He’s so close. No closer than Jerrome had been the other time I’d been escorted home, but for some reason, my cheeks are warm as Thorne guides Midnight to the LaVelle Duchy in the dark. 

He said it will take us about an hour.

Perhaps it’s my state of undress this time, or the way his arms press into my sides as he holds the reigns, or it could be because we’re alone in the darkness, with only the occasional breeze whispering through the leaves overhead. 

Regardless, I feel every breath of his in my hair and I wish I’d had the sense to put the hood of the cloak up earlier, because to do so now would mean letting go of it around my chest and that’s the only thing keeping my chemise covered. Not that he could see, being behind me, but…I just can’t do it. 

I sigh.

“We’ll be there soon, m’lady,” he says, misinterpreting, his voice low in my ear. He startles me, which startles the horse, so Thorne’s hold tightens momentarily until Midnight calms. I start to feel warm in other places around my body...“Apologies, m’lady.”

“It’s alright,” I say, trying to sound calmer than I feel, “I’m the one who got us all in this mess to begin with.”

It's a simple truth that if I hadn't accidentally used my mage powers and landed in a thicket, we wouldn't be here.

“If I may,” he says, slowly, “this is hardly your fault, so please don’t let it weigh on you, m’lady.”

Due to my lack of footwear, Thorne guides us as close to the crumbled section of the wall as he dares, then ties Midnight to a tree. 

“Be good, boy,” he tells him with a pat on the nose. 

I expect him to help me down and let me walk, but he slides me into his arms and keeps me there, easily hopping over the wall and crouching us down in the garden. 

“What are you doing?” I whisper, holding the cloak shut with iron fingers. “Put me down!”

“The path is gravel,” he whispers back. “It will shred your feet in a matter of seconds.”

I note the lack of m’lady with ire, but he does have a point. 

“Where to?” he asks.

And so, I guide us through the garden using the path I had taken to sneak out to sneak us in. After we give the mansion a wide berth, Thorne asks if that’s not our destination, and I shake my head. He doesn’t pry.

“I can’t believe the grounds aren’t swarming with people looking for you,” he comments. 

“I can,” I say. He glances sharply at me upon hearing the contempt in my voice. I probably shouldn’t have said that. “Regardless, thank you for bringing me back.”

“My pleasure, m’lady,” he says, finally putting me down. “Here.” He pulls a pen out of his pocket that's engraved with a ‘T,’ as well as a small, leatherbound journal. “Anything you write with this pen will appear for me in my book. The same goes for you with my pen and this book, so find a good hiding place for it. This is how we’ll communicate about that training we agreed upon.”

Training. “Right.” That was another thing that had happened tonight. “Our deal.”

He nods. “I better go.” He gives me a short, awkward bow crouched in the shrubbery. “Farewell, m’lady.”

“Goodbye, Sir Thorne.”

He disappears and I wait a few minutes before darting out of the garden across the gravel—ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch—to the servant’s entrance of the annex, where I sneak in. Thankfully, it’s noisy inside, so I’m able to sneak all the way to my room, where I scare the soul out of Mary.

“Please,” I beg her, “don’t ask any questions. I’m fine. Just send a message to the mansion that I’ve returned and that I’ll speak to father in the morning, then draw me a steaming hot bath.”

Mary curtsies, her mouth agape, then turns to do my bidding.

♥♥⸸

The morning dawns gray and misty, quiet in a way that makes me nervous. I wake up early, despite the late night before, full of energy. 

But I do not summon Mary. Rather, I lie there and review everything that had happened the previous day. It almost escapes my memory that I had seen my mother for the first time in seven years. 

Why don’t I feel…more?

I stay in bed, mulling things over in my mind, until Mary comes in to get me ready. As expected, I’ve been summoned to the mansion. 

Father is furious, as I knew he would be. No amount of preparation could’ve shielded me against the instant verbal assault as soon as the study door had closed behind me. 

"Last night was your one, single opportunity to make a good impression upon society...and you destroyed it marvelously," he says, slapping me with each word. 

“But—”

“I am not done speaking, Florence!” he shouts. “How did Vester Tyrell know you were wearing a wig? Hmm? And why the hell did you need one to begin with? It doesn’t make sense to me! Did you…did you set this up to make us look bad? Is this revenge for how you were treated?”

“Father, I—”

“How long have you known you are a mage? Why didn’t you tell anyone? Disappearing like that in the middle of your debut…you couldn’t have caused a bigger scene!”

By this time, his voice is so loud, that I’m afraid the ceiling lights will start to crash down around us. 

“Well?” he looks at me expectantly. “Explain yourself! And don’t you dare lie to me.”

He leans against the outside edge of his desk, arms crossed in front of him. I’ve never seen him so angry. Never. 

And it’s at me. He thinks this is all my fault. Tears prick my eyes, but I blink until they disappear. 

“I didn’t know that I’m a mage,” I begin, “I started to feel a strange tingling in my hands yesterday, but I didn’t know what it was. How would I know to tell anyone about it? And I don’t know how that man knew about the wig—I’d never seen him before last night. Besides, my hair color is not my fault. Personally, I like it—”

“It’s unconventional,” father interrupts. “It draws unnecessary attention to you when you hardly need more. Fix it, or hide it.”

Hide it? My disbelief must show on my face.

“So, this was all a tantrum?” father asks. “You were angry about how Madam Rosanna treated you and decided to act out?”

“What? No!” Well…I’m not happy about how she treated me, but I didn’t retaliate in any way! Where did he come up with these ideas? “Father, it’s as I said: I didn’t know I was a mage, and I don't know the man who ripped the wig off my head. I don’t know what happened to me after he did that—all I know is I felt like I needed to hide…and then I disappeared. Aren’t you at all concerned about where I went? Or about what happened to me?”

Father huffs and shakes his head. “Aren’t you concerned about the fallout of your actions? You are the youngest daughter of the LaVelle Duchy. Your position holds weight in society. Your brother and I had to spend all night mitigating the damage.”

So, no, he doesn't care about what happened to me. Just as well, since now I wouldn’t have to explain about the Rowenwards and Thorne, and get them involved, too. 

“I see,” I say in reply. 

Father sighs heavily. For a moment, I can feel the weight of the duchy on his shoulders. It’s bigger than me and bigger than him…but that doesn’t excuse his willingness to pin this all on me. 

I’m so tired of feeling like I'm the personal curse of the LaVelle household. 

“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” father declares. “In the meantime, you must prepare for your introduction to the King and Queen. For whatever reason, they are most anxious to meet you.”

Father tosses an open letter toward me and it lands on the table in front of the settee. 

…within two weeks of her Debut, Duke Claude LaVellle must present his Daughter, Lady Florence LaVelle, to His Royal Majesty Roark Aurelius deh Doran and Her Royal Majesty  Genevieve Constançia at the Royal Palace…

“It was the King who sent the clerics to heal you, Florence,” father says. “Please. You must make the LaVelle name proud when you present yourself. We cannot afford another embarrassment. There are no second chances.”