“The faerie folk of northern France are famed for their exquisite workmanship,” said Elias. “It is said this scabbard was made by Melusine herself. I knew it had to be yours. I hope you will accept it as a token of my love, child, and—as a promise to do better.”

Sona smiled tremulously. Elias set the box carefully down on the hall table. “Thank you, Father,” Cordelia said, putting her arms around him. As he hugged her tightly, she caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye, and glanced up to see Alastair head back to his room without a word.

The bloody bracelet was still on his wrist, James thought, as he paced up and down the carpet in his bedroom. He had been meaning to remove it for days. In fact, he was fairly sure he had tried to remove it, but the fastening had been stuck.

He was halfway to his desk in search of a letter opener he could use to poke at the latch when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He stopped to make sure everything was in place; for Cordelia’s sake, he had to look his best.

He smoothed down his hair—hopeless, as it sprang up again immediately—and did up the last button on the gold brocade frock coat made for him by his father’s tailor, an ancient man named Lemuel Sykes.

He thought of his father’s excitement when he’d presented James to Lemuel: “My boy’s getting married!” Sykes had angrily muttered his congratulations. Given his amount of ear hair, James put it at even odds that he was a werewolf, but he thought it impolite to ask. In any event, Will turned out to have been right to overlook Sykes’s off-putting manner and the constant fear that he would drop dead of old age right in front of them. James felt he wasn’t the best judge of his own appearance, but even he was taken by the way his suit, rich gold coat and all, made him look serious. Like a young man with intent, who knew what he was doing. Given the situation, he could use even the illusion of confidence.

He had just started toward the desk again when there was a knock on his door. James opened it to find his parents, elegant in their own formal attire. Like James, Will was dressed in a frock coat and black trousers, but his coat was cut from ebony wool. Tessa wore a simple dress of blush-colored velvet, adorned with tiny seed pearls. They both looked grave.

James’s stomach dropped. “Is something wrong?”

They’ve found out, he thought. About my burning down Blackthorn Manor—Cordelia stepping in to protect me—the sham of this marriage, meant to save us both.

“Don’t be alarmed,” Will said soothingly. “There’s a bit of news.”