#i want her to get a snowflake queen skin like the one from the nutcracker

[oedonchapeldweller]

why does mercy get a 3rd winter wonderland skin but widowmaker still has that skiing skin

[withlovelunette]

Matryoshka Doll & Wooden Soldiers writing update #1

I'm here to share some excerpts from the first chapter! You can find the WIP post for this story here if you want a more thorough introduction, but it’s essentially a retelling of Hoffmann’s The Nutcracker and the Mouse King with elements of steampunk and magical curses weaved throughout. This post is pretty short because I’m a bit picky with my own writing, but I hope you enjoy regardless!!

So the first chapter is mostly dedicated to establishing the situation/setting, Clara’s character and her relationship with her mother. For context, Clara’s been sent off to go live in the city with her godfather, Drosselmeyer, and this is the opening paragraph!

Clara Stahlbaum never defended her mother’s state of mind, lest she also be labeled a hysterical woman. She’d packed a single suitcase and taken the first train out of Marburg’s countryside, not to pursue womanhood nor stardom the way her mother had, but to “seek respite”, as her father put it. Very few traveled further north during the month of November. Winter’s reach had expanded with each year, powdering the land in white to claim every valley and pine forest as her own. Godfather Drosselmeyer would regularly report on the local rumors within the city in his letters–about the snowflakes acting as spies for a fairy queen further north, or that a vengeful curse had overtaken the land–and Clara read each and every one of them as thrilling stories before bed. Such rumors aside, the harsh winters didn’t frighten her, but spring had never felt as distant as it did now, as Clara steps onto the locomotive that will plunge her deeper into winter’s grasp.

Honestly, I’m always very unsure of how to start a story, and I’m still not completely sold on this first paragraph, but I think it functionally does what I want it to do, so I’ll probably rephrase and restructure it in a different draft.

This is just a random excerpt that I sort of liked:

Her mother had always said that to get all the strands of Clara’s hair slicked back and neatly assorted into a tight bun was an undertaking, as if her hair refused to comply with the disciplines of ballet, her hairline embellished with golden baby curls in defiance. In her mother’s absence, Clara had wondered if her hair would refuse to be slicked back into a bun ever again.

I will probably move this part to a different chapter at some point ^^;

Here’s an excerpt of Clara reminiscing on the train. It’s a continuation of the previous excerpt except I have no plans of moving this part (for now). 

The scene of her mother bowing on stage as the applause drowns out all other sound, even her own heartbeat, is fresh in Clara’s mind despite its age, onlookers tossing out fresh bouquets of camellia and sealed yellowed envelopes to proclaim their admiration for the prima ballerina. Such admirers had remarked how Clara was the spitting image of her mother. She believed that anytime she watched her mother’s performance, she’d been staring straight into her own future, and she held onto that promise with pride. But then her mother’s hair grayed, her eyes sunken in, and her skin clung to her bones in a way that could only be considered flattering on a young woman. The convictions that once made her attractive and lively made her difficult to work with, the perfectionism that once made her brilliant made her controlling, and Clara could no longer aspire to such a future.

Initially, I want to present Clara’s retirement from ballet as if it was something she did by choice to avoid her mother’s fate, because that’s exactly how she copes with her injury (which is the actual cause behind her early retirement). She’s mentally trying to reframe her retirement as something she did by choice, rather than something she did out of necessity, because she already has a bunch of reasons she could have chosen to retire early.

That’s all I really had to share from the first chapter since I’m still reconstructing it, but I hope it wasn’t too short/long of a read! I’d love to make a post about character creation or constructing character psychology or something along those lines one day, so maybe I’ll do that if it’s something people would be interested in? Or anything fairytale related, let me know!

Tag list: @sam-glade @strangerays @writing-is-a-martial-art @amywrites256​ @eurydicefades​ @serenanymph

Let me know if anyone would like to be removed/added to the tag list for writing updates and additional content for this wip!

[aelixandra]

Dreaming On Your Feet: Chapter 19

Read on Ao3!

Summary: Aelin Galathynius is one of the newest company members of the Rifthold Ballet Theatre, and she is eager to make all of her dreams a reality. She has the talent, the ambition, the walls no one can get past, and the thick skin that no one can get under. Except for new principal dancer Rowan Whitethorn. He’s arrogant, talented, and infuriating - and they just might have more in common than they think.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Chapter 19: A Night of Surprises

“So wait, the closing night party and the company Christmas party are combined?” Lysandra asked as she and Aelin signed in backstage. It was late Sunday morning, and there was one matinee performance of Nutcracker left.

And if Aelin was honest, it was over much too soon.

Aelin scanned the bulletin boards. There were no surprise replacements today; she and Lysandra were only doing their given parts.

She still daydreamed about her sudden Snow Queen debut. She had almost laughed out loud when the snow had started falling, leaving her dusted with tiny paper flakes as she danced.

And then Rowan had suddenly told her that he had, in fact, watched.

“You make a beautiful Snow Queen.”

“But you make an even more beautiful Dewdop.”

Her heart suddenly quickened as she remembered it all.

Stupid girl, she thought. That was entirely professional. He was just complimenting you.

People complimented her all the time.

But it’s only Rowan’s compliments that matter, isn’t it?

“Aelin?”

Aelin realized she had stopped short, staring into the bulletin boards without caring about their contents. Her head – and her heart – had been thinking of Rowan. Stupid girl, she chastised herself. “Yeah, since we get a couple of weeks off right after today, we get one last hurrah as a company before whatever hurdles they decide to throw at us in the spring.”

Lysandra stopped. “Where are you going?”

“Up to the dressing room?”

Lysandra pointed to Aelin’s hand. “But why the stairs?” she whined.

Aelin grinned, pushing open the door to the stairwell. “It’s the last show of the calendar year, Lys!” She started up the stairs at a half-running pace, taking off her gloves and hat as she ascended. “Go big or go home!”

----------

Rowan had gotten to his dressing room rather early today, even for him.

He wanted today, the last show of the run, to be perfect.

But in all honesty, he couldn’t think of a single moment where it hadn’t been perfect.

Part of him knew that he had Aelin to thank for a lot of it . . . and he felt like he couldn’t possibly do enough to thank her.

That was maybe the reason why he was so early.

But now, he laid on the floor in his dressing room in his warmups, rolling out his muscles as some music from his phone played in the background.

The next song came on the shuffle.

It was “Clair de Lune.”

Rowan hugged one knee to his chest, stretching the other one out straight on the floor. He closed his eyes, and Aelin immediately appeared, her gold hair and brilliant smile banishing the darkness as her fingers ran across the keys.

He needed to sort himself out.

How do I feel about her?

She’s my partner.

She’s my friend.

She . . .

He switched legs, taking a deep breath.

I can’t. I can’t go down that road again. Not when she deserves so much more than the broken man that I am.

Her fingers were replaced by the image of her crying, falling apart in his arms when she was running through Giselle.

But don’t you remember? She’s just as broken as you are.

That doesn’t mean I’m any more worthy –

Rowan sat up suddenly, his eyes wide open.

Wait, what am I thinking? Am I seriously considering . . . do I care about her?                    

As more than just a friend?

With a shake of his head, Rowan flopped back onto his yoga mat.

Gods, I’m in trouble.

----------

“Aelin, I hate you!”

Aelin laughed as she called behind her to Lysandra. “It was four flights!”

“Four flights that I didn’t need!”

“At least your cardio warmup is done!”

Lysandra groaned dramatically as Aelin heard her door shut. Still laughing quietly to herself, Aelin opened the door to her own dressing room. She reached around the corner to flip the lightswitch.

The warm mirror lights came on, bathing the room in a soft, yellow-gold light.

And that golden light revealed a bouquet of flowers on her counter.

It was a beautiful arrangement of blue hydrangeas and small white roses, sitting in a pine-green vase. Upon closer inspection, the bouquet actually sparkled – with thin stalks of crystal dewdrops, she realized with a delighted gasp. It matched her short Dewdrop dress perfectly.

Aelin wandered closer, her breath taken away. She reached out her hand and gently caressed the petals, wondering who on earth had been so thoughtful.

Then her fingers touched something firm.

Her heart raced as she pulled a small, rectangular card from the bouquet.

Her eyes burned, her vision blurring as she read it with a wide smile.

To my Fireheart.

----------

Dancing with Aelin reminded Rowan why he loved dancing at all.

This last performance had gone by too quickly, “Waltz of the Flowers” over too soon. He could have danced Nutcracker for months if it meant dancing with her every night, sharing the joy and the genuine smiles that only arise from genuine happiness.

Now, he stood onstage beside Aelin and the rest of the company, the curtain having just come down on their final curtain call. The audience hidden from view, the dancers all let out joyful hollers and hugs, some tears being shed.

Aedion grinned as he threw his arms around Lysandra. Dorian was being clapped on the back by a brown-haired young man that Rowan didn’t recognize. Flowers and snowflakes and candy canes whirled around him. And Aelin –

Aelin still stood in her spot from curtain call, gazing at the back of the red curtain with her customary featured-role bouquet in her arms. Her blue costume and matching tiara sparkled in the last of the stage lighting, framing her body in an almost ethereal glow.

Rowan’s breath caught.

Gods, she’s beautiful when she’s not even trying to be.

As if she sensed him there, she spoke.

“There’s nothing like it, is there?” She turned around to gaze at the scene on stage, at the dancers congratulating themselves and each other. “When you’re onstage doing what you love. When everything else fades away. . . and all that’s left is the music and you.” She turned her turquoise gaze to him.

His heartbeat quickened. Was she talking in general, or – about me?

He nodded in agreement, stepping closer to her. “I had almost forgotten what that feeling was,” he admitted, matching her gaze. His voice dropped so only she could hear. “And then I met you.” He smiled. “And I remembered.”

Aelin’s eyes shone with silver, and she smiled right back. “So did I.”

With her free hand, she reached up to her hair, gently weaving something out of her headpiece.

A short strand of crystal dewdrops.

From the bouquet he had left on her dressing room counter.

He was speechless as she extended it out to him, almost shyly. He took it from her, her slender fingers lighting brushing his. “See you at the after-party, buzzard.”

----------

Aelin was soaring.

Between the dancing and the close friends that stood beside her, life was finally beginning to look up. For the first time in two years, she felt hope. Hope that the worst was finally over. Hope that she was really, truly healing.

And Rowan Whitethorn, she admitted to herself, was perhaps the biggest reason for that.

She replayed his words over and over in her head, holding them tight.

And then I met you. And I remembered.

“What’s that grin for?” Lysandra asked. “You’re not drunk already, are you?”

“Come on, Lys, I don’t keep alcohol in my dressing room!”

“Okay, fine, so you’re not hiding alcohol. Just the finest pieces in your extensive wardrobe,” Lysandra said, giving Aelin’s cocktail dress a once-over with a whistle. The closing night party wasn’t as fancy as the opening night ones, and this was really only for the company members. “How come I’ve never seen this one before?”

Aelin laughed and looked at herself in the mirror, giving a little twirl. In fact, this was a new dress, one she had gotten specifically for tonight. “You know I’m always prepared for situations that require dressing up.”

The dress was deep red and knee-length. Gold, shimmering embroidery in a floral pattern crossed from her right hip to form the single strap that went over her left shoulder. She had let her hair down from its bun and pinned the sides up, leaving two small pieces to frame her face while the rest tumbled down her back. She wore some strappy gold heels to match – gold ballroom dance heels.

Just in case.

Aelin grinned at her reflection. “There’s never any harm in looking good, is there?”

* * *

“What a pretty bunch of people, huh?” Lysandra remarked as she and Aelin entered the party. This party was held in one of the opera house’s smaller side rooms, since this was exclusively for the company and production staff. There was no band, just a computer in the corner playing Christmas classics. The atmosphere was warm and festive, and Aelin made her way through the smiling faces to the bar, ordering a glass of sparkling white wine. She lifted it to her lips –

“Are you actually going to drink that this time?”

She smiled at his familiar voice as she purposely took a long sip. “That’s my plan, yes.” She turned to see Rowan standing there holding a wine glass of his own. He looked effortlessly handsome in a pair of black dress pants, a black vest, and a grey dress shirt with the top buttons open, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Well, damn.

His green eyes studied her.

“What is it?”

The edges of his mouth curved into a small, almost shy smile. “You look beautiful tonight, that’s all,” he said, taking a sip of his wine.

Aelin felt a blush immediately rise to her cheeks. “You don’t look too bad yourself,” she replied, enjoying the look of surprise in his eyes as they looked up from over his glass. “From hating each other to complimenting each other in just a few months, huh?”

Rowan chuckled quietly, a warm sound that made Aelin’s chest flutter. “Hatred to friendship.” He lifted his glass, his eyes never leaving hers. “How about a toast to that?”

Aelin smiled. She lifted her glass. “To us.”

For a second time, surprise lit his eyes, along with a warm happiness that threatened to send Aelin’s heart bursting from her chest. He clinked his glass against hers. “To us,” he repeated, and the two of them finished their glasses. Rowan politely took her empty glass and set it back on the bar, along with his own.

They began to make their way through the crowd towards Aedion and Lysandra. “Do you have any plans for Christmas?” Rowan asked.

“Nothing’s set yet, but we usually do something together. Me, Aedion, Lysandra, and Dorian,” Aelin clarified. Then she saw Dorian standing off to the side of the room, talking to the white-haired pianist again. Manon. “Though maybe we’ll have more joining us this year.”

Rowan followed her gaze. “Ah, yes, I’d noticed that.”

“Would you like to join us?” she asked suddenly.

“Me?”

“Of course! You’re –” She stopped short. She was about to say family, but Rowan. . . “You’re my best friend.”

His eyes softened. “I’d be honored, Aelin,” he replied.

Suddenly, a loud clinking rang out, and the room hushed. Eudora stood in the center of the room with her own wine glass, and the dancers gave her some space.

She began her speech. “First of all, I would like to personally thank each and every one of you for your hard work these past months. Both Giselle and Nutcracker were huge successes, so from the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

The dancers applauded before she continued. “Before we formally conclude this half of the season, there are two people I want to welcome.” She let her words sink in. “The first is a welcome back, actually. “Mr. Westfall?”

Aelin looked to where she beckoned, and sure enough, a familiar figure stepped through the door and into the room.

Chaol.

The last time she had seen him, about a year ago, it was unknown if he would ever walk again.

But now he strode into the room, no trace of a limp at all.

The room burst into applause, and Aelin saw Dorian immediately step forward to embrace the man who was like a brother to him. Chaol returned his embrace, his eyes misty.

“And Chaol isn’t alone,” Eudora continued as the applause died down. “I would also like to extend a warm welcome to our new physical therapist, Yrene Westfall.”

A lovely young woman stepped into the room, dressed in a deep purple cocktail dress. Her hair was a long mass of gold-brown curls, and her eyes were a rich honey-gold.

Westfall.

Yrene Westfall.

Chaol got married!?

Aelin grinned as she joined in the applause, hers perhaps the most enthusiastic of all. He deserved it. He deserved to be happy, the kind of happiness he would never have had with her. They were both very different people now, and life brought them exactly what they needed. Chaol had Yrene, and Aelin had –

Aelin’s thoughts stopped for a moment. She couldn’t say Rowan; he was her best friend.

Is that all?

Yes, Aelin said firmly to herself. What is it that I’ve got?

She looked at Chaol and Dorian, and Aedion and Lysandra.

At Rowan.

I’ve got a family.

“I’m also delighted to announce that Chaol will be returning to the stage in the first show of the spring,” Eudora said, that mischievous glint shining in her silver eyes; she knew full well that they were all waiting for this announcement. “And that show will be . . .” She paused, one final moment of dramatic effect. And Aelin could have sworn that Eudora’s gaze lingered on her for half an extra moment as she said three simple words.

“Romeo and Juliet.”

Aelin’s eyes burned. She had so many wonderful, beautiful memories attached to Romeo and Juliet. Memories that reminded her of home – in more ways than one.

Home.

She looked up at Rowan, who looked down at her at the same time. In the commotion of the room’s excitement, somehow her hand had found his. She smiled, and he smiled back.

And in that moment, that was all they needed.

[aelixandra]

Dreaming On Your Feet: Chapter 18

Read on Ao3!

Summary: Aelin Galathynius is one of the newest company members of the Rifthold Ballet Theatre, and she is eager to make all of her dreams a reality. She has the talent, the ambition, the walls no one can get past, and the thick skin that no one can get under. Except for new principal dancer Rowan Whitethorn. He’s arrogant, talented, and infuriating - and they just might have more in common than they think.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Chapter 18: Two Waltzes

It was the second week of the Nutcracker run, and Aelin was loving every second of it.

It was a bit chaotic, since the cast was so large, but it was the kind of chaos she relished. Dancers scrambling to get to their places, the orchestra tuning up, the steady murmur of the audience before the curtain, last-minute costume fixes, extra pins in hairpieces for good measure.

Then, when the curtain rose and the lights warmed the stage . . . she was free.

Aelin was stretching in her dressing room, her hair and makeup already done as the beginning notes of the overture came over the backstage audio monitors.

Suddenly, the door to her dressing room opened, and Amren appeared, wearing her headset and her backstage black outfit. Her usually calm, cool grey eyes were now filled with worry.

“Amren, what is it?” Aelin asked, her heart suddenly pounding.

“Do you know the Snow Queen choreography?”

Her heart pounded harder, already knowing where this conversation was going. “Yes, I do.”

“I need you to go on tonight.”

While her emotions whirled in protest, her head immediately knew what this was.

An opportunity.

So she didn’t ask questions.

Instead, she stood up from her yoga mat and nodded.

“Where would I find a costume?”

----------

When he was in Doranelle, Nutcracker was just another performance for Rowan. Another part of the routine, something else on his to-do list. The last hurdle before the holiday break.

But this time, with the Rifthold company – it was different.

In the best ways.

Here in Rifthold, Nutcracker was important. It wasn’t a community obligation, it was valued. Rehearsals were just as intense as they had been for Giselle, even with the children of the company school involved. But everyone was smiling, lost in the joyful chaos.

Rowan stood in the hallway at one of the barres to finish his warmup, dressed in a deep green track jacket and a pair of black sweats over the tights of his costume. He heard the music of the battle scene wafting over the monitors, letting him know he still had a bit of time before he had to get his Dewdrop Cavalier tunic on.

Even as he thought the word “Dewdrop,” her smile flashed through his mind –

As the battle scene music came to its end, Rowan found himself wandering down the hallway to the backstage area. It had been a few nights since he had watched the snow scene, one of his favorites in the entire ballet, so he might as well take the time to watch it tonight. As he rounded the corner to backstage, Amren was just getting back to her stage manager podium. Where was she? he wondered. It wasn’t like Amren to leave her post; she was the most dedicated, focused stage manager he had ever worked with – and sometimes, he had to admit, she was a little frightening.

If she had left backstage, something must have happened. And it wasn’t good.

Rowan began to scan the wings, looking for anything amiss, for any signs of panic or anything that stood out from the usual chaos.

As he looked around, the Snowflake corps de ballet began to make their way past him, their sparkling white and blue knee-length tutus looking light and airy. Nothing seemed unusual, but there was a tenseness to the atmosphere that hadn’t been there the entire run. As the Snow music began, Rowan scanned the dancers, but everything looked fine. They were all smiles, their costumes glittering under the stage lights as they danced.

Then the Snowflakes scattered offstage, making way for the Snow Queen’s entrance.

And enter she did, her tutu and crown shining as brilliantly as the cool, calm joy in her turquoise eyes.

He had to stop his jaw from hitting the floor.

Gods above, it was Aelin.

She was a living snowflake, whirling across the stage with a speed and precision that reminded him of her Odile variation those months ago, a playful smile on her lips.

She had gotten even better without him even noticing.

Before she left the stage again, Rowan hid himself around the corner from Amren’s spot, thankful he was wearing dark colors. He wanted to watch Aelin in her element – and she was certainly in her element right now.

Before he knew it, the snow scene was almost over, which meant that the paper snow had begun to fall from the catwalks above the stage. And dancing in the snow, Aelin looked even more beautiful.

His chest swelled with pride as the curtain came down.

He snuck out of the backstage area quickly and quietly back to his dressing room to get his tunic on, but he joined in the applause that echoed in the hall on his way.

----------

“What the hell just happened?” Aelin said to Lysandra as they made their way back to change for Act II.

“You were gorgeous, that’s what!” Lysandra said, taking the bobby pins out of her Snowflake headpiece. “Do you know what happened to the original understudy?”

Aelin shook her head. “Amren didn’t say. She just asked if I knew it, I said yes, and here we are.”

“And . . . how did it feel?”

“Honestly?” They were back in the dressing room now, and Aelin turned around to let Lysandra undo the hooks and eyes on her tutu. “It felt amazing.”

“I saw Aedion and Dorian watching, but I didn’t see Rowan.”

Aelin hid the slight disappointment from her voice. “Oh.”

“I bet he would have been proud though.”

Aelin smiled to herself, even though something like that shouldn’t matter.

But she knew that he would have been proud of her – so it mattered.

* * *

Aelin made it onstage with a few minutes to spare to warm up, dressed in her short, pale blue Dewdrop dress and headpiece. She found Rowan already there, doing a few warmup jumps. She let herself admire the way he looked in his matching blue tunic before approaching him.

He turned to see her there. “Hey,” he said with a smile. “How do you feel today?”

She decided not to say anything about doing Snow Queen. “Really good, actually. I’m ready.”

He chuckled. “You always are.”

Aelin felt the slightest blush rise to her cheeks, and she was grateful that her stage makup hid it. “What do you need to practice?”

He thought for a moment. “Let’s just do the pirouette sequence into the lift?”

Aelin nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

She made her way to her starting position, careful not to get in any other dancers’ ways. She did her piqué turns and double stepovers, the last of which ended right in front of Rowan. His hands caught her hips on her last turn, adding more rotations. Finally, when she stopped, they pliéd together before Rowan lifted her straight above his head, turning around as he did.

Perfect.

Had it ever been anything less when she danced with him?

He set her down gently, carefully. “How was that?”

She smiled. “Great as always.”

He smiled back, and her heart flipped. Stop that, she told herself. “Anything else you need from me?” he asked.

If only I knew the answer to that question. “I’m good if you are,” she replied.

“Places!” Amren called from the wings. “Places for the top of Act II!”

“You ready?” Aelin whispered to Rowan as they made their way offstage.

“Of course,” he said. Then his green eyes grew mischievous. “But let’s be honest: when I’m with you, Aelin, I don’t really have a choice but to be ready, do I?”

With a quiet laugh, Aelin nudged him with her elbow. “You never had a choice to begin with.”

* * *

Everything was going perfectly.

As always – when she was with Rowan.

She spun, and he was there.

She leapt, and he tossed her higher, always there to catch her.

So she let herself dance freely, uninhibited and unafraid – because she wasn’t alone.

As they approached the end of Waltz of the Flowers, she came out of a soutenou into Rowan’s waiting arms. As he dipped her to the side, she heard his voice, quiet so only she could hear.

“You make a beautiful Snow Queen,” he whispered.

She felt her eyes go wide.

He had watched her after all.

He saw her.

She blinked back the burning in her eyes as she did the last balancés with the rest of the Flower corps, ending the piece in an arabesque with one arm around Rowan’s shoulder.

He smiled at her softly, again speakly quietly as the audience applauded.

“But you make an even more beautiful Dewdrop.”

----------

Lysandra stood next to Aedion in the wings, the two of them already dressed in their Spanish costumes for the finale. They were watching Flowers – or more accurately, Aelin and Rowan.

She had never seen two people dance together like they did.

They trusted each other so completely, and because of that, they were able to dance without restraint. She could have sworn that they even breathed the same when they were together.

She wondered –

“New Year’s,” Aedion whispered, yanking her from her thoughts. “They’ll be together by then.” So he saw it, too.

Lysandra shook her head. “I think she’s scared,” she said just as quietly. “She doesn’t want to have someone in her life only for him to disappear.”

Dorian appeared beside them, clad in his Candy Cane costume with his hoop slung over his shoulder. “He’s scared, too,” he said. “I think he doesn’t feel worthy of her or something. The whole thing with Lyria must have completely shattered him.”

“Don’t you remember how Aelin has been for the past two years?” Lysandra asked. “It destroyed her.” She looked back onstage, watching Rowan toss Aelin into the air before catching her effortlessly. “But look at them now. They’re healing, and they’re healing each other.”

Aedion looked at them, too. Two broken pieces that fit together so perfectly. He shrugged. “Well, ten bucks it happens by the spring show.”

Lysandra and Dorian both looked at him quizzically. “What’s the spring show?” Dorian asked. “It hasn’t been announced yet.”

“It’s going to be announced at the closing night party,” Aedion said. “But I got to talking with Eudora the other day, and she told me what it is. And if I tell you, you guys can’t tell anyone until then. Not even Aelin and Rowan.”

When he didn’t continue, Lysandra hissed, “So what is the spring show?”

Aedion’s lips twitched into a mischievous grin as his gaze drifted back to Dewdrop and her Cavalier. He dropped his voice barely above a whisper.

“Romeo and Juliet.”