Page 39 of A Fragile Enchantment

Laughing, she lurched toward him. Her foot caught on an upturned root.

Her stomach flipped sickeningly as she hurtled toward the ground. She braced herself, squeezing her eyes shut. But the crash never came. She collided, instead, with something warm and solid. Hands clamped firmly around her upper arms, steadying her.

“Oof!”

Beneath her palm, she felt the wild thrum of someone’s heart. The whisper of breath stirred the loose strands of hair around her temples, and the earthy scents of tobacco and nettle enveloped her. Whoever they were said nothing. But Niamh did not need them to speak toknow.

“Your Highness?” She lifted the corner of the blindfold.

Kit stood before her. “Are you all right?”

As she blinked, her vision adjusted. By the time she registered that she was staring at him, his guardedness had melted into something she couldn’t decipher. The sunlight turned his eyes molten. It cast his face in a golden glow.

“Ehm…” Her face heated. “Yes. I think so.”

“Right,” he said gruffly. He was still holding on to her with surprising gentleness, as though he expected her to topple over the moment he let go. He might’ve been right, considering that her vision still swam nauseatingly. “I swear, you’re a magnet for trouble. How did you manage to find the one hazard in a five-kilometer radius?”

“That’s not true!” Over his shoulder, she caught Rosa eyeing them with a very peculiar expression. It wasn’t exactly anger—not ather,anyway. Even Sinclair looked on with a frown. Hadn’t she sworn to be more careful? Niamh yanked herself out of his grip and thrusted the blindfold at him. “It’s your turn.”

Kit accepted it from her. His expression rearranged itself at least five different times until it landed firmly on discomfort. Then, with a sigh, he trudged toward the center of their circle and pulled the blindfold over his eyes. “This is ridiculous.”

On the outside, itwasquite ridiculous. Kit allowed Sinclair to spin him around, scowling all the while. And when the game began, it became abundantly clear that Rosa was out for blood.

Electricity sparked between her hands, bathing her face in an eerie blue light. The air crackled with magic and hummed against Niamh’s skin. The clouds darkened and swelled ominously, blotting out the sun. Her ears popped, and her skirts snapped around her ankles. Across the park, umbrellas bloomed like mushrooms in the rain. People’s chatter grew louder as they pointed up at the brewing storm.

If the Carmines ruled the earth, it seemed the Carrillos ruled the skies.

With Rosa’s blazing eyes and her hair rising in the gusting winds, she looked fiercely, dangerously beautiful—like a goddess. Sparks surged down her arm, and a bolt of lightning streaked from her extended hand. It tore through the air, just above Kit’s head. On reflex, he threw himself to the ground.

He rounded on Rosa, his lips parted dumbly. Although Niamhcouldn’t see his eyes, he seemed reluctantly impressed. “Feel better now?”

A self-satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. Static still crackled at her fingertips and the smell of ozone lingered, but the wind died down around them. Loose, wild curls spilled across her forehead. “Yes, very much so. All is forgiven.”

With that, the game resumed. Sinclair hauled himself onto the lowest branch of the lime tree and tucked his long legs underneath him, all but vanishing into the leaves. A few times he called out to Kit, who looked entirely puzzled until he realized where Sinclair had hidden himself.

“Cheating at blindman’s buff? You have no shame.”

“Cheating? Please, you wound me. This is called strategic thinking.” He touched a hand primly to his chest. “You’ve just lost your touch.”

Kit huffed, but his mouth curved into a smirk. With a flick of his arm, a vine erupted from the earth and grabbed Sinclair by the ankle. His eyes widened as it dragged him from his perch, and he went down with a yelp.

Kit tore off the blindfold and tossed it in his direction. “Your turn.”

“Fair enough.” Sinclair rolled over, grinning. But when he tried to stand, he winced. The vine Kit had unearthed lay like a snake in the grass, coated all over with thorns. It’d shorn away a scrap of Sinclair’s pant leg. Blood—a startling, magicless red—soaked into his white socks. He sucked in a breath through his teeth.

Miriam crouched beside him. “Are you all right, Mr. Sinclair?”

“Fine, fine,” he said good-naturedly, but his smile was strained. “I’ve definitely been dealt worse in the ballroom.”

“Fuck.” All of the color drained from Kit’s face. “Sorry.”

“It’s just a scratch, Kit,” Sinclair said. “Really. Don’t worry about it.”

“Indeed. It was quite gallant of you,” Rosa added diplomatically, settling herself beside Sinclair. “I didn’t have the energy for another round.”

Their words, however, did not reach Kit. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Hey,” Sinclair said. Niamh had never heard his voice like that. It sounded as though he was talking down a spooked horse. Worse, it sounded as though he was afraid. “I know. Why don’t you sit down?”