His stomach twisted into the recognizable knots of rejection and heartbreak. He tried to summon the memory, but there was nothing.
“Don’t call her a harpy,” he chided in a sharper tone than he’d intended. “When did this happen?”
“You don’t remember?” Panic flickered in her eyes, her posture tightening. “You finished that dreadful journey to all those islands and decided to settle here,” she continued, watching him with concern. “We planned a gorgeous winter wedding near the cliffs of Beaumontis. King Balthasar even offered the castle’s ballroom for the reception.”
He narrowed his eyes.Since when do the Theodosias have a connection to Roanthe’s ruler?
“You and Vivienne were always arguing.” She shook her head. “Fighting, making up, fighting again.”
Cirrus let out a breathless, fond chuckle.Sounds like my Banns.
Her voice turned colder than the wind. “Two weeks before the wedding, she vanished in the dead of night. Left you a note and the ring.”
He took a pained inhale, and his lungs suddenly felt too small.Sounds like my Banns.His fingers curled into the icy sand.She really left again?
“She didn’t even have the decency to speak with you first,” she continued, her voice laced with quiet fury.
Cirrus stared at the waves, his pulse a riot in his veins. It made sense.Of course, she ran.Vivienne sprinted toward adventure, but she bolted from conversations about feelings, about permanence.
“Do you think it’s too late?” His voice was quiet, raw.
His mother stiffened. “Cirrus Cornelius Theodosia.”
Shit. Full name.
“You have laid yourself bare for this woman for years.” Disapproval dripped from every syllable. “Stop torturing yourself.”
She gripped his shoulder, gentle but firm. “You’ve spent enough time on your little ships and chasing after her. It’s time to come home for good.”
And there it is.The conversation they always arrived at, no matter how far he ran from it. From the moment he was born, his fate was decided. Lord of Claringbold. A title, an estate. A life he never wanted.
He gritted his teeth. “Mother, we’ve been over this. I have no interest in being a lord. Give the title to Cecile or Adalie?—”
“Your younger sisters?” her voice sharpened. “No, Cirrus. The Lordship is yours by birth order and by right.”
By duty. His jaw tensed, but he said nothing. There’s no point in saying anything.
Cirrus stood abruptly, shaking off the shackles of the conversation, of his family’s expectations. There was only one place she wouldn’t follow, one place where the cold could drown out all of the noise and all of the emotions he didn’t want to feel.
Without another word, he sprinted toward the water, diving into the glacial waves.
39
The lagoon lapped at Vivienne’s fingertips as she sat on the bank, the cool water soothing against her skin. The rhythmic murmur of the small waterfall cascading into the pool was a balm to her frayed nerves—a distinct departure from the kaleidoscopic chaos of her hallucination. She cupped her hands, dunking them into the crystal-clear surface, splashing her face once more, as if she could wash away the remnants of the dreamworld they had been ensnared in.
Beside her, Cirrus sat with his arms draped over his knees, taking deep, measured breaths. His damp hair clung to his forehead, evidence of his own attempt to drown out the lingering effects of the pollen-induced visions. His ice-blue eyes were distant, his usual sharpness dulled by a heaviness she couldn’t name.
Owen, his feet submerged to mid-calf, stared blankly into the rippling water. “It felt real,” he muttered, his voice rough. “Too real.”
Vivienne nodded. The hallucinations had been more than illusions. They had felt like memories woven from mist—visceral, intoxicating, impossible to ignore.
“Whatever those flowers are,” Lewis spoke, rubbing his temples as he wiped the last traces of pollen from his face with a spare shirt, “as much as you and I would love to study them?—”
“We can’t afford to hallucinate our way into another disaster.” Vivienne exhaled, pushing away the disappointment curling in her gut. The scholar in her ached to examine the strange flora, to document every anomaly this island presented. But there was no time for research, only survival. No wonder her parents had needed multiple expeditions to try and make sense of Verdance.
Silence stretched between them, the hush punctuated only by the steady fall of water and the occasional sigh of the wind through the leaves. For the first time in what felt like weeks, the island wasn’t trying to kill them. For now.
Lewis stretched, rolling his shoulders. “Before the cursed pollen decided to launch us into existential crises, we planned to rinse off and rest.”
