“The Goddess is good.” Cassidy bowed her head.
A hollow sound left Emmaline’s throat. “Seeing them together as a child—it was the most beautiful thing. They loved each other so completely. It was like they existed in their own world, one where nothing could touch them.” She swallowed. “And then they were gone.”
Cassidy squeezed her hand.
“They died in each other’s arms,” Emmaline continued, her voice barely audible now. “They shoved me clear as the building caved in. My father was pinned beneath the wreckage, bleeding out, andmy mother… she wouldn’t leave him. Even when she could’ve saved herself.”
The memory burned behind her eyes, just as vivid now as it was that day. The fire, the screams, the clash of swords, and the explosion of magics. Amid the devastation, she had found Margo, Cassidy, and Ursula—faces streaked with soot, eyes hard with the kind of understanding no child should have. But even as the world burned around them, they protected each other. And had been ever since.
“I’m so sorry, Emmaline.” Cassidy’s voice seemed far away.
The War had stolen so much from them. From everyone. It was a miracle they were even alive to speak of it.
Emmaline blinked rapidly, fighting back the tears. “I just wanted a love like that—what they had. It’s all I’ve ever wanted… since that day.” She huffed a bitter laugh. “So when I saw Caelith, and he was all shiny and charming, I thought,this is it. Hemustbe the one.” She shook her head. “And everything else just blurred into the background. Even Deyric.”
Silence stretched between them as they walked, thick as the smoke that once choked the ruined city of their birth. It wasn’t long before the gates of Greymane property emerged ahead, sharp-tipped and towering. Age and weather had gnawed at the metal, rust creeping in at the hinges, but the crest embedded in its arch still gleamed, polished and proud.
“You know.” Cassidy pulled Emmaline to a stop, then pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. “You already have that kind of love. You’ve had it for a long time. From three equally insane Ellyllon women and a giant Corgi.”
Emmaline let out a shaky laugh, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I guess I did.”
Chapter twenty-six
Theservants’entrancewastucked at the rear of the estate, hidden beneath a carved archway of silver-barked trees and overgrown ivy. It wasn’t grand like the gilded front doors, nor was it patrolled by an army of house staff who took more pride in filtering out interlopers than actually serving guests.
Emmaline slipped inside, keeping her pace brisk but unhurried. A few maids bustled past, muttering about mismatched linens and some minor kitchen disaster, too distracted to notice her.
She wove through the narrow back corridors, taking the winding stairs two at a time until she reached the upper levels. The scent of polished wood and simmering tea drifted through the air, mingling with the faint buzz of conversation from deeper in the estate.
When she finally pushed open Margo’s door, her foot caught hard on something sharp, sending her stumbling forward into the doorframe.
“For fuck’s sake, Margo,” she muttered, righting herself before glancing down to find a crystal-heeled sandal sitting dead center in the doorway as if Margo had stepped out of it mid-stride.
Inside, the room wasn’t much better, a minefield of papers, wine glasses, and shoes scattered across the plush carpet like relics of an abandoned battle.
“Where’s Cassidy?” Margo asked without looking up.
She was sprawled in a high-backed reclined chair, legs draped over the armrest, the ties of her corset undone, spilling over the side in a tangle of silk. A book rested in one hand, her fingers idly flipping a page like she hadn’t a single obligation in the world.
“She had to bring Lara back to the residence.” Emmaline stepped over what she hoped was just another stack of papers and not some expensive, fragile heirloom. “Lyra’s breath, Margo. Navigating your room takes more skill than sneaking onto the grounds of a Lord’s private entertainment house in broad daylight.”
Margo arched a brow, finally lowering her book. “When did you get so dramatic?” She pursed her lips, then folded the corner of her page before setting it down.
Emmaline stopped mid-step, jaw dropping, her eyes locked on the mangled page corner like she’d just witnessed a public execution.
“At least I’m not a goblin dressed in fine silks like some people,” she shot back.
Margo scoffed, already inhaling for a rebuttal, but then she hesitated, something clicking into place behind her sharp gaze.
“Wait.” She straightened, corset ties slipping over her shoulder. “Why are Lara and Cassidy returning? We can’t activate the charm again until tomorrow.”
Emmaline brushed aside a pile of discarded necklaces from the corner of Margo’s bed, tossing them onto the floor with little ceremony before sinking down onto the mattress. She scooted back, the soft sheets cool beneath her palms, then pulled her legs up, crossing them beneath her.
Margo tapped a painted nail against the armrest.
“Apparently, the young Lord Greymane wanted some evidence to back up the confession he plans to fuck or drug out of me.” Emmaline scrunched her nose, scanning the room. “I know you’ve hidden a drink in here somewhere.”
Her eyes flicked over the cluttered space before landing on the ornate wine glass perched on the bedside table. Its delicate stem was thin as a whisper, curving into a wide, opulent bowl.
