"Obviously. We're still here." She smiles. "But it wasn't easy. And I suspect it won't be easy for you either. You've spent your whole life proving you're capable, that you don't needanyone, that your magic is enough even if it's not the kind your grandmother wanted. Admitting you're incomplete without him goes against everything you've built."
I sit with that thought while she finishes my hair, pins in the final touches, and moves on to my face.
"You'll figure it out," she says, brushing powder across my cheeks. "You always do."
I wish I had her confidence.
By six o'clock, the cottage has transformed.
Candles float near the ceiling, enchanted with soft golden light. Evergreen garlands drape every doorway, filling the air with the scent of pine and cedar. The massive dining table stretches the full length of the hall, set with grandmother's finest china and crystal, linens pressed and napkins folded at precisely forty-five degrees.
Cadeon stands at the entrance, dressed in formal black that makes him look every inch the ancient vampire noble he once was. His white hair is pulled back, his posture impeccable, and when guests begin arriving, he greets each one with courtly precision that makes several of the older mages blink in surprise.
I hover near the kitchen doorway, watching, trying to find something to do.
"Stop lurking," he murmurs as he passes me, guiding an elderly witch toward her seat. "You're the hostess. Go be present."
"I'm being present."
"You're hiding."
"I'm strategically positioning myself near the food."
"Go." He gives me a gentle push toward the main room. "I have this handled."
And he does. He absolutely does.
I watch him work the room with an ease I never would have expected. He remembers everyone's names, their dietary restrictions, their preferred seating arrangements. He smoothly intercepts Magnus before the old man can corner me for another lecture. He ensures wine glasses stay full and conversation flows.
This is the man my grandmother saw as nothing but a weapon. This brilliant, competent, surprisingly charming man who is currently explaining the historical significance of the table settings to a fascinated young mage.
What a waste. What an absolute waste of two hundred years.
"He's quite something." Petra appears at my elbow, a glass of mulled wine in hand. "I've never seen him like this. Engaged. Present. Almost... happy?"
"He is happy." I accept the glass she offers me. "Finally."
"The bond transformation tonight." She keeps her voice low. "Are you ready?"
"Everyone keeps asking me that."
"Because you look terrified."
"Do I?"
"You're gripping that wine glass like it's a lifeline." She gently uncurls my fingers from the stem. "It's going to be fine, Iris. The magic knows what it's doing. Just trust it."
"Trust the magic. Right."
"And trust him. And trust yourself." She squeezes my arm. "You've done harder things than this."
I'm not sure that's true, but I appreciate the sentiment.
Dinner is served at seven, and I take my place at the head of the table with Cadeon at the foot. Sixty guests fill the seats between us, a mix of mages and familiars that represents every bond style imaginable. Some sit close to each other, handsintertwined. Others maintain careful distance. One familiar stares at his plate with the hollow expression I remember from Cadeon's early days.
The food is excellent, if I say so myself. Roast beef that melts on the tongue, root vegetables glazed with honey and herbs, bread that fills the room with warmth and comfort. My magic hums through every dish, and I can feel it working. Settling into people. Easing old tensions. Opening hearts just a little.
Magnus, seated near the middle of the table, takes a bite of the special soup I included as a first course. I watch his face go through a complicated series of expressions before settling on grudging approval.
