Page 9 of All the Chaos of Constellations
“I think she’s nervous,” Caelian tossed over her shoulder, holding an intricate silver ring up to the light.
“Mm.” Sarelle took inventory of the mess, then focused on the twins. She offered a kind smile then pointed to the door. “Alright you two, out. I’ll take it from here.”
There was a collective groan of displeasure but just as quickly, Caelian and Creslyn were out the door, whispering and laughing, Novalise’s troubles all but forgotten.
“You don’t have to stay.” Novalise gestured around the mess of her bedroom. “I’m sure I can find something.”
“Nonsense.” Sarelle fisted her hands on her hips, surveying the disaster of dresses once more. “I’m not leaving until my sister returns.”
Novalise blinked up at her. “I’m right here.”
“Are you though?” Sarelle scooped up a pile of silk and tulle, depositing the layers of gowns onto the tufted chair in front of the vanity, and joined her sister on the bed. “You’ve been present, yes, but your mind is always elsewhere.”
Another truth Novalise wasn’t quite ready to face.
Sarelle reached out and took Novalise’s hand, covering it with her own. Dark eyes roved over her face, noting every detail. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Lord Asher Firebane, does it?”
Novalise looked away, suddenly more interested in the indigo tiles decorating her floor than the conversation.
“Nova…” Sarelle prodded gently.
“He’ll be here tonight.” A sigh of annoyance escaped her. She knew she couldn’t avoid him forever, but she could at least try.
“And? So will everyone else.”
“That doesn’t exactly make me feel any better.”
“I doubt you’ll even see him. He’ll just be another blurry face in the crowd.” Sarelle squeezed Novalise’s hand in affirmation. “Tonight is all about you. It’s your star reading. Your destiny. You’ll be the center of attention, at least until Queen Elowyn lifts the Veil. But even if you do see him, you are Lady Novalise Starstorm Celestine, and you won’t even spare him a glance.”
If only it were so easy.
Novalise had confided in Sarelle about the fortuitous kiss with Lord Firebane, but she withheld everything that happened afterward. The bond they shared was a secret to only her heart. She couldn’t tell anyone about it, especially not after he dismissed her. The humiliation alone would ruin her.
“He’s not worth a second of your thoughts.” Sarelle attempted to reassure Novalise, but it did nothing to ease the compounding apprehension building up inside her. “It was only a kiss.”
“A rather passionate kiss.” One Novalise replayed in her mind over and over. For the briefest of moments, she’d felt desired. Savored. Treasured. She’d felt like someone truly cared abouther, not her title, namesake, or worse, the magic she controlled.
“A passionate kiss beneath enchanted mistletoe, Nova. You know how talented Caelian is, and if you ask me, she puts entirely too much effort into their success. A lover of happily ever afters, that one.” Sarelle stood and pulled Novalise up with her. “Tonight, your true soulmate will be made known to you and you will have all that you were promised. I’m sure of it. Besides, the stars never lie. I see no reason they would fail you now.”
Sarelle embraced her then, hugging her fiercely.
“Thank you.” Novalise held on a little longer, grateful for the boost of confidence, no matter how slight.
“Now, let’s get you dressed.” Sarelle held her out at arm’s length. “You know as well as I do that if you show up in any other gown besides the one mother had made for you, she’ll bemoan the fact for days. Besides, it could always be worse.”
Novalise shifted on her feet, uneasy. “How so?”
“She could be the one choosing your mate.”
Novalise laughed, even though it pained her heart. “Well, we wouldn’t want that. Knowing mother, she’ll pair me off with some arrogant fae lord who thinks everyone should kiss the ground he walks upon.”
“Exactly,” Sarelle agreed, helping her into the gown that crushed the fullness of Novalise’s figure. “At least she’s not forcing you to marry Prince Aspen.”
Novalise met her sister’s gaze in the gilded mirror, a wedge of panic nestling its way into her spine. “Prince Aspen?”
“I hear he’s looking for a wife.” Sarelle wove Novalise’s hair into a thick plait so it fell over one shoulder, then sprinkled it with stardust. “Just be grateful it isn’t you.”
Novalise pitied the female who would be wedded to the Prince of Aeramere. On most occasions, he was cold-hearted and insufferable, his devastating good looks belied the cruelty of his nature.
