Page 7 of Pretense

Perhaps that was part of it. While she had not fought at the front line, she had seen the gore and blood of the aftermath of battle each day. She and Essie had been caught and nearly killed in a sneak attack one of the nights.

While Essie had been a rock facing all of it—too determined to rescue Farrendel to let herself be shaken by the things she witnessed—Jalissa had needed to lean on someone who made her feel protected and safe.

That person had been Edmund.

Farrendel still studied her, his expression turning even more concerned as if her lack of an answer had confirmed his suspicions.

Jalissa cleared her throat. She had to give him something. He was her brother, and he was truly worried for her. “It is not just the battles. It is…everything.”

Farrendel’s gaze finally swung away from her as he gave a slight nod. “I understand.”

Jalissa swallowed a lump forming in her throat. Melantha’s betrayal still hurt so deeply. Perhaps the last few months would have been better, if Jalissa could turn to her older sister for wisdom and support.

But maybe not. Melantha had been prejudiced against humans. She likely would have been haughty about Jalissa’s attraction to a human prince. After all, she had been the one who had initially warned Jalissa to choose someone from the elven nobility, even if Melantha had later tried to foist some nonsense about falling in love on Jalissa instead.

As if Melantha had forgotten all about the pressure placed on a princess of the elves. Her family needed her to marry well and, most of all, marry without any whiff of scandal or controversy.

Surely she could do that. Out of all of her family, Jalissa was merely average. Her plant-growing magic was neither remarkably strong like Weylind’s, nor was it scandalously weak for a member of the royal family. She was calm, serene, and graceful by nature, not given to the roil of emotions the way Melantha was. Conforming to elven society had never been much of a problem.

Except, it seemed, when it came to falling in love.

But Jalissa was done talking about herself. With a nod, she drew Farrendel’s attention toward where Essie and Rheva were still talking with the group of stuffy noble ladies. The elven women were leaning back, as if they desperately wanted to escape. If this conversation was running true to form, then the elven noblewomen had tried to insult Essie, but soon discovered that Essie was so friendly that they could not manage to snub her no matter how hard they tried. “It is a pleasure to watch her flummox the court so completely.”

“It helps, knowing that if I panic or need to leave, she will feel it through the heart bond.” Farrendel’s smile remained, though his silver-blue eyes turned more serious. “I protect her in many places, but here, she protects me.”

And now that lump was back in her throat. As if Jalissa needed another reason to feel that lonely pang deep in her chest. She wanted that for herself so desperately.

But she forced herself to smile anyway and curtsy as the dance ended.

Before Jalissa had a chance to return to her husband hunting endeavor, Weylind strolled up to them with Machasheni Leyleira on his arm.

Machasheni nodded at Jalissa. “Thank you for looking after him, senasheni. But I believe it is my turn to claim him. Come, sasonsheni.”

Farrendel’s eyes widened, and he looked somewhat terrified as Machasheni whisked him away.

Weylind turned to Jalissa. “I believe this is my turn.”

Were her brothers conspiring to keep her from throwing herself at the young noblemen of the court?

Jalissa let herself get detoured once more. She had been putting off picking a young nobleman to court for the past five months. Delaying for another dance, another night, would not make much of a difference.

As the new dance began, Weylind made a deep throat-clearing noise in the back of his throat. “Isciena…”

Jalissa gritted her teeth. “Not you too.”

Weylind twirled her through the next few steps before he spoke again. “We are all concerned. You have been unhappy. Do not deny it.”

Jalissa sighed and pretended to be engrossed in the flourishes of the next few dance steps. When she gathered her courage, she flicked a glance at Weylind’s face, his forehead furrowed. “There is nothing you can do, shashon. I will be fine eventually.”

“Are you sure?” Weylind paused. “And if you should wish to court your human prince?”

Jalissa staggered, coming close to stepping on Weylind’s foot. “Pardon?”

“I have eyes, isciena.” Weylind raised one eyebrow, giving her a look that had her squirming.

Jalissa could not meet Weylind’s gaze and instead stared at the gold trimming on his tunic. “You know why I cannot. The court—”

“I can handle the court, contrary to what Melantha might have erroneously told you.” Weylind’s tone took on a huffy note. “Ryfon will make his entrance into court life this year, and their attention will shift to him. He is my heir. His eventual marriage will matter much more than yours, and the court will quickly realize that.”

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