always been.” He lowered his voice. “I’m telling you this, Rose, because something about you makes me trust you. I can trust you, can’t I, Rose?”
Why would his father, a powerful warlock, encourage his son to marry a magic-less woman? It made no sense. It was equally nonsensical for him to ask me. But for some reason I felt compelled to listen to this warlock’s confession, never mind flattered that he wanted to share something so personal with me, in that moment, a total stranger.
“Yes,” I said. “You can trust me.”
As if reading my thoughts, the warlock leaned forward. “It would be a shame to let all this wonder go to waste. May I have this dance?”
I sucked in a breath, nodding as he leaned forward, close, so close to my chest that I could feel his warm breath on my throat as my chest rose and fell.
“You may,” I said.
He bowed to me, and I curtsied, with the full of my skirt, and in this room I felt confident and strong.
The magic filled my heart, my stomach, and my blood with dancing faeries and though the night was cold, I felt the content flush of lying in freshly cut grass. The deeply relaxed feeling of melting deep into soft silky strands of brilliant green under an intense summer sun.
The waltz began, and he breathed into my ear, “Do you know the steps?”
“I do,” I said.
“Ah, wonderful.”
WARNING! You're about to spoil a great story by not making a choice! Page back, then click one of the links to advance the story. Otherwise, the next section may not make any sense to you.
The journal entry fascinated me, though I couldn’t quite interpret Rose’s message. She told the story of how, as a young girl, she’d received an invitation from an aristocratic young warlock, to be his companion at a ball masque. She’d never met him, and as a poor seamstress’s daughter, she felt unworthy to attend such an elegant event. She was not a member of the elite Spellspinner community, who were trained in ancient magical arts at secluded academies around the world.
Rose’s own foray into magic was a carefully guarded secret—something she and her mother acknowledged only in glances and never discussed outright. So when her handsome, yet peculiar, escort, William, confessed that his father had chosen her to be his companion because she was an ordinary human, Rose grew even more perplexed about what was expected of her. Charming one minute, intimidating the next, William made her feel as though she was walking a tightrope.
But as I read further, I realized William already knew she was far from ordinary. In her description of their first dance, it seemed clear to me that their attraction was fate.
WARNING! You're about to spoil a great story by not making a choice! Page back, then click one of the links to advance the story. Otherwise, the next section may not make any sense to you.
When the driver opened the door and waved me inside, my escort glanced up for only a second, a small sardonic smile playing on the corners of his mouth. I was immediately self-conscious that I’d become the butt of a private joke. After smoothing my heavy skirts beneath me, I entered the cab without the aid of his hand, and sat on the plush leather seat to his right.
When he greeted me, his voice was low but much like his lips, it curled at the edge, as if he might be disguising a friendlier voice behind this purposeful gruffness.
Suddenly, I was aware of my inadequacies. He was surely judging me. And why shouldn’t he? A boy of stature and wealth escorting me, the daughter of a seamstress, to a ball?
Perhaps, with these ill manners, he is not my intended companion after all? Perhaps he is only a stable boy and my real escort is tied up in a stall full of horse droppings waiting to be rescued.
As if hearing my thoughts, he smiled wider, the polite smile of a gentleman greeting a lady, a tiny dimple curved into his cheek.
“That’s better,” I said out loud.
But his eyes didn’t match his
Why would his father, a powerful warlock, encourage his son to marry a magic-less woman? It made no sense. It was equally nonsensical for him to ask me. But for some reason I felt compelled to listen to this warlock’s confession, never mind flattered that he wanted to share something so personal with me, in that moment, a total stranger.
“Yes,” I said. “You can trust me.”
As if reading my thoughts, the warlock leaned forward. “It would be a shame to let all this wonder go to waste. May I have this dance?”
I sucked in a breath, nodding as he leaned forward, close, so close to my chest that I could feel his warm breath on my throat as my chest rose and fell.
“You may,” I said.
He bowed to me, and I curtsied, with the full of my skirt, and in this room I felt confident and strong.
The magic filled my heart, my stomach, and my blood with dancing faeries and though the night was cold, I felt the content flush of lying in freshly cut grass. The deeply relaxed feeling of melting deep into soft silky strands of brilliant green under an intense summer sun.
The waltz began, and he breathed into my ear, “Do you know the steps?”
“I do,” I said.
“Ah, wonderful.”
WARNING! You're about to spoil a great story by not making a choice! Page back, then click one of the links to advance the story. Otherwise, the next section may not make any sense to you.
The journal entry fascinated me, though I couldn’t quite interpret Rose’s message. She told the story of how, as a young girl, she’d received an invitation from an aristocratic young warlock, to be his companion at a ball masque. She’d never met him, and as a poor seamstress’s daughter, she felt unworthy to attend such an elegant event. She was not a member of the elite Spellspinner community, who were trained in ancient magical arts at secluded academies around the world.
Rose’s own foray into magic was a carefully guarded secret—something she and her mother acknowledged only in glances and never discussed outright. So when her handsome, yet peculiar, escort, William, confessed that his father had chosen her to be his companion because she was an ordinary human, Rose grew even more perplexed about what was expected of her. Charming one minute, intimidating the next, William made her feel as though she was walking a tightrope.
But as I read further, I realized William already knew she was far from ordinary. In her description of their first dance, it seemed clear to me that their attraction was fate.
WARNING! You're about to spoil a great story by not making a choice! Page back, then click one of the links to advance the story. Otherwise, the next section may not make any sense to you.
When the driver opened the door and waved me inside, my escort glanced up for only a second, a small sardonic smile playing on the corners of his mouth. I was immediately self-conscious that I’d become the butt of a private joke. After smoothing my heavy skirts beneath me, I entered the cab without the aid of his hand, and sat on the plush leather seat to his right.
When he greeted me, his voice was low but much like his lips, it curled at the edge, as if he might be disguising a friendlier voice behind this purposeful gruffness.
Suddenly, I was aware of my inadequacies. He was surely judging me. And why shouldn’t he? A boy of stature and wealth escorting me, the daughter of a seamstress, to a ball?
Perhaps, with these ill manners, he is not my intended companion after all? Perhaps he is only a stable boy and my real escort is tied up in a stall full of horse droppings waiting to be rescued.
As if hearing my thoughts, he smiled wider, the polite smile of a gentleman greeting a lady, a tiny dimple curved into his cheek.
“That’s better,” I said out loud.
But his eyes didn’t match his
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