The little bell above the door tinkled gently as Eira stepped into Librairie L’Étoile, the tucked-away bookshop nestled between a wand repair boutique and a cinnamon-scented café. A golden star adorned the wooden sign above, swaying lazily in the breeze, catching the last of the afternoon sun.
Inside, the shop slled of parchnt and aged leather, ward by shafts of honey-colored light that stread through the high windows. The soft murmur of turning pages and rustling robes filled the space, a comforting hush in contrast to the bustling Allée outside.
At the far end of the shop, near a shelf of enchanted poetry books, a familiar figure with shock-blue hair was laughing—clearly, flirting—with an older witch, her gloved hand resting lightly on his arm.
Eira raised an eyebrow, then sighed. "Who else but Marin?"
Lolly made a quiet noise of recognition but said nothing, trailing dutifully behind her as Eira made her way toward the front counter.
As she approached, Marin finally noticed her—and his eyes widened dramatically in surprise. He excused himself from the woman, who wandered off toward the charms section, and hurried to et Eira with exaggerated shock plastered across his face.
"What happened to you, Eira?" he exclaid. "Why did you change? Look at you—why’d you beco a man?"
Eira stared at him flatly. "Seriously? That’s your greeting? Not even a hello or welco back? Just ’you look like a man’? You know, for soone who flirts with every girl at Beauxbâtons—and quite a few professors too, if I recall—that was exceptionally rude."
Marin winced, hand over his heart. "Ah, my apologies, mademoiselle! I didn’t an it like that—you just look different, that’s all!"
Eira crossed her arms. "So, you don’t like girls with short hair?"
Marin scrunched his nose dramatically. "Oh, I hate it."
She smirked. "Stop the nonsense. Where’s your mother? I actually have quite a few things to discuss with her."
Marin’s expression turned sheepish. "Fortunately for , she’s not here today. So I guess you’ll just have to hold your lecture."
"Lucky you," Eira replied dryly. "If I had seen her, I would’ve made sure she knew her darling son is the biggest flirt at Beauxbâtons."
Laughing, Marin gestured to the back shelves. "Co on, let’s get you sorted. Most of the books from last year carry over into second year, but there are two new ones—Advanced Potioneering: Year Two and tamorphoses et Magie Forlle."
"Excellent," Eira said. "Take to them. I’d like to have them before soone else interrupts—"
But she was too late.
A low, mocking voice sounded behind her. "Well, well, if it isn’t the Matriarch of the White family. Fancy seeing you here."
Eira’s brow twitched. She turned slowly, her gaze settling on a man perhaps in his early thirties—tall, broad-shouldered, with golden-blond hair and eyes the color of glacier ice. The smirk on his face made her skin crawl. She recognized him instantly.
"Roman Trévér," she said coolly. "I didn’t expect to see you here. To what do I owe the pleasure, Monsieur Trévér?"
He stepped closer, extending a hand. "I’ve seen your photos in the newspaper , but I must say—you’re far more beautiful in person."
His voice oozed arrogance as he dipped slightly, as if to kiss the back of her hand.
Eira didn’t move. "I’m afraid I have no habit of touching strangers, Mr. Trévér."
The refusal struck like a slap. Roman’s hand froze midair before he awkwardly retracted it, his false charm cracking for a split second. But he quickly recovered, flashing another thin smile.
"Of course. There’s ti. Once we know each other better, I’m sure you’ll be happy to extend your hand—and more."
Eira’s stomach twisted in disgust. "If you don’t have a legitimate reason to speak with , I suggest you leave to my books."
Roman chuckled, brushing off the rejection with strained amusent. "I rely wished to introduce myself. My father, Lord Trévér, asked if you’d be available for a light conversation at your hotel. A brief eting, nothing formal."
"I see," Eira replied with a touch of ice. "If my schedule allows it, I might grant him a few minutes."
That hit ho. Roman’s jaw tensed, the condescension in her voice slicing through his pride like glass. But he gave a curt nod. "We will await your letter, then." He turned and stalked off, two hulking guards falling in step behind him.
Eira exhaled slowly, brushing invisible dust off her sleeve.
"Filthy peacock," she muttered.
Just then, Marin returned with two books in hand. "Here," he said, setting them down. "These are the only additions for this year’s syllabus. Most of our first-year texts still apply."
He paused, then glanced toward the exit. "Were you just talking to Roman Trévér?"
Eira nodded. "He tried to flirt. Badly at that . Then invited to a eting with his father."
Marin lowered his voice. "Be careful around him. He’s dangerous. There are rumors—dark ones. He’s been arrested multiple tis by Aurors for... hurting Veela won. After forcing himself on them—well. You understand."
Eira’s lips thinned.
Marin continued, "They always let him go. His father’s connections are too deep. Everyone in the French wizarding world tolerates him because of the family na. But no one actually likes him."
"I don’t tolerate barkers," Eira said sharply. "If he tries anything, I’ll deal with him myself."
"Oho," Marin said with mock awe. "Matriarch White, standing tall. Look at you, so proud. You sound like you’re bragging to us poor peasants."
Eira snorted. "Oh please, coming from the boy who flirts with everything that breathes—from first-years to retired professors. I bet if you saw a ghost in heels, you’d try your luck."
Marin grinned with zero sha. "That’s called charisma, my dear. You sound jealous."
"Jealous?" Eira laughed. "Of you?"
"I’m telling you, one date with , and I’ll retire from all my conquests."
Eira gave him a look. "You’re insufferable. Any other news around here?"
"I’m irresistible," Marin corrected with a wink. "Anyway, nothing much is new here. Except... rumor is the Voclain family’s dirty laundry has gone public."
That caught Eira’s interest. "Go on."
"Word is, they’ve got a legitimate son raised in Britain. Grown up and everything. Now the French magical community is just sitting back, waiting to see whether there’ll be an inheritance war with Maximilian. Even though Lord Voclain publicly nad after his father’s death as the lord of the Voclain family , but people are already whispering about a challenge between the half brothers."
Eira said nothing, but a knowing smirk played at her lips.
"Well," she said, adjusting the strap of her bag, "I should head back. See you at school, Marin."
"You should’ve stayed longer," he said casually. "I’d even let you help alphabetize the Divination section."
"If I stayed, your mother would return—and I’d have a very long chat with her about your extracurricular activities."
Marin’s expression paled. "On second thought, go. Go now. I’m locking up early."
Eira burst into laughter. She looked toward Lolly and nodded. "Take back to the manor, please."
Lolly bowed deeply. "Of course, my lady."
With a soft crack, the pair vanished, leaving behind only the fading scent of cinnamon and the echo of a laughter that stirred the dust motes in the golden light.
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