Archive of Our Own

Penelope can feel the magic the moment she sets foot inside the Great Hall of Camelot. 

That isn’t anything new. She’s always been able to feel the magic in the world around her as far back as she can remember. She can’t remember much about her life growing up in the small farming village of Ealdor, her mother having sent her away when she was still quite young for fear of her magic being discovered. As such, only a handful of memories from Penelope’s younger years still remain. But what she can remember with absolute ease is the way the magic of the earth had made every rock and tree in the lush forest surrounding the village feel alive.

Penelope can feel her own magic, too. Has always been able to recognize the shape of it despite how hard she’s worked to keep it folded small and tucked away until she has a need to reach for it. 

That’s how she knows that the magic she’s feeling now is different— foreign. Sinister in a way her own isn’t. The shape of it sharp, its edges comprised of jagged sparks that seem to act like a malevolent warning before it even enters the room.

And when Prince Colin walks into the great hall, Penelope’s stomach sinks as that same magic spits and crackles in a way that makes the skin of her arms pebble and the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge.

He crosses the threshold and Penelope watches from her customary place (two steps behind Princess Eloise) as the entire room stops to stare. 

That, in and of itself, isn’t anything new either. 

Colin might have been born the third son of the late King Edmund, but there’s no denying that he is adored. Kind, and charming, and handsome in a way that makes him far too easy to love. And Penelope would know, because despite being a lady’s maid, she’s been quietly in love with Camelot’s third-born prince since the moment she stepped foot in the citadel.

Colin doesn’t need magic to command attention, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s still covered in it. Which is how Penelope knows, despite the fact that he looks completely normal to the naked eye, that he’s been enchanted.

And if the magic curling around him hadn’t been enough of an indicator, then what Eloise lets slip next all but confirms it.

“He’s been making eyes at Lady Cressida Cowper for the better part of an hour. It started when the Cowpers arrived for tomorrow’s tournament,” Eloise whispers to her out of the corner of her mouth.

Penelope stays silent as they both watch Colin engage King Anthony in conversation up at the front of the room until Colin says something that makes Eloise shudder in disgust.

“Did he just….compare her to the first light of dawn? Oh, I think I’m going to be ill.” Eloise wrinkles her nose in disgust. “I’ve never heard my idiot brother wax poetic about anything a day in his life—”

Penelope begs to differ, knowing full well that Colin can certainly wax poetic when he wants to. 

She’s been on the receiving end of enough of his letters during his travels to know that he’s more than adept at describing the subtle beauty of the places he’s seen and the people he’s met. 

She says none of this to Eloise though, because it’s for the best that nobody knows about their secret correspondence. And anyway, Eloise has already moved on to bitterly recounting the fact that the last time Camelot held a tourney, he’d compared her dress for the festivities to a head of cabbage.

“I still maintain that might have been a compliment,” Penelope says.

“It was not,” Eloise argues back. “In what world would anyone find being compared to a vegetable complimentary?”

“To be fair, cabbage is amongst Colin’s most favorite vegetables…” she replies.

“We have also yet to find a food Colin will not eat with gusto, so that isn’t saying much,” Eloise grouses, mouth hardly moving, eyes still trained straight ahead. “My argument still stands.” 

Penelope doesn’t respond. Too distracted by the way Colin reaches out to take Cressida’s hand, too focused on the way his eyes seem to fog over the moment they meet the aforementioned lady’s own.

“Something’s wrong,” Penelope says faintly.

Eloise finally turns to look at her properly, sensing there’s more to whatever Penelope’s feeling. 

“Wrong how?” The princess’s pale blue eyes regard her intently as though trying to suss out everything her lady’s maid and dearest friend isn’t brave enough to say aloud.

“It’s probably nothing,” Penelope says, trying to smooth over any worry her words might have caused. “But perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to speak with Agatha about it.”

“He was gone a rather long time this tour,” Eloise agrees. “If anyone will be able to tell if something’s truly wrong with him, it’s her…we’ll go together. First thing after Anthony releases us.”

“Leave it with me,” Penelope says. “Besides, your mother will want you on hand to greet the rest of the guests arriving today. I doubt you’ll be able to slip away sadly.”

Like clockwork, Lady Violet comes over to whisk Eloise away, hellbent on introducing her to the other eligible noblemen in attendance. 

As soon as Eloise turns her back, Penelope makes quick work of slipping out of the great hall. She rushes down the corridor with a practiced ease of someone who could find their way through all of the castle’s twists and turns in complete darkness, and makes it to Agatha’s wing of the castle in record time. 

She has a working theory of exactly what’s wrong with Colin Bridgerton, but she’ll need Agatha to confirm, and to point her in the right direction of a cure.

A hundred and seventeen steps later, Penelope has successfully made the climb up to Agatha’s tower where her personal chambers lie. 

In addition to serving as the court’s royal physician, Agatha Danbury also happens to be well-versed in the ways of the Old Religion, having served as the court’s royal sorceress in the days of King Edmund’s rule. She’s also the only other soul within the walls of Camelot that knows what Penelope truly is, and the extent of what she can do.

Penelope pauses at Agatha’s chamber door and steels herself. She still can’t help but feel a little intimidated by the old woman’s astute gaze and formidable presence, no matter how many times she’s sought her counsel. 

“Penelope Featherington, you climbed all those steps just to come and see me in my tower, which means something must be wrong,” comes Agatha’s clipped voice from the other end of the door. “I see no sense in prolonging things, so you may as well come in.”

Penelope murmurs a quiet apology as she enters, shutting the heavy door behind her. Further into the room, Agatha Danbury beckons her over to where she’s seated by the fireplace, deep purple robes billowing around her.

“You look frightened, child,” Agatha says. “What is it that could possibly have you worked into such a state?”

“Colin Bridgerton—” Penelope says, still attempting to catch her breath from the climb.

“Ah.” 

Penelope ignores the knowing timbre in her voice and pushes forward.

“I believe he is under a love spell.”

Agatha straightens up at that.

“Sit,” she commands, jabbing her walking staff in the direction of the armchair across from her own. “And tell me everything.”

And Penelope does just that, leaving no details out in case even the smallest piece of information is enough to point them toward a cure. When she’s  finished, Agatha hands her a goblet of water, which she gratefully takes and drinks from deeply as she waits for the old woman to break her silence.

“Your instincts were spot on, girl. It is a tether of false desire. Rather old magic but dangerously effective,” Agatha explains. “The enchantment fixes itself to the heart and replaces what is true with what is fabricated. In the case of your Bridgerton boy it has falsified amorous feelings for this Lady Cowper you mentioned.”

“Can it be broken?” Penelope asks.

“Everything can be broken; the real question is how best to go about it,” Agatha says.

She rises from her chair, the click of her walking staff echoing off the stone walls as she makes her way over to her vast collection of books. Penelope waits with bated breath until she pulls an old tome down and beckons her over.

“Ah! Here we are,” she says, flipping to the correct page. “Well now, there’s only one antidote, but the good news is it should be easy enough to procure—”

“Oh thank heavens!” Penelope breaths a sigh of relief.

“All that’s needed to free the prince from the enchantment is a kiss,” Agatha continues. “From the person he truly loves.”

Penelope swallows thickly as she feels her stomach sink unpleasantly for the second time that day.

“Then we need Marina,” she says finally.

Agatha’s sharp eyes bore into her own. “Do we…?”

“Yes. Colin loved her once, even without the unnecessary means Marina went to to try and entrap him,” Penelope reasons.

“I hardly think a fleeting fancy on the prince’s part counts as true love,” Agatha argues.

“But she’s the only person I’ve ever seen him genuinely care for in that way,” Penelope argues back. “It’s Marina. It has to be.”

Agatha grows silent once more, but she continues to regard Penelope with that same sharp gaze of hers. 

“Child, you are very clever about a great many things. And yet…you have a remarkable gift for not seeing what is directly in front of you,”  Agatha says eventually. 

“I don’t see how this particular bit of your analysis is supposed to help me help Colin,” Penelope says, her tone flat.

“You shall in due time. I have no doubt about that.” 

Agatha’s tone is unmistakably frank. Certain in a way that makes Penelope want to roll her eyes and scoff, but she bites her tongue and resists as the old woman carries on. 

“In the meantime, go. Seek out Marina. Mercia have already arrived for tomorrow’s tournament, so I suspect you’ll have no trouble tracking her down,” Agatha says. “Seek her out and see what happens when you put this theory of yours into action.”

✧ ─── · ˚ * ✵ * ˚ · ─── ✧

Marina Thompson is exactly as beautiful as Penelope remembers her to be, and she rides through the citadel draped in the Mercian colors with a kind of composure that other women practice for years to achieve but never quite grasp. Her dark hair is braided and pinned meticulously, and her deep brown eyes assess the courtyard with the practiced efficiency of someone who has learned how to assess each and every situation she finds herself in rather quickly.

It is why those same eyes find Penelope’s own as quickly as they do despite the fact that most others would have overlooked her entirely. 

Penelope has never considered herself much to look at, but as a lady’s maid, she has grown especially accustomed to blending into the background; going unnoticed serves her well in moments like this where she’s not looking to draw attention to herself. 

It isn’t until Marina reaches the stables that Penelope finally steps close enough to take her horse by the bridle, holding the steed steady as Marina dismounts gracefully.

“Cousin,” Marina says, her voice as guarded as the gleam in her eyes.

“Cousin,” Penelope replies. “I need to speak with you— privately.”

“If this is about Colin Bridgerton, I’m not here to cause him any more trouble,” Marina starts. “I know I promised I would stay away after…everything…but as Lord Bayard’s ward, it would have looked odd if I had not accompanied him and his men to the tournament.”

“Of course,” Penelope nods quickly. “No, that— that makes perfect sense. It is about Colin, but not in the way you might be thinking…”

Marina nods stiffly, some of the tension in her shoulders visibly easing as the fight in her recedes to lie in wait.

“I saw him earlier you know,” Marina continues. “Out in the courtyard with the Cowper girl when they arrived. He is enchanted, is he not?”

“Yes,” Penelope says, astonished that she’d caught on.

“Don’t look so surprised, Penny,” Marina says. “If anyone should know what Colin Bridgerton looks like when he’s under a spell it’s me.”

“So then you know I wouldn’t be coming to you for help unless I thought you could help me break it,” Penelope says.

Marina quirks one dark eyebrow up at her. “You would trust me to use magic again on your precious Colin?” 

“I don’t need you to use magic,” Penelope huffs in irritation.

She immediately regrets it when she sees the way the corners of her cousin’s mouth quirk up in the ghost of a satisfied grin. Undeniably pleased that Penelope had clearly risen to the bait of her words. 

“I just need you to kiss him,”  she continues, purposefully leveling her voice. “It’s the only thing that’ll break the spell— a kiss of true love.”

“Colin doesn’t love me,” Marina says flatly and with a sense of finality that implies she’s uninterested in hearing rebuttals on the subject. “Whatever he felt— it was kindness on his part, and desperation on mine. Any love you think you might have seen between us, it was never real.”

For as poised as Marina is, Penelope can see how much it costs her to talk about love. In fact, she spits the word out as though she has a personal vendetta against it. And maybe she does. Penelope suspects she will always hold great contempt for her cousin, but she can still acknowledge that Marina has been tarnished as a result of the fact that love has been unkind to her.

For the first time in a long time, she thinks of Sir George Crane— Marina’s true love. The man whose death had hollowed her heart so thoroughly, she’d been desperate enough to try and bargain with the Sidhe, who reside in the Lake of Avalon, just for the chance of getting him back.

A life for a life. That is what the Sidhe had told her it would take to bring George back. But it wasn’t just any life they wanted in exchange— no, the Sidhe wanted royal blood, and Colin had been an easy target. 

He’d been infatuated with Marina from the moment she’d come to court, and Marina had jumped at the opportunity to make good on the deal the Sidhe had offered. 

Getting Colin to propose to her had been easy, but when Anthony had insisted on the couple having a long engagement, Marina had grown even more desperate. In the end, she’d convinced Colin that eloping was the best way forward, and once he’d willingly absconded into the woods with her, she’d enchanted him so that he would follow her willingly to the lake. 

She had very nearly succeeded in drowning Colin by the time Penelope showed up. 

After a rather nasty battle with the Sidhe Elders– three of whom had been lying in wait to claim Colin’s soul– Penelope had found herself with just enough time to pull Colin’s limp body from the murky depths of Avalon before it was too late.

And then, Penelope had turned her sights on Marina herself, her eyes glowing gold, her magic crackling on the tips of her fingers, and a spell that would have surely eviscerated her cousin on the tip of her tongue. 

In the end, Penelope had taken one look at Marina’s tear-stricken face, had seen the ache and desperation that her cousin had been left to shoulder in the wake of George’s death, and she’d chosen mercy over justice. 

They’ve been keeping each other’s secrets in regards to that day and everything that led up to it ever since. Two women forced into an arrangement that has forged them into reluctant allies at best.

Not for the first time does Penelope acknowledge to herself that she and Marina are both armed with knowledge that could destroy the other. Knowledge that would have one or the both of them escorted straight to the Camelot dungeons, and sentenced to death not long after. 

It would be one thing entirely for Marina to destroy her, but it’s another matter entirely for her to destroy Colin. 

Colin, who is kind and strives to see the good in everyone. Colin, who still yearns to find a love as true, and as magnificent as the one his parents shared. 

A love match is the very least of what he deserves as far as Penelope is concerned. And she desperately wants him to find love and happiness one day even if it means leaving her behind. But she cannot stomach the idea of Colin finding it with Marina. Not after her cousin has already preyed upon the gentle openness  of his heart once. Which is why the actual act of trying to convince Marina that she is Colin’s true love in spite of everything makes Penelope feel like she’s about to empty the contents of her stomach all over Marina’s pretty silk slippers.

Perhaps Marina can sense the desperation radiating off of her. Or maybe it’s simply that she can see that having to ask this of her costs Penelope something as well.

And maybe that’s why Marina turns back when Penelope pleads with her to reconsider.

“Please,” Penelope begs. “I know it isn’t fair to ask— it’s more than I have any right to ask of you. But you might be his only hope at this point.”

“You’re right. You have no right to ask,” Marina says finally. “But if it means that much to you that I try, then I’ll do it.”

✧ ─── · ˚ * ✵ * ˚ · ─── ✧

The plan is for Marina to join Penelope in Colin’s chambers as soon as it gets dark. And so, to make sure Colin doesn’t get himself into any more trouble while he’s still ensorcelled, Penelope puts him to sleep shortly after dinner.

It’s rare that she uses her magic upon the Bridgertons for anything but keeping them out of harm’s way, so putting Colin under an enchantment of her own feels…odd. Something she isn’t quite proud of doing, but also something she takes no shame in, since it’s for the greater good.

Mostly, she’s surprised by how easy it is to sneak into his private quarters so she can perform the sleeping spell to begin with. 

Given the ease and speed at which she completes both tasks, Penelope thinks that it’s no wonder she’s had to save Colin from sorcery more times than any of his other siblings. 

Once he’s out, she makes sure he’s comfortably slumped in the coziest chair in his chamber, head tilted back against the plush high back, and chin propped up on one palm while his other hand curls around a book. If anyone were to come in, they’d assume the prince had merely fallen asleep while reading.

Thankfully, Marina is prompt, so Penelope isn’t left waiting with a sleeping Colin for long. 

“Are you ready?” Penelope asks as she leads her over to where Colin is fast asleep.

“Does it matter?” Marina asks. 

“It’ll work, I’m sure of it.” 

Penelope sounds far more confident than she feels when she says it, and for the first time since Agatha had told her of what it would take to break the spell, she finds herself second-guessing her own logic.

“I still don’t think it will,” Marina says, pulling Penelope’s attention back to her. “But I did promise, and if it’ll rid you of this ridiculous notion that there was ever any love between us...”

Marina doesn’t finish her thought. Instead, she strides over to where Colin is fast asleep, and the sight of her leaning closer, her face now centimeters away from Colin’s own makes Penelope feel like an invisible fist has curled itself around her heart and given it a sharp squeeze.

It’s one thing to know Marina might be the only way to rid Colin of this godforsaken curse. It is quite another entirely to stand there and watch as Marina actually kisses him.

Part of her wants to throw herself in front of Colin before Marina can get any closer, to yank her back by the hood of her cloak and toss her out of the room entirely. But before Penelope succumbs to either intrusive impulse, Marina has made good on her promise.

She presses a brief, soft kiss to Colin’s lips and…nothing happens.

The room remains exactly as it was, and the magic of the spell that has been twisting and curling itself around Colin like a vine remains strong and steady.

“It would be wrong to gloat given the situation, so I won’t, but I did tell you it wasn’t going to work,” Marina says.

“I don’t…it should have worked,” Penelope says.

Her breath comes in short spurts, and beneath her ribs, her treacherous heart races away. A small part of her feels relief in knowing Marina’s kiss accomplished nothing. A larger part of her (the part that wins out in the end) feels paralyzed in fear over the notion that she’s no closer to saving Colin than she was this morning.

 “It was supposed to be you. It has to be. You’re the only one he ever— and if it’s not you, then I don’t…”

“I told you, cousin. There was never any love between us, and I knew there never would be from the moment we met.”

“But I don’t understand. He proposed, and you didn’t enchant him until you needed to lure him to the lake.  I would have known— I would have felt it if you had,” Penelope rambles. “Surely that means…”

“It means Colin was but a boy who mistook a temporary infatuation for love. And a boy who was desperate to find his purpose in a world that does not care about third born sons,” Marina explains. “I saw that and I preyed upon it. And when you confronted me— when it became clear that you cared for him, that you love him— I was cruel. I led you to believe that your love was an unrequited fantasy because that is the narrative that better suited me.” 

She pauses, turning so that they’re facing each other, holds Penelope’s eyes with her own so that when she speaks next, the truth of her words sink in. “Do you wish to know why I knew Colin would never love me? Not truly?”

Penelope nods.

“Because he never once looked at me the way he looks at you,” Marina says simply.

“You’re wrong,” Penelope whispers hoarsely.

“I’m not. You might be the last two souls in all of Albion to realize it, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” Marina regards her for a moment, that same calculating gaze roving over her face. “You’re afraid, but you shouldn’t be,” she says finally. “It will work because it’s you, Penelope. And the sooner you come to terms with that, the sooner all of this will be over.”

Marina slips out the door after that, leaving Penelope standing alone in the candlelit room.

She stares at Colin’s sleeping form, Marina’s words looping over and over in her mind, and sighs in exasperation.

Perhaps in her deepest, wildest fantasies she is the one with the power to save Colin from this particular spell. But it’s hard to trust her cousin given their history. There’s also the fact that Colin’s never let slip in words or in action that he might return her affections. 

She sits with that for a long time, turning the evidence of every interaction she and Colin have ever had over in her head. 

She tries to see it all from every possible angle, searches her memory for this look of love Marina had alluded to, but she comes up empty. And the longer she sits without a solution, the more she begins to fret about the long term effects a tether of false desire might have on Colin should it be allowed to linger. 

Desperate and out of options, Penelope comes to a final conclusion: that maybe it doesn’t matter.

Maybe it doesn’t matter that Colin Bridgerton doesn’t love her back. 

Maybe it doesn’t matter that he might never love her back in the same way she loves him. But they are friends. This much is true. She knows this like she knows that the sky is blue and the grass is green. And there is something else. Just one more incontrovertible truth: she knows that she loves Colin Bridgerton. 

Penelope knows that she has loved Colin since the moment her yellow handkerchief had flown out of her hand and plastered itself to his face, effectively knocking him off his horse. 

Has loved him since he assured her, through the kindest, warmest smile she had ever seen, that “Camelot doesn’t execute young ladies for accidentally knocking crowned princes off their saddle— especially not when the accident was entirely the prince’s fault.” 

Penelope has loved Colin through every perilous moment she’s had to save him from. Through every journey and quest he’s taken, and through every letter they’ve exchanged while he’s been away. 

She loves him even now, in this room, watching him sleep as she combs her brain for a solution to the impossible situation they’ve found themselves in.

And maybe, just maybe, her love alone is enough. 

It has to be enough, because it is all Penelope has left.

She crosses the short distance over to where Colin still slumbers in the exact position she’d left him in. Her eyes take in every feature of his handsome face. It’s a face Penelope has long since memorized every curve and sharp line of and yet, she can’t help but relish in the fact that in this moment, she gets to look upon Colin up close and without fear of him catching her staring so openly. 

“Okay…you win…”

She doesn’t know who she’s whispering it to, herself or to him. But in the end it doesn’t really matter. 

Carefully, Penelope slides her hand against his jaw, the light stubble already beginning to form there tickling the pads of her fingers. She tips his head up and with a final shuddering breath, she closes her eyes, leans forward and kisses Colin Bridgerton.

✧ ─── · ˚ * ✵ * ˚ · ─── ✧

For a moment there is only bliss.

Penelope’s lips tingle in every single place the curve of his own are pressed into hers, and beneath her ribs, her heart thrums at a speed that would put the wings of a hummingbird to shame. 

She hardly has time to process any more than that— to let the reality of the fact that she’s kissing the only boy she’s ever loved truly sink in— before the spell he’s been under breaks in a flash. 

The sheer magnitude of the magic dissolving reverberates through her, as though she is a bell that has just been struck. It hits her square in the chest, and in the undercurrent of the thrum of it, she can sense the universe righting what was made wrong. 

Beneath her skin, her own magic thrums too, like a tight string on a bow which has just been plucked. Suddenly, the sensation of her own magic swirling inside of her feels equal parts familiar and brand new. It is warmer, brighter. And it fizzes in a way that Penelope might have found exhilarating were it not for the fact that her magic also feels as though it’s mere moments away from threatening to shoot out of her. 

She has spent so long being careful. Spent her entire life training herself to keep it tucked away and buried deep inside until she calls for it. But now, her magic surges up on its own, unstoppable in much the same way the tide cannot resist the pull of the moon.

She gasps against Colin’s mouth when she realizes that, for all the power she wields, she won’t be able to stop this. Can’t seem to hold any of her magic at bay for more than a fraction of a second longer before it bursts out of her, swirling out into the atmosphere of Colin’s bedchamber.

Suddenly, every single candle roars to life, each and every one of their flames doubling in size. Over on the dark mahogany shelves, books and well loved scrolls of maps levitate. The curtain rods clink as they rise from their hooks, and on the desk, Colin’s half-empty goblet rises into the air, hovering in place. And then, Penelope is no longer crouching before Colin, because her feet have left the ground entirely.

She makes an undignified sound, and Colin finally wakes, bleary eyes blinking back at her before he fully comes to and realizes that he’s floating. That every loose object in his chamber is also floating, and that Penelope Featherington is hovering in the air beside him, wide blue eyes staring back at him as her face cycles through several different expressions in rapid succession.

Instinct makes Colin’s body react before his mouth does, the visceral urge to protect Penelope kicking in as he grabs for her, pulling her close in an effort to keep her safe from whatever’s happening.

“Pen,” he rasps, voice still rough with remnants of the deep sleep she’d put him under. His head swivels to and fro as he takes in the state of the room before his eyes land back on her. “A-are we—”

“I’m sorry!” Penelope squeaks out. “I’m trying to— but I can’t—”

“Are we floating?!” he finally asks, at the same time Penelope lets out a triumphant “Got you!”

In an instant, everything begins to descend, landing gently in its rightful place as if set down by a pair of careful, invisible hands. After the books and scrolls settle, and the goblet lands without spilling a drop of drink, Penelope feels her toes skim the stone floor before she too is gently set back down, followed closely by Colin himself.

For a moment, the only sound she can hear is that of her own racing heart. It’s beating so wildly beneath her ribs, she’s half convinced Colin can hear it. That maybe that’s why he seems to be incapable of doing anything but stare back at her. 

It’s only then that she becomes aware of the fact that he hasn’t let go of her since the magic had set them both back down, and of the fact that his face is very close to hers. And then, Penelope suddenly becomes acutely aware of the fact that she has just kissed him. That the memory of that, no matter how brief, is still pressed into her lips and etched into her chest. 

It blazes against her heart, aided and abetted by the fact that Colin’s regarding her with an expression she’s never seen grace the impossibly fine features of his face before.

“Pen…” he says slowly.

“Colin—”

“Did you just…” He pauses, as though needing a moment to work up to the question she knows he’s on the brink of asking. “Were the books floating?”

“I can explain,” she says slowly.

“Were we floating?”

“Partially, yes— but only briefly.” Penelope replies, as though the added detail will make the truth go down easier. 

It’s not enough. She knows it isn’t, and she can see the truth of that lingering in the questions that cloud his gaze. 

He’s looking at her expectantly now, waiting as patiently as he can manage for her to fill in the blanks, which only serves to stir up the anxiety already making a home for itself in her body.

Part of her fears she won’t survive whatever comes next, which is silly given just how much Penelope has survived at the expense of one, Colin Bridgerton.

She has survived loving him in secret for as long as she’s known him. She has survived every panic she has suffered through when she has found herself racing against the clock to get to him in an effort to save his life. She has told herself that one day, when he finally finds the person he is meant to love, she’ll be strong enough to survive watching from the wings as he gives his heart away to somebody who isn’t her. A cold sense of dread washes over her when she comes to the conclusion that the one thing she cannot survive is losing Colin altogether.

Now, as Penelope finds herself at a crossroads knowing the time has arrived to come clean about her magic, all she can do is cling to the tiny glimmer of hope she’s coveted as fiercely as the secret that defines her. The same hope that whispers to her now that all will be well.

She takes a steadying breath, stepping back just far enough away from Colin that she can look at him properly without having to crane her neck.

“I have magic, Colin.”

The secret Penelope has harbored for her entire life finally slips out of her. Four small words falling into the room like stones thrown into still water, the ripples of which have the power to decide her fate— a fate that currently lies in Colin’s hands.

The silence that follows is achingly loud and she’s desperate for him to break it. But Colin deserves the time he needs to process a confession as large as the one she’s just dropped at his feet, and so, Penelope does her best to give him that. To stay calm and keep her face neutral on the outside. 

Inwardly, it is impossible to keep herself from thinking about all of the ways that this conversation could go very, horribly wrong.

She thinks about King Anthony, whose hatred of magic is the cornerstone of every law in Camelot. Thinks about how she’s spent years navigating his court with her magic tucked away like the contraband it’s considered to be within the parameters of a kingdom that would see her burn if they knew the truth.

The laws in Camelot are ironclad by design, and Penelope has no wish to see the old pyres up close. The same pyres that haven’t been lit for years, but that still stand tall as a warning to all who enter Camelot of the fate that awaits them should they choose to dabble in sorcery of any sort. 

She also knows that the King will not be swayed. 

That Anthony is not a bad man, but that the grief over losing his father— of watching him die in his arms— has curdled into something sour. That his hatred doesn’t distinguish between the magic that should have saved King Edmund, but only served to kill him faster, and Penelope’s own magic. The same magic that has quietly saved him and his siblings on a number of occasions.

Colin wears the grief over losing the father they share differently. And yet, for all of the things they’ve confessed to each other over the years, Penelope still doesn’t know where he stands on magic. 

She’s never been brave enough to ask because she’s never been able to stomach the thought of what might happen if he ever discovered the truth about her. She’s staring down the reality of that very scenario now though. And the act of waiting for the full force of his reaction is its own special brand of torture.

“Alright,” Colin says finally, effectively pulling her from her racing thoughts.

Penelope blinks up at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said alright, Pen. Of course I have questions. Quite a lot of them, to be honest, but—“ Colin pauses, that same unreadable expression moving across his face. It warms his gaze for just a moment before his blue eyes sharpen in realization. 

“The boar hunt last spring,” he says suddenly. “When I was certain I’d been knocked clear over by the beast itself, but then, somehow, I was ten feet away from the tusks and had not but a graze on me anywhere…”

“Yes,” Penelope nods. “That was me.”

“And when Daphne’s horse got spooked just outside the north gate. That morning when she was rushing after Anthony to stop him from demanding a trial by combat from Sir Simon? She confided in me that it felt like something had slowed her fall, but we both thought it must have been a trick of the mind because, well...”

“Also me,” she says quietly.

“What about when Gregory tripped trying to walk across the parapet?”

“I was cross with him for weeks after that one— more so with the rest of you Bridgerton brothers. He would have never been up there in the first place if he hadn’t been trying to get your attention. To show that he’s grown up enough now to complete your stupid Bridgerton Brothers rite of passage.” she huffs at the memory. “He was plummeting toward the ground so fast I was terrified I wouldn’t reach him in time.”

Colin stares at her with a mix of wonder and exasperation. 

“Penelope, just how many times have you saved us?”

“Well…in truth, I stopped counting a while ago,” she confesses. “Your family are very accident prone, and unfortunately quite susceptible to dark magical forces.” She quirks an eyebrow at him before adding, “Some of you more than others.”

He lets out a breath that is almost a laugh before his expression turns serious.

“Are you alright?” he asks her finally.

“What?” Confusion colors her reply as she searches his face in an effort to better understand him.

“Is it— does it hurt you? Does it cost you anything to use it?” 

“No,” she shakes her head vehemently. “No, it doesn’t hurt. Nothing like that. And I didn’t strike some sort of deal for it or anything if that’s what you’re getting at. My magic, it’s just something I was born with.”

Colin nods in understanding. “And it doesn’t drain you in any way?”

“No,” she assures him. “It’s not…finite. Not like that. I suppose there are limitations. Sort of like there are limitations with any source of energy…”

“But you’ve never…?”

“Reached a limit with my own magic?” she supplies. “No.”

“Still, you’ve been doing this— saving us— for years in secret. In the one kingdom in all of Albion where it could get you—” Colin’s words catch in his throat and he swallows thickly, his jaw clenching for a moment before he breathes out his next words. “I’m not upset, not with you, Pen. It’s terribly important for me that you know that.”

“You’re not?” she asks, relief washing over her.

“How could I be? You’ve spent years using your gift to protect the people I love most in this world. To protect me. And it’s all gone unthanked— unnoticed. How could I possibly be upset with you?”

“I didn’t do it for thanks or recognition,” she says quietly.

“I know you didn’t. I’m just sorry that you’ve been carrying this alone. That you felt like you couldn’t—” His brows knit together and it takes everything in her not to reach up and smooth the anguish in his expression out with her fingertips. 

“I know what Anthony’s laws are. I know his grief is real, but I’ve traveled enough to know that his vendetta against magic doesn’t paint the whole picture,”  Colin continues. “I’ve seen the good it does in the hands of good people— in the hands of healers, and scholars, and Druids. I’ve seen enough to know that magic isn’t limited to my brother’s narrow-minded views. I’ve believed that for a long time, Pen. I just…I never imagined that it would apply to you. And I hate that you were afraid that I might think less of you or wish you harm simply because of something you were born with. That I might have done something to make you feel like you couldn’t trust me with it.”

“But I do trust you, Colin. Trust has nothing to do with it. Perhaps I was a little afraid of what your reaction might be, but I think even deep down I knew you’d never let any harm come to me,” she assures him. “It just didn’t seem fair to burden you with it. And I know you. If you’d have known, you would have worried. And if I made you worry enough you’d probably have done something—”

“Foolish?” he offers through a wry smile.

“I was going to say impulsive,” she smiles sheepishly in return.

“Because you are kind,” he quips back.

“Because I lo— care about you,” she amends. “Quite a bit actually, in case its gone unnoticed. You are special to me.”

“As are you to me,” he says. “Is that why you kissed me?”

Penelope feels a little bit like a deer caught in an open clearing when he brings up the kiss. Exposed in a manner she hadn’t expected to be. 

In truth, she’d all but assumed the sleeping spell she’d placed on Colin would have meant he’d have no recollection of who or what had awoken him. Then again, she also hadn’t expected her magic to have such a visceral reaction to the kiss itself. 

She’s never lost control of it like that before, but it stands to reason that the sleeping spell had accidentally come undone as a result.

“I was hoping you might not have remembered that,” she says, a flush working its way across her face.

“Impossible,” Colin says, which only makes the apples of her cheeks feel warmer.

Part of her wishes he wouldn’t. Thinks he must surely be doing her a kindness by saying something he assumes will help ease the tension. 

Even now, as she clears her throat and tears her eyes away from the intensity of his own in an effort to regain her wits, Penelope can’t help but wonder if Colin simply enjoys the look of her flushed and flustered, or if he truly does not know the effect he’s capable of having on her.

“The enchantment you were under,” she starts. “I knew there was something wrong the moment you returned to court. I could feel the magic clinging to you for one. Then there was the matter of Cressida Cowper.”

Colin shudders as Penelope briefly glosses over some of what he’d proclaimed while under the influence of magic.

“It was Lady Danbury who correctly identified it as a tether of false desire. Old magic, but quite powerful if performed right. It replaces what’s real with what’s fabricated, which in this case meant forcing you to believe yourself in love with Cressida of all people,” she explains. “Lady Danbury said that the only cure— the only way to break it was with a kiss of true love.”

Colin is very still as he waits for her to continue. 

“At first, well of course I assumed that Marina would be the key to everything,” Penelope continues. “I-I know you parted on rather rough terms, but you cared for her once, so I thought…but it didn’t work.”

“Perhaps I did care for her once, but I never loved her. I know that now,” Colin says with so much certainty it leaves no room for further discussion. “I know now what love is supposed to feel like, because I feel it whenever I look at you—”

“Don’t.”

The word slips out of her sharper than Penelope intends it to, and she can see the way it lands in the hurt that briefly flits over Colin’s features. She can’t very well have that. Can hardly stomach the idea that her own words have the ability to inflict any sort of wound upon him. 

“Don’t say things you don’t mean, Colin,” she says, softer this time. “You were just under a spell comprised of powerful magic—”

“A spell that you broke, Penelope.”

“Yes, but we don’t know if there are any effects that might still be lingering in the aftermath—”

“What I just said, it has nothing to do with any lingering effects of magic, and I think you know that too,” Colin says. “You said so yourself. You could feel the magic before. That’s how you knew something was wrong. And you’d be able to feel it now if there were any traces of it left. If you hadn’t broken the spell so thoroughly—”

“Yes, but—” Penelope tries.

“A spell that you said could only be broken by true love’s kiss—” he cuts her off again.

“Yes, because I love you, Colin,” she blurts out in exasperation. “Because I have loved you for an embarrassingly long time, really. And it might have been my true love that saved you, but that doesn’t mean I expect anything from you. Certainly not for you to insist you feel the same way just because I— because we—”

“Penelope.” 

This time when he cuts her off, his voice is as gentle as his touch when he lifts her chin so that he can look her in the eye. It is so soft— so tender she almost can’t stand it, but she also can’t look away. And he holds her gaze for a beat before he continues.

“I know what I feel,” Colin says. “I think my heart has known it for a while now. I just needed the rest of me to wake up to see it all clearly.”

His face is as open as she’s ever seen it, every word he speaks so steady, so sure. And Penelope desperately wants to believe him. Hates herself a little bit because she can’t just let herself have this. How can she when she has spent her entire life being overlooked? When everything in this world they live in from the destiny she knows she must always put first, to Camelot’s laws banning magic all but state that Colin isn’t supposed to love her back the same way she loves him?

“It’s always been you,” Colin confesses, reaching up to tuck a stray curl back from her face. His palm settles warm against her cheek. And when his thumb brushes reverently over the curve of it, she feels the icy resolve of her own doubt begin to melt away. “It’s always been you, and I’m sorry it took me this long to say it aloud.”

“Are you sure?” she asks.

Colin doesn’t answer her. Not with words. Instead the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile that makes her feel like she’s been bathed in an incandescent glow before he leans down and touches his lips to her own. 

Any semblance of doubt that might have lingered completely washes away as Colin kisses her slow and deep. Penelope’s magic hums to life between them and once again, trying to tamp it down seems to be a rather useless endeavor when Colin’s mouth is on hers.

The candle flames lean sideways, the correspondences Colin had left strewn across his desk shuffle and flutter, and Penelope makes a muffled, mortified sound against his mouth, pulling back in an effort to get a better handle of the magic fizzing and zipping through her veins.

“Sorry,” she says, face flushed rosy pink. “I’m usually very good at controlling it, I just— it’s a bit difficult to concentrate when…”

Colin chuckles warmly, sliding the tip of his nose against her own before his forehead drops to hers.

“Don’t apologize,” he says affectionately, his eyes dancing with unbridled amusement. “It’s quite flattering, actually. To know that I have that effect on you.”

“Oh, hush!” Penelope swats at his arm, which only makes Colin throw his head back and laugh properly. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m fairly certain that I’d be no better if the roles were reversed,” he offers.

“It does, in fact, make me feel a bit better,” Penelope says, trying and failing to stop the smile that spreads over her own face. “So, I take it that means you aren’t too devastated over having to cancel all those plans you made to wed Lady Cressida Cowper?”

Colin shudders and makes a noise of genuine alarm.

“Absolutely not!” he declares before the expression of horror melts away and replaces itself with something much lovelier as he regards her. 

“I would hate for there to be any lingering doubt though, so to make myself perfectly clear, you should know that the only person I’m interested in marrying is you, because I love you, too,” he says.

And just like that, Penelope’s heart feels as though it’s been set ablaze. 

For a moment, she lets herself have this. Lets herself stand in the radiance of the candlelight, and in the afterglow of Colin’s confession. Lets herself gleam under his adoring gaze, and lets herself gaze in turn, unafraid for the first time to let the truth of everything she feels for him show in her eyes and on her face.

It is everything she’s always wanted but that she never let herself dare hope for. Which makes what she knows she has to do next seem like an especially cruel twist of fate.

“I love you,” she says again, the words coming out steadier than she expects them to. “Whatever happens next, I need you to know that I have loved you since the moment we met, and that I will love you for whatever comes after.”

“But…?” Colin prompts, swallowing thickly as though he’s bracing himself for a blow.

“Colin, it’s not that I don’t want to love you openly, because I do. I want to love you assuredly, fervently— loudly….but…we can’t,” Penelope holds his gaze, strong and steady with her own when she says it. “Not yet. I have— I know things about myself, about what I’m meant to do. Things I can’t fully explain to you tonight. A destiny I must fulfill. We both have more to do before we get to be this— just us. Together,” she squeezes his hands. 

He stares at her for a beat before he speaks.

“I understand,” he nods slowly, resigned to accept her explanation even if he isn’t happy about it. “What happens in the morning, then? Do we just go about our days pretending we mean nothing to each other? Live for the moments we get to steal for ourselves?”

“Not exactly,” she whispers.

Penelope looks down at their clasped hands and gives his own much larger ones a tight squeeze with hers.

“You have to forget,” she says slowly. “And I have to help you do it.”

It takes a moment for her words to register, but she sees the exact moment when Colin puts it together. When he realizes that she’ll have to use magic to take the memory of tonight away.

“No.” His jaw is set in stubbornness.

“Colin, please—”

“I can keep a secret, Pen— especially if it’s your secret I need to keep. I’ll guard it with my life, you know I will.”

She has never in her life heard the level of desperation that laces itself through Colin’s words now as he tries to convince her. 

It makes Penelope’s heart ache something awful to know that no amount of pleading he does will be enough. That regardless of whether she’ll be able to make him see reason or not, she’ll still have to go through with taking this night away from him. And Colin must see it too, because he pauses his impassioned speech and takes a step closer to her, his voice dropping into something far gentler but no less pleading. 

“You’ve been carrying this alone for far too long,” he says. “Let me carry it with you. Let me do this for you— for us—”

“That’s why you can’t, Colin. Don’t you see?” she pleads in return. “If you know, you’ll stop at nothing to protect me. You’ll put me first over everything and everyone else. And if anyone ever came close to finding out…if I ever found myself in danger, or if I ever got caught, I know you. I know you’d do everything you could to stop me— to save me. You wouldn’t see reason. You’d be reckless. Probably do something to get yourself stuck in the cell right next to mine, and it would kill me.”

“You don’t know that, Pen.”

“But I do, because I have been reckless. Every time I save your life with my magic because I can’t stand the thought of living in a world without you in it, I am reckless. And I am especially reckless because I know I would burn the entire kingdom down, destiny be damned, if it meant saving your life. You can’t stand there and tell me you wouldn’t do the same.” 

She heaves in a deep breath and lets it out slowly to steady herself.

“It isn’t that I don’t trust you, it’s that I don’t think it’s fair to make you carry this despite your willingness to do so,” she continues. “It wouldn’t be fair to make you watch, and know. To make you swear you’ll stand by and do nothing if ever anything were to go horribly wrong.”

“And you truly believe this is your choice to make alone?” he asks, the pain evident in his voice. “That you get to choose to risk your life for me, but I can’t choose to do the same for you?”

“For now— for tonight it is,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

Colin is quiet for a long time as he studies their joined hands.

“Will you give them back?” he asks, voice small. “When you feel as though it’s safe to do so? Will you give my memories back to me?”

“Yes,” Penelope says. “I promise.”

“All of them? This entire evening?”

“Everything.”

Colin is quiet again, still studying their joint hands as though if he looks at them for long enough, he might still remember what their fingers look like stitched together in the morning, magic be damned. Finally, he lifts them and presses a kiss across her knuckles.

“Alright,” he nods, just once. Penelope knows how much it costs him to concede. Can see it in his eyes and in the determined set of his jaw, and she loves him all the more for it. “Okay, Pen. But you must promise me something in return. Promise me that you’ll stay,” he continues. “That you won’t push me away or keep me at arms length even after you take this night away from me. Promise me that whatever you need to do, that whatever comes next, you’ll stay close. I don’t need to know everything I know about you now, but promise me that I’ll still get to keep knowing you.”

Penelope blinks hard, trying to stave off the tears already stinging at the corners of her eyes. “I’ve never been all that great at staying away from you, and I think that is something that you’ve always known.”

“Something we have in common then— one of many things,” Colin replies. “Promise me anyway?”

“I promise,” Penelope says softly.

“How does it work?” he asks. “Will it hurt?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “It’ll be just like falling asleep. And when you wake up, you’ll know tonight was strange, but not why. It’ll be like…like that feeling you get when you first wake up, and you’re trying to remember what you’d been dreaming about, only you can’t quite grasp it.”

“But like waking up from a beautiful dream, right?” 

“Yes,” she assures him. “The most wonderful dream.” 

Penelope watches as a tear slips from the corner of one of his eyes. Carefully, she reaches up and brushes it away with gentle fingers. She doesn’t even realize she’s let her own tears slip until Colin reaches out to mirror her own actions, the pads of his thumbs catching the drops before they make it too far down her face.

Colin says nothing else, but Penelope has spent years studying his face when he isn’t looking, and she knows there’s something he’s holding back.

“What else?” she prompts.

“It’s silly,” he murmurs, the tips of his ears going red.

“Tell me anyway?”

“Will you wait?” he asks, bashful in a way that makes him look less like the man he is, and so much like the boy she first met all those years ago.

“Wait?” 

“Will you wait to do it? Until I fall asleep on my own?” His eyes flit back to her then, holding hers for a moment before he continues. “I’d just like to have a little more time with all of it— with you especially, if that’s alright.”

Part of her knows she should say no. Knows every minute that she sits in his room and prolongs the inevitable is another minute of risk, another minute of the memories she’ll have to carry for the both of them until the time comes for her to give them back. 

But for all the magic and power she possesses, Penelope is still only human. Still just a girl, standing in front of the only boy she has ever loved. She is only so strong, and she has never been very good at denying Colin anything within her power to give him. 

“Of course,” she says finally.

Colin exhales and she sees part of the tension leave his shoulders. 

“Will you stay with me as well? Here, until it’s time?”

She regards him for a moment, looking her fill. Memorizing the exact way his eyes shine in the candlelight, and the way the light of the moon beyond the window cuts across every angle and line of him that she knows like the back of her own hand. Lets him look his fill, too, just for a moment longer before she speaks.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

And despite her own selfish reasons for wanting to stay, the truth she speaks and lets settle in the space that exists between them is worth it for the brilliance of the answering smile Colin bestows upon her in turn.

Colin drops one of her hands but keeps the other tucked in his own, unwilling to let her go just yet. Instead, he tugs at her gently and leads her around the room while he extinguishes the majority of the candles. 

From there, he leads her across the room to the four-poster bed, sitting her on the edge of the mattress before he kneels before her and removes her slippers with so much care it makes her chest feel like it’s moments away from cracking open.

“Lie down,” he whispers, once he’s set her slippers neatly beside the bed. 

Colin settles beside her on the mattress, and Penelope goes willingly when he pulls her close. Lets him hold her while she holds him back, tucking her face against the crook of his shoulder and wills away the tears threatening to fall when she realizes her small, soft body fits perfectly against the sturdy planes of his own. 

They talk as the night stretches out before them, voices soft and slow— delicate and hushed in a way that feels fitting for the late hour.

Colin tells her about a village he passed through on his journey to the Perilous Lands. Talks about how each door was painted a different color and describes his favorites in such detail Penelope feels as though she was right there with him riding through the cobblestone streets. 

In turn, Penelope shares the handful of memories she can recall from growing up in Ealdor. Among them is one of her favorites: the first time she can remember her magic doing something without her meaning to do it. And when Colin laughs as she recounts how her magic had knocked every cup off the Featherington supper table, Penelope can feel the rich deep rumble of it reverberate through his chest. 

When she runs out of memories to share, she uses her magic to summon the flames from the candles Colin had left lit, molding them into shapes of animals that she makes gallop and fly above their heads. And when Colin stares at her in awe and wonderment, confessing that he loves the way her irises turn the color of liquid gold every time she casts, loves watching the gold fade back into the bright blue he adores so much, she sends the flames back to their rightful places before giving into the urge to pull him toward her. 

She kisses him thoroughly, fingers tangled in the short strands of his hair, his own sweeping across her waist and up her back as he pulls her impossibly closer. Quietly, Penelope thinks to herself that she could spend the whole of her natural life wrapped up in Colin’s arms just like this. 

They trade more kisses in between trading stories. Gentle presses of lips to the parts of each other they can reach that linger and grow softer, slower. The space between each, much like the pauses between conversation, growing longer as the night grows later. 

Penelope feels him resist sleep twice, hears the sharp, stubborn exhale he expels each time he pulls himself away from it in an effort to stay awake.

Colin jerks when it happens the third time, and, unable to help herself, Penelope reaches up and brushes his fringe away from his forehead, fulfilling another desire she’s kept buried deep for years. Colin stills beneath her soft touch, eyes sliding shut as she lets her hand fall away, fingertips sweeping over his temple and down the side of his face. Colin turns then, nuzzling into her palm before dropping a kiss to the center of it.

“Go to sleep, Colin,” she whispers gently. “It’s alright.”

“Not yet,” he murmurs. His voice is thick. Blurred at the edges with exhaustion, and yet, he still musters up the energy it takes to open his eyes once more. “Just let me look at you for a little while longer.”

Penelope shifts back just enough to look at him properly.

“I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

“Not like this.”

“No,” she holds his gaze. “But you said yourself that you think your heart’s known how you feel for a while now.”

Colin nods, smiling sleepily at her.

“So then I’ll be right here,” Penelope says, pressing her palm flat against the center of his chest. “Just for a while. Until it’s safe for the both of us to love each other properly.”

Carefully, Colin reaches up and covers her hand with one of his own, pressing her palm more firmly against his chest. Beneath his ribs, the beating of his heart rises up to meet her touch, and the feel of that…well, it’s everything.

“Close your eyes, love,” Penelope whispers.

This time when Colin obeys, she can see his body visibly relax as he lets sleep come for him. She watches him for a while, waiting for his breathing to even out, startling when he stirs once more.

“Pen?” his eyes crack open, and he has the heavy-lidded look of someone who’s already halfway to dreaming.

“Yes?”

“Whatever your destiny is…I believe you’ll fulfill it magnificently,” he sighs out.

With that, Colin’s eyes slide back shut, and Penelope smiles affectionately at the soft, unguarded look of him in sleep.

Leaning forward, Penelope kisses him again, a tender brush of her lips against his own, just one last time. Then, she reaches up and gently presses her fingertips to his temple.

The first time she attempts to mutter the incantation, the word gets caught in her throat as the deluge of tears she’s kept at bay all night begin trailing down her cheeks.

Breathing slow and deep, she takes a moment to compose herself, before she mutters the necessary incantation properly, and carefully pulls the memory of this evening from Colin’s mind like she’s pulling ribbon from a spool. 

And once she’s completed the task in its entirety, Colin Bridgerton’s face goes slack, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a peaceful, unknowing smile while he sleeps.

Beneath her ribs, Penelope’s heart feels like it’s gained a stone. But if a heavy heart is what she must shoulder in exchange for the memory of everything tonight has given her— if it means keeping all the love Colin has for her tucked safely next to her own— then she she will carry it gladly until it’s safe to give his half back to him.

Silently, she slips out of his arms, off the bed, and into her slippers. And with one last look at Colin’s sleeping form, Penelope extinguishes the rest of the candles with a wave of her hand before she slips out of his bedchamber, too.

✧ ─── · ˚ * ✵ * ˚ · ─── ✧

E P I L O G U E

✧ ─── · ˚ * ✵ * ˚ · ─── ✧

The next morning, Colin Bridgerton wakes feeling more rested than he has in years. And when he sits up in bed, he notices that someone has clearly already been in and tidied up the room, for it is far neater than how he remembers leaving it. Likely his manservant, Dunwoody, who also seems to have snuffed out the candles on his behalf, for he has no recollection of doing that either before he’d succumb to sleep. 

Perhaps the most peculiar thing he notices is the faint smell of orange blossom. It’s sweet and clean in a way that’s so pleasant he’s almost sorry to realize that it already seems to be fading.

Colin dresses in good spirits. It’s tournament day, which means there’s already an extra element of excitement coursing through him. His squire arrives promptly at half past seven to help him into his armor, and by the time the last strap is checked, Colin’s nearly vibrating with the sort of exhilaration that only seems to come to him when combat and competition are on the horizon.

Exiting his chamber, he takes the stairs two at a time, and then the corridor after that at a long stride, intending to head for the yard to get an extra bit of warm up time in.

He is halfway there when he nearly walks right into Penelope, his face splitting into a wide grin as it tends to do whenever their paths cross.

Penelope steps neatly aside, one arm full of neatly pressed silk that Colin can only assume is part of whatever fancy garb his sister Eloise will be donning for the occasion. And when Colin grins at her in greeting, she looks up at him with an expression that is equal parts fond and amused.

“You’re very cheerful this morning,” she remarks.

“I had the best night’s sleep I’ve had in years,” he tells her.

“Not plagued by any strange dreams, then?” 

Penelope says it playfully when she asks, but there is something lying under the question— a sentiment that Colin can’t quite place.

“None at all,” he replies truthfully. “Slept straight through the night and then I woke up feeling…I don’t know…invigorated, I suppose.”

Something like relief moves across Penelope’s face. It comes and goes so quickly he almost thinks he must have imagined it.

He has half a mind to ask her if everything’s alright, but then Colin isn’t thinking very much of anything at all, because the next moment, Penelope smiles up at him, in that small private way she seems to reserve for him and him alone.

“I’m glad,” she says warmly. “I hope the rest of the day is just as kind to you.”

“I hope so too,” says Colin. “I intend to carry all this good energy directly onto the pitch,” his smile widens at that. “You’ll be watching, I hope?”

“Someone has to be there to make sure you don’t do anything too reckless,” she teases. “Eloise certainly won’t be paying attention. She’ll be too busy arguing with Benedict about something, I’m sure.”

“She always is,” Colin chuckles. “Are you nervous for me, Pen?”

“I’m never nervous for you anymore,” she says with certainty. “You always come out fine. It’s actually extremely irritating.”

Colin tosses his head back and laughs, and as he does, something flutters from Penelope’s person, drifting onto the floor between them.

They both move at once, her out of habit, and Colin because she’s already got her hands full, and it’s only right. Their heads nearly knock together before Colin closes his fingers around the object first and the both of them straighten up.

He looks down at the small square of yellow linen and turns it over in his gauntleted hand. He can’t feel it through the metal, but he can tell it’s soft and worn with age.

Suddenly, something tugs at the edges of Colin’s mind— a memory of a morning long ago when he was fourteen and Penelope was twelve. Remembers how a gust of wind had come seemingly out of nowhere and before he’d known it, the wind had plastered a handkerchief right over his face.

“This is the same one,” Colin says slowly.

“Sorry?” Penelope asks, confused.

“The day we met. You were crossing the courtyard and the wind took this. Blew it straight out of your hand and right into my face,” Colin recalls.

“I remember,” she says, lips tugging into a helpless sort of smile.

“I’ve always thought it was rather lucky, actually,” Colin muses, looking down at the handkerchief with fondness.

“Lucky? Do you not remember falling off your horse directly after that?” Penelope says through a laugh. “Or did you hit your head much harder than you let on?”

“Yes, well, that part wasn’t very well done of me was it?” Colin replies in good-natured amusement. “But when I finally got it off my face, the first thing I remember is looking up and seeing you there.”

He pauses and regards her for a moment before he looks back down at the square piece of fabric once more.

“I still need a favor,” Colin holds the handkerchief up slightly.  “You know. A token for the tournament.”

“I’m sure you’ll have no shortage of offers once you get down to the pitch,” Penelope says.

She is flustered and he doesn’t draw attention to it, but for some reason, it secretly pleases him. But she is also looking at him with a sort of skepticism that he can’t help but want to get ahead of.

“Probably,” he agrees through a shrug. “But none of those favors will be as good as this. It’s what brought us together, Pen. What could possibly be luckier than that?”

Penelope looks at him for a moment, takes in the way he makes his eyes wide, wordlessly pleading with her to concede and just let him have this. Finally, she lets out a small breath and shakes her head in amusement.

“Go on then,” she says.

Colin’s face immediately splits into a wide grin. “Would you do the honors?”

He trades the handkerchief in his grasp for the gown in hers. Then, with careful hands, Penelope reaches for the loop of leather near his bicep. Likely it has some other more practical use, but in the moment, as she sets about tying the handkerchief to it, it feels as though that tiny bit of leather was made exactly for the simple purpose of binding something of hers to something of his. 

She threads the linen through and knots it neatly twice before smoothing it down with her fingertips and for a moment, Colin silently curses his own armor, wishing he could feel the warmth of her gesture.

“There,” Penelope says, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “You’d better go win something now.”

Colin looks down at the small square of yellow set against the metal chrome of his armor and something warm settles in his chest when he realizes how right it looks there.

“Thank you,” he says, glancing back up at her. “If my good day persists, it’ll be because of you. I’m certain of it.”

Penelope says nothing, simply takes Eloise’s dress back from him before gently pushing him in the direction of the training yard.

“Go before I decide to take my favor back,” she says, her tone an equal measure of fondness and exasperation. 

And Colin does, but not without a final parting smile.

He is almost at the yard when he catches it again— the faint, comforting scent of orange blossom. It flits around him for just a moment before it disappears as if dissolving into the crisp air of the morning.

Strange, Colin thinks to himself.

He could have sworn he’d woken to the same smell surrounding him like a comforting blanket, but it had come and gone so quickly he’d thought perhaps he’d simply dreamed it.

It would make sense, he muses as he makes his way toward the yard. He had been dreaming a rather lovely dream before he’d awoken with the sun. He knows that for certainty, even if he can’t remember a single detail of it.