Page 81 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

“I’d thought I’d handle it better, but . . .” She shrugged and pushed the memory away.

Lilibeth leaned in slightly. “Ark didn’t let them get away with it, did he?”

Warmth returned, curving her lips. “No. He shut it down, thoroughly. I don’t think he even raised his voice.”

“And he stayed after?” Opalina pressed.

“He came back to my house. We talked. For a while.”

Lilibeth looked around to make sure they were now alone before arching a brow. “Just talked?”

Cassia shot her a look. “Yes.”

“Mm-hmm,” Lilibeth said, not at all convinced. “So, not a terrible way to spend the anniversary of your father’s death, then?”

“No,” she admitted, surprising even herself. “It was . . . better than what I’d planned. Maybe even what I needed.”

Opalina’s smile was gentle. “That’s something, then.”

Lilibeth’s tail nudged her elbow. “Are we still sure this is just a fake engagement?”

Cassia didn’t dignify that with an answer. She just lifted her brow and gave her a look—the one she’d already perfected over numerous teasings about this ‘fake engagement.’

Lilibeth, predictably, wasn’t deterred. “I’m only saying, if the gossips are already circling and you’re standing next to him in public like that, wouldn’t it be safer to lean into the illusion?”

“We are leaning in.”

“To a point,” Lilibeth countered, her tail flicking agitatedly behind her. “But people like Agmon Alderrath or the Daemaris won’t believe in half-measures. If they start paying attention, you’ll want something more convincing.” She lowered her voice. “Ask him to give you a bond mark.”

Cassia turned, mouth opening—then paused. Across the courtyard, Ark was crouching beside one of the smaller children, tying her bootlaces. He tilted his head, listening to the babble of a five-year-old like it meant something to him.

Lilibeth followed her gaze. “I don’t think he’d mind, you know. You wearing his mark.”

Cassia sighed. “That’s not a small decision, Lili.”

“It wouldn’t have to be permanent,” Opalina pointed out, her tone more careful now. “Just enough to reinforce the illusion.”

“A demon’s mark isn’t just a symbol,” Lilibeth explained. “It’s a psychic signature, a warning woven into your very aura. Any demon who senses it would know you are under the direct protection of a powerful house. They’d have to challenge him directly to get to you, and no one wants a formal duel with a Nocturne Demon of Echelon rank.”

Cassia stared down at her gloves. “You’re both assuming I’d be comfortable with that level of . . . proximity.”

She didn’t say the rest. No one had ever offered her something like that before. The thought of wearing his mark—of carrying something of him with her, visible to anyone who looked—made her chest ache. It wasn’t fear. It was how much she already wanted it, and how little she trusted herself to know the difference between the illusion and the truth.

“You let him into your home,” Opalina reminded gently.

Cassia didn’t answer. Across the yard, one of the children took Ark’s hand and pulled him toward the street where a small red bus had just pulled up.

“He’s not like that other guy,” Lilibeth said. “And if he ever did become a threat, I’ll kill him myself.”

Opalina snorted softly. “We’ll both do it.”

Cassia sighed. “I will think about it.”

“No pressure,” Lilibeth said, already stepping toward the gate to corral the children. “But if he offers, maybe don’t say no right away.”

Opalina patted her arm. “And if he doesn’t . . . maybe you should.”

“I think I should save him now before the children start to climb up his arm,” Cassia muttered.