The breakfast itself was a revelation. Honey scones that had melted on my tongue, fresh berries dusted with sugar so fine it could be powdered starlight, and a pot of spiced tea that had tasted exactly like what my grandmother used to make.
“You remembered,” I’d said after taking a sip, unable to hide my surprise.
His eyes had softened in a way that made my heart flutter. “You mentioned that your grandmother made blackberry tea with cardamom.”
Once. In passing. Years ago, during that short time we’d been together. I remembered the moment I’d told him. We were walking through the festival, stopping at booths to admire the bowls of leaves at a stand where the witch crafted her own teas. It had been raining, and he’d conjured a parasol to keep me dry while getting soaked himself. I’d made him some tea back at my lantern stall afterward, explaining it was my grandmother’s recipe for warming cold bones.
This morning, he’d watched me eat, his expression pleased.
“The cook had nothing to do with this, did she?” I’d asked.
The slight quirk of his lips was answer enough.
Kieran had put together a breakfast for his witch queen with his own hands.
Who stocks a vampire fortress with supplies like this?Quandary asked, sniffing at a jar of butterfly wings, bringing me back to the present.Not someone who’s merely tolerating you.
I ignored him, busying myself with unpacking the rest of the supplies I’d brought from home. Pathetically few compared to what awaited me here. My meager collection of charms and potions looked like a child’s play set next to the professional-grade equipment lining the walls.
“Did you see the cauldron?” Cordelia drifted through the wall, translucent and floating six inches above the floor. “Sterling silver, etched with moon phases. I haven’t seen craftsmanship like that since the Lunar Guild still operated.”
“That was a long time ago,” I said.
Her smile revealed her fangs. “I’m older than I look.”
“Are you saying Kieran had these things specially made for me?”
“Someone certainly did, and I don’t think it was Lady Madeline.”
I turned in a slow circle, taking it all in with new eyes. The worktable had been positioned to catch the best light. The storage system had been designed for easy access. The reading nook tucked into a window alcove held cushions in the prettiest shade of green.
“How had he put all this together in such a short time?” I asked.
“Perhaps he worked on it over the past six years.” Cordelia floated across the room, generating a small gust of wind.
I shook my head. “That’s impossible.” But my voice lacked conviction, and the memory of his lips on mine burned fresh all over again.
Enough brooding. I had work to do.
My joy magic had been increasingly unpredictable since our kiss. Normally, I could direct it with minimal effort. A sunbeam here, a warm breeze there. But today, it leaked from me like light from a cracked lantern, enchanting everything it touched.
While getting ready for the day earlier, my hairbrush had serenaded me with a ballad about eternal devotion. Last evening, the bathwater had formed tiny hearts that popped like bubbles when touched.
It was embarrassing.
“Let’s start with something simple.” I pulled out my grimoire, flipping to basic containment spells. “I just need to focus.”
“Focus and joy aren’t always compatible,” Cordelia pointed out.
“Neither are joy and dignity, apparently.” I arranged three teacups on the worktable. “But I have to try. What if this spreads and I accidentally enchant something important, like the throne or the dining room table?”
Quandary’s eyes lit up.Could you make the dining room table dance?
“I’m trying to avoid magical chaos, not create it.”
Pity.
I laid my hands flat on either side of the teacups. “Okay. Simple containment. I need to visualize my magic as a steady stream, not a bursting dam.”
