Rosalind
Out of all the places Rosalind might spend an afternoon, the Magnus-Monroe estate had been the least likely on the list. Despite their family’s prominent position in the coven, Rosalind Bloodswell avoided social niceties and unnecessary dramatics like they were contagious. They accomplished this by having as little to do with anyone as possible. Maybe there had been a coven member or two they’d had closer relationships with than the rest in the past, but at the present moment Rosalind was entirely free to do whatever they wanted as long as they could sneak away from their over-protective mother quietly enough.
Marcus’ invitation to his family’s famous library had caught them entirely by surprise. Really, his approaching them at all had been shocking; since he’d returned from school five years prior, the two of them had maybe five conversations all together. They had always wanted to get to know him better, but between his attention being always pulled in the entirely opposite direction and their mother’s tendency to meddle, Rosalind had stayed far away. Developing a friendship with the Thorneheart Heir Apparent’s fiancé was fertile soil for meddling and if she found out her Heir had been invited back she would have lost her mind. But she didn’t know, and what she didn’t know Rosalind would be more than happy to continue to keep from her.
The memory of Marcus’ warm hand shaking theirs made the magic in their fingers tingle as they stepped down from the carriage. His smile flashed through their mind, and they smothered the image for the third time this morning. It didn’t matter what Rosalind might feel or how long they’d felt it, Marcus was solidly off limits and not just because of the newly announced engagement. Other, more substantial reasons included Marcus’ general wariness of magic, the lack of shared interests between the two of them, and the man’s famously exclusive interest in men. His being engaged to Frigga was laughable, really, because Marcus’ fiancée wasn’t interested in men at all, Rosalind was absolutely certain. They’d known as much ever since they’d caught her staring after Artemis Cromwell several years back. Since then, her behaviour had only solidified the conclusion, especially her removed behaviour towards Marcus. The two of them were genuine friends, but Rosalind saw him trying to earn her affections in all sorts of sweet ways that were entirely in vain as the woman either did not notice them or did not care.
The tips of their ears warmed with the thought as they ascended the steps to the home. The butler greeted them at the door, and the walk from the foyer to the library helped them calm. Maybe they had a soft spot for Marcus, but it was none of their business if Frigga and that servant from her home were involved or if she was marrying Marcus for position. They didn’t care what Frigga did, they didn’t care what anyone did, and nobody cared about what they did either which was how it ought to be.
So Rosalind didn’t feel guilty about visiting Marcus for a private visit. They wore their standard black from head-to-toe, though it would be a lie if they said they didn’t wear their more fitted suit for the visit or that they hadn’t put more thought into what jewelry they’d picked out. For formal visits, Rosalind usually opted for their family’s signature scarlet, but today they’d picked out an amethyst necklace as a respectful nod to the family they were visiting. It was ornate when fully displayed, but the witch tucked it into their collar in lieu of a tie so only a fraction of it showed. It was the kind of detail they thought Marcus might enjoy, ever-so-slightly feminine to contrast the masculine cut of their jacket. While they didn’t usually care what anyone thought of them, it never hurt to make a good impression, especially because…
Because nothing, just because.
They were shown to the library by the butler who informed them that Marcus would be in shortly with a monotonous tone that rivalled his blanched complexion for hue. He then retreated with surprising speed leaving Rosalind to look around. Vaulted ceilings, walls lined with shelves filled with thousands of books, a classical bronze sculpture placed to the side of an ornately assembled fireplace. One of the walls was comprised of windows from edge to edge allowing the light to dance on the sparkling marble floor tiles that caused their footsteps to echo as they passed by shelves. There was so many rows of book shelves down the room that it took a full minute to reach their end. Dotted around the space were gorgeous black tables and plush couches to recline on, and at the very end of the room was a beautiful grand piano, black with ivory keys. Rosalind swept over to it and touched a key softly. E flat. Their finger slid over it and then down to its natural neighbour as they savoured the smooth feeling of the key against their fingertip. It had been a long time since they’d played, opting instead to focus on dance and magic, but the ringing note struck a chord in their heart; maybe they’d make a point to play a bit more.
Rosalind looked out the windows that overlooked the back of the house. They’d spent time in this mansion, mostly in the ballrooms, but had never visited the extensive gardens. It was a shame, the park was beautifully manicured and filled with walkways and bushes and all sorts of flora. There was a few open spaces for recreational sport or something, and was that a waterfall? Rosalind decided they wouldn’t mind exploring back there, though there was no guarantee Marcus would even invite them back.
The door opened again, and Rosalind heard Marcus speaking with someone. “And! Maybe we could get some of those little, uh, what were those things that were at the party the other day?”
“The hors d’oeuvres, sir?” said the unforgettably bland voice of the butler.
“Yeah! Please, if we’ve got those, I don’t know what the options are but like, any of them would be great! I skipped lunch, so.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you Jenkins, my favouritest of butlers!”
The butler, who Rosalind had now learned was very appropriately named Jenkins, left and shut the door behind him. Marcus was in quite the outfit, tightly fitted slacks and lavender button-down with a loose, sheer shift on top that Rosalind was pretty sure was intended to be worn by women. His long, golden hair was tucked into a loose braid that streamed down his back, and were those? Did the man have flowers in his hair? It was darling and suited him, but Rosalind was used to seeing the man wearing more formal attire and had expected as such. Had they over-dressed?
Marcus turned from the door and spun around, seeking out his guest. He spotted Rosalind near the piano and waved enthusiastically. “I’m so glad you came!” he called as he began to skip over to them.
Rosalind’s ears warmed once more with a very different emotion. How should they behave in this scenario? Marcus was clearly not going to be as formal as Rosalind had predicted, but they weren’t sure how familiar to act. They’d wait to see what Marcus did because they didn’t trust themself and didn’t want to offend him. “It’s quite the trove,” they replied softly, scrutinizing their tone for any hint of the awkwardness they felt, “the rumours don’t do it justice.”
Marcus sidled up close to Rosalind, leaning easily on the piano. “Do you play? My mother tried to encourage me to and put me in lessons for a year, but I never had the discipline for it.” He wistfully looked at the beautiful instrument and their hand still lingering at its keys.
They retreated their hand and shoved it into a pocket to fiddle with the ring they’d forgotten was in it. “I did learn, but I haven’t played lately,” Rosalind answered. “I’ve been focussing on my magical practice.”
He hummed tensely. “All witches are like that, huh?” Marcus sighed as he sat on the piano bench, smiling joylessly up at them.
Rosalind blinked, continuing to fidget. “What…do you mean?”
“Always focussed on magic and never on anything, you know, fun.” He raised a brow and quirked his lip playfully.
“You’re not wrong,” they replied. Their ears’ warmth crept onto the back of their neck as a minuscule smile escaped onto Rosalind’s lips. But as Marcus’ teasing smirk evolved into a satisfied, genuine grin, Rosalind didn’t smother the reaction. “But magic can be fun too.”
“Oh yeah?” He was challenging them. Rosalind was curious to see what Marcus expected of them, so they made him scoot over on the bench and sat beside him. It was closer than Rosalind let anyone get to them normally, but what was the harm? No need to be weird about their shoulders brushing or how astonishingly wonderful he smelled like some kind of hormone-addled teenager.
But Rosalind would be weird about it to themself.
They brought their hands to the keys and focussed a small bit of magical energy into their fingers. The tips glowed with a faint red light that might only be seen if a person was looking for it. Before they played, they glanced up to Marcus who was skeptically waiting, challenging Rosalind to prove him wrong, and they decided that they would prove him wrong utterly. They played a short, lively tune before taking their hands off the keys which continued playing without their participation, a soft red light dancing across the keys playing in their stead.
“That must come in handy at parties!” Marcus gasped softly before he shot up from his seat, bounded around to their other side, and proffered his hand with a small bow. “May I have this dance, Mx Bloodswell?” he asked with a perfect grin and a flutter of painted lashes.
They stared at the hand, too flustered to respond immediately. Rosalind wasn’t self-conscious about their own dancing ability or their ability to maintain a spell and dance at the same time, that sort of thing was simple. They also were not bothered about being near an attractive man when they didn’t know him well, but Rosalind was known for being hard to read or get close to and they’d done it intentionally; they put up walls to protect themself from unnecessary drama and their own tendency to commit faux-pas, and this man was just waltzing right past them, like they didn’t exist at all.
But there was no harm in a single dance. What were they, prepubescent?
Rosalind allowed Marcus to lead and spelled the piano to play something more appropriate. It was pleasant dancing with someone who knew what he was doing. Most of the other coven members trained for a year or less and then moved on to other interests, but Rosalind had found freedom in it and had stayed with the discipline. Marcus had too, apparently, or maybe he just danced so much at parties that the frequency led to skill?
And if they enjoyed Marcus’ warm hand on their waist? They decided not to acknowledge that.
When the song finished, Marcus applauded Rosalind’s magical music before gesturing to the shelves with a nod. “Come on, I have something to show you.”
He led them to a bookshelf a few lanes in, and Marcus knelt to look at a lower ledge, his long fingers tracing the spines as he searched. Rosalind looked at a few of the nearby titles, finding they were in a very specific section: spirits, mediums, fae, and necromancy, all things their own family was famous for. No wonder he’d brought them here, though why the man had been in this section in the first place was a mystery. After a moment, Marcus pulled a journal from the shelf and handed it up to them. “I found this a week ago and I wondered if you might want to take a look at it.”
Rosalind’s brow furrowed as they squinted to make out the words on its spine. The text was extremely faded and in a language Rosalind was barely proficient in. Without a word they turned to walk to the window, and in the afternoon’s light the faded golden symbols shone. Opening it, they were greeted with a date from over a hundred years prior. For being over a hundred years old, it was in excellent condition. Rosalind flipped through the pages, but it only took a few to recognize exactly who had hand-written the tome. They turned to Marcus who had followed them into the light. “You…You just found this?” Rosalind asked flabbergasted.
Marcus nodded. “Yeah, I was looking for something else but this caught my eye. I’ve no idea what it’s about, though, do you?”
Rosalind looked back at the book and reverently ran a hand over the open page. “I can read most of it, though… It’s quite old. This is my great-grandmother’s book, the grandmother my mother named me after.”
“Oh, really? Her name was Rosalind? Seems like a weird name for an immigrant to have, it’s an Ozelean name isn’t it?”
They hesitated, still looking through the pages delicately. “No, that name was her spouse’s.” They glanced apprehensively at Marcus before training their eyes back on the book.
He floundered. While Rosalind didn’t have negative feelings towards the name their parents had given them, it didn’t suit them and hadn’t since they were small. Marcus confusion evidenced as such, and he hadn’t been the first to forget entirely that they hadn’t always been Rosalind.
“Oh! Yes, right, duh,” Marcus exclaimed with a wince. “I totally blanked. Right, because your mother sometimes talks about her…grandmother?” he asked cautiously.
Rosalind looked back to the man and another smirk escaped. “Yes.”
“Yeah, how she came here from… Hyuugata, right? The Takato family, I think?”
“Takada, that was her family name before she married into the Bloodswell family… She must have written this book when she was quite young, then. I wonder,” they flipped through the pages towards the front of the book, looking for some kind of historical event by which they might judge the tome’s country of origin. “I think this was written before the family moved here just under a hundred years ago.”
“That’s amazing! I had no idea that it was that old, I just sort of assumed it was someone’s notebook that got left here.”
They chuckled breathily as they closed the journal and offered it back to their host. “It’s incredibly valuable, Marcus. We have translations of most of it, but…”
Marcus looked at the journal with a raised brow but did not take it back. “Your family should have this one, though, don’t you think?”
Rosalind looked up from the book at Marcus’ face. He was in earnest, he was genuine, he was beautiful. Fuck, they really needed to get a grip if they wanted to leave with their self-respect intact. Rosalind steeled themself against that thought. It meant the world that Marcus was offering them such a valuable keepsake, he probably didn’t even understand how precious it was to their family. “Are you certain?” Marcus nodded with enthusiasm. He gently pushed their hands holding the book away, and Rosalind held the book to their chest that was aflutter from the brief brush of hands. “Thank you, Marcus, that’s incredibly generous.”
“It’s your family’s, you guys should have it. I’m just returning it, if you think about it. Sorry it’s so overdue!”
Damn this man was sweet, a fact they had already been painfully aware of for years. At parties he always ensured everyone who wanted to dance had gotten to and consistently made sure to learn the names of any servant attending him. Rosalind couldn’t count the number of times they’d observed his generosity over the years; in particular they remembered his sending extra hands to their home during the period of mourning following their father’s death. They also recalled when he’d volunteered to act as mediator during the nasty dispute between Mildred Crestfall and Edna Downspire a year ago; his charity and sympathy had been key to resolving the issue before it inevitably devolved into a pointless and possibly harmful duel. Marcus’ philanthropic nature was well-known throughout Honeyshore, a trait he’d inherited directly from his father and Rosalind respected both men for it.
They swallowed an emotion that was dangerously close to affection and looked back at the shelves. “If it’s alright with you, I wouldn’t mind taking another look through that section.”
Marcus followed Rosalind through the library’s shelves for a few minutes before Jenkins brought in the tea and hors d’oeuvres. Marcus led them to the coffee table near the hearth where a pair of armchairs and a plush couch surrounded it. He asked some questions about the book and its contents which Rosalind found endearing considering he was as competent in magic as he was interested. They tried to keep their answers on the topic brief, but it really was difficult because Marcus then asked about their personal work which could be complex. In a way, his lack of knowledge about magic was a relief; it meant they didn’t have to perform the role of Gifted Arcane Intellectual the way they usually did when speaking on the subject. The way he looked at them with unguarded enthusiasm and listened without interrupting made Rosalind lower their guard, which was entirely alien to them. His openness and lighthearted energy helped them feel comfortable expressing themself without feeling the need to act a certain way, and it had been a very long time since Rosalind had encountered anyone capable of doing so. They were still reserved and quiet, but they found themself laughing and teasing more than they would ever dare with anyone else, much more than they ever had with him before.
They made sure to ask after their host’s interests, and the man was delighted to talk for a full twenty minutes about his recent favourite volume of poetry. Rosalind wasn’t talented in creative pursuits outside of dance, but they allowed Marcus to read some of his favourite poems for them and it was delightful to listen to him speak; Marcus had a lovely reading voice, it sounded like singing the way he spoke. They were sure they could listen to him read for hours, and Rosalind couldn’t think of a better use of their time this or any afternoon.
By the time Rosalind was meant to leave, they had been invited to stay for dinner. They wished they could accept the offer but didn’t. The last thing they wanted was their mother knowing where they were and if she received a message informing her they would be eating with the Magnus-Monroes, Rosalind knew without the slightest hint of doubt that it would be the beginning of the end for this friendship as well as their own dignity. She’d engineer some way to get at Sapphire Thorneheart through their friendship with her Heir Apparent’s fiancé, and Rosalind wanted nothing to do with their mother’s unhealthy obsession so it was with a heavy heart they left on schedule. To their euphoric, relieved surprise, Marcus insisted they visit again soon. Rosalind had neither the fortitude nor desire to refuse him, so they promised to do so.
A promise they kept six times over the next two weeks.