The party was in one of the larger courtyards, strands of silver wire and illuminated glass draped above fountains that sprayed mist into the air. Half-blood servants dressed in Montigny livery were already circulating, carrying trays of sparkling wine and delicacies imported at great cost from beyond the curse’s barrier. From the human world.

Tristan’s magic abruptly lifted two glasses off a passing tray, and he laughed as the half-blood girl struggled to keep the unbalanced contents from toppling to the ground, her magic catching at the sliding stemware and accidentally shattering one of the glasses.

Wine splattered across Tristan’s coat, soaking into the expensive fabric. He stopped laughing.

The half-blood stared at him in horror as silence fell across the courtyard, even the musicians’ fingers stilling on their instruments. “I am so sorry, Your Highness.”

“Sorry?” His voice was icy, and despite knowing it was all an act on his part, discomfort twisted in my stomach, because the half-blood didn’t know. Her fear was real.

“Tristan,” I said, because I had my own part to play in this ruse. “Let it go.”

If he heard me, he didn’t show it, and magic twisted through the air, invisible, but tangible. Dangerous.

The half-blood took one step back. Then another. But even if she fled, she would not get far.

Suddenly, the shards of broken glass rose from the ground, turning into floating liquid blobs that hovered between the half-blood and us. They drifted together, swirling and coalescing until the glass reformed. Droplets of wine eased out of Tristan’s sleeve to drip, one by one, into the vessel, turning to mist as they hit the heated glass.

“There.” Pénélope’s voice filled the air, soft and musical, and she took hold of the now-cool stem with slender fingers. “No damage done.”

Tension still clung to the courtyard, everyone watching. Waiting. Then Tristan clapped his hands together. “A nice trick, Pénélope.”

Music once again filled our ears, and Anaïs pushed past her sister. “You’re so dramatic, Tristan.”

“Better than boring,” he shot back, then took her arm and led her off into the corner, both of them laughing. All the men in Trollus could stare at Anaïs as long as they wanted, but there wasn’t a soul who didn’t know it was my cousin who had the heart of Angoulême’s heir. The question in everyone’s minds was whether Tristan would flaunt the rivalry between his father and the Duke by bonding her anyway.

But I wasn’t interested in Tristan and Anaïs right now.

I stood rooted on the spot, unable to tear my eyes from Pénélope. Or to come up with anything clever to say, I thought, wondering when I’d become so tongue-tied around her. Despite the conflict between her family and Tristan’s, we’d been friends since we were children, but that easy camaraderie had burned away recently, replaced with something else entirely.

“You watched the bonding?” she asked, light reflecting off her irises as they darted to the new couple, then back to me. The wistfulness in her voice made my stomach clench, but I managed a nod.