Silk and lace fluttered into the air as she rummaged, muttering to herself, tossing aside anything that didn’t meet her invisible criteria. Then, with a triumphant “aha!” she emerged, arms overflowing with shimmering fabrics, glittering jewelry, and an assortment of pins and belts that caught the fae-light like stolen stardust.
Striding back to the bed, she dropped everything into a gleaming heap atop the plush coverlet. “There. Now, this is what we’re working with.”
Emmaline barely glanced at the display. Instead, she curled up in the oversized chair, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her chin on them. “Do you really think I’m brave, Margo?”
Margo,still sifting through the collection, froze for a fraction of a second before glancing up. “Do you want me to say what you want to hear or the truth?”
Well, that wasn’t a good sign. After the day she’d had, she needed Margo’s support, not another blow to her already dwindling confidence. But… she squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again.
“Truth.”
If there was one person she could count on for honesty without judgment, it was Margo.
The woman plucked a pair of silver-wired sandals from the pile and twirled one lazily around her finger. After a moment, she set it down in her lap and tucked a stray lock of her deep red hair behind a pointed ear.
“Very well,” she said. “I think you’re brave.”
She paused, choosing her next words carefully.
Emmaline exhaled. “Thank—”
“And foolish.” Margo continued. “I love you, Emmaline, so I need you to really hear this next part. Do you promise you’ll listen and not immediately reject what I’m saying?”
Emmaline reached for the wine, taking a long swallow, then bobbed her head. “Yes.”
“Okay, then.” Margo fidgeted with her hands, avoiding Emmaline’s gaze—a rare hesitation from someone usually so poised. “Even if you are mates, and that’s a very big if, for so many reasons, he’s not worth it. He’s actually quite horrible.”
Quite horrible.
The words rang through Emmaline’s head. Margo never spoke ill of anyone. If anything, she went out of her way to soften even themost damning judgments. For her to say something this direct… she must truly despise Caelith.
But how could she? He’s perfect. Society’s golden boy, the picture of nobility. Her future.
Emmaline swallowed hard, her thoughts latching onto another possibility. Did Margo want him for herself? Was that why she was saying these things?
“I know this is hard to hear, Ems, but my family has known his for generations. I practically grew up on his father’s estates.” Margo sighed, rubbing her temple as if already exhausted by the conversation. “Yes, he’s charming when he wants to be, and I suppose you could call him easy on the eyes. But beneath that, he’s the worst kind of noble. Entitled, self-serving, and utterly indifferent to anyone beneath his station.”
Emmaline’s chest tightened. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her voice rising. Margo was wrong. “I know him. I practically live in his castle already. He’s… he’s…” She searched for something to latch onto, something that would make Margo see what she saw. “He’s everything.”
“He believes he’s entitled to anything he wants and takes it, knowing his mother will clean up after him,” Margo continued. “I’ve even heard rumors that he—” She hesitated, then pressed on, “—that he takes what isn’t freely offered, especially from the lower-class women in noble employ. He knows they won’t speak out against him.”
Emmaline’s stomach lurched.
She barely noticed Margo reaching for her hands before she yanked them back, stepping away as heat crawled up her neck.
Margo was mistaken. She had to be. It wasn’t her fault. She was too entrenched in noble circles, too jaded by their petty scandals. She saw the worst in people because she’d been raised among the worst of them. But Caelith wasn’t like them.
He just needed someone to believe in him. Someone to remind him of who he was meant to be.
“It’s not true.” Her nostrils flared. “And to make such accusations, even to someone oflower classlike me, is incredibly reckless.” Her voice wavered with barely restrained fury. “Where do you get off, Margo? I thought we were friends.”
Margo flinched. The tension in her shoulders wilted, and she took a step back.
“I’m sorry, Ems,” she said softly. “Of course we’re friends.” She folded her hands together. “Perhaps I was mistaken. I just… I’m worried about you.”
“Then be my friend,” Emmaline snapped. “And stop throwing around baseless, crass accusations against my fated mate.” She squared her shoulders, daring Margo to challenge her. “Caelith is practically family already, so you’d better get used to that if we’re going to stay friends.”
Margo didn’t answer right away. She just stared at Emmaline, wide-eyed, her lips parting slightly before pressing together. The beginnings of tears welled in her deep brown eyes as she dropped her gaze.
