Page 20 of A Fragile Enchantment

“That is very generous of you,” Jack said, clearly discomfited.

“It is no trouble—and the very least I can do since you’ve been so kind to invite me to these events.” She dumped the coat into Kit’s hands, eager to move on from whatever wound Jack had picked open. “Try this on, please.”

Without complaint, he shrugged it on. The enchantment’s effect took hold immediately. Kit’s outline grew hazy, his form a sketch in smudged charcoal. Jack blinked, bewildered, and then his mouth pressed into a grim line. At last, it dawned on him what exactly she had done.

“He should be able to control it some,” Niamh offered meekly.

“Well, it is always good to have an escape route,” Jack said to no one in particular. He checked his pocket watch and made a fretful noise. “Finish up, then. The guests will begin arriving at any moment. Shall we, Sofia?”

Sofia tucked her hand into the crease of his elbow and allowed him to guide her to the front door.

It was almost time.

Through the front windows, she watched as a line of carriages emerged from the woods just beyond the palace gardens. With their massive frames and stately horses, it felt as though a small army was descending upon them. The impression was not at all helped by Kit’s exceedingly grim expression. She couldn’t afford to get distracted now. She needed to focus on the task at hand… if she could find it.

Niamh blinked a few times to clear the enchantment from her eyes. Even though Kit was indistinct, his eyes were like a lighthouse: bright and amber, burning through a fog-wreathed sea. With every passing moment, he became clearer and clearer. The coat, she decided, fit him perfectly. All that remained was adding the last few decorative buttons.

“Sit, please.”

He did. Niamh settled beside him on the stairs. She threaded her needle and began to stitch the mother-of-pearl buttons to his coat. As she worked, all she could focus on was the rabbit-quickness of his pulse and the steady heat of his body against the back of her hand. When she finished, she snipped the last of the thread and slipped her shears back into her sewing kit.

“That should do it,” she said, pleased. “Not even a king could find fault with you.”

“Great,” he replied curtly.

Great.She’d worked nearly all night and all day for a week, and that was the extent of his gratitude. But as she glared at him, she decided he looked more distracted than anything. She tried not to take it personally. This time, his sour mood did not appear to be her fault.

He produced a pipe and a vesta case from his pocket, and Niamh found herself surprised.

“I didn’t know princes smoked pipes,” she said teasingly. “How very common of you.”

He stiffened, clearly trying to decide if she was mocking himor not. “This one does. I don’t like snuff, so this is the last vice I’ve left.”

Niamh stewed in her silence. His tone did not invite any questions. And yet, he did not make any effort to leave, nor did he tell her to go. Somehow, by the gods’ grace, they were existing in proximity to each other without devolving into some silly argument. Niamh did not want to ruin it, but she couldn’t stomach the quiet or the stillness. Too many unwanted thoughts crept in. Ones like: how oddly fascinating it was to watch him tuck his pipe into the corner of his mouth. She forced herself to tear her eyes away from him, but it took some effort to banish the image of the wooden tip of it biting softly into his lower lip.

“Sofia seems nice,” she tried, sounding only a little strangled.

“You’re awfully familiar today.”

Self-consciousness prickled at her. “I was not the one who broke decorum first. Besides, you haven’t discouraged any familiarity between us.”

“Not for a lack of trying.” He struck a match and lit the bowl of his pipe. The smell of tobacco suffused the air. “I know her about as well as you do.”

It took her a moment to realize he’d humored her feeble attempt at conversation. Now, that piqued her interest. She did not think Jack and Sofia were newlyweds, but Jack had mentioned something about Kit’s prolonged absence from court. Had they truly not met before this summer? She knew she was being nosy now—or, as Kit had once said,impertinent.But she felt almost emboldened by the lazy way he leaned against the stairs, propped up on his elbow. He tipped his head back, baring a sliver of his throat above the knot of his cravat. For the first time since she’d known him, he looked almost at peace, as though he was smoking in an open field rather than the prince regent’s ornate foyer.

What would it be like,she wondered,to be so self-assured?Or maybe, more accurately, to not care about anything at all?

“Were you at their wedding?” she asked.

He exhaled a plume of smoke. “Apparently.”

Niamh waved it away. “Was it a long time ago, then?”

“Maybe a year and a half ago.” He took another long drag, then sighed it out.In, hold, out. Each of his breaths crested and ebbed like the tide. “Are you done interrogating me now?”

Niamh’s face flooded with heat. She supposed shewasbeing impertinent. But even she knew she could not ask the questions she truly wanted answers to. Ones like:How can you possibly forget something like your own brother’s wedding?

“For now,” she said.