and friendship. Maybe Elliot was right. Maybe books are a strange form of human sorcery. For how else can a story feel so satisfying and agonizing at the same time?
I hug the book tighter, breathing in the scent of its pages—the classic paper smell mingled with another aroma of earth and pine, one that’s becoming increasingly familiar and can only be described as Elliot—and a calming peace falls over me. Sleep begins to tug at the corners of my consciousness, bringing with it an echo of the king’s earlier question. Is it worth it?
My answer is the same as it was before. Yes, Elliot. It’s worth it.
The day of the ball arrives, and I’m thrown into a flurry of activity no sooner than the sun rises. Just like with the dinner, we’ve hired staff for the day, and I set about instructing them in their proper places and duties. Foxglove arrives to put some final touches on the ballroom, bringing with him Ember and a violinist he’s hired to accompany my friend as our modest orchestra for tonight’s music. Amelie comes shortly after to ensure Elliot has no issues with the outfit she picked out for him. Elliot himself is nowhere to be seen, however, and I can’t blame him. With the manor thrown into such chaos as the day draws closer to dusk, I too would rather be away somewhere in a quiet room. But as steward, management of tonight’s ball is my responsibility. There will be no breaks for me. No hiding.
The thought is my constant companion, nagging at the back of my mind as I go about my work and continue overseeing all preparations. No matter how busy I make myself, I can’t shake the fact that, even though I won’t be dancing tonight, I will still face public display. As floor manager, I’ll have to interact with most of our guests, responsible for introductions and ensuring each dance set is full. And despite Imogen’s assertions that this will be a small and private event, her guest list says otherwise. It seems her confidence in Elliot’s attention has grown since our dinner, considering she’s invited some of the most well-bred men and women in town. Although I know any decent ball requires a vast number of willing dancers, I’m surprised how many young and eligible ladies she’s invited. Probably to show off what she thinks she’s won.
As much as that makes my stomach churn, I must let it comfort me instead. This is what we’ve been working for—Imogen’s attachment, her pride in Elliot’s affections. Internal arguments rail against me, and I try to take additional comfort in Imogen’s eventual demise, for once she breaks his curse, the king will turn her away, and her smug grin will be wiped from her face forevermore.
When none of those thoughts help, I remind myself of the five petals that have fallen each of the last few days. Based on my calculations, we have anywhere from one week to nine days left to break Elliot’s curse. Imogen must be convinced she’s in love tonight.
She must.
At least I have true comfort in the few invitees I’ve added to the guest list, which includes Foxglove, Amelie, Nina, and the bookseller, Mr. Cordell. Unfortunately, Nina’s invite requires one for Father as well, so I must steel myself against his forthcoming presence.
The sky is nearly dark and the ball just over an hour away when I can safely say the manor is ready for tonight’s event. Standing at the entrance to the dining-room-turned-ballroom, I give it a nod of approval. The lighting has been lowered to a warm, elegant glow, and the marble floor gleams with a dazzling shine, the very essence of the room screaming romance. Ember and the violinist are set up at the far end, practicing for the first few songs, strains of their lovely music floating upon my ears to ease my frazzled nerves.
I sigh. It’s perfect. This will work.
“Why aren’t you dressed?”
I whirl at the sound of Elliot’s voice, my pulse hammering at the sight of him in his shirtsleeves. “I could ask the same of you. What are you thinking, walking around like this?”
“I’ve been in the garden,” he says, voice quiet.
My stomach drops. “Anything I should be concerned about?”
He shifts his jaw. “Nothing but the usual. Four petals have fallen. I’m sure the fifth will fall by the end of the night.”
His tone has me reaching for him, and before I realize what I’m doing, I lay a