“Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do,” she interrupted fiercely, her composure close to cracking. “You have no comprehension of the power I possess.”
Something flickered in his eyes then. A brief recalibration, as though he were seeing her anew. For a moment, she thought he might actually have recognized the truth in her words, but instead, he merely gestured to his marked wrist. “And what of this? Do you think people will not notice?”
Mariselle frowned. She had been so caught up in the possibility of resurrecting Dreamland that she’d neglected to consider the implications of the visible mark they now shared. Her mind raced again. The challenge was considerable. She was absolutely determined that no one should discover their undertaking before its completion—her family would put an end to it if they discovered her working with a Rowanwood—yet the mark they now shared would inevitably draw attention and speculation.
And then, as her eyes traced the pattern that now marked her skin, an idea took form in her mind. “We … we shall announce that we are engaged.”
Evryn made a choking sound that culminated in actual coughing, his face a mask of abject horror. When he finally recovered enough to speak, he managed, “I had no idea a Brightcrest was capable of such droll witticisms.”
“This is no jest,” she insisted. “The mark?—”
“There is not a person in Bloomhaven—in the entire United Fae Isles—who will believe that a Rowanwood and a Brightcrest have agreed to marry,” he interrupted. “There is simply no way.”
“If you would let me finish,” she ground out, frustration mounting. “As I was saying, the mark looks almost precisely like a soulbond. We can pretend that it is, in which case no one can argue with us.”
“A soulbond?” he repeated incredulously.
Mariselle released an exasperated sigh. “Surely you know of a soulbond, Rowanwood.”
“I am aware of their mention in overwrought romantic novels that cause ladies to swoon and gentlemen to roll their eyes. A convenient plot device for authors to force reluctant characters together, I believe.”
“They are not mere fiction,” Mariselle said, crossing her arms. “Soulbonds are rare, but documented cases exist throughout fae history.”
“And you would know this from your extensive reading of romantic novels, I presume?” A familiar smirk returned to his face. “I can only imagine the content of such literature would make one blush right up to the roots of one’s hair.”
Mariselle maintained an impeccably composed expression, not a hint of warmth rising to her cheeks as she replied, “I would rather acquaint myself with the most blush-inducing of romantic literature than the thinly veiled allegorical drivel penned by E. S. Twist. And no, my knowledge comes from my leisurely perusal of the Historical Archives of Magical Phenomena. Believe it or not, Rowanwood, some of us take pleasure in reading materials of academic substance rather than merely whatever reinforces our presumptions about the world.”
Before he could retort, she plunged ahead, outlining her plan in detail. “Now. Tomorrow we shall announce to our families, independently, that the soulbond appeared and we have fallen inexplicably in love overnight.”
Evryn made an exaggerated retching sound, miming the act of vomiting. Mariselle rolled her eyes. “Don’t be such a child,” she said before continuing. “The news will spread through Bloomhaven like wildfire. I’m sure the gossip birds will feast upon such deliciously scandalous tidings. At night, instead of racing, we will come to the cottage and secretly work on Dreamland together.
“When Dreamland is complete to the satisfaction of the contract, the magical binding mark will disappear. You will then relinquish control of your half to me, we’ll tell our families that—oh look!—the soulbond has mysteriously dissolved, and we need not marry after all.” She gestured expansively, warming to her scheme. “You can then return to your merry pseudonymous way, and I shall reveal Dreamland to my family.”
Evryn regarded her with profound skepticism. “Why not simply tell our families the truth? They would be as horrified as we are that you and I have magically bound ourselves together. They would do whatever necessary to break the agreement. This entire charade will be unnecessary.”
“Because I want this,” she said simply, her voice suddenly quiet but intense.
“Dreamland?” he asked, studying her with apparent confusion. “You want Dreamland?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“That is no concern of yours,” she replied coolly, swearing to herself right then and there that he would never know the true reason. Never know the years of yearning for her family’s approval, the desperate hope that creating something magnificent might finally make them look at her with pride instead of disappointment.
“I shall be frank, Rowanwood. Either you agree to the arrangement I have proposed, or I shall ensure that by teatime tomorrow, every soul in Bloomhaven knows the true identity of E. S. Twist.”
A tense silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant call of a night bird. Evryn ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, his expression cycling through frustration, calculation, and finally, reluctant capitulation.
“Very well,” he said at last, his voice tight with suppressed anger. “I agree to your terms.”
“Good.” She leaned against the table and folded her arms across her chest. “Now, we should agree upon our story. How we discovered the bond, how we … realized our feelings.” The last words emerged strangled, as though her throat rebelled against them.
“Perhaps we might claim temporary insanity,” Evryn suggested dryly. “It would be the most believable explanation.”
Mariselle shot him a withering glance. “Be serious for once in your life. If we are to convince anyone—particularly our families—we must present a unified narrative.”
“Very well,” he sighed. “What do you suggest?”
