Page 21 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

“It solves multiple problems with one move,” Ark explained, sidestepping his brother’s amusement. “I get breathing room from Mother and a front-row seat to whatever game Alderrath is playing. The orphanage not being evicted is a happy side effect.”

“You’ve never gone this far before. What makes this Kitchen Witch so special?”

Ark exhaled, adjusting his lapel as he veered west. “Alderrath’s visible frustration at her mere existence makes her exceptionally unique.”

A pause. Then a slow, knowing hum. “Interesting.”

“Don’t read into it. I’m assessing an asset, not courting one.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Ark shook his head. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Why? What are you doing?”

“I’m—” He raked his fingers through his hair, already bracing for it. “I’m on my way to meet her.”

Oromon let the silence stretch for a few beats. Then—“I rest my case.”

“It’s a site visit,” Ark insisted, the iron gates of Starlight coming into view at the end of the gardens. “I need to see the property.”

“Of course you do.”

He could almost see Oromon’s grin. An idea struck him—which would help Starlight and distract his brother.

“While I’m there—dig into Starlight’s records on your end, will you? See what you can find that might explain Alderrath’s plan for the place.”

“Consider it done. I’ll let you know what I turn up.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Anytime.” A pause, then, with deliberate mischief—“Try not to look too besotted during your . . . site inspection.”

Ark ended the call without a reply. A sharp gust of wind swept past, carrying the unmistakable, comforting scent of freshly baked bread from the orphanage.

He exhaled slowly and stopped at the edge of the gardens, his gaze fixed on the building ahead. A tool, a key to disrupting a rival—that was all Aura Cassia was supposed to be. A means to thwart his mother’s and Alderrath’s machinations. A distraction during the holiday season.

So why did the thought of walking through those gates feel less like a strategic maneuver and more like a line he wouldn’t be able to uncross?

He shook his head again.

Unexpected, indeed.

6

CASSIA

Through the frost-speckled window, Cassia watched Ark cross Eldryn Gardens at an unhurried pace, as if neither the cold nor time itself had any claim over him. How lovely it must be. When he’d said three o’clock, she’d slapped a ‘Half-Price Baked Goods After 1PM’ sign on the bakery door and rushed to catch the train to Unity Station, still dusting flour from her sleeves. Meanwhile, he strolled through the park like a man with nowhere else to be.

Today, he wore dark wool—sharp tailoring, fabric looking so soft her hands itched to touch it—but again, no Daemaric blue.

In Meredith, colour was identity: demons wore that specific cobalt with a hint of indigo, elves royal purple, witches verdant green, humans crimson red. Cassia had no claim to green or red. She was both, but not enough of either. Ark, by blood and status, had every right to Daemaric blue. He chose not to wear it.

But . . . why?

She knew what it felt like to stand outside a circle, to press her palm against the barrier and feel the warmth she couldn’t reach. Every orphan at Starlight knew that ache. She’d spent her life wanting—craving—a door that would stay open.

And here was Varil Arkenoth, born with every door already unlocked, yet he wouldn’t walk through a single one.