Curiosity burned too brightly to resist. I paused at the doorway, leaning just far enough back to peek around the frame and watch what Father would do, how Mother Elowen would react. Tamsin was already tugging at my arm in full panic, whispering urgently for me to leave, but I didn't listen. I stayed, heart racing with wicked glee, eyes fixed on the scene I'd just orchestrated.
To my surprise, his hands had settled on her waist; hers still rested against his chest. She was looking down, cheeks aflame with embarrassment. Both of them blushing furiously. Father leaned in closer, gently forcing her to meet his gaze. Her eyes practically screamed Why now?—but he closed the distance between their lips to a mere inch.
Oh gosh—I shouldn't look. I can't watch. That's my mother and father.
I turned away, tugging Tamsin with me, giving my parents the privacy they deserved. We slipped out of the room and down the hall.
Morwenna had once pressed Father hard about having a second child—clearly desperate for a boy who could one day take over the household. I'd been furious at the idea back then; she would only control the poor thing the way she'd controlled me. But that was years ago. I don't know what became of those plans—whether she gave up or simply shifted her focus. I hope she gave up.
Putting Morwenna aside, I still wanted to spark real romance between my parents. I'd been nudging them toward each other for years—small gestures, clever distractions, anything to remind them of what they once had. And today, finally, I'd seen real results. A stronger bond between them would help in the tough situations ahead; it would give Mother Elowen more leverage, more heart, more reason to stand her ground.
Once we were far enough from the room, Tamsin let out the breath she'd been holding in a long, shaky exhale. Her voice came out half-laugh, half-panic.
"You really made my heart jump out," she said, eyes wide. "Are you really going to talk with your grandmother about the dress?"
"Yes, of course I will," I replied with casual confidence. "I'm the only person who can do it, I think so."
Tamsin's tension snapped back instantly, her shoulders hunching as worst-case scenarios flickered behind her eyes. Why wouldn't she worry? Here I was, dragging her straight into another mess of my own making.
Morwenna's room lay on the ground floor—that was exactly where we were headed. I strode through the hallways with purpose, footsteps ringing off the polished stone. Tamsin trailed a step behind, her pace slower, weighted by dread at what might unfold.
The echoes grew sharper as we neared the stairs. Then another sound joined them—boots climbing upward, deliberate and quick. Tamsin froze mid-step, breath catching. She thought it was Morwenna.
I leaned forward just enough to see.
She was right.
Morwenna ascended the stairs in a hurry, skirts lifted high to clear the steps faster. Her face wore its usual mask—serious, expressionless, the faint downward curve of her mouth the closest thing she ever came to a smile. If she ever truly smiled, it would look uncanny on her, like a crack in stone.
"Why in a hurry?" I called out, voice deliberately casual, light as though we were discussing the weather. "Be careful on the steps or you might fall."
I didn't care if the old hag fell—in fact, part of me hoped she would—but I knew better. A tumble would only spawn fresh, tiresome drama: accusations, lectures, endless guilt-tripping. Better to keep things smooth for now.
Morwenna shifted her gaze to me, slowing her ascent just enough to acknowledge my presence. Her expression remained unchanged—stone-cold, unreadable—except for that telltale flicker: her eyes closed for a single, deliberate second when they landed on the red gown clinging to my body. She always did that when something displeased her, a silent shutter slamming shut against whatever offended her sensibilities.
She reached the top step and stepped onto our level. The air seemed to thicken around her; Tamsin visibly shrank, wishing she could dissolve into the wallpaper. Her head bowed low, eyes fixed firmly on the floor—she didn't dare lift them.
"What's the meaning of this?"
Morwenna's voice rang clear and measured, each word enunciated with precision. She acted as though she genuinely didn't understand why I was wearing the gown—as though pretending ignorance would force me to explain myself, to justify, to crumble under the weight of her disapproval. Classic Morwenna: never admit what she already knows, never give ground, always make the other person speak first.
"For the party, of course," I answered smoothly. "We have to maintain the family's good reputation. A dull dress won't do much. Mother Elowen is planning to wear something too, and Father already approved. You just have to approve it."
I delivered the words with a teasing smile and an innocent tone that was anything but innocent to her. She knew exactly what I was doing—I did this every time, poking at her composure just to watch the cracks form. She always saw through it.
"How dare you speak to me in such a manner…"
Her voice rose, sharp enough to cut glass, fury gathering like storm clouds. She was on the verge of exploding—then she exhaled, long and deliberate, eyes closing for a single second. Tamsin trembled beside me, a small involuntary shiver. I felt a flicker of surprise myself; I hadn't expected her to rein it in so quickly.