Will plopped into a chair, kicking his feet up onto the bench. “So what’s the agenda, boss? World domination? Or just paperwork?”
Raffaele gave him a look that could have frozen fire, but Will was unfazed. Their dynamic was oddly perfect, and I grinned as I watched them.
His emotions poured over me through our bond. He was annoyed, but also amused.
While they discussed the day’s agenda, I made my way to the sink, where Eldora was scrubbing a cake pan. She looked up as I approached, her expression softening when I wrapped an arm around her.
“What was that for?” she asked in surprise.
“I just love you,” I said simply. “And thank you for coordinating all this. The cakes, the tasting—it’s perfect.”
Eldora smiled, a rare moment of unguarded emotion crossing her features. “It’s my pleasure, dear. It’s good to see this house filled with laughter.”
I squeezed her arm gently. “How are you feeling?”
Her eyes glistened, and she set the pan down, drying her hands on a towel. “Free,” she said. “For the first time in decades, I feel free.”
Tears pricked my eyes, and I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “You deserve it.”
Her smile widened, and she leaned in conspiratorially. “Next week, I’ll be visiting my son in the fae kingdom. I told Raffaele I’d come back, but he’ll have to fend for himself for a while.”
“You deserve that too,” I said, my heart swelling.
Now that Lord Thorne was out of the picture, Eldora was free to leave. She had insisted on staying at the estate, saying that Raffaele was family. And now, I was, too.
As I turned back to the table, I caught Raffaele’s eye. He watched me, his expression unreadable but warm. For a moment, everything else faded, and it was just us, grounded in the quiet joy of this new life we were building.
I sank back into my chair, picking up another slice of cake. “You’re right,” I said, smiling at Raffaele. “The chocolate’s growing on me.”
He laughed. “Told you.”
The future was wide open, and for the first time, it felt like ours.
The sun cast a warm,golden light over the estate, filtering through the trees and illuminating the carefully tended grounds. Without the illusions, the estate looked like something out of a dream—elegant, open, and alive. It was a stark contrast to the shadowed, veiled version it had been before.
I stood in the main hall, glancing out the massive windows that overlooked the rolling hills and gardens below. Raffaele veilstepped to my side and began pacing, arms crossed and a dark scowl etched on his face. He was every bit the brooding lord, and I couldn’t help but smile as I watched him. Seeing him enjoy his gift of veilstepping after his father kept it from him for so many years filled me with joy.
“They’re late,” he muttered, glancing at the antique clock mounted on the far wall.
“They’ll be here,” I said, smoothing down my dress and adjusting the hairpin keeping my curls in place. “And you’ll be fine.”
“I’m not worried about me,” he grumbled. “I’m worried about you having to deal with one of those pompous assholes.”
I laughed, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”
His scowl softened slightly as he looked down at me, but he was still tense. “I don’t like them being here. They’ve meddled enough in our lives already.”
The sharp click of boots against the stone floor cut through the quiet of the estate, each step deliberate and echoing with authority. Raffaele and I turned toward the approaching figure, and my breath caught for a moment.
Magistrate Eldric.
He was the kind of man whose presence demanded silence. The frost-colored streaks in his raven-black hair caught the light, tied back in a knot that somehow managed to look both elegant and effortless. His pale eyes, somewhere between ice and starlight, swept over the hall, sharp and unyielding, as though cataloging every flaw in the space. The scar bisecting his left eyebrow added an edge to his otherwise perfect features, a reminder of battles fought and survived.
“Shadow,” Eldric greeted, his low, measured voice carrying across the room like the toll of a bell. He inclined his head slightly toward Raffaele, but his gaze flickered to me briefly, softening by an almost imperceptible degree. “Lady Gallanti.”
I glanced at Raffaele. His jaw was tight, his arms crossed. The cool detachment he projected was the result of years of mastering the art of intimidation. Though his personal illusions remained cast—his true appearance hidden from nearly everyone—there was no denying the air of mystery and foreboding he exuded. It was the mask he wore to keep everyone at arm’s length.
But I wasn’t everyone.
