Without waiting for Evryn’s next protest, she stepped over the threshold, her heart thundering. The interior, illuminated by warm faelight emanating from some inexplicable source, was pristine, as though time had never touched it. Not a speck of dust marred the elegantly carved cherrywood sideboard, nor the polished oak table that dominated the main room. Chairs stood neatly arranged around it, cushions still plumped as if expecting guests.
She took another few steps inside. Beyond the formal dining arrangement was a wide window offering a view of the moonlit cottage garden, its upper frame softened by vines that trailed along the top and curled down one side. Their green leaves were edged with gold that seemed to shimmer faintly. To the left lay a cozy sitting area. Several plush armchairs flanked a small sofa, their emerald upholstery barely faded despite the decades. Against the wall behind the sofa stood a charmingly haphazard bookshelf crowded with mismatched volumes, curling scrolls, and leather-bound journals.
As Mariselle drew closer, she could make out the delicate, hand-etched titles on some of the spines, dulled by age but still legible:Dreamland Architect Notes.The Chronicle of Dreamland: Volume III.Dreamland:Operations & Oversight. One labeled simplyDL – Ideas. A soft, wondering exhale escaped her lips.
She turned and peered through a doorway into a small kitchen area, where copper kettles and pots gleamed from hooks above a tidily swept hearth, and logs that had never been lit lay stacked in readiness. Strangest of all was the air itself, not stale as abandoned places tended to be, but somehow alive, the faintest scent of cinnamon pastries and freshly brewed tea still lingering.
Mariselle heard Evryn enter behind her, his footsteps hesitant. “How is this possible? This place has been sealed for years.”
“Decades,” Mariselle murmured, her instinct to argue with a Rowanwood reflexive and immediate, almost like breathing. She looked around, her attention caught by a solitary page resting in the center of the otherwise empty oak table. She approached it cautiously, then reached out with slightly trembling fingers to lift the parchment.
Her brow furrowed as she scanned the elegant script. “It appears to be a contract of some sort,” she said, half to herself. Her eyes jumped to the bottom, and her heart squeezed strangely when she recognized her grandmother’s name beneath one of the signatures. Nirella Brightcrest. And beside it … Valenrik Rowanwood. Was that Evryn’s grandfather? The one who had passed some years ago?
Mariselle’s eyes scanned the document, her lips moving as she murmured the words. “‘… wherein the signatories do hereby agree that the attraction known as Dreamland shall remain sealed from public access until such time as heirs of both Brightcrest and Rowanwood bloodlines willingly consent to its restoration.’” Her breath began to grow shallow as her heart pounded faster. “‘The terms of this binding agreement shall lie dormant until activated by the blood of both families freely given and accompanied by a sworn …’” She trailed off, swallowed hard, and reread the line before whispering, “‘A sworn oath.’”
A chill raced through her as she lowered the page. Slowly, she turned to look back past Evryn at the open doorway where two bloody smudges stained the weathered wood. Her injured palm throbbed in accusatory rhythm. “Did you cut your hand when you fell in the forest?” she asked faintly.
“What?” Evryn asked, irritation obvious in his tone. But he glanced down nonetheless. “Yes. Merely a scrape.”
What was it she had said to him in the moments before that blinding flash of light? Something about telling all of Bloomhaven of E. S. Twist’s true identity? Something about …I swear it.
She stared at the parchment again, her eyes picking out individual phrases.The heirs bound by this mark shall combine their magics to restore Dreamland to its former glory. … Neither shall sabotage the other’s efforts, and both shall work in honest partnership until restoration meets the criteria detailed herein. … The binding mark shall remain until such time as Dreamland stands ready to welcome visitors once more, whereupon either party may voluntarily relinquish their claim to the other, but no coercion or force shall compel such surrender.
“Rowanwood,” Mariselle whispered, horror dawning. “I do believe we have unwittingly agreed to a magically binding contract.”
“What?” he demanded, marching over to snatch the contract from her hands. His eyes darted across the page, brow deepening into a scowl with each passing second. “Preposterous,” he muttered. “You and I have agreed to nothing. There must be a way to undo this.”
But Mariselle barely heard him. Her gaze had drifted beyond the open doorway to where moonlight illuminated the remains of what had once been Dreamland’s grand entrance arch. The lumyrite embedded within the structure still pulsed with faint, residual magic, echoes of what had once been the United Fae Isles’ most extraordinary attraction.
She had spent countless nights secretly visiting these ruins, imagining what it might have been like in its heyday. A place where visitors could experience the wonder of genuine dream reality while fully awake. She had grown up hearing tales of its former splendor, longing to be able to see this magnificent creation with her own eyes.
Now, standing within the cottage where the very concept of Dreamland had first been conceived and nurtured, a new possibility unfurled before her. She possessed most of the dream-related magical powers necessary for such an undertaking—powers she had carefully hidden from her family—but had always lacked the complementary lumyrite magic required to stabilize dream reality in the physical world. Based on the story fragments she had heard from her grandmother, this was why the realization of Dreamland had required a partnership with the Rowanwoods in the first place. A Brightcrest could not manage it alone.
But Evryn Rowanwood possessed a lumyrite-shaping ability. And now a magically binding contract effectively forced him to work with her.
This situation she had inadvertently landed herself in was actually rather … perfect.
Mariselle could do this. She could restore Dreamland to its former glory. Create something magnificent that was truly her own. Finally prove to her family that she was worth something. The Brightcrests could once again possess an achievement of such magnitude that it would rival the considerable influence the Rowanwoods wielded through Lady Rivenna’s enchanted tea house. Perhaps even surpass it. Surely the sophisticated society of the United Fae Isles would prefer experiencing the wonders of an enchanted dream realm to taking tea in a stuffy establishment that had remained unchanged for decades.
Mariselle turned to face Evryn, heart still pounding beneath her restrictive riding attire. “Help me restore Dreamland.”
Evryn stared at her as though she had suggested they sprout wings and fly to the moon. “What?”
“Do as the contract says,” she said, her voice growing stronger with each word. “It isn’t as though we have a choice.”
“Of course we have a choice,” he scoffed, tossing the contract back onto the table and striding past her toward the door. “I don’t have to do a damn thing that old piece of paper says.”
“And be bound to me forever by that mark on your wrist?” she called after him.
He paused, then turned back to face her, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. “I’m sure that can be dealt with. I’ll speak to my family’s solicitor. He’ll know of magic that can break this ridiculous enchantment.”
“Do that,” Mariselle said, her voice hardening, “and I will reveal your secret pseudonym to the whole of Bloomhaven.”
Evryn’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He drew himself up to his full height, inhaling deeply as his eyes traveled over her with deliberate assessment. “Am I to understand that you are attempting to employ blackmail against me, Lady Brightcrest?”
“You understand perfectly,” she confirmed. “I have dream magic, you possess power that allows you to shape lumyrite, and all the plans and details necessary to restore Dreamland are in this very cottage. You and I will rebuildDreamland, and we will not tell a soul. I don’t want anyone knowing of this until we are finished. If you do not agree to this, I will tell everyone your secret.”
“Lady Mariselle,” Evryn said, his voice taking on a patronizing tone that set her teeth on edge, “you cannot do this. You don’t possess the necessary magic, the skill, the business acumen. You are a mere …” He seemed to struggle for a moment as he searched for an appropriate insult. “Girl,” he finished. “This is the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever?—”
