Cassidy shrugged, already halfway through Emmaline’s stolen toast. “Healing burns a lot of energy, and the Test was yesterday. Cadets were injuring themselves left and right. Lara is still passed out from exhaustion. Honestly, I’m eating for both of us.”
“When are Corgis not hungry and napping?” Emmaline laughed, grateful for the shift in conversation.
The events at Lord Caelith’s residence still lingered in her mind, embarrassing and uninvited. Not to mention that servant—what was his name again? Darren? Or maybe it was Dickwad.
“Lazy,” Ursula interjected, leaning back in her chair. “They’re known for being as lazy as they are brave.”
“Well, Lara certainly falls further on the brave side.” Cassidy nodded. “But weren’t we talking about Emmaline’s borderline stalker tendencies, not my Bonded’s eating habits?”
Emmaline groaned, dragging her palms down her face. “It wasn’t stalking!” Her voice came out muffled through her fingers. “It was... a coincidence.”
Cassidy snorted, leaning back in her chair. “Like the tracking bee on his carriage was a coincidence?”
“Or the overcharge on his previous dalliance’s line of credit that mysteriously got her barred from every social event for the rest of the season?” Ursula’s tone was dry, her gaze cutting as she lounged in her seat, fingers tapping idly on the table’s edge.
“How do you—?” Emmaline froze, her hands dropping to her lap. She hadn’t told anyone. Just—
Her head whipped toward Margo, whose deep brown eyes went wide, lips parting to deny what was already written on her face.
“You told them!” Emmaline’s voice pitched higher.
“Emmaline…” Margo cooed, drawing out the syllables like she could soften the betrayal by sheer will.
“I told you that in confidence! You promised you wouldn’t say anything!” Emmaline’s chair scraped loudly against the floor as she pushed it back and stood, slamming her palms on the table. “I thought you were helping me!”
“I was,” Margo insisted, reaching delicately for her silken napkin. She dabbed the corner of her mouth with infuriating precision. “But…” She tilted her head, a single arched brow lifting.
“No!” Emmaline shook her head. “It was your idea to track his carriage!”
Margo’s expression softened. The stern, polished facade melted like frost under sunlight, replaced with something warmer, gentler. She reached across the table, her slender fingers grazing Emmaline’s hand.
“No, love,” she said. “I simply mentioned that you could always tell where the well-to-do nobles were by the light of their gilded Gliders.” A rueful smile graced her lips as she crinkled her nose. “They’re ostentatious enough to spot across half the city. I didn’t think you’d actually track him.” She sighed, her fingers resting lightly over Emmaline’s. “I thought you just wanted to get to know his likes and dislikes. Harmless enough.”
“Not so harmless at all, it turns out,” Ursula said, her scowl cutting sharply toward Margo.
The sharp heat in Emmaline’s chest dulled as Ursula spoke, the tension in her jaw slackening. She hadn’t meant for things to spiral the way they had last night. She only wanted to bruise the Lady’s ego a little, not cause real harm.
“They already know about last night?” Emmaline slumped as she turned to Ursula.
“No secrets.” Ursula leaned back in her chair. “That’s what we agreed to all those years ago. No secrets, and we keep each other safe.”
Emmaline met Ursula’s bright purple eyes, searching for ridicule but finding only sincerity.
She glanced at Cassidy, who gave a firm nod, her teasing absent. Then at Margo, whose hand tightened gently over hers, anchoring her as if to say,We’re here.
“Tell me again, Ems. Why do you think he’s your mate?” Margo’s other hand reached across the table, settling lightly atop Emmaline’s forearm.
The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken doubt. Mate bonds were a thing of legend—romantic stories whispered over hearth fires, tales of unbreakable connections that tied two souls together. But there hadn’t been any new ones in centuries.
Most believed they had vanished when the Ellyllon left Wales for the New World after the War, as though the bonds had been tethered to the old lands and lost with them. Scholars debated whether they had ever truly existed or if they were just metaphors for ancient customs long forgotten.
“It’s been over three hundred years.” Margo’s fingers brushed against Emmaline’s hand. “If mate bonds were still real, wouldn’t we have seen one by now?”
Emmaline hesitated, unsure how to describe the indescribable.
“Plus, you know how I feel about the class disparities in the Vale, but Lady Isolde enforces them with all the power at her disposal,” Margo continued. “Even if he is your mate, he may not have a choice. He could be forced to reject the bond.”
“That doesn’t matter.” Emmaline shook her head. “I knew the moment I first saw him that he was my destiny. Nothing can come between two who are mated by the Goddess herself.”
