Page 63 of A Fragile Enchantment

“Kit,” Jack said quietly. “I did not mean a word of what I said yesterday. I’m sorry.”

For a moment, she heard nothing but the rattle of the wheels against the road. Then, at last, begrudgingly: “I am, too.”

“I am sorry for a great many things,” Jack continued. “How you must hate me.”

“Is now really the time?” Kit sighed heavily. His every word grew more and more distant as her weariness dragged her down, down into the dark. “I don’t hate you. But you better have a good reason for all this.”

Kit had driven her insane. She could come up with no other explanation. Since the day in the garden, she’d thought of little else but him. Even now, sitting in an armchair as she embroidered his wedding cloak, she found herself stitching all her longing and frustration into it. She supposed it suited the occasion well enough.

The wedding.It hung over them all like the executioner’s blade, just about a week away now. Jack had whisked Kit away to finish up the last of the preparations. Niamh tried not to let his absence gnaw at her. It was for the best that they hadn’t seen each other since the carriage ride home. It would do her no good to be reminded how out of reach he was.

She set down her work only when a housemaid delivered her tea, her letters, and the morning papers. Spooning sugar into her tea, she skimmed the gossip columns. Still, no one had written about them. It seemed this truly would be her secret, kept safe within her. She imagined closing her fist around that tiny spark of light.

Lovelace, unsurprisingly, was discussing the situation unfolding in Sootham. Carlile and the rest of the protesters remained in Eye Park, and their numbers only grew by the day. In Jack’s absence, they’d blocked off riding trails, chanted, and delivered speeches. Now that he was back, they had to face the Kings Guard, which he’d dispatched to “monitor” the situation.

Niamh couldn’t deny it unsettled her. Surely, Jack did not intend use force against them; they’d done nothing violent or illegal. She could see every horrible possibility burned on the backs of her eyelids. The Kings Guard’s cavalry riding through the unarmedcrowds, magic crackling in their palms, their sabers drawn and glinting. Screams and musket fire rending open the night. The blood of her people slicking the streets with red and gold.

She set the column down abruptly, feeling rather ill.

At the very bottom of the pile, she found a letter from Erin.

“Oh!” She hugged it to her chest.

Excitement chased away her unease. She’d nearly forgotten she’d written to her friend at all. Niamh tore it open and noted fondly that Erin was as long-winded as ever. She spent several paragraphs on each of her family members (all nine of them healthy, thank the gods) and how she’d found her return to Machland (bleak). At last, she came to Niamh’s questions.

But, oh! You must tell me everything you have been up to in the palace and everything about the wedding and the royal couple. I hear the prince is quite a menace. Is it true?

I am so very sad to have missed you. It would have been such fun to work together, but I could not bear it in the palace anymore. I do hope they are treating you well, Niamh. It was fine work, with many good people, but my pay arrived later and later, until eventually it stopped coming at all. At first, I suspected it was the housekeeper, Mrs. Knight. What a dreadful woman! She treated us particularly poorly and guarded the prince regent like a dog. However, I learned that some of the Avlish servants experienced the same thing. I do not know what to make of it. Perhaps the prince regent is just a cruel man.

I am proud, however, that a slew of us quitting seemed to awaken something. We are treated terribly in Avaland, and I am pleased to see us fighting back. I had considered joining up with the protesters, but I was eager to be home after almost two years. Everyone sends their fondest wishes to you!

Oh, that reminds me…

Jack wasn’t paying his staff.

Niamh supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. Her own payment had been late, and while he’d been apologetic, he must have known. He oversaw the hiring of his staff, event planning, and every single expense. Nothing escaped his notice. Perhaps Erin was right. He was a cruel man, as hateful as his father was.

But that couldn’t be all. Despite his quick temper, she’d never believed him capable of cruelty. He was an absent husband and an avoidant ruler, yes. But if nothing else, he worshipped at the altar of reputation. If any of his peers discovered he was mistreating his staff so brazenly, it would be an embarrassment of the highest order. If it was within his power to fix, he surely would have done it by now.

There is nothing I can do for those people,he’d said.

My brother never would have called me back here unless he was truly desperate,Kit had told her.

Jackwashiding something, then. Kit and Lovelace both suspected as much. But surely, it wasn’t as mundane as a little mismanagement. Niamh’s head ached from thinking. If only she were clever or strategic, if only she had some useful skill beyond her sewing…

A knock sounded on the door.

Sinclair had called on her yesterday to ask if she’d walk the gardens with him today. It was a little earlier than she’d expected him, but taking the air sounded far better than miring in her own worries.

She crossed the room and opened the door. “I wasn’t expecting you until—gah! Kit!”

“You were expecting someone else?” Wry amusement glittered in his eyes. “Who do I have to duel?”

For a moment, Niamh could only stare at him. Every question; every ridiculous, moony proclamation; every self-conscious doubt scrabbled to the forefront of her mind.

Was it a dream after all?

Do you feel the way I do when I look at you?