the opening verse. Every smile appeared directed towards him. Every lingering glance sought him amongst the guests before returning to the audience almost as an afterthought.
And Daevyn...
He watched her.
Only because she had just begun performing, Lysara told herself. Only because it would have been discourteous not to.
Even so...
Lysara lowered her eyes to the champagne in her glass.
Only a few minutes earlier, Daevyn had compared Sterling to a man who held beautiful things too tightly.
Now, quite unexpectedly, she found herself understanding the impulse.